Extremes fascinate me while, at the same time, repelling me by their very definition. Any argument that leaves no room for interpretation or viewpoint that is absolute is immediately suspect and brittle.
If, after all, one is going to accept quaint notions like gravity, one should apply the principles of general relativity across the entire spectrum of one’s life.
At the same time, there’s something undeniably alluring and comforting about certainty. Be it the faith of Pat Robertson which allows him to pop up with the most preposterous statements from time to time or the burning intensity of Omar Hammami.
The NYT has an impressive piece profiling the life of Mr. Hammami, Abu Mansoor Al-Amriki, the young Alabama native who’s now responsible for leading some of the fiercest military (or terrorist, depending again on frame of reference) attacks against the U.S. backed Somali government by the guerrilla group Shabab. It delves into not only the course of events in Al-Amriki’s life, but also the impact of his decisions on his family. I’m especially struck by the relationship between him and his granola-crunchy sister, Dena, and have begun working on a script describing it.
It’s a good, if disturbing, read; particularly provocative given Salinger’s death this week. In a way, Al-Amriki could be seen as a Holden Caulfield to the nth degree; a proactive protagonist who is sick of their perceived disaffection and has struck out.
Of course, I cannot stand Catcher In The Rye and, personally, rank it as the same literary weight as The Witch of Blackbird Pond or Flowers In The Attic, just, you know, with a penis.
