or, several more reasons why I’m doomed to fail at reading long novels.
Cary, Elizabeth. The Tragedy of Miriam. English Renaissance Drama. Ed. David Bevington. New York: Norton, 2002. 615-672.
Continuous rhyming aside, Cary’s play seems to get more interesting with each re-reading — which probably reveals more about my own willingness to read than it does about the work itself. I still don’t have much desire to see the play performed (this summarises my feelings towards most neoclassical drama).
Derrida, Jacques. “Edmund Jabes and the Question of the Book.” Writing and Difference. Transl. Alan Bass. Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1978. 64-78.
I’m foolishly writing a paper on history, prophecy, and language in Daniel and Revelation for my apocalypse class. Using Derrida. It’s a painful process.
Grosz, Elizabeth. Jacques Lacan: A feminist introduction. London: Routledge, 1990.
Grosz makes Lacan intelligible. One day I may even read him again.
Himes, Chester. If He Hollers Let Him Go. New York: Thunder’s Mouth Press, 2002.
The first book in the American masculinity course that I’ve both enjoyed and read without my satirical mental narrator. It’s also a sad and disturbing work.
Marlowe, Christopher. The Jew of Malta. The Complete Plays. Ed. Frank Romany and Robert Lindsey. London: Penguin, 2003. 241-339.
Abigail (and particularly her conversion in 3.3) annoys me in this play, in a way that she did not when I read it two years ago. She’s also an intriguing figure around which to conduct a Lacanian-Deleuze&Guattarian-Kierkegaardian reading, should I need to do so in the near future.
Peele, George. Clymon and Clamydes. 
Peele’s romantic comedy is something like English drama in its adolescent form: still heavily under the parental influence of medieval romance, but occasionally ridiculing mum and dad when they leave the room. There are also elements of the kind of satire Jonson will use in his earliest plays, and foreshadowings of festive comedy. Also, lots and lots of rhyming.
Shelley, Mary. Frankenstein. Ed. Candace Ward. New York: Dover, 1994.
I have a nice Broadview edition of this text, with all the attending contextual material, &c., but first, I’m not sure where it is, second, the Dover was assigned for class (reasons of cost effectiveness), and third, I’ve never been interested enough in gothic literature to about it in an extra-curricular way (or even to shelve it properly, apparently). Shelley annoys me less than most at least, but only because Dr Frankenstein is so very dim it amuses me.
21 February 2009 ~ St. Catharines