"Yes, Mary McCarthy is a much neglected novelist now and that's a shame..."
"Gee it really is hard to argue against Emile Durkheim..."
"'The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which.' Wow. Just... wow!"
"I'm telling you Katie you have to read White Noise before you read Underworld. You have to get into the rhythm of his sentences. DeLillo is all about the sentence..."
"Margaret Atwood opened my eyes, but Octavia Butler... she blew my mind!"
"My Aeolic Greek is a little rusty, but if that isn't a motto of Sappho then it surely should be."
"No madam, I'm not that J.D. Salinger."
"Then we throw our manuscripts into the fire and that's the end of the writer's retreat. We're free baby, free of our hangups and ready to really write! Anyway, next year we're in Montreal..."
If the spacesuit is the symbol of progress, the gas mask is the sign of the apocalypse. In popular culture it signifies that science has turned against us. It's the face of dystopia.
Today in pulp I look at the culture of the mask!
The first chemical masks were work by Venitian plague doctors: a bird-like affair, the beak stuffed with lavender, matched with full length coat and hat. It was a terrifying sight - the grim reaper come to apply poultices to your tumours.
But it was poison gas, first used at the Second Battle of Ypres in 1915, that led to the modern gas mask. At first these were cotton masks treated with chemicals. However their protection was limited.
It's now over half a century since 1970, and I'm starting to wonder if we should bring back its concept of gracious modern living...
You see we've grown so used to Swedish-style modernism that we've sort of forgotten that maximalism, rather than minimalism, was once the sign of a cultured abode.
The 1970s in many ways reached back to the rich ideas of Victorian decor: heavy, autumnal and cluttered. Home was meant to be a baroque and sensual experience, rather than a 'machine for living in.'