Tuesday, July 27, 2004
Welcome to the third day of Boston Week, where we explore works from Boston writers. Today, Ms Margot Livesey.
He had replaced five light bulbs that day, and by late afternoon he couldn't help anticipating the soft ping of the element flying apart whenever he reached for a switch. The third time — the fixture on the landing — the thought zigzagged across his mind that these little explosions were a sign, like the two dogs he had come across in the autumn, greyhound and bulldog, locked together on the grassy slope of the local park. He had given them a wide berth; still, he'd felt responsible on the bus the next day when a man had turned puce and slid to the floor. By the fifth light, though, he had given up on superstition and was blaming London Electricity. Some irregularity int he current, some unexpected surge, was slaughtering the bulbs.
The Third Servant
In the small Dutch village of Goes where my first lover grew up, the traditional dress for women is a short sleeved blouse which reveals the biceps, polished on special occasions with red wax until they shine like apples. If there is a Mount Olympus where the gods keep house, I like to think that Mnemosyne must be polishing her biceps vigorously theses days, flashing them at such lowly beings as Aphrodite and Zeus and Pluto.
Free Speech Under Fire All Around The Nation
At some pont over the last decade the words "I think you're wrong about that" were replaced by the dismissive "you can't say that."
Why Do We Crave Continuity?
On the face of it, the desire for continuity seems absurd: if we're willing to accept the notion of a superhero with the powers of a human spider, then why does it matter if that superhero's costume is ripped in one shot and not in the next?