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Donald Not Looking Good (1)

April 13, 2017

And he’s bound to get worse. I mean Trump the person, Donald, as well as the character, Hair Trompf, who shadows him. I think he has crossed a line, mentally, that, who knows, I might cross, myself, any day. The question now is how much he will suffer (and how much we’ll suffer) before the situation that he has put himself into—with help from his family and people like Bob and Rebekah Mercer, other owners and leaders of the Republican Party, and his maddog racist voters—is rectified.

If I were making this stuff up, here’s how I’d have it go down. First, like the author of the present novel, I’d get somebody else to narrate. I might go first-person, stream of consciousness, full Faulkner, Trump himself, The Sound and the Fury. Or Trump could narrate by talking to his kids, or his wives (sometimes in dreams). Or somebody relatively minor could tell the tale, like Kellyanne Conway, adding the sophistication of an unreliable narrator. I could go third person, limited (somewhat, maybe crucially), using somebody in the know, like the FBI director, another unreliable. Or I could let the omniscient God tell the story.  Since it would be Old Testament, His voice could speak from a towering inferno, to set up the movie.  He could be helped by Satan. It could be “The Book of Donald.”

As has been the author’s problem all along, I’d have to allow myself to fashion the telling, by whatever narrator, with allowance for full compassion for my character. I’d have to step back, take a very large point of view, be just but merciful, maybe read Paradise Lost again (dreadful, but with extraordinary invention of image and musicality, ponderous yet often very clear—Milton, that is, not me); because Donald J. Trump is not a likeable person or character. He’s morally and aesthetically repulsive. I’ve already explained that I consider him evil.

It’s easy to see how his character has become his fate. Along with his father’s parenting (what about his mom?—a deconstructive analysis would point out her absence from the media narrative). And when fate falls, if we are good readers we find ourselves in a clearing, with only our humanity.

But I’m thinking that now his body has cut in, too, by way of a brain that just can’t do much of coherent consciousness anymore.  Senility.  At a relatively early age. Our President isn’t Donald Trump anymore—much the way we thought he wouldn’t be, during the campaign. We could see that he was losing it, even then. Could others see it? Melania? Ivanka? Prince Jared?

In a key scene, my narrator would be telling about a talkative, if not highly verbal, wealthy, relaxed old white guy, President of the United States, having a very pleasant evening at the head of an outdoor dinner table in the garden of the Winter Palace, good for making conversation, eating chocolate cake, with the leader of China, and informing his esteemed guest that he (steadfast avenger of dead, beautiful babies) has just launched missiles into Syria, as someone told him he should do. The man from China remains pleasant. He understands, even better now, with whom he is eating.

And my narrator would be telling of actions of national and global significance, and of shadowy forces of life and death swirling around our host, in the persons of his family and his official government. His frigid, hyper-calculative Vice President. His hatefully opportunistic AG. His foolish and fawning Congressional allies. His hyper-wealthy cabinet members, all of whom are sure that they are much more competent than he.

At any rate, I’m thinking that this moment is a very big one for our plot. So this page gets the chapter started. From here, as in the ongoing chapters on Fascist America and Russiagate, I’ll just sketch in the action, as I think it is unfolding. Where will these subplots cross or merge? At impeachment for high crimes and misdemeanors? Or at removal from office because of loss of mind?

Let’s breath our way through this.  Slowly let it go, and overcome.

4-22  Adam Gopnik suggests that if we imagine Trompf as thinking rationally, we derange our own thinking into believing that the mad king is sane.  I’m suggesting that, likewise, we must understand that King Donald has entered his age of senility.  Corollary 1:  We’re in danger, even mortal danger, if anyone obeys the mad king’s commands.  Corollary 2:  If no one is obeying them, then others are running the kingdom.  What are the ramifications of that, and how much more do we derange our thinking, and increase the danger, if we do not acknowledge that reality?

From → Trump, Uncategorized

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