by Judy Blume
The first Judy Blume book I read in too many years and it was just as beautiful and wonderful as I had remembered her books to be.
Wifey is the anti-romance. No sympathetic characters, no personal growth, no love, no happy ending. A common theme of romance novels is individuals helping one another to heal emotional wounds. These may result from childhood trauma or abuse, oppression by family members or society in general on th...
This book is the outtakes from every David Lynch movie. Not the blooper reel, but the scenes that Lynch cut to shave some minutes or just because they were unnecessary and boring. It is, in that way, a found-art piece of all the scraps of daily life and all the momentous decisions people make to b...
(A quick aside, thanks to Elizabeth for helping me with this review. I didn't like this book, which should by all rights garner it a one-star, but this book is much more complex and crazy-making than that, so I'm bumping it up to three. I can't say I recommend it to anyone, but it's been an interest...
That something published in 1978 seems more believable, realistic and relatable than most books on the market today says a lot. It's also more depressing with widespread racism, elitism and repression/suppression. It doesn't romanticise love, sex or marriage, but rather spotlights things as how they...
[These notes were made in 1982:]. A pleasant enough little novel about a woman whose sexual instincts are at war against her humdrum married life. Not as titillating as perhaps it was meant to be, but the author has a readable style, and a knack for creating a really despicable husband-chauvinist.
Both my parents were readers (well, with my dad, it was more that he acquired books) and they never said much about what I read. Neither suggesting nor un-suggesting, they just subscribed to magazines on my behalf, shelled out for Scholastic fliers, and took me to the library when I asked, and gave...
The naked man in full erection who arrives on Sandy’s lawn, like the Ghost of Christmas Future, does indeed “point” the way, as his actions are both metaphoric and prophetic. From her bedroom window, Sandy watches the man, who discards the sheet initially draped over him, masturbates, and then leave...
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