One of those strange posts where I feel the need to wax poetic about rainy weather.

I could review the rain like I would a book or piece of chocolate. It has variety enough, a hundred different characters for a hundred different days. The only difficulty would be to declare one state better than the other—that, and to keep up with how frequently the states change. Today is spring rain in the winter: a thick and heavy blanket of rainfall, inescapably saturating; the raindrops are solid—not hard or swollen, not light and far from mist, but the in-between point where they are strong and distinct but gentle on the skin; the temperature of both rain and air is mild leaning towards cool, the sky is solid pale gray, and all the streets are mist-fogged. This is the rain that will make the spring vivid and verdant, trapped in the winter when the only colors are gray on gray on gray,. It's omnipresent but surprisingly mild, and no one is shivering but everyone has raincoats and wet hair.

People come inside and make sarcastic comments to one another about this nice weather we're having, but there's no irony for me. I love it. There are a few places I could happily live, places all over the world—I'd be content to pick up and move to Sweden, and living in Great Britain is my dream—but I couldn't stand to live in a place where it doesn't rain, and if I left this valley I would miss it, miss the rain, the real rain, rain to soak your hems and flood the sidewalks and bring the sky to earth.

I guess you have to feel that way, to be happy living here. You have to be passionate about the rain. I suppose it's silly to write about that. But I am, and I do.

Book Review: Wizard of the Pigeons by Megan Lindholm (Robin Hobb)

Title: Wizard of the Pigeons
Author: Megan Lindholm (Robin Hobb)
Published: New York: Ace Fantasy, 1986
Rating: 4 of 5
Page Count: 214
Total Page Count: 96,625
Text Number: 277
Read Because: recommeded by and borrowed from century_eyes
Review: Living on the streets of Seattle is a man called Wizard who talks with mummies and tells the Truth to those who sit beside him on the bus. But when he and other magic users are threatened by the amorphous gray Mir, Wizard must decide if he can and will use his powers to go to war. Wizard of the Pigeons is an urban fantasy that calls to mind Neil Gaiman and Charles de Lint in both setting and style: realistically-rendered Seattle is filled with clever, cute bits of magic from treasure-filled junk shops to a parallel otherworld populated by the city's alternate timelines, magical men and a few elusive women walk the streets, yet the average citizen goes through their daily life without recognizing the wonder around them. The initial effect is almost twee, but Lindholm's magic is original and grows increasingly unidealized, and before long these aspects transfer to the rest of the book: Wizard develops complexity and multifold faults, his relationships and path become complex and difficult, and the story grows surprisingly dark while still retaining flashes of beauty. The maturation from fluff to grit isn't flawless: the plot is occasionally slow and confusing, Mir is sometimes too indistinct and imprecise an evil, and the darker character aspects threaten to become simply unlikable. But on the whole, Wizard's story is a dynamic journey, difficult and sometimes joyless but never without purpose and spark, and it makes for an intense and worthwhile read.

For better or worse, the book is also packed with dense gender issues. Wizard's mentor and sometimes-romantic interest is a woman named Cassie whose magic is rooted in the female archetype; she's a strong character, but her relationship with Wizard and role in his story is occasionally troubling. As a shapeshifter, Cassie takes on a wide range of female bodies—"wide" insofar as they're all cis-women, and most of them are attractive to Wizard. Her very existence reinforces the idea of a female archetype, and that it's linked with certain, creative, "womanly" powers. As the Female partner to Wizard's Male, Cassie reinforces a heteronormative gender binary; given her specific magical abilities function in the plot, she links Female with support and sacrifice. This isn't to say that Cassie is a bad character—she's powerful, independent, and far from compliant or mild-mannered; in fact, outside of her role as Female and as a supporting character, Cassie's awesome. But because her character is so strong, it's that much easier to swallow all that's bundled with her. Her archetype may resonate with some, and it's not entirely troubling or misogynist, but it doesn't sit right with me. This hardly destroys an otherwise enjoyable book, but it is a detraction. Such troubles aside, Wizard of the Pigeons is a surprisingly little book. Gaiman and de Lint-style urban fantasy rarely works for me because it often retains too much of its twee delight; Wizard of the Pigeons does a better job of building an intriguing premise into a satisfying story, one which is both magical and real. It's a fascinating read as an early, formative piece of the urban fantasy genre, and also one of the personally more successful books I've read from that genre. It's a pity that it's out of print, but if you can get your hands on this book I do recommend it.

Review posted here on Amazon.com.