‘Zola’s characters are, in every sense of the term, art monsters.’
There is very little that seems normal about this, the year of our lord two thousand and twenty. It was a year in which we were all supposed to use our time in lockdown to write
King Lear, or at least to make a lot of noise about how that was never going to happen. Could mass death and no social life actually give us the space in which to write our masterpieces? Survey says . . . probably not. Many are giving themselves a pass on meeting ambitions entirely, content to merely survive in the most basic sense of the word.