Regarding the passing of Queen Elizabeth II, first I must say that I divested myself from any further interest in the monarchy on 8 July 1915, having successfully died for George V at Houplines, France.
That, and the fact that this is my second lifetime as an American left libertarian who is none too enthused about the very concept of monarchy, is important for understanding why I’m a detached observer here.
Elizabeth II always felt more like a brand to me. A picture of a person who, for all intents and purposes, could have been as made up as Betty Crocker and it would have made little difference. I have a bunch of coins with her face on them, from the UK, Canada, Bermuda, and Hong Kong, and these are only the countries I actually have coins from with her face on them because there are a bunch more.
When I was a student in London in the 2000s, like most Americans getting familiar with the city I started with a place everyone recognizes, Piccadilly Circus. For an American that’s London’s front door; indeed the front door to the entire UK. In and around that fabled interchange, and throughout the city until one finds the interesting spots beyond the tourist areas, there are dozens of gift shops selling snow globes, t-shirts, coffee mugs, toy double deckers, Union Jack briefs, and of course, everything to do with the monarchy. Souvenir books and magazines, ash trays, commemorative plates, souvenir spoons and shot glasses, etc.
The monarchy is very much a brand, one that attracts tacky people who, having no taste of their own, hope to emulate what one duchess or another is wearing, or to develop a sense of class by sympathetic magic. It attracts people who are obsessed with celebrity scandal and gossip. It attracts lonely people who develop unhealthy parasocial relationships with the Royals. And many of the most avid adherents of British royalism in the present age (especially those outside the UK and the commonwealth) are some combination of the three.
And they do indeed exist outside the UK. Those souvenir plates and ashtrays sold in tatty London gift shops are most often bought by Americans, hoping the very image of Queen Elizabeth or the rest of the Royals will bring a touch of class to their sad little homes. There’s a reason Hyacinth Bucket from “Keeping Up Appearances” is funny over here too, because she’s an archetype that very much exists here.
So the death of Queen Elizabeth II is, to me, like a brand I had never sought out but was never far from suddenly vanished. Wow. She’s really gone. Like Oldsmobile or KMart or Blockbuster.
And I apologize if this perspective is at all disrespectful or rude. But I’m not saying any of this to be edgy. There’s plenty of edginess out there regarding the Royals, and I’m so over it. One can only go on so long like a pizza cutter, all edge and no point. All I can be is dispassionate and disillusioned by the spectacle of royalty and rater bemused about the intensity of obsession even here, in Portland Oregon.
One more thing: it’s going to take me some time to not shudder when I hear “God Save The King” sung. The last time I heard the lyric sung as “king” with any frequency would have been in 1914 and the last time ever would have been before 1952, past lives on both accounts. Like Victoria, her life spanned two of mine.
Severe Deja Vu 