The time has come, dear friends, to reassess (or, for some of us, to simply assess for the first time, with all the standard tsk tsk'ing of those who already have assessed, and feel empowered to make some sort of comment on those who haven't as of yet, either because they were busy, didn't care to, or were just about to get around to it, but happened to be waylaid by their laundry, which had piled up until it one day was able to leap out from behind the door and wrap itself firmly around their neck, thus detaining them from getting around to assessing anything) the way we appear to have organised ourselves over the years, the way we function as a society.
Following the extremely effective and relativley painless separation of Church and State, I feel the time has naturally come to separate those people who have read Samuel Johnson's essay that was originally published in The Rambler (No. 4) about "The New Realistic Novel" from those who haven't. (Granted, Church and State still have difficult time of it, visiting the shopping centre they both used to use, as there's always the chance of them running into one another, and then standing there, after awkward hellos, Church thinking State looks a little peaked, and State wishing Church would get the speech therapy it had been considering when they were still together, and the two not really knowing what to say to one another at all. But, overall, the separation has gone really well, especially since Church began getting it's groceries delivered, and has since had torid affairs with three of the delivery boys.)
People who have read Ben Johnson will be given due consideration, but will still have to remain a reasonable distance from the others.
The purpose of such a proposal (and, I hope, quick action thereupon) is to create a bit of a separation between those that have read Samuel Johnson's essay on "The New Realistic Novel" from those who haven't, a frightful barometer of social grace and standing if there ever was one.
No more will people be discussing the merits and pratfalls of human characters, culled from daily life, both flawed and virtuous at the same time, and the representative lessons that can be gathered, whether fortunately or un, and be interrupted by someone who knows not whereof the discussion speaks.
Instead, those people who dare raise such tacit objections shall be either a). beaten and ridiculed before being put to death, or perhaps bludgeoned with really large sticks and clubs, or at least maybe burned at the stake, b). cast off into some other part of the city, if not another country, where other such people reside, or c). possibly not burned at the stake, but tied to a stake, and people with flames shall approach them and give them the scare of their life, and if, perchance, a flame happens to set the tinder alight beneath their feet, then so be it.
While I favour a)., some other people may favour other options, and we may find ourselves later still differentiating those people that support option a). from option b)., or other variations.
Until that day, we carry on, under this burden of being unable to freely discuss realistic novels without the fear of some miscreant stealing in with his or her ignorance, and suggesting that it's nice to read about Joseph, from next door, and even if he does cheat on his wife, at least his treatment of his son was noble.
disclaimer:
For those of you wishing to read up before the separation begins and society breathes a little easier, you'll be searching for the Saturday issue, 31 March, 1750, of The Rambler.
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