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Life Is a Dance

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Steven Redhead

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“The quintessential emblem of religion — and the clearest manifestation of the perversity that lies at its core — is the sacrifice of a child by a parent. Almost all religious faiths incorporate the myth of such a sacrifice, and some have actually made it real. Lucretius had in mind the sacrifice of Iphigenia by her father Agamemnon, but he may also have been aware of the Jewish story of Abraham and Isaac and other comparable Near Eastern stories for which the Romans of his times had a growing taste. Writing around 50 BCE he could not, of course, have anticipated the great sacrifice myth that would come to dominate the Western world, but he would not have been surprised by it or by the endlessly reiterated, prominently displayed images of the bloody, murdered son.”

ReligionSacrificeChild Sacrifice
Book:The Swerve: How the World Became Modern
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“Unlike flowers, the animals he tried to macerate would not yield up their scent without complaints or with a mute sigh — they fought desperately against death…and in their fear of death created large quantities of sweat whose acidity ruined the warm oil… The objects would have to be quieted down, and so suddenly that they would have no time to become afraid or to resist. He would have to kill them.”

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Book:Perfume: The Story of a Murderer
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“I found the stuff and I gave it to him and I sat there watching him die. I’ve never felt so alive, so exultant, so full of power. I watched him die…’ (…)‘I didn’t understand that I was killing myself—not him. Afterwards I saw her caught in a trap—and that was no good either. I couldn’t hurt her—she didn’t care—she escaped from it all—half the time she wasn’t there. She and Amyas both escaped—they went somewhere where I couldn’t get at them. But they didn’t die. I died.”

Spoiler AlertAftertaste
Book:Five Little Pigs
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“She could read Hal's thoughts, evident in the lines of his body, his tensed shoulders and narrowed eyes: I will hurt you. And she smiled even more widely, knowing that he couldn't. For once, finally, she was the one with the power, the knowledge, the upper hand. His life was an oyster, dropped from a great height onto a rocky shore. Now his shell had been cracked open and the soft, defenseless meat had been exposed. Hal couldn't protect himself. Not from this. The only question left was how much damage she would do.”

KarmaSpoiler AlertSweet Revenge
Book:That Summer
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“I gave you everything," Hal shouted. "No, you took everything!" she yelled back. "You took my name away!" Hal looked as bewildered as if she'd slapped him. Then his jolly, reasonable look was back, the mask once again in place. "Daisy," he said, his voice calm. "That's not my name!" she shrieked. He reached out to put his hands on her shoulders, as he'd done so many times before, to hold her still, to instruct her, and in her head she ducked and saw Hal stumbling forward, grabbing for the wobbly post, the one that had never been repaired. She saw his feet skid on the slick surface of the deck, saw his arms pinwheeling, hands groping, reaching for her, for help that wouldn't come. She saw him fall, thudding down one, two, three, four, five, six flights of stairs, to lie, broken and motionless, on the sand, limbs twisted, eyes open to the rain. She saw herself look down at him, seeing nothing but a male body around a man-shaped void. Not a man at all, but a creature with cold, flat eyes, a monster with instincts for self-preservation and a species of low cunning, but not a man, not a person who had loved her, or anyone.”

DivorceBreakupTrue NatureFreedom Of ChoiceMonsters Of MenSpoiler AlertFor The BetterDevil Incarnate
Book:That Summer
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