![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
A dream about being too traumatized to be able to listen to the story of my sister's secretly kept pet guinea pig which had died, escaping into a virtual reality video game which largely featured me being attacked and eaten by zombie/vampire/nom-nom-humans monster things, and then giving a speech about the saving graces (read: you'll never have to think about real life again!) of MMOs. So what the fuck, brain; also: fuck you. I know where all of this comes from, and it comes from things like a conversation about guinea pig cage requirements and minor stresses like back pain and paperwork and generally being my miserable self, which is to say that yesterday was pretty much a calm distracting relaxing day and I still end up with this overnight, so see again: fuck you. I think I'll read for a bit before I go back to sleep.
Sep. 12th, 2011
Title: A Voyage to Arcturus
Author: David Lindsay
Published: Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2002 (1920)
Rating: 3 of 5
Page Count: 272
Total Page Count: 108,304
Text Number: 313
Read Because: author and book mentioned by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rushthatspeaks, purchased from The Book Bin
Review: Swept from Victorian England to a distant planet, everyman Maskull begins an epic journey of discovery through that alien environment towards its metamorphic gods. A third of the way into his journey, Maskull encounters a violently sexual woman, murders her husband, demands her obedience, and then has her sing a song while they travel. Its "words were pure nonsense—or else their significance was too deep for him" (113). The same can well be said of this entire book. A Voyage to Arcturus is a fever dream of exploration, metaphor, and metaphysics, but its dry voice is often its undoing, removing the reader too far from its universal aspirations. Lindsay's voice is so distant and dry that not even his vibrant landscape can enliven it—but that landscape is vibrant, alien, and thought-provokingly strange, with a sprinkling of images that linger in the imagination. His protagonist is alternately brutal and blank, with a changing character that reflects all but encapsulates none—he's a figure, not a person, and offers little for the reader to grasp on to. These aspects create an unexpectedly sterile story, one that's too easy to put down and to find distance from, although it's otherwise remarkably easy to read despite its density. It also enables Lindsay to reach an uneasy balance between exploring his concepts and leaving that exploration to the reader: not one that encourages reader involvement and internalization, but one that often remains at a cool distance and leaves the reader unmoved.
Yet Voyage is in its way a success. It reads almost like poetry, and can be approached in the same way: by skating over it, bamboozled but affected and intrigued, or by digging into and dissecting it in the attempt to make sense of its madness. Clute's strong introduction to this imprint is an aid towards the latter goal, but even taken on its own the novel's final pages are sufficiently strong to cap off the story with something solid, if not simple. There's nothing simple to be found here, but there is plenty in the way of rich food for thought—sometimes too rich, sometimes as stale as the book is dated, sometimes made unsatisfying by the book's determination to deny its own conclusions, but an promising cornucopia nonetheless. I found A Voyage to Arcturus to be a long, slow, strange journey, but on the whole it's one I'm glad to have taken: cerebral to the point of dry, but still intriguing and wholly original, this may not be pleasure reading but it is worth picking up. I recommend this particular edition (Bison Frontiers of Imagination from the University of Nebraska Press) with certain caveats, however: the introduction is strong, but I counted 20 typos and even from a small press, that's unacceptable.
Review posted here on Amazon.com.
Author: David Lindsay
Published: Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 2002 (1920)
Rating: 3 of 5
Page Count: 272
Total Page Count: 108,304
Text Number: 313
Read Because: author and book mentioned by
rushthatspeaks, purchased from The Book BinReview: Swept from Victorian England to a distant planet, everyman Maskull begins an epic journey of discovery through that alien environment towards its metamorphic gods. A third of the way into his journey, Maskull encounters a violently sexual woman, murders her husband, demands her obedience, and then has her sing a song while they travel. Its "words were pure nonsense—or else their significance was too deep for him" (113). The same can well be said of this entire book. A Voyage to Arcturus is a fever dream of exploration, metaphor, and metaphysics, but its dry voice is often its undoing, removing the reader too far from its universal aspirations. Lindsay's voice is so distant and dry that not even his vibrant landscape can enliven it—but that landscape is vibrant, alien, and thought-provokingly strange, with a sprinkling of images that linger in the imagination. His protagonist is alternately brutal and blank, with a changing character that reflects all but encapsulates none—he's a figure, not a person, and offers little for the reader to grasp on to. These aspects create an unexpectedly sterile story, one that's too easy to put down and to find distance from, although it's otherwise remarkably easy to read despite its density. It also enables Lindsay to reach an uneasy balance between exploring his concepts and leaving that exploration to the reader: not one that encourages reader involvement and internalization, but one that often remains at a cool distance and leaves the reader unmoved.
Yet Voyage is in its way a success. It reads almost like poetry, and can be approached in the same way: by skating over it, bamboozled but affected and intrigued, or by digging into and dissecting it in the attempt to make sense of its madness. Clute's strong introduction to this imprint is an aid towards the latter goal, but even taken on its own the novel's final pages are sufficiently strong to cap off the story with something solid, if not simple. There's nothing simple to be found here, but there is plenty in the way of rich food for thought—sometimes too rich, sometimes as stale as the book is dated, sometimes made unsatisfying by the book's determination to deny its own conclusions, but an promising cornucopia nonetheless. I found A Voyage to Arcturus to be a long, slow, strange journey, but on the whole it's one I'm glad to have taken: cerebral to the point of dry, but still intriguing and wholly original, this may not be pleasure reading but it is worth picking up. I recommend this particular edition (Bison Frontiers of Imagination from the University of Nebraska Press) with certain caveats, however: the introduction is strong, but I counted 20 typos and even from a small press, that's unacceptable.
Review posted here on Amazon.com.
MACHU PICCHU (GC, Wanderlust)
Sweet tropical fruits burst through deep, wet rainforest boughs, enormous steamy blossoms, over thin mountaintop breezes, mingled with the soft, rich golden scent of Peruvian amber.
( Review. )
Verdict: To my great surprise, I rather like this. Tropicals aren't my style, but this one is—well, not exactly toned down, but smooth, round, shaded. It's a very full scent without being overpowering, its sweetness makes it palatable, and its dark tropics have great individuality. I still don't think it's a scent I would wear, in the end, because however lovely it's still not my style. But it's an interesting one to try. (On the other hand, I also tried this many years ago, as a frimp to my first BPAL order, but didn't review it at the time. If I remember correctly, it was brighter and more generic tropical fruity floral to my untrained nose, and I had no particular love for it.)
GRANDMOTHER OF GHOSTS (GC, Excolo)
Mania, Roman Goddess of the Dead, Matron of Madness, Governess of the Ancestral Spirits, Bestower of Divine Frenzy. Her scent swirls with a high-pitched tumult of laurel, stargazer lily, splintered woods, peony, mandarin and white musk, and is spiked with pale pepper.
( Review. )
Verdict: Grandmother of Ghosts is much better than I expected—I'm not a fan of most florals, but the other notes keep the lily dry rather than oppressive, and the scent's pale whiteness is elusive but gently intriguing. Nonetheless, this is far from my style and I find the scent's overall inaccessability (a more more than subtle, a little too ghostly) somewhat offputting. I'll trade this away.
BLOCK BUSTER (GC, Bewitching Brews: Conjure Bag)
Used to open up options in your life, overcome obstacles, and create opportunities. This blend increases your potential for success, inspires creativity and quick thinking, and helps you to be more flexible, adaptable and open to change.
( Review. )
Verdict: I didn't have particularly high hopes, but the dry spices in the middle of Block Buster were almost perfect, rich and dry and hot and potent, at its best absolutely divine. I'd be won over, but for the fact that the fruit eventually reemerges—and while cinnamon apple is pleasant, it's too much a change from the pure spices and a little too seasonal; it might work better as a room scent, and I don't particularly want it on my skin. As a result, Block Buster was ultimately a personal disappointment (although it makes me eager for a pure spice blend). But for whatever it's worth, I got a lot of work done the day I tested the scent—more along the lines of overcoming internal procrastination than working around external obstacles, but still a powerful blend for a productive day.
SCARECROW (GC, Bewitching Brews)
An agricultural gargoyle. Though he is the Guardian of the Crops and Keeper of the Fields, his visage is stll the stuff of nightmares. The scent of a hot wind blowing through desolate, scorched, barren fields.
A gift fromsisterite.
( Review )
Verdict: I don't get the harshness that others get, and thank goodness for that. I'm not overly fond of the scent's various similarities to commercial perfume, but I do like it's late, toned-down stage. This is one to test again (and in large quantities) to finalize my impression. So far I'm intrigued but not quite satisfied, in part because of the similarities to commercial perfume, in part because I wish the scent had the punch of its description—instead it's faint, if more palatable.
THE CATERPILLAR (GC, Mad Tea Party)
Heavy incense notes waft lazily through a mix of carnation, jasmine, bergamot, and neroli over a lush bed of dark mosses, iris blossom, deep patchouli and indolent vetiver.
A gift fromsisterite.
( Review. )
Verdict: It's hard to say. Each of the facets works well on my skin, with the occasional exception of the jasmine (as florals aren't my style, and this one goes a little grandma's soap on me). Some, like the carnation, are quite good—carnation likes to get swallowed by other notes on my skin, but here its a rich spicy-sweetness and absolutely fantastic. I'm fond of the heart notes, and they combine well —they're less headshoppy on me than they seem to be on others, and also remarkably smooth and calm despite their tendency towards potency. But I like to know what I'm getting out of a scent, and The Caterpillar never does decide. Its rotation of notes is unusual and surprisingly successful, but I don't know if I'd be able to wear it with any regularity. I'll hang onto my imp and test again.
Sweet tropical fruits burst through deep, wet rainforest boughs, enormous steamy blossoms, over thin mountaintop breezes, mingled with the soft, rich golden scent of Peruvian amber.
( Review. )
Verdict: To my great surprise, I rather like this. Tropicals aren't my style, but this one is—well, not exactly toned down, but smooth, round, shaded. It's a very full scent without being overpowering, its sweetness makes it palatable, and its dark tropics have great individuality. I still don't think it's a scent I would wear, in the end, because however lovely it's still not my style. But it's an interesting one to try. (On the other hand, I also tried this many years ago, as a frimp to my first BPAL order, but didn't review it at the time. If I remember correctly, it was brighter and more generic tropical fruity floral to my untrained nose, and I had no particular love for it.)
GRANDMOTHER OF GHOSTS (GC, Excolo)
Mania, Roman Goddess of the Dead, Matron of Madness, Governess of the Ancestral Spirits, Bestower of Divine Frenzy. Her scent swirls with a high-pitched tumult of laurel, stargazer lily, splintered woods, peony, mandarin and white musk, and is spiked with pale pepper.
( Review. )
Verdict: Grandmother of Ghosts is much better than I expected—I'm not a fan of most florals, but the other notes keep the lily dry rather than oppressive, and the scent's pale whiteness is elusive but gently intriguing. Nonetheless, this is far from my style and I find the scent's overall inaccessability (a more more than subtle, a little too ghostly) somewhat offputting. I'll trade this away.
BLOCK BUSTER (GC, Bewitching Brews: Conjure Bag)
Used to open up options in your life, overcome obstacles, and create opportunities. This blend increases your potential for success, inspires creativity and quick thinking, and helps you to be more flexible, adaptable and open to change.
( Review. )
Verdict: I didn't have particularly high hopes, but the dry spices in the middle of Block Buster were almost perfect, rich and dry and hot and potent, at its best absolutely divine. I'd be won over, but for the fact that the fruit eventually reemerges—and while cinnamon apple is pleasant, it's too much a change from the pure spices and a little too seasonal; it might work better as a room scent, and I don't particularly want it on my skin. As a result, Block Buster was ultimately a personal disappointment (although it makes me eager for a pure spice blend). But for whatever it's worth, I got a lot of work done the day I tested the scent—more along the lines of overcoming internal procrastination than working around external obstacles, but still a powerful blend for a productive day.
SCARECROW (GC, Bewitching Brews)
An agricultural gargoyle. Though he is the Guardian of the Crops and Keeper of the Fields, his visage is stll the stuff of nightmares. The scent of a hot wind blowing through desolate, scorched, barren fields.
A gift from
sisterite.( Review )
Verdict: I don't get the harshness that others get, and thank goodness for that. I'm not overly fond of the scent's various similarities to commercial perfume, but I do like it's late, toned-down stage. This is one to test again (and in large quantities) to finalize my impression. So far I'm intrigued but not quite satisfied, in part because of the similarities to commercial perfume, in part because I wish the scent had the punch of its description—instead it's faint, if more palatable.
THE CATERPILLAR (GC, Mad Tea Party)
Heavy incense notes waft lazily through a mix of carnation, jasmine, bergamot, and neroli over a lush bed of dark mosses, iris blossom, deep patchouli and indolent vetiver.
A gift from
sisterite.( Review. )
Verdict: It's hard to say. Each of the facets works well on my skin, with the occasional exception of the jasmine (as florals aren't my style, and this one goes a little grandma's soap on me). Some, like the carnation, are quite good—carnation likes to get swallowed by other notes on my skin, but here its a rich spicy-sweetness and absolutely fantastic. I'm fond of the heart notes, and they combine well —they're less headshoppy on me than they seem to be on others, and also remarkably smooth and calm despite their tendency towards potency. But I like to know what I'm getting out of a scent, and The Caterpillar never does decide. Its rotation of notes is unusual and surprisingly successful, but I don't know if I'd be able to wear it with any regularity. I'll hang onto my imp and test again.
It is 70 degrees Fahrenheit outside and the sun is still setting. Perhaps this shouldn't feel like a minor miracle, but it does, and I'll take it.
On Saturday, Dee and I drove into downtown Portland to meetsisterite/Lyz and a whole flock of others—Lyz's boyfriend, their roommate, the roomate's friend, a friend, and the friend's boyfriend, if I'm remembering it all correctly. They were visiting Powell's because, well, wouldn't you? And then we all went to Deschutes Brewery for lunch, which was surprisingly nice (not that I had my doubts)—I had the spinach flatbread (garlic cream sauce, sun dried tomatoes, whole milk mozzarella, chanterelle mushrooms, fresh local spinach, finished with garlic parmesan aioli) which was pretty much a sauceless pizza, rich and savory but, without sauce, not too heavy, with a wonderful kick from the aioli. When Lyz and her gang left—we only had about two hours with them, but, given that they were driving a round trip through Washington, that's understandable—Dee and I dropped back into Powell's. We browsed a bit, and in the last room as we were thinking of leaving we found the $1 "literature" section where I picked up a book about dog people (thus the sarcasm quotes) and another random fantasy of manners-esque find. Then we went across the corner to a roomy, all-amenities Starbucks, and I had my first pumpkin spice latte of the season. I hate it when these go away each year, but the blessing of their seasonal nature may be that the first is the best you will have all year: creamy and golden and spiced and just ask Dee, I would not shut up about how delicious my coffee was.
Lyz should be coming back through town this weekend, and we hope to grab her for a little longer if we can. One day we may even kidnap her and keep her overnight in the living room, with its delux pull-out couch—but shhhh, don't tell her that. The short visit was nice, and the day in downtown was quietly spectacular (and escaping into air conditioning was quite the added bonus), but I like a visit I can dig my teeth into, with less noise and fewer people and longer conversations, and a BPAL smellathon might be nice too.
Today we woke up to overcast skies and fresh cool air. The max temperature today was ten degrees cooler than yesterday, and it's looking to do so again tomorrow, and then so help us we may actually have low 70s for the rest of the month and see the actual advent of autumn. That's a cause for celebration, here. Dee dropped me off at Starbucks while she ran all number of shopping errands, because cooking food becomes more appealing when the house isn't already cooking you. I had a conversation about the book I was reading and OryCon with one not particularly socially adept middle-aged male, and then a 20-some indie artsy female thing brought in a large bag containing a small and mewling cat so that she could feed it about a cup of whipped cream. Something tells me that the average Portland Starbucks is a mite bit stranger than your average Corvallis Starbucks. I convinced (well, asked) the barista to take a slightly-expired free birthday drink card (because the hot weather has not been conducive to coffee drinking, either) and had a second pumpkin spice latte which so help me was just as good. I wrote a review, and figured out that my back is still not recovered from these last few days of pain, and when I left it was still a reasonable temperature outside.
I could get used to this, you guys. My eyes are peeled for turning leaves. My pumpkin necklace should be in the mail. We have the energy to do things again, energy that these long days have summer have been draining out of us. Today we had stir fry. Not burritos! And now the sun has set, and there's a cool breeze. Dee brought Spike out of prison and downstairs, and August is trying so desperately to get him to chase her around the house. And I'm happy.
On Saturday, Dee and I drove into downtown Portland to meet
sisterite/Lyz and a whole flock of others—Lyz's boyfriend, their roommate, the roomate's friend, a friend, and the friend's boyfriend, if I'm remembering it all correctly. They were visiting Powell's because, well, wouldn't you? And then we all went to Deschutes Brewery for lunch, which was surprisingly nice (not that I had my doubts)—I had the spinach flatbread (garlic cream sauce, sun dried tomatoes, whole milk mozzarella, chanterelle mushrooms, fresh local spinach, finished with garlic parmesan aioli) which was pretty much a sauceless pizza, rich and savory but, without sauce, not too heavy, with a wonderful kick from the aioli. When Lyz and her gang left—we only had about two hours with them, but, given that they were driving a round trip through Washington, that's understandable—Dee and I dropped back into Powell's. We browsed a bit, and in the last room as we were thinking of leaving we found the $1 "literature" section where I picked up a book about dog people (thus the sarcasm quotes) and another random fantasy of manners-esque find. Then we went across the corner to a roomy, all-amenities Starbucks, and I had my first pumpkin spice latte of the season. I hate it when these go away each year, but the blessing of their seasonal nature may be that the first is the best you will have all year: creamy and golden and spiced and just ask Dee, I would not shut up about how delicious my coffee was.Lyz should be coming back through town this weekend, and we hope to grab her for a little longer if we can. One day we may even kidnap her and keep her overnight in the living room, with its delux pull-out couch—but shhhh, don't tell her that. The short visit was nice, and the day in downtown was quietly spectacular (and escaping into air conditioning was quite the added bonus), but I like a visit I can dig my teeth into, with less noise and fewer people and longer conversations, and a BPAL smellathon might be nice too.
Today we woke up to overcast skies and fresh cool air. The max temperature today was ten degrees cooler than yesterday, and it's looking to do so again tomorrow, and then so help us we may actually have low 70s for the rest of the month and see the actual advent of autumn. That's a cause for celebration, here. Dee dropped me off at Starbucks while she ran all number of shopping errands, because cooking food becomes more appealing when the house isn't already cooking you. I had a conversation about the book I was reading and OryCon with one not particularly socially adept middle-aged male, and then a 20-some indie artsy female thing brought in a large bag containing a small and mewling cat so that she could feed it about a cup of whipped cream. Something tells me that the average Portland Starbucks is a mite bit stranger than your average Corvallis Starbucks. I convinced (well, asked) the barista to take a slightly-expired free birthday drink card (because the hot weather has not been conducive to coffee drinking, either) and had a second pumpkin spice latte which so help me was just as good. I wrote a review, and figured out that my back is still not recovered from these last few days of pain, and when I left it was still a reasonable temperature outside.
I could get used to this, you guys. My eyes are peeled for turning leaves. My pumpkin necklace should be in the mail. We have the energy to do things again, energy that these long days have summer have been draining out of us. Today we had stir fry. Not burritos! And now the sun has set, and there's a cool breeze. Dee brought Spike out of prison and downstairs, and August is trying so desperately to get him to chase her around the house. And I'm happy.