“The heroes of ages past slayed dragons, put beasts to bed, and now all the dragons are gone. Woman enters a sanitized world bereft of dangers and quests. What remains left to conquer? Humanity has eschewed the battles of brutality for more civil measures that are typical of societies where the rule of law is held—we do not solve our problems with violence, we solve them with logic. Or so we tell ourselves. Our obstacles are workplace obstacles. Our challenges are dealing with the insufferable, the obstinate, and the corrupt. Like Clarice, we are delayed, suspended, held back. The Minotaur’s labyrinth has been exchanged for a floor of cubicles that terminates in glass ceilings, rather than dead ends. Our problems cannot be solved with the same violence that suited the ancient world.
This is where the Starling Moment holds sway. We can watch it transpire in Hannibal (which makes one wonder if it should not have been better titled Starling.) We recognize it by its central character—a character who is intrinsically all of us, as we endure the unglamorous work and tasks and labors, with all its stops and starts. We recognize her because the source of her power is indivisible—it cannot be separated from her, but is intrinsic to her. Her experience, her integrity, her virtue. For any unique person, it could be all of these things, or different qualities all together—what makes each person’s value and worth in this world is unique to them, to us all.”
—Claudia Quint, “The Starling Moment” (BW/DR, June 2017)
“A few times in my life I’ve had moments of absolute clarity, when for a few brief seconds the silence drowns out the noise and I can feel rather than think, and things seem so sharp. And the world seems so fresh as though it had all just come into existence.”