mary shelley
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“Here’s what really happens…” (Excerpt from The Last Man, by Mary Shelley)
Everything favoured my journey. The balloon rose about half a mile from the earth, and with a favourable wind it hurried through the air, its feathered vans cleaving the unopposing atmosphere. Notwithstanding the melancholy object of my journey, my spirits were exhilarated by reviving hope, by the swift motion of the airy pinnace, and the Continue reading
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Mary Shelley’s version
…is far more erotic than mine. I bow to a master. Continue reading
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The Last Man
If I ever become an English professor, one of my first tasks will be to refocus literature, especially fantasy literature, to the great early novels. I don’t understand why The Last Man lies in obscurity. It’s a compelling novel I can’t stop reading. It invents science fiction fantasy. It’s so cinematic I could write the Continue reading
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Noble Kinsmen
“I have been reading the “Noble Kinsmen,” in which, with the exception of that lovely scene, to which you added so much grace in reading to me, I have been disappointed. The Jailor’s Daughter is a poor imitation, and deformed. The whole story wants moral discrimination and modesty. I do not believe Shakspeare wrote a Continue reading
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Storm
A passionate storm is at work; it calls to my mind the two weeks last year I wrote A Question of Honor, and how I finished its last pages in the midst of such a storm. I’m beginning to learn the way of the weather here: storms come up and break more violently than in Continue reading
Sunlight-Colored Roses 