The Australian National University's intersectional feminist magazine.
Alright, alright! Fine! I will answer your inane questions so long as you stop dropping stone tablets on my head! Do you people think I chose to keep living in a barrel because I like being bothered? Honestly, to think a shade cannot find a moment’s peace even in the afterlife.
Despite the stark difference between a soldier’s need for slaughter and the relentless research of the sage, they were one and the same in the end: naive wanderers—none of whom would ever know the sun’s warmth again. If one believed everything they heard, at least. Around me, these tales upon tales were all eagerly dismissed—but still… still, I wondered. Perhaps I am one of many. But I am no man.
“Just as T. S. Eliot described, ‘this is the dead land, this is the cactus land’, and I’d like to leave now please.”
The fact of the matter is, most books we read (in English-speaking countries, at least) are by white authors. And if you are like me in the sense that you live for magic, swords, and dragons—in other words, fantasy—you will predominantly be transported into worlds inspired by European mythology and folklore whenever you pick up a new book. Which is completely fine… some of the time.