Angela Carter
Angela Carter
Angela Olive Carter-Pearcewho published as Angela Carter, was an English novelist, short story writer and journalist, known for her feminist, magical realism, and picaresque works. In 2008, The Times ranked Carter tenth in their list of "The 50 greatest British writers since 1945". In 2012, Nights at the Circus was selected as the best ever winner of the James Tait Black Memorial Prize...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionNovelist
Date of Birth7 May 1940
grandmother people posing
Not many people can boast a photo of their grandmother posing for kiddiporn.
battle toenails habit
Our fingernails match our toenails, match our lipstick match our rouge...The habit of applying warpaint outlasts the battle.
years long one-day
...in their millenial and long-lived patience they knew quite well how, in a hundred years, or a thousand years' time, or else, perhaps, tomorrow, in an hour's time, for it was all a gamble, a million to one chance, but all the same there was a chance that if they kept on shaking their chains, one day, some day, the clasps upon the shackles would part.
hoping-for-the-best worst
Hope for the best, expect the worst.
relationship women schemas
In the mythic schema of all relations between men and women, man proposes, and woman is disposed of.
sexy women twilight
Women's sexy underwear is a minor but significant growth industry of late-twentieth-century Britain in the twilight of capitalism.
love-is desire
Love is desire sustained by unfulfilment.
dream hollywood united-states
Hollywood... was the place where the United States perpetrated itself as a universal dream and put the dream into mass production.
respect mean nudge-nudge
If Miss means respectably unmarried, and Mrs. respectably married, then Ms. means nudge, nudge, wink, wink.
christmas doors midnight
Midnight, and the clock strikes. It is Christmas Day, the werewolves birthday, the door of the solstice still wide enough open to let them all slink through.
eye loss reflection
Your green eye is a reducing chamber. If I look into it long enough, I wil become as small as my own reflection, I will diminish to a point and vanish. I will be drawn down into that black whirlpool and be consumed by you. I shall become so small you can keep me in one of your osier cages and mock my loss of liberty.
mind lovely age
It's every woman's tragedy, that, after a certain age, she looks like a female impersonator. Mind you, we've known some lovely female impersonators, in our time.
lonely writing thinking
I don't really think that writers, even great writers, are prophets, or sages, or Messiah-like figures; writing is a lonely, sedentary occupation and a touch of megalomania can be comforting around five on a November afternoon when you haven't seen anybody all day.
reading offending fiction
F.R. Leavis's "eat up your broccoli" approach to fiction emphasises this junkfood/wholefood dichotomy. If reading a novel--for theeighteenth century reader, the most frivolous of diversions--did not, by the middle of the twentieth century, make you a better person in some way, then you might as well flush the offending volume down the toilet, which was by far the best place for the undigested excreta of dubious nourishment.