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"> **You’re organizing a literary dinner party. Which three writers, dead or alive, do you invite?**\n> \n> James Baldwin, Shakespeare, Franz Kafka. If I could have three more, at this moment in time, I would choose Albert Camus, Jane Jacobs and Jane Austen. With our group of five or eight (I’d invite my husband too), we would talk about the questions each author grappled with—the balance between social responsibility and individual freedom, and how people and communities can evolve to be more inclusive, more kind, have a greater and broader sense of solidarity, while still respecting individual liberties; what provokes or blocks those changes; and what stories might resonate today to encourage us toward kindness, respect and mutual dignity. And, I’d be tempted to ask Frederick Douglass and Jesus Christ to tea to ask similar questions. —[New York *Times Book Review*](https://www.nytimes.com/2017/02/23/books/review/chelsea-clinton-by-the-book.html)\n\n*CHELSEA CLINTON*{: .small}: Is everyone comfy? Got something to nosh on? Jane, would you like to try a quinoa empanada? They’re sustainably sourced.\n\n*JANE AUSTEN*{: .small}: I do not know what any of those words mean.\n\n*CLINTON*{: .small}: I know how you feel, girlfriend\\! So, you’ve all got that *what-the-heck-is-going-on* look on your faces. Long story short: when we were winding down the Clinton Global Initiative, we had just enough trillions left in the budget to reanimate the corpses of six great writers, personally curated by me—\n\n*ALBERT CAMUS*{: .small}: I am back from the void?\n\n*CLINTON*{: .small}: Don’t interrupt, Albert. Unfortunately, the science only lasts for, like, two hours or something—just long enough for us to have a dream dinner party\\! Under your plate you’ll find talking points and our agenda . . . \\[*CLEARS THROAT*{: .small}\\] “How can communities evolve to be more inclusive, with a broader sense of solidarity? What stories might resonate today to encourage us toward mutual dignity?” And . . . go\\!\n\n*AUSTEN*{: .small}: Again, these words . . . so devoid of meaning.\n\n*JAMES BALDWIN*{: .small}: Well, this *is* embarrassing.\n\n*CLINTON*{: .small}: What is?\n\n*BALDWIN*{: .small}: For a devout atheist to be given such visceral proof that Hell is real.\n\n*CLINTON*{: .small}: You’re not in Hell, silly\\! This is my dining room. That’s my china. Those are my chef’s heirloom-zucchini “meat” balls.\n\n*CAMUS*{: .small}: Why did you do that with your fingers?\n\n*WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE*{: .small}: I am bewitched, methinks.\n\n*CLINTON*{: .small}: Indeed not, my good Will\\! But if confusion be the food of life, play on. Or something. How does that go?\n\n*FRANZ KAFKA*{: .small}: I confess, I find this intriguing. What must the world be like outside those windows?\n\n*CLINTON*{: .small}: Yes, it’s changed a *lot* since you were alive. But on a more interesting subject: What provokes or blocks the evolution of a community’s solidarity?\n\n*KAFKA*{: .small}: Errr . . .\n\n*BALDWIN*{: .small}: Does anyone have a light?\n\n*CLINTON*{: .small}: No smoking\\!\n\n*BALDWIN*{: .small}: Why not?\n\n*CLINTON*{: .small}: It’s bad for you.\n\n*BALDWIN*{: .small}: I’m going back into the ground in less than two hours and you’re worried about my *health*?\n\n*CLINTON*{: .small}: Yes\\! I don’t think you know how bad it is.\n\n*BALDWIN*{: .small}: I’ve had enough of . . . Hey, this door is locked\\!\n\n*CLINTON*{: .small}: I anticipated that some of you might have trouble focussing, so I took the liberty of securing the exits.\n\n*JANE JACOBS*{: .small}: Please\\! Let me see my grandchildren\\!\n\n*CLINTON*{: .small}: Maybe I will—*after* you tell me what the balance between social responsibility and individual liberty is.\n\n*JACOBS*{: .small}: Uh . . . forty-five per cent?\n\n*CLINTON*{: .small}: Fascinating. What do you think, Franz Kafka?\n\n*JACOBS*{: .small}: Are you a lunatic?\n\n*CLINTON*{: .small}: No, I’m the vice-chair of the Clinton Foundation. My bio is on the third page of the agenda.\n\n*CAMUS*{: .small}: I’m sorry, but . . . you picked *me*? I mean, I certainly have a healthy ego, but there are so many other people—writers, thinkers—who could have spoken more eloquently to your topic: Dickens, Lao Tse, Christ . . .\n\n*CLINTON*{: .small}: He’s on my list. I’m planning a tea party for him and Frederick Douglass next week.\n\n*BALDWIN*{: .small}: As long as we’re here . . . Will, would you mind telling us who the Fair Youth and the Dark Lady of the Sonnets were?\n\n*SHAKESPEARE*{: .small}: Well, everyone’s dead, so I can see no harm. The Fair Youth was—\n\n*CLINTON*{: .small}: Gentlemen\\! We’re getting off track\\! Social responsibility\\! Individual freedom\\! Inclusivity\\!\n\n*KAFKA*{: .small}: My God—she has a gun\\!\n\n*CLINTON*{: .small}: A Colt .45 revolver, to be exact. Now make with the dinner conversation. This is going to be my next book.\n\n*AUSTEN*{: .small}: Surely, you wouldn’t actually murder us—\n\n*CLINTON*{: .small}: Wouldn’t I, Jane?\n\n*CAMUS*{: .small}: Argh\\!\n\n*BALDWIN*{: .small}: She killed Camus\\!\n\n*CLINTON*{: .small}: He was right—he *was* expendable. And curiously, I feel nothing. Oh, come on\\! Why the long faces? This is going to be a fascinating dinner\\! I mean, all of this noise and anger—\n\n*SHAKESPEARE*{: .small}: Sound and fury . . .\n\n*CLINTON*{: .small}: It must mean *something*, right?\n\n"
<https://www.newyorker.com/humor/daily-shouts/chelsea-clintons-dream-dinner-party>