The day the soldiers came, I drank cold coffee out of a cold mug and tried not to think about Jul.
I really and truly believe that if you don't invest enough personal self into a fantasy novel, then why should anyone care? I mean, all fiction is imaginary, but it's more pronounced when you're reading something about an imaginary place. If you don't put something personal in there, if you're not personally invested in it, and of course as a thinking, feeling person in the 21st century who has been absolutely horrified, and your jaw drops sometimes when you see what's happened, the whole way in which America's imperialism of the last decade has played out, it just can't help but effect your work.
This week, in the fourth and final fitt, we'll find out how the story ends. After staying a week in Lord Bertilak's castle, it's finally time for Gawain to ride out to the ominous Green Chapel, where, on New Year's Day, he must finally keep the covenant he made with the enigmatic Green Knight last Christmas . . . and where, if Lady Bertilak's magic girdle doesn't turn out to be the protective talisman she claimed, Gawain stands to lose his head to the giant's green-gleaming axe.
one could no more / put a patch on a damaged / wing or red jewel of an eye