In a sort of ghastly simplicity we remove the organ and demand the function. We make men without chests and expect of them virtue and enterprise. We laugh at honour and are shocked to find traitors in our midst. We castrate and bid the geldings be fruitful. Most people familiar with Lewis will likely recognize …
"An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small, In blast-beruffled plume, Had chosen thus to fling his soul Upon the growing gloom."
Brave New World: a place devoid of all meaning and life.
Since you are about to begin reading a rather unique review on Italo Calvino's If on a winters night a traveler, I will begin with this disclaimer: I am not a fan of the postmodernist movement. In fact, I particularly dislike most of what came of this time, including works from art and music. However, there …
Madelyn Rose Craig 