Author Archives: Theodora Goss

The Falcon by Theodora Goss Once, there was a man who was also a falcon. I do not know if he had been a falcon in a previous life or if at night he transformed into a falcon or if … Continue reading →

The Mysterious Miss Tickle by Theodora Goss Miss Tickle owns a bookshop on the square called Antique Books and Oddments, where she sells old maps, and postcards sent from strange hotels, and photographs of people you don’t know in black … Continue reading →

The Man Reading About Munkácsy by Theodora Goss There is a man reading about Mihály Munkácsy, the nineteenth-century Hungarian painter, sitting across from me on the bus — the man, I mean, not Munkácsy, who died in 1900. He is … Continue reading →

The Iris by Theodora Goss All of life is trouble. It is trouble simply to get out of bed in the morning, to leave the safety of cool sheets, like swaddling clothes or shrouds. Each evening, we crawl back into … Continue reading →

Thoughts While Sitting on Top of a Cliff in Ireland by Theodora Goss The sea below me is furling and unfurling like a banner. I wonder whose banner it is, whose standard is so blue. There is a yellow flower … Continue reading →

An Important Question by Theodora Goss When she decides to drop her eyes instead of looking back at him, a refusal rather than a return of attention, is she perhaps missing the chance to change her life, to find whatever … Continue reading →

On the Topic of Love by Theodora Goss I was thinking about the topic of love, as in what is it exactly? It’s not like the ocean, or a tree, or a rock — these are things I understand. Love, … Continue reading →