Speaker 1: Wol Zone Media book Club book Club, book Club book Club. Hello,
Speaker 1: it's the Cool Zone Media book Club. I'm your host,
Speaker 1: Margaret Giljoy and with me today as a guest. Is
Speaker 1: you the listener? You're the guest today and you can
Speaker 1: respond out loud to the people around you as you listen.
Speaker 1: It'll be especially funny if you have hadphones on every Sunday,
Speaker 1: I bring you a different story. This time, I'm bringing
Speaker 1: you a different story. You might have heard of this
Speaker 1: one before. It's a feminist classic from eighteen ninety one.
Speaker 1: It's called The Yellow Wallpaper and it was written by
Speaker 1: Charlotte Perkins Gilman. It was actually published in eighteen ninety two.
Speaker 1: Charlotte couldn't find a publisher for it for a while
Speaker 1: because the first person I rejected it was like everyone
Speaker 1: who reads this will be driven mad. So content warning,
Speaker 1: you'll be driven mad if you listen to this. But
Speaker 1: eventually it was published by the New England Magazine, which
Speaker 1: is a literary magazine that there's been like eight magazines
Speaker 1: with that title. And it was written by a rather
Speaker 1: interesting woman, an early feminist and zinester, Charlotte Perkins Gilman.
Speaker 1: And I'm gonna tell you about her really quick. Also,
Speaker 1: we're gonna split this story up over two weeks because
Speaker 1: it's a little bit longer than the average story. But
Speaker 1: I'm really excited about bringing you all classics sometimes, like
Speaker 1: one of my goals with this book club is to
Speaker 1: read you some of the stories that stay in my mind,
Speaker 1: some of the stories that I think about a lot. So.
Speaker 1: Charlotte Perkins Gilman was born in eighteen sixty and she
Speaker 1: grew up poor as hell with her mom and her brother,
Speaker 1: but also her father's aunts. Her father had fucked off
Speaker 1: and ditched the family basically, but his aunts kind of
Speaker 1: stepped in, and this included Harriet Beecher Stowe is the
Speaker 1: woman who wrote Uncle Tom's Cabin, So clearly she has
Speaker 1: some like literariness in her family. But she also her
Speaker 1: mom was incredibly emotionally distant and wouldn't let her have
Speaker 1: friends or read books. So anyway, she grew up a tomboy.
Speaker 1: She was smart as hell but bad at school, which
Speaker 1: I fucking love for her. She was also bisexual. She
Speaker 1: loved and lived with different women and men over the
Speaker 1: course of her life. She had a girlfriend when she
Speaker 1: was young, but that lady left Charlotte to marry a man,
Speaker 1: and Charlotte swore off romance after that until she wound
Speaker 1: up married herself and she had a kid. As a
Speaker 1: result of having a kid, she wrote the story were
Speaker 1: about to read, and then she left her husband to
Speaker 1: go back with living with women and then eventually married
Speaker 1: a man, and etc. Etc. She was a lifelong activist.
Speaker 1: She was a socialist feminist, and she spent her life
Speaker 1: traveling around and talking about feminism. She added a newspaper
Speaker 1: and wrote books and shit, including her own magazine called
Speaker 1: The Forerunner, in which she published her fiction. She also
Speaker 1: published a serialized novella That's too Long for book Club,
Speaker 1: which I'm sad about because it's how I first heard
Speaker 1: about her myself. It's this book called her Land, and
Speaker 1: I highly recommend it, not as like, go out and
Speaker 1: do what this book recommends, but as like a way
Speaker 1: to understand early twentieth century utopian feminism. It's really fascinating.
Speaker 1: It's about an all woman socialist utopia that uses like
Speaker 1: food forestry and basically permaculture and just is way ahead
Speaker 1: of its time and has all the problems with utopianism,
Speaker 1: some of which we'll talk about in a second. Her
Speaker 1: feminism overall was pretty cool. She was against gender essentialism.
Speaker 1: She said, quote, there is no female mind. The brain
Speaker 1: is not an organ of sex, might as well speak
Speaker 1: of a female liver. She also fought for communal housing
Speaker 1: so that you don't have to like get married to
Speaker 1: be financially stable. Basically, she was like not excited about
Speaker 1: the nuclear family, or rather, she was not excited about
Speaker 1: the nuclear family as being like the default and it
Speaker 1: being She acknowledged that families exist as a economic relationship
Speaker 1: as much as anything else, and so she was always
Speaker 1: looking for ways to break the prisons of that economic relationship.
Speaker 1: But she was also a weird old timey racist in
Speaker 1: a more complicated way. Normally, when you say old timey racist,
Speaker 1: you mean somebody's like real, real bad, And I mean
Speaker 1: she was trying, but not incredibly well you know, or
Speaker 1: didn't didn't always, Okay, I'll just tell you about it.
Speaker 1: She was a eugenicist in that classic early feminist twentieth
Speaker 1: century way. If you want to hear me talk way
Speaker 1: too much about that, you can listen to any number
Speaker 1: of my episodes about early feminists and also early socialists
Speaker 1: and and folks of all kinds and how people interacted
Speaker 1: with eugenics over the course of the early twentieth century.
Speaker 1: She did fight for the rights of interracial marriage, and
Speaker 1: she spoke for racial harmony. She spent a lot of
Speaker 1: her time condemning the US's racist history, and she thought
Speaker 1: that the problems with black people were the fault of
Speaker 1: white people because of slavery and racism, and that it
Speaker 1: was white people's responsibility to help black people. But the
Speaker 1: ways in which she came up to do it is
Speaker 1: where you get into her racism. She was like, she
Speaker 1: had real sketchy solutions, like can script all unemployed black
Speaker 1: folks into a quasi military state labor force for job training,
Speaker 1: which is not a good look. That's not a good
Speaker 1: You were wrong person who died a long time ago.
Speaker 1: But yeah, she wrote this story and a bunch of others,
Speaker 1: and then well, actually, in a lot of ways, her
Speaker 1: and her stories were largely forgotten until they were brought
Speaker 1: back into print in the early seventies by feminist publishers,
Speaker 1: and in this case that was the still existent feminist press.
Speaker 1: And I think about this story all the time, and
Speaker 1: at the end of the story we'll talk about some
Speaker 1: of the influences it had. So get ready for the
Speaker 1: story The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, written in
Speaker 1: eighteen ninety one, published in eighteen ninety two. It is
Speaker 1: very seldom that mere ordinary people like John and myself
Speaker 1: secure ancestral halls for the summer, a colonial mansion, a
Speaker 1: hereditary estate. I would say a haunted house, and reach
Speaker 1: the height of romantic felicity, but that would be asking
Speaker 1: too much of fate. Still, I will proudly declare that
Speaker 1: there is something queer about it. Else why should it
Speaker 1: be let so cheaply? And why have stood so long untenanted?
Speaker 1: John laughs at me, of course, but one expects that
Speaker 1: in marriage. John is practical in the extreme. He has
Speaker 1: no patience with faith, an intense horror of superstition, and
Speaker 1: he scoffs openly at any talk of things not to
Speaker 1: be felt and seen and put down in figures. John
Speaker 1: is a physician, and perhaps I would not say this
Speaker 1: to a living soul, of course, but this is dead
Speaker 1: paper and a great relief to my mind. Perhaps that
Speaker 1: is one reason I do not get well faster. You see,
Speaker 1: he does not believe that I am sick. And what
Speaker 1: can one do if a physician of high standing and
Speaker 1: one's own husband assures friends and relatives that there is
Speaker 1: really nothing the matter with one but temporary nervous depression,
Speaker 1: a slight hysterical tendency. What is one to do? My
Speaker 1: brother is also a physician, and also a high standing
Speaker 1: and he says the same thing. So I take phosphates
Speaker 1: or phosphights, whichever it is, and tonics and journeys and
Speaker 1: air and exercise, and am absolutely forbidden to work until
Speaker 1: I am well again. Personally, I disagree with their ideas. Personally,
Speaker 1: I believe that congenial work with excitement and change would
Speaker 1: do me good. But what is one to do. I
Speaker 1: did write for a while in spite of them, but
Speaker 1: it does exhaust me a good deal having to be
Speaker 1: so sly about it or else meet with heavy opposition.
Speaker 1: I sometimes fancy that, in my condition, if I had
Speaker 1: less opposition and more society and stimulus. But John says,
Speaker 1: the very worst thing I can do is to think
Speaker 1: about my condition, and I confess it always makes me
Speaker 1: feel bad. So I will let it alone and talk
Speaker 1: about the house. Antig with these sweet, sweet deals from
Speaker 1: the advertisers that interrupt this thing, Oh, oh god dear,
Speaker 1: they are the most beautiful place. It is quite alone,
Speaker 1: standing well back from the road, quite three miles from
Speaker 1: the village. It makes me think of English places that
Speaker 1: you read about for their hedges and walls and gates
Speaker 1: that lock, and lots of separate little houses for the
Speaker 1: gardeners and people. There is a delicious garden. I never
Speaker 1: saw such a garden, large and shady, full of box
Speaker 1: bordered paths and lined with long grape covered arbors with
Speaker 1: seats under them. There were greenhouses too, but they are
Speaker 1: all broken now. There was some legal trouble. I believe
Speaker 1: something about the airs and cohirs. Anyhow, the place has
Speaker 1: been empty for years. That spoils my ghostliness. I am afraid,
Speaker 1: but I don't care. There is something strange about the house.
Speaker 1: I can feel it. I even said so to John
Speaker 1: one moonlit evening, but he said what I felt was
Speaker 1: a draft and shut the window. I get unreasonably angry
Speaker 1: with John sometimes. I'm sure I never used to be
Speaker 1: so sensitive. I think it is due to this nervous condition.
Speaker 1: But John says if I feel so, I shall neglect
Speaker 1: proper self control. So I take pains to control myself
Speaker 1: before him at least, and that makes me very tired.
Speaker 1: I don't like our room a bit. I wanted one
Speaker 1: downstairs that opened on the piazza and had roses all
Speaker 1: over the window in such pretty old fashioned chintz hangings.
Speaker 1: But John would not hear of it. He said there
Speaker 1: was only one window, and not room for two beds,
Speaker 1: and no near room for him if he took another.
Speaker 1: He is very careful and loving and hardly lets me
Speaker 1: stir without special direction. I have a schedule prescription each
Speaker 1: hour in the day, and he takes all care from me,
Speaker 1: and I feel so basely ungrateful not to value it more.
Speaker 1: He said. We came here solely on my account, that
Speaker 1: I was to have perfect rest and all the air
Speaker 1: I could get. Your exercise depends on your strength, my dear,
Speaker 1: said he, and your food somewhat on your appetite, but
Speaker 1: air you can absorb all the time. So we took
Speaker 1: the nursery at the top of the house. It is
Speaker 1: a big, airy room, the whole floor nearly with windows
Speaker 1: that look all ways and air and sunshine galore. It
Speaker 1: was nursery first, and then playground and gymnasium. I should judge,
Speaker 1: for the windows are barred for little children, and there
Speaker 1: are rings and things in the wall. The paint and
Speaker 1: paper look as if a boy's school had used it.
Speaker 1: It is stripped off the paper in great patches all
Speaker 1: around the head of my bed, about as far as
Speaker 1: I can reach, and in a great place on the
Speaker 1: other side of the room low down. I never saw
Speaker 1: a worse paper in my life. One of those sprawling,
Speaker 1: flamboyant patterns, committing every artistic sin. It is dull enough
Speaker 1: to confuse the eye in following, pronounced enough to constantly
Speaker 1: irritate and provoke study. And when you follow the lame,
Speaker 1: uncertain curves for a little distance, they suddenly commit suicide,
Speaker 1: plunge off at outrageous angles, destroy themselves an unheard of contradictions.
Speaker 1: The color is repellent, almost revolting, a smoldering, unclean yellow,
Speaker 1: strangely faded by the slow turning sunlight. It is a
Speaker 1: dull yet lurid orange, in some places a sickly sulfur
Speaker 1: tint in others. No wonder the children hated it. I
Speaker 1: should hate it myself if I had to live in
Speaker 1: this room. Long. There comes John, and I must put
Speaker 1: this away. He hates to have me write a word.
Speaker 1: We have been here two weeks and I haven't felt
Speaker 1: like writing before since that first day. I am sitting
Speaker 1: by the window now up in this atrocious nursery, and
Speaker 1: there is nothing to hinder my writing as much as
Speaker 1: I please, save lack of strength. John is away all
Speaker 1: day and even some nights when his cases are serious.
Speaker 1: I am glad my case is not serious. But these
Speaker 1: nervous troubles are dreadfully depressing. John does not know how
Speaker 1: much I really suffer. He knows there is no reason
Speaker 1: to suffer, and that satisfies him. Of course. It is
Speaker 1: only nervousness. It does weigh on me so not to
Speaker 1: do my duty in any way. I meant to be
Speaker 1: such a help to John, such a real rest and comfort,
Speaker 1: And here I am a comparative burden. Already Nobody would
Speaker 1: believe what an effort it is to do what little
Speaker 1: I am able to dress and entertain and order things.
Speaker 1: It is fortunate Mary is so good with him, baby,
Speaker 1: such a dear baby, And yet I cannot be with him.
Speaker 1: It makes me so nervous. I suppose John never was
Speaker 1: nervous in his life. He laughs at me so about
Speaker 1: this wallpaper. At first he meant to repaper the room,
Speaker 1: but afterwards he said, I was letting it get the
Speaker 1: better of me, and that nothing was worse for a
Speaker 1: nervous patient than to give way to such fancies. He
Speaker 1: said that after the wallpaper was changed, it would be
Speaker 1: the heavy bedstead, and then the barred windows, and in
Speaker 1: that gate at the head of the stairs and so on.
Speaker 1: You know, the place is doing you good, he said.
Speaker 1: And really, dear, I don't care to renovate the house,
Speaker 1: just for a three months rental. Then do let us
Speaker 1: go downstairs, I said, there are such pretty rooms there.
Speaker 1: Then he took me in his arms and called me
Speaker 1: a blessed little goose, and said he would go down
Speaker 1: cellar if I wished, and have it whitewashed into the bargain.
Speaker 1: But he is right enough about the beds and the
Speaker 1: windows and things. It is as airy and comfortable room
Speaker 1: as one need wish. And of course I would not
Speaker 1: be so silly as to make him uncomfortable just for
Speaker 1: a whim. I'm really getting quite fond of the big room,
Speaker 1: all but that horrid paper. Out of one window I
Speaker 1: can see the garden, those mysterious deep shaded arbors, the
Speaker 1: riotous old fashioned flowers and bushes, and gnarly trees. Out
Speaker 1: of another, I get a lovely view of the bay
Speaker 1: and a little private wharf belonging to the estate. There
Speaker 1: is a beautiful shaded lane that runs down there from
Speaker 1: the house. I always fancy I see people walking in
Speaker 1: these numerous paths and arbors. But John has cautioned me
Speaker 1: not to give way to fancy in the least. He
Speaker 1: says that with my imaginative power and habit of story making,
Speaker 1: a nervous weakness like mine is sure to lead to
Speaker 1: all manner of excited fancies. That I ought to use
Speaker 1: my will in good sense to check the tendency. So
Speaker 1: I try. I think sometimes that if I were only
Speaker 1: well enough to write a little, it would relieve the
Speaker 1: press of ideas and rest me. But I find I
Speaker 1: get pretty tired when I try. It is so discouraging
Speaker 1: not to have any advice in companionship about my work.
Speaker 1: When I get really well, John says we can ask
Speaker 1: cousin Henry and Julia down for a long visit. But
Speaker 1: he says he would soon put fireworks in my pillowcases.
Speaker 1: Let me have those stimulating people about now. I wish
Speaker 1: I could get well faster, but I must not think
Speaker 1: about that. This paper looks to me as if it
Speaker 1: knew what a vicious influence it had. There's a recurrent
Speaker 1: spot where the pattern lulls like a broken neck, and
Speaker 1: two bulbous eyes stare at you upside down. I get
Speaker 1: positively angry with the impertinence of it and the everlastingness.
Speaker 1: Up and down in sideways they crawl, and those absurd,
Speaker 1: unblinking eyes are everywhere. There is one place where the
Speaker 1: two breadths didn't match, and the eyes go all up
Speaker 1: and down the line, one a little higher than the other.
Speaker 1: I never saw so much expression in an inanimate thing before,
Speaker 1: and we all know how much expression they have. I
Speaker 1: used to lie awake as a child and get more
Speaker 1: entertainment and tear out of blank walls and plain furniture
Speaker 1: than most children could find in a toy store. I
Speaker 1: remember what a kindly wink the knobs of our big
Speaker 1: old bureau used to have. And there was one chair
Speaker 1: that always seemed like a strong friend. I used to
Speaker 1: feel that if any of the other things looked too fierce,
Speaker 1: I could always hop into that chair and be safe.
Speaker 1: But you know what else will keep you safe buying
Speaker 1: objects and or the services from these advertisers. The furniture
Speaker 1: in this room is no worse than inharmonious, however, for
Speaker 1: we had to bring it all from downstairs. I suppose
Speaker 1: when this was used as a playroom, they had to
Speaker 1: take the nursery things out, And no wonder I never
Speaker 1: saw such ravages as the children have made here. The wallpaper,
Speaker 1: as I said before, is torn off in spots, and
Speaker 1: sticketh closer than a brother. They must have had perseverance
Speaker 1: as well as hatred. Then the floor is scratched and
Speaker 1: gouged and splintered. The plaster itself is dug out here
Speaker 1: and there. And this great heavy bed, which is all
Speaker 1: we found in the room, looks as if it had
Speaker 1: been through the wars. But I don't mind it a bit,
Speaker 1: only the paper. There comes John's sister. Such a dear
Speaker 1: girl as she is, and so careful of me, I
Speaker 1: must not let her find me writing. She is a
Speaker 1: perfect and enthusiastic housekeeper, and hopes for no better profession.
Speaker 1: I verily believe she thinks it is the writing which
Speaker 1: made me sick. But I can write when she is
Speaker 1: out and see her. A long way off from these windows,
Speaker 1: there is one that commands the road, A lovely shaded
Speaker 1: winding road, and one that looks just off over the country,
Speaker 1: A lovely country too, full of great elms and velvet meadows.
Speaker 1: This wallpaper has a kind of sub pattern and a
Speaker 1: different shade, a particularly irritating one, for you can only
Speaker 1: see it in certain lights, and not clearly then, but
Speaker 1: in the places where it isn't faded, where the sun
Speaker 1: is just so, I can see a strange, provoking, formless
Speaker 1: sort of figure that seems to sulk about behind that
Speaker 1: silly and conspicuous front design. Their sister on the stairs. Well,
Speaker 1: the fourth of July is over, the people are gone,
Speaker 1: and I am tired out. John thought it might do
Speaker 1: me good to see a little company, so we just
Speaker 1: had Mother and Nelly and the children down for a week.
Speaker 1: Of course I didn't do a thing. Jenny's to everything now,
Speaker 1: but it tired me all the same. John says, if
Speaker 1: I don't pick up faster, he shall send me to
Speaker 1: weir Mitchell in the fall. But I don't want to
Speaker 1: go there at all. I had a friend who is
Speaker 1: in his hands once, and she says he is just
Speaker 1: like John and my brother, only more so. Besides, it
Speaker 1: is such an undertaking to go so far. I don't
Speaker 1: feel as if it was worthwhile to turn my hand
Speaker 1: over for anything. And I'm getting dreadfully fretful and querulous.
Speaker 1: I cry at nothing, and cry most of the time.
Speaker 1: Of course, I don't when John is here or anybody else,
Speaker 1: but when I'm alone, and I am alone a good deal.
Speaker 1: Just now. John is kept in town very often by
Speaker 1: serious cases. And Jenny is good and lets me alone
Speaker 1: when I want her to. So I walk a little
Speaker 1: in the garden or down that lovely lane, sit on
Speaker 1: the porch under the roses, and lie down up here.
Speaker 1: A good deal. I'm getting really fond of the room,
Speaker 1: in spite of the wallpaper. Perhaps because of the wallpaper,
Speaker 1: it dwells on my mind. So I lie here on
Speaker 1: this great immovable bed. It is nailed down, I believe,
Speaker 1: and follow that pattern about by the hour. It is
Speaker 1: as good as gymnastics, I assure you. I start, we'll say,
Speaker 1: at the bottom, down in the corner over there, where
Speaker 1: it has not been touched. And I determined for the
Speaker 1: thousandth time that I will follow that pointless pattern to
Speaker 1: some sort of conclusion. I know a little of the
Speaker 1: principle of design, and I know that this thing was
Speaker 1: not arranged on any laws of radiation or alternation or
Speaker 1: repetition or symmetry, or anything else I have ever heard of.
Speaker 1: It is repeated, of course by the breaths, but not
Speaker 1: otherwise looked at. In one way, each breadth stands alone.
Speaker 1: The bloated curves and flourishes, a kind of debased Romanesque
Speaker 1: with delirium. Tremends go waddling up and down in isolated
Speaker 1: columns of fatuity. But on the other hand, they connect diagonally,
Speaker 1: and the sprawling outlines run off in great slanting waves
Speaker 1: of optic horror, like wallowing seaweeds in full chase. The
Speaker 1: whole thing goes horizontally too, at least it seems so,
Speaker 1: and I exhaust myself in trying to distinguish the order
Speaker 1: of its going in that direction. They used to have
Speaker 1: a horizontal breadth for a freeze, and that adds wonderfully
Speaker 1: to the confusion. There is one end of the room
Speaker 1: where it is almost intact, and there where the cross
Speaker 1: lights fade and the low sun shines directly upon it.
Speaker 1: I can almost fancy radiation. After all, the interminable grotesques
Speaker 1: seem to form around a common center and rush off
Speaker 1: in headlong plunges of equal distraction. It makes me tired
Speaker 1: to follow it. It will take a nap. I guess
Speaker 1: I don't know why I should write this. I don't
Speaker 1: want to. I don't feel able, and I know John
Speaker 1: would think it absurd, but I must say what I
Speaker 1: feel and think. In some way. It is such a relief,
Speaker 1: but the effort is getting to be greater than the
Speaker 1: relief half the time. Now I am awfully lazy and
Speaker 1: lie down ever so much. John says I mustn't lose
Speaker 1: my strength and has me take cod, liver oil and
Speaker 1: lots of tonics and things, to say nothing of ale
Speaker 1: and wine and rare meat. Dear John, he loves me
Speaker 1: very dearly and hates to have me sick. I tried
Speaker 1: to have a real, earnest, reasonable talk with him the
Speaker 1: other day and tell him how I wish he would
Speaker 1: let me go and make a visit to cousin Henry
Speaker 1: and Julia. But he said I wasn't able to go,
Speaker 1: nor able to stand it after I got there, and
Speaker 1: I did not make out a very good case for myself,
Speaker 1: for I was crying before I had finished. It is
Speaker 1: getting to be a great effort for me to think straight,
Speaker 1: just this nervous weakness, I suppose, and dear John gathered
Speaker 1: me up in his arms and just carried me upstairs
Speaker 1: and laid me on the bed and sat by me
Speaker 1: and read to me till it tired my head. He
Speaker 1: said I was his darling and his comfort and all
Speaker 1: he had, and that I must take care of myself
Speaker 1: for his sake and keep well. He says, no one
Speaker 1: but myself can help me out of it. That I
Speaker 1: must use my will and self control and not let
Speaker 1: any silly fancies run away from me. There's one comfort.
Speaker 1: The baby is well and happy and does not have
Speaker 1: to occupy this nursery with the horrid wallpaper. If we
Speaker 1: had not used it, that blessed child would have. What
Speaker 1: a fortunate escape. Why I wouldn't have a child of mine,
Speaker 1: an impressionable little thing, live in such a room for worlds?
Speaker 1: I never thought of it before, But it is lucky
Speaker 1: that John kept me here. After all. I can stand
Speaker 1: it so much easier than a baby, you see. Of course,
Speaker 1: I never mention it to them any more. I am
Speaker 1: too wise, but I keep watch of it all the same.
Speaker 1: There are things in that paper nobody knows but me
Speaker 1: or ever will behind the outside pattern. The dim shapes
Speaker 1: get clearer every day. It is always the same shape,
Speaker 1: only very numerous, and it is like a woman stooping
Speaker 1: down and creeping about behind that pattern. I don't like
Speaker 1: it a bit. I wonder I begin to think I
Speaker 1: wish John would take me away from here. And that's
Speaker 1: the end of the first part of the Yellow Wallpaper.
Speaker 1: And there's no way you could spoil it yourself by
Speaker 1: going and reading this thing. That's totally in the public domain.
Speaker 1: You can find it on Project Gutenberg. But what's gonna happen.
Speaker 1: You're gonna have to wait. You're gonna have to wait
Speaker 1: till next Sunday for another episode of Cool Zone Media
Speaker 1: book Club. In the meantime, I'm your host and your reader,
Speaker 1: Margaret Kiljoy, and you can find me on if you
Speaker 1: listen to this on It Could Happen Here Feed. You
Speaker 1: can find me with my history podcast Cool People Who
Speaker 1: Did Cool Stuff? And if you are listening to this
Speaker 1: already on Cool People Who Did Cool Stuff, you can
Speaker 1: listen to not Me when it could happen here. It's
Speaker 1: all part of Cool Zone Media, which is what provides
Speaker 1: you your book club. I'm just gonna press stop now.
Speaker 1: It Could Happen Here as a production of cool Zone Media.
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