I'm kind of enjoying One Small Boy. I didn't think I would, because in those days there was an element of what I'll call condescension. Which I'd argue is given stature these days through the expression 'trickle down.' But it's better to go red, think of it as the 'machinations of the grubbing elites' and set it within the context of a power structure with a heartbeat in Cancun or the Wal-Mart.
Writing about it has always been difficult for me. On the
one side I stand with a sword in my hand, an oath in my heart and call it bloody
ignorance, while my toes will curl at the memory of it. On the other side I
stand in the shoes of a watcher, as dull as an historian and impotent.
Nonetheless, I am kind of enjoying One Small Boy, and this is probably because I
am old and accepting.