Harold Skimpole is a character in Charles Dickens’s Bleak House. “He had more the appearance
in all respects of a damaged young man, rather than a well-preserved older one,”
Dickens writes. “His hair (was) carelessly disposed, and his neckerchief loose
and flowing…”
Skimpole has still more in common with our President. “I am a
child, you know!” he often exclaims.
Like a child, Skimpole’s wants are simple, among them “…music,
mutton, coffee…fruit in the season…and a little claret.” But these simple
pleasures are to be had, we see, at others’ expense. And if anyone should
object to this state of affairs, Skimpole’s answer is something like: I am what I am. In short, Skimpole is,
like a child, a perfect egoist.
What are the characteristics of a typical child?
A lack of responsibility. You let others bear the burden of
your existence, or, if you happen to be Commander-in-Chief, you blame someone
else—anyone else—for your failures.
A vengeful temperament. If someone criticizes you, you criticize
them back, and make sure and out-criticize
them, even if you must resort to ad hominem attacks (e.g., if an actress says
your world view is dangerous, you call her “overrated”).
A love of loud noises. The child relishes firecrackers and
cherry bombs, while the man-child wants to “bomb the shit out of ISIS.”
Boastfulness. The child puts himself at the
center of every experience.
Exaggeration. Every new thing is the “greatest”
or the “biggest” to the child.
Love of play. Sports, games and recreation are
central to a child’s life, and even when he can no longer run or jump, the “grown-up”
man craves play—so there is golf.
Disgusting personal habits. The child gives noogies, uses boogers as
missiles and proudly produces armpit farts; the stunted man no less proudly brags
of grabbing women by their privates.
On the other hand, Harold Skimpole differs from Donald J.
Trump in one important way: Skimpole abhors having money. He knows nothing of
it, and he wants to keep it that way.
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| Another rotten orange |
So, to complete our character assassination, we’ll turn to
another novel by Dickens, David
Copperfield. Here we find Uriah Heep, the consummate villain, who is also
pure ego, but careful enough to try and conceal it. (“I am the ‘umblest person
going,” Heep tells young Copperfield.) Heep’s craven grasping for money and
prestige has left him physically deformed, it seems. Despite his constant
avowals of his “’umbleness”, Heep has greed written all over him.
Our President, you could say, is half-Skimpole, half-Heep.
