Adept at Avoiding Accountability, in Real Life and Fiction

Has-no-integrity Donald Trump and has-integrity Thomas Massie.

U.S. President Donald Trump gets away with SO much:

— The repugnant Republican is mentioned more than 38,000 times in The Epstein Files (named after perhaps the worst pedophile/sex trafficker in American history), yet Trump has never suffered any consequences for that. He even sufficiently maligned Congressman Thomas Massie, one of the VERY few fellow Republicans seeking justice for the Epstein survivors, to get him defeated in a reelection bid this past week.

— Also, the draft-dodger-as-a-youth Trump claimed he would be a “peace president” but bombs innocent Venezuelans in fishing boats and, with Israel, started the unnecessary war of choice against Iran that included the U.S. bombing of a girls’ school that killed more than 150 students. Meanwhile, millions of Trump’s supposedly anti-war supporters continued their cultish behavior by suddenly becoming gung-ho for American aggression.

— Also, there is Trump’s breathtakingly rampant presidential corruption and self-enrichment that has amassed him billions of dollars, but he’ll probably never see the inside of a jail cell.

— Also, Trump of course falsely claimed he won the 2020 presidential election and then encouraged his supporters to storm the U.S. Capitol on January 6, 2021, yet got back in the White House four years later.

— Etc., etc.

How does the fascist/racist/misogynistic/homophobic/anti-poor/lying Trump avoid accountability? For one thing, he “floods the zone” with distractions, as when attacking Iran moved the news cycle away from the Epstein scandal. In addition, Trump is rich, white, and male; he has a perverse charisma; he and his supporters threaten violence against all who cross him; most Republicans in Congress cravenly go along with almost everything he does; six of the nine U.S. Supreme Court justices are in his pocket; and so on.

I tried to think of fictional characters, whether villainous or not, who are like Trump in terms of fully or partly getting away with things. Doesn’t seem to happen super-often in literature — many novels offer the moral lesson and fantasy wish-fulfillment of problematic people getting their just desserts — but it happens. Being wealthy (like Trump) helps. Being smart (unlike Trump) also helps. Being good-looking helps, too. And being lucky can’t be ignored.

Here are some examples, with details hopefully kept fuzzy enough to avoid too much in spoilers:

Sue Grafton’s alphabet mystery V Is for Vengeance, which I read last week, includes a Mafioso-like character who’s not totally evil yet definitely no Mr. Rogers. But he’s smart enough and a good enough planner to evade legal consequences.

Amoral con man Tom Ripley of Patricia Highsmith’s novels has some close calls, but virtually always gets away with things. He is…talented, to quote the title of The Talented Mr. Ripley — the first book in the series.

The psychopathic killer in Cormac McCarthy’s bleak No Country for Old Men is injured when hit by a car but that’s the most “justice” he faces.

Daphne du Maurier’s mesmerizing novel Rebecca includes a major character who kills someone but never gets charged. Wealth, status, secretiveness, luck, and extenuating circumstances don’t hurt.

The evil/dictatorial Big Brother (whether one person or many) in Nineteen Eighty-Four retains complete power at the end of George Orwell’s iconic dystopian novel.

No one is criminally punished in Donna Tartt’s debut novel The Secret History, but, as is sometimes the case in situations like that, there’s some guilt and suffering for the perpetrators.

Raskolnikov, the somewhat-sympathetic murderer in Fyodor Dostoevsky’s classic Crime and Punishment, does the crime and gets the punishment, but that punishment — while not nothing — is relatively lenient.

The caddish George Wickham faces consequences of a sort in Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, but he certainly deserved more of a comeuppance.

Your thoughts about, and examples of, this topic?

Misty the cat asks: “Is that STOP sign written by Shakespeare or Cervantes?”

My comedic 2024 book — the part-factual/part-fictional/not-a-children’s-work Misty the Cat…Unleashed — is described and can be purchased on Amazon in paperback or on Kindle. It’s feline-narrated! (And Amazon reviews are welcome. 🙂 )

This 90-second promo video for the book features a talking cat: 🙂

I’m also the author of a 2017 literary-trivia book

…and a 2012 memoir that focuses on cartooning and more, including many encounters with celebrities.

In addition to this weekly blog, I write the 2003-started/award-winning “Montclairvoyant” topical-humor column every Thursday for Montclair Local. The latest piece — which has an environmental theme — is here.

More of the Morose

Last week, I wrote about some of literature’s comedic or part-comedic novels. This week, I’ll flip that to discuss some of the saddest novels. Given that I covered this topic in a post eight years ago, I’ll focus on novels I’ve read since then — whether those books were published before or after 2018.

Of course, sad novels are not always 100% bleak; they perhaps contain some happier moments and/or semi-optimistic endings. But they’re downbeat overall.

Kristin Hannah’s excellent fiction can certainly leave a reader shaken. For instance, her 1970s-set novel The Great Alone (2018) is a depressing look at a Vietnam War veteran living in the Alaskan wilderness and how his post-traumatic stress wreaks havoc on himself, his wife, and their teen daughter.

Elin Hilderbrand’s also-excellent fiction is considered somewhat “lighter” than Hannah’s, but she does often wrestle with major personal and societal issues. One of Hilderbrand’s more melancholy novels is 28 Summers (2020), about a cancer-stricken woman who had a longtime one-weekend-a-year affair with her soulmate while she and him lived separate family lives the rest of the time. A superb book amid the sorrow.

In-between the two above novels arrived Colson Whitehead’s partly 1960s-set The Nickel Boys (2019), a heartbreaking look at abuse in a Florida reform school and at racism in general. Whitehead’s earlier The Underground Railroad (2016) — which unfolds in 19th-century slavery times — is another very good novel that will leave readers morose. Both Whitehead books won the Pulitzer Prize for fiction.

Barbara Kingsolver’s later Pulitzer winner Demon Copperhead isn’t all dispiriting, but the scourge of opioid addiction and the poverty depicted in the 2022 novel leave readers dejected even as they’re impressed with the author’s modern reimagining of Charles Dickens’ David Copperfield.

Moving to some older novels I’ve read since 2018, we have Michael Crichton’s 1990 sci-fi thriller Jurassic Park in which the hubris of using DNA to recreate living dinosaurs in the 20th century results in lots of destruction by those out-of-their-element dinos.

Twenty-five years earlier, there was John Edward Williams’ 1965 Stoner novel about a farm-raised boy who becomes an English professor but lives a personal life marked by an unhappy marriage and other disappointments. Again, a really good novel amid the sorrow.

Another 1965 release was James Leo Herlihy’s Midnight Cowboy (better known for the 1969 movie adaptation) about a naive Texan’s odyssey in New York City and the discouraging experiences of he and his down-and-out, ill-fated friend.

In 1957 came Nevil Shute’s On the Beach, about Australians waiting to die from a deadly wave of nuclear war-caused radiation heading their way. Almost any apocalyptic/dystopian novel would be eligible for this post.

Thomas Mann’s Death in Venice (1912) is exquisitely written and set in one of the most beautiful cities on the planet, but the plot is full of unrequited obsession — and then comes the cholera outbreak.

In 1833, Alexander Pushkin’s novel-in-verse Eugene Onegin was published after appearing in serial form between 1825 and 1832. A depressingly brilliant work filled with boredom, arrogance, selfishness, an ill-fated duel, a missed romantic opportunity, and more.

Among the sad novels I mentioned in my 2018 post were Andre Dubus III’s House of Sand and Fog (1999), Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things (1997), Toni Morrison’s Beloved (1987), Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa’s The Leopard (1958), Erich Maria Remarque’s Spark of Life (1952), George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four (1949), Edith Wharton’s The House of Mirth (1905), Thomas Hardy’s Jude the Obscure (1895), Emile Zola’s Germinal (1885), George Eliot’s The Mill on the Floss (1860), Mary Shelley’s The Last Man (1826), and Sir Walter Scott’s The Bride of Lammermoor (1819).

Your thoughts on this post, and examples of sad novels you’ve read?

Misty the cat says: “I was gonna give Dave this tree for his birthday but it’s stuck in the ground.”

My comedic 2024 book — the part-factual/part-fictional/not-a-children’s-work Misty the Cat…Unleashed — is described and can be purchased on Amazon in paperback or on Kindle. It’s feline-narrated! (And Amazon reviews are welcome. 🙂 )

This 90-second promo video for the book features a talking cat: 🙂

I’m also the author of a 2017 literary-trivia book

…and a 2012 memoir that focuses on cartooning and more, including many encounters with celebrities.

In addition to this weekly blog, I write the 2003-started/award-winning “Montclairvoyant” topical-humor column every Thursday for Montclair Local. The latest piece — about a VERY close budget referendum and a not-close but controversial development decision — is here.