station eleven // american ghosts & old world wonders

'Crowds had gathered beneath the television monitors. Clark decided that whatever they were looking at, he couldn't face it without a cup of tea. He assumed it was a terrorist attack. He bought a cup of Earl Grey at a kiosk, and took his time adding the milk. This is the last time I'll stir milk into my tea without knowing what happened, he thought, wistful in advance for the present moment...'


Station Eleven
(Page 233)

Rating: 3.5-4/5

'The hovel on the Ferry stood, or, rather, leaned at a bibulous angle on a narrow street cut across at an oblique angle by another narrow street, all the old wooden homes like an upset cookie jar of broken gingerbread houses lurching this way and that way, and the shutters hanging of their hinges and windows stuffed with old newspaper, and the snagged picket fence and raised voices in unknown tongues and howling of dogs who, since puppyhood, had known of the world only the circumference of their chain. Outside the parlour window were nothing but rows of counterfeit houses that sometimes used to scream.'


American Ghosts & Old World Wonders
(Lizzie's Tiger)
(Page 4)

'I killed the car. And at once provoked such sudden, resonant quiet as if, when I switched off the ignition, I myself brought into being the shimmering late afternoon hush, the ripening sun, the very Pacific that, way below, at the foot of the cliff, shattered its foamy peripheries with the sound of a thousand distant cinema organs.'

- (The Merchant of Shadows)
(Page 66)

'In Burgundy, in the Middle Ages, they held a Feast of Fools that lasted all through the dead days, that vacant lapse of time during which, according to the hairy-legged mythology of the Norsemen, the sky wolf ate up the sun. By the time the sky wolf puked it up again, a person or persons unknown had fucked the New Year back into being during the days when all the boys wore sprigs of mistletoe in their hats. Filthy work, but somebody had to do it.'

- (In Pantoland)
(Page 102)

The legend of my birth begins with my dad in the midst of reading Angela Carter's novella, Love.
...
We were fated, Ms Carter and I.
Fated.

Rating: 4/5

A bonus Charles:
Who i currently refer to as: Monster Munch.

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