I am gearing up
to write about why Mary and Shelley and Mary’s father are all writing about incest; meanwhile, the past few days have been consumed by family. A happy coincidence, perhaps. Today, I gave up on writing and re-read The Castle of Otranto and The Monk. Have any of you read them? I have been thinking about the Gothic and Horror and then I re-read Freud on The Uncanny. I do love his definition of the uncanny as something familiar that is suddenly strange. In German, the word for uncanny is related to Home. I like this idea: that home can be the strangest place of all.