Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Conversations there [at my aunt's house] had many levels, nothing could be stated directly, every joke might be a thrust turned inside out. My mother's disapproval was open and unmistakable, like heavy weather; theirs came like tiny razor cuts, bewilderingly, in the middle of kindness. They had the Irish gift for rampaging mockery, embroidered with deference.
There is twas, the mysterious and to me novel suggestion that choosing not to do things showed, in the end, more wisdom and self-respect than choosing to do them.
I wanted me to love me, and I wanted to think of the universe when I looked at the moon.
People's wishes, and their other offerings, were what I took then naturally, a bit distractedly, as if they were never anything more than my due.
Thursday, November 14, 2013
Buy the books on Amazon, and watch videos of some readings. Please.
My son and I saw THE HIDDEN FORTRESS at AFI Silver yesterday afternoon, what a masterpiece! The 21-year old Misa Uehara as the Princess was ...
SOMETIMES YOU HAVE TO LIE: The Life and Times of Louise Fitzhugh, Renegade Author of Harriet the Spy By Leslie BrodyInteresting if thin biography of Fitzhugh. There was an earlier one from 1991 by Virginia Wolf that is apparently more scholarly. This one...
Really like this unusual book. I don't know if it's "the most important book of the last ten years," as Edmund White blu...