While in Paris this January, I picked up (okay, I obsessively cruised the Seine for) this copy of Story of O with stunning illustrations by Leonor Fini, which I’d read about but never actually *seen.*
Now they live in my living room, sharing a display with my antique sex toy collection. I keep the book open to some illustration, and every month — i.e. whenever I feel like — I switch the page. This month-ish’s is the frontispiece for “La Chouette,” the last section of the book in which… well, I won’t spoil it for you, but it does, as advertised, involve an owl. Now go read it. Now. Go.
Goddamn if there isn’t an academic project aching to be undertaken re: reclaiming Story of O in all its literary, third-wave feminism-y greatness. I’m not that busy, right?
