Just as all eyes are turning to Egypt, Cairo that is, where alliances shift and the streets are crowded with throngs of protesters, I have begun reading this book. The real story of Cleopatra. Which begins in Egypt, Alexandria that is, where civil war is underway. I am so completely caught up in this critically acclaimed accounting of one of the most powerful women who has ever walked this Earth. If you think you spring from a dysfunctional family, you'll feel sane and normal, perhaps even dull, compared to the murder, incest, intrigue and betrayal that abounds in the Ptolemaic Dynasty. It seems so very appropriate that we named our half Siamese calico cat after this queen of queens. After all, a clumsy visitor to the Alexandrian palace was executed for stumbling over and subsequently killing one of the royal cats. It must have been an honor to be employed as the royal poop scooper. Words cannot express how tickled I am that Cleopatra is an anagram for Carla, poet. While you ponder this, I'm getting back to my book.
No comments:
Post a Comment