Designing "Lolita"

The New Yorker has an interesting little article regarding book cover design for the Vladimir Nabokov novel Lolita. Being a book lover and design major, I have no choice but to recommend it to you all.

Read it here.

My favorite of the covers featured:

(Cover by Jamie Keenan)

Book Carvings by Guy Laramee

View more:
The Great Wall series
Biblios series

Home Wrecker

And this is how we danced: with our mothers’
white dresses spilling from our feet, late August

turning our hands dark red. And this is how we loved:
a fifth of vodka and an afternoon in the attic, your fingers

sweeping though my hair—my hair a wildfire.
We covered our ears and your father’s tantrum turned

into heartbeats. When our lips touched the day closed
into a coffin. In the museum of the heart

there are two headless people building a burning house.
There was always the shotgun above the fireplace.

Always another hour to kill—only to beg some god
to give it back. If not the attic, the car. If not the car,

the dream. If not the boy, his clothes. If not alive,
put down the phone. Because the year is a distance

we’ve traveled in circles. Which is to say: this is how
we danced: alone in sleeping bodies. Which is to say:

This is how we loved: a knife on the tongue turning
into a tongue.

—Ocean Vuong

url change

formerly: futuresfading
now: abookishnotion

Change is good.

click to enlarge

Ophelia, by British artist Sir John Everett Millais.

This oil-on-canvas painting depicts the character Ophelia from Shakespeare's Hamlet singing whilst floating down the river before she drowns. This seen is described by Queen Gertrude in Act IV, Scene VII of the classic play:

Queen. There is a willow grows aslant a brook,
That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream.
There with fantastic garlands did she come
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples
That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
But our cold maids do dead men’s fingers call them;
There, on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds
Clamb’ring to hang, an envious silver broke,
When down her weedy trophies and herself
Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide,
And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up;
Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes,
As one incapable of her own distress,
Or like a creature native and indued
Unto that element. But long it could not be
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull’d the poor wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy death.

The Mermaid

A mermaid found a swimming lad,
Picked him for her own,
Pressed her body to his body,
Laughed; and plunging down
Forgot in cruel happiness
That even lovers drown.

W.B. Yeats

Unexpected Hiatus

So, I've been MIA on this blog for a bit. A lot has been happening and this blog was put on the back burner.

I plan on returning it to it's former glory, though. I'm goingo to post more regularly and get back to writing reviews.

I'm currently reading A Thousand Pardons, by Jonathan Dee. Looking forward to writing a review for you all!