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The one thing I didn’t get to do for Halloween this year was go to a haunted house. This kinda makes up for it.
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I finished reading Wuthering Heights in desperate need of a voice that wasn’t haughty or peevish or whining or any of the other obnoxious tones that dominate that book. Miranda July does a wonderful job of bringing me back to reality.
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I had been told about her.
How she would always, always.
How she would never, never.
I’d watched and listened
but still I fell for her,
how she always, always.
How she never, never.In the small brave night,
her lips, butterfly moments.
I tried to catch her and she laughed
a loud laugh that cracked me in two,
but then I had been told about her,
how she would always, always.
How she would never, never.We two listened to the wind.
We two galloped a pace.
We two, up and away, away, away.
And now she’s gone,
like she said she would go.
But then I had been told about her –
how she would always, always.Her (by Jackie Kay) -
I wanted to re-read Jane Eyre today, but since it turns out we don’t own Jane Eyre (though I’m sure I have at least 2 copies, somewhere…) so I picked up another Bronte instead. It’s a tough transition, having gone from the fictional Russian-Loonie pidgin of “The Moon is a Harsh Mistress” to the clean and straightforward young adult tone of “On Fortune’s Wheel” and then jumping into this. I’m eager to immerse myself in the bleak wind and grey skies as fall sets in here, but had forgotten how I stumble over the long, verbose passages and the double-barbed layers typical of that era. But I am a masochist, and I remember loving the imagery of this book, so here it is.
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Just finished re-reading one of my all-time favorite young adult novels. I’ll always wish that I’d been as strong, self-assured, and independent a young woman as Birle.
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This morning the heat wave finally broke, and the clouds came through so heavy and fast that I half-expected aliens to drop from the sky instead of the inevitable rain.
