Creepy crawlies are plaguing my life.( I was gonna say insects, but there was a spider involved. *is prim* ^__^ )
In further life news... I'm starting to wonder if maybe confessing my exorbitant book purchases publicly will encourage me, via shame, to quit DOING that. When I was in college it was a point of pride among Lit/Law majors -- people would walk in, sort of smile/scowl contemptuously and say "Come on, have you actually READ all of those?" and in general we could all quite proudly go "Yes!" (And flip them off.) My collecting is outstripping my pride! I have enough to last me the rest of the year, at least...
(Enough books, I mean. Pride I dunno.)
So okay, shame: Yesterday, I bought:The Explosionist
by Jenny DavidsonInfoquake
by David Louis Edelson1491
by Charles C MannHalting State
by Charles StrossLopsided
by Meredith Norton
We will not mention the boxed DVD set(s). In my defense, they were marked down to $16.99 from $48 bucks for July 4th weekend.
C'MON, IT WAS VERONICA MARS. And, um, other stuff...
I am being good though!!! -- I am waiting for the latest Jacqueline Carey, Jim Butcher, Graham Joyce, Simon Green, and Charles Stross in paperback. "Eternity Watch" does not count, since the Night Watch series is all in paperback anyway.*** I mean, I'm still waiting for it, but since the only other option is learning to read Russian it's not like I have a choice and doesn't speak so much to my moral fiber. ^___^ OkayandI'vesortofput thelatestKushielonorderatthelibrary.
(The Charles Stross
is going to be a hard wait as I've already skimmed the first page: the suicidal ramblings of a pleasurebot drunk on battery acid...) Speaking of which, I think hard SF might be the last genre in which the use of first person does not send me screaming away, or at least give me pause for a few seconds. In a lot of genres (outside of YA, and barring real talent) it seems to be the first indicator of an oncoming huge, whiny, self-indulgent extravaganza (not always, of course, but I have prejudices). With SF, sometimes, the material is so esoteric and inherently distancing that the first-person becomes a crucial bridge.
Finished The Book of Lost Things
by John Connolly last night.
I do quite well with things entitled "The Book Of [Something]," it seems. The Book of Joe, The Book of Joby, The Book of the Dun Cow...
^___^ (Look 'em up! Especially "Joe.")
Anyway, loved "Lost Things," not least because one of my fondest wishes is to someday be able to write a proper trickster. (The Crooked Man is more psychopathic serial killer than loveable Anansi or patron/caretaker Raven, though.) Loved the corruption and melding of fairy tales, the restoration of their original menace. Plus coming-of-age is generally fun, and Connolly has a lovely, deceptively simple writing voice, although I think bookshops who choose to put this one in the YA section are grossly mistaken (I got mine in SF/Fantasy where it belongs). I might gush more if all my gushing had not been done for
me by all the "Connolly is the best thing since the wheel and fire!" blurbs on the book jacket, which always set you up for disappointment. Maaaaaaaybe the best thing since Laughing Cow cheese triangles. Which is no small praise, really.
One of the more disconcerting things about the book (the physical book, not the story within), which also turned out to be one of the cooler things about it: Around the last third of the paperback is reprints of all the fairy tales used in the book, some of which I'd never heard of before ("The Tale of the Three Surgeons"???), with author commentary and a bit of background on why he chose each one. (Essentially, dude has written me a midterm.) Disconcerting because you don't expect the end of the story to happen and you're budgeting your mental time for about 70 more pages with these characters you care about.
Am a couple chapters into "The Explosionist" (a YA), and not loving the writing style. Lots of telling and not showing when it comes to the main character's emotions, which is extremely stilted, especially in first-person. "I felt shy." "I became frightened." "I was fond of him." That the writer comes from a nonfiction background is quite clear. (And I don't buy that the younger intended audience justifies the too-direct style, either -- Gail Carson Levine's writing is poetry incarnate and her audience is in middle school. And have we DISCUSSED "The Book Thief
, though, is quite fascinating -- there is a spate of suicide bombings going on in 1930s Edinburgh, in a world where Napoleon won at Waterloo and Scotland broke from the U.K. around the same time. There's some interesting political theory going on considering it's aimed at 15-year-olds. And girls doing math and physics! But I wouldn't be surprised if I got distracted midway.
Addendum: Speaking of books for girls, I think I love this woman
.*** Someone explain to me why series I like -- and have bought from six to nine installments of -- in paperback are now suddenly busting out with the hardcovers? Are they aware that this does not match? Are they trying to trigger OCD in addition to my random miserliness?
(Don't explain for real, I'm aware of the bottom-line of the business. But venting is psychologically sound practice. It's true!)
#### LOL! I just remembered that it was 6AM. So I slept with the light AND the sun on. For 1/2 hour. Ah well.