Mediterranea

Whether or not Mediterranea is accurate in all particulars, I imagine that the general outline is faithful enough to reality, or at least to some portion of reality. The makers of the film must have intended it to have profound impact on the viewers, and I felt slightly uneasy that my first thought on leaving the cinema was of dinner. For all that the film was depressing, it did not interfere with my appetite in the slightest, and moreover when it came (my dinner, I mean) I ate it with as much gusto as if I had just seen a lighthearted and uplifting comedy. In fact, when I look back on my life I discover that nothing except illness has ever interfered with my appetite, and food has to be disgusting indeed before I will refuse to eat it. I do draw the line at McDonald’s.

I have seen some terrible things in my life”€”the remains of massacres and so forth”€”but I am afraid that even they have failed to put me off my dinner, though I have of course not been unmoved by what I saw. Is this fortitude of mind or stark insensibility? I ease my conscience by telling myself that refusal of dinner will help no one.

In fact, I am rather suspicious of extravagant shows of sensibility, especially in those who might benefit from such a show”€”politicians, for example. The deepest grief does not show itself; as Elizabeth Barrett Browning put it:

…Deep-hearted man, express

Grief for thy Dead in silence like to death”€”

Most like a monumental statue set

In everlasting watch and moveless woe

Till itself crumble to the dust beneath.

Touch it: the marble eyelids are not wet;

If it could weep, it could arise and go.