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Vanity Fair
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Fantomina and Other Works by Eliza Haywood
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Cahier d'un retour au pays natal by Aimé Césaire
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Le thé au harem d'Archi Ahmed by Mehdi Charef
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Jacob's Room by Virginia Woolf
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Emma is now following Charley Breyer's reviews
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To feel anything strongly was to create an abyss between oneself and others who feel strongly perhaps but differently.Virginia Woolf
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The morning was hot, and the exercise of reading left her mind contracting and expanding like the main-spring of a clock, and the small noises of midday, which one can ascribe to no definite cause, in a regular rhythm. It was all very real, very big, very impersonal, and after a moment or two she began to raise her first finger and to let it fall on the arm of her chair so as to bring back to herself some consciousness of her own existence. She was next overcome by the unspeakable queerness of the fact that she should be sitting in an arm-chair, in the morning, in the middle of the world. Who were the people moving in the house--moving things from one place to another? And life, what was that? It was only a light passing over the surface and vanishing, as in time she would vanish, though the furniture in the room would remain. Her dissolution became so complete that she could not raise her finger any more, and sat perfectly still, listening and looking always at the same spot. It becam...more Virginia Woolf
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Can the subaltern speak?  by Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak
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The Laugh of the Medusa by Hélène Cixous
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The Colonizer and the Colonized by Albert Memmi
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More of Emma's books…
Clive Barker
“Those old hypocrites. They talk about killing witches but the Good Book’s full of magic. Turning the Nile to blood and parting the Red Sea. What’s that if it’s not good old-fashioned magic? Want a little water into wine? No trouble! How about raising the dead man Lazarus? Just say the word!”
Clive Barker, Days of Magic, Nights of War

Catharine A. MacKinnon
“Man fucks woman; subject verb object.”
Catharine A. MacKinnon, Toward a Feminist Theory of the State

Thomas Pynchon
“You know what a miracle is. Not what Bakunin said. But another world’s intrusion into this one. Most of the time we coexist peacefully, but when we do touch there’s cataclysm.”
Thomas Pynchon, The Crying of Lot 49

William Faulkner
“And he was not old enough to talk and say nothing at the same time.”
William Faulkner, Light in August

Virginia Woolf
“The morning was hot, and the exercise of reading left her mind contracting and expanding like the main-spring of a clock, and the small noises of midday, which one can ascribe to no definite cause, in a regular rhythm. It was all very real, very big, very impersonal, and after a moment or two she began to raise her first finger and to let it fall on the arm of her chair so as to bring back to herself some consciousness of her own existence. She was next overcome by the unspeakable queerness of the fact that she should be sitting in an arm-chair, in the morning, in the middle of the world. Who were the people moving in the house--moving things from one place to another? And life, what was that? It was only a light passing over the surface and vanishing, as in time she would vanish, though the furniture in the room would remain. Her dissolution became so complete that she could not raise her finger any more, and sat perfectly still, listening and looking always at the same spot. It became stranger and stranger. She was overcome with awe that things should exist at all. . . She forgot that she had any fingers to raise. . . The things that existed were so immense and so desolate. . . She continued to be conscious of these vast masses of substance for a long stretch of time, the clock still ticking in the midst of the universal silence.”
Virginia Woolf, The Voyage Out

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