This week I have thought about two famous women. One is the young Malala from Pakistan. What a powerful voice on all levels! I even like the way she wears her headdress. We have some modesty, which we could emulate, and even some pretty fabric, which is fun, but none of the horrible hidden-ness and darkness of other potential garb and insane rules about showing no hair and endless terror. -- To have so much courage in a young person is really something else. It makes us all look like cowards.
Her story also shows us why the Son of God had to die. The narrative is not complete or moving without the willingness to suffer and the survival of ghastly attack showcasing both the horror and the valor.
Then there was also Alice Munro, this week. She won a Nobel prize for literature. She is the only female Canadian short-story writer whom I have read. Well, I have really only read three short-story writers; the other two are Nathaniel Hawthorne and Flannery O'Connor. I would say that I like Hawthorne the best of the three. Flannery hits me out of nowhere in ways I find more contrived. Hawthorne seems more unified and satisfying while also being hard-hitting.
Anyways, Munro I can't remember hitting me aside from some strange sexual respects, which I did not enjoy and the perverted images are still with me. What I did enjoy with Munro were the settings because they were familiar Canadian settings. I guess I don't enjoy the queernesses in some of the short-stories, especially if they seem dragged in by the hair. All of it makes me want to try and write a short story while reminding me of an old friend/enemy, whom I miss today.
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