There is an endemic in contemporary journalism that has been fully exposed by Cuomo debacles. Reporters crave narratives. They seek to arrange facts in such a way that stories can be told. They are taught to do this in journalism schools, editors push them there, and Twitter seals the deal.
In literature, characters have foils. In journalism, which too often takes its cues from the same place, this is also true. If Trump was darkness, someone had to be light. And it was decided that the tough-talking governor from New York who mastered the most rudimentary of presentation techniques, the PowerPoint, must be cast in this role.
I am a novelist; I love reading fiction and believe it, truly, to be the highest art form. But the principles of fiction must be kept entirely separate from the realm of reporting, as the state should be sealed off from the church. Novelists invent; reporters report. They should not be casting around for human beings to spotlight as supposed antidotes to other human beings, to inject plot into a world that is usually devoid of one.
But they do. Cuomo was anointed and he happily, greedily played the part.