I’ve started reading “The Hero with a Thousand Faces” by Joseph Campbell. Not sure I’d be able to finish it any time soon: while interesting, it’s pretty thick and the language is sentimentally antiquated.
In any case, I got through the first chapter in the prologue and was amused by this side note, Continue reading “Trite and Incorrect Interpretation”
Last week, I started a series of posts (#1, #2) in which I comment on what I was sad to miss in the (quite decent overall) BBC TV series “Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell”, compared to the wonderful original book.
Like the second post in the series, today’s post is also a commentary on the feelings nearly impossible to project on the screen vs. paper, vs. living them.
Unlike the second post in the series, take this major spoiler alert if you haven’t read the book and there is even a remote possibility that you would.
Continue reading “Grievance #3: Childermass and the Raven King”
With this entry, the aspiring series that started with yesterday’s post becomes an actual series, in which I comment on what I was sad to miss in the (quite decent overall) BBC TV series “Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell”, compared to the wonderful original book.
This post today, apart from a fangirl rant, is also a commentary on what may be a fundamental difference between what’s captivating on screen vs. on paper and, I would posit, in life.
If you haven’t read the book, here is your minor spoiler alert. Continue reading “Grievance #2: the Greysteels”
I binge watched a TV series based on one of my favorite books the other weekend.
“Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell“, the epic 2004 novel by Susanna Clarke, was made into a 7 episode TV series (about 1 hour each episode) by the BBC (2015).
The book is not for everyone. Continue reading “So I Watched a TV Series Based on a Favorite Book”
“I’ll take your heart. We’ll need it later,” and she reached her hand deep inside his chest, and she pulled it out with something ruby and pulsing held between her sharp fingernails. It was the color of pigeon’s blood, and it was made of pure light. Rhythmically it expanded and contracted.
-Neil Gaiman, “American Gods”
