The marketplace in Poposhki-Georgiu smelled like a barn--that is, assuming a barn to have borne, in addition to the usual odors of hay and dung and animals, a strong scent of ripe fruit, cheap perfume, kerosene, hot grease, fried meat, and fresh-baked pasrty.posted by y2karl at 9:07 PM on June 27, 2002
A rather unlikely combination for a barn, it must be admitted. But there you are. And here we are. In the marketplace of Poposhki-Georgiu. Tuesday, since time immemorial (that is, for the past seventeen or eighteen years), has been Little Market Day. Great Market Day is Friday. Little Market Day is largely reserved for trading in mules, oxen, and he-goats; only the men come to Little Market Day. Little Market Day really smells like a barn--that is, a barn in which someone has been spilling a great deal of beer and a great deal of the cheapest variety of distilled spirit (known in the local dialect as Maiden's Breath). Few cooked or baked goods are offered on Tuesday, the men bringing their own lunch, and "lunch" to the peasantry of Poposhki-Georgiu traditionally means a hunk of goat sausage, a hunk of goat cheese, a hunk of bread (not exactly black, more like gray), and a bunch of dried sour cherries. Sour cherries are believed to be good for the lower intestine. In Poposhki-Georgiu the lower intestine is regarded as the seat of the deeper emotions. "When my best mule broke his left foreleg," one might hear it said, "it felt like a Turkish knife in my lower intestine.
Also, they tell this story:
First Peasant: Yesterday I came home and found my wife in bed with the goatherd-boy.
Second Peasant: What did you do?
First Peasant: I ate some sour cherries.
The Enquiries of Dr. Englebert Esterhazy
I cannot, despite almost half a century of voracious reading in SF&F, lay claim to an intimate knowledge of all of even the better authors and works. Since I have adopted a policy of simply not dealing with mediocre or bad works, I run the risk of appearing on occasion to be implicitly castigating one or another author or book when I have simply overlooked him or her or it. That I regret, but prefer to the drudgery of discussing inferiority.--and, judging from the names on his list, who among us has read as much as him?
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posted by majick at 8:20 PM on June 27, 2002