seem to have begun in spring. Global warming, I presume. It seems quiet and sort of half hearted around the poetry areas where I read. Perhaps the activity is all taking place in a Room of Requirements or a new branch of the He-Man Woman-Haters' Club*, undisclosed to me. I attribute the silence here to a general sense of awe, readers struck dumb by wonder. Occam might suggest a simpler explanation.
*Are allusions to The Little Rascals still generally comprehensible? If I sing the "Happy Birthday, Mr. Hood" song, will anyone know what he got as a gift?
3 comments:
Impressive act of moral courage. Is Anonymous your first name or your last?
An MLA search on "Little Rascals," much to my surprise, turns up nothing. A search on "Our Gang" turned up essays on Roth, but nothing else. Low-hanging fruit for cultural critics everywhere. . .
I'm shocked, shocked, I tell you. Buckwheat and Stymie and Darla alone should have provided endless grist for the academic mill.
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