I almost abandoned this relatively short novel for lack of interest in its characters. Specially Clementine, a fairly narcissistic person whose only concerns are her own (mediocre) achievements, feelings and needs, disregarding her passive agressive co-dependent husband Sam and spoiled daughters Holly and Ruby, whose entitled and moody behaviour mirrors their mother. On the other hand, the couple of typical children of narcissists (acon) Erika and Oliver have both granted great achievements but one particular “failure” upsets them – they cannot conceive a child. Their neighbours Vid and Tiffany are the coolest folks around, while their daughter Dakota is the very image of conscience and introspection, untill one day she is burdened by a guilty that seems directed to everyone other than the real responsable (who else, Clementine). To top the human fauna scenery, a cranky neighbour who has a golden heart is the main hero of this narrative in which people are so busy trying to fix their internal messes of guilty and dirty little secrets it’s no wonder they leave children unattended subject to domestic accidents. A very entertaining novel, however, I would have enjoyed it more if Clementine had come to realise how faulty her perception of herself and the world around her was, rather than being granted an undeserved happy ending.
With all the recent hysteria over diseases that most people have an incredibly small chance of contracting, I thought it might be… er, “fun” to take a look at the very real, and often very horrific medical diseases and practices of 19th century England. Our own dear Jane died at the young age of 41, and to this day, no one is sure quite what felled her. (People have speculated everything from cancer, to arsenic poisoning, Addison’s Disease, or even something called “disseminated bovine tuberculosis.”) At the very least, this’ll make you feel better about modern medical practices… we hope.
For almost 2000 years, the professional medical community believed in a theory known as “Humorism.” And no, it wasn’t funny.
The theory of humorism was based around the idea that the human body had four “humors:” blood, phlegm, yellow bile and black bile. If you…
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There’s a question which people sometimes ask:
If you could tell your younger self something, write and send them a letter, a message to the past from the future, what would you say to yourself?
This is often used as a writing prompt, or a method of self healing…
I have to confess that I usually think that this is a stupid idea.
Sentimental, nostalgic nonsense.
But that’s not really what I think about it.
That’s a fearful reaction – What am I afraid of?
A defensive measure – What am I protecting myself from?
Old programming kicking in – Did I program myself to do this or did someone else program me to do this?
I have many superficial reasons which I give my
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Hello and welcome to Misfit Club!
Before you can pass through the hallowed gates behind me…
Yes, they’re gates. Yes, I know they don’t look like gates. Yes, they’re made of driftwood and bent cutlery carefully tied together with bits of frayed string, old shoelaces. No, we didn’t have any rusty nails or threadless screws left over after we built the swing set… Yes, it’s half-painted. No, we didn’t feel the need to finish…
Were you expecting something more traditional?
Oh, yes, of course, I used the word ‘hallowed’ which made your conventional mind confused. You associate that word with Heaven and St Peter’s gate, and so you expected big chunky gold doors encrusted with pearls or something along those lines.
I understand that you’re an Atheist and don’t believe in that kind of thing. No, I don’t need a lecture on the belief system of Atheism, and to hear…
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