In Mothers of the Novel, when Dale Spender writes about her education, she doesn’t consider it inferior. But somehow she graduated with the belief that men had invented the novel and that they’d written all the good ones. So the table in her book (and contents overall), containing the
Soon: I’m not there yet. Over the break, I finished the last two books lingering on the stack from 2023: two rereads, Margaret Atwood’s The Edible Woman and Eugene Zamyatin’s We. With fewer than 50 pages in each, they belong to 2023, and alongside, I looked back to what
One final bit of MARMing remains for us, MARMers. And I bet many of you are wishing that it actually IS the end of November, as so many of you have more items on your to-do lists right now than you have books on your shelves. I’m wishing it
With this story from Old Babes in the Wood, I read “Our Cat Goes to Heaven”, from Brick Magazine 2004 (“Puss ‘n Heaven” in Issue 73’s table of contents). Each has funny moments but, of course, the stories revolve around the loss of a companion, so they are preoccupied
Straight away, there’s this matter of the quetzal. I know I’ve been puzzled by it before and something about the familiarity that settles like dust when I learn it’s a bird makes me think I’ve learned this before. The quetzal doesn’t stick. I think it’s a old poetic form,
