Most of us have at some point been fed cake by a relative we didn’t entirely trust – the sort of woman who keeps porcelain dolls in glass cabinets and refers to you exclusively as “it.” But Walter de la Mare, that poetic custodian of the uncanny, raises the stakes considerably in this morbid little … Continue reading Auntie Christ: Evil in a Lace Collar – Seaton’s Aunt
Tag: classic-literature
Arthur Wing Pinero: The Magistrate of Mirth and Other Dastardly Dalliances – Part Two of Dandy Dick
Or, how one man in a cravat brought Victorian theatre out of its corset and into its knickers. Before Wilde minced in with cigarette cases and cucumber sandwiches, and long before Coward lit up the drawing room with his razor-sharp repartee and possibly questionable moustache, there was Pinero. Arthur Wing Pinero, to give him his … Continue reading Arthur Wing Pinero: The Magistrate of Mirth and Other Dastardly Dalliances – Part Two of Dandy Dick
Valmouth: Where Decorum Goes to Die (with a Wink and a Fan)
There are books that whisper. Books that purr. And then there’s Valmouth - a novella that arrives on the literary stage dressed in ostrich feathers and screaming “darling” before it’s even found its seat. If novels were guests at a country house, Valmouth would be the one caught kissing the butler, flirting with the vicar, … Continue reading Valmouth: Where Decorum Goes to Die (with a Wink and a Fan)
“Drop, Drop, Slow Tears” – A Meditation in the Margins
By a hopeless penitent with a bookshelf and a leaky conscience At the opening of Elizabeth Gaskell’s Ruth, before we meet the orphaned seamstress or the soft-hearted Bensons, we are met with tears. Not sentimental ones, but slow, penitential tears - each drop a silent argument for mercy. The chosen epigraph, “Drop, drop, slow tears”, … Continue reading “Drop, Drop, Slow Tears” – A Meditation in the Margins
Confessions of a Shandean: Or, How I Came to Love a Book That Can’t Keep Its Trousers On
I must begin, dear reader, with a warning: Tristram Shandy is not a novel - it is a literary striptease performed by a madman with a feather quill and far too much time on his hands. Approaching it as one might approach a standard narrative is like bringing a map to a dream: utterly useless … Continue reading Confessions of a Shandean: Or, How I Came to Love a Book That Can’t Keep Its Trousers On
Wording 