pedanther

. This week marked the tenth anniversary of my first entry on 750 Words. That sounds more impressive if you don't know how many long gaps there have been along the way: my current streak, which has lasted most of the past year, is the longest time I've stuck at it before giving up for a few years, and in that time I've written more entries than in the other nine years put together.


. At board game club this week, the main game was Russian Railroads, a worker-placement game themed around building railways, with several different tracks, each of which offers different kinds of rewards for building on it. ( Read more... )


. I finished A Choice of Catastrophes, a non-fiction book by Isaac Asimov that I've been reading here and there since April. The hook is describing the ways that the world, or at least humanity, might come to an end, but along the way there are lessons in a wide variety of other scientific and historical subjects: to understand how the world might stop working, one first needs to understand how it works.
( It's good, but shows its age )


. I've had mixed experiences with the works of Tanith Lee: I loved her first novel, thought a couple of others were okay, and bounced off everything else of hers that I tried. ( And I've spent the last 25 years actively not reading The Silver Metal Lover ) I've made a good start, but I don't know how long it's going to take to finish, because I have a limited amount of cope for emotionally stressful fiction and when it comes down to it I'd rather be using it on catching up on the shows I've got behind on than dealing with a hapless teenage protagonist who, if I'm being honest, reminds me a bit too much of my own younger self.


. I happened upon an online listing recently for Edward Bellamy's Looking Backward: 2000-1887 that had a blurb describing it as a "dystopian classic", which would be a surprise to Bellamy. I don't know if the blurb writer was expressing an opinion about Bellamy's vision of utopia, or if it's just that "dystopian" has become such a marketable label lately that the online booksellers are slapping it on anything even remotely related.

The First Circle by Alexander Solzhenitsyn is an account of a few days in the lives of prisoners in Stalinist Russia, in a "special prison" that houses scientists and engineers who have been set to work on technical projects for the government. (The title is a reference to Dante's Inferno, which divides Hell into circles of increasing severity; the special prisoners, who get better treatment than in the regular prisons and the labour camps, are in the most comfortable outermost circle, but they're still in Hell.)

It's a story about arbitrary cruelty and deprivation, but it's also a story about human connection and friendship and unexpected kindnesses. There are obstacles and also reasons to carry on despite the obstacles.
( Read more... )

#17: Read a book with a title that starts with the same letter as the last name of the previous book's author.

First attempt: Jirel of Joiry by C.L. Moore, a collection of sword & sorcery stories that were first published in Weird Tales in the 1930s alongside the likes of Conan the Barbarian, but have the historical distinction of being written by a woman and having a female protagonist. (The first story has one of those openings where it spends a couple of pages describing a heroic armoured figure before the helmet comes off and everyone, presumably including the original readers, is surprised she's a woman.)( Read more... )

Second attempt: John Brown: Queen Victoria's Highland Servant by Raymond Lamont-Brown. ( Read more... )

Third attempt, for the sake of moving things along, was Chris Van Allsburg's Jumanji, which is a lot shorter and less complicated than the movie it inspired, but still fun. I appreciated the turn it took at the end.

#18: Read a book in the same genre as the previous book.

Taking the genre as "short, plentifully illustrated children's book featuring animals", I opted for The Animals Noah Forgot by the Australian poet Banjo Paterson, which also counts for the June prompt in the Buzzword challenge (a word in the title related to remembering or forgetting). ( Read more... )

#14: Read a book with something on the cover that was also on the previous book’s cover.

Noose: True Stories of Australians Who Have Died at the Gallows by Xavier Duff. The subtitle is kind of inaccurate: many of the chapters are stories of crimes that led to someone dying at the gallows, but while the crimes can be recounted in detail, for most of them the historical record lacks the details that would allow the story of the person to be told. I didn't enjoy it, and I didn't feel like I was learning much that was new. (At least in the sense that everything it talked about was something I was aware of in general terms as a kind of thing that happened, though I admit that many of the details were new.) (And unpleasant.) I don't know if it's really the book's fault; it may largely be just that true crime isn't really my idea of fun reading.

#15: Read a book that has a spine that's a different colour from the previous book.

Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones. It was long overdue for a re-read, and I got a nudge from somebody I know organising a buddy read on StoryGraph. It's just as good as I remember, and a nice relief from all the darker books that I've been reading lately.

#16: Read a book that was published in a different decade than the previous book.

I decided to keep the Diana Wynne Jones train rolling and read House of Many Ways, a sequel to Howl's Moving Castle that was published a couple of decades later, and which I'd only read once, back when it first came out. (There's another sequel in between, but I have re-read that one before, and there were bits of it that I wasn't in the mood to revisit.) I don't love House of Many Ways as much as Howl's Moving Castle - it's less... I think maybe "ambitious" is the word I'm after? - but it's a fun read.

#11: Read a book where the author’s name is not the same color on the cover as the previous book’s author’s name.

A Choice of Catastrophes did turn out to be the kind of book that one picks up only occasionally and reads only a bit of, so in the interests of keeping the momentum going, I revisited the bookshelf and came away with The Canterville Ghost, which fit the prompt, was short enough to make up for lost time, and fit in with some of the non-chain-related reading I've been doing lately.

I liked it okay. It suffered a bit from that thing you get sometimes when you spend decades getting around to a classic, where I'd read extracts from it and had heard of most of the good bits already, so it didn't have the same effect as if I'd been coming to it completely fresh. The edition I read has some nice illustrations by Inga Moore.


#12: Read a book with a title that starts with the next letter in the alphabet from the previous book.

Coincidentally, the first book I finished after receiving this prompt was Down and Out in Purgatory: The Collected Stories of Tim Powers, but that didn't qualify as the Next Book because I started reading it back before I signed up for the Book Chain. I've been working through the collection on and off for the past few months, and mostly enjoying it; a few of the shorter stories felt underbaked, but most of them had something of interest, even the ones I'd read before. One discovery for me was the novella "A Time to Cast Away Stones", which was written and is set between two of Powers' novels and makes clear several things about the second novel that had puzzled me when I read it. (And I note that if I'd read this collection promptly in 2018 when I bought it, I'd have read the novella before the novel - assuming I hadn't also read the novel promptly when I bought it in 2016.)

After making a list of books in the TBR that began with a D, I opted for the shortest one: A Deer in the Family by John Hartmann, translated from the Danish by Edith M. Nielsen. This is a non-fiction account for children about a Danish family that adopted and raised a baby deer, first published in the 1950s; a series of inscriptions on the flyleaf of my copy records that it was originally given to one of my mother's older relatives, then passed down to my mother, who gave it to me when I was seven, whereupon I didn't read it because it was old and the photos were in black and white. The story is quite charming, although the narration (at least in translation) occasionally verges on twee and I wasn't entirely satisfied by the book's answer to the question of whether the baby deer was actually in need of adoption in the first place.


#13: Read a book set in a different country or world than the previous book.

I hadn't looked ahead when I picked A Deer in the Family, but "read a book that isn't set in Denmark" basically gives me free rein to read any book from my TBR that I want to... which is not entirely helpful, since the point of doing these reading challenges is to narrow the options down to something manageable.

It took me all of week 3 to finish The Friendship Factor.


#7: Read a book with more pages than the previous book.

There were plenty of options here, as The Friendship Factor is a pretty slim volume, but I opted to count The Martian, which I was re-reading for a book club. This is the third time I've read it (not to mention having seen the movie version), and it's not quite as compelling when I know all the plot twists already, but it was still a fun time.


#8: If the previous book had a person on the cover, read a book without a person on the cover.

This is proving to be something of a problem, as all the books I had lined up to read for other reading challenges have people on the cover, and so do a significant proportion of the books on my TBR in general.

Attempt #1 was Gorky Park by Martin Cruz Smith. The opening chapters introduce a large cast of quirky characters who I didn't care a jot about, and a gruesome murder which I also didn't care about, partly because none of the characters seemed to care about it either: even the detective protagonist was just going through the motions while he looked for an excuse to shove the case off on somebody else, while also having a boring marriage crisis that I suspect was going to lead to him having a fling with a material witness or something. I gave it fifty pages to hook me and then abandoned it without regret. On the bright side, I got two books off the TBR for the price of one, since I got rid of the sequel as well.

While I was taking the sequel off the bookshelf, my eye was caught by the neighbouring book, The Tin Dog by Alexander McCall Smith, which I decided to read as a palate cleanser. It was okay, but I'm well out of the target age range and I kept wanting to ask spoilsport logistical questions like "How sentient is this robot dog supposed to be, actually?" and "Can you really enter a dog in a greyhound race on the morning of the race?" (not to mention "Isn't entering your robot dog in a race with ordinary dogs, you know, cheating?"). I went back and forth on whether to count it as an official attempt for the Book Chain - the cover image doesn't feature a person, but there are people present in the background - and decided against as much as anything else because of how slight it is.

Around the same time, I finished reading The Tolkien and Middle-Earth Handbook, which has a landscape on the cover with no people that I could see, but is disqualified because I've been reading it on and off since before I started the chain.

Official attempt #2 was Major Pettigrew's Last Stand by Helen Simonson, which I read fifty pages of and then... not abandoned, exactly, I have a feeling I might get back to it at some point when I'm in the right mood, but I'm certainly not in the right mood for it now. I remember saying when I read Remarkably Bright Creatures that if it weren't for the octopus it would be a kind of book I don't usually read; Major Pettigrew's Last Stand is that kind of book with no octopi in sight, nor the kind of spark that made me continue to be interested in the human characters of Remarkably Bright Creatures even when the octopus wasn't around. The main characters seem like sensible people, and I don't appear to be in any suspense about whether they're going to sort their problems out in the end, and in the mean time I'm not really in the frame of mind to enjoy watching people being smothered by social convention and being forced to confront their mortality.

After going through my TBR shelves and not finding anything that called out to me (at least, not that didn't have a person on the cover), I resorted to going to the local public library and wandering the stacks until I settled on Agatha Christie's The Mysterious Affair at Styles, in an edition which has the eponymous manor house on the cover with no people. From past experience with Christie, I'm reasonably confident I'll find it at least readable enough to get through it without giving up and that even if there's a few deaths there will be a minimum of people confronting their own mortality.

#5: Read a book where the author’s name is the same color on the cover as the previous book’s author’s name.

The Rout of the Ollafubs is a collection of linked short stories, with a shared setting and a cast of recurring characters, but focussing on a different character for each story (apart from the first and last, which bring all the characters together). I read it once when I was much younger, and some of the ideas and moments have stuck with me, along with a recollection that there were other parts I found dull and skipped over. Re-reading it as an adult, there are some imaginative ideas and fun characters, but the stories are rambling and lack clear stakes and in the end I feel that the whole is somewhat less than the sum of the parts. Some of the humour hasn't aged well, either, with parts of it depending on derogatory stereotypes of foreigners and the lower classes.

One of the things that made my experience of reading it now different from reading it back then is that now I'm able to recognise the influence of some of the other authors that preceded it; in particular, there were several points that reminded me strongly of George MacDonald's work in the genre, a comparison that tended to come out to Rout's detriment. With MacDonald, you can always tell that there's some underlying pattern or purpose even when the story's apparently being arbitrary; with this book, there were occasional moments where I got the sense that the author might have some idea of what the stories were driving at, but that idea never communicated itself to me (and the book ends with an explicit refusal to offer any explanations).

Of the individual stories, my favourites were the ones featuring the family of talking bears. There's something about making a bear cub with a Cornish accent the hero of a fantasy story that ensures it won't be as straightforward as a story revolving around a generic human protagonist, and these stories include most of the bits that had remained with me from my first read.


#6: Read a book that has the same colour spine as the previous book.

I'm currently working my way through The Friendship Factor by Alan Loy McGinnis, which is full of sensible advice about how to build better relationships with people that I'm probably never going to follow.

The Book Chain reading challenge is turning out to be quite motivating; I've already read two more books in the chain and started a third. I suppose it's because the set-up requires to one to start thinking about the next book one is going to read as soon as one has finished the previous book.


The third prompt in the challenge is to read a book where the title contains a noun or adjective that appears on page 50 of the previous book. The first adjective I found on that page was "light", so I read Sister Light, Sister Dark by Jane Yolen.

Sister Light, Sister Dark is the first half of a duology about a young woman with a long-prophesied world-shaking Destiny, although at the beginning of the book it's unclear what that destiny actually entails, because the ancient prophecy follows the traditional strategy of being impossible to understand until it's too late to dodge. At the end of the book, it's still pretty unclear, partly because things are only just beginning to really kick off but also partly because, in my view, the book does a less-than-stellar job of explaining what's going on in the world that might be shaken by a world-shaking Destiny. We get a very clear portrait of the isolated community the protagonist grows up in, and a few slightly-less-isolated neighbouring communities she visits over the course of the story, but the wider world remains foggy: somewhere away in the distance there's a king, and some guy trying to usurp the throne, but it's never really explained what the political situation is or what difference it makes to most of the people the story is actually about.

There's some interesting worldbuilding, including the titular light and dark sisters, who give an effectively otherworldly tone to the parts of the story where they feature. I was disappointed, though, by how much they felt like set dressing and didn't affect the (fundamentally rather familiar-feeling) plot. My reservations are probably addressed in the second half of the duology, but I find that I'm not in any hurry to find out.

One of the features of the book is that it's interspersed with legends and scholarly articles from later centuries, showing how the key events of the protagonist's life left their mark on posterity. The first few piqued my interest, but in the aggregate I felt that they rather weighed the story down, and although I got some wry humour from the scholars' biased misrepresentations of the past (including the repeated insistence on interpreting what the reader knows to be genuine supernatural events as metaphors or later inventions), I found that the accumulation of them had the effect of making me less invested in how things turn out: how important can the details of the protagonist's life really be, when posterity will forget most of it, misunderstand the rest, and believe none of it?


The fourth prompt is to read a book at least five years older than the third book. I read a Biggles novel I happened to have lying around, Biggles Forms a Syndicate. It's pretty slight, even compared to other Biggles books I've read; in particular, the nominal villain barely achieves anything in a plot where the environmental hazards are the real driver of the drama. But it passed a couple of hours and was an effective palate cleanser.


The fifth prompt is to read a book where the author's name on the cover is the same colour as on the fourth book. I've made a start on The Rout of the Ollafubs by K.G. Lethbridge, a collection of interlinked fantasy stories which share a setting and a recurring cast but each story has a different central character and a different style. I know I read through it once when I was much younger, but I seem to recall that I skimmed over the bits I was bored or confused by, and I'm interested to see how different it hits me at my current age.

My second attempt at a random book for February, Perfume by Patrick Süskind, came to the same end as the first: fifty pages in I didn't care about any of the characters (apart from maybe a couple who had appeared in one scene each and I was confident would not be appearing again) and I had no curiosity about where the plot, such as it was, was going, so I abandoned the book and moved on. Perfume struck me as a book that might appeal to the kind of reader who enjoys bathing in written language: parts of it are beautifully crafted, and there was some interest in the way the narrative was centred on the sense of smell instead of something more usual like sight or sound, but I'm not that kind of reader and I didn't feel like I was getting anything out of it that rewarded the time I was spending on it.

My third attempt, The Visitors by Clifford D. Simak, was more successful, in that I read nearly fifty pages in just the first sitting and went on to read the whole thing before consigning it to the box of books I intend to get rid of. It's a story about the arrival on Earth of a group of very alien aliens, and how the people of the United States (where the first one happens to land) react to the situation. In the first part of the story, when everyone's just trying to figure out what the first arrival is, I found myself less interested in the aliens than in the detailed account of a group of reporters and photographers covering the landing (I wasn't surprised when the opening sentence of the author's bio at the back of the book turned out to be "Clifford D. Simak is a newspaperman"). Later, we get more detail about the aliens, but I felt a lack of drama, partly because the presentation is very dry (lots of scenes of people in conference rooms telling each other things the author wants the reader to know) and partly because both the aliens and the key humans are so darn reasonable about the whole business. In the last third of the novel, the author starts developing the idea that the aliens might cause a lot of trouble with the best of intentions, just by not understanding the economic and political consequences of their attempts to be helpful, but the novel ends without the author committing to the idea, and trails off into more scenes of people in conference rooms talking about what might happen next. Even the obligatory last-second sting in the tail happens thirty pages before the end and gets talked to death before the novel's finally over. There's a kind of half-baked attempt to compare the aliens to the European colonialists in the New World, both early on when people are afraid the Visitors plan to move in and take over Earth without regard for its existing population and again later when they start handing out advanced technology, but it doesn't go anywhere deep or insightful and in the meantime it means we get stuck with a bunch of scenes of white people talking about Native Americans with varying degrees of knowledge and sympathy, including a character going on a four-page rant about, among other related topics, how the Europeans were doing the Native Americans (he doesn't say "Native Americans") a favour by stealing their land off them. (That guy isn't meant to be sympathetic, and he's only in that one chapter, but it left a bad taste).


At the board game group this week, I played Chomp (arrange tiles with dinosaurs and landscape on them so that the dinosaurs that will score you points don't get eaten, starve, or fall into tar pits), Ticket to Ride: Europe (lay out the best train routes on a map of Europe), and Santorini (build towers and be the first to have a worker at the top of a tower while preventing your opponents from completing their own towers or stealing yours).


During the periods when I've been using 750 Words regularly, I've mostly been using it as a place to keep a journal, but one day this week I used it for the original intended purpose of furthering creative writing. I'd been reminiscing about a story idea I had years ago, as a spin-off from another story I also never completed, and decided to dig out my old story notes and see if I could add to them. I looked in the folder on my computer and found the story notes for the original story idea, but there weren't any notes about the sequel story. So I decided that my 750 Words session for the day would be a brain dump of everything I could remember about the story idea, including the bits and pieces I could remember having made up for WIP memes and things over the years. When I was done, I tried a word search on my computer to try and find a scene fragment I knew I'd written out at some point; I didn't find that, but I did find that I had, after all, written an extensive set of notes on the story idea - I'd stashed them in a separate folder, because I was trying to make it work as a standalone story instead of a sequel, under a code name that I'd subsequently forgotten referred to that story. I don't think the brain dump was a wasted exercise, though, because it's useful to have a record of which parts of the idea have stuck with me over the fifteen years since I wrote the original story notes; in the unlikely event that I do ever write the story, that'll give me an indication of which parts of the story are the ones that really resonate with me.

I'm still mostly doing my 750 Words sessions in the mornings. I'm not happy about how it cuts into the time I could be using for morning exercise or other useful things, but one day this week I did the session at night because I hadn't found time earlier in the day, and was reminded how much of a struggle it was to do when I was tired.

. The family Christmas gathering was held a few days after Christmas this year, because that was when everybody could manage to be in the same place for the same few hours. (Including the out-of-town contingent, who I hadn't realised were also going to be there until I got a text message with a photo of something interesting they'd seen on the road here.) It was very nice to spend some time with everybody. My haul this year included several jigsaw puzzles, my siblings having taken note of how much I enjoyed working through my set of Magic Puzzles earlier this year (and possibly also of the fact that it's much easier to be sure that I don't already have a particular puzzle than that I don't already have a particular book).


. As the weather has been getting hotter, there's been an increasing issue at Parkrun with flies taking friendly interest in one's face, and the attendant risk of accidentally inhaling one. (Or nearly inhaling one, which is almost as bad.) After Parkrun last Saturday, I decided I'd had enough and afterward went straight to the shops to buy a protective net thing to wear over my head and keep them off. Step two is remembering to take it with me to Parkrun.


. My reading this week included Always Was, Always Will Be, written by Thomas Mayo, one of the campaigners for the Voice to Parliament, after the referendum went the way it did, which I saw in the new books display at the library and felt I should read; and, for a change of pace, E. Nesbit's The Railway Children, which I've been meaning to read for years and am very glad I finally did. (And not just because now I'll be less likely to keep getting it mixed up with The Boxcar Children and The Story of the Treasure Seekers.)


. I've started playing through XCOM: Enemy Unknown again. I set out with noble intentions that this would be the time I got through an entire playthrough without reverting to the last save point when things started going pear-shaped, and of course that didn't last but it did last longer than I might have predicted. As I've been getting back into the swing of it I've been pushing out the limit on what counts as going sufficiently wrong, and getting back near the mark of keeping going as long as a mission wasn't a complete failure, and re-learning that it is possible and even fun to recover from setbacks like having most of your most experienced squad wiped out in one go.


. Game Show 1939! is a fun podcast where contestants are faced with trivia questions sourced from quiz books published in the 1930s. "Some of the answers in the books have changed since then, and some of the answers were never right to begin with, but for the purposes of today's quiz the official correct answer is whatever was written in the book." Part of the format involves contestants being given a preview of the categories and trying to predict which ones they'll find easier to answer and which ones to force their opponent to answer. Most of the questions are followed by the host explaining who or what the question was about.