The Edge of Night

I'm very afraid, but I'm not sure how to explain the disquiet gnawing at me.

I've been looking for a metaphor to describe my growing trepidation about the impending Trump administration. The comparisons to Hitler have already begun to seem shrill, though they may, in the end, prove accurate. Well-reasoned articles on psychopathy and Trump have absorbed me for many months, but I can't go there (yet). I read a historical novel, many years ago, entitled, Night Falls on the City. It described the fragile brilliance of 1930s Vienna, prior to the Anschluss. But that's not quite right as a metaphor, either. Hitler's annexation of Austria was virtually bloodless. Many Austrians headed for the borders, but there was plenty of unforced cheering and flag-waving. That's a bit closer to our reality, but ...

Then it hit me. The Edge of Night.

 The Edge of Night was one of the earliest soap operas on American TV. Running from 1956 through 1984, it had a noir feel that I don't recall other soaps having. It featured rapes, murders, gangsters, corrupt politicians, crooked cops, bribe-seeking district attorneys, greedy lawyers, schemes, counterschemes, conspiracies .... just what I'm anticipating from life under Trump.

And the title screen was what I remember best. See above: the diagonal sheet of darkness overtaking the cityscape as an ominous basso voice announced the title: "The Edge .... of Night."

Here we go, into the night. God help us.

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