Am I wrong to think that history is as comforting as a page-turner mystery novel, that when it's done, it appears to be somehow magically and completely "done?"
Whether horrific or edifying or spun with wonder, still there is something relaxed and lulling in a history which is, after all, "then." No matter how ornate the links of connection ... still, history is "then," a time of safety and false reassurance.
How hard -- or is it simply impossible? -- to imbue what is known of history with the same faceted, wriggling, wrinkled, wispy possibilities that invest this "now" -- a time that may not be relaxed and lulling at all, but soon enough will itself be "then."