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hawkwing_lbBooks 2009: 35-45
35. Michael Swanwick, The Iron Dragon's Daughter.
I found this book interesting, in a number of ways, in particular in the industrialisation of its magic and in the harshness of its social world. But its central thematic concern, or at least the central concern as it emerges (to me) in the chapter around Spiral Castle, which appears to be why does life hurt, is no longer a question which I find compelling, since it arises from an idea that the universe should or could be reasonable. But a good book, nonetheless.
36. Anthony Price, The Labyrinth Makers.
This was a gift from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rysmiel, on our brief encounter in March, and a generous and thoughtful gift it was too, since it's the first time someone's ever given me a book and had it fit with my tastes. It's a very good book, well and gracefully written and paced, if with the sparseness of language that seems characteristic of the spy and crime genres. It's very much a British Cold War novel, and a very interesting puzzle it has, concerning a WWII plane uncovered at the bottom of a lake in 1969. The somewhat bookish Dr David Audley, uncomfortable out of his office, makes for a rather compelling protagonist, and if the gender roles seem rather antiquated now, well, it was a book of 1970, so I suppose it can't really be helped.
A very good book.
37. Ursula LeGuin, The Earthsea Quartet.
I'm not sure whether I should count this as one book or four, but since they're all in one volume, I'm going to go with one. A very interesting set of works, mellow of pace and mellifluous of language, and a n ongoing discussion about the nature of power and selfhood and choice.
I may well be the last person in the world to read these. But I'm glad I didn't read them younger: I think I can appreciate them now in ways I would not have, before.
38. Alma Alexander, Worldweavers: Cybermage.
The third book of Alexander's YA trilogy. In addition to the cool and mythic stuff of previous books, it has Nikola Tesla. I liked it a whole lot.
39. Jim Butcher, Turncoat.
The latest Harry Dresden book. Fast-paced, and equal to its predecessors in quality. I enjoyed it, even if I did see the traitor from a mile off.
40. Anne Bishop, The Shadow Queen.
A strangely incomplete and unbalanced book. I cannot recommend it.
41&42. Patricia Briggs, Cry Wolf and Iron Kissed.
Read in the depths of my brain-deadness. They struck me as rather incomplete and slightly askew: but I believe it has been established I am no great reader of romances.
43&44. J.D. Robb, Strangers in Death and Salvation in Death.
Predictable futuristic mysteries, with no great grace of prose to recommend them.
non-fiction:
45. A. Wallace-Hadrill, Houses and Society in Pompeii and Herculaneum (Princeton University Press, 1996).
This is the first of my exam reading list that I actually read cover-to-cover (and is, along with David Mattinglys Tripolitania, which I did not have time to read cover-to-cover, one of two I now covet for my very own). It's not a particularly long book, but it is a marvellous investigation into the relationship between house and society, and exceedingly well-written: Wallace-Hadrill succeeds in making even his statistical comparisons of the different house sizes compelling. The inter-relationship of industry, status, family, servant and tenant is all examined.
I most sincerely recommend it: it has opened up to me entire new ways of thinking about the house in the ancient town.
This has been a weekend of surpassingly fine weather. On Saturday, I passed through the edges of the Dublin maritime festival, with all the tallships - oh, not many, only eight or so - drawn up along the quays, surrounded by stalls selling food and drink - fudge from the west of Ireland, breads and cakes from Italy, biscuits from Holland, cheeses from Belgium, wine from France - and spent a while listening to the band playing on the deck of the Kathleen and May, a tallship owned by a French company, engaged in transporting organic wine by sail.
I spent some time in the library, where I was reminded that it was a friend's 21st that evening, so there was Unexpected Party - I don't get to many parties, but I thoroughly enjoyed that one, mainly because I found a corner full of my college mates where the company was congenial and no one was utterly plastered - and slept in and got sunburned on Sunday. Today, there was swimming, in water much warmer than I expected that was nonetheless cold.
Tomorrow, I must return to studying for my final two exams: this has been a blessed rest, but I can't let myself get used to it, yet.
35. Michael Swanwick, The Iron Dragon's Daughter.
I found this book interesting, in a number of ways, in particular in the industrialisation of its magic and in the harshness of its social world. But its central thematic concern, or at least the central concern as it emerges (to me) in the chapter around Spiral Castle, which appears to be why does life hurt, is no longer a question which I find compelling, since it arises from an idea that the universe should or could be reasonable. But a good book, nonetheless.
36. Anthony Price, The Labyrinth Makers.
This was a gift from
rysmiel, on our brief encounter in March, and a generous and thoughtful gift it was too, since it's the first time someone's ever given me a book and had it fit with my tastes. It's a very good book, well and gracefully written and paced, if with the sparseness of language that seems characteristic of the spy and crime genres. It's very much a British Cold War novel, and a very interesting puzzle it has, concerning a WWII plane uncovered at the bottom of a lake in 1969. The somewhat bookish Dr David Audley, uncomfortable out of his office, makes for a rather compelling protagonist, and if the gender roles seem rather antiquated now, well, it was a book of 1970, so I suppose it can't really be helped.A very good book.
37. Ursula LeGuin, The Earthsea Quartet.
I'm not sure whether I should count this as one book or four, but since they're all in one volume, I'm going to go with one. A very interesting set of works, mellow of pace and mellifluous of language, and a n ongoing discussion about the nature of power and selfhood and choice.
I may well be the last person in the world to read these. But I'm glad I didn't read them younger: I think I can appreciate them now in ways I would not have, before.
38. Alma Alexander, Worldweavers: Cybermage.
The third book of Alexander's YA trilogy. In addition to the cool and mythic stuff of previous books, it has Nikola Tesla. I liked it a whole lot.
39. Jim Butcher, Turncoat.
The latest Harry Dresden book. Fast-paced, and equal to its predecessors in quality. I enjoyed it, even if I did see the traitor from a mile off.
40. Anne Bishop, The Shadow Queen.
A strangely incomplete and unbalanced book. I cannot recommend it.
41&42. Patricia Briggs, Cry Wolf and Iron Kissed.
Read in the depths of my brain-deadness. They struck me as rather incomplete and slightly askew: but I believe it has been established I am no great reader of romances.
43&44. J.D. Robb, Strangers in Death and Salvation in Death.
Predictable futuristic mysteries, with no great grace of prose to recommend them.
non-fiction:
45. A. Wallace-Hadrill, Houses and Society in Pompeii and Herculaneum (Princeton University Press, 1996).
This is the first of my exam reading list that I actually read cover-to-cover (and is, along with David Mattinglys Tripolitania, which I did not have time to read cover-to-cover, one of two I now covet for my very own). It's not a particularly long book, but it is a marvellous investigation into the relationship between house and society, and exceedingly well-written: Wallace-Hadrill succeeds in making even his statistical comparisons of the different house sizes compelling. The inter-relationship of industry, status, family, servant and tenant is all examined.
I most sincerely recommend it: it has opened up to me entire new ways of thinking about the house in the ancient town.
This has been a weekend of surpassingly fine weather. On Saturday, I passed through the edges of the Dublin maritime festival, with all the tallships - oh, not many, only eight or so - drawn up along the quays, surrounded by stalls selling food and drink - fudge from the west of Ireland, breads and cakes from Italy, biscuits from Holland, cheeses from Belgium, wine from France - and spent a while listening to the band playing on the deck of the Kathleen and May, a tallship owned by a French company, engaged in transporting organic wine by sail.
I spent some time in the library, where I was reminded that it was a friend's 21st that evening, so there was Unexpected Party - I don't get to many parties, but I thoroughly enjoyed that one, mainly because I found a corner full of my college mates where the company was congenial and no one was utterly plastered - and slept in and got sunburned on Sunday. Today, there was swimming, in water much warmer than I expected that was nonetheless cold.
Tomorrow, I must return to studying for my final two exams: this has been a blessed rest, but I can't let myself get used to it, yet.
