Politics & Politics

God bless the Harold Marches of the world:

Harold March, the rising reviewer and social critic, was walking vigorously across a great tableland of moors and commons, the horizon of which was fringed with the far-off woods of the famous estate of Torwood Park. He was a good-looking young man in tweeds, with very pale curly hair and pale clear eyes. Walking in wind and sun in the very landscape of liberty, he was still young enough to remember his politics and not merely try to forget them. For his errand at Torwood Park was a political one; it was the place of appointment named by no less a person than the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Sir Howard Horne, then introducing his so-called Socialist budget, and prepared to expound it in an interview with so promising a penman. Harold March was the sort of man who knows everything about politics, and nothing about politicians. He also knew a great deal about art, letters, philosophy, and general culture; about almost everything, indeed, except the world he was living in.

So begins Chesterton's novel, The Man Who Knew Too Much. I have given up entirely upon Ignatius Press and their supposed efforts to publish the entire Chesterton canon and have instead resorted to what is publicly available online. Thus my evening reading begins, aided by a glass of dry Spanish red and a healthy quantity of pepperjack and Triscuits. Alright, so the evening is long over...I should have said, so my painfully early morning begins, which result in my midday beginning later than it should. But back to GKC.