If you consistently react enthusiastically to bad weather, people begin to decide that it is somehow your fault. Particularly people with cars.
I’m somewhat less than halfway through The Sharing Knife, by Lois McMaster Bujold. And, goddamnit, Lois McMaster Bujold! How could you write something this stupid!? Are you or are you not the person who wrote A Civil Campaign? Rotate your left hand for me. Did you hurt yourself somewhere? Do you want us to call 911?
It’s kind of a romance novel, with necromancy. Really pallid necromancy. And a really pallid pseudo-medieval setting. And long explanations of the workings of the magical systems and history of said pallid pseudo-medieval setting. And long, pallid conversations between the hero and heroine, who are going to fall in love and save the world (the two being presumably mutually dependent), in which everything they say is an irritating metaphor. And all the minor characters are awkwardly symbolic to the point that they should have names like Sir Xenophobius and Lady Glory-Of-Sisterhood, and despite all the awkward chunks of exposition I still am not sure, you know, what the “Farmers” are farming, and what sort of government any of these places we keep comparing in value-laden terms has, or even what the weather’s like.
I am feeling very betrayed right now. I think I’m going to have to stop reading this.
In fact, in general, very little of the food that gets left in the library for people to take away after meetings could be accurately called “good.” This is shocking and saddening, and some action must be taken.
Action like probably “finishing the juice bottles anyway,” seeing as I have to pay for other juice.
Having re-read a bunch of Vorkosigan books again over the past couple days, the tiny angry mob in my head continues to demand another book about Mark. Also, Janet Kagan needs to go write some sort of book. She’s taken enough time off. She needs to get back the book thing. And Rosemary Kirstein needs to write faster. I am not feeling adventurous about reading material, and require that the world provide me with more stuff I already know I like.
(This text was originally posted on LiveJournal. It has been reformatted (awkwardly) for use on WordPress.)
We are in Nashville. I have been buying books.
( You like reading lists of purchases, right? )
This is probably my slashiest book-purchasing-spree ever. The manga all have shounen-ai going on, Ethan of Athos is, of course, The Fluffy Slash Planet book, and though I know nothing about this particular book, I have certain *expectations* of Ellen Kushner.
I wonder if Hakkai’s getting kind of tired of hanging around in large, flat spaces containing varying quantities of human remains. This is what, the third time for him? The others have kept it down to two, but Hakkai’s managed to be present for all three crazy death-field incidents; he’s the only one to end up in *both* hypnosis-induced alternate realities. It’s becoming kind of a problem.
I opened Ethan of Athos to three random pages, and Cee was angsting on, precisely, one of them. This is about right, I think.
The Dolphins of Altair is probably going to be the most awesome book ever. Consider this line of the back cover synopsis: “The dolphins had to find allies and strike back.”
DOLPHINS STRIKING BACK.
Continue reading “Capitalism”
I decided a while ago that the tablet’s name was Cordelia. It’s just occurred to me that I should make a sticker out of the Vorkosigan seal and stick it on there, so I can pretend like it wasn’t Fujitsu that made it, it was some company Mark owns or something.
…wait, do the Foglios sell Heterodyne seal stickers? Wulfenbach?
Oh, my god. Anything bad I’ve ever said about Lois McMaster Bujold, I take it all back. I am going to have A Civil Campaign‘s crazy gender-bending test-tube clone-babies.