Ophelia by Freidrich Heyser (1857-1921)
"Get thee to a nunnery...toot sweet"
Hamlet's tragic appeal to his doomed lady love has become timely advice for practically everyone in the runnup to Election 2024. I mean, you can still run, but where can you hide anymore? Practically the only places that aren't surveilled, scrutinized, analysed, and micromanaged practically 24/7 are convents, although it's rumoured that the Vatican Secret Service has eyes everywhere. Nothing new about that. Ever since the lusty Borgia and Medici popes (1378-1655) ascended the Throne of Peter, nothing, not even virginity, is considered sacred,
So, yeah. If it's the unwanted sexual advances of male gropers you're running from (pastors, university professors, bosses, husbands past their best-before dates), then forget the nunnery. Having had an auntie who took the habit in 1953, I can assure readers that those places are hotbeds of lesbianism, not to mention religious fanaticism in the extreme. To make matters even more complicated, she was my godmother. What could my parents have been thinking?
I've observed over the years that young boys who spend too much time chilling with the priestly crowd often become priests themselves, a prelude to apprehension as dangerous sex offenders. I attended such an institution, labelled sotto voce as a bootcamp run by pedophiles. But surely growing up inside a convent with all that luscious female flesh in your face would tilt one's appetites in a slightly different direction. Or maybe not. I can still remember snuggling up on my auntie's lap before she took the veil. She was my mother's twin and I loved them both fiercely. That's where the twins parted company, my auntie by all accounts having died a virgin.
In my unpublished historical fiction novel "Virgin Quartet," the protagonist Natasha - a nominal virgin committed to lesbianism - finds herself inside the Convent for Fallen Society Girls in the troubled city of Tegucigalpa, Honduras. Her counterpart and fellow virgin, shy and retiring David, would love to get into her panties but, like Hamlet before him, is fraught with doubts about his own antecedents and self-worth. No spoilers here, except that Natasha learns from the Mother Superior that one can reestablish their virginity, given proper circumstances and some rudimentary tools. I can hardly remember the plot, but some 250 rejection slips from literary agents prove the novel exists.
That book will likely remain unpublished until some as-yet unborn archeologist unearthes my bruised and battered hard drive from a cyberjunk landfill and discovers this hidden gem then publishes it under his own name. That's exactly what happened with my partner's thesis on economics. Her faculty advisor stole the three requisite hard copies from the university archive then published the thesis for profit under his own name, knowing that the electronic version was on her failed hard drive which he'd promised to help her recover but obviously had no intention of so doing.
Ophelia, A Novel
Anyway, I'm currently reading the historical fiction masterpiece "Ophelia, A Novel" by Lisa Klein (Cross Books 2019). Actually, I'm reading it in the Spanish translation entitled "Ofelia, Hamlet a traves de sus ojos." Meaning: Hamlet through the eyes of Ophelia. Of course, every woman instinctively knows what her significant other is thinking and feeling, what he wants or doesn't want, and what he will do, so why should it have been any different in Shakespear's day? Certainly no reason to end one's life in so dramatic yet mundane a fashion. Falling into the marsh while picking wild flowers? Gimme a break.
"Ophelia" by Sir John Everett Millais, 185. Tate Gallery Collection
Like Heyser's Ophelia, Sir John's is quite thoroughly drowned in a swamp. Other artists favour a filthy sinkhole in Manchester where said swamp used to be before redevelopment.
Image source: Reddit
Nothing equals a good sinkhole when there isn't a nunnery in sight. Apparently, today's artists lack the imagination of the Pre-Raphealite Brotherhood. Nor do contemporary models exhude the charm and grace of 19th century muses such as the much-illustrated Elizabeth Siddell or the lovely Jane Morris. As there are no young, sexy nuns these days, except perhaps on Pornhub although I haven't checked.
Artists' models are no longer anything to write home about either. My art student daughter pointed one out to me in the street the other day: pale, scrawny, and covered in hideous tattoos. I daren't tarry to examine but, judging from her sketches of that individual, I'm convinced there are no more available body parts left to pierce.
Jane Morris circa 1865
What's the point of this essay?
A fellow writer advised that I break up long, rambling strings of texts into manageble segments, then give each new grouping a subtitle. Readers can then scroll down to the sub-heading they think might inspire or uplift or lead them toward some kind of financial epiphany. But personal fulfillment isn't the racket I'm in. As Ophelia pointed out to Hamlet, my own significant other insists that my communication skills are lacking and that I am a mean person destined for a sticky end.
So, in that spirit, here is my take on Democratic Presidential Candidate and current Vice President Kamala Harris who, if she were as clever as she looks, would take herself straight to a nunnery and pray for somebody else to run the country.
First of all, ever since somebody took a potshot at her rival, it's predictable that another gun-savvy nutjob, this time from that MAGAt-world across-the-floor will attempt the same. MAGAts knew they didn't need to assassinate Joe Biden as he was on the slippery slope of mental decline for a pretty long time; therefore, they waited for the inevitable crash and it happened. He quit the race, thank you very much. The important thing for Kamala to consider is what Trump's female Secret Service escorts did when he took one for America. Yup, they threw themselves behind him and out of the line of fire, not on top of the 6'-3", 215 pound candidate where they belonged. Perhaps they were disciples of E. Jean Carroll but WTF.
That's pretty much where America is going, metaphorically speaking.
Now, that might have been okay in the case of, say, the 5'-4" James Madison, but the averge height of American presidents hovers around 5'-11". I'm not going to transpose those numbers into centimeters for Canadians and Europeans and pretty much the entire rest of the world. America goes its own way. Thing is: it needs presidential bodyguards who are at least tall enough to shield their charges with their bodies, and with sufficient cojones to get in front, not behind him or her.
Advice to Kamala: check out the nearest convent for the tallest and beefiest and meanest nuns then train them to shoot. Nothing deters a terrorist or assassin like an 6'-7" Amazon covered head-to-toe in black linen - where skin colour, or even gender, isn't discernable - and waving a menacing crucifix, or even a leather strap as some of our teachers employed. Enraged nuns can be merciless and amazingly cruel, as many Catholic school survivors will attest.
Secondly, for all the talk about participatory democracy, this is the first time (to my knowledge) in American history that a presidential candidate has been appointed rather than nominated and duly elected in a legitimate primary as per law and tradition. How can I, or anyone, vote for a candidate that I did not vote for in a primary or my party representative did not get a chance to endorse on my behalf? Stop the steal? Who stole the Democratic primary and why is that Okay? Is the country facing such dire crisis that it needs to shortcut the democratic process to stave off the evil return of Trumpism?
Obviously, the clock has run out on the Dems, having foolishing backed what they knew was an elderly, worn-out individual who could not possibly survive another four years in office. I suspect that, although there are plenty of competant and qualified women of colour out there who would make equally suitable or better DEI icons, none of them want the job, which tells me that Kamala isn't nearly as smart as she is ambitious. Ruthless, yes. But having listened to her word salad, would anyone trust her with the nuclear launch codes?
"So I think it's very important -- as you have heard from so many incredible leaders -- for us, at every moment in time, and certainly this one, to see the moment in time in which we exist and are present, and to be able to contextualize it, to understand where we exist in the history and in the moment as it relates not only to the past, but the future."
I think I get the gist of her statement without having to consult with my pet unicorn, but given the very low quality of education in America, how many potential voters will it convince?
Regarding "...where we exist in history," is this her strategy for seducing Vladimir Putin as she has done with some other politicians while clawing her way up the political ladder? Punching down this time but WTF. Putin, on the other hand, can have any woman he wants, so scratch that idea. Being a prosecutor, she envisions him in a jail cell. Being a former KGB operative, he envisions her on the rack.
Thirdly, if Dems don't start paying attention to reality and playing a lot dirtier than they have been, the presidency is going to revert back to Trump. My prediction is that Trump will seduce Putin by throwing money, instead of sadly-lacking-cleavage backed by idle threats, at him, and if that's the price of world peace then, hey, it's a no-brainer. Does anyone even care if there's a Trump Tower in Moscow? Does anyone still believe that Ukrainians can actually win their war against the world's largest nation with unlimited resources and more nuclear weapons than all others combined? Peace has to come sometime, somehow, and the sooner, the better for all of us. As Thomas Sowell said, there are no solutions in this world, only trade offs; hence, the art of the deal. But you've heard that before. Some call it the "art of the steal."
Having observed Kamala's performance on practically every task that's been assigned to her as VP, especially her junkets to the Northern Triangle - where, incidentally, the narrative of Virgin Quartet is sited - I can't see where any progress has been achieved except to have placed more American money and guns into the hands of corrupt foreign leaders, some of whom are garden variety gangsters. In fact, the massive numbers of refugees fleeing uncontrollable crime and political unrest in those countries has been augmented at the U.S. southern border by hordes of economic migrants from other parts of the world, mainly China and various countries of the Middle East where American foreign policy has inspired the same morass of poverty, crime, and civil turmoil that it did in Central America over the past five decades.
I'm still waiting for Kamala to get past her appeals to intersectional feminists and tell us how, as leader of the Free World, she might close the slaughterhouses (Ukraine, Gaza, etc.) and avert future slaughters (Taiwan, various other low-level conflicts in the making). How many new proxy wars does she envision for America going forward? Who's next on the hit list?
Most important of all in the eyes of the average American, the vast majority who aren't Harvard or Yale educated and flush with connections, how will she pay down the national debt, recoup all those jobs outsourced to China, and fix a very broken education system? When will she begin to advocate for millions of young women who don't want to be career women but stay-at-home moms (horror of horrors) instead? When will she come up with a plan to curtail skyrocketing real estate prices and spiraling rents and allow young families to acquire their own homes and live on a single salary if they so choose? When will Americans enjoy universal free healthcare like almost all First World nations? When will her woke supporters begin to acknowledge the fact that those with religion in their lives are, on average, happier than those without a faith and should be supported or at least respected? When will she support real women who feel uncomfortable having trans-women (i.e., biological men) invade their washrooms and other spaces and trounce them in women's sporting events?
Screengrab via Google search
When will her administration admit that mutilating the genitals of children is barbaric in the extreme, despite the huge profits accruing to the medical profession? Not to mention the immorality, as measured by the yardstick of any traditional religion or belief system, of sexualizing preadolescent children for entertainment and profit. How will Kamala curb the rush to teen suicide?
Not important stuff, you say? Perhaps not. Certainly nothing a candidate could address in campaign speeches without shooting themselves in the foot. But those are only some of the issues on which swing voters will make their selections in November 2024.
Not holding my breath on Kamala stepping up to the plate although I dearly wish she would reveal another, more sympathetic, more competent, more altruistic side. Being the diversity hire just isn't good enough any more, not when the country is up against a party that is already quite comfortable with playing dirty and proposing that 2024 be the last election in American history. Actually, the candidates of both parties are suggesting that. The convoluted rhetoric and inspired inaction we have already seen from Harris is what we will likely get going forward, should the Dems succeed in claiming the Whitehouse.
And her Veep? Well, he's already being investigated for alleged pedophilia.
So, find out where the nearest nunnery or fallout shelter is located in your neighbourhood and take yourself there, toot sweet.
Or just do what democracy itself is doing: the Ophelia thing.
The Death of Ophelia by Eugene Delacroix (1798-1863).
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