Skip to main content

Polidori's Vampyre

As usually happens, I can't get through three pages of literature without being taken by the need to discuss it for the remainder of my lunch.

I have finally got "The Vampyre" by Polidori, which is only 167 pages on my Treo, and so can't possibly be more than 30 in fact. This story was written on that sojourn in Italy of the Shelleys and their friends, when they had a gothic story-writing competition. Mary Shelley won, without question, but also written was The Vampyre, the earliest fiction of its kind I know, by John Polidori.

Cameos thus far have included the "magnificent" Byron and Shelley, which amuses me muchly since they were both of the party-- reminds me of writing stories with my friends and including one another in them. That is so much, and imagining that story-writing party in Italy with this added amusement is so pleasant.

It is hard for me to imagine that they existed in the same world I do.

Popular posts from this blog

The secret to a happy home

I finished Marion Harland's guide tonight and I wonder ceaselessly at two things. 1. She is so down on America! Even more than I am. She complains of things in which I am so well-steeped I could not see them for what they were. In particular, American style and cookery. It is true that our food, which we count as so much more generous in portion than the overseas counterpart, is as coarse and indecorous as it is plentiful, but as an American woman I cast up my hands and declare I would rather spend my time on something else. She makes an interesting point about American women's fashions. In France women wear what looks good on them, and in America women wears what comes off the manufacturing line in the latest style. It is very conformist, and I have to admit I feel it in myself, for I would be embarrassed to wear something that is "out" even if it flattered me better. 2. Harland's other point I feel clearly from last night's experiences. I looked in my journ...

Helen Keller

Reading this Women of Influence book is causing me to remember another of my great childhood loves -- "The Miracle Worker," the story of Anne Sullivan and Helen Keller. It was Anne Sullivan I really loved, and still love -- it always made me heartsick to think of her sacrifice, devoting every waking minute to another human being, with almost no life left to herself, until she died in old age, and Helen Keller required another translator. But God -- she must have known it -- that's the best way to live -- it is to have every moment of your life swallowed in supreme goodness and satisfaction. No wonder I loved her, and no longer do I feel sorry for her -- I envy her. I thought of her today perhaps because when I was around eight or nine I grew aware that she and I shared the same initials "AS." Today is the first day that I am Amanda Monteleone at work, and I have written my initials "AM" dozens of times already. It's strange, but the satisfaction of...

Sprouts

Sprouts Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde . I am getting sprouts. Hopefully they are carnations. It is such a beautiful spring day. It's good I'm taking the chance to come outside: I have craved a moment to reflect on something beautiful.