May. 27th, 2012

hawkwing_lb: (Helps if they think you're crazy)
Books 2012: 83-84


83. M.K. Hobson, The Native Star. (Spectra, 2010.)

I believe it was [personal profile] anne who described this as a slight book. I have to agree: there is little here of substance, and ultimately failed to portray its world or characters in convincing depth. Afficionados of late-19th-century fantasy Americana may be entertained by this fish-out-of-water quest-cum-love story, but it has little to say for itself that has not been said better elsewhere.


84. Ian McDonald, King of Morning, Queen of Day. (Bantam, 1992.)

An astonishing and accomplished novel, if stylistically difficult and, conceptually, very much working in a postmodernist vein. (I hate postmodernism as found in literature, normally. This? This is very much an exception.) It is also a deeply Irish book. And it treats the fantastic in an oddly slipstream/cyberpunkish/sfnal fashion. Although, hmm. I do not feel that the ending was earned.

I mean, I still have no plans to read Brasyl or River of Gods or the like. But this is a damned interesting book.




I am tired and sour and hate the world. I wonder why? Oh, right. I have work to do, and cannot conceive of how to start. (And fretting about finances and other things I cannot change is very wearing. I must wait until August to know if I have achieved funding, and backup plans cannot be set out upon without more knowledge of what shall come to pass at that time. Sigh.)
hawkwing_lb: (Liara doing)
The brief but glorious summer continues. I read part of a book on the not-so-busy north strand and swam when the tide was high on the crowded harbour beach. Waves too high and wild to properly swim, but the water warmer (to perception) even than yesterday, almost temperate. Some Polish lads were peeling pink, and some black lads teased me in a friendly manner about going for a dip, and dozens of skinny Irish children screamed in the shallows and jumped into breaking surf.

But soon the summer will disappear, and we will wonder, "Was it all a dream?" "Does the sun even exist?" "Perhaps it was a hallucination brought on by chemicals in the rain." But by the Peeling Tomato shade of healing sunburn, we shall know it was true, and that once, once, the sun appeared in glory.

And the memory of light will endure behind the clouds of another year. *strikes a grand and tragic pose*

Therefore let us continue on towards suppertime. And have cake and grapes, because it is summer.

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