So Richard is dead. Is his world better off without him? Or did he serve a purpose, bring his cohort to some new realization, carve a new course? Let me know what you're thinking, how you're reacting . . . to this final act of the play, to the play as a whole, to the experience of existing so intensely within the reading process, to the task of responding in multiple forms and genres.
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I am feeling much less grouchy today after a real night's sleep. "Manana," Tom said about the author photos he was planning to take yesterday. I think that may have been a hint that I was not looking my best. Here's hoping that today will be more auspicious.
Yesterday I started reading Toni Morrison's Paradise but was immediately roadblocked by a gruesome mass murder in the opening chapter. I have never been able to read text or (especially) watch movies involving extreme violence; I get physically distressed, sometimes ill, and this has reduced, especially onscreen, the kinds of things I'm able to manage. I will never be able to watch Breaking Bad or Game of Thrones or most Tarantino movies; I can't read Mishima novels, and now, apparently, I can't read this Morrison novel. My reaction is very childish--it is, in fact, a direct link to my childhood, when I used to vomit after watching something scary. In real life, though, I manage blood better than Tom does. He's the fainter; I'm the coper. So I don't have a good explanation for my reaction to fictional violence. But, sadly, Toni Morrison's novel is back on the shelf.