Crocagoguery
Sudafed keeps me up all night, and in thoughts as uncontrollable and senseless as dreams I worry, in order of decreasing intensity and increasing import, about schoolwork and my novel and the earth. We have a joke around here about the sort of novel one must write in order to ensure one’s literary immortality after humans perish in the new climate and a civilization of crocodiles arises. Clearly the novel must portray crocodiles in a positive light, and perhaps be centered on issues of crocodile identity. But such work is vulnerable to charges of literary insincerity: “Pandering to the crocodiles!”
