Расизм

There was a smell in the air as of saltpeter around illegal fireworks.

Расизм

I feel as if I woke up one day in the middle of a very ugly racial drama, and have been unhappy with my role ever since.

Yes, we knew that you didn't want to marry King Otho, and yes, we knew it was because he was black. It is as if you have traveled to some realm beyond race and have to keep coming back because the rest of us haven't.

And then of course Sycorax was black. I

It's interesting how my father never seemed to focus on her blackness, only on her disgusting femi¬ninity. But the blackness she passed on to Caliban was part of his disgustingness.

I grew up hating and fearing her; the idea that her black magic was no different from my father's—which was "white"—is truly an impossible thought.

I want to say "patriarchy," and that's al¬ways true, of course; but blaming things on "patriarchy" is never very satisfying, don't you agree?

"Well, the bibliography for further reading lists articles that say she represents archaic matriarchy and also the despised and repressed female body."

He has learned that race is an arbitrary category, designating nothing but ancestry, and he talks of nothing else. He's involved in a vast research project to show that the entire nobility of Italy, including him¬self, is "black."

The place is both fa¬miliar and strange, with a rocky coastline and poor soil. The veg¬etation is incoherent. One side of the island seems mainly tropi¬cal, with banana and tamarind trees; the other is olives and citrus just like home. Sometimes we try to find the exact location where the climate changes, But in fact nothing grows here in much abundance.

but Caliban hasn't softened a bit. Caliban can't learn to play chess and doesn't want to, but sometimes, by force of will or by wheedling or waiting for his moment, Prospero gets him to play a few moves.

Clearly I've been infected by the reverence and patriotism with which this event is always discussed.

Писала Міранда до Клаорибель. В листах співчуття щодо смерті батька

просперо.

Prospero did seem god-like to me in his power.

Suddenly Prospero was back in that moment, thunder and lightning com¬ing more and more under his control

Dear Claribel, Dear Ear, my dearest listening Ear,

Small, dirty plastic ob¬jects, I think: aquamarine-colored combs, miniature cycling rab¬bits, mismatched dice. But there it was, my tree, the original of which my memory kept a permanent, perfect copy even though I didn't think of it for decades. Of course there's also something disappointing about its reality: it's just a tree, shedding a little, peeling a little, going nowhere.

and there's an informa¬tional pamphlet explaining how Sycorax ruled the island before my father came, how she tortured Ariel and so on.

Одяг раніше

Near me was a group of people in thick black shoes, the men in beards, the women in bonnets. I think they were members of a sect.

Нові слова

Prospero and I spent the day at the National Park. The others went to the beach.

There were no tourists, no oleanders, no pamphlets, so it took me by surprise. This insignificant-looking place was the navel of my universe, Rome, Delphi, and Piccadilly Circus rolled into one!

The re-enactment turns out to be a big deal.

When it was over it seemed I had moved, because I was sitting on the edge of the bed, listening to a normal, desultory, midday bird.

and his thinning hair stuck out here and there in a kind of punk way.

Some promise hung in the air;

There was a wonderful park sign, though, a tank of clear water with coral and pearls drifting slowly through it, propelled by a circulating pump.

"Let's just see what's in the gift shop."

Inside were spiky coral necklaces and egg timers filled with bright yellow sand.