(no subject)

When I rule the world, no one will be allowed to say Jane Austen wrote the "early 19th century equivalent of trashy Harlequin romance novels" unless they can name at least three pre-20th century women writers they like better - and have read at least one trashy Harlequin romance novel.

That last is just because I believe this hypothetical person deserves all the suffering you can only get by reading "The Greek Billionaire Tycoon's Secret Baby."

Emily Dickinson doesn't count unless you can recite something from memory. It's not that hard, people, you can sing them all to the tune of "Yellow Rose of Texas."

If you're going to say something like that, you probably feel the same way about Jane Eyre (which inspired later generations of formulaic gothic romances) and Wuthering Heights (which is, in all honesty, kind of emo) - it's a way to conveniently, unconsciously, have a canon that just happens to include only men.

Paging Joanna Russ on line 5, paging Joanna Russ on line 5.

No wand jokes, please.

I saw Equus! With Daniel Radcliffe!

For all that I joke about being twelve years old, there was a clear line separating those of us mature enough to handle a little nudity and those of us not, and IT'S LIVE THEATRE, PEOPLE, ACT YOUR AGE.

It was an extremely good play, better than when I read it in high school.

But, more later; it's bedtime.