It’s called FLOWERS FOR ALGER-EMPIE.
This of course is a play on the title of a story. Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes. It was a short story that was turned into a novel back in the 1960s. About a mentally disabled named Charley who was given a serum which artificially makes him into a genius. Algernon was a mouse that, after being subject to the experiment also gained exceptional intelligence. Than, to the horror of Charley the mouse slowly slipped back to normalcy and died. Charley begins to watch his own slow slip back into retardation, knowing that he will also die soon.
The story works on several levels. It’s a relatively straight science fiction tale but it (like any good story) makes commentary on the human condition.
It’s wonderful. One of my favorites, a classic. Won the Hugo and Nebula awards.
Alfred’s poem not exactly a classic. No; it’s not classic at all.
I like this passage the best;
You want to have a ‘public’ hearing (“…I’ll be your huckleberry, dearie…”)? Say my name with disrespect and I’ll presume you lack respect. …And take it, then, upon myself to show you where you wrong yourself.
…Form a posse, or a guild… light a torchy lynch-mob, Phil! Gather *friends* around our *town* and humble me… please, bring me down! I can’t pay for better feedback! While, your victory couldn’t be more pyrrhic. It’s you and yours without a sack… it’s you and yours who fade to black… it’s you and yours who’s bringing knives (I wrote before) to gunfights, Clyde!
King Alfred; if I say your name in disrespect you can be sure there is a good reason. Because King Alfred, I only know you from the good words you write.
If you think threats are going to somehow change, me make me validate you, get me to stroke your ego or (what you really want,) make me silent in shame. I think you should closely examine what you want–and what you are likely to get.
I don’t lack respect deaire, I simple have little respect for you. Less and less all the time.
I will not threaten you Alfred, it’s not my style. I’m not forming a posse, you are. Crafted with words it forms itself. If you come after me sir, I shall know you. If you do not; I shall know your worth.
There is a third way, one that will earn my respect but I can’t tell you what it is, not here – not now.
So bring your weapons Alfred, bring your big guns, your prose, your razor whit. Have at me! Jeer at me! Mock me! Make me squirm. Have your revenge Alfred; get the bad guy. Destroy the evil in the world. All I have is what I have King Alfred. But with my poor tools–exegi monumentum aere perennius.
But, sir, as someone once told me. “when he points -one- finger of ignorant accusation, he invariably points -three- back at himself. I think those words are correct.
Don’t you?
Be seeing you Alfred.