What’s on your mind?
Emily Rutherford…
needs to read Mrs. Dalloway again.
Needs to read George Eliot, anything.
Needs to read Nabokov, more than Lolita.
Needs to read Foucault.
Needs to read Blake, seriously, and Auden and Eliot—T.S.—more than desultorily.
Needs to read Jane Eyre.
Needs to read more Kant, more Nietzsche, more Rousseau.
Needs to read Sedgwick, Butler. The whole catalogue.
Needs to read Wilde, everything; Milton, everything but Paradise Lost, because twice is probably enough to get by on.
Needs to read Freud.
Needs to read Plato. And Aristotle. And Cicero.
Needs to read Elizabeth Bishop, more; Trollope, more; Dickens, more.
Needs to read Shaw, Symonds, Pater… and Plath.
Needs to read Melville, especially Bartleby; needs to read Emily Dickinson.
Needs to read needs to read needs to read.
Needs to read Mary Wollstonecraft for tomorrow.
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Addendum: Henry James. How could Emily Rutherford have forgotten him?
Emily Rutherford 