A Christmas Message from Adam Carlton

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Joyeux Noël à tous mes lecteurs,

Yes, yes... I know. Once again I’m photographed beneath the Trotskyist hammer and sickle, that faded relic of revolutionary chic.

“Isn’t this just the French version of Sally Rooney cosplay?” you ask. “Aestheticised Marxism as lifestyle accessory, hollow as a gentrified café in Belleville?”

I’ll spare you the discursive rebuttal: this blog is already overstocked with Marxist rake-overs and theoretical post-mortems. Listen to Camus:

« Je me révolte, donc nous sommes. »

Rebellion, after all, remains the last refuge of those too lucid to believe and too dignified to conform. La révolte demeure le dernier refuge de ceux qui refusent d’être pris pour des dupes.

And truth be told, épater la bourgeoisie has its compensations. One is rarely short of invitations. The wine is decent. And every now and then, some bickering offshoot of the ruling class borrows your slogans: usually without comprehension but always without irony.

« Cynique, moi ? Jamais. Mais m’accuser de regarder la réalité droit dans les yeux — à cela, je plaide toujours coupable. »

À bientôt,

Adam.

PS. A while ago I wrote a poem...