Discover more from The Ariadne Archive
7 links and a poem:
This beautiful essay on the relationships with nonhumans, and how deep those feelings can go has stayed with me since reading it. He manipulated the space between us like prose…Nathan didn’t perform language in a way that would be easy to parse and study, he embodied it.
On the nature of felt presence: Where we stop and the world begins is a constantly negotiated thing.
On this odd holiday, Heather Cox Richardson wrote such a moving post on the many different types of mothers in our lives.
I will follow Alena Smith, creator of the tv show Dickinson, anywhere—including on what the writers’ strike and AI have in common.
On the writer Alice James (lesser-known sibling to William and Henry), long Covid, and the problematic legacies of Cartesian thinking in medicine, particularly in treating chronic illness in women. (Surprise—it’s not all in their heads).
Redondilla 92 O foolish men who accuse women with so little cause, not seeing you are the reason for the very thing you blame: for if with unequaled longing you solicit their disdain, why wish them to behave well when you urge them on to evil? You contend with their resistance, then say gravely that the conquest arose from their licentiousness and not your extreme diligence. The audacity of your mad belief resembles that of the child who devises a monster and then afterward fears it. With foolish presumption you wish to find the woman you seek, for your mistress, a Thais, and Lucretia for your wife. Whose caprice can be stranger than the man who ignores good counsel, clouds the looking glass himself, then complains it is not clear. You occupy the same place whether favored or disdained, complaining if women are cruel and mocking them if they love. You think highly of no woman, no matter how modest: if she rejects you she is ungrateful, and if she accepts, unchaste. ... But between anger and sorrow the object of your caprice, may be one who does not love you, and then you may truly complain. To their sorrow your lovers give wings to restraints; they fly away, and after you make them sinful you wish they were filled with virture. Who carries the greater guilt in a passion gone astray: the woman, beseeched, who falls, or the man who begged her to yield? ... But I conclude your audacity does battle with countless weapons, for in promises and pleading you join world, and flesh, and devil.