(no subject)
God, I'm so sick of books about "independent" women who are just "independent" enough to fuck up their lives horribly and then refuse to let anyone help them because they are so fucking "independent".
What. Ev. Er.
Oh, yeah, Henry James, you go right on the shit list, right next to Thomas Hardy. I'm sure you'll enjoy each other's company immensely.
(Of course, since I hate Campion's film of Portrait of a Lady just as much, if not more, than the book itself, my next essay for this class will so much easier to write. A simmering loathing for a text is always a little helpful, I find. Motivation and content all in one.)
I should probably go read something soothing, with flowers and butterflies and a female character who can prove that she does indeed have two braincells to rub together, but I'm stuck with my crim law textbook instead. Which probably isn't going to be much help in that area. I think I'm going to put off revising sexual-assault till next week, when my textbook will be in less danger of ending up in the recycling bin.
What. Ev. Er.
Oh, yeah, Henry James, you go right on the shit list, right next to Thomas Hardy. I'm sure you'll enjoy each other's company immensely.
(Of course, since I hate Campion's film of Portrait of a Lady just as much, if not more, than the book itself, my next essay for this class will so much easier to write. A simmering loathing for a text is always a little helpful, I find. Motivation and content all in one.)
I should probably go read something soothing, with flowers and butterflies and a female character who can prove that she does indeed have two braincells to rub together, but I'm stuck with my crim law textbook instead. Which probably isn't going to be much help in that area. I think I'm going to put off revising sexual-assault till next week, when my textbook will be in less danger of ending up in the recycling bin.