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

New place

This is the second lunch I've passed in this downtown Barnes and Noble. I like this place. If I worked here I would undoubtedly come here for lunch. It is going to be hard forfeiting the hour and fifteen lunches, but normal life is less stressful than this. I am not cut out for city living. I still had driving troubles today. These one way streets are so difficult. I don't understand parking, and I like finding locations that I "cain't miss" from the road. Everything is so densely packed. Everyone else seems to have walked somewhere, but I celebrate lunchtime as the time to get as far away from the work as possble with as much comfort as possible, and Subway, I'm sorry, is not comfortable. Last night I slept from 7 p.m. to 5 a.m. when I had to call in. I have slept so much lately, but I feel in such a muddle. My head is pounding. If I were home I don't think I could put myself together enough to do any of my things. I really long to do things, too. Writing...
more &

Gervaise

1789 Gervaise was the first one to enter Delphinia's bedchamber. Golden light spread through a crack in the white curtains, throwing a lacey pattern onto the silk-shrouded bed. Delphinia lay in the finest guest bedchamber in the castle. It had been converted from the room of the dowager Markgrafin upon her death. Though Gervaise's entrance was not quiet, there was no stirring in the midst of the great bed. Gently Gervaise laid down the tray of chocolate and great cinnamon rolls and approached the bed, pushing aside the curtain to view the prone figure there. Delphinia lay in a contorted state, her limbs drawn up against her protectively, looking like a frightened child, though she was in the depths of sleep. Her hair, dark-colored, the finer strands gilded and curling around her face and brow, was mangled, freed from its pins without a combing. She wore a loose white shift, no nightgown. Gervaise was not offended by disorder or carelessness, but Delphinia's disarray gave he...
more &