A witch-adjacent cat-botherer and firebrand based in Orkney--a voracious reader across genres. 🏳️⚧️ ally. I am the author of Ashes & Stones: a Scottish Journey in Search of Witches and Witness. 🏳️🌈🐈⬛🔮🐈⬛🕸️🐈⬛❤️🔥
We know the facts of Mary Shelley's life in some detail--the death of her mother, …
This is really a Shelley bio with a Mary-shaped hole in it. Here she is presented as defined by the men in her life--her father, Percy and her son. While the author clearly has great sympathy for Mary Shelley and did indeed search for her, she never found her. Torturous reading. Alas.
The first complete editon of the short stories of Leonora Carrington, written throughout her life …
The collection is absolutely thrilling--boundless and strange. The sentences radiate creative power. Funny and angry. This kind of thing would never be published today. They are 'doing it wrong.' They would need to be tamed, sanded down--in them I see an antidote to the commercialisation of imagination and a way forward.
The collection is absolutely thrilling--boundless and strange. The sentences radiate creative power. Funny and angry. This kind of thing would never be published today. They are 'doing it wrong.' They would need to be tamed, sanded down--in them I see an antidote to the commercialisation of imagination and a way forward.
The Lover (French: L'Amant) is an autobiographical novel by Marguerite Duras, published in 1984 by …
I read this 30 years ago as a younger woman and as a coming of age story I saw in it a kind of terrible mirror. In the parlance of our times 'I felt seen'. This book is a vortex swirling around a single moment: a girl gets into a strangers car. Everything leading up to that moment and coming after circles it in the narrative, switching point of view from first to third and back. The subject is an object and back to a subject. Rereading this book I now see that it's a document of colonialism and patriarchy and the relationship between the two. A formative text for me, and a master work of autofiction.
I read this 30 years ago as a younger woman and as a coming of age story I saw in it a kind of terrible mirror. In the parlance of our times 'I felt seen'. This book is a vortex swirling around a single moment: a girl gets into a strangers car. Everything leading up to that moment and coming after circles it in the narrative, switching point of view from first to third and back. The subject is an object and back to a subject. Rereading this book I now see that it's a document of colonialism and patriarchy and the relationship between the two. A formative text for me, and a master work of autofiction.