juushika

In bulk again, to prevent spamming again. And I'm still not caught up! I've been reading a lot, but more than that I've had a lot to say—about The Witcher, because I'm so invested in Ciri and her family and because I've watched Devon play the games and so we've had a lot to discuss about adaptation; about The Cursed Child, not because it's remotely good but because there's some great character dynamics and Snape's cameo engages all my feelings about his character; about every other thing lassmichrein has been consuming because she's been working through some of my absolute favorite narratives and authors. I've been excited about the media input and media-related output, and "excited about" is not something I often feel—a welcome remedy to the birthday-related angst.


Title: The Purple Cloud
Author: M.P. Shiel
Published: Project Gutenberg, 2004 (1901)
Rating: 2 of 5
Page Count: ~250 of 450
Total Page Count: 202,135
Text Number: 596
Read Because: interest in Weird fiction, ebook obtained though Project Gutenberg
Review: A vast purple cloud sweeps the globe, leaving only one survivor. An early example of a "last man" novel and apocalyptic genre, this is at best a desolate, sweeping landscape, haunted—even by its sole survivor and his struggle to find purpose—and surreal. But the book is dated, with many slow sections (some of which are literal itemized lists) and repetitive pacing. I DNF'd this somewhere past the 50% mark, which I regret because when I was immersed I loved this for its bleak, profound beauty and for place in genre history. But I couldn't push past the weaknesses, and I wouldn't recommend it.


Title: Blood of Elves (The Witcher Book 3)
Author: Andrzej Sapkowski
Translator: Danusia Stok
Published: London: Orbit, 2009 (1994)
Rating: 5 of 5
Page Count: 400
Total Page Count: 202,535
Text Number: 597
Read Because: continuing the series, ebook borrowed from the Multnomah County Library
Review:
The story of Ciri's childhood, raised by witchers at Kaer Morhen and then taught magic by Yennefer, and of the prophecies and politics that surround this remarkable girl. The folklore-as-worldbuilding of the short stories is largely absent, and I hope it returns in the sequels; the sexism-as-worldbuilding is also absent and good riddance, but the cast of fantastic female characters persists. Politics and the larger plot occur piecemeal, which keeps them from flooding the book but also makes this a prelude rather than a narrative entire. Instead, Blood of Elves is an extended training montage, focusing on Ciri's interactions with taciturn and devoted Geralt and Yennefer who begins as an unforgiving tutor and becomes a mother, and on the imperfect ties that bind this strange family—and it's phenomenal, full of flawed characters and small moments of rewarding emotional transparency.


I have a love/hate relationship with the game series and short stories, and so I'm blown away by my unreserved love of this book, which is everything perfect about Ciri's presence in The Witcher 3, but more indulgent and more cogent. I look forward to continuing the series, but treasure this book in particular and highly recommend it.

Some feels and rants about the process of reading Blood of Elves on my Tumblr: 1, 2, 3. Copied below for safekeeping:


( 1: Ciri!! Ciri )

( 2: Found family. )

3: False equivalencies


Title: Harry Potter and the Cursed Child—Parts One and Two (Harry Potter Book 8)
Author: J.K. Rowling, John Tiffany, Jack Thorne
Published: New York: Arthur A. Levine Books, 2016
Rating: 2 of 5
Page Count: 330
Total Page Count: 202,865
Text Number: 598
Read Because: Harry Potter fan, ebook borrowed from the Multnomah County Library
Review: Nineteen years after the end of the book series, Harry and Draco's sons set off to Hogwarts, to become best friends and get in all sorts of trouble. The Cursed Child suffers a bad case of sequelitis, borrowing fanfiction tropes and characterization, and relying on the emotional appeal of numerous cameo appearances. The plot's a mess of predictable tropes, and the emotional messages—especially revolving around cameo characters—grow trite. But seeing familiar characters and Slytherin house in a new light provides interesting insight, and Scorpius and Albus are the play's saving grace: they're well-characterized and engaging, and their relationship is fantastic—despite the compulsory heterosexuality that looms over what's obviously a romance. Come to this for the characters, not the plot, and lower your expectations to allow for reiteration and artless indulgence, and it's not awful. But—like the questionable content of the Pottermore extended universe—it's not a must-read, even for fans.


Liveblogging notes and immediate reactions, including an essay about Snape's scene, on my Tumblr: part one and part two. Crossposted below for posterity:

( This gets long )

Title: The Bird of the River (Lord Ermenwyr Book 3)
Author: Kage Baker
Published: New York: Tor, 2010
Rating: 4 of 5
Page Count: 272
Total Page Count: 164,626
Text Number: 481
Read Because: recommended by phoenixfalls, ebook borrowed from the Multnomah County Library
Review: A small family joins the crew of a large river barge. This was far and away my favorite of the Ermenwyr books—no small thing, as I enjoyed the entire series. The Bird of the River is a smaller, softer book. It benefits from but doesn't add to the worldbuilding that occurred in other novels (although it can be read as a standalone); instead, it explores the local effects of clashing and developing societies. The tone is less humorous and more bittersweet, to great effect. There's a plot, but it's only as important as the daily bustle aboard the Bird; what matters most is the growth of the superbly rendered protagonist as she builds a life of her own. This is a domestic, intimate, lovely book, and I admire the restraint of its scale. I recommend this entire series, but if you read just one, read this one.

Title: The Anvil of the World (Lord Ermenwyr Book 1)
Author: Kage Baker
Published: New York: Tor, 2010 (2003)
Rating: 4 of 5
Page Count: 352
Total Page Count: 163,712
Text Number: 478
Read Because: recommended by phoenixfalls, ebook borrowed from the Multnomah County Library
Review: A trio of interconnected novellas. The first is a fraught caravan journey, and a particularly vivid, humorous example of worldbuilding via travelogue. The second is domestic, more successful for its colorful characters (many reoccurring) than for what it eventually reveals about their backstories. The third has a larger scale and stronger plot, and reads differently: it's not as fun as its predecessors, but has more weight and thus makes for a fitting conclusion. I tend to have no sense of humor as a reader, so I'm surprised by how much I liked this volume. Baker's voice, cast, and world are lively to excess, but there's intense variety in the worldbuilding, the cultures and their politics, the ethics, which introduces welcome subtlety and can't but be engaging. I doubt these books will leave a lasting impression, but this one was thoroughly enjoyable and I will continue the series.

Title: Ombria in Shadow
Author: Patricia A. McKillip
Published: New York: Ace, 2002
Rating: 5 of 5
Page Count: 289
Total Page Count: 137,593
Text Number: 404
Read Because: recommended and reviewed by phoenixfalls, e-book borrowed from the Multnomah County Library
Review: Ombria teeters on the brink of destruction: a child ruler sits on the throne while a dangerous regent vies for power. But Ombria is a city of magic, of hidden doorways and underground sorceresses, and what seems to be her end may only be a transformation. McKillip's illustrative voice creates a fantastic sense of place intertwined with a deep, organic magic: an absorbing, unusual, superbly realized city, Ombria is the book's true protagonist. The characters which people it have melancholy depth and sympathetic troubled relationships; the plot which moves it is both finely knit and inevitable—the strange but natural outcome of the city's identity. But the climax has flaws: the city's fate knits up nicely but some character threads feel hastily knotted in, and the ending uses a trope I dislike: ( spoilers ). But, while the characters have moments of crystalline resonance, while the plot has a beautiful denouement, don't read it for that. Read Ombria in Shadows for McKillip's lyrical writing and the shadowed, mournful, magical world which it evokes. It's not a flawless book but it is a remarkable one, and it was exactly what I wanted. I recommend it with enthusiasm.

Review posted here on Amazon.com.

Title: Revenge: Eleven Dark Tales
Author: Yoko Ogawa
Translator: Stephen Snyder
Published: New York: Picador, 2013 (1998)
Rating: 3 of 5
Page Count: 162
Total Page Count: 132,080
Text Number: 387
Read Because: recommended by vaga42bond, borrowed from the Multnomah County Library
Review: Eleven interconnecting short stories of carrots shaped like human hands, a heart which grows outside the chest, and suddenly, violently jealous lovers weave a beautiful but ill-constructed web. Ogawa's voice inspires adjectives: delicate, cold, macabre. Something unsettling runs through this collection, a horrific magical realism that vacillates between brutal and subtle; at its best it's discomforting and emotionally resonant: an uncommon horror rooted in the most banal of human evils. But each story is told in first person without the slightest change in voice, rendering Ogawa's style repetitive and erasing the narrator's characters. The stories are interconnected, but the connections are blatant and purposeless, sundering the flow of a given story to nod towards another without adding much meaning to the collection as a whole. Revenge seems self-aware, acknowledging both its achievements and failures but making no move to correct the latter; there's not quite enough subtlety or substance, here. I admire certain parts and the overall intent, and it may encourage me to seek out more of Ogawa's work, but I don't recommend the book itself.

The prose was unremarkable, as were the plot and characters, but there was an icy current running under her words, and I found myself wanting to plunge into it again and again.
—Revenge, 148

Review posted here on Amazon.com.

Busy weekend!

The 31st was Devon's and my 10th anniversary, which, yes, is impressive. Unfortunately a coworker quit a few days before, and it's the middle of a lot going on at work, so he only came up for two and a half days during which a lot else went on. We hope to have a longer time together next week or around Valentine's Day, and maybe actually do something to celebrate ten years. (I say this glibly, but the truth is I'm upset about the uncelebrated anniversary. I hadn't seen Devon since Christmas and would appreciate doing something a bit more concrete for these celebrations, especially such a big one—I just don't have the spoons to orchestrate anything myself.)

More to the point, Devon came up and three of Dee's Washington friends came down for the weekend because we all went to see Emilie Autumn on Sunday. The concert will be in a subsequent post, because I have Thoughts. But it was a good visit.

In part because of anniversary-related anxiety/depression, in part because my back has been pretty awful lately, I was chronically low on spoons over the weekend. I would honestly be surprised if this were ever not the case. It still managed to be the time with this group that I was most myself (quiet girl with sudden complex opinions! instead of just quiet girl), which helps; it helped also to load up on pain meds pre-concert. I now have plenty of quiet time to recharge, although the fact that Devon is also gone sours that.

It was a bit hard on Mamakitty: the first time she got shut in a bathroom with Devon alone she panicked, scrambled up to the windowsill leaving clawmarks on the wall behind her, and tried to escape out the bathroom window. When I went in there to calm her down she meowed emphatically in a way that can directly be translated to "PLEASE OPEN THIS WINDOW THAT I MAY ESCAPE." Dee and I forget, because we got to know her when she was outside and unconstrained, but she is still fairly skittish. We ended up putting her in Dee's room (with Spike, who was near-insensible to her presence) for a chunk of time so everyone could use the shower, etc., without traumatizing the cat. She was a little on edge on Monday, but she's back in the bathroom now and asking for cuddles.

Odi was surprisingly good, despite disrupted schedules and many visitors. Gillian slept with the guests downstairs. I let August sleep on my special Juu-only no-cats-allowed blanket because I am a pushover and always need to apologize for inviting guests into her home.

Washington folks got in Saturday early afternoon; that evening we took public transport into downtown and went to Powell's and dinner. It was my first time taking the MAX, and minus the drunken post-Blazers crowd I loved it and would be happy to use it again—it may run less frequently, but it's such a lovely quick shot across town, especially compared to the roundabout route of the bus. I found two books at Powell's, both new to me and neither of which are in the local library system. (These days I prefer to buy books in three categories: authors I know and love and want to own everything by forever; books I've read before and love enough to reread a dozen times; books I suspect I will like enough to own, which are not in the Portland or Corvallis library systems. Inter-library loan exists but lacks the convenience of local lending, so buying some not-at-library books without reading them is a justifiable risk. These books were category 1 and 3, and totaled $7.) As usual after Powell's, we went to Deschutes Brewery for dinner—busy on a Saturday night, but as good as always. The only real hangup of the evening was the learning curve for the MAX, which mostly went waiting twenty-five minutes for our ride home to show up.

The concert was Sunday. All the women save me wore fantastic corseted outfits; I wore one of my best dresses, a long black sleeveless thing with a square neckline and corset lacing in the back, and for once actually felt ... content with my self-presentation. The only major problem with the concert was transportation: We intended to take a cab for convenience sake. Doors opened at 7:30; when we called to schedule they said the cab may be up to half an hour late, so we scheduled a 6:00 pickup. At 6:30 they weren't there; at 6:40 we called, and they said it could be another half hour; at 7:10 we called and they said they still hadn't even located a driver. We took two cars out there ourselves with minimal fuss and no problems finding parking, and got there well before the show started, so nothing was lost, but here is your announcement: WARNING WARNING boycott Broadway Cab at all costs, they are so unwilling to lose your business that they will not even tell you they are an hour and a half late locating a cab, good grief.

Title: Winter Rose
Author: Patricia A. McKillip
Published: New York: Ace Books, 2002 (1996)
Rating: 4 of 5
Page Count: 262
Total Page Count: 125,895
Text Number: 365
Read Because: recommended by phoenixfalls, borrowed from the Multnomah County Library
Review: When Corbet Lynn comes to reclaim the dilapidated Lynn Hall, the wild Rois—given to foraging barefoot in the woods—becomes obsessed with the secrets and curses of his past. Winter Rose is a Tam Lin retelling at its best: it harvests some aspects (from Tam Lin and other tales) and discards others while maintaining the emotional and symbolic essence of the source material; it then weaves an entire tale around that skeleton, creating a vivid setting and cast without losing the story's magic. Indeed, McKillip's prose is alive with it—her voice is jewel-toned and embroidered, rich with imagery and distinctly magical; it's reminiscent of McKinley but, while occasionally too dreamlike, is not prone to McKinley's frothy atmosphere. The story that grows from it is a tapestry of symbols, a complete internal mythology fueled by resonant emotion and character agency. In a word, it's beautiful. At times it threatens to run off with itself, and the characters and rural setting lean towards banality, but Winter Rose is nonetheless the best of what symbolism can be: entwined images of captivating beauty, startlingly precise and meaningful. This was my introduction to McKillip, and I couldn't ask for better. I recommended it to the interested: if you're here for imagery, McKillip satisfies; if not, the style may wear thin.

Review posted here on Amazon.com.

Title: The Forbidden Circle: The Spell Sword / The Forbidden Tower
Author: Marion Zimmer Bradley
Published: New York: Daw Books, 2002 (1974, 1977)
Rating: 4 of 5
Page Count: 493 (153, 340)
Total Page Count: 124,990
Text Number: 361
Read Because: recommended by phoenixfalls, ebook borrowed from the Multnomah County Library
Review: In The Spell Sword, Andrew is drawn to the isolated planet Darkover by the psychic vision of a woman he's never met, and there sets out to save her life. In The Forbidden Tower, Andrew and his newfound companions build a life together, one heretical to Darkover's traditions. It makes for an interesting pair. Sword is a competent but unremarkable quest novel, underlaid by character-driven subtleties: clashing cultures, reexamined social and gender identities, and fledgling non-normative relationships. It also introduces a telepathic magic system and society which in and of itself isn't particularly interesting, but which has vast, complex, and fascinating impacts on the characters. Tower moves subtext into text; it's slower and longer, a domestic saga driven by character while plot takes a back seat until the powerful ending. The transition from the implied to the explicit has its flaws: gender essentialism abounds, and the focus on heterosexual relationships and pregnancy threatens to smother the non-normative aspects; the magic system crumbles somewhat under such heavy scrutiny. But imperfect execution doesn't stop this from being an intriguing and compelling duology. These are books set in a world of telepathy and ritually controlled magic, but ultimately they are about the impact on the individual: how the intimacy of telepathy effects a social bond; how restrictions on telepathic practice limit and define telepaths. It's a focus I found personally rewarding and thought-provoking, and I enjoy and recommend these books despite their flaws; I don't know if I'll read more from the Darkover universe.

Review posted here on Amazon.com.

There were a number of flaws—in the magic system, the cultural details, and Bradley's conceptions of sexual activity—which bothered me a lot by the end of The Forbidden Tower.

( Spoilers, and/or details that make no sense without context. )

In those late-night conversations I have with Express, I find myself ending every third rambling soliloquy with "and then I realize that everything I say is incredibly depressing." This bout of back pain has been weighing on my thoughts, but it's more general than that. It's a ubiquitous slew of small details.

Amy (cerulean_chains) finally convinced me to watch (the Vienna 2005 production of) Elizabeth the musical on the basis of these characters and relationships are totally up my alley. And they are, but it's something I've had to watch in pieces—in part because I'm in flighty "play video games for three solid hours, concentrate on anything else for thirty scarce minutes" mode, in part because...

( Discussion of suicidal ideation. )

Express looks at the rest of his life half in anticipation and half in fear: he has this great checklist of Life Goals but rails against the idea of longterm commitment. I think it'll work out for the best. He'll angst about choices forever, but his decisions will be good ones. He'll do pretty awesome things.

When I dropped out of college I stopped having goals. For a while, that was because I was unwell and recovering from being unwell. These days I rarely have to notice that I'm still sick—I'm safe, secure, and surrounded by love, I have no responsibilities and few stresses, etc. Life is good. But goals are my trade off. I'm well on a day to day basis because I only function on a day to day basis; looking beyond that could bring all the worst things crashing back, but more than that it just seems impossible. I feel like I couldn't, even if I tried.

I'm premenstrual, in one of those rare cycles where being emotional feels rewarding. Cathartic, maybe; indulgent. Almost relaxing. Today none of this is a bad thing, but it's still a realization of ... something. I have this pain and it isn't going away: this back pain, this depression. Even when I feel like I've forgotten about it, it defines who I am. I know that that's a bad thing, but it doesn't always feel like it. Sometimes it feels like just being me. Sometimes what it means to be me hits me out of the blue, and I notice again that every third thing I say is pretty darn depressing.

I don't do this every year, but I should—even if it sounds like an acceptance speech. I don't care about Thanksgiving food other than pumpkin pie, but I hold giving thanks quite dear. The last year in particular has been good to me, and so I have too much gratitude to give and the need to give it all.

To Portland, and for Dee making it possible to live here. This city sets me free.

To friends, in particular to those that I now also know offline—Dee, Lyz, Express, Sarah, even Rachel and Danielle and Tiffany—not because real-world friendships are necessarily more meaningful, but because this has been a year of making them and that's meaningful to me.

To family. My sister is off studying in Italy, and she amazes me. My parents have shown me incredible understanding in the last year, and to be seen, known, and loved by them is something I don't quite have the words to describe.

To Devon, who has made Portland and a semi-mostly-long distance relationship possible again, and is my favorite person in the entire world, and loves me.

To stupid fuzzy animals—but mostly to August. She is my dream come true, and I still haven't gotten past the shock of that. I love her enough to break my heart.

And to books and perfumes that smell like carnation and drinks that taste like pumpkin, and relative health and wellness, and relative financial stability. I am a diehard malcontent and will go back to feeling miserable at the drop of a hat, but the truth is that every one of the last few years has been better than the last, I am healthier and more sane, I am surrounded by love and I usually have a cat on my lap, and I am so, so thankful.