The first biography of Emily Dickinson that I read, was the one by Cynthia Griffin Wolff, which I didn’t review here, but mentioned on the blog, and which is a very large and very erudite work. Going through the Amazon…
Reading Liane de Pougy’s journals, I was intrigued by one of the characters that appeared throughout her life story as possibly the biggest love of her life: Natalie Clifford Barney. Liane mentions her in the notebooks as eternally beautiful and…
Liane de Pougy was one of Paris’s most famous courtesans. She was famous and rich. Men were putting at her feet millions of francs worth of jewelry, on a whim. She married Romanian Prince George Ghica when she was fourty-one,…
I remember the frightening weekend nights from a distant adolescence back in Romania, unable to move from in front of the TV where I watched paralyzed with horror a series of enthralling adaptations from Ray Bradbury’s stories. But apart from that, I cannot say that I am a big fan of the “weird tales” genre. Yet, how could I resist a book called Zen in the Art of Writing?I read this book with very conflicting feelings. I started with “I think I read this book before”, went through “Wow, it’s beautiful to have this all confirmed” and through “What the hell, the afterlife is too depressing”, finally settling…
I read this book, all the way amazed by the vitality of the writing, all the way trying to label it, to encase it in some sort of genre. I have decided to call this idealist realism. No, they are…
This book made a great impact on me. Like a few others before it, this came in my life at exactly the right moment: when I needed it, when I was prepared for the lesson.
The moment I encountered Fiona Robyn’s blog, I was enthralled. I go there often for a quick refreshing moment of awareness in front of a small but wisdom-filled detail of daily life.I find myself conflicted about this book. I wanted quite badly to “connect” with it and that didn’t happen. There are people who report to experience a physical sensation from the moment they touch this book, which is one aspect…
This might very well be the last Paulo Coelho book I ever read. How sad is that? Again I have to wonder: is it me or is it Coelho? One of us is definitely not the same. I find it…