juushika

Title: Penric's Demon (Penric and Desdemona Book 1)
Author: Lois McMaster Bujold
Narrator: Grover Gardner
Published: Blackstone Audio, 2016
Rating: 4 of 5
Page Count: 185
Total Page Count: 247,150
Text Number: 788
Read Because: personal enjoyment, audiobook borrowed from the Multnomah County Library
Review: Sheer accident unwittingly lands an unremarkable young man with an ancient possessing demon. This lands somewhere between action-adventure and slice of life, and it's charming—occasionally to excess, but the short and sweet episodic novella length keeps that tendency in check. There's just enough of substance in the concept of possession—the issue of body- and experience-sharing, of debt and consent, of intimacy—to be engaging and id-gratifying, and to balance the tone. It functions without (although I assume also benefits from) familiarity with the setting.


Title: Henry VI Part 1
Author: William Shakespeare
Published: 1623
Rating: 2 of 5
Page Count: 100
Total Page Count: 247,250
Text Number: 789
Read Because: co-read with my mother
Review: This is my least favorite of the plays thus far. Some aspects feel perfunctory, some redundant; the political bickering is the worst of this. Joan la Pucelle's characterization is wildly inconsistent, but in an intriguing way which makes me wonder about the original performance. There are bits that work better: the scene between Richard and Mortimer is good but drowned out by other elements; the scene between Margaret and Suffolk is superb, tightly written, with a reinvigorating interpersonal focus that's smartly tied to the politics. That's the play I wanted, one with a more engaging social aspect and accessible, complex motivations; if I had a better grasp of the historical context, perhaps I would see that in the political elements instead of shallow bickering (but I don't).


Title: Penric and the Shaman (Penric and Desdemona Book 2)
Author: Lois McMaster Bujold
Narrator: Grover Gardner
Published: Blackstone Audio, 2016
Rating: 2 of 5
Page Count: 160
Total Page Count: 247,410
Text Number: 790
Read Because: continuing the series, audiobook borrowed from the Multnomah County Library
Review: His training complete, Penric is conscripted to help in the search for a rogue shaman. This explores and develops the World of the Five Gods, which I imagine readers returning to the setting would enjoy; I haven't read much in it, so that's lost on me and makes for a significant amount of worldbuilding—and PoV narration—which is divorced from Penric; the exterior view of the character would be more successful if he'd been around longer than one novella. This misses the mark for me, exploring a lot of things which are't the dynamic between Penric and Desdemona, which is what I wanted and hoped for. The tone remains consistent with the first novella, charming and wry; this installment is longer and more plotty, but fairly unremarkable. I'm unsure if I'll continue the series.

Title: Chanur's Venture (Chanur Book 2)
Author: C.J. Cherryh
Published: Daw Books, 2005 (1984)
Rating: 3 of 5
Page Count: 320
Total Page Count: 245,980
Text Number: 782
Read Because:continuing the series, ebook borrowed from the Multnomah County Library
Review: Just as Chanur and crew are getting back on their feet, Tully—and a galactic political crisis—reenter their lives. Despite satisfying pacing, this ends abruptly; I'm under the impression that this and the direct sequel(s?) are parts of a single whole. I thought The Pride of Chanur was decent but too tame, insufficiently alien and strange; here, the alien species remain unrealistically monolithic, but the increasing interactions between species and the presence of methane-breathers, specifically the Knnn, goes a long way towards building a more speculative and engaging world. The issue of gender in Hani society is well-handled; it's realistically complicated without directly echoing/mirroring misogyny, and functions both to enliven the book's interpersonal aspects and to make Hani society more dynamic and complex. I didn't love this installment, and I'm not sure it can be judged without the rest of the story, but there's interesting elements at play and a series means there's room for increasing complexity and varied focus; I'll certainly continue reading.


Title: The Kif Strike Back (Chanur Book 3)
Author: C.J. Cherryh
Published: Daw Books, 2006 (1985)
Rating: 4 of 5
Page Count: 300
Total Page Count: 246,280
Text Number: 783
Read Because:continuing the series, ebook borrowed from the Multnomah County Library
Review: This is the middle third of a single narrative. It goes out of its way to make its politicking accessible—moreso than most Cherryh and compensating for the opaqueness of the previous book, which is welcome, but there's a lot of politics and both the details and delivery grow repetitious. There's also repetition in the cycles of minutiae—the running of the ship, the relationships between crewmembers, the ways that individuals respond to various events; but, honestly, this is the reason read the book: to get lost in every character moment, every internal narrative and all the flawed and profound, terse but explicit, relationships. (The social minutiae is nicely framed by the action in the climax; it isn't all talk.) Sometimes the selling point of a series is an extended examination of central concept or conflict, and the speculative premise is fundamental to this narrative and its characters; but sometimes the selling point is the opportunity to inhabit a living world and witness its residents interact and change, and that's what keeps me coming back to this. It showcases Cherryh's strengths and appeals directly to my id.

( A quote and very many thoughts on species hegemony bad/interspecies interaction good  )

( Another quote and further thoughts on how Cherryh writes intimacy )


Title: The Two Gentlemen of Verona
Author: William Shakespeare
Published: 1623
Rating: 3 of 5
Page Count: 100
Total Page Count: 246,380
Text Number: 784
Read Because: co-read with my mother, ebook via Gutenberg (but I have numerous copies of the complete works in multiple formats)
Review: My primary investment in an early, lesser Shakespeare play is in the first appearances of themes and tropes he would later develop—a forest of transformation, liberation, denouement; crossdressing and queer subtext; foils and contrasts (here: servant/master, friendship/romance, male/female in relationships and in gender dynamics). Julia is particularly interesting for the way that she straddles all these elements. The final scene is also memorable; it seems ridiculous not to read "All that was mine in Silvia I give thee" literally (why else does Julia swoon?), but that the line is so frequently excised or altered in production says a lot about how way it (and the play's themes and historical context) have been received; and all this contradiction exists simultaneously in the raw script, which is my favorite part of reading the plays as texts. I didn't love this, it's unremarkable compared to later works (especially in structure), but it was better and more thought-provoking than expected.

There have been a number of interim posts since my last post that have not been written outside my head, because I am a perpetual bundle of busy and tired, consistently overstretching my limited capabilities to do politics and be scared about the state of the world.

One post: I did skip Thanksgiving, and my parents didn't come up after because inertia is a thing. But Dee went up to Washington for the holiday and Devon did drive up to see me for the day, just for a few hours. We made in-no-ways-traditional vegetarian hot dogs and mac & cheese (with hot dogs in it); it wasn't enough, but it was significantly better than nothing and I'm grateful.

Another post: practicing by doing the easy political phone calls on answering machines does (barely) make it easier to call real alive people. Somehow, that doesn't make it any less terrifying to forget about time zones and call places which are still open and unexpectedly staffed by alive people.

Another post: I have managed to leave the house, once or thrice. Snow helped (as sidenote: cats staring at snowland), because I missed the end of autumn and refuse to miss winter, too. We had snow + freezing rain, but then snow that stuck around, approximately pristine, for a few days. The latter was lovely.

* * *

Today my parents came through Portland and had lunch with me; they're headed northbound to spend the holidays traveling, including a trip to see my sister in Seattle. It was exhausting but in productive ways, almost entirely my fault—because over coffee I nonchalantly asked why I had which aspects of Jewish upbringing and how my extended family/various cultural aspects affected it, as one does.

I have, for obvious reasons, but especially as Hanukkah approaches, been thinking a lot about what it means to be Jewish and particularly to be Jewish in the face of forced assimilation and, you know, facism (how are these are sentences I'm writing and why is this the real world and can it stop), and also of the narrative of "Hanukkah isn't our most important holiday, and its cultural importance is actually a symptom of forced assimilation, but this year it certainly has extra thematic relevance"—because I was raised with Hanukkah and Passover and not much else, although my parents say there was an occasional Rosh Hashanah, which I think I remember; for me, there was no "more important holiday." It seems like some of that was because of how things lined up with Christmas/Easter and thus with school schedules, but it's also because that's what my father grew up with; his experience was inconsistent (Sabbat sometimes, but not always; Hebrew school and a bar mitzvah for him but not his brother; Hanukkah/Passover/Rosh Hashanah was all he celebrated, too) which has passed through the generations (Allie and I never had any formal religious education; our cousin did).

I grew up on the opposite side of the country from my Jewish grandparents, who always wished they could see us more often, who tried to cram a lot of Jewish Things into the whatever contact they had; they sent me Jewish novels and celebrated holidays with us less, I think, because those specific things were important—they weren't religious, their own practice was inconsistent—but because the identity was important.

White-passing half-Jewish cultural Jew is approximately as distant from the thing as one can be, and I understand the factors, the time, the literal distance, the way that assimilation works and why I have the background that I do. But I also have that identity, and its ... cultural expectation, I suppose, of persecution and persistence. My ancestors came from Russia, and immigrated before the Holocaust; that was not their personal story but it was their cultural story, and they taught me that, too.

I suppose I wanted an easy answer, an, "ah yes, your grandparents always wanted to practice these aspects of the faith with you, and you can now cling to them at least for their cultural significance even if you don't believe." But I didn't get that, I didn't get a "more important holiday" that can enable to me a real Jew. And I don't know where that leaves me, except that this diaspora experience is as real for me as it has been for my father and for his parents, and they are real Jews, so, maybe, I am too.

We also talked about how, for me, politics et al. isn't something to be countered by optimism or hope; that I live within communities where everyone will not (and has not) survived difficult times, and that but for the grace of Devon and August and my parent's financial support that could include me; and I think it's the first time I've ever mentioned suicidal ideation to my parents. My sister's cancer changed things for my family; we've learned to proactively accept and value of each other as we are, and the way that's effected how my parents view me—that they take me at my word when I talk about my experiences and health—as been huge. These are not things I would have felt comfortable sharing, years ago. I'm glad I can now, and the conversation wasn't all politics and Judaism and fascism, I also told them about Dare's antics and Dad showed me this video of him falling off his bike on the way to work. It was a worthwhile afternoon. But I am now very tired, and nothing really feels better.

I'm headed down to Corvallis soon, but we put it off a day and Devon is coming to get me, at some crazy early/late hour when we can skip holiday traffic, so that I can still see him and get my gifts without trying to navigate Amtrak/exhaustion/crazy.

Be ye warned of discussions of pet health/aging/death.

A little while ago, my family's dog Jamie (a fourteen year old black lab; lab life expediency is 10-12 years) had a health scare that resolved to be a probable brain bleed, collapsing, some seizing, labored breathing, etc. We did the entire routine of family panic, "the dog may be dying" phone calls, considering trips to the emergency vet; the crisis resolved overnight and they were able to take her to her normal vet the next day. She's been acting old-dog normal since, with all the ongoing health issues but no new ones. But the vet still believes she won't make it through autumn, if only because they see most old animals die in spring and autumn when the changing seasons add new stressors.

Talking about this with Mum after the fact, she said that she'd used me as an example of calm and acceptance when everyone was doing the crying freakout thing—which startled me to hear, but makes sense. I've seen so many companion animals die, both recently and generally. I am on intimate terms with non-human animal death, in ways I never am with human death, even when I know the deceased. These dying animals are in my care or care-adjacent; their lives and deaths and my responsibility. None of that has a negative connotation, and I have gotten really good at calmly accepting end-of-life events.

When Mama died, so quickly, despite lifesaving measures, we still had a sense of absolute certainty. We watched her transition from skittish bedraggled stray to a playful, profoundly affectionate, calm housecat, and that was our doing; we also helped her in sickness, and made the decision to euthanize her, and that was equally as beneficial to her wellbeing. I cannot have one of those things without the other, nor would I want to. This one thing, providing love and care to animals, is within my ability, and there's nothing I'd rather do.

My sister got a mini red merle Australian Shepherd named Tiber last year, and, I mean, he's a good dog, but I was watching my family replace Jamie, not with intent but because it was easier to bond with a lively young dog than to accept Jamie in her old age, with her failing body, her loud panting, her constant need to Be With. They were looking after her physically, but their emotional energy was diverted. And, to be honest, I don't think Jamie knew or cared; with her blindness and exhaustion came a particularly dogged affection, a love unswayed by physical or social concerns. But seeing the impatience and distraction she received bothered me.

When I explained all of this to my mother (everything except the quiet judgment, obvs.), my emphasis was this: I was sad when she seemed like she might be dying, but not afraid and not sorry, because I regret nothing about Jamie, not the life I had with her, not who she is now, neither her eventual death. It's not an inconvenience or a price to be paid for the better parts; it is part of an experience, and that experience is the thing I value most in my life.

I don't expect them to do that, to turn tolerance into engagement and value Jamie-now as easily as Jamie-then. But not everyone engages with companion animals the way I do, and to be honest my engagement is something I've severely fucked up and undervalued in the past (and that I do regret). But her health scare woke them. They know not to take for granted the time she has left, and so to engage with her in that time, even if that requires patience with her old dog ways. I'm glad to see it, because she deserves the world—they all do, these animals we pledge ourselves to, but Jamie does in particular.

This is my life:

Yesterday was my birthday! Devon and I went to have dinner with my parents; we went to Laughing Planet, which I discovered last time I was in Corvallis and fell a bit in love with. I had the cheese and pico quesadilla that I always get, and it was a fantastic meal: enjoyable but low-key. As much as I think my parents wish I did something with my life (which is a valid desire), they're still pleasantly surprised just to see how much I've improved in recent years—I think they're relieved to see that I'm more vivacious and simply happy, and dinner had that vibe to it: it was a relaxed pleasure which I couldn't've managed some years back.

As if to prove a point, I noticed in the middle of a completely different discussion that the restaurant was playing Florence + the Machine, and so I broke into a lengthy recounting of this experience, explaining (mostly to my mother, who's more emotional and emotionally-receptive than my father—that's not a condemnation: he's a happy well-rounded person and so, frankly, doesn't "get it," for which I envy him more than anything else) how it came down to the fact that I needed that concert to be beautiful, and it wasn't beautiful in the back, and I couldn't tolerate that—because F+tM is about living life with foolishly and joyfully, not in halved in experiences; not because you have no fear or regret, but because you swear to yourself to throw them off.

The song they were playing? The Dog Days are Over. Then after that, I shit you not, they played Shake It Out, which at the concert was the song that told me about throwing that devil off, and has become my secondary theme song.

The bakery we went to afterwards didn't have the dessert I wanted, because F+tM and no chocolate deliciousness apparently now go together, but who the hell cares. In my life, a restaurant plays Florence for me on my birthday and reminds me of everything I should never forget, bless.

The weather's broken somewhat, down to reasonable warm-because-summer, not hot-like-burning levels; it's the sort of weather that almost lets you glimpse autumn on the horizon, and that's a gift in itself. Devon's gift is still in the air, or may be a number of various long-needed necessities. (After seeing my parents last evening, we did a late Fred Meyer run and came away with three nail polish shades I've wanted for a while—no necessity by far, but yaaaay.) My father gave me spending money (BPAL Halloweenies in my future, perhaps?), including credit at The Book Bin which I will go spend today; my mother gave me, with assurances that in a few months it would be lovely instead of torturous, a black knitted cowl which doubles around the neck and is squishy and warm—and I actually had the chance to wear it already, when Devon and I went to an early morning breakfast today while the air was cold and fog was still on the fields, oh bless. Later today when we finally get moving we have many shopping trips planned, to the bookstore and elsewhere.

So. That's all I could ask for: love from friends and family, time with the boy, good food, things I want, and Florence.

I have a kitty again! She has already pinned me down for two cuddle sessions, and followed it up with a O.O LET US CHASE ONE ANOTHER AROUND THE HOUSE session. Now she's sacked out on my best pillow. I love her. Which is to say: I am back in Portland! My time in Corvallis was crazy busy—so busy that I decided to stay an extra day, that I would have time to simply relax and see my boyfriend.

Devon picked me up late on Friday, and then we drove to the Portland airport to pick up his friend Nathan, coming into town after a two-week vacation. Nathan may be my favorite of boy's friends—not that we're particularly close, but he's an all-'round good guy and I respect him. Great trip back as a result, but we got home late.

On Saturday I went into town with my father as planned. We hit the farmer's market with Jamie in tow, and it never fails to delight me to see how others interact with her: kids that actually ask to pet her! parents that ask if she's purebred, because they've never known a lab to be so soft. But I can feel it, these days, that Jamie is growing older. I see her less often; the changes are more obvious when I do. Her chin is white, she's both skinnier and flabbier without the allover sleekness of youth, she grumbles more. She's hardly dying but it's still a bitter thing. Old age was hard on Cokie, our last lab, and I feel death all around me these days (without dwelling, it was miserable to be in town and not have Madison there)—and I know that's an exaggeration, what with August in my life, but the impression remains and weighs on me.

Then we ran the dog and food home and returned for the Fall Festival. The theme this year was crows—not literally in any sense, but once I noticed them I never stopped. Last year we bought One for You from Barton DeGraaf; Murder of Crows was new this year, but we managed to walk away without a copy. I fell in love with Cameron Kaseberg's work; this is some of why, but the piece I want most to share with you isn't online. Papa was in search of three-dimensional outdoor art to decorate the back deck—an ongoing project that is finally nearing completion—and the best of what he picked up was a pecking crow from Cote Fine Sculpture (ours holds a red bead in its mouth). The artist's other work tend towards Wonderland-esque surreality; the crows meanwhile are surprisingly lifelike, with a fantastic feather texture. Unfortunately, we were at the Fall Festival through the hottest part of a sunny day, and I got my first sunburn of the year on the advent of autumn—of course. Eight hours of activity also wrecked havoc on my back.

On Sunday, Devon and I went over for a traditional family pancake breakfast. It was fantastically overcast and quiet, and I brought some muffins to leave with my parents. Sunday evening was a friend's birthday barbecue, which was—let us say: strange. I don't much miss my Corvallis acquaintances, but the social interaction was surprisingly pleasant for an evening, but I have no desire to do it again. It makes me want more social stimulation, and a more intellectual social circle—so the usual, I suppose, but the first reminder of its kind in some time.

On Monday, I dropped by the house around noon. I had some low-key time to talk with my mother, and it was fantastic. Our relationship has improved significantly in the last few years, and it may be conversations like those that I appreciate most: we had a tumultuous mother/daughter relationship, but we have a lot to say to one another as equals and I enjoy it. At half one, Papa and I swung by his place of work to do some paperwork, and he gave me a tour of his new job. He was working on the Halo project (video conferencing, not first person shooting) before HP sold it; now he's working with large-scale printing technology. He'd described it to me, but seeing it in person is different—in no small part (hah) because these beasts are huge. Room-sized huge. The scale is awesome; it could only have been better if I hadn't been in pain.

Between daily activity and poor sleep, and instigated by a particularly long Saturday, my back was miserable through the entire trip. Cocoa butter massages helped (and smelled fantastic, ohgod why did no one tell me), as did medication, by rights I should be resting now and will soon, but it seems largely resolved. Still: not a pleasant companion for a long weekend.

On Tuesday all we did was run an errand and go out to dinner, bless. I left for Portland early today, Wednesday. And now I have a week before I take a long train to San Francisco—but the panic about that trip has begun.

But I have a cat, and she loves me.

All in all: When I said I wanted to see my family, three days in a row was not quite what I had in mind—but a fantastic trip all told, in no small part because I discovered cocoa butter along the way. Nonetheless I am just as glad to be back. And now I can fall down, go boom.

I went by my parents's house yesterday—Papa and my sister are away in New York, checking out schools and watching the Yankees, so I thought I'd take the dog out from under Mum's feet for a while. Jamie and I went on a walk in the woods, she got brushed, and I watered the garden; it was beautiful out, overcast with a soft breeze, and the trail was littered with the first few fallen leaves. Autumn is upon us, and thank goodness. I also saw my mother, who was working on a large wall hanging, and two episodes of Law & Order—I swear, I'd almost forgotten what a television was.

When I was there, I also picked up packages and presents—you know, for my long distant birthday. sisterite, your package arrived! She sent smellies, most importantly an imp of Ivanushka (yay), and a copy of Sharp Teeth, that verse novel about werewolves which I loved and wanted to own and reread. Thank you, lovely! I'm waiting for the imps to settle out after shipping, and then I'll test and write reviews. I much look forward to checking out the sniffie of Candy Butcher, because I've been curious about that scent for a long time.

I also picked up the package of Hod and October—I am so looking forward to Hod, but I'm giving the oils a chance to settle first. It's a long, hard wait.

And I picked up my mother's birthday gift—Crumb Bear, that quilt over to the left. You should certainly click through and see it in greater detail. Mum is a fabric artist; she started Crumb Bear when she was cleaning out her huge stash of fabric and fabric scraps. I fell in love with it because of the color and the bear imagery.* There's some progress shots and more information over at her arts blog: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.

I think it turned out beautifully, and it looks wonderful hung on the wall. I have a couple of my mum's pieces—a triskele runner and an entirely handstiched, handquilted piece which I love—but this is my new favorite. Thank you, mum. So, yes. All in all a successful day and a successful visit.

* On bear imagery: I attended a Montessori school from preschool through sixth grade; on three occasions during that time, most notably on my graduation from school, I was given the bear as a totem animal. (I've since narrowed it down to the black bear, which is native to where I live.) To me, the bear is nature, solitariness, hibernation, wisdom, vegetarianism (although bears eat insects, fish, and some carrion), and protection. The bear rises up to protect me; the bear is a silent companion, content to stand at a distance but willing also to lead me to knowledge. I don't work with my bear totem as often as I should, but its presence comforts me nonetheless. I still have the stone bears that were given me on those occasions as well as a few other necklaces, and I was drawn to this piece of the same bear imagery.