This week in book-to-film adaptation news: there will soon be another take on Little Women, to be produced by Amy Pascal and adapted by Sarah Polley.
A New Little Women
Straightening Up the Files
“Mom would meet up with us in the museum, take us to study Impressionist or Modern art. It always made me want to puke, but we did it every weekend for over a year.” Smithsonian Magazine has a lovely piece about the story behind the children’s classic From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, including lots of anecdotes from author E.L. Konigsburg‘s kids.
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Poetry From Hanoi Hilton
Bill Keller discusses John Borling’s Taps On The Walls, a collection of poems “tapped out in code, letter by letter, on the walls of a wretched cell in Hanoi during his 6 1/2 years as a prisoner of war.”
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The From Scratch Club
“Claiming that feminism killed home cooking is not just shaming, it’s wildly inaccurate from a historical standpoint…As should be obvious to anyone who’s peeked at a cookbook from the late 1940s or early 1950s that promotes ingredients like sliced hot dogs and canned tomato soup, we’ve been eating processed crap since long before feminism. Yet the idea of the feminist abandoning her children to TV dinners while she rushes off to a consciousness-raising group is unshakable.” The perils of foodie nostalgia.
I created an internet buzz when I smiled
The Amherst College Archives have discovered what could be the second photograph in existence of Emily Dickinson.
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Borrowing: It Runs in the Family
Hey, old timers, quit blaming my generation for “irresponsible” borrowing. It turns out folks older than forty own the same amount of student loan debt as folks younger than 30, and you guys have had at least a ten year head start in the workforce.
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Miranda July’s Advice
Miranda July’s advice to high school girls (and feminists everywhere).
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Honesty Trumps Good Manners
“Our children, at least in this country, with no tales of war to tell; only music and clothes. Infuriating and a blessing for our parents, who had experienced the abyss staring back at them. I suppose their memories must have hung around their necks like stinking albatrosses, only for their children to turn out themselves to be an abyss gazing back at the next generation. Is it catching? Whose 1950s was I living?” This installment of Jenny Diski’s memoir from the London Review of Books is not to be missed.