The Rumble and the Roar — A Closer Reading

A World Built on Noise

The story’s setting is saturated with sound. From the office’s "constant clatter" to the city’s "rumble and scream," noise is omnipresent. Joseph’s body registers this: his ears ache, his stomach writhes, his feet hurt. Even his secretary’s voice is a "high pitched screech trying to be heard above the noise." The National Mental Health people claim constant music has a beneficial effect, but Joseph wonders if anyone can actually listen to it over the other noise. This detail hints at a society that has normalized aural overload, where silence is not just rare but suspect.

The Invention and Its Promise

Bob Wills arrives with the first model of his invention. The excerpts do not reveal its full nature, but the title and catalog subjects point toward a device that can eliminate noise. Joseph’s reaction is telling: he has a splitting headache and says, "Nerves, you know." The invention promises relief, but the story’s structure—moving from office to home—suggests that the solution may not be simple. The recurring image of mechanical smiles (Betty’s "automatic smile that seemed to want to be something more") underscores a world where human responses are themselves mechanized.

Movement Between Scenes

The narrative shifts between three key spaces: the office, the city outside, and Joseph’s home. Each location amplifies different aspects of the noise problem. In the office, the din is a mix of human and machine; on the freeway, it is turbines and cars; at home, the excerpts suggest a different kind of quiet. This movement mirrors Joseph’s psychological journey—from irritation to desperation. The story’s brevity (5,157 words) means these shifts are rapid, creating a sense of mounting pressure. Bartholomew uses the physical journey to track Joseph’s growing obsession with silence.

Recurring Details and Their Weight

Certain images recur with precision: aching ears, dyspepsia, the song "Slam Bang Boom," and the phrase "Nerves." These details are not decorative; they build a portrait of a man whose body is rebelling against his environment. Joseph’s thought, "Something's wrong with me," and his request to be left alone—"as if somebody were after me"—suggest paranoia. The story’s psychological dimension is rooted in these physical symptoms. The invention may offer a cure, but the excerpts leave open whether the problem is external noise or an internal disorder.

Readers should attend to how Bartholomew uses sound as both setting and antagonist. The story’s structure—a series of scenes linked by Joseph’s movement—creates a rhythm that mirrors his escalating distress. Pay attention to the moments when noise becomes almost a character, and to the small, telling gestures (the mechanical smile, the wince) that reveal more than dialogue does. The ending, though not included here, likely hinges on whether silence brings peace or something worse.

That gray afternoon, the rain drumming against my window, I finished The Rumble and the Roar and felt Partch's aching ears as my own. Quietly, I wondered how a writer builds such a pressure-filled world. Later, nearly by accident, I pulled up Silence is—Deadly — Story, Setting & Ideas and found the craft behind that feeling laid bare. It was like discovering the blueprint for a familiar room.