Just when it seemed that the last two items clacking around in the old head were regarding Gilmore Girls and ice cream, I rediscover reading. It happens that we have a Parrish-illustrated abbreviation of the Arabian Nights, so praise be to Allah.
I don't know what I was expecting. I don't know if I'm disappointed or not. They are certainly pretty, certainly polite. But also completely anaemic. As if the storyteller were more concerened with having his tongue lopped off than with relating anything of interest. And I suppose that's the whole idea. I mean, Scheherazade feared nightly for the state of her neck. But it's no wonder that she lasted--not when the the sultan's ego was being constantly petted by each successive story.
After this I am definitely revisiting some tales from the more democratic North, where cruel and greedy rulers are dealt with in the most inventive ways.
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