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There's some secret at the heart of a profound rivalry that baffles all attempts to uncover it. "Demand me nothing," Iago says, after he has destroyed Othello. "What you know, you know. From this time forth I never will speak a word." So what do we know? That a rivalry of the Brown/Blair, Othello/Iago, Mozart/Salieri sort alchemizes hate and love, scorn and admiration, into a most potent poison. That the perceived loser by the relationship will stop at nothing to dethrone the victor. That the moment of revenge is not the sweet thing it was brewed to be. That both parties to the rivalry will be defeated. Thereafter they take what else they know into the grave.
Who, then, is going to tell us what Brown is thinking today? If he were honest would he acknowledge that such a rivalry as he enjoyed for so many wasted years was like love in being all consuming? Would he say that it destroyed his gifts, wore them away in ire and envy, or is he in possession of a crueller truth that the gifts he thought were his were all along someone else's? That he thought he saw himself denied in Tony Blair but actually only saw Tony Blair confirmed, and in the strange love he bore him mistook the other man's genius for his own?