I feel like my work is aligned
with the Resistance, and that’s a happiness to me.
Robin’s work too.
I feel happy—maybe like Pierre
when he was a French prisoner of war.
Interesting in Tolstoy no
worries Pierre won't ever get his wealth back. He might die, he might be
cheated, but the prevailing economy guarantees he keeps what he doesn’t
foolishly squander. By the time of Dostoevsky's The Devils, this is no longer true. That novel depicts something
like what is happening to us now.
The image of Pierre, happy as a
prisoner of war but never otherwise, is still beautiful. He doesn’t care about
his money, his privilege.
Does he really not? That’s a
tall order for me!
What if I had to absolutely
give up my privilege?—
join the millions in American
prisons?
Is this question prophetic?