Posts Tagged "sarah monette"
Welcome to the Reformation, Bitches
by Sarah Monette At the end of the first act of Hamlet, the Prince of Denmark has a problem. Now, what you think that problem is depends on how you understand what has just happened. Let’s start with what we know. We know Hamlet, King of Denmark, is dead. We know that his brother Claudius has stepped into the king’s empty shoes in more ways than one: he’s taken the throne and he’s married the widowed queen. We know that the dead king’s son, Prince Hamlet, is not happy about any of this and is wandering around the court in extremely pointed black, irritating his uncle/stepfather no end. And we know that an apparition is stalking the...
Read MoreCoyote Gets His Own Back
By Sarah Monette Luther shot the coyote bitch on Wednesday. She didn’t make a sound, just fell ass over teakettle into the defile, blood blooming across her neck and chest. She was dead—there was no doubt about that, then or later. It put Luther in a foul mood. He’s wild for trophies, is Luther Sibley, even just a skinny coyote bitch, but that defile had pricker bushes that thought they were gonna grow up to be barbed wire, and rattlers liked it. We lost a cow down there every so often—my granny, who was superstitious about that sort of thing, would have called it a bad place, and I didn’t like it myself. Even to Luther, a coyote bitch wasn’t worth...
Read MoreThe Yellow Dressing Gown
By Sarah Monette Of all the curators at the Samuel Mather Parrington Museum, I liked Michael Overton the least. He was a loud, bustling, back-slapping man, red-faced and brash and quite, quite stupid. There was, I believe, no particular malice in him, but there was no particular good, either, except possibly in his odd but entirely sincere devotion to his work. It was the last thing one would expect of a hearty, manly man like Overton, but his specialty was eighteenth-century textiles, with an emphasis on women’s clothing. We were all indefatigable trophy hunters when it came to acquisitions, but none was as indefatigable as Overton, who spent every weekend attending...
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