Jose Saramago's Blindness, first published nearly a quarter-century ago, might be seen as a kind of "pandemic" novel in a similar way to Colin Whitehead's Zone One and Albert Camus' La Peste (The Plague). In the Portuguese writer's work, an epidemic of blindness affects nearly everyone in an unnamed city. Perhaps not surprisingly, the social order breaks down, along with the infrastructure and conditions in the asylum where the first of the afflicted end up.
I was thinking of it this morning, during a ride in which I did a couple of errands before going to work, because the way Saramago describes the sudden loss of sight is almost the opposite of the way most people picture blindness. Like most people, I have imagined the complete loss of sight in the way I imagine death: everything going black. But in Saramago's novel, for those stricken, everything suddenly goes white.
Now, I hope not to go blind, whether that means everything in the world going black, white or some other color or form I can't conceive. But, if I had to not see, for a moment, probably the best (or least-bad) way I can think of is this:
That was my view, if you will, from the Williamsburg Bridge. Now, if I were a tourist, I'm not sure of whether I'd feel that it added to the allure of the city or be disappointed that I didn't get that view of the skyline so many envision before coming here.
For those of us who've live in this city, a foggy morning might look more like this:
That is a view down 22nd Street in Long Island City, about half a mile from my apartment.
Of course, I made sure to use my "blinkies," front and rear. That might be a reason why I had no problem with the traffic--and enjoyed the views of what I couldn't see.
