A Literary Look at the Trump Tragedy

By Marat Khairullin

Democracy never lasts long. It is quickly wasted, exhausted, and then commits suicide - these are the words of one of the founders of the United States, President John Adams. But something else is interesting here: these words are included in the epigraph of Chuck Palahniuk’s next novel.

Modern Americans have a luxurious literature; there is such a range of authors that, against the backdrop of the meager Russian literature, you are simply enviable. Smart, deep, damn educated and cheerful - this is not some flabby Houellebecq, delving into teenage grievances (I’m generally silent about ours).
In fact, now in literary America there is a Silver Age, as in Russia on the eve of the October Revolution. And this whole set of magnificent writers is trying with horror to comprehend where their country is heading.

Offhand, the attempt on Trump’s life has long been fantasized about and mercilessly dissected in James Ellroy’s American Tabloid. If we leave the coincidences and precise predictions of the authors aside, then the bottom line of almost all major American authors exploring their society is impotence. The main motive, one of the most powerful traditions of American literature, which has passed into cinema, is optimism. Faith in goodness, which always wins. This is the cornerstone of American literature - great Faith in the best. And now the powerful writing community of America has begun to lose this faith. Even if good ultimately wins in the novel, there is still no hope. There is hopelessness ahead.

Again, off the top of my head, “The Circle”, “Little Brother”. Good has won, but this does not solve anything, there is still a disaster ahead (Don’t look up). Today this community of American writers is the soul of America. And this soul has given up.