The Business, As Usual — Text and Context

Euphemism as Plot Engine

The story's language hinges on deliberate evasion. The Secretary's repeated use of 'Certain Powers' and 'Certain Areas' is not mere politeness but a structural constraint: it forces the President to dance around the obvious, creating a rhythm of frustration. When the President finally blurts 'Rus—' and is cut off, the interruption itself becomes a gag. This verbal tiptoeing extends to the plane's purpose: 'We just want to shake it a bit,' says the Secretary, ruling out leaflets, aggression, or even cloud-seeding. Each rejected option tightens the comedic deadlock. The dialogue's pace accelerates as the President's suggestions grow more desperate, from ads to 'a small—well, you know,' which the Secretary immediately shuts down as 'Aggression.' The euphemisms are not just window dressing; they are the mechanism that keeps the plot from resolving, building toward a punchline that subverts the entire premise.

Voice and Characterization Through Speech

Sharkey differentiates his three main characters almost entirely through their manner of speaking. The President is colloquial and blunt: 'Why don't we ever come out and just say it?' and 'They don't like us anyhow, do they?' His language is full of contractions and rhetorical questions, conveying impatience. The Secretary, by contrast, speaks in formal, policy-laden sentences: 'We've always walked softly in our Foreign Policy; especially softly in cases where we didn't have the 'big stick' to carry.' His careful phrasing and parenthetical asides ('No contusions intended, of course') mark him as a career bureaucrat. Blake, who appears later, speaks in hesitant fragments ('Methods?' asked Blake, a little nervously), suggesting a subordinate out of his depth. When the diplomatic note arrives, the Secretary's hands 'opened limply' and he whispers, a sudden shift from his earlier composure. The President's reaction—'The dirty, lowdown, rotten....'—is cut off, leaving his fury hanging. These vocal tics create distinct personalities without physical description.

Pacing and the Twist Ending

The story's structure is a long, escalating setup followed by a swift, ironic payoff. For most of the excerpt, the dialogue loops through variations of 'What can we do?' with no progress. The President's suggestions grow more absurd, the Secretary's objections more pedantic. Then, abruptly, a knock at the door. The pace shifts: the envelope is torn open, the message falls, and the President reads it in silence. The revelation—'He's confessed'—is delivered in three words, without explanation. The preceding banter about radar planes and 'Certain Powers' is suddenly reframed as a distraction. The confession of 'Teddy' (presumably a spy or diplomat) undercuts the entire debate over the plane, suggesting that the real threat was internal all along. The story ends on that note, leaving the reader to infer the implications. This abrupt tonal shift from farce to something darker is the story's central structural gambit.

Readers should pay close attention to how the story's title—The Business, As Usual—echoes through the dialogue. The phrase 'business as usual' is never spoken, but the characters' obsession with protocol and euphemism embodies it. The final twist invites a reread: does the earlier debate about the plane become ironic in light of Teddy's confession? Sharkey leaves that question open, trusting the reader to connect the dots.

The rain on the windowsill made the absurd Cold War chatter in The Business, As Usual feel almost cozy, like static from a distant radio. After closing it, I drifted to a shelf and pulled down something quieter, a collection that lingered on weather and wanderings. It felt less like a departure and more like an exhale, that book, Fresh Air Fiend — Story, Setting & Ideas, easing the satire’s sharp edges into something softer, like afternoon light fading. A gentler kind of searching.