Those inclined towards sanguinity are suggesting that the New Depression will lead to some timeless art and literature, maybe our own The Grapes of Wrath. (I’m envisioning a Hamlet: 2010, in which a young Prince of Wall Street, mourning the death of his broker father who may or may not have thrown himself off the roof of the New York Stock Exchange, grasps the skull of a deceased court jester named Jim Cramer and murmurs, “To nationalize, or not to nationalize? That is the question.”)