An Author depicts a main character darkly obsessed, driven by lust and hypocrisy, narrow, provincial in mindset, xenophobic, intolerant and otherwise angry, embittered with destructive tendencies and violent outbursts of temper ...Would a Reader then have reason to object saying: "I refuse to dignify this author (and their worldview) by naively inhabiting the fictional universe of such a protagonist - accepting their wretched assumptions - cheering on their sordid struggles - while forced (involuntarily) to "sympathize with" or "understand" their backward sensibilities...?" "On what basis?" responds the Author. "Because," says the Reader, "we know that "violence" and "intolerance" and "xenophobia" - are unacceptable, cringe-worthy, and this narrative makes us complicit in its attempt to "humanize" the persons involved?" "Okay" - replies the Author - "what if we only make him "angry" and "provincial" from the outset - then do you cease questioning him outright?" For now - perhaps, says the Reader, but in 10 years time, I will have less patience for such angry souls...
We had made our way down busy Palm Avenue towards the crosswalk. after zigzagging the usual route from busy Bandini Avenue to Tower Road to Rosewood Place. Bret was our wild-man companion - a fifth-grader with a take-no-prisoners approach to life. The local crosswalk, that most mundane of enterprises was soon to become the scene of spontaneous absurdist theater when suddenly out of nowhere came the random yelp: Hey...Hey...What do you want with us lady? - What do I want with you? said the most predictably normal gray-haired woman by whose ever so brief guidance we measured our daily jaunt to school. Yeah - where are you taking us? - There's only one way kid - It's this way... - You're not really a crossing guard are you? came the cheeky interrogative. The slightly bemused, limping, beleaguered woman was dwarfed by her bright yellow uniform as she held up her STOP sign - showing Brett. The other smaller kids walked by us single file in the middle of th...
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