My mother always thought that I was antisocial because I like to read.

My brother taught me to read because he was tired of me bugging him to read to me. Because of that, I learned to read at a third grade level. I skipped the Dr. Seuss and Dick and Jane books. When I went to kindergarten, I told the teacher that I could read, but she didn't believe me. I tried to read from a book, but she thought that I had memorized it (as kids sometimes do) She finally believed me when I was reading the notes that she was sending home with the kids. The good kids knew what they had, and the bad kids knew what they had, but the middle of the road kids weren't sure. So, I read the notes to them. Teacher saw a crowd at recess, came to see what was going on. They called my mother, "Did you know that your child could READ?" My mother said "of course. She told you that."

I was perfectly content to sit around and read for hours at a time. My worst punishment was being made to sit in the middle of my room doing nothing. I wasn't allowed to sleep, I just had to sit there.

I'm with Betsy on the Waterston love. I, uh, might have a new appreciation of that book after that.(Actually, I've been intending to re-read that one, and not to score points with "Jack McCoy".) Some of those court scenes make him look just...well, they just make me wonder what I ever saw in him. It's criminal.

Hey. I just read a thing by Jeffrey Nunberg in yesterday's Times (about "terror" vs. "terrorism"), that referred to Albert Camus's The Plague as an extended metaphor for fascism.

Am I a dummy, or does that not make any sense? I'm thinking and thinking, and can't make the plot work as fascism. Maybe he is thinking of a different Camus book?

I think - and I'm struggling to remember back quite a ways here - that it's more of a metaphor for life under fascism, rather than fascism itself, if that makes more sense.

I haven't read that one, just The Stranger

I re-read it a few years back, and yeah, I'm not sure that it's a metaphor for life under fascism specifically so much as a metaphor for life under any sort of totalitarian regime. It's not like those who die from the plague are spewing pro-fascist rhetoric or that only the wholly deserving or undeserving catch it. The quarantine of the city seems to be more the central metaphor. I seem to recall that the only moment of peace the protagonist experiences is when he sneaks out of the city for a swim in a nearby ocean or lake.

I'm not sure that it's a metaphor for life under fascism specifically so much as a metaphor for life under any sort of totalitarian regime.

Huh. I'm not clear on the distinction you're making here. More, please?

The quarantine of the city seems to be more the central metaphor.

I think the isolation is a central part of what he's getting at though, where connections between normal people are suddenly fraught with uncertainty and fear, and outside elements virtually irrelevant except insofar as they try/fail to help.

It's not like those who die from the plague are spewing pro-fascist rhetoric or that only the wholly deserving or undeserving catch it.

Again, I don't see that as detracting from the metaphor.

What I do think detracts from it is that by using a biological agent as a stand-in for (pick a regime, any regime) the element of human choice and malice is sort of elided away, suggesting that totalitarianism itself is some sort of force of nature, not a human construct.

Right. Saying plague = fascism makes fascism sound like "just one of those unlucky things" that sometimes happens and nobody is implicated in it. Which is crap.

I can sort of see the quarantined city = life in a totalitarian state, except that the quarantine was such a minor part of the novel, for me. Like, it was a psychological blow, for all the people who couldn't leave; but mostly it was just a thing that you do when you've got plague in your city, another detail to chafe at. People weren't restricted from going to churches -- there were standing room only crowds! -- and bootlegging and smooching and smuggling all continued as always.

And anyway, the point of the novel, for me, was that the plague would run its course, and some would die and some wouldn't, and all that could be done was pitch in an ease the suffering of the ill and the frightened. Dilletante Volunteer Boy's death isn't a tragedy or a wild statement against fascism or plague or anything -- it's just a death, and the virtuous as much as the shitty are cut down. And after all, the only thing the doctor could offer was comfort, in his doctoring people, and memory, in his recording what he witnessed.

Nunberg's article brought up a Camus quote (didn't say where it's from) to the effect that Robespierre-style "terror" was in love with the absolute, and thus akin to fascism, which I think is true, but I can't for the life of me relate that to The Plague.

I'm not disagreeing with you, Brenda. I'm supporting your point in part and saying that it's not necessarily a metaphor for fascism (a point you appear to agree with), but for any form of totalitarian government. And that the plague itself is not as important as the way which it affects the city. But, if I recall correctly, the official malice in the book isn't created by the plague, but by the isolation. The city officials who round up the sick aren't afflicted, but taking advantage of affliction. Which works on a broad level (i.e. ethically and morally corrupt people will take power in situations where they can), but not on a specific level of having any sort of one-to-one comparison to situations in Nazi Germany, Fascist Italy, or Stalinist Russia.

Or French-occupied Algeria.