"It recently dawned on me that there exists the opposite of the dark secret-the good action that never sees the light of day, never receives recognition, perhaps not even from the actor. Why this dawned on me I can't say. It's certainly not autobiographical-I'm not secretly a saint. Maybe I was trying to counteract the ever-strengthening tug of misanthropy, trying to tune out the morally deafening cacophony (from the Greek, meaning "evil sound") of defamation and self-congratulation that is the soundtrack of our times."
"Disclosure, or its lack, both shapes the story and is the subject of this story. I gave some thought to what P. might have done, turning over in my mind the various nasty stories that all of us hear, but, in the end, I worried that to reveal the nature of P.'s misdeed would undermine the logic of the story."
A narrator has lunch with his friend P., while a nasty rumor circulates about P. The narrator refuses to mention the rumor, and P. asserts that everyone has something to hide while also proposing a "light secret"—a good action that remains unseen and unrewarded. The narrator reflects on disclosure and the consequences of revealing or withholding information. He concludes that revealing too much can undermine coherence and that mystery should remain. The narrator, recently divorced during the pandemic and currently single, seeks to be surrounded by "fine souls." Withheld details underscore the theme of ambiguity and moral complexity.
Read at The New Yorker
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