Man in rain,from my window by ADiamondFellFromTheSky on Flickr.

Ruth Orkin 1950

I just finished reading a noire bit of pulp fiction from 1950 called “Don’t Cry for Me”, and here’s what gets me.  I look at a picture like this one from 1950, and if it has any of the trappings of humanity in it–clothes, cars, furniture–the beauty of the photo may be timeless, but nevertheless, I feel like I’m looking at the past, at artifacts, at sensibilities that are basically pretty alien, right? I read a book written in 1950, and if the story is well-written and it has any of the trappings of humanitylove, jealousy, fear–then the emotion is timeless and the actions of the characters feel immediate, like they are happening to people right next to me, now.

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