It's not what I was made to do, but believe me, I still care
Mar. 28th, 2026 03:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sovayI aten't dead! I have been flat for the last two days and would have continued the practice except for No Kings, but since it turned out the nearest rally was a grand total of ten minutes from my house I walked them to practice my democratically rightful freedom of assembly in the brightly freezing afternoon and was rewarded with the unexpected company of a long-time and little-seen friend who is not on DW and some excellent signs and costumes, of which I confess myself the most impressed by the inflatable riding frog. It was one of a small party on the lesser island of the rotary which included an impressively starred-and-striped Uncle Sam and an otherwise normally dressed protester wearing an American flag top hat. I suspect these rallies of being the one context nowadays in which I do not side-eye the deployment of traditional patriotic imagery. The larger island hosted a solo and determined Make Orwell Fiction Again. I had a chance to compliment the sign against The Lyin King whose black-on-red silhouetting had gone particularly doom metal in the execution, like a kind of psychedelic death's-head poppy. A woman whose jacket was embroidered with dragons and her pants with forests carried signs for herself and her artistically antifascist high-schooler. We had no signs of our own—I said that I was queer and here and that was about what I was up for—but were welcomed onto the curb to wave at the traffic, standing next to No War in Iran. The drive-by honking was heartening and considerable. I felt prudent to have brought earplugs. The crowd meanwhile went wild for the SUV from Cambridge Immigration Law. Making eye contact with passengers and drivers who waved back or thumbs-upped felt as useful as the presence or the noise, especially when it was someone with a headscarf or visibly non-white. The Amazon driver absolutely leaned on the horn as they went through. We were a comparatively small group, but I was not physically capable of getting myself to Boston Common and glad to have been able to demonstrate at all. I want it to mean something beyond the carnival of free expression, although the free expression should not be taken for granted: just around this time of last year was the abduction of Rümeysa Öztürk. I am going to eat some chopped liver on a challah roll and return to irregularly scheduled flatness.
Reading Updates
Mar. 27th, 2026 11:24 amjs_thrill Having an app for tracking my reading is nice, because I would 100% forget things if I were just listing based on my memory.
My 2026 reading thus far is about to hit the goal that I set for the year (24 books). This is in part because the goal was somewhat modest, but mostly because pressure to read libby ebooks before they have to be returned and the use of the reading tracking app conspired to substantially increase how much I am reading.
Here's what I've read this year:
January:
February:
March:
Of these, the ones that stick with me the most are: Piranesi, Ship of Fools, Shroud, I Who Have Never Known Men, Roadside Picnic, and There Is No Antimemetics Division. You may notice a sort of theme in the things that I respond to.
The ones that stuck with me the most in a not quite so complimentary way are Light From Uncommon Stars and Mysterium. Uncommon Stars was just too busy and, to steal an observation fromambyr , unconcerned with morality. Mysterium I posted about previously, but it was such a waste of a great premise.
Anyway, if you can think of books that seem like they'd be right up my alley, based on that reading list, please do recommend in the comments.
My 2026 reading thus far is about to hit the goal that I set for the year (24 books). This is in part because the goal was somewhat modest, but mostly because pressure to read libby ebooks before they have to be returned and the use of the reading tracking app conspired to substantially increase how much I am reading.
Here's what I've read this year:
January:
- Piranesi (Susanna Clarke) reread
- The Loop (Jeremy Robert Johnson)
- Ship of Fools (Richard Paul Russo)
- Far from the Light of Heaven (Tade Thompson)
- The Last Astronaut (David Wellington)
- The Keeper (Sarah Langan)
- Mysterium (Robert Charles Wilson)
- The Deep Sky (Yume Kitasei)
- As The Earth Dreams (Terese Mason Pierre, ed.)
- The Surviving Sky (Kritika H. Rao)
February:
- I'm Glad My Mom Died (Jennette McCurdy)
- Semiosis (Sue Burke)
- Seven Taoist Masters (Eva Wong, trans)
- The Stardust Grail (Yume Kitasei)
March:
- Moonbound (Robin Sloan)
- Shroud (Adrian Tchaikovsky)
- I Who Have Never Known Men (Jacqueline Harpman)
- Light From Uncommon Stars (Ryka Aoki)
- Roadside Picnic (Arkady & Boris Strugatsky)
- There is no Antimemetics Division (qntm)
- The Neverending Story (Michael Ende)
Of these, the ones that stick with me the most are: Piranesi, Ship of Fools, Shroud, I Who Have Never Known Men, Roadside Picnic, and There Is No Antimemetics Division. You may notice a sort of theme in the things that I respond to.
The ones that stuck with me the most in a not quite so complimentary way are Light From Uncommon Stars and Mysterium. Uncommon Stars was just too busy and, to steal an observation from
ambyr , unconcerned with morality. Mysterium I posted about previously, but it was such a waste of a great premise.Anyway, if you can think of books that seem like they'd be right up my alley, based on that reading list, please do recommend in the comments.
This Year 365 songs: update
Mar. 27th, 2026 11:20 amjs_thrill In a development that isn't entirely surprising to me, I had a few stumbles for daily updating part of the project, and then fell off of daily reading/posting pretty much entirely.
This is not an unfamiliar pattern for me (I do well with structure, but if the structure is too rigid, and I have enough misses, my brain just shuts off of wanting to follow the structure even a little bit).
The real barrier was posting, for me, because I often felt like I didn't have anything to say, which made some of the posts a chore, rather than just.a part of the routine. I'm planning to catch back up soon, and then continue reading the book day by day, but probably won't be posting about it (or at least, not in a daily post type of way).
This is not an unfamiliar pattern for me (I do well with structure, but if the structure is too rigid, and I have enough misses, my brain just shuts off of wanting to follow the structure even a little bit).
The real barrier was posting, for me, because I often felt like I didn't have anything to say, which made some of the posts a chore, rather than just.a part of the routine. I'm planning to catch back up soon, and then continue reading the book day by day, but probably won't be posting about it (or at least, not in a daily post type of way).
Wolfwalkers and My Father’s Dragon
Mar. 27th, 2026 09:41 amosprey_archerI showed up at asakiyume’s place just a couple of days before St. Patrick’s Day, so we decided it would be the perfect time to catch up on the latest movies released by the Irish animation studio Cartoon Saloon, still perhaps most famous for its first movie The Secret of Kells.
We perhaps should have saved Wolfwalkers for St. Patrick’s Day itself, as it’s actually set in Ireland. Young Robyn Goodfellowe has just arrived in Ireland with her father, a professional hunter who has been hired by Oliver Cromwell to eliminate the wolves in the nearby woods. Once the wolves have been driven out, the wild woods can be cut down and converted to farmland, thus by proxy also taming the wild Irish people.
Young Robyn is supposed to stay home and do chores, but in classic heroine mode, she would much rather dash about the woods hunting with her father. Unable to accompany him on his hunt, she instead goes into the woods on her own, and accidentally falls into one of her own father’s snares!
Robyn is released by mischievous young wolfwalker Mebh, and they spend a happy day frolicking through the forest together. But in the process of releasing Robyn from the trap, Mebh nipped her. And that night when she falls asleep, Robyn’s spirit rises from her body in the form of a wolf…
Absolutely gorgeous animation. I particularly loved all the sequences featuring the wolfwalkers in wolf form, particularly the eerily beautiful image of Robyn’s wolf-spirit frantically trying to return to her body when the whole town is attempting to hunt down this wolf that inexplicably got into the town walls.
I was also impressed ( spoilers )
The animation in My Father’s Dragon wasn’t quite as lovely, or rather didn’t have quite as many opportunities for numinous loveliness. But I also enjoyed it, which surprised me because I didn’t particularly like the book it’s based on and likely wouldn’t have tried it if it weren’t Cartoon Saloon.
The book (also called My Father’s Dragon) is a straightforward tale about a boy going to an island where he defeats and/or escapes various ferocious animals (crocodiles, tigers etc) in order to rescue a baby dragon. The end. A brisk recitation of a series of events without much character development or worldbuilding of the island or anything else.
The moviemakers clearly realized that in order to stretch the story to feature-length, character development and worldbuilding and so forth was just exactly what they’d need. The result is a much richer story, where the various ferocious animals are no longer basically an obstacle course but characters with their own motivations. Also, the human protagonist meets the baby dragon much earlier, which changes his journey from a solo quest into a sort of heartwrenching buddy comedy.
The filmmakers were trying very hard, and unfortunately sometimes you could see the gears grinding as they strained to get the emotional effect they wanted, which of course serves to undermine that effect. But still, an ambitious “shot for the moon and landed among the stars,” which is still a pretty decent place to land.
asakiyume’s place just a couple of days before St. Patrick’s Day, so we decided it would be the perfect time to catch up on the latest movies released by the Irish animation studio Cartoon Saloon, still perhaps most famous for its first movie The Secret of Kells. We perhaps should have saved Wolfwalkers for St. Patrick’s Day itself, as it’s actually set in Ireland. Young Robyn Goodfellowe has just arrived in Ireland with her father, a professional hunter who has been hired by Oliver Cromwell to eliminate the wolves in the nearby woods. Once the wolves have been driven out, the wild woods can be cut down and converted to farmland, thus by proxy also taming the wild Irish people.
Young Robyn is supposed to stay home and do chores, but in classic heroine mode, she would much rather dash about the woods hunting with her father. Unable to accompany him on his hunt, she instead goes into the woods on her own, and accidentally falls into one of her own father’s snares!
Robyn is released by mischievous young wolfwalker Mebh, and they spend a happy day frolicking through the forest together. But in the process of releasing Robyn from the trap, Mebh nipped her. And that night when she falls asleep, Robyn’s spirit rises from her body in the form of a wolf…
Absolutely gorgeous animation. I particularly loved all the sequences featuring the wolfwalkers in wolf form, particularly the eerily beautiful image of Robyn’s wolf-spirit frantically trying to return to her body when the whole town is attempting to hunt down this wolf that inexplicably got into the town walls.
I was also impressed ( spoilers )
The animation in My Father’s Dragon wasn’t quite as lovely, or rather didn’t have quite as many opportunities for numinous loveliness. But I also enjoyed it, which surprised me because I didn’t particularly like the book it’s based on and likely wouldn’t have tried it if it weren’t Cartoon Saloon.
The book (also called My Father’s Dragon) is a straightforward tale about a boy going to an island where he defeats and/or escapes various ferocious animals (crocodiles, tigers etc) in order to rescue a baby dragon. The end. A brisk recitation of a series of events without much character development or worldbuilding of the island or anything else.
The moviemakers clearly realized that in order to stretch the story to feature-length, character development and worldbuilding and so forth was just exactly what they’d need. The result is a much richer story, where the various ferocious animals are no longer basically an obstacle course but characters with their own motivations. Also, the human protagonist meets the baby dragon much earlier, which changes his journey from a solo quest into a sort of heartwrenching buddy comedy.
The filmmakers were trying very hard, and unfortunately sometimes you could see the gears grinding as they strained to get the emotional effect they wanted, which of course serves to undermine that effect. But still, an ambitious “shot for the moon and landed among the stars,” which is still a pretty decent place to land.
meaning in thy snores
Mar. 27th, 2026 08:19 pmnnozomiReading The Tempest with yaaurens and company; I think it’s the first time I’ve read it through. I was Sebastian, who is a minor conspirator nobody’s ever heard of and gets some remarkably good lines (“He receives comfort like cold porridge,” “[in response to “He misses not much”] No; he doth but mistake the truth totally,” “Thou dost snore distinctly; there’s meaning in thy snores”). The play also inevitably brings to mind Jason of Jason and the Bard, dreaming up a quaint device to make the banquet vanish, and of course Antonia Forest’s production—Ginty finding Ferdinand interesting only when he’s played by Patrick (not unreasonably, I think), Lawrie relishing Caliban’s most colorful speeches, Miranda longing for Jan as Prospero and making Nicola laugh with her line readings, and then her eerie, wistful “…were I human.”
Went to graduation at the nighttime junior high (from which you graduate after you acquire a certain number of credits, not a certain number of years; many people take five or six years or more and that’s fine). Nine people graduating: a big cheerful young Nepali guy, an equally big cheerful fortyish Japanese lady, and seven middle-aged to elderly Korean ladies, at least one in her eighties. C, the Japanese lady, has a son in his late teens who graduated from the same nighttime junior high school the previous year; he was there to cheer his mom on, and she will be following him to nighttime high school, as will M, who is in her late fifties or sixties, quiet and modest and very bright. They were both in snazzy skirt suits; several of the other women had on glorious chima chogori. Lots of enthusiastic applause and speeches, singing the school song and also 乾杯, not to be confused with its Chinese counterpart 干杯 lol (although I think the Chinese one would work as a graduation song too!). Curiously, there were very few family members there apart from C’s son F; I wonder how many of the older Korean women were only able to start school once their husbands were out of the picture.
The nighttime junior high is in a neighborhood with a skyrocketing Vietnamese population (judging from the fact that every time I go there there’s a new Vietnamese restaurant or grocery); since I won’t be back there for a few months I took the opportunity to go into a little café and buy a couple of banh mi for dinner. Immediate positive impression because the song playing when I went in was 小幸运! (not Bai Yu’s version, but still). There was a bookshelf behind the cash register containing the complete Harry Potter series (I know, but) in both Japanese and Vietnamese. The sandwiches were also pretty good—one roast pork and one ham-and-fried-egg, with all the tasty trimmings (although my idea of a good sandwich is one with just barely enough bread to retain its structural integrity, the bread is always too thick for me regardless of what kind it is, oh well).
It's high school baseball time and I have been collecting the most remarkable names among the players, as usual; this season’s bunch includes 慈愛久 (Jake), 満詩 (Miuta), 空飛 (Takato) and his teammate 蒼海 (So), whose “sky and sea” combination I like; 覇 (Howl, I am not kidding, a) how do you get that pronunciation from the character, and b) are his parents fans of DWJ and/or Ghibli); 芽空 (Hisoka, God knows how), and 夢生愛 (Muua, poor kid), whose older brothers are 飛美希 (Hibiki) and 輝夢 (Kiramu). It’s not even that none of these are nice names, they’re lovely! If not necessarily what you’d expect from tanned crewcut kids whose main preoccupation is getting to first base. Just, parents all, please think of your kid having to spend his whole life explaining how to spell and/or pronounce his name!
Music for today: something I came across at random on YouTube, a concerto for flute and flute orchestra. The piece itself isn’t all that exciting, but the sound of so many flutes together is fantastic, mellow and melting and cool as water, why aren’t there more pieces for this kind of group?
Also listening to Seong-Jin Cho play the Chopin Scherzos, just dazzling.
Y’s project of getting me to watch 1980s anime movies continues; this time it was Oshii Mamoru’s Patlabor, which was really surprisingly good. Not as pretty visually as the Gundam ones, on the whole, but (except for some comic distortion here and there) realistic in a way that makes you feel you’re watching live-action postwar Japan with big robots, including wonderful visual scenes of ordinary-Showa-era downtowns and abandoned areas. There’s a lot less in the way of big robot fights than in Gundam, and the ones they do have are significantly plot-related as opposed to “big battle scenes are fun” (sorry, Gundam, I’m oversimplifying, but still); the whole thing is almost like a murder mystery in the way they gradually work out what’s happening and why and how to stop it, it’s fascinating. Also, nobody dies! I was sure Captain Gotoh was going to be a dead mentor guy, having made his stirring speech and gone off on his own into the storm, but nope, he was fine. Shinohara the male lead is actually not nearly as annoying as he might be, and again there are more women and less fanservice than I would have expected from the eighties—Izumi is fine too (and I do like it that she’s the pilot and Shinohara is the data guy), but I love Nagumo and her ponytail and her professionalism.
I finished reading The People at No. 1 Siwei Street (or rather I finished reading the Japanese edition; now I have a copy of the Chinese original from the library which I am trying to work my way through before I have to return it. It is mostly not hard to follow, except reading in 繁体字 gives me a headache; my brain has no problem reading 历史 as lìshǐ, but it insists on reading 歴史 as rekishi, and as for something like 號, my brain wants to know why I’m suddenly reading something published before the war (this book is from 2023). Oh well, if I lived in Taiwan for a while I’d get used to it). It was a lot of fun, with very memorable characters (including a Jiajia whom I keep picturing as the one from Guardian, since she’s happy and feisty, even though this one is explicitly described as strongly featured, beautiful, and very tall, plus she’s 家家 instead of 佳佳, but still). Happy ending allowing for a sad flashback which I still don’t understand in full, other than as a way to examine late-twentieth-century Taiwanese sociopolitical history through the relationship of two not-quite-cousins who hate each other but have a close bond). I would love to make an English translation and may play with one, but it really should be done by someone who can read the original fluently and really knows from Taiwan.
Also reading The Luka/Chika Sisters by Nagano Mayumi, an old favorite who likes to play around with gender and sexuality in interesting, weird, low-key ways; will report back.
Photos: Magnolia, forsythia, some things that are probably not pink lilies-of-the-valley, and some early cherry blossoms. The most unexpected vending machine I’ve seen yet, with flavors from dark chocolate to raspberry, pistachio, and yogurt. Scenes from a recent day trip, including three gorgeous vessels, holding respectively sake, abalone stew, and the most delicious yokan I’ve ever tasted, containing raisins, figs, and apricots. (One of the deer around here, not pictured, is recently said to have wandered about 30km to our city to prowl around eating people’s gardens; maybe even deer get bored in the countryside?). 
Be safe and well.
Went to graduation at the nighttime junior high (from which you graduate after you acquire a certain number of credits, not a certain number of years; many people take five or six years or more and that’s fine). Nine people graduating: a big cheerful young Nepali guy, an equally big cheerful fortyish Japanese lady, and seven middle-aged to elderly Korean ladies, at least one in her eighties. C, the Japanese lady, has a son in his late teens who graduated from the same nighttime junior high school the previous year; he was there to cheer his mom on, and she will be following him to nighttime high school, as will M, who is in her late fifties or sixties, quiet and modest and very bright. They were both in snazzy skirt suits; several of the other women had on glorious chima chogori. Lots of enthusiastic applause and speeches, singing the school song and also 乾杯, not to be confused with its Chinese counterpart 干杯 lol (although I think the Chinese one would work as a graduation song too!). Curiously, there were very few family members there apart from C’s son F; I wonder how many of the older Korean women were only able to start school once their husbands were out of the picture.
The nighttime junior high is in a neighborhood with a skyrocketing Vietnamese population (judging from the fact that every time I go there there’s a new Vietnamese restaurant or grocery); since I won’t be back there for a few months I took the opportunity to go into a little café and buy a couple of banh mi for dinner. Immediate positive impression because the song playing when I went in was 小幸运! (not Bai Yu’s version, but still). There was a bookshelf behind the cash register containing the complete Harry Potter series (I know, but) in both Japanese and Vietnamese. The sandwiches were also pretty good—one roast pork and one ham-and-fried-egg, with all the tasty trimmings (although my idea of a good sandwich is one with just barely enough bread to retain its structural integrity, the bread is always too thick for me regardless of what kind it is, oh well).
It's high school baseball time and I have been collecting the most remarkable names among the players, as usual; this season’s bunch includes 慈愛久 (Jake), 満詩 (Miuta), 空飛 (Takato) and his teammate 蒼海 (So), whose “sky and sea” combination I like; 覇 (Howl, I am not kidding, a) how do you get that pronunciation from the character, and b) are his parents fans of DWJ and/or Ghibli); 芽空 (Hisoka, God knows how), and 夢生愛 (Muua, poor kid), whose older brothers are 飛美希 (Hibiki) and 輝夢 (Kiramu). It’s not even that none of these are nice names, they’re lovely! If not necessarily what you’d expect from tanned crewcut kids whose main preoccupation is getting to first base. Just, parents all, please think of your kid having to spend his whole life explaining how to spell and/or pronounce his name!
Music for today: something I came across at random on YouTube, a concerto for flute and flute orchestra. The piece itself isn’t all that exciting, but the sound of so many flutes together is fantastic, mellow and melting and cool as water, why aren’t there more pieces for this kind of group?
Also listening to Seong-Jin Cho play the Chopin Scherzos, just dazzling.
Y’s project of getting me to watch 1980s anime movies continues; this time it was Oshii Mamoru’s Patlabor, which was really surprisingly good. Not as pretty visually as the Gundam ones, on the whole, but (except for some comic distortion here and there) realistic in a way that makes you feel you’re watching live-action postwar Japan with big robots, including wonderful visual scenes of ordinary-Showa-era downtowns and abandoned areas. There’s a lot less in the way of big robot fights than in Gundam, and the ones they do have are significantly plot-related as opposed to “big battle scenes are fun” (sorry, Gundam, I’m oversimplifying, but still); the whole thing is almost like a murder mystery in the way they gradually work out what’s happening and why and how to stop it, it’s fascinating. Also, nobody dies! I was sure Captain Gotoh was going to be a dead mentor guy, having made his stirring speech and gone off on his own into the storm, but nope, he was fine. Shinohara the male lead is actually not nearly as annoying as he might be, and again there are more women and less fanservice than I would have expected from the eighties—Izumi is fine too (and I do like it that she’s the pilot and Shinohara is the data guy), but I love Nagumo and her ponytail and her professionalism.
I finished reading The People at No. 1 Siwei Street (or rather I finished reading the Japanese edition; now I have a copy of the Chinese original from the library which I am trying to work my way through before I have to return it. It is mostly not hard to follow, except reading in 繁体字 gives me a headache; my brain has no problem reading 历史 as lìshǐ, but it insists on reading 歴史 as rekishi, and as for something like 號, my brain wants to know why I’m suddenly reading something published before the war (this book is from 2023). Oh well, if I lived in Taiwan for a while I’d get used to it). It was a lot of fun, with very memorable characters (including a Jiajia whom I keep picturing as the one from Guardian, since she’s happy and feisty, even though this one is explicitly described as strongly featured, beautiful, and very tall, plus she’s 家家 instead of 佳佳, but still). Happy ending allowing for a sad flashback which I still don’t understand in full, other than as a way to examine late-twentieth-century Taiwanese sociopolitical history through the relationship of two not-quite-cousins who hate each other but have a close bond). I would love to make an English translation and may play with one, but it really should be done by someone who can read the original fluently and really knows from Taiwan.
Also reading The Luka/Chika Sisters by Nagano Mayumi, an old favorite who likes to play around with gender and sexuality in interesting, weird, low-key ways; will report back.
Photos: Magnolia, forsythia, some things that are probably not pink lilies-of-the-valley, and some early cherry blossoms. The most unexpected vending machine I’ve seen yet, with flavors from dark chocolate to raspberry, pistachio, and yogurt. Scenes from a recent day trip, including three gorgeous vessels, holding respectively sake, abalone stew, and the most delicious yokan I’ve ever tasted, containing raisins, figs, and apricots. (One of the deer around here, not pictured, is recently said to have wandered about 30km to our city to prowl around eating people’s gardens; maybe even deer get bored in the countryside?).
Be safe and well.
Book Review: New Grub Street
Mar. 26th, 2026 08:01 amosprey_archerWhen I posted about George Gissing’s The Odd Women, I commented that it was indeed an odd book, but I think I undersold or perhaps did not yet understand the sheer oddness of Gissing’s work, not only in a 19th century English context but just in terms of English literature in general.
This is even more obvious in New Grub Street, which takes as its cast a motley crew of struggling writers in 1880s London, and as its themes money and love. More specifically, its themes are:
1. Poverty is horrible and degrading and undermines every other facet of life; and
2. Money is a necessary but not sufficient condition for love. That is to say, you can have money but not love, but love without money cannot last.
Of course these themes are implied in other books (think of Jane Austen’s characters breathlessly discussing the marriage prospects of so-and-so who has thus-and-such pounds a year), but I don’t think I’ve ever seen them expounded with Gissing’s brutal clarity. It’s bracing, stimulating not always to total agreement but certainly to deeper thought, for instance about the fact that people marry not only because they fall in love with an individual but because they love the image of the lifestyle and status they think they’ll have with that person.
Gissing has the Zola-like gift of creating an ensemble cast of characters who illustrate different facets of his theme while also being interesting and individual people in their own right. Gissing is trying to give them all a fair shake, to portray them all so clearly that we can see why they act the way they do. Readers may or may not find it in our hearts to sympathize, but that will be our own decision, not a result of Gissing putting his finger on the scale.
--Sensitive Edwin Reardon, who married upper-middle-class Amy on the strength of one well-received novel and now suffering immense writer’s block. Amy fell in love with both Edwin and the idea of being a successful novelist’s wife, and is appalled to see this dream crumbling under what appears to her to be his refusal to work.
As I’ve struggled with writer’s block for the past couple of years, I feel a great sympathy for Edwin: he quite literally cannot write anything good right now! It’s not his fault! But I can also see why it doesn’t look that way to Amy and her family, especially because the social rules of 1880s London mean there is no graceful road of retreat. Not only is it impossible for Amy to get a job (this is literally unthinkable: not one character ever even imagines it), but now that Edwin has set up as a full-time writer, the whole family would lose caste if he took a job for wages.
--Jasper Milvain, debonair man about town who approaches writing as a business and forthrightly says his goal is to earn a thousand pounds a year. A character type who in many books would be a villain, and I won’t say that he’s not just a bit villainous at times, but he’s also a complex character who definitely has a point. In the tradition of an Austen baddie, he ends up perfectly happy with himself and his choices.
--Alfred Yule, a cranky aging writer of moderate abilities who was never very financially successful, and married a working class woman because he never made enough to support a wife of his own class. There’s a section where Gissing lists a whole bunch of similarly positioned writers who made a similar decision and makes it clear that he thinks this is pretty much always a mistake that will lead to marital disharmony.
--Marian Yule, Alfred Yule’s daughter and assistant, who is to an ever-greater extent perhaps simply writing his articles for him. (We also get a glimpse of two other women writers in Jasper’s sisters, who at Jasper’s suggestion take to writing Sunday school stories to support themselves.)
--Whelpdale, an unsuccessful writer who makes a success of it telling other writers how to write to market. A jolly young man despite all his setbacks.
--Harold Biffen, an extremely poor though talented writer of the realist school who sticks fast to his principles and loves discussing Greek and Latin literature with Edwin Reardon. Would be the tragically romantic starving artist in a garret in another book. Unfortunately wound up in a Gissing book instead.
Having set these and various other figures going, Gissing simply observes them, like a naturalist watching a particularly interesting species of cockatoos. The result is absorbing, asskygiants and genarti can attest, having been subjected to various rants and wails as I tore through the back half of the book. Highly recommended on account of quality, recommended cautiously on account of emotional intensity.
This is even more obvious in New Grub Street, which takes as its cast a motley crew of struggling writers in 1880s London, and as its themes money and love. More specifically, its themes are:
1. Poverty is horrible and degrading and undermines every other facet of life; and
2. Money is a necessary but not sufficient condition for love. That is to say, you can have money but not love, but love without money cannot last.
Of course these themes are implied in other books (think of Jane Austen’s characters breathlessly discussing the marriage prospects of so-and-so who has thus-and-such pounds a year), but I don’t think I’ve ever seen them expounded with Gissing’s brutal clarity. It’s bracing, stimulating not always to total agreement but certainly to deeper thought, for instance about the fact that people marry not only because they fall in love with an individual but because they love the image of the lifestyle and status they think they’ll have with that person.
Gissing has the Zola-like gift of creating an ensemble cast of characters who illustrate different facets of his theme while also being interesting and individual people in their own right. Gissing is trying to give them all a fair shake, to portray them all so clearly that we can see why they act the way they do. Readers may or may not find it in our hearts to sympathize, but that will be our own decision, not a result of Gissing putting his finger on the scale.
--Sensitive Edwin Reardon, who married upper-middle-class Amy on the strength of one well-received novel and now suffering immense writer’s block. Amy fell in love with both Edwin and the idea of being a successful novelist’s wife, and is appalled to see this dream crumbling under what appears to her to be his refusal to work.
As I’ve struggled with writer’s block for the past couple of years, I feel a great sympathy for Edwin: he quite literally cannot write anything good right now! It’s not his fault! But I can also see why it doesn’t look that way to Amy and her family, especially because the social rules of 1880s London mean there is no graceful road of retreat. Not only is it impossible for Amy to get a job (this is literally unthinkable: not one character ever even imagines it), but now that Edwin has set up as a full-time writer, the whole family would lose caste if he took a job for wages.
--Jasper Milvain, debonair man about town who approaches writing as a business and forthrightly says his goal is to earn a thousand pounds a year. A character type who in many books would be a villain, and I won’t say that he’s not just a bit villainous at times, but he’s also a complex character who definitely has a point. In the tradition of an Austen baddie, he ends up perfectly happy with himself and his choices.
--Alfred Yule, a cranky aging writer of moderate abilities who was never very financially successful, and married a working class woman because he never made enough to support a wife of his own class. There’s a section where Gissing lists a whole bunch of similarly positioned writers who made a similar decision and makes it clear that he thinks this is pretty much always a mistake that will lead to marital disharmony.
--Marian Yule, Alfred Yule’s daughter and assistant, who is to an ever-greater extent perhaps simply writing his articles for him. (We also get a glimpse of two other women writers in Jasper’s sisters, who at Jasper’s suggestion take to writing Sunday school stories to support themselves.)
--Whelpdale, an unsuccessful writer who makes a success of it telling other writers how to write to market. A jolly young man despite all his setbacks.
--Harold Biffen, an extremely poor though talented writer of the realist school who sticks fast to his principles and loves discussing Greek and Latin literature with Edwin Reardon. Would be the tragically romantic starving artist in a garret in another book. Unfortunately wound up in a Gissing book instead.
Having set these and various other figures going, Gissing simply observes them, like a naturalist watching a particularly interesting species of cockatoos. The result is absorbing, as
skygiants and genarti can attest, having been subjected to various rants and wails as I tore through the back half of the book. Highly recommended on account of quality, recommended cautiously on account of emotional intensity.Reading Wednesday
Mar. 25th, 2026 06:01 pmtroisoiseauxRead Bog Queen by Anna North, a well-pieced-together pocket watch of a novel about the discovery of an Iron Age bog body in the West Midlands, England, in 2018, split between the perspectives of a forensic anthropologist determined to figure out how this woman died while navigating the competing interests of local environmentalists who want to rewild the bog where she was found, the peat company that owns it, and the relative of a 1960s murder victim believed to also be buried there; of the Iron Age woman, a young druid growing into her role during a time of shifting alliances and growing Roman influence; and, interwoven between the two in brief vignettes, the bog (or rather, the moss?) itself.
Read Diary of a Cranky Bookworm by Aster Glenn Gray (DW's ownosprey_archer), which was a delight. On a general note, this is a fun and thoughtful coming-of-age YA novel in which the characters are great both at being characters and at feeling like people; on a personal one, this was very fun to read as a book about a bookworm by someone who I became friends with over books, because protagonist Sage's literary landscape felt immediately and intimately familiar. :)
Read Diary of a Cranky Bookworm by Aster Glenn Gray (DW's own
osprey_archer), which was a delight. On a general note, this is a fun and thoughtful coming-of-age YA novel in which the characters are great both at being characters and at feeling like people; on a personal one, this was very fun to read as a book about a bookworm by someone who I became friends with over books, because protagonist Sage's literary landscape felt immediately and intimately familiar. :)Am I one of those human beings?
Mar. 25th, 2026 04:27 pmsovayThe train bears selkie southward again: we have affirmed that the important part is not the leaving, but the coming back. This visit was somewhat more flying than usual and complicated by just about everyone on both sides having run out of running on fumes some time last year if not the previous decade, but we had celebration and I was finally able to give her the shells and stones I had collected for her five months ago on Cape Cod, reminders of northern Atlantic. spatch and I have decided never again to pay attention to his phone when driving into Brookline. Making our way home from South Station, I was so pleased to see that the superstructure of the Northern Avenue Bridge has not yet been demolished and still stands as an installation of rust-flaked trusses, permanently perpendicular to its successor's flat concrete. What I would have called the new North Washington Street Bridge has been designated the Bill Russell Bridge since I first glimpsed it in miniature of the Zakim, a parabolic stickleback of white fish bones. We parked in the lot of Bill & Bob's for the first roast beef sandwiches of the season, so early the picnic tables had not been set up, and were introduced by WERS to the total delight of They Might Be Giants' "Wu-Tang" (2026) as we wound past the un-iced Mystic. Two days after a snow that stuck to all the branches, it is short-sleeved catkin spring, drive-with-the-windows-down weather. We watched the Charles and the Fort Point Channel scatter the same reflective blue as the sky.
selkie southward again: we have affirmed that the important part is not the leaving, but the coming back. This visit was somewhat more flying than usual and complicated by just about everyone on both sides having run out of running on fumes some time last year if not the previous decade, but we had celebration and I was finally able to give her the shells and stones I had collected for her five months ago on Cape Cod, reminders of northern Atlantic. spatch and I have decided never again to pay attention to his phone when driving into Brookline. Making our way home from South Station, I was so pleased to see that the superstructure of the Northern Avenue Bridge has not yet been demolished and still stands as an installation of rust-flaked trusses, permanently perpendicular to its successor's flat concrete. What I would have called the new North Washington Street Bridge has been designated the Bill Russell Bridge since I first glimpsed it in miniature of the Zakim, a parabolic stickleback of white fish bones. We parked in the lot of Bill & Bob's for the first roast beef sandwiches of the season, so early the picnic tables had not been set up, and were introduced by WERS to the total delight of They Might Be Giants' "Wu-Tang" (2026) as we wound past the un-iced Mystic. Two days after a snow that stuck to all the branches, it is short-sleeved catkin spring, drive-with-the-windows-down weather. We watched the Charles and the Fort Point Channel scatter the same reflective blue as the sky.Wednesday Reading Meme
Mar. 25th, 2026 08:02 amosprey_archerThis Wednesday Reading Meme covers the last two weeks, so it is perhaps a bit longer than usual, although not so long as it could be as I intend to write a whole post devoted to George Gissing’s New Grub Street. Will I manage this? Unclear. Not sure I ever truly did justice to The Odd Women either.
What I Read Over the Past Two Weeks
Patricia C. Wrede’s Caught in Crystal. I was excited about this book because I loved Wrede’s Enchanted Forest Chronicles, but I found Caught in Crystal a disappointment. The characters spend a lot of time moving from location to location without ever giving much sense what makes any particular location interesting and unique, and it takes about 75% of the book before we finally get started on the quest that we could all see coming from about chapter two.
Eleanor Hoffman’s A Cat of Paris, illustrated by Zhenya Gay. Another lavishly illustrated cat POV children’s book from the 1940s, which seems to have been a highwater mark for this sort of thing. Delightful as books in this genre almost invariably are, with the extra delight of taking place on the Left Bank of Paris! I was only sorry that our cat never got to pose for the patissiere who yearned to sculpt him in marzipan.
Scott Eyman’s Hank and Jim: The Fifty-Year Friendship of Henry Fonda and James Stewart. During a long wait at the airport I sorted through my Kindle and found some books I’d forgotten about, including this one! I love Golden Age Hollywood and Jimmy Stewart especially, so I found this a lot of fun, even though Henry Fonda is the kind of guy who says things like “I’ve never liked myself very much” and you go mmm yeah I don’t think I like you very much either. Apparently if someone got too emotional in front of Fonda, or asked for help, his characteristic move was to silently walk away.
However, I did find Fonda’s needlepoint hobby endearing.
Ngaio Marsh’s Enter a Murderer, the second Inspector Alleyn novel, which I approached with trepidation because I’ve found the early Alleyn books hit or miss. (IMO Marsh hits her stride in Artists in Crime, when Alleyn falls head over heels for murder suspect Agatha Troy.) However, this one was a surprise pleasure. The story is set in a theater, and Marsh’s theater mysteries are almost always good, and although Alleyn doesn’t seem to have quite settled into his characterization yet, it is extremely funny to watch him flippantly flirting with starstruck reporter Nigel Bathgate.
Must you, Nigel? I think you can tell damn well that Chief Inspector Alleyn simply oozes sex appeal.
What I’m Reading Now
I’ve begun Takuya Asakura’s The Vanishing Cherry Blossom Bookshop, which I bought because it was a mere $5 with a drink at the Barnes and Noble cafe (deal lasts till the end of March!) and I was weak to the beautiful cherry blossom explosion of a cover. I feel that a bookshop that only appears when the cherry blossoms are in full bloom ought to feel a bit more numinously magical than the one in this book, but nonetheless I’m enjoying it enough to keep reading.
What I Plan to Read Next
Continuing my Provincial Lady journey with The Provincial Lady in America.
What I Read Over the Past Two Weeks
Patricia C. Wrede’s Caught in Crystal. I was excited about this book because I loved Wrede’s Enchanted Forest Chronicles, but I found Caught in Crystal a disappointment. The characters spend a lot of time moving from location to location without ever giving much sense what makes any particular location interesting and unique, and it takes about 75% of the book before we finally get started on the quest that we could all see coming from about chapter two.
Eleanor Hoffman’s A Cat of Paris, illustrated by Zhenya Gay. Another lavishly illustrated cat POV children’s book from the 1940s, which seems to have been a highwater mark for this sort of thing. Delightful as books in this genre almost invariably are, with the extra delight of taking place on the Left Bank of Paris! I was only sorry that our cat never got to pose for the patissiere who yearned to sculpt him in marzipan.
Scott Eyman’s Hank and Jim: The Fifty-Year Friendship of Henry Fonda and James Stewart. During a long wait at the airport I sorted through my Kindle and found some books I’d forgotten about, including this one! I love Golden Age Hollywood and Jimmy Stewart especially, so I found this a lot of fun, even though Henry Fonda is the kind of guy who says things like “I’ve never liked myself very much” and you go mmm yeah I don’t think I like you very much either. Apparently if someone got too emotional in front of Fonda, or asked for help, his characteristic move was to silently walk away.
However, I did find Fonda’s needlepoint hobby endearing.
Ngaio Marsh’s Enter a Murderer, the second Inspector Alleyn novel, which I approached with trepidation because I’ve found the early Alleyn books hit or miss. (IMO Marsh hits her stride in Artists in Crime, when Alleyn falls head over heels for murder suspect Agatha Troy.) However, this one was a surprise pleasure. The story is set in a theater, and Marsh’s theater mysteries are almost always good, and although Alleyn doesn’t seem to have quite settled into his characterization yet, it is extremely funny to watch him flippantly flirting with starstruck reporter Nigel Bathgate.
”Here’s the warrant,” murmured Alleyn. He struggled into his overcoat and pulled on his felt hat at a jaunty angle.
“Am I tidy?” he asked. “It looks so bad not to be tidy for an arrest.”
Nigel thought dispassionately, that he looked remarkably handsome, and wondered if the chief inspector had “It.” “I must ask Angela,” thought Nigel.
Must you, Nigel? I think you can tell damn well that Chief Inspector Alleyn simply oozes sex appeal.
What I’m Reading Now
I’ve begun Takuya Asakura’s The Vanishing Cherry Blossom Bookshop, which I bought because it was a mere $5 with a drink at the Barnes and Noble cafe (deal lasts till the end of March!) and I was weak to the beautiful cherry blossom explosion of a cover. I feel that a bookshop that only appears when the cherry blossoms are in full bloom ought to feel a bit more numinously magical than the one in this book, but nonetheless I’m enjoying it enough to keep reading.
What I Plan to Read Next
Continuing my Provincial Lady journey with The Provincial Lady in America.
Gaming Update
Mar. 25th, 2026 01:54 pmcyphomandraI have now finished chapter 13 of FFVII Rebirth on hard mode and I have 87 of the 88 items required for Johnny's treasure trove. What now stands between me and completion is a) finishing Chadley's Brutal and Legendary Challenges (I've done all 6 Brutal and 7 of the 9 Legendary) and b) finishing chapter 14 on hard mode. (I did the piano! I got my son to operate one stick while I did the other, and it only took half a dozen attempts. Flushed with success we then attempted Let the Battles Begin, which is the reward piece, and did appallingly :D )
Unfortunately the last two legendary challenges are total nightmares. Ten rounds, fighting as Cloud and Zack for Bonds of Friendship (I have made it to the 5th round, once, after many, many attempts) or as Cloud and Sephiroth for To Be a Hero (the 4th round, ditto, ditto), and because Zack and Sephiroth are not playable characters you cannot change their loadouts. Technically Sephiroth's challenge should be easier because he is a stronger character but alas because he is also the villain that I have spent so much time fighting against I tend to put off healing him and instead feel vaguely satisfied when he gets stomped into the ground AGAIN and this is not helping :D
Chapter 13 was great though - I'd forgotten a lot of it, the way Cloud is so increasingly cold and unreachable, the bit where they start fighting on the same side as the Turks (against fiends) and then end up fighting against them, the individual trials for all the characters except Cloud. The Temple is a fantastic, unnerving setting, and the gravity shifts work much better now that I know I've solved them once.
I can't quite decide whether to push on with chapter 14 or to try and get at least one of the remaining challenges first. If I get To Be a Hero and do chapter 14, I will max out Cloud's weapon, which means he'll do more damage and it should make the last challenge easier (!). However, spending entire evenings getting nowhere is not all that relaxing, and I keep eyeing my unplayed games (current frontrunners - Cyberpunk 2077, the Witcher III, and Ghost of Yotei - feel free to put in your preferences).
While dithering, I picked up Stardew Valley and did a new playthrough. I'd looked at a min-max guide for ideas, and it really emphasises fishing early (for income and because if you're good at the fishing mini game that transfers over to your next playthrough, whereas a lot of your other expertise is locked behind XP levels). It definitely helped, although I didn't get a truffle before winter and there were none at the travelling cart, so I finished the community centre on day 2 of Spring. I am also significantly better at Skull Cavern dives than I used to be - I got down to level 100 with only two staircases, and I've picked up 9 prismatic shards.
Unfortunately the last two legendary challenges are total nightmares. Ten rounds, fighting as Cloud and Zack for Bonds of Friendship (I have made it to the 5th round, once, after many, many attempts) or as Cloud and Sephiroth for To Be a Hero (the 4th round, ditto, ditto), and because Zack and Sephiroth are not playable characters you cannot change their loadouts. Technically Sephiroth's challenge should be easier because he is a stronger character but alas because he is also the villain that I have spent so much time fighting against I tend to put off healing him and instead feel vaguely satisfied when he gets stomped into the ground AGAIN and this is not helping :D
Chapter 13 was great though - I'd forgotten a lot of it, the way Cloud is so increasingly cold and unreachable, the bit where they start fighting on the same side as the Turks (against fiends) and then end up fighting against them, the individual trials for all the characters except Cloud. The Temple is a fantastic, unnerving setting, and the gravity shifts work much better now that I know I've solved them once.
I can't quite decide whether to push on with chapter 14 or to try and get at least one of the remaining challenges first. If I get To Be a Hero and do chapter 14, I will max out Cloud's weapon, which means he'll do more damage and it should make the last challenge easier (!). However, spending entire evenings getting nowhere is not all that relaxing, and I keep eyeing my unplayed games (current frontrunners - Cyberpunk 2077, the Witcher III, and Ghost of Yotei - feel free to put in your preferences).
While dithering, I picked up Stardew Valley and did a new playthrough. I'd looked at a min-max guide for ideas, and it really emphasises fishing early (for income and because if you're good at the fishing mini game that transfers over to your next playthrough, whereas a lot of your other expertise is locked behind XP levels). It definitely helped, although I didn't get a truffle before winter and there were none at the travelling cart, so I finished the community centre on day 2 of Spring. I am also significantly better at Skull Cavern dives than I used to be - I got down to level 100 with only two staircases, and I've picked up 9 prismatic shards.
Where Wolves Don't Die, by Anton Treuer
Mar. 24th, 2026 03:01 pmrachelmanija
Ezra, an Ojibwe teenager, has to flee Minneapolis when the home of the racist teenager who bullied him burns down, and he becomes the prime suspect. He goes to Canada to run traplines with his grandfather.
Where Wolves Don't Die is mostly a coming of age story; the thriller/mystery element is present but minor. It was recommended to me "Like an Ojibwe Hatchet," which definitely captures a lot of the vibe though it's about learning in community and family rather than isolation. Ezra goes from boy to man while he learns the old ways with his grandfather, who he loves. It's engrossing and moving. I liked that Ezra actively wants to stay with and learn from his grandfather rather than resisting it and having to come around.
Content notes: Hunting and trapping is central to the story.
I'm yours in the day and the dead of night
Mar. 24th, 2026 02:24 pmsovayMy poem "ἀγκυλοθάλασσος" has been accepted by Strange Horizons. I am indebted to radiantfracture for his Twine prompt generator designed to produce scientific-sounding compound adjectives and nouns, in this case the irresistible "ankylothalassic" from ἀγκύλος "crooked, bent" and θάλασσα "the sea." I rendered it back into classical Greek and José Esteban Muñoz and Twelfth Night got in there along the way. It was written on New Year's Eve.
While I was out of ambit of the internet for almost all of yesterday, Reckoning: It Was Paradise hit the digital shelves. It is the special issue of the journal of environmental justice on war and conflict and contains a poem of mine which will go live on the internet in a month, or you could pick it up now with the rest of the shatteringly topical e-book if you don't feel like preordering it in print. I wrote it last summer after the—first—U.S. strikes on Iran. I taught myself a small amount of Elamite cuneiform for it. It should not have come around to such relevance again.
The designer of the Paleontological Research Institute's long-running pre-saurian Paleozoic Pals has just branched out into Pleistocene mammals with a Kickstarter for Cenozoic Snuggles. I have put in for a Glyptodon.
I may have slept nine hours. I just heard Rabbitology's "The Bog Bodies" (2026).
radiantfracture for his Twine prompt generator designed to produce scientific-sounding compound adjectives and nouns, in this case the irresistible "ankylothalassic" from ἀγκύλος "crooked, bent" and θάλασσα "the sea." I rendered it back into classical Greek and José Esteban Muñoz and Twelfth Night got in there along the way. It was written on New Year's Eve.While I was out of ambit of the internet for almost all of yesterday, Reckoning: It Was Paradise hit the digital shelves. It is the special issue of the journal of environmental justice on war and conflict and contains a poem of mine which will go live on the internet in a month, or you could pick it up now with the rest of the shatteringly topical e-book if you don't feel like preordering it in print. I wrote it last summer after the—first—U.S. strikes on Iran. I taught myself a small amount of Elamite cuneiform for it. It should not have come around to such relevance again.
The designer of the Paleontological Research Institute's long-running pre-saurian Paleozoic Pals has just branched out into Pleistocene mammals with a Kickstarter for Cenozoic Snuggles. I have put in for a Glyptodon.
I may have slept nine hours. I just heard Rabbitology's "The Bog Bodies" (2026).
Book Review: Pax
Mar. 24th, 2026 08:07 amosprey_archer(I actually wrote this review before my trip, then ran out of time to post it.)
Sometimes you just know, just from looking at a book’s cover, that this book is in some way For You. Such is the case with Sara Pennypacker’s Pax, with its Jon Klassen cover of a fox standing on a wooded hill gazing across a plain at a sunset. I’ve looked at this book for years and always meant to read it and somehow never quite picked it up.
But at last I’ve read it, and I was correct that it IS for me, full of solid fox action (which you would expect from the cover) and also surprisingly serious musings about war (which you would not guess from the cover, but it works).
War is coming to the country. Which country? The country, which is similar to America but perhaps not America. With whom? The enemy. What for? The water. Why? Because the humans are war-sick. This vagueness might not work for me in a different book, but here it works well to highlight the destructiveness of war, not only for people but for the land and the animals.
Peter’s father has joined the army. Since Peter’s mother is dead, he’s going to live with his grandfather, which means he needs to get rid of his pet fox Pax. So Peter’s father drives him to an isolated road, and Peter throws Pax’s favorite toy into the woods, and Pax chases after it.
But as soon as Peter arrives at his grandfather’s house, he realizes he’s made a horrible mistake. There’s nothing for it: he’s got to run away and trek cross-country to find Pax.
Meanwhile, Pax intends to sit by the side of the road and wait for his boy. But hunger and thirst force him to begin exploring the forest, where he meets other foxes… and they discover that the human armies are drawing closer.
Really enjoyed this. Great fox POV. There’s a sequel, so I don’t think it’s a spoiler to say that Pax lives. Don’t want to give too many spoilers, but I found Peter’s journey unexpected and satisfying, and Pax’s journey pretty much what you might expect from that summary but also satisfying. Sometimes stories hit certain beats for a reason, you know?
Sometimes you just know, just from looking at a book’s cover, that this book is in some way For You. Such is the case with Sara Pennypacker’s Pax, with its Jon Klassen cover of a fox standing on a wooded hill gazing across a plain at a sunset. I’ve looked at this book for years and always meant to read it and somehow never quite picked it up.
But at last I’ve read it, and I was correct that it IS for me, full of solid fox action (which you would expect from the cover) and also surprisingly serious musings about war (which you would not guess from the cover, but it works).
War is coming to the country. Which country? The country, which is similar to America but perhaps not America. With whom? The enemy. What for? The water. Why? Because the humans are war-sick. This vagueness might not work for me in a different book, but here it works well to highlight the destructiveness of war, not only for people but for the land and the animals.
Peter’s father has joined the army. Since Peter’s mother is dead, he’s going to live with his grandfather, which means he needs to get rid of his pet fox Pax. So Peter’s father drives him to an isolated road, and Peter throws Pax’s favorite toy into the woods, and Pax chases after it.
But as soon as Peter arrives at his grandfather’s house, he realizes he’s made a horrible mistake. There’s nothing for it: he’s got to run away and trek cross-country to find Pax.
Meanwhile, Pax intends to sit by the side of the road and wait for his boy. But hunger and thirst force him to begin exploring the forest, where he meets other foxes… and they discover that the human armies are drawing closer.
Really enjoyed this. Great fox POV. There’s a sequel, so I don’t think it’s a spoiler to say that Pax lives. Don’t want to give too many spoilers, but I found Peter’s journey unexpected and satisfying, and Pax’s journey pretty much what you might expect from that summary but also satisfying. Sometimes stories hit certain beats for a reason, you know?
Just took time to say, I'll drop you a line
Mar. 23rd, 2026 11:26 pmsovayselkie's birthday was duly observed with my parents and my husbands, a meal of much carnivory, and an apricot marmalade cake doused in whipped cream, strawberry sugar, and candles that burned like driftwood salts. Many deeply goofy photos were taken of various combinations of us. So much is wrong with the world and it is still true that my family for an evening is happy. A photogenic snow began to drift the streets as I drove everyone home.
Short stuff I've liked, first quarter 2026
Mar. 23rd, 2026 04:34 pmmrissaThis is more partial even than usual, because I've had some download problems that I've since fixed. But we can let that filter out to the second quarter; time waits for etc. etc.
This Is Not a Love Poem, Alexandra Dawson (Reckoning)
I Met You On the Train, J. R. Dawson (Uncanny)
The Doorkeepers, A. T. Greenblatt (Uncanny)
Unsettled Nature, Jordan Kurella (Apex)
Straw Gold, Mari Ness (Small Wonders)
No Kings/No Soldiers, A.M. Tuomala (Uncanny)
Blade Through the Heart, Carrie Vaughn (Reactor)
Antediluvian, Rem Wigmore (Reckoning)
Address Unknown, by Kathrine Kressman Taylor
Mar. 23rd, 2026 01:18 pmrachelmanija
An epistolatory novel about the friendship between an American Jew, Max, and a German, Martin. As Hitler rises to power, their relationship sours, in some expected ways and some less expected, as their characters are revealed.
Very short, very powerful, very technically skilled, a quick easy read with an unexpected and unforgettable outcome. Seriously, don't click on spoilers if there's any chance you'll read the book. That being said, I read it because Naomi Kritzer told me the whole story and it was still great. Thanks for the rec!
The book was published in 1939 under a male-sounding pseudonym, but the style feels almost modern and the themes feel incredibly modern. There's an afterword about what inspired the book, which which is worth reading. Taylor had some German friends who seemed like kind, wonderful people, who became fervent Nazis and abandoned their Jewish friends. In a question so many of us are asking now, she wondered, What changed their hearts so? What steps brought them to such cruelty?
( Read more... )
Back from Massachusetts!
Mar. 23rd, 2026 03:55 pmosprey_archerI have returned from my travels! In fact I returned a few days ago, but have been busy with post-trip errands/releasing Diary of a Cranky Bookworm/convincing the cats that I still love them despite CRUELLY ABANDONING them; and therefore have not had time to post.
Lovely trip! Started in Boston, where I stayed withskygiants and genarti and watched the Alec Guinness Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (emotionally destroyed me, will post about it later) and also various movies from TWO perfectly timed film festivals, one featuring films by Katherine Hepburn and the other featuring Spunky Girl Reporters, about which films I will ALSO post later. Crushed that I didn't get to see Katherine Hepburn as a Girl Athlete in Mike and Pat but I simply could not spend ALL my time watching movies. Other Boston highlights:
1. At long last, I visited the Isabella Stewart Gardner! Loved the mix of artworks from different places and periods and media - an entire corner devoted to lacework! some excellent tapestries! beautiful musical instruments, and I so hope that sometimes the museum has concerts where these lovely instruments get played. Loved the lack of labels so you can just drift about absorbing without getting bogged down with facts. Delicious Italian Renaissance courtyard. A bit disappointed that you couldn't wander through the garden the way you can in the Cloisters. Happy to report that for once the museum store had postcards of almost all my favorite paintings!
2. Much good food! We picked up cakes and chocolates at Burdick's, croissants at Lakon Paris, and a Pi Day special of FOUR pies, three savory and one sweet. Also an amazing afternoon tea at the Courtyard Tea Room at the Boston Public Library, followed by a repeat visit to all the murals (I think the Galahad cycle is my favorite although Sargent is also spectacular) plus a side trip to a room with some delightful dioramas of Famous Artists at Work.
3. The USS Constitution! A very suitable excursion for Year of Sail, especially on point because the ship just got a little cameo near the end of Hornblower and the Hotspur. Loved being actually inside the ship and seeing the hammocks crowded in, the galley in the middle of the deck, the lieutenants' little cubicles and the captain's larger quarters with an actual bed, albeit quite a narrow one, note that down for fic purposes.
And then away we went to meet up withasakiyume at the Yiddish Book Center, where skygiants and genarti handed me over for the second part of my journey. We toured the Yiddish Book Center, made a cranberry-pecan tart, visited Bright Water Bog--
This link takes you toasakiyume's entry with pictures of the ice forming on the bog. It also mentions eating the cranberries cold from the bog water and the absolute delight of a swing hung between two pines by the waterside. Absolute thrill. Nothing in the world like a swing.
We also hit up the Smith College Spring Bulb Show, a welcome infusion of color and light after a long cold winter. And we made some of the decadently rich hot chocolate from Burdick's, hot chocolate so thick it's practically chocolate sauce (in fact I ate/drank most of it by dipping croissants in), and watched Cartoon Saloon's Wolfwalkers and My Father's Dragon, about which more anon...
Simply a delightful trip!
Lovely trip! Started in Boston, where I stayed with
skygiants and genarti and watched the Alec Guinness Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (emotionally destroyed me, will post about it later) and also various movies from TWO perfectly timed film festivals, one featuring films by Katherine Hepburn and the other featuring Spunky Girl Reporters, about which films I will ALSO post later. Crushed that I didn't get to see Katherine Hepburn as a Girl Athlete in Mike and Pat but I simply could not spend ALL my time watching movies. Other Boston highlights:1. At long last, I visited the Isabella Stewart Gardner! Loved the mix of artworks from different places and periods and media - an entire corner devoted to lacework! some excellent tapestries! beautiful musical instruments, and I so hope that sometimes the museum has concerts where these lovely instruments get played. Loved the lack of labels so you can just drift about absorbing without getting bogged down with facts. Delicious Italian Renaissance courtyard. A bit disappointed that you couldn't wander through the garden the way you can in the Cloisters. Happy to report that for once the museum store had postcards of almost all my favorite paintings!
2. Much good food! We picked up cakes and chocolates at Burdick's, croissants at Lakon Paris, and a Pi Day special of FOUR pies, three savory and one sweet. Also an amazing afternoon tea at the Courtyard Tea Room at the Boston Public Library, followed by a repeat visit to all the murals (I think the Galahad cycle is my favorite although Sargent is also spectacular) plus a side trip to a room with some delightful dioramas of Famous Artists at Work.
3. The USS Constitution! A very suitable excursion for Year of Sail, especially on point because the ship just got a little cameo near the end of Hornblower and the Hotspur. Loved being actually inside the ship and seeing the hammocks crowded in, the galley in the middle of the deck, the lieutenants' little cubicles and the captain's larger quarters with an actual bed, albeit quite a narrow one, note that down for fic purposes.
And then away we went to meet up with
asakiyume at the Yiddish Book Center, where skygiants and genarti handed me over for the second part of my journey. We toured the Yiddish Book Center, made a cranberry-pecan tart, visited Bright Water Bog--This link takes you to
asakiyume's entry with pictures of the ice forming on the bog. It also mentions eating the cranberries cold from the bog water and the absolute delight of a swing hung between two pines by the waterside. Absolute thrill. Nothing in the world like a swing.We also hit up the Smith College Spring Bulb Show, a welcome infusion of color and light after a long cold winter. And we made some of the decadently rich hot chocolate from Burdick's, hot chocolate so thick it's practically chocolate sauce (in fact I ate/drank most of it by dipping croissants in), and watched Cartoon Saloon's Wolfwalkers and My Father's Dragon, about which more anon...
Simply a delightful trip!
The Jewish War: First half of Book 4
Mar. 22nd, 2026 08:05 pmcahnLast week: Josephus really hypes Vespasian up! Galilee is also very nice! Discussion of Josephus' prophecy of Vespasian, both in Josephus and in Feuchtwanger's novelization, with detours into Antonia and Caenis.
This week: Internal strife in Jerusalem! Lots of internal strife!
Next week: Last half of book 4.
This week: Internal strife in Jerusalem! Lots of internal strife!
Next week: Last half of book 4.
Re-reading our texts from the strawberry days
Mar. 22nd, 2026 03:21 pmsovayI must have slept ten hours. Hestia appears to be watching the rain with almost as much interest as the birds sheltering from it. May it and the recent snowmelt amend the drought. Tomorrow, of course, it is forecast to snow again.
selkie was safely collected from the Penn Station-alike that South Station has done its best to inhume itself into since her last visit, provided with an appropriate quantity of local barbecue for an obligate carnivore, and even successfully checked in to her hotel despite the mishegos attending every stage of her conference even before it started. At no point in this process did we apparently remember to take any pictures of ourselves.
My dreams seem to be branching out in terms of media, since last night's featured a youngish Alec McCowen starring in the radio version of a Tey-like crime novel as the ambiguously poor relation of an upper-class family who is not actually Kind Hearts and Coronets-ing his way through them, but needs to figure out who is before he's so handily scapegoated for the accidents escalating to murder ever since his arrival; he is, naturally, keeping a secret from the family, the authorities, and even the inattentive reader, but it isn't that. I was very pleased to find that a recording had survived, because the original novel had just been reprinted by the British Library Crime Classics. There were images mixed up in it in the way of dreams, but it was definitely on the Internet Archive.
Outside my head, I have been recently listening to Wu Fei & Abigail Washburn (2020), Jake Blount and Mali Obomsawin's symbiont (2024), and Huw Marc Bennett's Heol Las (2026), which I found through its ghost-boxish "Cân Gwasael (Wassail Song)." I like that I do not have to dream their remixes of folk and futurism and time.
selkie was safely collected from the Penn Station-alike that South Station has done its best to inhume itself into since her last visit, provided with an appropriate quantity of local barbecue for an obligate carnivore, and even successfully checked in to her hotel despite the mishegos attending every stage of her conference even before it started. At no point in this process did we apparently remember to take any pictures of ourselves.My dreams seem to be branching out in terms of media, since last night's featured a youngish Alec McCowen starring in the radio version of a Tey-like crime novel as the ambiguously poor relation of an upper-class family who is not actually Kind Hearts and Coronets-ing his way through them, but needs to figure out who is before he's so handily scapegoated for the accidents escalating to murder ever since his arrival; he is, naturally, keeping a secret from the family, the authorities, and even the inattentive reader, but it isn't that. I was very pleased to find that a recording had survived, because the original novel had just been reprinted by the British Library Crime Classics. There were images mixed up in it in the way of dreams, but it was definitely on the Internet Archive.
Outside my head, I have been recently listening to Wu Fei & Abigail Washburn (2020), Jake Blount and Mali Obomsawin's symbiont (2024), and Huw Marc Bennett's Heol Las (2026), which I found through its ghost-boxish "Cân Gwasael (Wassail Song)." I like that I do not have to dream their remixes of folk and futurism and time.