I have total Trump fatigue, especially Trump parody fatigue, but I thought this was funny enough to overcome it.
The Elves, they’re very sharp. I know them, I have negotiated with them, I understand them, they respect me, because I have worked with them and made deals with them. Isildur was not a negotiator. The great House of Gondor, not a negotiator, none of them. That’s why they wander like losers in the woods now. The Elves are negotiators. They make deals, and they take us to the cleaners because the Men are led by losers. The Elves do not respect losers. Look at what happened the last time. “Oh no,” Elrond said, “you take the Ring, Isildur.” And Isildur, he’s a dummy — the Gondorians are dummies, all of them, their wives all tell me that, beautiful women except their country is stupid — and he takes it. What does it get him? Face down in a ditch, a very low-class waterway, filled with arrows.
I’ve been too busy to pay much attention to political news recently. All the debate, which I’m usually so invested in and outraged by has been a very distant buzz. This must be what it’s like to be a normal person. It’s quite nice. It occurred to me that I’m usually like a person listening to music with the headphones on, but to most people politics is an iPod accidentally switched on and playing in the pocket of someone’s jacket somewhere on the far side of the room.
I’ve been reading a lot. I just finished The Time Machine, by H G Wells. He invented the time travel genre! And reading it, I wondered: are there loads of really great literary genres still out there, un-invented? How do you invent a genre?
I also liked The Emperor of all Maladies, Siddhartha Mukherjee’s history of cancer. It’s good science writing, and I couldn’t help but love a book in which biologists are the heroes.