Category: the secret history

There are such things as ghosts. People everywhere have always known that. And we believe in them every bit as much as Homer did. Only now, we call them by different names. Memory. The unconscious.

greenlightpaperbacks:

pre-loved books // the secret history by donna tartt

Beauty is rarely soft or consolatory. Quite the contrary. Genuine beauty is always quite alarming.

pageofcoins:

If I’m outside, I normally have a book and my camera with me.

Does such a thing as ‘the fatal flaw,’ that showy dark crack running down the middle of a life, exist outside literature? I used to think it didn’t. Now I think it does. And I think that mine is this: a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs.

They understand not only evil, it seemed, but the extravagance of tricks with which evil presents itself as good.

saint-rouge:

The Secret History Audiobook on Cassette.
Read by Robert Sean Leonard

booklisted:

Rain outside and a flowering garden means it’s the season for cozy re-reads in bed

I suppose the shock of recognition is one of the nastiest shocks of all.

It’s a very Greek idea, and a very profound one. Beauty is terror. Whatever we call beautiful, we quiver before it. And what could be more terrifying and beautiful, to souls like the Greeks or our own, than to lose control completely? To throw off the chains of being for an instant, to shatter the accident of our mortal selves? Euripides speaks of the Maenads: head thrown I back, throat to the stars, “more like deer than human being.” To be absolutely free! One is quite capable, of course, of working out these destructive passions in more vulgar and less efficient ways. But how glorious to release them in a single burst! To sing, to scream, to dance barefoot in the woods in the dead of night, with no more awareness of mortality than an animal! These are powerful mysteries. The bellowing of bulls. Springs of honey bubbling from the ground. If we are strong enough in our souls we can rip away the veil and look that naked, terrible beauty right in the face; let God consume us, devour us, unstring our bones. Then spit us out reborn.