I have recently finished reading Charles Dickens’ 1840 novel, Barnaby Rudge. It is a novel of both romantic and political drama set in the period leading up to the famous London Gordon Riots of 1780. To offer a basic sketch of the story, it follows the lives of four families: the Haredales, the Willets, the Vardens, and the Rudges, between the years of 1775 and 1780, culminating in the riots of June, 1780. The drama essentially boils down to the tension between the personal affections that individuals in these families have for each other, and the rising hostilities and suspicions of their differing religions.
In 1973, Ursula Le Guin wrote a
short story about a utopian city called 'Omelas'.
The story is, at its core, a philosophical thought experiment. To summarize: Let’s just accept for the sake of argument, a city that is so self-sufficient, and so devoid of want or suffering or strife that the people of the city were able to live in an unceasing state of joyous bliss. Every season involved weeks-long festivals of celebration, and nobody was deprived of any need, material, moral, or psychological.
My first visit to London, was during a holiday trip in 2007. Here’s how I memorialized it
The ancient matron grasps longingly for the sky,
a crowd of bony fingers stretching upward,
black threads tied to each one,
laden with dangling bits of civilization renewed.
Below, in her bowels, a gritty brown aroma,
and clattering, grumbling, tin boxes
scatter frantically along well-worn paths,
long sullen with a heavy memory
of countless other footfalls.
Humming and pulsing with the life force
of a thousand generations,
she swells with pride at eager dawn,
and heaves a great sigh at setting sun.
She is the gray lady of the West.
The history of the anglo man is embedded in her bricks,
and the future of the world flows through her heart,
and into the sea.
Look at yourself in the mirror this morning. See the lines of failure drawn out from the points of your eyes. Remember that face before they were there. Ask yourself what you were doing before those were there. Consider, for a moment, what you could be doing today, instead of what you have to do.
Think of something encouraging to shake off the melancholy. Chuckle at the silliness of this ritual of self-pity, turn toward the shower, and step in. Feel the ceramic chill of the bathroom, as it rattles your frame. Hear the grumbling of the apartment building’s pipes, as the water prepares to vent out the shower nozzle. Prepare yourself for the shock. Wince, and clench your fists.
