The blue horror of dawn, etc.

If you’ve never had the pleasure, please take a few minutes to enjoy Edward Gorey’s The Unstrung Harp (Or, Mr. Earbrass Writes a Novel). (No longer available in full online as of 12/2005; info here.)

Mr Earbrass has been rashly skimming through the early chapters, which he has not looked at for months, and now sees TUH for what it is. Dreadful, dreadful, DREADFUL. He must be mad to go on enduring the unexquisite agony of writing when it all turns out drivel. Mad. Why didn’t he become a spy? How does one become one? He will burn the MS. Why is there no fire. Why aren’t there the makings of one? How did he get in the unused room on the third floor?

(Thanks to Mark Sarvas and Jim Ruland for the perfectly-timed diversion.)

Annie Reid is in tomorrow, and after that, have a great week or two. I’ll be back in August.


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