I feel alone in a world where people want to continually write modern sequels to Jane Austen books, or where the only classic worth reading is a zombie version.
|One of my favorite original Bleak House illustrations|
I find merit in and
get lost in and
fall in love with
modern literature too, but it will never replace my love for the macabre gothic novels of the eighteenth and nineteenth century or the coming-of-age existential bildungsroman-esque novels of Victorian England.
I'm really in love with Penguin's new clothbound classics *available at anthropologie* which I hope will put more glamour into "required reading."
this being said, i think i'll curl up with my dachshunds and my book.