The Idiot was one of those struggling rich kid stories, of which there are far too many. Dostoevsky himself was an intermingling between merchant and priest , who like Saint Teresa of Avila, another child of the wealthy, endured an occasional epileptic episode. The heart of Dostoevsky's Idiot story, a title dripping with irony, runs this way: A young, Christian and Innocent Prince returns to polite society from a period of isolation where his personal narrative of sweetness and wet-eyed innocence is confronted by, shall we call them, fallen, corrupt and wicked narratives as well as a couple of very dangerous hot chicks with serious intentions. "So what?" I hear the call!! Well the answer to that question is PPPGPSNFM. Or the Political Pundit Podosphere Greedily Peddling Saintly Narratives For Money. Here, podosphere is defined as"podcasters and their audience." Those of us who still have a DVD from Blockbuster of David Lean's Laurence of Arabia, in full Technicolor, starring Omar Sharif and Peter O'Toole be wary of going anywhere near the Podosphere, and I'll tell you why: If you do such a thing, Dostoevsky predicted your fate, but unlike The Idiot Prince Myshkin, who didn't need health insurance you'll not be able to afford a comfortable rapture. Remember how Dostoevsky's account of a Christ-like figure navigating the folds of an unfettered ruling class ended. I'm sure we all do, but, just in case you think I don't know, the Idiot does the right thing, he enters a catatonic state and is returned to a sanatorium - otherwise known as a posh nut house - in idyllic Switzerland where unblemished men and women represented the heavenly host. Well that won't be for you or me, our fate will be a wooded slope somewhere being stared at by chipmunks, while Baxter recites the Beatitudes. (Mathew 5:3 12)
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