Red Pill by Hari Kunzru

Author:Hari Kunzru [Kunzru, Hari]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2020-09-01T07:00:00+00:00

THE FRENCH PHRASE is l’esprit de l’escalier, and there doesn’t seem to be an exact equivalent in English. Staircase wit. It’s an idiom that evokes the eighteenth century, the Paris of the Age of Reason. The philosophe has left the party, and is almost on the street when he thinks of the precise thing he should have said, the mot juste. With every fiber of his being, he wants to go back up, to say the words that have belatedly come to mind, to destroy his celebrated opponent’s position and reap the dazzling social rewards. He wants his wit to be recognized, but he can’t turn back time. It is already too late.

Take that regret, the fleeting moment after the door has shut, muffling the music and the sound of conversation, and raise the stakes, introduce the possibility that there is an existential risk to losing the debate. Of course an argument at a party isn’t any kind of action, neither can it bring about some particular version of the future, nor prevent it from coming to pass. That is mistaking the map for the territory, ascribing a power to words that they don’t possess, the power to bring into being the thing they name. Yet by allowing myself to be humiliated by Anton and his friends, I honestly felt I’d triggered a disaster, not just for me but for everyone and everything I cared about. In the future that was drawing me towards it, the future that I had failed to refute, there was nothing but horror. I couldn’t accept that. I couldn’t allow it. I had to make up for what I’d done, my failure to find the mot juste. At the time, I would have reacted impatiently to anyone who said I wasn’t thinking straight, that my decision to follow Anton to Paris wasn’t motivated by the coldest rationality.

I didn’t board my flight to New York. Uwe drove me to the airport, and helped me check my bags. He walked me to the security line and said goodbye, telling me that I should look after myself, he was sorry things had gone so badly for me. I can’t remember what I said. I may not have said anything. He watched me until I was almost at the desk to have my passport checked, then turned and walked away. As soon as he was out of sight, I ducked back under the tape, went over to one of the airline ticketing desks and bought a seat on the next flight to Orly.

I sat at a bar near my gate and drank a shot to steady my nerves before I made a call that I’d been putting off. Rei had left eight messages, all of which I’d ignored. She took a long time to pick up. As I listened to her phone ringing, Anton sniggered silently at my nerves. I said hello in my best and most natural voice and she asked what was going on. “Tell me you’re OK.

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