It suddenly occurred to me today, teaching A Streetcar Named Desire, specifically the bit where Stanley brutally rapes Blanche, that all four of the texts I've been teaching my Language & Literature classes across the last couple of years, feature, in varying degrees, moments of grotesque violence. And all, in some degree, admit of the possibility that inflicting violence on others might be satisfying in some sense.
Gosh, that's a dark, disturbing idea.
The problem is that it's true, for some people at least. I wonder how many. A few outliers? Or most of us? On a bright & shiny day I think I can convince myself it's the former. But today was a bit of a grey one. A bit too dark. A bit too Kowalski-ish.
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