Tuesday, January 26, 2010

From that first day, we were three...

And I--there lies the sting--I had and have no right to think thus of her. As she told me, I was naught to her, and never shall be through the unfathomed depths of Time, unless, indeed, conditions alter, and a day comes at last when two men may love one woman, and all three be happy in the fact. It is the only hope of my broken-heartedness, and a rather faint one. Beyond it I have nothing.
- She, by H. Rider Haggard, 1887

Honestly, I get why there are basically no polyamorous characters in mainstream fiction. Completely apart from there being so few of us in the public eye, polyamory kills, like, sixty percent of plotlines. Imagine if Othello just sat down with Desdemona to discuss his concerns and limits regarding her interest in Cassio. One-act play.

Next in line, The Prisoner of Zenda. Remember, they're only schlocky mass-market adventure novels until they turn a hundred years old. Then they're literature.

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