Books!

[desperance]

I don't talk enough about books, in this here blog. It was meant originally to be a writing blog, which I assumed would automatically mean that it would be a reading blog also. Then I discovered that the internet is full of folk who talk about writing, with far more clarity and purpose than I can; and that it's easier and more fun to talk about cats and cooking and the casual minor moans of a life occasionally glanced at sideways.

And yet. Books - the reading of books, as well as the making - are still the driving force of my life, and sometimes I go weeks without mentioning any.

This should change, perhaps.

Also, I am From Home and consequently reading differently. Yesterday I was sitting in the sun with a book, which is almost unheard-of back in Newcastle, in terms of time and activity and temperature all three; this morning I am reading on my laptop, which ditto ditto.

And such good books! Yesterday I finished Mechanique by Genevieve Valentine, which is one of those books that is like no other book you've ever read. I read on LJ that it was out of print, and reprinting; I found a copy in the dealers' room at BayCon, and looked because my interest had been piqued, and fell headlong; and I have adored it entirely, from start to finish. Much recommended.

And this morning I am proofing Judith Tarr's The Dagger and the Cross, for its forthcoming reissue from Book View Cafe. I'm a hundred pages in, and loving it. It's a Crusader fantasy, so it presses many of my buttons ab initio; and it keeps reminding me of the early Katherine Kurtz Deryni novels, in its mix of history and invention, and also of two races, the mortal and the magical. And also in the sheer damn quality of the thing. I was a little daunted, at the thought of 150K to proof on the laptop by the end of the month; but I'm loving it.

(Also neglecting my own work to do this, but hush. I can always catch up.)

(Time-debts accumulate like money-debts, you tell yourself you can always catch up, and sleep is for the weak, and so forth. And then suddenly there is too much debt and you can't borrow any more and... Well. Yeah.)

In other news, we're off to Pocatello, Idaho. Not sure about connectivity, up in the mountains there. I'll see you if I see you.

In other other news - as we're still talking about books - American Book Review has posted a list of the 100 best first lines. I dunno; it's a list, it's subjective, no one is ever going to agree with them all. Someone else can count the number of women, and the PoCs (and how often they're the same), and draw conclusions. I will merely note that I think some of these are on the list because they're great books, rather than great first lines; and some more for the challenge than the achievement [oh, all right: Walter Abish? Yes, it's terribly clever to write a 59-word sentence where each word begins with the letter A; it's the sort of thing I used to do when I was at school; it is not a great sentence by any measure. Also I have read it three times and I have no idea yet what it is about]. And it doesn't include one of my own favourites, Gore Vidal's Anthony Burgess's* opening to Earthly Powers: "It was the afternoon of my eighty first birthday and I was in bed with my catamite when Ali announced the archbishop had come to see me." (That's from memory; I'll take corrections.)

*What on earth was going on in my head there? Thanks to Lawrence for the correction...