Max Shulman《love is a fallacy》

LOVE IS A FALLACY/Max ShulmanFirst time I heard (not read) this comic story is in 1980s. The story was adapted to a radio play. It left a profound impression in my mind. I happened to find a copy of this novel delightfully before I came back to China and now I am presenting it to you. You will find it fun and more fun if you read it directly in English rather than in Chinese. It has been translated into Chinese. Try to find appropriate names discussed in chapter 3 of our text for the fallacies mentioned in the novel. —Zhen ChenThis classic comic fictional account concerns two college students who become deeply involved with many of the fallacies that will be discussed soon and in chapter 3 of our text. Taken from the popular novel, The Many Loves of Dobie Gills, the story provides a delightful, if extreme, illustration of how fallacious reasoning can affect our everyday lives.Cool was I, and logical. Keen—calculating, perspicacious, acute and astute—I was all of these. My brain was as powerful as a dynamo, as precise as a chemist’s scales, as penetrating as a scalpel. And—think of it!—I was only eighteen.It is not often that one so young has such a giant intellect. Take, for example, Petey Bellows, my roommate at the university. Same age, same background, but dumb as an ox. A nice enough fellow, you understand, but nothing upstairs. Emotional type. Unstable. Impressionable. Worst of all, a faddist. Fads, I submit, are the very negation of reason. To be swept up in every new craze that comes along, to surrender yourself to idiocy just because everybody else is doing It—this, to me, is the acme of mindlessness. Not, however, to Petey.One afternoon I found Petey lying on his bed with an expression of such distress on his face that I immediately diagnosed appendicitis. “Don’t move,” I said. “Don’t take a laxative. I’ll get a doctor.”“Raccoon,” he mumbled thickly.“Raccoon? I said, pausing in my flight.“I want a raccoon coat,” he wailed.I perceived that his trouble was not physical, but mental. “Why do you want a raccoon coat?”“I should have known it,” he cried, pounding his temples. “I should have known they’d come back when the Charleston came back. Like a fool I spent all my money for textbooks, and now I can’t get a raccoon coat.”“Can you mean,” I said incredulously, “that people are actually wearing raccoon coats again?”“All the Big Men on Campus are wearing them. Where’ve you been?”“In the library,” I said, naming a place not frequented by Big Men on Campus.He leaped from the bed and paced the room. “I’ve got to have a raccoon coat,” he said passionately. “I’ve got to!”“Petey, why? Look at it rationally. Raccoon coats are unsanltary. They shed. They smell bad. They weigh too much. They’re unsightly. They—”“You don’t understand,” he interrupted impatiently. “It’s the thing to do. Don’t you want to be in the swim?”“No,” I said truthfully.“Well, I do,” he declared. “I’d give anything for a raccoon coat. Anything!”My brain, that precision instrument, slipped into high gear. “Anything?” I asked, looking at him narrowly.“Anything,” he affirmed in ringing tones.I stroked my chin thoughtfully. It so happened that I knew where to get my hands on a raccoon coat. My father had had one in his undergraduate days; It lay now In a trunk In the attic back home. It also happened that Petey had something I wanted. He didn’t have it exactly, but at least he had first right on it. I refer to his girl, Polly Espy.I had long coveted Polly Espy. Let me emphasize that my desire for this young woman was not emotional in nature. She was, to be sure, a girl who excited the emotions, but I was not one to let my heart rule my head. I wanted Polly for a shrewdly calculated, entirely cerebral reason.I was a freshman in law school. In a few years I would be out in practice. I was well aware of the Importance of the right kind of wife in furthering a lawyer’s career. The successful lawyers I had observed were, almost without exception, married to beautiful, gracious, intelligent women. With one omission, Polly fitted these specifications perfectly.Beautiful she was. She was not yet of pin-up proportions, but I felt sure that time would supply the lack. She already had the makings.Gracious she was. By gracious I mean full of graces. She had an erectness of carriage, an ease of bearing, a poise that clearly indicated the best of breeding. At table her manners were exquisite. I had seen her at the Kozy Kampus Korner eating the specialty of the house—a sandwich that contained scraps of pot roast, gravy, chopped nuts, and a dipper of sauerkraut—without even getting her fingers moist.Intelligent she was not. In fact, she veered in the opposite direction. But I believed that under my guidance she would smarten up. At any rate, it was worth a try. It is, after all, easier to make a beautiful dumb girl smart than to make an ugly smart girl beautiful.“Petey,” I said, “are yo。