By Charles Kramer
“You should blog.”
I looked up from the papers strewn before me on the table of the Starbucks to which I had ventured to escape the distraction of my usual writing space. It was Tuesday, Nov. 2, the day of midterm elections. I, however, had not yet voted, and was concentrating on a proposed acquisition summary.
“Excuse me?”
The woman looked at me and smiled.
“Actually, your entire group should blog.”
“Excuse me?” I reiterated.
She laughed.
“I recognize you. It’s a compliment. I like walking in each of your shoes down the hallways of the metaphorical skyscraper in which you create,” she said. “I marvel at how you each contribute your own particular brand of insight and humor to its walls, but yet somehow write in a common voice so that there is continuity from week to week. You make me laugh, and make me think. I just think more people should have access.”
“Methaphorical skyscraper?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Your bold comrade, with tales so awesome spun, has described well, with artful poet’s words, the halls of the Tower Levison — the pathways from which your humor spills along with warnings of a nation’s ills, the place from which you attempt to spark debate, dare you hope, among those who may hear (and from which you hope to light the dark to incite future-carving voyagers to then embark.)”
I looked at her.
“Can I help you with something?” I asked.
“Not particularly,” she responded. “Although I do have a question. Have you ever considered Lindsay’s view of the law-abiding citizen as a parasite?”
“You mean,” I asked, “the concept that the law-abider is a parasite who merely feeds off of, and prospers from, the work of those who came before him, those who had to do the hard work of discovering what laws were necessary for the advancement of society and then fight to have them implemented?”
“Yes, the view expressed by David Lindsay.”
“Can’t say that I have,” I responded.
She smiled. “I thought it an interesting perspective. I think he was right”
“A science fiction writer in Scotland in the early 1900s?” I asked.
“Come on,” she chided. “You, of all people, know he was more than that.”
“Perhaps,” I conceded. “Actually,” I admitted, “I’ve read his ‘Voyage to Arcturus’ five times, Googled and Bing-ed it a zillion more, and have read supposed analyses and reviews of it from time to time, but really still don’t understand most of it. The thing I find most amazing, however, is that, each time I’ve finished reading it, I’ve been left with a sense that I’ve understood his point and enjoyed the story, even though I didn’t understand his seemingly obvious attempt at allegory while immersed in the tale.”
“Yes,” she acknowledged. “It’s sort of like the child with reading difficulties who somehow manages above-average comprehension through the use of contextual clues.”
“More like the citizen who follows the law without necessarily knowing why a particular law is the way it is, but at the end knows he or she has lived an admirable life,” I countered.
“Six of one, half dozen of the other,” she nodded. “ I never said a parasite is a bad thing,” she said. “Don’t forget to vote.”
And then she walked away.
Under Analysis is a nationally syndicated column. Charles Kramer is a principal of the St. Louis, Missouri law firm Riezman, Berger, P.C. You may direct comments or criticisms about this column to the Levison Group c/o this newspaper, or direct to the Levison Group via e-mail, at comments@levisongroup.com.
© 2010 Under Analysis L.L.C.
