Coincidentally, I was reading Orwell's gentle review of Edward Lear last
night, in which he speaks of his "amiable lunacy" and natural affinity for
the weak and absurd, his gentle poking at the "they" who smash anything
enjoyable or worth doing, like dancing a quadrille with a raven, and how
unlike satirists he is "sad rather than bitter". Apart from remembering how
much I like the Pobble Who Has No Toes, it also made me reflect on the
curious sense of nonsense. I've loved Lewis Carroll since I could read, and
for all sorts of different reasons as I grew up; and all that business in
Godot with the carrot and the boots.... isn't it a bubble of joy that floats
on the absurd and even the tragic? Something freeing?
Best
A
Alison Croggon
Blog: http://theatrenotes.blogspot.com
Editor, Masthead: http://masthead.net.au
Home page: http://alisoncroggon.com
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