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hawkwing_lbMy book-buying and book-reading habits are way up.
Everything else is way down. You know, one day I may have to do some serious thinking about balance, among other things.
But not tonight.
Books 133-144, Fiction 126-137:
126. Territory, Emma Bull.
The world needs more magical Westerns. Particularly Westerns like this one, written with compassion and verve and an eye for detail. It's a quiet, almost low-key story, with well-drawn characters and a somewhat bittersweet arc, and I loved it. Lots.
127. Spellbinder: A Love Story with Magical Interruptions, Melanie Rawn.
This book is pretty much exactly what it says on the cover. It's an excellent romance, but I have an ambivalent relationship with that particular genre: romance is inherently predictable.
Fortunately, this is one of those books where that doesn't matter so much, because you're just enjoying the ride.
128. Off Armaggeddon Reef, David Weber.
Now I remember why I was putting off reading this. It's written in Weber's usual reasonably engaging style, but he's covered much the same ground with rather more energy in Heirs to the Empire. Ultimately, a disappointing read. Since I was hoping for something with a little more freshness about it.
129-131. Linnea Sinclair, Games of Command, Gabriel's Ghost, and An Accidental Goddess.
Fairly straightforward science fiction romance, whose debt to the likes of Star Wars is obvious at first glance. That doesn't make them any less enjoyable: in fact, their unapologetic space western tone makes them rather refreshing. Games of Command is probable closest in spirit to space opera, with Gabriel's Ghost falling in behind, and An Accidental Goddess is nearly all romance.
Not suprisingly, I enjoyed Games the most. But they're all decent reading for an evening on the train.
132-133. Laurell K. Hamilton, Danse Macabre and The Harlequin.
About what you'd expect. Harlequin shows signs of moving away from the all sex, all the time, Anita Blake that's been so irritating. I enjoy the tone and the emerging politics, but we're not seeing a return to the early days any time soon, I'd bet.
134. Seeker, Jack McDevitt.
McDevitt's Alex Benedict novels can be described in two short phrases: future history! and archaeology in space!
It's this latter, along with excellent characterisation and an attention to detail in laying clues and false trails that puts a murder mystery to shame, that makes my heart go pitter-pat. So to speak. Great stuff.
135. Inda, Sherwood Smith.
Fairly standard coming-of-age novel. It feels a little long-winded to me: I was running out of reasons to care by the time we hit the closing pages, though it wound up with a bang-up revelation that'll probably see me reading the second volume of the trilogy when it reaches paperback.
I'm ambivalent.
136-137. Rosemary Kirstein, The Lost Steersman and The Language of Power.
I hold Rosemary Kirstein in awe. The Steerswoman books can only be described as tours de force of language, and characterisation, and theme, and direction. They are wonderful, amazing, stunning, thought-provoking, stimulating, marvellous, with a fluidity of prose that is at once transparent and at times magnificently lyrical.
Um. I could go on, but I suspect that might prove embarrassing.
---
I've just counted the books on my TBR shelf. They number 28, not counting the 15-odd non-fiction awaiting my attention. Eep.
I should direct my attention to balance, lest some of them fall over.
Everything else is way down. You know, one day I may have to do some serious thinking about balance, among other things.
But not tonight.
Books 133-144, Fiction 126-137:
126. Territory, Emma Bull.
The world needs more magical Westerns. Particularly Westerns like this one, written with compassion and verve and an eye for detail. It's a quiet, almost low-key story, with well-drawn characters and a somewhat bittersweet arc, and I loved it. Lots.
127. Spellbinder: A Love Story with Magical Interruptions, Melanie Rawn.
This book is pretty much exactly what it says on the cover. It's an excellent romance, but I have an ambivalent relationship with that particular genre: romance is inherently predictable.
Fortunately, this is one of those books where that doesn't matter so much, because you're just enjoying the ride.
128. Off Armaggeddon Reef, David Weber.
Now I remember why I was putting off reading this. It's written in Weber's usual reasonably engaging style, but he's covered much the same ground with rather more energy in Heirs to the Empire. Ultimately, a disappointing read. Since I was hoping for something with a little more freshness about it.
129-131. Linnea Sinclair, Games of Command, Gabriel's Ghost, and An Accidental Goddess.
Fairly straightforward science fiction romance, whose debt to the likes of Star Wars is obvious at first glance. That doesn't make them any less enjoyable: in fact, their unapologetic space western tone makes them rather refreshing. Games of Command is probable closest in spirit to space opera, with Gabriel's Ghost falling in behind, and An Accidental Goddess is nearly all romance.
Not suprisingly, I enjoyed Games the most. But they're all decent reading for an evening on the train.
132-133. Laurell K. Hamilton, Danse Macabre and The Harlequin.
About what you'd expect. Harlequin shows signs of moving away from the all sex, all the time, Anita Blake that's been so irritating. I enjoy the tone and the emerging politics, but we're not seeing a return to the early days any time soon, I'd bet.
134. Seeker, Jack McDevitt.
McDevitt's Alex Benedict novels can be described in two short phrases: future history! and archaeology in space!
It's this latter, along with excellent characterisation and an attention to detail in laying clues and false trails that puts a murder mystery to shame, that makes my heart go pitter-pat. So to speak. Great stuff.
135. Inda, Sherwood Smith.
Fairly standard coming-of-age novel. It feels a little long-winded to me: I was running out of reasons to care by the time we hit the closing pages, though it wound up with a bang-up revelation that'll probably see me reading the second volume of the trilogy when it reaches paperback.
I'm ambivalent.
136-137. Rosemary Kirstein, The Lost Steersman and The Language of Power.
I hold Rosemary Kirstein in awe. The Steerswoman books can only be described as tours de force of language, and characterisation, and theme, and direction. They are wonderful, amazing, stunning, thought-provoking, stimulating, marvellous, with a fluidity of prose that is at once transparent and at times magnificently lyrical.
Um. I could go on, but I suspect that might prove embarrassing.
---
I've just counted the books on my TBR shelf. They number 28, not counting the 15-odd non-fiction awaiting my attention. Eep.
I should direct my attention to balance, lest some of them fall over.
