When I was little my Mom used to recite a dumbed-down version of Edith Hamilton’s “Mythology” to scare the shit out of me help me fall asleep. She introduced an abiding love for dank, but charmingly told tales of dirty deeds involving, lust, betrayal of gods, father and country into my life … in short I can blame my love for The Days of Our Lives and The O.C. — as well as Ovid (Edith hates him though! She thinks he over-writes, I say phoeey he’s neato), Flaubert and Stendhal.
I’m re-reading it because the details about the specific stories were fading as much as Fancy-Faces’ hopes for Bo’s survival …
It sure is a page-turner!
Bonus! I am finally STARTING to SORT OF get the lyrics to Some Velvet Morning:
“Flowers are the things we knew
Secrets are the things we grew
Learn from us very much
Look at us but do not touch
Phaedra is my name.”
Thanks, Edith!
