There’s a moment, just after midday on the 21st of June, when the sun seems almost drunk with its own radiance. It leans heavily on the earth, like a tired old bishop full of wine and prophecy, and stares down the day as if daring it to get any longer. The shadows are weak. The … Continue reading The Longest Day: Fire, Folklore and the Turning Light
Tag: Literature
Hylas and the Cancelled Nymphs
“But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst...” – John 4:14 There’s a strange modern heresy creeping through the cathedrals of culture - a sort of secular iconoclasm, not content with smashing statues, now turns its withering gaze toward oil on canvas. I found myself reflecting on this the … Continue reading Hylas and the Cancelled Nymphs
Fingersmith: A Tale of Pickpockets, Pornographers, and Plot Twists So Sharp You’ll Need Stitches
“The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?”— Jeremiah 17:9 First of all... On the Reluctance to Read the Modern …or, Why I Approach Contemporary Novels Like They Might Bite Me There’s a particular stiffness in my posture whenever someone recommends a “brilliant new novel.” A twitch behind the eyes. … Continue reading Fingersmith: A Tale of Pickpockets, Pornographers, and Plot Twists So Sharp You’ll Need Stitches
Conclave – or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Accept the End of Western Storytelling
I made the mistake -the blunder - of watching Conclave the other evening. A decision roughly on par with licking a battery to see if it’s working. It wasn’t entertainment. It was a two-hour slow-motion shrug, like watching a dying man cough into a linen napkin. Now, I’d been seduced, you see. Hoodwinked by the timing. A … Continue reading Conclave – or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Accept the End of Western Storytelling
“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
Wording 