Abandoned. "Detailed discussion" means something else to me than long plot synopses (sometimes even of movies that aren't the topic of the chapter), irrelevant details, repetition (do I really need to know more than once that Lancaster had blonde hair and he was a former acrobat?), glaring errors, sloppy and jumbled writing, and very little of actual analysis.

Oh, and Los Angeles as a noir setting? Only an afterthought, which is the opposite what the blurb implies.

A fairly academic overview of how the British viewed Egypt over the years, how the curse stories were connected to museums, private collections and changing political situations, and what authors drew from all this. Very light on the latter content with story synopses filling the space. I would have also appreciated a more tighter focus, especially in the chapter about magic and occult that was essentially just a short history of occult societies and magical thinking. Although Luckhurst goes on too many tangents, overall the ideas and arguments are solid and worth the read, and a good base for the collection I'm going to be reading next.

3.5 stars. Horse buggies, corn (corn everywhere, everywhere corn), the scent of fresh cinnamon buns, crunchy leaves, fairs with livestock contests and pie contests and handicrafts, birdsong, flame-colored maples, roadside stands selling cider. Much like in The Other, Tryon creates a great atmosphere fitting for a horror novel that doesn't seem like a horror novel at first.

It takes a long time to properly get the chills going, probably too long, but once they do it's rewarding. Sunshine and countryside coziness are slowly penetrated by a prickling at the base of your neck, low voices and whispers, things said in glances and between the lines, and flies buzzing around blood.

Strange Angel may not be the best biography I've ever read, but the story is incredibly fascinating. I first heard of Parsons three years ago when reading The Secret History of Twin Peaks, and the whole thing seemed so deliciously bizarre that I knew I had to find out more.

In short, Parsons was a pioneering rocket engineer, but also a Thelemite occultist. Everybody's gotta have hobbies, right? Well, turns out that Parsons was pretty deep in the philosophy, eventually becoming the leader of the Californian branch (with a little coaxing from Crowley). As a scientist, Parsons relied on intuition and practical experiments instead of theorisation, which made him very different from his colleagues and eventually caused him troubles.

Naturally, Pendle goes through a lot of technical details related to rockets (most of it went over my head; no surprise there), so I was much more interested in the parts where Parsons is chanting Crowley's "Hymn to Pan" at rocket test firings or tries to invoke a goddess, or where the Orange Grove Mansion's hijinks are explored. Good times. L. Ron Hubbard also makes an appearance, acting like the massive asshole he was. Again, no surprise.

I'm not at all knowledgeable about rocket science and therefore not in a position to evaluate whether Parsons was as important a figure as Pendle claims, but he definitely deserves his story to be told, which is part of the weird side of L.A. that I'm always ready to hear about.

I don't mind idiots in my books and movies. Richard is definitely a complete idiot. His vanity is showing almost immediately: when his wife and kid are leaving for a holiday, he thinks it's flattering that his kid is upset. He also thinks his wife is right to be worried about losing her looks (although he doesn't know if she's worried or not), because he himself doesn't look any different than what he looked like when he was twenty-eight, so when she gets older, everybody will think she's his mother.

However, idiots need to be interesting. Even if the characters are trash or the sexual politics are old-fashioned etc., I'm willing to get on board if the writing/plot are good or there's a point to all the messiness. The Seven Year Itch doesn't do anything for me in that regard. Richard is just boring and there's no payoff, or at least any that I can see or appreciate. I never truly cared about anything that happened.

I do like the fact that Richard underestimates The Girl, thinking all the things that men presume about women's behavior, yet in the end he not only feels old because of what she's saying to him, but gets a reality check in other ways as well. I kind of get what Axelrod is trying to do by making Richard seem like a fool, but if he's trying to make an argument about marriages, I can't tell what it is.

I also re-watched the movie and didn't find it particularly funny either (I was very young when I saw it the first time, so I don't remember if I liked it back then), but at least it has beautiful colors and vintage fashion going for it.

"The girl upstairs almost kills me with a cast iron bucket. So I ask her down for a drink. What's wrong with that? If Helen was here, she'd do the same thing."

Story about an ordinary girl who gets caught up with one of the most terrible things in the world - war.

If you're about to read this expecting a traditional 'what I did today' -diary, you're in for a big surprise. Then again, if you already know Frida Kahlo you wouldn't really expect that, would you? Originally not intended to be published, through Kahlo's diary you get inside her head in the form of letters, notes, automatic writing and sketches. So much so, that you feel a bit rude for invading her thoughts. I don't claim to understand automatic writing, and even though Frida isn't a Surrealist, she occasionally seems to be using the same technique in her writings. I'm so far only visually into Surrealism, so for me those passages were the most difficult and confusing.

But in the whole, is the diary really meant to be understood by someone other than her? Frida's writings and pictures together create a beautiful chaos, that helps you get a little bit closer to her art. Even you didn't understand everything, you can still feel the emotions that Frida went through when her health slowly deteriorated, and the love she had for Diego and pre-Columbian symbolism and culture. If you already admire Frida's art, this is a must read and a real gem of a companion piece to her paintings.

I don't paint dreams or nightmares, I paint my own reality.

The book itself had a little problematic layout, because the explanations and translations are all stuffed into the back of the book, forcing you to flip through the pages. The Finnish translation also had quite a bit of problems in terms of spelling. Not a huge thing, but stuff like that always sticks out when it's repeated a few times.