Reading
The Picture of Dorian Gray
by Oscar Wilde
A young man of beauty and grace
Tries to shield his good name from disgrace.
He looks like a saint
While he withers in paint,
But he still finds himself losing face.
Dracula
by Bram Stoker
A solicitor pays his respects
To a count whom no surface reflects,
And who moves to the UK
To follow his outré
Desire to suck on some necks.
Ulysses
by James Joyce
A lass who keeps raising her dress
Is awash with erotic distress.
’Spite her wandering womb,
Should she keep Leo Bloom?
Why yes, she says, yes she will, yes.
“A Modest Proposal”
by Jonathan Swift
A man caused a hullabaloo
By posting this practical view:
Economics call for
Irish babes of the poor
To be served to the rich as ragout.
Sherlock Holmes
by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
The world’s most proficient detective
Has deductive techniques most effective.
(Though his Watson stays close
With an opium dose
Lest Holmes hit him with an invective.)
In this column, Kristen Mulrooney writes letters to famous mothers from literature, TV, and film whom she finds herself relating to on a different level now that she’s a mom herself.
Dear Marmee,
I always hoped I would be just like you when I became a mother. I dreamed that one day, my most literary child would write a book based on our family and portray me as an extraordinary beacon of light, wisdom, and patience.
So far, it’s not looking great.
I’m trying my hardest, but I wake up tightly coiled and exasperated every morning before anyone has even started asking me to play Roblox with them. Like most writers, I consider myself a Jo, maybe not in terms of talent but at least in temperament. Under your guidance, Jo learned to be less reactive and more in control of her emotions, so I’m assigning you the role of my new mentor. Congratulations.