Bozo and the Golden Troll
a fairy tale featuring Bozo's sole adventure as a super-anti-hero
Though I suspect most of you know that fairy tales fall under fiction, let me emphasize for the hard-hearted that any resemblance to actual persons, movements, places, or moral and emotional incompetence portrayed in the following are strictly coincidental.
I’ve never been a fan of the superhero genre. It is claimed by its proponents that the simplification inherent in its storytelling is a useful tool for the moral instruction of the young. I disagree. The ultimate standard may be binary – right or wrong – , but if moral judgment was easy, we wouldn’t need to offer any instruction to begin with. Doing the right thing can be hard at times, due to physical or social circumstances, or because we are tempted to choose a path of less resistance otherwise. I still think morality is not a grand thing – involving explosions and other destructive nonsense on a wide screen – but more like a seed nurtured with daily care and patience. It is a sturdy tree we are all required to grow with love, self-interest (because it gives us reason for righteous pride), while integrating us in a healthy social structure. That is why this story may come across more as a fairy tale than anything else.
So why would I suggest in the byline that Bozo, at last, fulfilled the role he had always hoped to perform, ever since his stunted youth? That’s because, despite himself and his endless, tedious anger, he finally found a part he could play along a simple moral spectrum. I will leave it up to you, the reader, to decide what side he was on, and if this story features heroes at all, or merely the type of posers that today’s world does not stop to smear in our faces.
It all took place in the land of Narcisso-Obstipatia, and though local culture had it that Narcisso-Obstipatians defined themselves by the quality of their thoughts, and our protagonists were convinced they were engaged in a battle for some prize of honor, their actions, yes, their very demeanor betrayed that they were truly enmeshed in a fight of unmastered emotions. Did I say emotions? Was Bozo not known for his rage and his incessant picking of fights with acquaintances and strangers? And was his opponent, Suppressitory, not considered an ice-cold beacon of rules throughout the realm? It took me, as it took us all, a while to grasp the vacuum fueling their battles. As well as to acknowledge that their seemingly so contrarian behaviors derived from the same incapacity. But once acknowledged, it could not be unseen. Unmanaged emotions ruled the realm. It may have been the true tragedy of this impotent little people: they were so busy hiding behind the shield of rationality, brandishing their version of morality like a sword, that they were unable to recognize the driving force in their founder’s passion, which had made her miss the mark, as well, sometimes. The Narcisso-Obstipatians were insensitive to both disruptive truths. And ignoring her warnings on emotions taking their own course, unchecked, they pretended to reside beyond feelings. This surely made Bozo’s crusade a fiasco upon conception.
Bozo would drive around town in his Bozomobile, causing many an accident, and scaring the crap out of those whose path he saw an opportunity to cross. Obviously, he was a dubious contender in a realm of ‘rationality’ from the get-go. The excuse he had was that he was battling forces much worse – and from places far removed from Narcisso-Obstipatia at that. Suppressitory, as Bozo’s opponent, played a part that had to be his contrary, though the distinction was superficial in the end. What is uncontrolled anger in the face of its denial? Is the anger going to subsist? Or is it going to flare up that much more powerfully, demanding its right to be heard? Suppressitory would come up with ever-changing rules, granting her the illusion of control, and him a daily fresh wall to bash his head against. On these terms they vied for favor from the Narcisso-Obstipatians.
How can I describe life in Narcisso-Obstipatia? Highlight of social life – if such it was – was the annual Rationalization Camp. The attendants would be chastised, encouraged to strive to the appropriate level of anger and indignation, and after various sessions around a common theme sent back out into a world for which they felt a renewed level of superiority and antagonism. So strengthened, they went forth and procreated, though not to any enthusiastic extent. Central to the psychology of the Narcisso-Obstipatian was an a priori rejection of anything not appearing in the mirror. This allowed them to blame the rest of the world for their lack of recognition. If you think that may have been a short-sighted strategy, they believed they had the ultimate rebuttal. Any argument, whether internal or with someone on the outside, would be concluded with the morality card. Not seeing things their way meant the espousal of evil. And after this stern and definitive judgment, any obligation of courtesy, or the recognition of shared humanity, were archived.
The result was that the whole of Narcisso-Obstipatia was in a constant process of rearrangement and realignment based on the latest quarrel. The importance of this continuous group formation may seem strange for a people avowedly espoused to individualism. For me it was a valuable lesson in distrusting anyone needing a quotation to define who they are. So it was in this social fabric that our protagonists vied for attention, raising their little voices for recognition from this group or that faction. Now the key to such acknowledgement was firmly held by the Gatekeepers. And this may seem odd for a people, like the Narcisso-Obstipatians, avowedly so committed to thinking for oneself, but this was how their world turned.
Yes, indeed, you may have sensed already that the buyer’s market for either Bozo’s anger or Suppressitory’s rulemaking was not promising, in the absence of the grand fiat of the Gatekeepers. But it so happened that a novel focus for their vehement competition presented itself. Nobody was allowed to speak of it. And nobody was even to acknowledge its existence. Maybe the troll sensed that from this unacknowledged existence an only greater power flowed. But whatever the case, all the powers of the Gatekeepers – however imagined these were – became invested in this creature, which begot an ugliness which was commensurate with the golden status accorded to it.
The troll being golden, therefore, should be understood within the logic of the story. There was nothing extraordinary about the troll. As any other troll, it sought to please – which in the present circumstances led to an unfortunate sequence of events, with an audience that only sought the love and admiration that the Narcisso-Obstipatians were refusing to grant. So it was in these conditions that our opponents incessantly sought to puff up the little troll, which in its turn obligingly gave a bit of credence to each, as it got its stomach full.
How this troll had come into their lives, nobody knew. Malign voices suggested the troll had been the product of an unwholesome tryst between the two. Whatever the truth may be, Suppressitory did pretend to ownership of the creature. Though this may seem strange for someone prone to bloviate about the self-determination of the individual, to have the troll respond to her own little rules seemed to grant her a selfish pleasure. And as I am sure the reader is ready to intuit, this is where the clashes between the two got out of hand. Every little tort resented by Bozo in his simpleton’s two-position heart, amounted to a giant taunt, raising him to fury. Suppressitory was quick to respond with her ever-modulating rules, obtained from theory deprived of feeling. The iciness of her response, of course, only provoked the deepening rage of Bozo. This, in turn, only seemed to empower Suppressitory, who responded to each supposed transgression with more cold directives, and sanctions suspended above Bozo’s head. Had he had the brains to analyze, he would have understood he was merely an externalized pawn in the game of regulatory obsession in his opponent’s brain. He was what she would not admit. Suppressitory, on the other hand, declined to distance herself from Bozo. And despite complaining that the troll discerned in him some quality it found lacking in herself, even seemed to derive some selfish pleasure from keeping their contention going.
Travelers would sometimes get caught in the web of their pitiable and destructive battles. Each of them would parade the troll before a restricted audience, ostentatiously sworn to secrecy. As the Narcisso-Obstipatians had stopped to feign even the fake interest they had shown in the adversaries at some point, newcomers were a welcome addition to these meetings. Each of them would call on the troll to audition, while the anti-hero would lament the deprivations incurred because of their adversary. I’ve talked to several strangers who felt called upon to supply what the troll was alleged to be lacking – on account of the other claimant’s deficiencies. One traveler was basically stripped raw. He supplied both the material sustenance the one refused to give, and the empathy the other fought so hard to hide. But when he challenged the wisdom of puffing up the troll, he was unceremoniously removed. I wish I could have warned him. The Narcisso-Obstipatians look cold upon humanity. They might invite you into their lives, and you might reciprocate by letting them into your most private sphere, with your most intimate feelings and personal fears. But if they keep insisting on the importance of privacy, chances are they are hiding from themselves.