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Book Reviews: Neverwhere and A Knot In The Grain

I’m posting a few more book reviews this week even though they’re horribly late.  It’s been a doozy of a weekend, although I’m not 100% sure why I feel that way.  I don’t always get a Thursday entry in, but I ALWAYS get a Monday one and I didn’t this week…

But I will get this Tuesday one done if it kills me (I mean, it won’t kill me…).

I’m charging along on the old 2016 reading challenge.  Out of 32 books, I only have 13 left to read. And we haven’t even hit the middle of the year yet.  Here are two I haven’t blogged: A book of short stories, and a book with a dark and mysterious cover.

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A Knot in the Grain by Robin McKinley (a book of short stories):

As I’ve said on the blog before, I’m not usually a fan of short stories.  I picked this one up, though, because it was Robin McKinley and it was free on Kindle Unlimited (thanks mom!).  It’s comprised of five tales, and honestly I think it’s arranged from worst to best.  The first 4 stories take place in this odd fairy tale world that feels like Grimm but actually contains happy endings, or at least contented ones.  My favorite of the first 4 tales was Buttercups, and I think it was definitely worth the purchase price.  While I didn’t exactly enjoy the other stories, I did find myself thinking about them between times, which I think is a sign of good stuff.

The story the book is named after, though… oh man.  I wish it were a whole novel.  It takes place in a modern setting where a high school girl moves to a new home and finds a strange box in an attic.  I don’t know how McKinley captures real life so well, but she really does mundanity so that you want to live it.  This is the sort of thing that makes McKinley one of my favorites.

I enjoyed the book quite a lot, and would recommend it.  Especially to fans of McKinley’s other stuff.

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Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman (a book with a dark and mysterious cover):

I don’t even really know where to start with this one.  It’s a re-read for me and I liked it less the second time around.  Which isn’t to say that I didn’t like it.  I don’t know, it’s hard to pinpoint.

Richard Mayhew, average executive in dubious relationship, stumbles on a bleeding girl while on his way to dinner.  He helps her, and then finds that no one recognizes him anymore.  He now belongs to an alternate city below the London he knows: London Below, and must go on a perilous journey to get back to his home.  If that’s what he really wants, that is.  It’s filled with creepy Rat Speakers, A Huntress, vampiresses, the Lady Door, and evil Angel, a dreadful prehistoric beast, and sadistic Mr. Croup and Mr. Vandermar.

It’s definitely well-written and such a cool idea.  Gaiman comes up with all sorts of interesting things for the defunct names of London past.  Like the Earl in Earl’s Court who has set up a medieval home on the tube.  Or the Shepherds in Shepherd’s Bush that you really don’t want to meet.

It’s great.  It’s cool.  It’s creepy. It’s everything you could want from a Gaiman story.  But is it missing a bit of emotion?

I guess I wished on the second time around that I felt more affection for Door and for Richard than I ended up feeling.  But seriously, go read it.  You won’t be disappointed.

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Lazy Week

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My week has mostly been the boring kind.  Which is the kind I like best, in some ways.

I bought Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone Illustrated Edition on Monday and have burned through it.  Brian has hardly seen me, as I’ve been reveling over diagrams of dragon eggs and portraits of Harry and Hagrid in a rowboat, seagulls wheeling overhead.  It’s prettier than you ever could imagine it would be, even if you’ve already seen the pictures.  My only criticism is that it is a bit too huge to hold and read, though it’s good for spreading out on the pillow next to you.  (Brian?  No, he doesn’t need a place to sleep).

Previews of Chamber of Secrets are available, and I already can’t wait for the next installment.

I made strawberry jam from strawberries we bought at the farm store down the street on Sunday, which I know Brian has been DYING to get into.  We still have ½ a jar of Apple/Lemon left first, though.  It was so good that I licked the pot clean (shhh… don’t tell anyone).  I also had about ¼ of a jar’s worth of leftovers that didn’t fit nicely into the 6 full jars I made, which I promptly ate as well.

The tomatoes have tripled in size, overnight, and are starting to flower.

The kitten has been into her usual shenanigans.  I let her ‘help’ me clean up this weekend (by which I mean I crumpled a bunch of the junk mail into balls she could chase around the house so she would stop bothering me to pet her).  I put them in the recycling at the end of the day.  Don’t worry, she upended it all and pulled them out again (plus more), and strewed it all over the house.  It might have been my own fault for giving that stuff to her to play with in the first place…  I’ll tell you though, the lesson is not learned.  She’s too adorable, and at least the mess is clean paper.  She was waiting in the window for me to come home last night, too (and then promptly showed me that she didn’t care about me at all when I walked in the door).

My mom started a puzzle of Yellowstone at her house, which I find impossible to step away from.  Must get one more piece in (*eye twitch*). I have most of the lodges together, and was starting on the bears taking pictures of humans when we realized how late it was.

Hats off to lazy weeks.  I don’t get many of them.

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Heroes and Villains

Camp Nanowrimo is going well-ish.  My word count has exploded, but the point was to write 4 whole short stories (and not 50,000 words), so I’m feeling a little behind.  The Golden Apple story went like gang-busters for a while but seems to have stalled out.  Brian and I discussed it this weekend, and I think it’s because the About is more in line with WWII than the Great War, and so it doesn’t quite fit.  Also, needs more Greek Gods (which could be said of everything, really).

I swore to myself that I would actually post a book review this week, since it’s been a while.  I am still working on the 2016 reading challenge, and plugging away at it.  This week?  A book that makes me want to be a hero, and a book that makes me want to be a villain.

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The Blue Sword, by Robin McKinley:

I have long been a huge fan of McKinley’s The Hero and The Crown, about an outcast of a royal woman, Aerin, who experiments with a non-burning salve used to fight dragons, and ends up being the savior of her people (along with a busted-up war horse).  I hadn’t read The Blue Sword, though I knew it was considered the sequel.  It wasn’t available on kindle until fairly recently, and isn’t available in most stores.

I found it, though, at a little used bookstore by the train station where I pick Brian up some days.  I bought it immediately and read it so fast.  Best find ever.

It’s about an orphan, Harry Crewe, who moves to be near her brother at a military outpost in the desert.  When a mountain king comes to the village to ask for military aid, his second-sight tells him to kidnap Harry and take her with him back to his kingdom.  She comes into her own, becoming one of the kings sacred riders and besting the country at the sword trials.  She communes with Lady Aerin, falls for the king, and saves a country herself.

It’s full of hard tasks and bad choices, but of trust and valor.  It makes me want to learn to ride a horse with nothing but a small leather cushion on the back.  It makes me want to live in a tent with a king and drink waters that make me have visions.  It makes me want to wear a mended scarf around my waist, and to find a home among other people with strange ways.  Even if they do start calling me Harimad Sol.

So, Harry Crewe makes me want to be a hero.

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Silver on the Road, by Laura Anne Gilman:

Kindle has been recommending me this book for a very long time, in the way it recommends things I end up disliking.  I finally read the synopsis of it, and was sort of expecting it to be a worse version of Patricia C. Wrede’s Frontier Magic.  I figured that even if it was bad it would have interesting ideas.  I was VERY wrong.  It wasn’t anything like that at all, really, except in the traveling through the west theme.

And it was great.  My only beef with the book is that I will have to wait another 2 years (!!!) for the series to be finished.  Damn you, Simon and Schuster.  You always do this to me!

In this west, there are three parts.  There is the United States, there is the territory controlled by the devil, and then there is Spain, in that order from East to West.  The devil is undefined.  Is he evil?  Who knows.  But he does protect the territory, and he does make bargains for people’s souls.  He also runs a saloon, where main character Izzy grows up.

Izzy isn’t sure where she wants to go when she reaches her majority.  So she sells herself to the devil and agrees to become his left hand, touring his portion of the territory and doing… well, she doesn’t really know.  She has a guide to teach her the road, and they know there are monsters let loose to murder the populace.  That’s all she has to go on.

It’s a great book, super-exciting, and basically reminds me of a Deadlands game that has gone to print. Being out on the road seems great, if inconvenient sometimes.  Also bonus points for a book that discusses how women deal with periods (as in monthly bleeding) because I’ve never seen that before in fantasy.

I would like to travel the road with Gabriel and see the strange things in the west, although I’m not sure I’d agree to sell my soul to the devil to do it.

Isobel makes me want to be a villain.

So that’s it for the book reviews this week.  As always, happy reading!

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Aurora at the Troubadour

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I learned last Monday night that basically all of my fuddy-duddy propensities have coalesced and refined themselves into something way more fuddy-duddy than they used to be.  Brian and I went to an Aurora concert at the Troubadour.  I tried to enjoy myself, I really did.  And parts of the evening were perfect.  But, oh man, I’m definitely not their audience anymore.

I used to love a good concert.  It felt edgy and cool to put on all my black clothes, smear some gloss on my lips, and go dance with the other gals at the Ivy Walls concert, wherever they happened to play; the Troubadour with the odd burger stand at the back of the bar; the Silverlake Lounge with the massive lamé curtain that shimmers just right in the lights; the red, red Viper Room.  We’d dance until the show was over and even my bones were tired, and then Brian and I would speed home over the empty California freeways in the darkness.  I’d wake up for work the next morning tired, but with the conviction that it was all worth it.

We got there an hour early last night to wait in line for good seats.  The cue wrapped around the corner of an old brick building, and I leaned my back against it as I waited with Brian.  There was a group of kids in tight colored pants, high pompadours, and shirts with rolled up sleeves behind us.  I rolled my eyes when one of them said “yeah, I don’t care about Aurora.  I’m here for the opening band.” And then they lit up a joint.  In line.  On a public street.

I expect a little pot in those places.  I do.  But seriously? On a public street! (I told you – such a fuddy-duddy).

“How was work?” Brian asked me, and I also realized that most of the people in this line also probably didn’t have stories about their epic fight with the printer to get labels done so the student workers could send the invitation to the fundraiser.

Inside was only slightly better.  The cruddy railings and beat up seats no longer seemed edgy.  They just seemed gross.  I wondered what sort of botulism I was exposing myself to by only bringing my tiny clutch, instead of the purse with the hand sanitizer in one of the vast pockets.  (Hand sanitizer, self.  SMH).

The first band was really good, but had a bit too much of an R&B influence to be my favorite.  And then it was 9:30 and I realized, without even checking my phone, that it was past my bed time.  If I thought I could have slept on the bench in the back of the Troubadour I might have tried it.

It all faded away and became the perfect evening once Aurora stepped onto the stage.  All my crankiness and all the tired vanished. She’s such a funny, elfin lady with a tiny voice.  She dances along to her songs as if she was seaweed in a current, waving here and there.  She started crying when she heard us all singing along, and let us finish the lyrics to the last verse.  I had that “at one with the crowd” feeling.  Brian rocked out beside me so hard it made wonder if I wanted to admit to knowing him, which was basically the only goal for this evening.  Aurora is Brian’s favorite.

And then Brian drove home while I slept.  I have been logy and cranky most of the week, with the conviction that we were lucky it was worth it, but that next time I don’t know that I would say yes to that evening.

I mean, I don’t know who I’m kidding.  I would say yes if Brian wanted to go.  But still.  I am way too much of a fuddy-duddy for LA clubs these days.  I missed the kitten last night like you wouldn’t believe. All I want is 18 hours of sleep (Who have I become?).

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I’m Officially Camping

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Alright, well, it’s official.  I’m certifiably crazy, and doing Camp NaNoWriMo in April.  The plan? 4 short stories in 4 weeks.

I’ve done stuff like this before, most notably for the Clarion Writeathon.  I typically commit to 6 short stories in 6 weeks for that, and I don’t ever quite make it.  The reason (I think)? I hardly ever have more than a plan for a story or two when I get started.  I promised myself that if I could cobble together ideas for 3 stories, I would do Camp.  And I have managed to figure out 3 stories.  Now I’m just trolling for a fourth (and actual plot points for the 3rd, but hey)…

And, of course, I’m plugging away on Blue Gentian today in a last-ditch effort to do as much as possible before the insanity starts.  The heavy reorganization parts are done, it’s just the endless drafts of polishing that are left.

We were sorted into cabins a few days ago, and I got a GREAT one this year.  We’re actually talking to each other! That never happens…

Here’s what I’m writing for Camp:

There Must Have Been some Magic in that Old Top Hat They Found: England, 1814: Sam crowns his snowman with a top hat he found in a snowbank, hoping to collect pennies for the sculpture at the faire on top of the frozen Thames.  But the snowman has other ideas.  He thinks Sam should make a wish.

La Llorona: Chicago, 1892, : When Geneva is tasked with keeping unwanted things out of Hull House, she’s thinking intoxicated husbands, not the wailing, dripping woman on the 3rd floor who is already dead.  A continuation of a sketch I wrote as a character background, here: https://caseykins.com/2013/06/08/geneva-allerton/

A Golden Apple: Italy, 1917: Hera let the thing slip from her fingers, and now a troop of half-immortal soldiers must find the golden apple hidden within the Italian front before WWI becomes a permanent conflict.

And one more, TBD…  Will it be the one where Robot Rasputin runs out of batteries? Will it be the Pony Express driver who must deliver a very strange package?  Will it be Dr. Pragnum and his Infant Restorative Tonic?  (I think I can confidently say that it will be none of those).  Stay tuned to find out!

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All Things Easter

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I always commit to do too many things on Easter.  Why Easter and no other holidays I’m not entirely sure, but I think it’s because of that extra day when I know I’ll be off.  I keep thinking that I will be able to churn out food in epic proportions. I inevitably fall short.  Except that this year, I didn’t.  Much thanks to Brian, who was willing to chop strawberries, cover cookie sheets in tinfoil, and do all of my dishes multiple times so I never ran out of clean measuring cups.

I made 1 tried and true recipe and 2 new kinds of pie.

The Lemon Meringue is a recipe of Brian’s Grandma Tess, and the filling is divine, tart, and lemony.  I am still working out the meringue on top.  It wants either to sweat, or have a weird layer of candy-flavored water in between the eggs and the filling.  I’m told that Grandma Tess was also never completely happy with the meringue, so I know the struggle is real.  But it’s never not tasty, and taste is all that matters when you’re feeding people who have to love you because you’re related.

Which is why I also experimented with a couple of new pies.  I’ve been looking for a good berry pie recipe for a VERY long time now.  The family could not believe I made this one with frozen berries, and insisted that everyone try it despite whether they wanted pie or not.  Definitely a keeper and worth perfecting.  The third pie I made (I know…) was a fresh strawberry.  That one also turned out to be a hit, though I’m not sure how much I can claim credit for that.  Mother Nature made me some REALLY good strawberries.

As if that wasn’t enough, I also made molasses ginger cookies for Brian’s Grandpa (who requested them), and deviled eggs.

We never got to eat the Lemon Meringue.  I usually hold it in my lap for any drives, to keep the pretty caramelized top from getting mussed.  A slow driver pulled out in front of Brian.  He slammed on the breaks.  The slippery glass pie pan slid out of my hands, hit the dashboard, then the floor, and the filling flew out of its pan and onto the dirty carpet.  When we scooped as much of it as we could back into the dish, it was not only a travesty of a jumble of crumb crust and gelled filling, it was also speckled with little bits of black dirt all through.  Ugh.

I have found, though, that there is nothing like determination in making sure you have a good day.  My dad donated us the ½ of his Mud Pie that his side the family didn’t eat, which I took to my mom’s as a (super-yummy) substitute. I made copious fun of my busted pie, and then I felt alright about it all.  Besides, it wasn’t for nothing.  I learned that cold pie + room temperature egg whites = weird candy water layer between. That will be useful next year, despite not having tasted any of it.  I also learned that I had cooked the mixture right – it all set up to the perfect consistency.  Another tidbit for next time.

In other totally non-related news, I have been going on with the Steering The Craft exercises, and have written an Easter one, which I’m going to post below.  This one was supposed to be a story where the 1st part repeated the 2nd part, and it’s not actually historically accurate at all, so please forgive me.

Easter:

Aradegi took the reed basket down from the niche in the corner of her mud-walled home.  She laid some leaves in the bottom of it, and on top of that she put the eggs she had climbed the trees to get.  One of the birds had swooped down and pecked, but she had managed to put them in her pockets and shimmy back down the rough branches with all of them still intact.  There were six, speckled and green, in her hands when she took them out.  One for each month Eostre would spend in their world.  Perfect.

She kissed the eggs and laid them on the wide green leaves.  She filled the gaps of the basket with flowers. She laid the fresh offering near her door.  Tomorrow, Aradegi would take her basket to the standing stones and watch the dawn rise over the foothills to greet them.  She would offer her basket and Eostre would come and melt the snow.

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Jane took the baskets down from the top shelf of the hall closet, trying not to trip on the haphazard pile of shoes beneath.  In the back, behind the coats, were the plastic shopping bags of pipe cleaner chickens, paper grass, and plastic eggs.  One by one, she cracked the eggs open and filled them with green speckled candies made of malt.

She arranged the things in the bright baskets so that the children would see the toys first thing.  She laid the offering on the coffee table downstairs.  Tomorrow the children would be up at dawn, waking Jane with a jump into her bed, squealing.  They would all go into the living room to see what the Easter Bunny had brought them, and then they would drive to Grandma’s in the snow.

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LeGuin’s Steering The Craft

IMG_20150805_214658I downloaded Ursula K. LeGuin’s Steering The Craft this weekend.  I thought I was getting a little bit of a how-to on writing, some good advice.  You know, something like Steven King’s On Writing, or E. M. Forster’s Aspects of the Novel. That wasn’t what I got at all, and it was the best discovery.

Steering The Craft is much more like a workbook than it is like a how-to book.  In fact, LeGuin’s writing is so much like being in class that I feel like I’ve actually decided to take one.  Her clear narrative voice feels like she’s talking straight to you, and the exercises are fun and just challenging enough to make you think, but not daunting to complete.  So great.  Bonus points for her rampant feminism.  I appreciate that SO MUCH.

I mean, “The grammarians started telling us [that using ‘their’ as a singular] was incorrect along in the sixteenth or seventeenth century.  That was when they also declared that the pronoun he includes both sexes, as in ‘if a person needs and abortion, he should be required to tell his parents.'”

How can you not love that? Such a well thought out burn.

Not only that, but I give myself so much grief over my work (agonizing over whether it’s publishable quality, flogging myself to find the right word, giving another pass at the imperfect draft that feels like it will never be perfect); it was amazingly nice to just write and not worry about it.  I found the fun in the words again.

I’m only about 1/3 of the way through, but I thought I’d post some of the exercises as I finish them.  They’re vignettes, so I would imagine they aren’t publishable.  But even if they were, I’m not sure I’d want them to be.

This one is from Exercise 2, in which I was supposed to write a paragraph of 100-350  words entirely without punctuation of any kind, even paragraph breaks.  For those who are counting, this is about 190.

Quick Change

A sock a shoe a buckle slips over her ankle and a voice on a speaker calls a cue but the zipper broke and she’s gonna miss that cue for sure listening to the other guy fumble around with his lines while the three costume girls fumble with safety pins and come up short like the guy is doing vamping to the audience trying not to say um and trying not to be silent but she’s trying to be silent and so are the costume girls as one stabs her finger with a pin and a bead of blood gets onto the expensive costume they rented and their teacher will be so mad but there isn’t anything any of them can do now except try not to get any more on the dress and get the actress pinned as fast as possible they fumble again and the back of the dress gapes the actress struggles through the black drapes of the wings anyway with her back cheated away and her fingers crossed and the guy breathes a sigh of relief because there’s finally someone else there to do some talking

I think it sorta works.  I’ll be posting more soon, so stay tuned.

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Holidays

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It’s St. Patrick’s Day here, which is mostly a holiday to drink beer and/or pinch people depending on your age.  I don’t really like beer, nor will I be pinching any of my new workmates, so I think I’ll just celebrate by eating some corned beef and cabbage.  I have been kissed this morning, but not specifically because I’m Irish.  Brian probably needs to do it again until he gets it right.  I am wearing the requisite green, and maybe you could argue that my brown belt is orange-ish for Northern Ireland, where my family is from (yeah, it’s a stretch).

I feel like I’ve been living in holiday world lately.  First it was Pi day, 3/14.  Which, if you really want a reason to binge on pie, is a lot like 3.14, which is the first three digits of the mathematical symbol Pi.  I was listening to the cashier at the grocery store try to explain this to another woman in line, and she was totally unaware.

“Geometry or Algebra?” she said.

“Geometry,” I piped in.  “It’s for calculating circle stuff.”

“Oh.  I’m not good at math,” she said.

“It’s mostly just a great excuse to eat large quantities of pie,” I said.  I didn’t mention that I’m also pretty terrible at math.  I can tell you what Pi is, just don’t ask me to use it for anything.

She laughed.

After Pi Day is the Ides of March.  Which is a holiday to post bad Caesar/stabbing puns.  And today the rivers of Boston are running green.   I’ll wish you a happy Palm Sunday and a happy Spring Solstice this weekend, and next we can all wish each other a happy Easter.

Who ever said there aren’t enough holidays in the world?  You just have to be willing to celebrate the weird ones, I guess.

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Winter Reading List, 2016

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I’ve felt like it’s been officially spring here for a few weeks now, but it’s now officially official as of the end of last week. The winter quarter is over, finals and all.  Which means… it is time for the Winter reading list.  It’s shorter than normal, partly because I just did this in January.  Partly because when I do a lot of my own writing, I tend to do less reading.  And partly because life has been a little crazy lately as Brian and I spend all our weekends planting out the front beds and  waging a gopher war in the back yard.  All my raised beds are lined in chicken wire now.  So there. (crossing my fingers that holds them.)

The time has come.  Here’s everything I have read since January and what I thought of it:

  • The Color of Magic, by Terry Pratchet – Oh, I don’t know. It wasn’t bad.  It felt more like it was done for funny than actually because it had a good plot arc or compelling story.  It was funny, but I quickly got impatient with Rincewind and his inane tourist.
  • Good Poems: American Places, by Garrison Keillor – Left me melancholy and nostalgic in the best way. I would recommend wholeheartedly, and I don’t like poetry usually.
  • English Fairy Tales, by Joseph Jacobs – Not what I was expecting, and not really new at all (despite author claims). Feels like the French stuff rehashed.  It was well written, but didn’t offer more than other standards in the same genre.
  • Desperate Duchesses, by Eloisa James – I enjoyed it, as I do all of James’ stuff. There’s a reason I’m on a quest to read everything she’s ever written.  The heroine in this one was a bit silly, but not as silly as some I’ve read.  And it all worked in the end to a satisfactory conclusion.
  • Aspects of the Novel, by E. M. Forster – You know, I got just as much out of the beginning of this book as ever, but got super tired of slogging through old novel excerpts in the end of it for not as much analysis as I’d like. Great for the information, but definitely work to read.
  • Pippa’s Cornish Dream, by Debbie Johnson – Meh. It was fine, but it wasn’t anything unusual.  I liked the fact that the heroine was so spunky.  I think the real reason it didn’t work for me is because I didn’t like the guy much.
  • Emily Climbs, by L. M. Montgomery – I LOVE Emily and her cats and her writing. A favorite of mine, that I’ve read more times than I can count.  It makes me feel like the writing struggle is real, and surmountable with enough work.
  • Emily’s Quest by L. M. Montgomery – Every time I read this, I am less of a mess. I mean, Emily really makes a lot of the strife she suffers for herself.  Still, it’s not an easy read, though it’s beautiful.
  • Clarkesworld Year 3 Anthology, by Neil Clarke – I mean, they’re well written with some beautiful and heartbreaking ideas. But I realized that I just am not a fan of short stories.  Oh the irony, right, as I try to write them?  I know.
  • Silver on the Road by Laura Anne Gilman – My new favorite thing (!!!). It’s like my Deadlands game came to life and featured a super awesome heroine who sold her soul to the devil and now channels his magic to protect the territory.  Best thing EVER.  I’m sad the other 2 books aren’t out yet, because I’d get them in a heartbeat.  I can’t wait until October.

As always, happy reading!

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Like This? Try That: International Women’s Day Edition

It was International Women’s Day last Tuesday.  Yay women!  And yay for awesome posts about all the cool things created by women.  I found a great post circulating on Tumblr where it told you some common men’s authors and suggested a book by a woman you might like instead.  The only problem?  I didn’t actually like any of those original books by men.  In fact, I sort of abhor them.  Good plan, not great execution (if your reading tastes are like mine).

So, in that spirit, I decided to put my own compilation together.  It wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be.  There are a billion women books I love that don’t have an easy male equivalent, and same for men books, so I feel as if this is, at best, incomplete. Left off on the man side are Damon Runyon, John Steinbeck, and Gregory McGuire, to name a few.  I’d have really loved to work in some Shannon Hale, Robin McKinley, and Mary Stewart on the woman side, but no dice. Still, below are some of my favorite men authors, and a book by a woman that’s similar.  And just for the record, you can’t go wrong reading ANY of the books on this list, gender notwithstanding.

SedarisLawson

Like David Sedaris’ Me Talk Pretty One Day?

Try: Let’s Pretend This Never Happened, by Jenny Lawson

Although Sedaris’ book mostly takes place in New York or rural France, and Lawson’s book takes place in Texas, they share much.  A fondness for bad taxidermy, a willingness to create farce from their family situations, a predilection for terrorizing their significant other.  Both have a wry wit that it’s impossible not to guffaw at.  Both are banned reading for me before bed, because I can’t put them down; nor can I stop shaking the bed while Brian sleeps because I’m laughing too hard.

TolkienLeGuin

Like JRR Tolkien’s The Fellowship of the Ring?

Try: A Wizard of Earthsea, by Ursula K. LeGuin

LeGuin’s book is more languid and unurgent than Fellowship, but it is still a world in which wizards have immense power and are struggling to defeat unknown evil.  They both have epic quests, sorceresses, and ideal villages which they must leave.  Ged is haunted by his own mistakes, and Frodo is haunted by others’.  Frodo has an elven canoe, Ged has the Lookfar. There are differences, but the worlds feel familiar, ancient, and big.  They’re excellent.

KeillorLowry

Like Garrison Keillor’s Lake Wobegon, Summer 1956?

Try: A Summer to Die, by Lois Lowry

Lowry’s book is not as funny as Keillor’s, but they both share a nostalgia and an innocence that feel right together.  Gary is dealing with adulthood, the passing away of many of his childhood ideals, becoming a writer, with the unfair things that happen to his cousin Kate.  Meg is dealing with growing up awkwardly, attempting to measure up to her perfect sister, adapting to a new rural school, and with her sister’s fatal leukemia.  In both there is a loss of innocence, and a sense of claiming a more adult self as both characters move forward in life.  They’re both full of hope.

KiplingSpeare

Like Rudyard Kipling’s Captain’s Courageous?

Try: The Witch of Blackbird Pond, by Elizabeth George Speare

I mean, I LOVE Kipling something fierce, despite his flaws.  And the book I like most of his is Puck of Pooks Hill, which is like nothing else I have ever read.  So instead I have sought to pair his Captain’s Courageous with another book about New England.  Both characters struggle to survive in a culture they don’t understand without the skills to thrive.  Both learn of loss and hard work.  Both feature ships prominently.  This might be a stretch…

DoyleChristie

Like Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Hound of the Baskervilles?

Try: The Mysterious Affair at Styles by Agatha Christie

Both Christie and Doyle are known as the quintessential mystery writers of their day, and for good reason.  Both of these mysteries take place on rural estates in England, and both will keep you guessing for days as to what’s really going on.  Bonus?  Styles is the very first Poirot novel, so you can use your little gray cells to solve the mystery.

PratchetJones

Like Terry Pratchett’s The Wee Free Men?

Try: Howl’s Moving Castle, by Diana Wynne Jones

I mean, nothing’s as funny as the Nac Mac Feegles and their drunk, Scotsman-like ways.  But Jones does a pretty good job of lending that farciful attitude to Wizard Howl, and poor Sophie who has to take care of him.  Both books are chalk full of all the stuff you always hear about in fairy tales, but they’re used in new and delightful ways.  The chaos wraps up nicely at the end for all of them, too.

GaimanBlack

Neil Gaiman, Neverwhere

Girl Book: Tithe by Holly Black

Dark worlds where the modern scene is definitely more sinister than you imagined it?  Check, for both novels.  Instead of Richard and his London Below, Kaye has the fairy courts that placed her in her mother’s home in exchange for the changeling baby they stole.  She’s not saving a bleeding Door, she’s saving Roiben, knight of the Unseelie Court.  Both are fighting dark things they don’t understand.  Both become part of worlds they don’t understand and can’t quite navigate.

So, happy belated International Women’s Day.  And enjoy your reading.

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