Time for #FridayReads!
Since Saturday is the anniversary of the shooting of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, Petra’s revisiting that classic of WWI literature, Testament of Youth by Vera Brittain.
Intern Cara is trying to finish Boy, Snow, Bird by Helen Oyeyemi.
Code Switch’s Karen Grigsby Bates reports, “Reading: Natchez Burning. Still. Entranced. Still.”
Arts correspondent Mandalit del Barco’s reading Neil Gaiman’s American Gods.
And I’m FINALLY getting to Katherine Boo’s Behind the Beautiful Forevers.
How ‘bout you?
Image via euphoricspirit.tumblr.com
I’d say it’s time for a reread of Scott Westerfeld’s Leviathan, because, STEAMPUNK and WWI, ftw!
I have noticed that when all the lights are on, people tend to talk about what they are doing – their outer lives. Sitting round in candlelight or firelight, people start to talk about how they are feeling – their inner lives. They speak subjectively, they argue less, there are longer pauses. To sit alone without any electric light is curiously creative. I have my best ideas at dawn or at nightfall, but not if I switch on the lights – then I start thinking about projects, deadlines, demands, and the shadows and shapes of the house become objects, not suggestions, things that need to done, not a background to thought.
Look at you. You’re young. And you’re scared. Why are you so scared? Stop being paralyzed. Stop swallowing your words. Stop caring what other people think. Wear what you want. Say what you want. Listen to the music you want to listen to. Play it loud as fuck and dance to it. Go out for a drive at midnight and forget that you have school the next day. Stop waiting for Friday. Live now. Do it now. Take risks. Tell secrets. This life is yours. When are you going to realize that you can do whatever you want?
Seduce me. Write letters to me. And poems, I love poems. Ravish me with your words. Seduce me.
—Anne Boleyn (via larmoyante)
Sometimes people let the same problem make them miserable for years when they could just say, “So what.” That’s one of my favorite things to say. “So what.” “My mother didn’t love me.” So what. “My husband won’t ball me.” So what. “I’m a success but I’m still alone.” So what. I don’t know how I made it through all the years before I learned how to do that trick. It took a long time for me to learn it, but once you do, you never forget.
— Andy Warhol (via theonlymagicleftisart)