There’s a certain cadence to empire; the slow rhythm of a hegemonic behemoth coming to be and then passing. The Twentieth Century saw the convergence of four great empires, and we are left with the literary and economic aftermath in spectacular fashion. The Great War brought about the end of the Ottoman Empire; and it likewise marked the birth of the Greatest Generation in America; the prolonged and difficult contraction of the British Empire; and the rise of the Soviet Union. Consequently, the competing economy of ideas produced a truly panglossic marketplace of literary structures, modes, and genres. This exchange of thought and creation proliferated into an ontological paradise for artists, both low and high, of print and like-print media.
By the end of the Twentieth Century, India would be free, and South Africa would be a slowly integrating nation. The reach of the British Empire remained in tact, but new commonwealths brought generations of newly free people voices and opportunities hitherto extremely rare and filtered; and with this, new chimera of form and mode. Indeed, as voices previously marginalized gained traction and tenor, new ideas were mined as resources for the intellectual industry of falling and rising monsters, each concurrently benevolent and sinister in almost all regard: a curious paradox of the boundary between empire and colony. In one such everywhere, the Magistrate follows his own conviction to the boundary between desire and death. His is the aphanisis of a very reluctant protagonist.
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Corolinth wrote:
Facism is not a school of thought, it is a racial slur.
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