Ecclesiastes 11:1, the art of giving, and the peculiar futility of being alive “Cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days.” — Ecclesiastes 11:1 There’s something heartbreakingly hopeful about that line, isn’t there? Something that makes you want to nod sagely, as if you understand it, even though - … Continue reading Bread Upon the Waters
Tag: reading
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
“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
Haunted, Harrassed, and Hard-Done-By: Susan Hill’s The Woman in Black
They say curiosity killed the cat, but if you ask me, it merely got the cat thoroughly spooked and left it clinging to the curtains like a caffeinated spider. Such is the effect Susan Hill’s The Woman in Black has on a reader: you pick it up thinking you’re in for a quaint little ghost … Continue reading Haunted, Harrassed, and Hard-Done-By: Susan Hill’s The Woman in Black
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
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