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Carmilla
by
The act of interacting with text—that is to say, of reading—is that of inserting one’s self into what is static and unchanging so that it might pump with fresh blood. Having read this introduction, I hope you will enter into Carmilla
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God, it’s worth getting Carmen Maria Marchado’s edition of Carmilla for her forward alone, which is genius.
“Smaller than Evie, overall. Much smaller than Davy. So if you collided with her there could be no injury to yourself, you felt only a small thrill of pleasure at the pliant warmth of another’s being with no recourse but to give way to you without protest.”
― Zero-Sum: Stories
― Zero-Sum: Stories
“The liberal take was that working-class whites have been voting against their interests in supporting right-wing oligarchs, but that theory diminishes the agency and caste-oriented principles of the people. Many voters, in fact, made an assessment of their circumstances and looked beyond immediate short-term benefits and toward, from their perspective, the larger goals of maintaining dominant-caste status and their survival in the long term. They were willing to lose health insurance now, risk White House instability and government shutdowns, external threats from faraway lands, in order to preserve what their actions say they value most—the benefits they had grown accustomed to as members of the historically ruling caste in America.”
― Caste: The Origins of Our Discontents
― Caste: The Origins of Our Discontents
“Kiara,” Elaine Brown’s hair heir said, waving her magazine.”
― The Other Black Girl
― The Other Black Girl
“Society builds a trapdoor of self-reference that, without any effort on the part of people in the dominant caste, unwittingly forces on them a narcissistic isolation from those assigned to lower categories. It replicates the structure of narcissistic family systems, the interplay of competing supporting roles—the golden-child middle castes of so-called model minorities, the lost-child indigenous peoples, and the scapegoat caste at the bottom.”
― Caste: The Origins of Our Discontents
― Caste: The Origins of Our Discontents
“My all was no great shakes, but Coach made me want to die trying. The big teeth finally fit his mouth, and busted out shining like sun through clouds. Unforgettable. The way he looked past my arms and legs into the soul of the General I might be, totally tuned in on me and the ball between us, curve of a wrist, turn of a head. And I saw the General he’d been on this field once, pumping a crowd, flashing those teeth at some girl in the stands that would steam up his truck in the postgame ceremony. Angus’s mom, I thought. Wondering, was she a cheerleader or what.”
― Demon Copperhead
― Demon Copperhead
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