I'm re-reading David Halberstam's
enthralling history of the contest
between the New York Yankees and
the Boston Red Sox, for the Amer-
ican League pennant in 1949; and
I'm understanding, the game has
changed, the League has changed,
the year is extinct, and pennants
are quaint. This weekend, I feel
I owe it to myself to re-read
Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness,
a book by a Pole about an English-
man in Africa, because a fine col-
umn I woke up to find in a rain-
storm last night appeared in the
Post, to remind me of its several
points of contact with our con-
text of today. All of this time
of wasted time, while I could be
out forging signatures on a peti-
tion to outlaw the appearance in
public of unescorted women. Our
time is not about playing the
game well, it's about acting to
destroy the game at any price.
As this appreciation sank into
our opinion writers, after the
President of the United States
tipped his hand from his séance
in Helsinki, drooling fealty
to a hostile power, subscribers
were given an appreciation that
the violent resentments he em-
bodies are no mere revival of
post-Confederate humiliations,
but a second foray into America,
across the Mason-Dixon line, not
a protest march. A crusade, to
bring this nation down forever.
tions are deadly. We're in a
campaign for each of them, as
of this writing. I think the
invaders will be repulsed, but
I'm not betting on it. I'm say-
ing, the game is calling, and
it's on.
Patric Shaw, photography
2012
Robert Motherwell
1915 - 1991
Above, I embrace the availability
of "Heart of Darkness" in a free
edition, on line. But there is an
edition of such excellent advan-
tages other than price, which I
can't refuse to recommend: the
with the superb introduction by
Verlyn Klinkenborg and printed
and bound to live with one.
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