Raymond Briggs and Me; or, The Banality of Evil for Children
Briggs didn’t create the monster lurking under the bed, he just told us it was there.
The SnowmanFather ChristmasThe Tin-Pot Foreign General and the Old Iron WomanWhen the Wind BlowsBriggs himself says
The Tin-Pot Foreign General and the Old Iron Woman
When the Wind BlowsThe Tin-Pot Foreign General and the Old Iron WomanWhen the Wind BlowsThe Crying Game
When the Wind BlowsClockwork Orange
Ruby Brunton is a New Zealand-raised writer, poet and performer who now lives in Brooklyn. She's had poems in Metatron, 4 Poets, Hobart and Witchcraft and essays in Hazlitt, Real Life, The New Inquiry and Mask Magazine where she is a contributing editor. She spends a lot of time thinking about intimacy, resistance, how to create community and education alternatives. Find her on twitter & tumblr @rubybrunton
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Fitzgerald was ground down, I imagine, consumed by how to take care of her family. This didn’t make her any less the thinker, writer, reader, that she was.