“And each stroke of his tongue ripped off skin after successive skin, all the skins of a life in the world, and left behind a nascent patina of shining hairs. My earrings turned back to water and trickled down my shoulders; I shrugged the drops off my beautiful fur.”
Lately, I’ve felt the need to recede from reality. I’m burned out on the mundanities of my daily routine, politics (which makes me want to scream, but that’s another story), the endless regurgitation of the same ol’ stuff in my Google Reader, and the humid nastiness that just will not die. Something had to give, so after a long absence of fiction in my life, I decided to throw myself into the collected works of Angela Carter. I’m so glad I did. Her re-workings of classic folk tales and the lives of historical figures, magical realism style — including Lizzie Borden, Edgar Allan Poe and Little Red Riding Hood — allow me to contemplate a world where life-size puppets suck the life-force out of their masters and tigers live in abandoned castles. And her writerly style? Endlessly inspiring; in fact, it makes me want to take up fiction again. Her words are like cooling aloe on the harsh sunburn of my mind. (Dramatic much? Ha!)
So, if I haven’t already convinced you, I’ll put it in other words: pick up some Angela Carter, and quick!
What are you reading?
