kindkit: Man sitting on top of a huge tower of books, reading. (Fandomless--book tower)
Reading: I bought (ebooks of) a bunch of titles by Paul Magrs, because he was Sad on Twitter about feeling irrelevant/left out of sff. And . . . I absolutely don't mean this in a disparaging way, but so far I think his best work is what I read first, his Eighth Doctor Adventure novels and DW short stories. I think the scaffolding of an established world and characters frees him up to be as weird and intellectually daring as he wants. In his original work he seems more constrained, like he's trying to be marketable.

Anyway. I've read his first two Brenda & Effie novels (supernatural mysteries in Whitby, investigated by two old ladies, neither of whom is quite what she seems). They're fun and have some genuinely moving moments; I'm not sure when they were first published, but I wonder if some of what seem like pretty well established tropes and plot developments now were more groundbreaking then. Recommended if you want a popcorn read with a lot of comedy and a touch of light horror.


I'm also reading The Kind Worth Saving, by Peter Swanson, a mystery about a private detective who's been hired by a wife who wants proof that her husband is having an affair; there's a second narrative track from the wife's POV as a teenage girl, in which we start to see that much, much more is going on than our detective is aware of.

So far it's an intelligent, decently written book, perhaps a bit show-offy about the fact that our main character (a former English teacher) and therefore our author have Read the Literary Classics. However it is book 2 of a series; normally in mysteries that doesn't matter much, but I seem to have missed important character backstory, and also there seem to be major spoilers in this book for the plot of the first one. I'll have more opinions once I've read it all.


Listening: I'm most of the way through S3 of Old Gods of Appalachia, and I think I may be becoming a bit, er, disenchanted. The show seems to be becoming less creative as it goes on and reveals more of the world.
More on this under the cut; it's not super spoilery, being mostly focused on premise and metaphors, but may be more spoilery than you'd like.

Most of the magic has turned out to be based in bog-standard European neopaganism (Cam Collins leans heavily into this in the episodes she writes, Steve Shell less so in his), with a layer of borrowings from Lovecraft. The neopaganism is there in both the premise (the green vs the dark) and a lot of the details like a witch's ritual knives. I don't want to overstate this--it's not The Mists of Avalon, though honestly I think there's a resemblance now and then--but when the magic gets weirder and more specific, like the Man from the Railroad, I like it better.

There's also a lot of reliance on tropes that I find dull at best and dodgy at worst. The whole darkness = evil thing is a well known pitfall in horror, and I think could have been easily avoided here by using more creative metaphors. And I really, really dislike the presence and the growing importance of magical bloodlines. I can understand, from a storytelling perspective, why having groups of interrelated characters is useful. But the trope comes with heteronormative baggage and potentially even some "blood and soil" bullshit. To be clear, I think the creators are doing their absolute best to avoid going there. But I'd rather they had thought deeper into their magical system and avoided the problem by avoiding this fraught trope.

The show's critique of capitalism and big corporations is appealing, of course, but not always well thought out in worldbuilding terms. (If you're the head of a powerful corporation, why would you do a deal with monsters that results in you being so isolated from the world that you can't enjoy your wealth and power? Conversely, if you have deals with dark gods going on, why bother with union-busting? It seems a bit petty.) And at times it veers into "development is bad because it's bad," territory, which I don't always care for. Sometimes, more and easier movement between rural areas and the rest of the world is good, actually.

On a more petty level, I'm tired of confrontations that are either video game levels or boss fights. And if I can spot it, as ignorant of video games as I am, it must be really, really obvious to other listeners.

I'm still listening to Old Gods, but I don't have as high hopes for it as I did.




Watching: nothing, though I do want to see both Barbie and Oppenheimer. Barbie I'll probably end up waiting to watch on stream, because I like to see movies alone but I do NOT want to be a solo middle-aged man at the Barbie movie. As for Oppenheimer . . . I'm not really that interested, but some of the reaction has gotten my back up.
Under the cut, a bit of a rant and some probably unpopular opinions.Some people are on very high horses about how the bombing of civilians in Hiroshima and Nagasaki was a war crime, as though the whole of the Second World War wasn't one long war crime.* And as though Japan didn't commit systematic atrocities against civilians throughout its conquered Asian territories, atrocities that Japanese governments have mostly refused to even admit to while burnishing up the image of innocent Japan every time those August anniversaries roll around.

(*The Allies deliberately bombed civilian areas in Germany and Japan as much as possible, because destroying Axis industrial capacity was key to winning the war. One way you destroy industrial capacity is by making workers homeless, hungry, exhausted, and if possible, dead. And the awful thing is, we'd still better all be glad the Allies won, because the other side was a thousand times worse.)

Other people are bringing up the way the Manhattan Project kicked Hispanos off the lands they'd farmed and ranched for generations (bad, but I also keep wanting to ask how their Spanish conquistador ancestors got that land and who they took it from). And the suffering, from cancer and other radiation-induced illnesses, of thousands of down-winders. As though Oppenheimer somehow was personally responsible for all this. As though, maybe, winning the fucking war--and the Nazis were working on an atomic bomb too, they were just bad at it--wasn't so overwhelmingly important that the US accepted the suffering and death of millions, including a lot of young men who were conscripted into the military whether they liked it or not.

I know there's significant debate among historians about whether dropping the atomic bombs was necessary. I don't follow it closely enough to know all the arguments and evidence, but I suspect the truth lies somewhere around "not absolutely necessary, but it saved a lot of Allied lives and probably Japanese lives too."

Anyway, I'm baffled by the moralism of people who can, eighty years after the fact, lament that we didn't keep our hands clean when fighting a total war against opponents who in one case didn't object to committing genocide, and in the other case deliberately embraced it as a goal.

Wars are bad. Wars ARE atrocity. But sometimes, winning them prevents worse.

(To be clear: I want the US to massively cut its military spending. I want everyone to eliminate nukes. I want wars not to happen. I want honesty from the US government about the effects of atomic testing and proper compensation for injured people or their survivors. It's just the fucking "oh, the US is so guilty, guilty" thing that I can't stand. It reminds me a bit of those self-described leftists who support Putin's Russia because the US is a nasty imperial power. Yes, we fucking are. And Putin is doing his best to be bigger and nastier, not to mention ruling his own country as an outright dictatorship. Supporting Russia is not progressive and to hell with Glenn Greenwald, his fellow travellers, and all the deluded tankies who think he has a point.)


So, yeah, apparently I'm a little bit pissed off. I didn't realize I had that much of a rant in me until I started writing it. My original point was that I mostly want to see Oppenheimer as a fuck-you, which may not be strong enough motivation to actually see it.
kindkit: Stede Bonnet from Our Flag Means Death hauling a rowboat into the sea (OFMD: Stede and a rowboat)
Reading: I'm once again finding myself unable to settle to a book. However, I am slowly reading my way through The Far Reaches, an Amazon collection of six short stories by six prominent SFF authors (James S. A. Corey, Veronica Roth, Rebecca Roanhorse, Ann Leckie, Nnedi Okorafor, John Scalzi). They're free if you have Amazon Prime, and currently $0.99 each otherwise. So far they're fine; not exactly mind-bending and a bit over-inclined to hit you over the head with their Important Human Themes, but interesting enough reads. The strongest is Roanhorse's "Falling Bodies," about a young human man from an alien-colonized earth who was adopted and raised by a well-meaning colonist; it's also the bleakest. (I haven't yet read Roth's or Scalzi's; they can be read in any order.)


Listening: I finished S2 of Old Gods of Appalachia. The ending isn't (nearly) as strong as the earlier sections, being pretty much just a boss fight; I've decided I'm listening for the odd moments, dropped threads, and above all the atmosphere more than for the plot.

It's unfortunate that the show has two main writers (Steve Shell and Cam Collins) with strongly disparate styles and no overall editor to join them together a little more seamlessly. It's also unfortunate that I really like one writer (Shell) despite seeing his weaknesses (can be overwrought), while Collins' work doesn't do much for me. I recognize that Shell by himself probably couldn't hold the plot together, but Collins' writing doesn't spark. There's no magic. And listening to her episodes drives me bats because she has a problem I associate with very new writers, called I Don't Know How to Get This Character Across A Room. To illustrate, it's the difference between these two passages.

1) There was a knock on the door. It was Mabel.
2) There was a knock on the door. Bill set his teacup down on the side table, got out of the chair, and crossed the room. After opening the door, he saw that it was Mabel.


Sometimes you might want something more like passage 2, but mostly you don't. And Collins consistently gives us 2. There's lots of detail, often logistical, that doesn't add anything to the narrative. And I usually love detail! But Collins's detail doesn't illustrate the characters or the emotional tone, or contribute to atmosphere, or anything. I keep longing for a red editorial pencil.

Having said all that, I'm still listening and I'm supporting the show on Patreon. I think Old Gods is telling neglected stories in worthwhile ways, is doing its best to include yet more marginalized stories (e.g. Black and Native American Appalachians) without appropriation, is making a serious effort to be queer-inclusive and will probably get even better on that front now that Steve Shell is publicly out as bi, and is just plain entertaining.


Watching: Rewatching Our Flag Means Death again, dear me.

Also watching Twitter collapse, does that count?


Gaming: I gave up on my gaming group, threw away the character sheets that had been in the trunk of my car getting ever more faded and water-spotted, and naturally that's when the GM said, "Hey, should we all try to get together again?" So we had a session this past Saturday that went pretty well even though there were only three of us, and we're going to try to meet every other week and with luck we'll actually be able to do this time. We're playing Fallout, which wouldn't really have been my first or second or third choice but it's fun enough, and clearly the GM has Plans for us.
kindkit: Man sitting on top of a huge tower of books, reading. (Fandomless--book tower)
1) I finished Melissa Scott's The Master of Samar, and enjoyed it a lot while wishing it had had one more round of revisions. There's some important stuff (mostly character-related but also plot) that isn't set up properly before suddenly appearing in the last couple of chapters. Nevertheless, I like what it does, and I especially like
Vague spoilers follow; click here to seeScott's willingness to give us a culture that's both fucked up (patriarchal, homophobic, hierarchical) and threatened by a collapse that would be worse. I like that preventing devastation comes at a cost, and that the cost is very much felt and somewhat resented. I like that the relationship between Irichels and Envar is well-established, stable, trusting, drama-free, and that a situation many other authors would have milked for every drop of sweet sweet angst is treated matter-of-factly.


Thinking about how The Master of Samar is actually helping me get at something I couldn't articulate in my last post: part of the reason some contemporary sff feels "fanficcy" to me in a not-enjoyable way is that the emotional stakes are just too high. Everything's turned up to 11, all the time. Don't get me wrong, I want characters to have emotions and for those emotions to matter. But the centering of those emotions all the time, this constant incredibly intense round of despair and joy and jealousy and rejection and etc etc., feels very . . . teenage. And meanwhile the world needs saving, the revolution needs revolution-ing!

I guess this is why I like middle-aged characters. Not that I'm never drawn to the ones with intense emotions sometimes (see: Teach, Edward), but they've also got some good repression skills going on and can usually turn the drama back down again for a while.

Anyway, yeah. Fanfic, both reading it and writing it, trains us to go for as many intense emotions as can be crammed onto the page, and it's not entirely a good thing.


2) Still listening to Old Gods of Appalachia, still really enjoying S2 despite some trepidation. There are political implications to this arc that I'm trusting Collins and Shell to handle thoughtfully; we'll see.


3) I saw a post on Tumblr with a Saturday Night Live promo pic of Daniel Craig (I think it's from a few years ago), that people were explaining visually references the infamous 1974 French sex* film Emmanuelle. And I thought to myself, self, you have never seen this infamous French sex film.

So I acquired it, and watched it, and it's a tremendously silly and pompous film except when it's promoting rape culture. Interesting as a document of its times, I think, and with a few embedded critiques of cishet-male-centered sexual liberation that disturb the rest of the bullshit in useful ways, but ultimately deeply unsexy. I went to Wikipedia afterwards and learned that the novel it's based on has a gay man and male/male(/female) homoeroticism in a central role; the film took all that out and substituted a rape scene. Color me surprised.

(ETA: *I wouldn't really call it porn. Maybe the softest of softcore. All the sex is simulated, no more graphic than a modern R-rated movie and often less. There's a lot of nudity--all female, no dicks on display--and one notorious scene set at a Thai sex show, in which a Thai woman smokes a cigarette with her vagina. That's graphically shown; nothing comparable was asked of the western actors. Besides everything else, the film has a massive unexamined freight of colonialism.)

Anyway, my point in bringing this up was this: you know the much-GIFed scene from Hannibal where Will is standing against a ladder and Hannibal approaches close to him and it's all very breathless and eroticized? It's a direct visual quotation of a scene in Emmanuelle where our heroine is seduced by a woman for the first time. I'm sure I'm not the first person to notice it, but I'm entertained.
kindkit: A late-Victorian futuristic zeppelin. (Airship)
Reading: For now at least, I've DNF-ed Katie Daysh's Leeward. It wasn't doing anything for me, and I mean that literally. I felt nothing for any of the characters and none of the story development, such as there has been, caught my eye. (I know I've said I want slow, less plotty stories. Did a monkey's paw twitch somewhere? For a slow story to work, other things about it--characters, worldbuilding, language--have to be awesome. In Leeward, they're . . . not. And the pacing manages to be both slow and too fast--nothing happens for pages and pages, then emotionally important moments flash past with neither preparation nor adequate follow-up.) I may give it another chance at some point, because I admit I've been tired and not concentrating well. But I don't have high hopes.

Melissa Scott's new novel Master of Samar came out, and I've started that. This isn't an Astreiant novel, but it's of the Astreiant type, with urban life and magical systems out of European history (except they actually work), and a mystery to solve. Since I didn't love Water Horse, Scott's foray into epic fantasy, I'm glad we're back to the kind of thing Scott does well. Her strengths are here, and so are her flaws (functional prose, characters who aren't very distinctly drawn); she's a long-time favorite writer of mine, who was writing queer sff before almost anybody else, and I will forgive things from her that might have me DNF-ing somebody else's book.


Other media: Apparently Rusty Quill's podcast Cry Havoc, which they announced as TMA was ending, finally dropped? I've seen good reactions but haven't listened yet. I don't know if I will. I'm troubled by things I know RQ has done, and I don't 100% believe the other accusations but I don't 100% disbelieve them either. And regardless of their ethics, they've pretty thoroughly demonstrated an inability to make a worthy follow-up to either The Magnus Archives or Rusty Quill Gaming. *shrugs* If it's still around in a year and people still like it, maybe then.

I have gotten back into podcasts somewhat, because I'm back to taking walks 5 days a week and needing something to listen to. Mostly I'm still working my way through the large backlog of the British science podcast The Curious Cases of Rutherford and Fry, but I've also started listening to S2 of Old Gods of Appalachia.

I had mixed feelings about S1 of Old Gods. It was impressive storytelling and technically well-made, with a strikingly unique voice created by the use of the accents and speech patterns of southern Appalachia (where podcast creators Steve Shell and Cam Collins grew up), and a mythos that builds wild, interesting new things on a Lovecraftian foundation. But it was so violent and so gory that I often had a hard time listening.

S2, so far, has been less violent and gory while keeping all the things I loved. I'm liking it a lot. (Sadly, I don't think I can recommend starting with S2, because the stories are connected and S1 does a lot to set up the mythos.) If you're less of a wimp than me, you may not find S1 hard going anyway.

I've tried a couple of other podcasts with less happy results. I keep wanting to listen to Pseudopod (which is a genuine anthology horror series, hosted mostly by the lovely Alasdair Stuart), but I bounce off the amateurish writing of the contemporary stories every single time. (There was a trans rights episode a couple of months ago, which of course I listened to, but it was awful.)

I also listened to the first episode of Malevolent, which has been praised here and there, but again I found the writing really clumsy, full of infodumps and the most awkward rationale for narrating everything that I've ever heard. (Audio drama podcast folks: please just take the audio format for granted. The audience isn't going to ask "why is this well-told, cool story being narrated?" any more than they'll ask "why can I see these people planning their big heist or having an intimate conversation?" about a movie. They will suspend disbelief if you give them the space to do so!) Anyway, if Malevolent gets better, please tell me.

I haven't watched any TV or movies. I keep wanting to go back to seeing movies in the cinema (I'll mask, as I mask everywhere public and indoors) but every time I check there's nothing good playing.

ETA: Make that no TV apart from Taskmaster. Which I'm still enjoying, but my watching has slowed a bit because it does start feeling same-y if you watch too many episodes in a row.
kindkit: Haddock and Tintin kissing; Haddock is in leather gear (Tintin: gay icon)
I've been in a bit of a reading lull since finishing Simon Jimenez's The Vanished Birds. I have his latest novel The Spear Cuts Through Water and I'm looking forward to reading it, but . . . not right now.

Yesterday I bought Katie Daysh's Leeward and have just barely started it. It's an age-of-sail m/m romance, with both men being British Navy officers, so I could hardly not buy it once I knew it existed. The author has clearly done her research, or at least attentively read the Hornblower and Aubrey & Maturin novels, which is good. And yet . . . I don't think I'm going to love it.

Some possibly spoilery stuff under the cut, much of which is hearsay based on a review I read; mostly we learn that I am not the ideal audience for genre romanceThe very first scene happens at the Battle of the Nile; we get the explosion of L'Orient, near enough to our hero Captain Hiram Nightingale's ship to kill his lover (? . . . clearly something was between them, but as of right now its exact nature is unstated) and give Nightingale A Trauma. It is a truth universally acknowledged that every protagonist of a male/male romance novel must have A Trauma. I am very tired of it.

The Trauma is the first annoying thing. Second is that goddamn name, which just feels off for an English gentleman in this time period. (I could be wrong and will accept correction. Nevertheless, I would believe Hiram Nightingale as a Union officer in the American civil war more readily.)

Third is something I only know from the review. Nightingale is married to a woman, but Daysh takes pains to assure the reader that this is a mariage blanc and that Nightingale's wife has no interest in a sexual or romantic relationship with him.

Fourth, again from the review: Nightingale's eventual new love interest is his first lieutenant. Apparently Daysh manages to arrange events so that it's absolutely 100% clear to the reader that the power imbalance doesn't mean there are any ethical issues around consent, or practical issues around naval discipline. How she does this, I don't yet know.

Points 3 and 4 annoy me because I am every bit as tired of mandatorily morally pure queer romances as I am of the hero's defining, sympathy-inducing, dickishness-exempting trauma. I recognize that romance is meant to be a fun genre, and people don't necessarily want moral ambiguity or discomfort. But . . . I do. Especially in a historical romance, I don't want to gloss over the reality that many, many queer men and women acceded to the (Western) cultural expectation that they would marry and have children. In a lot of cases, they saw absolutely nothing wrong with that expectation, and no particular conflict between getting married and fulfilling their own desires on the side. (Obviously this was easier for men than for women.) Also, even now, some gay and lesbian folks get heterosexually married for a variety of reasons--from "my religion demands it" to "trying to be ex-gay" to "thinking about that political career" to "didn't really know they were queer"--and end up either having affairs or getting divorced, or both. And they hurt, and their partners hurt, and it sucks, but it doesn't make them irredeemably immoral people who are unworthy to be part of a love story.

Homophobia makes queer lives messy sometimes. Also, queer people are people, and people are messy sometimes. I would like us to be allowed to be messy in our* stories. (*"Our" is a bit complicated here. I don't know if the author is queer, but she's not a man, so it's not ownvoices. A term I hate but we need, I think.) Messy queer characters should get to have happy endings, too.

As for point 4: we're in a cultural place right now where a lot of folks are hyper-aware of every potential sexual abuse of power. Mostly I think this is a good thing! (Though I could do without the nonsense of "a 30 year old dating a 23 year old is abuse!!" and similar.) And I think there are ways of avoiding abuse-of-power situations in historical stories without giving the characters anachronistically modern concerns. But a writer making her hero's love interest his direct military subordinate, and then saying "but it's okay because of x, y, and z" is trying to have the tasty, tasty power-imbalance cake and eat it too. Maybe Daysh handles it well; I don't know yet. But I am skeptical in advance. (Full, and perhaps unnecessary if you remember the kind of fic I've written, disclosure: I like power-imbalance relationships. I've written 57 varieties of master/servant and teacher-ish/student-ish fic. I'm interested in how people navigate around that, how they create balance in the relationship despite it, or don't, and in what ways that matters. I'm not really interested in making the power difference vanish in a puff of exceptional circumstances.)



Yeah, that was a lot of complaining about a book I've barely started. I'm still going to try to approach it with an open mind, and I'll report back what I think once I've finished it.


On other cultural fronts, I've similarly been in full Bartleby "I would prefer not to" mode. The 50 New Things in 2023 project has stalled because it was starting to feel like a chore, and I don't want to add more chores to my life. I haven't been writing, though I am probably going to sign up for a Rare Pair exchange ([personal profile] delphi, this is your fault) and perhaps get an unrelated bingo card as well, so that may change.

What I have done is start watching Taskmaster, because Thingswithwings kept talking about it on Twitter. This is a British comedy show where a group of comedians compete to see who can accomplish ridiculous tasks the best (the definition of "best" is often fastest, but may include with the most panache, the most effective rules-lawyering, the most stylish cheating, and the most pleasing flattery of Greg Davies, the host and sole judge whose word is law).

The same group of comedians sticks around for the entire 5-6 episode season, so much depends on the chemistry of the group. I loved S1, but I'm now on S2 and not liking anyone very much. Also, the show is leaning hard into the kinky dom/sub energy of the premise; I had thought from the tweets that it was accidental, but it's clearly scripted and thus not as much fun. Still, for the moment I plan to keep watching. My brain continues not to want TV or film fiction apart from Our Flag Means Death (speaking of messy queer characters, and also, new season when?), but I can handle this deeply silly, pointless romp.


And finally, with Pride month upon us in the US, I have acquired this shirt in purple, bringing my total of queer t-shirts to 2. The other is this one, whose message is, I realize, contradicted by the new shirt. But I would absolutely have bought the new shirt in black if it had been available in black. I guess they're taking that "visibility" thing literally. By the way, purchase of any of the Point of Pride shirts at the first link benefits their work providing gender-affirming clothing and other help; the shirt at the second link was designed by a trans person and benefits him, but only if you buy from Teepublic; at any other site it's a copycat.
kindkit: Man sitting on top of a huge tower of books, reading. (Fandomless--book tower)
Recently finished:

I took a break from Melville (who can be a bit much) to read Simon Jimenez's The Vanished Birds. This was published in 2020, an unfortunate time to put out a challenging science fiction novel; it was nominated for Locus and Arthur C. Clarke awards in 2021, but I can't remember anyone at all talking about it. Which is unfortunate, because it's extremely good.

It's about . . . human settlements in space, colonization, corporate greed, hard decisions, science and/or magic, love, the failure of love, the not-failure of love, memory, and whatever home might be. Some quite bad things happen in it, including to major characters. But it's not a grimdark hopeless dystopia, though you can kind of see that story around the edges of the story Jimenez actually tells, which is both smaller and larger. I'm trying not to reveal the plot because, while it's not really a plot-focused story, I think it's better to go in unspoiled.

There's a lot of good literary craftsmanship here, but Jimenez (who specifically calls himself a science fiction fan) doesn't make the familiar mistakes of a literary novelist dabbling in sff; nothing in the plot itself is likely to blow your mind, but it's clear that Jimenez is playing with tropes, not believing he invented them. His style is sharp and interesting without being show-offy, he writes nuanced characters, and above all he knows how to structure. I especially admire the first three chapters, each of which is a beautifully self-contained short story from a different POV character; taken together, the effect is almost like a zoom-out in a film (although it's clear that no one character's viewpoint is actually definitive).

The Vanished Birds is also queer sff by a gay man--there's not much of that! And Jimenez's take on colonialism is clearly shaped by his experiences as a Filipino-American.

The book has some weaknesses. Jimenez tackles a lot for a standalone novel, and partly as a consequence, the ending doesn't quite work for me. There's a strain of sentimentality and perhaps a bit too much mysticism for my taste.

It's still the best sf I've read in a long time.


Currently reading: more Melville short stories await.


What I'm reading next: I've heard good things about Jimenez's 2022 fantasy novel The Spear Cuts Through Water and I'm eager to read it.
kindkit: A late-Victorian futuristic zeppelin. (Airship)
Moby Dick is a hard act to follow, and I tried several things that didn't sustain my interest. I'll probably go back to them eventually and won't talk about them here.

Recently finished:

I re-read the first three books of Melissa Scott and Jo Graham's Order of the Air series (Lost Things, Steel Blues, and Silver Bullet) and read the other two (Wind Raker and Oath Bound) for the first time. The series is technically unfinished, but it's been a while, so . . . who knows.

For the unfamiliar, the series is set in the 1930s and involves a group of pilots (most of them First World War veterans) who are also magicians. Magic in this world is based on real-world occult practices, so there are a lot of little groupuscules with their own traditions and ties. But there's also a broad coalition of groups who want to protect the world, and some other groups that are not so nice. (Yes, Nazi occultism becomes a plot factor in later books.)

Anyway, I liked the first three a little better on re-reading then previously, in part because I knew what to expect and what not to expect. (Expect: a prevalence of het, lovingly and perhaps excessively detailed aviation technicalities, a tendency for carefully set up plot points to get resolved undramatically in a couple of pages. Do not expect: the extensive queerness or worldbuilding depth of Scott's other books.) The later two books deepen the worldbuilding, but in directions I found both silly and kind of troubling, brushing a little too closely to the idea that some special people have an eternal destiny to be heroes. I tend to think these things were among Graham's contributions, if only because Melissa Scott is one of my favorite sff authors and Jo Graham . . . is not. Also, Graham's other books that I'm familiar with lean into that kind of thing.

Anyway, they were fine, I didn't hate them, but I didn't like them very much either. They didn't scratch my itch for the Points novel Scott's been working on for years, which hopefully will see the light of day eventually.


Currently reading:

In the end, I decided the only way to follow Melville was with more Melville, so I'm working my way through some of his short fiction. So far I've read "The Piazza," "Bartleby the Scrivener," and "Benito Cereno." "Bartleby" was inflicted on me in high school when I was far too young to get anything from it (and I was, for high school, a pretty sophisticated reader), and I've read "Benito Cereno" before too, maybe in college. (All I remember of it was the basic premise and my fury at discovering that was I thought was the end of the story wasn't, and there was an additional ten pages of "court documents" to get through.)

At this point I think I'm getting a sense of the Melvillean Story, which is "people are behaving really weirdly, and I will offer you a rational explanation but it will be unsatisfactory and inadequate in ways I'll probably point out, and you'll be left wondering why even are people anyway and whether there might be a malevolent divinity that shapes our ends."

"Benito Cereno" follows this basic structure, but goes far beyond it, just as Moby Dick does in a different way.
Some spoilery discussion follows. Perhaps best skipped if you haven't read the story but plan to. It's the only story I can think of offhand where everything important is between the lines. It's about what isn't seen. It's about what still isn't seen even when the ostensible mystery--Benito Cereno is being so weird because the enslaved people aboard his ship have risen up and taken over--is revealed. The violence of the rebellion has been in semi-plain sight throughout, but the violence of slavery itself remains invisible to our spectacularly unreliable narrator Captain Delano and even perhaps to us as readers. We can see the traces of it if we look attentively: in the despair and furtive sullenness of the captive Spanish and the violence required to control them, in the "love" and "devotion" of Babo for Cereno that echoes Delano's self-congratulatory affection for "negroes," in the ferociousness of the Spanish revenge and their later official justice, and perhaps most chillingly in a throwaway half-sentence where Melville notes that the enslaved women among the rebels wanted the Spanish to be tortured to death, not just thrown overboard. But Melville's not going to push that knowledge on us if we refuse to see it.

In fact so deep and layered are Melville's ironies and indirections that the story uncomfortably defies any attempt at confident conclusions. It's an anti-slavery story, yes, but is it (as the editor of my edition claims) anti-racist as well? Melville coolly dismantles certain racist stereotypes, the pseudo-affectionate ones about Black people as natural servants who love their masters. Melville's rebels are angry, intelligent, rational people who want to go home, and who'd also like a little bit of revenge for what they've suffered. But we never hear their voices. We never hear of friendship and love among them, except in one brief moment of a Black woman holding her baby (which Delano simultaneously romanticizes as noble savagery and dismisses as animal instinct). We never know their stories. Is the silencing of their voices the point (another truth we can't perceive, aren't allowed to perceive by the narrative that structures our entire understanding)? Or did Melville just never even think of it? I don't know.

I do know that I won't soon forget the image of that picked-white skeleton fastened to the bow, where the figurehead of Columbus once was, with the words "Follow your leader." Or the closing image of Babo's dead eyes staring, staring at Benito Cereno's monastic haven until Cereno follows him into death.



Reading next: The rest of this Melville collection. Including Billy Budd, which was also inflicted on me in high school and which I haven't read since.
kindkit: Man sitting on top of a huge tower of books, reading. (Fandomless--book tower)
I haven't done one of these in a minute. I have been reading, just not posting about it.

Recently finished

All four volumes extant of Rosemary Kirstein's Steerswoman series (The Steerswoman, The Outskirter's Secret, The Lost Steersman, and The Language of Power). These were recommended to me so long ago that I can't remember who recommended them. So long ago that they weren't available as ebooks and hard to get hold of in physical form, which is why I didn't read them sooner.

The first book in the series was published in 1989, the most recent in 2004. Supposedly there are two more on their way, but book 5 has been forthcoming at least since 2015 so I'm not holding my breath to see it any time soon. This means the story is very much unfinished.

Anyway, our main character Rowan is a Steerswoman, which means she travels around gathering information (in particular, mapping; Steerswomen are particularly engaged in finding what lies beyond their small patch of known lands). She must truthfully answer any question put to her to the best of her knowledge, and in turn, anyone she asks a question of is required to answer truthfully or be placed under the Steerswomen's ban, which means no Steerswoman will ever again answer any question the offender asks. Since Steerswomen have both a lot of useful knowledge and enormous cultural prestige, most people avoid this penalty.

Except wizards. Wizards have lots of knowledge that they refuse to share. They're constantly at war with each other and generally seem to be up to no good. The first book opens with Rowan accidentally running afoul of a wizard through what seemed like a trivial line of research, and all the subsequent books trace out her process of finding out what's going on and trying to work out how to deal with it.

There's a lot I like about these books. I like the centrality of thought and analysis, I like that Rowan is a character who isn't great with people and doesn't get a whole lot better at it, I like the moral complications that develop, and despite my frustration at its being unfinished, I very much like the slow pace of the story. There's plenty in here that doesn't particularly serve the plot, and I'm delighted about that! (Though a few things I thought were passing incidents/characters did turn back up later in more plot-relevant form.) I like Kirstein's writing style, which is plain and straightforward but manages, somehow, to be like nothing I've read before. I like the physicality of the world, and particularly the physicality of travel. Places that take days or weeks to get to, take days or weeks to get to. In some cases they take whole books. And Kirstein can do atmospheric extremely well without pushing too far into landscape description (something I have a very hard time following) or Too Many Adjectives. The long sequence in the third book when Rowan travels alone through the demon-haunted coast is a tour de force.

There's not much I don't like, but I do have to dishonorably mention that the first three books appear to take place in the World Without Queer People. There's a glancing mention of f/f sex in book 1 (so glancing that for quite a while, in the absence of any other mentions, I assumed I had misread the passage in question), but that's all. Then, in book 4, we get queerness. Sort of. Specifically, we get 2 mentions of queer sex as a possibility (both in the context of wizards, and both in the context of the sexual exploitation of vulnerable young people by wizards, so, um, not great?). We get one very elderly lesbian couple, and one man who is queer-coded, but implied to be unrequitedly in love with his best friend (who is happily married to a woman). I could just about excuse this nonsense in 1989 (just about--Melissa Scott was publishing sff with queer protagonists by then) but to have only Bad Queers, Sad Queers, and One Elderly and Thoroughly Desexualized Token Queer Couple in 2004 looks a bit gutless.

But apart from that (. . . Mrs. Lincoln), I liked the books a lot.


I also recently finished The Half Life of Valery K, the 2022 novel by Natasha Pulley (best known for The Watchmaker of Filigree Street). HLVK, whose titular character is a radiation biologist pulled out of a Soviet gulag and assigned to work on studying an irradiated ecosystem, is another book I'm ambivalent about. I read it fast, with great engagement, and enjoyed it a lot. But I still think it's kind of a mess. Pulley's fondness for mixing romance with big events works better in Watchmaker, where the events are explicitly fictional and indeed science-fictional, than it does in HLVK when the book centers around a real-world Soviet nuclear accident that occurred in 1957, killing untold people and leaving the land still polluted today. The tender, literally unspoken romance that develops between Valery and the kindly KGB officer (yes, really) who's head of site security doesn't mesh with the stakes of the story at large.
Slightly spoilery bit under the cut, not very detailed.And in the end, when Pulley apparently writes herself into a corner and has to decide which story to conclude, she chooses the romance. In fact the ending feels tacked on anyway, too hasty and too improbable, with an almost literal deus ex machina by a character whom readers of other Cold War books will recognize.


HLVK also has these spotty moments of gender analysis that (a) I'm not sure I believe coming from this main character, and (b) don't go anywhere. Things not going anywhere happens a lot.

It's not a bad book. Like I said, I read it with a lot of enjoyment. But Natasha Pulley feels like a writer who hasn't moved on from the acclaim and success of Watchmaker. Since then she's been retreading the same ground, either with other books in the same universe or with HLVK, which feels like essentially the same kind of story, particularly the same character types, just shifted out of sff and into realistic fiction. (I think? There was a moment when I thought Pulley suggested an alternate history--there's a passage that seems to have WWII beginning in 1937 with Hitler declaring war on the Soviet Union--but then nothing came of it.)

The thing is, I think Pulley's a really skillful writer who can do better things. I want her to keep including queer men and love between queer men (though she could lose the habit of making the romances depend upon the self-sacrifice of women), but to move on to new kinds of strange, bold stories.

I should note that I haven't read her 2021 novel The Kingdoms yet; maybe that's the kind of thing I'm hoping for.


Currently reading

I haven't quite settled to anything. I started a book by Adrian Tchaikovsky but it opened with a big battle scene that I wasn't in the mood for. What I am in the mood for is a good mystery novel, but my taste in mysteries is very particular. I wish Reginald Hill could have lived to be about 110 and kept on happily producing good novels 'til the end.


Reading next

See above. At some point I do want to read Pulley's The Kingdoms, but I want to give it a bit more time so I come to it less influenced by Valery K.
kindkit: Man sitting on top of a huge tower of books, reading. (Fandomless--book tower)
Reading now: I'm between books at the moment.


Recently finished: I have finished Moby Dick at last! I'm still mulling it over, and I'll probably re-read it at some point, because I know there was a lot going on structurally and thematically that I didn't fully catch. I knew the basics of how the plot resolved, of course, because it's seeped into pop culture. But the actual ending, the epilogue and especially that last sentence, is still echoing in my head. And I'm pondering why abridged editions of Moby Dick exist, because it's not an abridge-able novel. The things that aren't plot, the asides and diversions and whale facts, are where most of the actual story resides.

After that, I wanted something light, so I tried Cairo Malachi and the Adventure of the Silver Whistle, a m/m romance by Samantha Sorelle. The opening sentence is: "The first time I met the love of my life, he died in my arms," so it's got a bold premise going for it. The main character is a (fraudulent) medium, and his love interest is indeed a ghost. It's a fun book, which does some fun things and is pretty original within its genre limits. But as a reader, I've been chafing at the genre limits of m/m romance for some time. What I really want is books that are fully-fledged books in their genre (sff, mystery, historical) with deep worldbuilding and complex characters and enough plot to hold the rest together, that also include m/m love stories. Also, ideally, prose that's got a little life in it and isn't just functional. There are very few of these books. (Several of Natasha Pulley's books just about hit the sweet spot for me, problematic as they are in certain ways *coughOrientalismcough*. Wish there were more by other writers. Preferably including queer male writers. Seriously, where are the queer men writing genre? I know publishing gets more awful by the minute, and there's a glut of cheap self-pubbed m/m mostly by women that's maybe pushing other types of m/m stories out of the market. But it's frustrating.)

Anyway, despite my complaints above about wanting more substance, I was still in the mood for something light so I also read Legends and Lattés, by Travis Baldree. This is a cute little story, completely unabashed about its roots in TTPRGs, about Viv, an orc fighter who retires from adventuring and opens a coffee shop in a city that's never heard of coffee. Baddies try to baddie, but new and old friends help Viv out, and there's community and love and all that stuff. It's . . . nice? Not really fully satisfying to me, because I am a picky asshole, but it's a sweet, fluffy cinnamon roll of a story. Which is exactly what it intends to be.


Reading next: Maybe Natasha Pulley's The Half Life of Valery K, about Soviet nuclear science and, apparently, gay love. Or maybe I'll finally start The Steerswoman, which I've had for a while now. I've also recently acquired the 4th and final volume of The Department of Truth. Might give that a go today, since I've been wanting to see how it turns out.
kindkit: Man sitting on top of a huge tower of books, reading. (Fandomless--book tower)
Reading now: Moby Dick, still. Nearly there! I'm on chapter 104 of 135. Which means my recent reading has included ch. 94, "A Squeeze of the Hand," aka "squeezing sperm is the best and I really love my fellow man," ch. 95, "The Cassock," aka "an entire chapter about whale dick, in which I will repeatedly mention how absolutely massive whale dick is," and 99, "The Doubloon," aka "did Stubb just refer to Queequeg's penis there, and by the way, is Queequeg's penis tattooed?"

(In re: "The Doubloon," the chapter recounts various crew members looking at the doubloon that Ahab nailed to the mast a while back, and interpreting it in various ways. Stubb, hiding, watches Queequeg examine the zodiac pictures on the doubloon and compare them with his own tattoos:
As I live he's comparing notes; looking at his thigh bone; thinks the sun is in the thigh, or in the calf, or in the bowels, I suppose, as the old women talk Surgeon's Astronomy in the back country. And by Jove, he's found something there in the vicinity of his thigh--I guess it's Sagittarius, or the Archer.


"Thigh" is a frequent euphemism for the genitals (a common biblical one in the King James version, and if there's one thing Melville loves more than sailors and whale facts it's a biblical reference), so finding an archer/arrow "in the vicinity of his thigh" sounds like another dick joke to me.)


Recently finished: Ellen Datlow's latest Best Horror of the Year (last year's one). I usually like Datlow's anthologies--she has a preference for relatively low violence and gore, and so do I--and this was no exception.


Reading next: Vol. 4 of The Department of Truth, which the comics shop expects in next week. And vol. 3 of Something is Killing the Children. And maybe a book that isn't Moby Dick? I do think I should re-read MD, too, but I'm going to give it a little time.
kindkit: Man sitting on top of a huge tower of books, reading. (Fandomless--book tower)
Not much to report this week. I'm still reading Moby Dick; I'm on chapter 54 and, per the Kindle app, 31% of the way through the book. And I've just started the latest (2022) volume of Best Horror of the Year, edited by Ellen Datlow.

To compensate for this short report, I give you Melville on the subject of pirates feeling themselves superior to whalers:

[I]n the case of pirates, say, I should like to know whether that profession of theirs has any peculiar glory about it. It sometimes ends in an uncommon elevation, indeed; but only at the gallows. And besides, when a man is elevated in that odd fashion, he has no proper foundation for his superior altitude. Hence, I conclude, that in boasting himself to be high lifted above a whaleman, in that assertion the pirate has no solid basis to stand on.


So where's the OFMD fic where Stede & co (it would have to be pre-Ed, I think) encounter a bunch of grumpy whalers and are told off for their presumption?

Semi-relatedly, my Moby Dick/OFMD head-canon is that Queequeg is the great-great-great grandnephew of my Ed from "Also Known As Blackbeard," having inherited the family tendency to wander. And yes, he has been having an affectionate, loving, very very deep laugh at Ishmael's credulity about idols and such.

reading!

May. 21st, 2014 02:17 pm
kindkit: Man sitting on top of a huge tower of books, reading. (Fandomless--book tower)
I haven't done the Wednesday reading meme in ages, so here goes.

What I'm reading now:I'm actually in one of those brief moments between books.

Recently read: I just finished Gillian Flynn's Gone Girl, which I suspect I am the last person in the Anglophone world to read. But in case I'm not, to avoid spoilers I won't go into details, but I'll say that while I admired the book in a technical sense, I didn't actually like it. I know it's very middlebrow or even lowbrow to want to like the characters in a novel, but I do want to, and the only person I liked in this book was Nick's sister Go, who was mostly in the background.

Before that I read the last two of Mike Carey's Felix Castor novels, which were fine, but I thought the conclusion of the final book didnt live up to all the build-up. A lot of loose ends and intriguing hints were just abandoned.

I've also been reading a huge amount of fanfic--I think I mentioned at some point that I'd been in a mood to read stuff in fandoms I don't much care about. So I devoured [personal profile] cesperanza's Stargate Atlantis fic with great enjoyment, than switched over to MCU Captain America fic after seeing The Winter Soldier, but didn't manage to find anything I loved. (My method of finding Captain America fic was to go through the first ten or so pages for the fandom in AO3 and download anything that didn't look terrible. This is a fallible method and recs are still welcome. Actually recs are welcome for SGA fic too.)

I continue to be baffled by the discrepancy between the quality of the canon for Person of Interest and the quality of the fic. The show is mostly good-to-excellent, the fic is mostly conventional or cracky ship fic that often strikes me as not quite in character, and that rarely explores the full possibilities of the universe. Is there a secret treasure trove of POI fic that's not on the AO3 or something? Are people keeping it secret to reduce their digital footprint? /complaining

What I'm reading next: Probably Siddhartha Mukherjee's The Emperor of All Maladies: A Biography of Cancer. I think I'm novel-ed out for the moment (though I'm still craving fanfic) and more in the mood for nonfiction. So again I will asks for recs, this time for good general nonfiction, such as science books, histories of interesting things, etc.
kindkit: Man sitting on top of a huge tower of books, reading. (Fandomless--book tower)
Recently read: I finished Annie Jacobsen's Operation Paperclip: The Secret Intelligence Program That Brought Nazis Scientists to America, in the sense that I gave up on it. The topic--the US recruitment of Nazi scientists after the Second World War--is important and interesting, but I couldn't get through Jacobsen's prose. She's a journalist and she writes like one, with names and dates and more names and more dates, and little capsules histories of people's careers when she first introduces them, and a lot of back-and-forth between different threads of the story. I find that kind of thing difficult to follow; it would have helped if Jacobsen had included a sort of "who's who" brief reference guide, but she didn't. Plus it was all very tightly focused on events, without a lot of background beyond a reminder that the Nazis killed a lot of people, and without any kind of contextualization of the United States's decision to recruit men who'd been complicit in genocide. Maybe that came later--I only got about a third of the way through--but I think it's the kind of thing that should come first. My model for what history should look like is academic history, which (generally) values context over narrative and certainly never tries to create "suspense" with the journalistic techniques Jacobsen uses. This was the wrong book for me--can anybody recommend a different one?

I did get all the way through Elizabeth Speller's novel First of July, though I'm not quite sure why I bothered. Speller tells the story of four men (one French, three English) whose lives converge on the first of July, 1916--the first day of the Battle of the Somme. I'd have thought this was sufficient drama in itself, but Speller can't resist the urge to liven things up. She gives her characters far too many quirks (one, Benedict, has synaesthesia and psychically experiences other people's pain--no mention of how he coped with this on the battlefield--and he's gay and in love with his selfish cad of a heterosexual childhood friend). There are also soap opera-like plot twists that make the war seem like the least interesting and horrifying thing happening. To make matters worse, her US publisher Americanized the text to distracting degree. After finishing the novel, I realized the Speller is also the author of The Return of Captain John Emmett, another First World War themed book that I found melodramatic and unsatisfying.


Currently reading: Nothing just at the moment. I've been near-obsessively re-reading the three Person of Interest fics that I've dated to read (meaning only ones posted before S2 began, so that I can avoid spoilers) that I've also liked.

Recs and links under the cut )

Things I'm planning to read: I got The Monkey's Voyage: How Improbable Journeys Shaped the History of Life, by Alan de Queiroz, from the library today.

Mostly I want to read more POI fanfic, but I need to watch S2 first (and then I can read anything posted before S3 started to air!).
kindkit: Man sitting on top of a huge tower of books, reading. (Fandomless--book tower)
Currently reading: The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures, ed. Mike Ashley. As I mentioned last week, reading Death by Silver gave me a craving for Sherlock Holmes pastiche (Death by Silver isn't pastiche, but it isn't a million miles away from it either). I'm actually liking The Mammoth Book more than I like a lot of pro pastiche, in part because, as Ashley says in his introduction, its authors actually know and care about the Holmes canon, and also because Ashley apparently gave them a "no Watson bashing" brief. Watson is in the stories, and is important and intelligent and a nice person and Holmes likes him! *sideyes the numerous stories in A Study in Lavender: Queering Sherlock Holmes in which poor Watson is dragooned into representing Victorian Intolerance*


Recently Read: I finally read Rohase Piercy's My Dearest Holmes, famous/notorious as the first and still nearly the only professionally (?) published piece of Holmes/Watson slash. I'd heard mixed things about it, but I thought that on the whole it was as well-written as most pro pastiche and much better than a lot of it. I really enjoyed the first section, with the blackmail case; the Watson angst was a little excessive but not implausibly so. The second section, which instead of offering a new case retraces "The Final Problem" in detail, often exactly reproducing the original dialogue, was less successful. The focus on Watson's emotions wasn't enough to maintain my interest in repetition after repetition of "readers will be familiar with the events I am about to describe" followed by lengthy and unnecessary descriptions of them. And when, after all Watson's suffering, the reunion finally came, Piercy seemed to suffer a failure of nerve. I wasn't expecting a sex scene and I'm glad Piercy didn't attempt one, but even the emotions were short-changed, literally so in that the reunion scene was maybe ten pages long (this after many, many pages of regurgitated scenes from "The Final Problem"), and metaphorically so in that, while earlier we saw every detail of Watson's angst, his happiness was summarized with a strange detachment. And it's all so coy that it's never actually clear if Holmes and Watson become lovers in the sexual sense, or if Watson has accepted Holmes's idea that like Caesar's wife they must be above reproach, and has given up what little there was of his own sex life for a future of elevated sentiment and chaste hair-stroking. Verdict: not bad, and worth reading for the first half, but fanfic does the non-angsty bits better.

My craving for Holmes also led me to read David Pirie's The Patient's Eyes and The Night Calls, which are about the young Arthur Conan Doyle solving crimes with his mentor (and model for Sherlock Holmes) Dr. Joseph Bell. The first one was tolerable, the second lurched into many of my least favorite detective story tropes, such as "the detective and everyone s/he loves are threatened by a serial killer with a personal obsession." I gave up partway through the third one, which is like the second only more so.

I tried to read Robert Harris's An Officer and a Spy, but the first page was all "Our Hero walked into the room, which was already occupied by General LongFrenchName, a tall elderly man but still renowned for his heroism at the battle of Somewhere and his glorious victory at SomwhereElse, and by his aide Colonel EvenLongerFrenchName of whom blah blah Placename Placename Regiment Medals, and by M. ExtraordinarilyLongAristocraticFrenchName, Deputy Minister of War under the famous M. SomebodyElseEntirely, blah blah political rivalry blah blah Germany blah blah economic issues." Now, since this is a novel about the Dreyfus affair, Harris is constrained by history as far as who his characters are and what they're called. But still, there's a way to do details and necessary background while engaging the reader's interest. This is not it. I may try again eventually if I hear good things about the book, but that first page is a steep uphill climb.


What I'm reading next: As usual, I don't know. I'm still in the mood for Sherlock Holmes.
kindkit: Man sitting on top of a huge tower of books, reading. (Fandomless--book tower)
Currently reading: Oliver Sacks's Seeing Voices, which is about sign language and its history, particularly in the education of deaf people. The book could be deeper and more detailed; in particular I'd have liked more about the structure of sign languages rather than just Sacks marvelling at their uniqueness and complexity. But it's interesting, especially Sacks's discussion of the way that misguided late-ninteenth-century theories about normalization, combined with the belief that sign languages were just gestural pidgins without grammar, ended previously successful programs of education using sign and written language and led to a hundred years of deaf children being forbidden to use sign language and instead forced to learn to lip-read and speak, both of which required immense amounts of special teaching and led to the children's general education being neglected. Educational theories are such dangerous things.


Recently read: I finally got the chance to read Amy Griswold and Melissa Scott's Death by Silver and enjoyed it a lot. It's set in an alternate late Victorian England in which "metaphysics," a complex form of magic involving written incantations, is taught in schools, and being a metaphysician is a fairly respectable profession for a gentleman. One of our heroes, Ned, is a new metaphysician struggling to establish a practice, and the other, Julian, is a consulting detective/metaphysician who is not entirely unlikely Sherlock Holmes. Ned and Julian were childhood friends, nearly childhood sweethearts, who've grown somewhat apart, so there's a relationship arc as well as a mystery. And there's an excellent supporting character in Miss Cordelia Frost, herself a trained metaphysician from the only college that will admit women, but who as a woman is unable to find work in her field and ends up as Ned's secretary. The worldbuilding is good although not as thoroughgoing as I'm used to seeing from Scott, and there's an unusual and interesting plot thread about Ned and Julian's school years, and the severe bullying they both experienced and of which they still suffer the aftereffects.

I do have a couple of quibbles. The relationship arc relies much too heavily on a misunderstanding that could be (and eventually is) cleared up with a five-minute conversation; this is not one of my favorite tropes and I'd have liked to see some kind of real tension between them, something they'd have to work to overcome. I also felt like one particular big revelation about what Julian went through at school was just kind of dropped into the narrative and then left hanging; I have a feeling it'll turn out to be important in the next book, but as it was, that revelation felt perfunctory and somewhat out of place.

Still, this was a book I liked a lot, and I'm looking forward to the sequel.

The only problem is, it made me want to read more good sff books with gay male protagonists, and there aren't any I haven't already read, and my disappointment at life led me to spend the next three days reading mediocre novel-length Sherlock fanfics. Though I did at least stop reading the one that, about five pages in, used "insight" in place of "incite."


What I'm reading next: Maybe I'll unearth a hidden treasure trove of sff with gay male protagonists? Otherwise, Robert Harris has a new novel out about the Dreyfuss case; I might see if I can get that from the library.
kindkit: Man sitting on top of a huge tower of books, reading. (Fandomless--book tower)
Currently reading: I was in the mood for some entertaining nonfiction, so I'm roughly a third of the way through Amy Stewart's The Drunken Botanist: The Plants That Created the World's Great Drinks. It's more factual and historical than anecdotal, which I like, and Stewart carefully distinguishes between legend and what's actually known through documents and archaeology about the history of drinks. Also, there are cocktail recipes. The only downside is it's making me want to go out and buy a bunch of high-end spirits and unusual liqueurs.


Recently read: I've been re-reading a lot of Doctor Who novels, specifically the Eighth Doctor Adventures novels. That's why I haven't done a Wednesday reading post in several weeks, because it's hard to talk about them in a general way that isn't all wrapped up with Who fandom, the EDA series as a whole, my headcanon, etc. In summary: The Adventuress of Henrietta Street still annoys me mightily; the plot of Mad Dogs and Englishmen makes more sense on re-read but is still deliriously strange; Hope and Anachrophobia are boring; I skipped Trading Futures because Lance Parkin; The Book of the Still has wonderful moments, and Fitz declaring that his love for the Doctor is "the real thing" will never not be awesome, but someone needs to write fic dealing with the fact that what Carmodi does to Fitz is essentially rape; The Crooked World is the most morally serious book about cartoon characters EVER until it throws it away on the last page; History 101 doesn't do as much as it could with a brilliant premise, but Sasha and Fitz are amazingly slashy; Camera Obscura is even better than I had remembered it being, managing to be both really moving and fannishly squee-inducing (and not only for Who fandom--you can play Spot the Allusion); Time Zero is unnecessarily violent but I can forgive it a lot for sending Fitz and George Williamson on an arctic expedition together; I skipped The Infinity Race because it was terrible enough the first time; and The Domino Effect, while its prose is clumsy, is still a powerful dystopian story and ties back importantly into the Doctor's emotional history in the Earth Arc in a way that I won't specify because it's spoilery.

I've also read Jane Stevenson's London Bridges a fun romp of a crime novel that reminds me a bit of Sarah Caudwell's Hilary Tamar books, only without their unfortunate tendency to have queer characters end up dead. I enjoyed it a lot, though I was a bit disappointed that character-related spoilers )
Speaking of confusion, while reading the novel I sometimes wondered if it had been written quite a lot earlier than 2000, when it was published. For one thing, none of the characters, including lawyers and international business people, has a mobile phone, and the existence of mobile phones is never even mentioned. This was noticeable because on a couple of occasions the plot turned on people needing to find and use a public phone--but mobiles were hardly rare in England by 2000, were they? The other reason I wondered is that the homophobia of a minor character seems extremely blatant and aggressive for that time, considering the character is an academic who specializes in classics. I was finishing up my Ph.D. in English in 2000, and while I had heard a few veiled homophobic remarks around the department, and certainly had experienced some right-wing academic backlash disguised as "real old-fashioned scholarship," I don't think I ever encountered or heard about open homophobia from professors. Of course I was at a U.S. university and not a British one, but if anything I'd have thought that would make open homophobia more likely. Anyway, those two things made me wonder if perhaps the novel had been kicking around in manuscript since the late 1980s or early 1990s.


What I'm reading next: I don't know for sure, but I should probably re-read some Jane Austen again or try to finish Maria Edgeworth's Belinda, which I like but keep getting bogged down in. I can't properly write Regency English if I'm not reading it, and I need to be able to write it for That Project.
kindkit: Man sitting on top of a huge tower of books, reading. (Fandomless--book tower)
I haven't read as much as usual this last week. My life has been basically: go to work, come home, cook and eat dinner, wash dishes, write 500 words, go to bed.

Currently reading: I'm still slowly working through Andrew Roberts' The Storm of War.


Recently finished: I happened across some mystery novels that were favorites of my mother's, namely the Grijpstra and de Gier series by Janwillem van de Wetering. I read some of the early ones from the mid-1970s: Outsider in Amsterdam, Tumbleweed, and Death of a Hawker. They're odd little books, with a reflective and doubting tone that apparently derives from Wetering's Zen Buddhist practice. They're not structured like traditional mystery novels: there's a crime which the detectives solve, but in each one I read, the solution came not from the detectives piecing together clues, but from them getting sudden information from an outside source that cleared up everything. The best thing about them is the friendship between Adjutant Grijpstra and his assistant, Sergeant de Gier, which is sometimes tense but also full of charming little moments. In one scene they skive off work together (their boss is away and they're not making progress on the case) and hang out at de Gier's apartment, listening to records and eating pancakes that de Gier cooks. Then there's this scene, from Outsider in Amsterdam, as they're about to ring someone's doorbell:
"You can ring the bell," Grijpstra said. "You have a nice index finger."

De Gier bowed from the hips and rang. His index finger was indeed nice, well-tapered, thin and powerful.

Grijpstra, as if he wanted to avoid all comparison, had hidden his hands in his pockets.
They are kind of slashy, as this scene shows--Grijpstra is often noticing how physically attractive de Gier is--but they're both shown as 100% Manly Heterosexuals.

Which brings me to the books' big problem: they're racist and homophobic in a well-meaning but clueless sort of way, and they're sexist in a way that is completely inexcusable. Yes, even for the 1970s. Other mystery novels from the time, such as those by Ruth Rendell and Reginald Hill, are not remotely as faily. There's something about Wetering's writing that makes me think he was a Nice GuyTM, the sort who tells a woman how enlightened meditation has made him, with the implication that therefore she should have sex with him. Thus I have given up on the books. If you've read more, please do let me know if they get better later.


What I'm reading next: From the library today I picked up The Unreal and the Real: Selected Stories of Ursula Le Guin, volume 2 and Donald Thomas's Death on a Pale Horse: Sherlock Holmes on Her Majesty's Secret Service. Really I should know better than to read published Holmes pastiche--call it the triumph of hope over experience. At least Thomas is English rather than, like so many Holmes pastichers, American. It's not that I think Americans can't write England and English characters well (obviously I don't think that, or I wouldn't try), it's just that so few of them make an effort to get things right. Books get published that in fandom would be slammed for not being Brit-picked.
kindkit: Man sitting on top of a huge tower of books, reading. (Fandomless--book tower)
This is a sort of meme, originated I think by [personal profile] oursin (ETA: apparently it was [personal profile] sartorias), meant to encourage conversation about what we're reading.

Currently reading:

The Mammoth Book of Modern Ghost Stories, ed. Peter Haining.


Recently finished:

The Wooden Horse and The Tunnel, by Eric Williams. This was a re-read inspired by my receiving awesome Yuletide fic based on the books. I enjoyed them as much as ever, especially their unconventional, awkward, thoughtful frankness about the emotional toll of war, imprisonment, and escape.

Flora's Fury, by Ysabeau Wilce. The third in the Flora Segunda series, whose first two books I love dearly; this one sadly was somewhat disappointing. Flora, now sixteen, somehow comes across as much less mature than she did in the earlier books, negating all her emotional growth and making her rather unlikeable a lot of the time. The worldbuilding doesn't have the same inventiveness, either, and the prose feels flat, without the energetic charm of the first two books. It makes me wonder if the long gap between book two and Flora's Fury was the result of Wilce getting bored with the whole thing. (You know what I'd really like to see? A grown-up novel set in the same world, one about Tiny Doom and Hardhands and Buck and Hotspur and what must have been the extraordinarily complex emotional situation among them. Wilce has written a few short stories with these characters for an adult audience, and I'd like to see what she could do on a larger canvas that's free of the restrictions of YA, such as apparently not being allowed to use the word "fuck" or mention that queerness and queer people exist.)

There were things I really enjoyed about Flora's Fury, such as Octohands, and Wraathmyr when he wasn't being a jerk, but overall it just didn't gel.


What I'm reading next:

The Last Lost World: Ice Ages, Human Origins, and the Invention of the Pleistocene, by Lydia V. Pyne and Stephen J. Pyne.

Surviving the Sword: Prisoners of the Japanese in the Far East, 1942-45, by Brian MacArthur. This is the only book on this topic at my library that was not written by an American; I'm hoping that it will avoid the pervasive jingoism and racism of USian accounts.

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kindkit: A late-Victorian futuristic zeppelin. (Default)
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