Finally, I have the crypt to myself. The Casket Case is out of town this week and you know what they say....ofcourse you don't know what they say, human. The saying goes, when the moron's away, the kitty will play. I may have overdone it a bit on the catnip last night, but I've still come through with the goods. Even hung over, cats are the essence of class and culture. What do I have for you this week, you ask? None other than a little story many consider to be the first gothic novel, The Castle of Otranto. Written in 1764 by Horace Walpole, this tale is wickedly surreal and every bit as enthralling as we've come to expect our melodramatic gothic literature to be.
Read it here, or here for more details.
You'll forgive me if I don't stick around to demean you more, but I have to return to the party. Good night, pissants.
No comments:
Post a Comment