Tag: classics

House By Mouse (a Statement on 80s Feminism, or an Occupational Nightmare of Mammoth Proportions?)

I have book hoarding tendencies. It’s true (and you probably don’t find that all that shocking) but I just can not get rid of any book.
It is unfortunately, a family trait. My father had to build an extra room onto our house when we were young, specifically to house all the accumulated masses collected over the years.
He built this before our bedrooms.

Sisterhood of the Travelling Film Festival

Shall I tell you what I have just survived????

It’s not near-death by jungle python, or near-miss by a bison; although, with the relief I feel at it being finished, it could be totally reclassified as such…) No, It was a solid 72 hours of film festival. To the uninitiated, that’s 9 films, 30 shorts and very little space in between…

RE JANE, Patricia Park (or an analogous Jane Eyre)

My understanding, going in was that is was a RE-IMAGINING of Jane Eyre. A contemporary Korean American retelling of Charlotte Bronte’s inimitable classic. It looked modern, bright, full of potential…But having learned from bitter experience, and previous forays in to this type of thing, I kept my expectations low. So, say, anything above a blank piece of paper was going to be a good thing.

Carbon Copy Companion Reading II (or is everything a vague reflection of GEORGETTE HEYER??)

So was reading a book… perambulating through it really – when I was slowly overwhelmed by this feeling. Not all at once mind you – more like an encroaching tide of inevitability, coupled with a sense of ineluctable destiny. Like all roads would lead to this point, regardless of the path I took. No Robert Frost for me thank you. I was like: no, wait…there is something about this that is soo familiar… It was elusive (not unlike the scarlet pimpernel). It was liminal. It was Georgette Heyer. Again. It did make me wonder: do all roads lead to Georgette Heyer?

Again (or How I’ve Climbed onto the Gilles Seidel Love Wagon)

For those following – or caring – I was last writing in the midst of a terrible, horrible, no-good, purple-spotted book slump. It was like being in the fire swamp from the Princess Bride: flame spurts, lightning sand, rodents of unusual size and worst of all: deeply terrible stories.

Fortunately, I managed to stagger through, out into the light, and when I did, I was clasping Kathleen Gilles Seidel’s Again.