Chivalry is a Zombie
Chivalry is dead. No man would consider opening a car-door for a woman, much less offering her a hand to help her out. Nor would they ask her if she needed help with the luggage twice her size. It did, however, turn into a half-hearted zombie when a very cute Briton decided I looked the epithomy of a damsel in distress. Kristine had picked up her blasted suit-case, trundled down half the steps and started chanting "hep, two, three, four", I broke into hysterical laughter, put my suit-case down and looked helpless. The words "Do you need some help with that?" have never sounded sweeter.
So, ammend the opening to "chivalry is a very healf-hearted zombie". I just wish I could say it was dancing to very bad techno. Why does it not occur to anyone to walk on the outside of the pavement, so the lady does not get splashed by a passing car? Why does no one open doors anymore?
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I will, in my særemne (or "extended essay", as I have beautifully dubbed it in English), argue that aestheticism was never a literary movement, but a perspective derived from criticism. Thus, a reaction to a reaction. It is also not against literary analysis as - Nabokov revelled in it, and he was an aesthete -, but about realising that not all stories are necessarily heightened by analysis, and that a work says nothing of its writer.
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London was dazzling. (London! XD <3) And I love Atonement, particularly its very clever, teary ending. And I love my new things and shoes and stuff. I'm now two months pregnant, as opposed to four, and my collar-bones are back.
So, ammend the opening to "chivalry is a very healf-hearted zombie". I just wish I could say it was dancing to very bad techno. Why does it not occur to anyone to walk on the outside of the pavement, so the lady does not get splashed by a passing car? Why does no one open doors anymore?
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I will, in my særemne (or "extended essay", as I have beautifully dubbed it in English), argue that aestheticism was never a literary movement, but a perspective derived from criticism. Thus, a reaction to a reaction. It is also not against literary analysis as - Nabokov revelled in it, and he was an aesthete -, but about realising that not all stories are necessarily heightened by analysis, and that a work says nothing of its writer.
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London was dazzling. (London! XD <3) And I love Atonement, particularly its very clever, teary ending. And I love my new things and shoes and stuff. I'm now two months pregnant, as opposed to four, and my collar-bones are back.