The World’s Greatest Short Stories were great. And they were short. A good combination. I was going to plunge back into Paradise Lost to get it off my plate, but my body is aching from the advanced Ashtanga class I had no business being in yesterday, so I simply cannot.
On our weekends together, when G is looking for some vintage Hardy Boys, we head to BMV on Bloor St. At the front of the store, there is a table of selections that is so brilliantly curated. I always find a book that I either love and want to read again, or one that I’ve been meaning to read for ages. This past weekend, I picked up Martin Amis’ first novel The Rachel Papers. I have not read it yet, but the film version and I have a long history.
It stars Ione Skye, who I always thought was the coolest because she was married to the King Ad-Rock. I love/loved him especially. I was heartbroken when they divorced, but that’s another story altogether.
The Rachel Papers is about a young Brit cramming for his Oxford entrance who chases after a fabulous American girl in London. I was mesmerized the characters and their world – part Brideshead Revisted, part Less Than Zero (without the drugs). When I was at Queen’s, taking Film 110, I wrote a paper entitled Elements of Realism in The Rachel Papers. I was convinced it was pure genius. I was also convinced that my hot professor would think I was so cool for picking such an obscure film. I pontificated that he’d never find a copy and would have to borrow mine. A student/professor romance would surely follow.
I got a B, and no phone call. Damn that Classic Video.