On the theme of “Reservation,” why not write about one of the greatest social enigmas of all–getting to know a stranger? And what if that stranger just happened to be the world’s most savage literary critic, Edgar Allan Poe? Wallie and I decided to explore the reservations between strangers (and not-quite strangers) meeting for the first time.
There is a superstition amongst players that a performance of Macbeth brings ill luck on the company. We had just given a performance that I remember, when I first met him. It was a poor season and perhaps we knew we were not at our best, but we gave it what we could on tight, empty bellies, breathing cold air through cold noses and making fine gestures with numb hands. The winter was bitter and had worked itself into our bones. But it was not the play nor the weather that troubled us. It was a villain with a pen, Mr. Edgar Allan Poe.
This brief post is a warm salute to that anomaly among pirate captains, Jack Sparrow. Wallie and I saw the new film and we simply do not know where all those bad reviews come from! This is, at any rate, a brief sketch with words to that rare fellow what makes pirating a vocation, vacation, and an explosion.
He was not, perhaps, prepossessing: diminutive and small-boned: but there was something striking in his easy, careless posture as he leaned at the ship’s rail, and there was something of the captain in the way his dark eyes rested on the open sea. Continue reading →
In the wizarding world of Harry Potter, we are always told to value muggles but they do not seem to occupy a prominate role in proving themselves valuable. J.K. Rowling’s series is a favorite of Wallie’s, and he only wishes she had given the muggles more time to express themselves before (if not defend themselves from) prejudice, and occupy an equal space. The following sketch is the beginning of a two-part investigation into whether or not muggles can actually stand in a room full of wizards.
Inside stepped two common folk.
They were certainly common.
The wife was a little, light thing, black-haired and fair. She was evidently a stranger to that home. She shrank close against her husband and held so tightly to his arm that her knuckles were white. He held her close in turn, as he could. She was more behind than beside him. It wasn’t fear for herself that provoked her; they could all see she was heavily pregnant.