voyeurism

I was talking to my fellow editors at work today about how we arrange our bookshelves and what books are currently beside our beds. The books by my bed just reaffirm how unrealistic I am in my ambitions:

Margaret Atwood's "Oryx and Crake" (one chapter left)

"Letters Home" by Sylvia/Aurelia Plath (re-reading it for the third time, about one-third of the way through)

Proust "Swann's Way" (feel like i will never finish it)

one of Simone de Beauvoir's autobiographies

"A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius" (a loaned book)

a few dystopian paperbacks (1984, Brave New World)

and a stack of poetry by Sylvia plath, Don McKay, Al Purdy, and Ted Hughes.

What books are beside your bed?

"99 per cent human"

"Jimmy went in to see the pigoons" by Jason Courtney

I've been reading Margaret Atwood's Oryx and Crake, and becoming increasingly disturbed by the very real possibilities it explores. This headline shows just how real the possibilities could be...

Cow-human cross embryo lives three days