In Praise of Stormy Daniels

Trump New York Trial Diary, Entry #15

Good Evening:

The view across the Hudson River from lower Manhattan. No filters of any kind.

I want a hero: an uncommon want,
    When every year and month sends forth a new one,
Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant,
    The age discovers he is not the true one;
Of such as these I should not care to vaunt,
    I’ll therefore take our ancient friend Don Juan—
We all have seen him, in the pantomime,
Sent to the devil somewhat ere his time.

Don Juan, Canto the First, Lord Byron

Stormy Daniels is a porn star. She has engaged in extortion-adjacent activity. Her account of her own behavior and motives on the witness stand this week did not always, shall we say, have the ring of perfect candor. She has been mercenary. Her story has changed. She seems to believe in ghosts. She’s a bit of a scammer, if we’re being truthful.

And yet, having watched the presentation of evidence in the first Trump trial almost in its entirety, I want to say that she is—unequivocally and without question—the most attractive (and no, I don’t mean that in the physical sense) character in this entire escapade. She is the only figure in it with whom it is remotely possible for a decent human being to identify. She is the only figure in it one might want to break bread with or have a conversation with. She is the only character through whose eyes it makes sense to watch this particular play.

Like the Fool in King Lear, she is the moral voice of the drama.