the anti-heroine of an era of bathtub gin, organized crime, and jazz, clouded in the smoke of fired guns and cigarettes.
the anti-heroine of an era of bathtub gin, organized crime, and jazz, clouded in the smoke of fired guns and cigarettes.
those who dream only by night: the gothic short stories rec list
have you ever felt like you want to read more fiction in the gothic tradition, but you haven’t the money or the time, or you’re the sort of person who only reads a novel if you’re sure you like the writer? i can help with that! here is a list of short stories, novellas, and one poem, all of which are important in the gothic tradition, the gothic revival, or contemporary gothic fiction, and they are all on the internet! for free! (i enjoy making rec lists, but i particularly enjoy making rec lists where i know that everyone who reads the list can get all of it for free.) so, take a night, make some hot chocolate, and frighten the life out of yourself. you’ll thank me!
manfred by lord byron (1817)
the tell tale heart by edgar allan poe (1843)
carmilla by sheridan le fanu (1872)
lord arthur savile’s crime by oscar wilde (1887)
the yellow wallpaper by charlotte perkins gilman (1892)
lot no. 249 by arthur conan doyle (1892)
the great god pan by arthur machen (1894)
the turn of the screw by henry james (1898)
the monkey’s paw by w.w. jacobs (1902)
sredni vashtar by saki (1911)
casting the runes by m.r. james (1911)
the damned by algernon blackwood (1914)
the tomb by h.p. lovecraft (1922)
the garden party by katherine mansfield (1922)
a rose for emily by william faulkner (1930)
the lottery by shirley jackson (1948)
lamb to the slaughter by roald dahl (1953)
a good man is hard to find by flannery o’connor (1955)
the company of wolves by angela carter (1979)
i, cthulhu by neil gaiman (1986)
х
have you ever felt like you want to read more fiction in the gothic tradition, but you haven’t the money or the time, or you’re the sort of person who only reads a novel if you’re sure you like the writer? i can help with that! here is a list of short stories, novellas, and one poem, all of which are important in the gothic tradition, the gothic revival, or contemporary gothic fiction, and they are all on the internet! for free! (i enjoy making rec lists, but i particularly enjoy making rec lists where i know that everyone who reads the list can get all of it for free.) so, take a night, make some hot chocolate, and frighten the life out of yourself. you’ll thank me!
manfred by lord byron (1817)
the tell tale heart by edgar allan poe (1843)
carmilla by sheridan le fanu (1872)
lord arthur savile’s crime by oscar wilde (1887)
the yellow wallpaper by charlotte perkins gilman (1892)
lot no. 249 by arthur conan doyle (1892)
the great god pan by arthur machen (1894)
the turn of the screw by henry james (1898)
the monkey’s paw by w.w. jacobs (1902)
sredni vashtar by saki (1911)
casting the runes by m.r. james (1911)
the damned by algernon blackwood (1914)
the tomb by h.p. lovecraft (1922)
the garden party by katherine mansfield (1922)
a rose for emily by william faulkner (1930)
the lottery by shirley jackson (1948)
lamb to the slaughter by roald dahl (1953)
a good man is hard to find by flannery o’connor (1955)
the company of wolves by angela carter (1979)
i, cthulhu by neil gaiman (1986)
х
суббота, 15 октября 2016
the anti-heroine of an era of bathtub gin, organized crime, and jazz, clouded in the smoke of fired guns and cigarettes.
We don’t give other people credit for the same interior complexity we take for granted in ourselves, the same capacity for holding contradictory feelings in balance, for complexly alloyed affections, for bottomless generosity of heart and petty, capricious malice. We can’t believe that anyone could be unkind to us and still be genuinely fond of us, although we do it all the time.
Years ago a friend of mine had a dream about a strange invention; a staircase you could descend deep underground, in which you heard recordings of all the things anyone had ever said about you, both good and bad. The catch was, you had to pass through all the worst things people had said before you could get to the highest compliments at the very bottom. There is no way I would ever make it more than two and a half steps down such a staircase, but I understand its terrible logic: if we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.
— Tim Kreider, I Know What You Think of Me
Years ago a friend of mine had a dream about a strange invention; a staircase you could descend deep underground, in which you heard recordings of all the things anyone had ever said about you, both good and bad. The catch was, you had to pass through all the worst things people had said before you could get to the highest compliments at the very bottom. There is no way I would ever make it more than two and a half steps down such a staircase, but I understand its terrible logic: if we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.
— Tim Kreider, I Know What You Think of Me
the anti-heroine of an era of bathtub gin, organized crime, and jazz, clouded in the smoke of fired guns and cigarettes.
the anti-heroine of an era of bathtub gin, organized crime, and jazz, clouded in the smoke of fired guns and cigarettes.
среда, 12 октября 2016
the anti-heroine of an era of bathtub gin, organized crime, and jazz, clouded in the smoke of fired guns and cigarettes.
the anti-heroine of an era of bathtub gin, organized crime, and jazz, clouded in the smoke of fired guns and cigarettes.
the anti-heroine of an era of bathtub gin, organized crime, and jazz, clouded in the smoke of fired guns and cigarettes.
O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
— Robert Frost, “October”
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
— Robert Frost, “October”
the anti-heroine of an era of bathtub gin, organized crime, and jazz, clouded in the smoke of fired guns and cigarettes.
понедельник, 10 октября 2016
the anti-heroine of an era of bathtub gin, organized crime, and jazz, clouded in the smoke of fired guns and cigarettes.
the anti-heroine of an era of bathtub gin, organized crime, and jazz, clouded in the smoke of fired guns and cigarettes.
the anti-heroine of an era of bathtub gin, organized crime, and jazz, clouded in the smoke of fired guns and cigarettes.
the anti-heroine of an era of bathtub gin, organized crime, and jazz, clouded in the smoke of fired guns and cigarettes.
воскресенье, 09 октября 2016
the anti-heroine of an era of bathtub gin, organized crime, and jazz, clouded in the smoke of fired guns and cigarettes.
October arrived, spreading a damp chill over the grounds and into the castle. Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, was kept busy by a sudden spate of colds among the staff and students. Raindrops the size of bullets thundered on the castle windows for days on end; the lake rose, the flower beds turned into muddy streams, and Hagrid’s pumpkins swelled to the size of garden sheds.
— J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets
— J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets
the anti-heroine of an era of bathtub gin, organized crime, and jazz, clouded in the smoke of fired guns and cigarettes.
the anti-heroine of an era of bathtub gin, organized crime, and jazz, clouded in the smoke of fired guns and cigarettes.
the anti-heroine of an era of bathtub gin, organized crime, and jazz, clouded in the smoke of fired guns and cigarettes.
суббота, 08 октября 2016
the anti-heroine of an era of bathtub gin, organized crime, and jazz, clouded in the smoke of fired guns and cigarettes.
the anti-heroine of an era of bathtub gin, organized crime, and jazz, clouded in the smoke of fired guns and cigarettes.
the anti-heroine of an era of bathtub gin, organized crime, and jazz, clouded in the smoke of fired guns and cigarettes.
