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ROLLING WITH JAMES JOYCE ON AN IRISH HILL

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ODE TO THE BOOKISH GIRLS

The Daydreamers

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The Swans’ way

Let’s sit here on the river bank while we watch life pass us by. Let’s sit and watch beauty moving ahead in hordes of swans, in all their glory and sorrow. Let’s live in a black and white world, sitting here doing nothing except longing for furtive glances with the ones we have fallen in love with, whom we have never spoken to, our hair draped over our bony shoulders while the river sways for us. CONTINUE READING...

Ode to the bookish girls

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There are some girls in my village who spend their days by river banks, watching the world pass by, and one girl who hoards flowers of every kind. Then there are some girls, bookish girls, with pleats resting on their shoulders and floral patterns on their dresses, who have taken over the library, with their languid figures and their face full of pallor, their lips stained a light pink and scattered freckles on their cheeks. CONTINUE READING...

Reading The Human Stain

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There’s often a moment in a good book that stands out and becomes imprinted in our mind. It’s a moment that never dies, that feels alive, despite it being fiction, and it happens over again, every time someone picks up the book to read it for the first time. Moments like Mrs. Dalloway’s pause comes to mind, Captain Wentworth’s letter to Anne Eliot and practically everything Remedios the beauty does in One Hundred Years of Solitude. CONTINUE READING...