In an article in The Daily Mail, Natalie Clarke touches upon the brief, 29-year-old life of Jack Landesman who killed himself recently. Landesman was the son of Julie Birchill and that is all it takes for you to make the link to my title. Let me say immediately that Ms. Birchill is one of my favourite commentators, she is never less than acidic and can spot a pomposity at a hundred paces. Alas, what she cannot do, and it was obvious even to an outsider like me for some years, is look in the mirror and apply the same searing truth-telling to herself.
Birchill was, if you like, a 'daughter' of the great 1960s sexual revolution when finally western societies embraced the world views of people like Nietzsche and Ibsen. 'Self' was, and still is, the new godhead. Thus, Birchill racketed through a hedonistic life style in which those who depended on her to the utmost, her children, were, in effect, spurned. One, quite literally; and the other, the unfortunate Jack, led to believe by his mother's example that gratification of self stood far higher than discipline or sacrifice.
Today, and it began before her son's suicide, Julie Birchill is seemingly lost in the rough seas between Christianity and Zionism and it seems from her Wiki entry that each time she approaches the shore of either of these religions the life-long practitioners drive her off with sharp sticks! She is, it seems to me, one of those infuriatingly good people who are just too dumb to see the trail of wreckage they have left behind themselves.
Even so, in this, the most harrowing of times for her, I wish her well.
(NOTE: I'm out for most of tomorrow so no blogging)