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There is something always so delectably silly and accidentally comical about xix century medical notions

I have to say I must join the chorus wondering about Charlotte Brontë’s deeply baffling tastes in men

The book is stunning visually but I cannot understand how the author seemingly forcefully removed the queer subtext from several Peake’s characters AND went so far as to say (completely unsupported by documentary proof) that Peake would have voted for the Tories had he been interested in politics where we have evidence of close collaborations with artists affiliated with the British Left

Side note in case this book ever gets reprinted (I bought a copy secondhand): I think it being the biography of an author/painter/poet it could (read: should) very well do without the picture his father (an English missionary in China during the first half of the xx century) took of a severed head of a completely unrelated Chinese man🫶.

Kinda crazy how you can start a random book, immediately feel the influences it had on 500 other novels and feel validated by a quick google search. Quite literally the gang’s all here

I think the average credibility of this book can be summarized by Malaparte saying Sartre in 1947 was out of fashion and that Pirandello was staunchly antifascist

Book gifted by a friend. Weird experience so far. Terrifically written but content-wise it really does feel like going to an house party and finding yourself stuck in a situation with the averagest white man who believes himself to hold the secrets of civilization in his hands. Beautiful prose and nothingcontent

Book that reminds me for the umpteenth time that yes I do love fantasy, but US authors are a plague for the genre (for any genre in truth)