My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Sunday, October 6, 2013
Public Judgment
That idea of a general judgment seems so in line with our tradition, so steeped in the power of guilt, a guilt made more powerful for the potential of its being so public. Intruding on those secret moments, the solitary and hidden weakness rather than the already public crimes, the ones some may not see as crimes at all but tolerable and perhaps applaudable signs of one's cunning and power.
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