Back in university, our English literature professor assigned Jonathan Swift’s A Modest Proposal.
After peeling myself off an undisclosed living room carpet, I trundled into university at the ungodly, semi-torturous hour of 9 a.m. The Geneva Convention still drags its heels in deeming this a cruel and unusual punishment.
The hall filled up in dribs and drabs. One kid, the type who nodded furtively even when there was nothing to nod at, couldn’t wait to tell the world what he thought of The Modest Proposal.
Reader, I cannot directly quote here. One, because memory fails, and two because memory fails. Anyway, he charged into the work.
“Quite frankly,” he said. “I think it is disgusting. To think that even a few hundred years ago someone of apparent letters would propose such a twisted solution to poverty and to hunger is quite frankly abhorrent.”
After relishing his clearly rehearsed diatribe, he sat down and glanced over at the girls. To reward his brilliance, had they disrobed in the hope he sires them with his superior genes right then and there? There was to be no public Genghis Khan moment.
The lecturer, a Clark Kent lookalike with an expressive Roman nose, didn’t know what to say. Neither did anyone else. I admit that in my hungover, hangxiety-ridden, did-I-use-protection state, I briefly pondered whether the joke was on me. Swift was serious?! He meant we should feed poor children to the rich?
The professor said: “Interesting point”.
The lecture hall took on the air of the firing squad. Surely, someone would let fly the first bullet? Aiming neatly above his head, the professor revealed as one would deliver a diagnosis of a terminal illness. Swift’s Modest Proposal was “not given in sincerity” — the bourgeoise version of the proletarian phrase: Are you fucking stupid or something?
The boy crimsoned. His face beat so red he looked like a disgruntled toffee apple. “Oh, no. I knew that” he said. “Of course. I just. It’s just. I think. You know. Of course. I … it’s just shocking to me how … you know… how like … anyone could even print that as a joke?”
(I add the question mark to denote the Millennial tendency to dement declarative sentences into questions for fear of getting things wrong.)
I learned a new word that day. Fremdschämen: The German word for vicarious embarrassment or “cringe”.
