The decline of Downton Abbey

Downton Abbey was fun and entertaining for the first couple of years of its existence. Even season three had it moments. But it is now in its fifth year and these last two years have been pretty uniformly awful.

The characters, who were once fairly interesting, have descended into caricature. The plots, such as they are, seem to have been devised by not very bright fifth graders. The writing and the dialogue - well, other than the occasional bon mot by the Dowager Countess, the less said the better. It is all just too staid and predictable.

This season, we have seen Mary, the golden daughter whom everyone loves and whom every man that she meets wants to get into the pants of, become even more of a self-centered bitch than she ever was in the previous seasons. I know we are supposed to think she's wonderful and hang on her every word, but when she went riding in that steeplechase last week, I was really hoping she would fall off her horse and break her swan-like neck. Maybe then the damn Crawleys might finally pay some attention to their only surviving daughter, Edith.

Poor Edith. Julian Fellowes has obviously had it in for her from the beginning and is determined that she will never be happy, but she's really the only one of the Crawleys who seems like a decent human being with some potential to actually accomplish something in the world. Maybe that's why Mary dislikes her so much and is so cruel to her at every opportunity. The self-absorbed, narcissistic Mary cannot bear to have the spotlight on anyone else.

This is a soap opera, of course, which really means that nothing is ever resolved sensibly. Characters always choose the most convoluted and outlandish and thoroughly dishonest solution to every problem that presents itself. And it means that characters can never behave decently and civilly toward each other. There must always be Drama with a capital D. There certain is plenty of that - or at least histrionics - on the show this season. The problem is that none of it is believable and I don't give a fig about how any of it is resolved.

I haven't mentioned the below-stairs family, but the same criticisms apply there, most especially in regard to the Bates and Anna storyline. Really, I am so bored with these people! I say send them both to prison and throw away the key!

So, if I dislike the show so much, why do I keep watching it? AAARGH!!!! The truth is, I don't know. Maybe I'm just a glutton for punishment. Maybe I keep hoping it will finally get good again. After all, I've got all this time invested in watching it, I hate to see it dwindle into complete irrelevance. Or maybe I'm just filling that hour on Sunday night and waiting for the return of Game of Thrones.

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters! Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...

The Nature of Things

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