We Live in the Best of Times

Esmond Fortune

We Live in the Best of Times

I, Mr. Esmond Fortune, formerly of Affluent Avenue, Dublin More, am loathe to recount my recent unpleasant experiences, but I feel I have an obligation to do so. I apologise in advance if you feel traumatised by the graphic details provided below, but it would be remiss of me not to inform you of the horrors now widespread in our society; horrors precipitated by a most distasteful economic downturn; horrors which I feel no decent man should have to bear. “We Live in the Best of Times”, only one with a most perverse sense of humour could venture such a shocking statement in these harsh, unforgiving times. Allow me to furnish you with the particulars of my predicament.

I have been long aware that the Irish climate is unpredictable, as we are prone to sudden changes in temperature and rainfall. Imagine my shock however, when I was cruelly made aware that the economic climate, seemingly a close relative of the weather, also suffers from severe instability. The Irish property market, in which I had invested heavily, suddenly collapsed. In an instant my numerous properties, many of which I was still paying a mortgage on, were stripped of their value. In a further wicked turn of events, my shares in the various banks were rendered worthless. I had been stripped of my means, and forced, by my financial situation, to live the life of a peasant.

The first injustice I suffered was my necessary enrollment as a recipient of Social Welfare, known in layman’s terms as “The Dole”. As an individual held in high esteem, and of great breeding, I was appalled to find myself surrounded by individuals most base and common. It is perplexing that in these supposedly great times I should have to rub shoulders with such undesirables. The tracksuit-wearing proletariat was out in great force, and as I queued, the air stank distinctly of booze, cigarettes and body odour. The recipients were in high spirits, owing to their imminent collection of the week’s drink money. Repulsed as I was by their presence, I exercised my great willpower by waiting in line until my turn came, upon which time I was presented with my allotment, and I could not conceive how such a paltry sum could possibly even pay for my evening meal, for I had at that time been partial to caviar.

The next unpleasant manifestation of my financial woes was soon to unfold. Having sold my prized automobile, I had no choice but to avail of something called “Public Transport” in order to get from A to B. This is a service whereby a large number of people who cannot afford cars are carted by way of a large capacious vehicle to certain destinations. Having boarded one of these vehicles I momentarily forgot myself, and offering my credit card to the driver, I requested First Class. My request was most rudely met with a scornful laugh, and I was asked to relinquish a small sum of money for the service. With the fare paid, I viewed the vehicle’s interior. Immediately I was reminded of a cattle truck, as the passengers were packed in together in nauseatingly close proximity. The seating was also unsegregated. Resultingly, I had no choice but to take my seat beside an individual of questionable decency. I consequently did not enjoy the journey, and I feared for my possessions as well as my life on several occasions. Such torturous conditions ought not to be suffered by any man, particularly those of class and distinction, amongst whose number I count myself.

In order to raise funds I had no choice but to sell my stately premises on Affluent Avenue, and to move to a most unsavoury apartment block in Ballybreadline, a working class development in North Dublin. My family and I made the delightful acquaintance of Dylan, our new flatmate who can be heard coming down the corridor by the jingling of his cheap jewellery. Dylan has never heard of caviar, claims the dole in several counties, drinks milk with his dinner, lives from week to week and has neither class nor table manners, as proven by a recent episode when I returned to the apartment to find him eating my steak like a candy apple, with the fork stuck in the middle and him tearing at it like a starving pitbull, an animal which I would have no trouble envisaging him owning. More disturbing still is the effect Dylan has had on my family, particularly my young son, who picked up a few choice expletives and has taken to wearing a Celtic jersey around the flat.

It became clear that my family and I were in dire need of a holiday in order to put behind us the hellish few weeks we had so nobly endured. Lacking sufficient funds to sojourn in our Caribbean villa, we were forced to holiday in Ireland. Aiming to get as far away as possible from Dublin’s Northside, we planned a stay in Kilkee. Having never holidayed previously in Ireland, I looked forward to a new experience, and assured myself that a most pleasant stay would result. Upon arrival, I initially believed I had taken a wrong turn, for this particular location was maggoty with plebeians. The aforementioned plebs seemingly spent their days crawling from the pub to the betting office. They evidently knew nothing of art, cricket, classical music, horse riding, wine or any other of life’s great pleasures in which I frequently indulge. I regret to inform you that during my stay my life was endangered on several occasions, particularly when one ruffian stared at me in a most pugnacious manner, before heckling me in a nasal, high-pitched voice which I subsequently decided was the sound of poverty itself. We spent the entire stay holed up in our hotel room, doors locked, windows fastened and lights turned off, a necessary precaution I assure you, which most probably saved our lives. Only at daybreak, when the town’s inhabitants had retired to their squalid doorways, did we see fit to make a safe escape. I must profess, I won’t be making a return visit to Kilkee and it’s truculent locals in the foreseeable future, as I value my life too much to do so.

These times cannot justifiably be called “The Best of Times”, for they have stripped me, an honest citizen and member of the upper-class, of my means and brought me to my knees, brought me to a way of life that I never knew existed, and that surely cannot be commendable?

Esmond Fortune

Honest critique please

Antilles

An honest critique? Your piece comes across as a fairly poor, two dimensional attempt at satire. Your writing style suggests you are more concerned with revelling in the downfall of those you consider undeservedly wealthy, rather than with examining what are actually like, or what their motivations are. Your central premise seems to be that rich (or, formerly rich) people are cardboard cut-out stereotypes, with no individual thoughts or motivations beyond your own limited views.

It hangs together reasonably well as a piece of text. The narrative, such as it is, flows well and I had no problem finishing it, but I would suggest that before you attempt to satirise a group of people, you try holding more than a ten minute conversation with one of them. In this case, your attempt at lampooning the once-wealthy comes across as bitter, ill conceived, and generally mean spirited.

Esmond Fortune

Thanks for the critique.

I intended it as a light hearted, comical satire, and there was not not supposed to be much in the way of depth, except perhaps the last line suggesting that the recession may be advantageous in one respect. So I guess it was just supposed to be funny, and not meant to be taken seriously.

Thanks for the help.

fliptzer

I normally don't respond to threads like this as I know from my own experience how sometimes honest opinion can be disheartening. But... I actually enjoyed it!

Could be tightened up a bit to make it flow a bit easier, ie. don't repeat what you've said or hinted at in the previous sentence as it slows the pace.

As for style, I liked it, imagined a D4 sterotype with a bowler hat giving out about the under classes. lol. Great little short story but it couldn't really be worked out into anything longer as I feel the style could get a bit tiresome after a few chapters.

But thanks for posting it.

Poppy78

Reminds me of Myles na gCopaleen. May not work as a book as the last poster said, but I could see it as a weekly newspaper column. I liked the public transport bit and the drinking milk with dinner . The holiday bit seemed like repitition though.

I liked the tone of your prose a lot. The style had a Dickensian upper class clarity. The piece is very well written and consistent. Often when people create such an outlandish caricature it is difficult to keep up the pretense and some of their ordinary prose will start to slip in, you kept true to your protagonist until the end.

blacon9

Antilles wrote: »

An honest critique? Your piece comes across as a fairly poor, two dimensional attempt at satire. Your writing style suggests you are more concerned with revelling in the downfall of those you consider undeservedly wealthy, rather than with examining what are actually like, or what their motivations are. Your central premise seems to be that rich (or, formerly rich) people are cardboard cut-out stereotypes, with no individual thoughts or motivations beyond your own limited views.

It hangs together reasonably well as a piece of text. The narrative, such as it is, flows well and I had no problem finishing it, but I would suggest that before you attempt to satirise a group of people, you try holding more than a ten minute conversation with one of them. In this case, your attempt at lampooning the once-wealthy comes across as bitter, ill conceived, and generally mean spirited.

Youre the one who sounds bitter. You obviously took some personal offence to the piece for some reason, i'm guessing because youre wealthy.

I've read books that have made white people look cruel for their racism and books that have made the irish look like nothing but thugs, and was not offended, even though i am white and irish. Being offended by a piece of writing is selfish. You need to take the writers point of view.

This piece is in no way prejudice against rich people. It only deals with ONE rich family, not all of them. In no place does it say 'everyone with money lives their life like this'. The story is just based on one particular family who do.


The piece was extremely well written Esmond, the language is fantastic, and it's all very clever.

pickarooney

It's a little too unsubtle to be good satire, but it flows nicely and has some potential. The narrator seems about 5 classes removed from even the most élite of Dubliners, so it comes across as slapsticky, but then again you might be cleverly using wild exaggeration to make a point. I don't know what that point is, though.

PurpleBee

To me this character is not of our times but finds himself in them somehow. I mean I could imagine him living within the confines of a dickensian novel but patronising dublin bus is a bit of stretch. And for me thats where the humour lies, although I think alot of the potential is as yet untapped.

heinrichaussler

OP, I actually like a lot of what you did here; as a satire it works quite well.
I love how you have overblown the character, and that his overtly flowery language correlates perfectly with his misguided and out-of-date attitude.

I'll admit, when I first started reading this, I was thinking "OP, are you for fcuking real?" but the real brilliance here was how long you kept me going. Like a Chris Morris sketch, it took me a few minutes to cop on to the comedy behind it.

I'm still smiling. This was a very, very good piece*.

*Unless you meant it, lol:D

Antilles

blacon9 wrote: »

Youre the one who sounds bitter. You obviously took some personal offence to the piece for some reason, i'm guessing because youre wealthy.

I'm as working class as curry sauce, mate, so there's nothing "obvious" about it. Never had more than two grand to my name, and that's when I was saving to pay repeat fees in college.

I wasn't offended, because I've nothing to be offended by. I think that OP's piece comes across as trite, and despite obviously being in the minority, I stand by that. The writing, as I said, hangs together reasonably well. OP can write well and if he'd pick a different topic, or research this one a bit better I've no doubt he could put together something I'd enjoy - but this aint it.

I think your own "guess" about me is informing your reading of my post, blacon9. OP asked for an honest critique and I gave it. You say this piece is in no way prejudice against rich people, but if you wrote an Irish character, or a gay character, or a black character, acting in an over the top, stereotypically Irish/gay/black way, you'd be called on it straight away.

Arguing that one "where da white wimmin at" black character isn't racist (because its only describing "ONE" black guy) holds no water, and neither does claiming that OP's piece is not prejudiced against the formerly wealthy because its only *ONE* rich idiot.