too much wine
I finished The Fiery Cross yesterday. And I did a new court yesterday. Which was all kinds of exciting until the hearing actually began and became the most mindnumbingly boring freezing thing. It totally put a whole new spin on the other courts I do because those cases are often a single person being all morally outraged or conniving against the system or the establishment. Which frequently affords a verrah interesting insight into the psychology of organisations and individuals. This court seems to be about corporate fucking property developers wrangling with bloody minded government agencies. Which, you know, could I care any less about?? Eeeyeessh.
First words out of my mouth today at work: "Bags not doing That Court!" And I got my way. Hee. Repeatedly.
So yesterday during the Interminable Hearing, I resorted to reading my Gabaldon during the witness evidence. Concurrent evidence, as in two witnesses in the box. And it still managed to be tedious. Gah! If those were any fair representation, remind me never to engage in conversation with a valuer. I read a good thirty pages of The Fiery Cross, traumatic pages even, and still managed to properly log the names and speakers. Which was some kind of dangerous excitement cos oooohhhhh, lookit me being all risky wif the court monitoring. What if I miss something?? What, with these two wankers? Sheesh. I'd rather find out what's happening with Claire and Jamie, risk be damned.
Unfortunately, this meant I finished The Fiery Cross on the luncheon adjournment. Aaaaaarrrrgggghhhh! Now there's one very definite kind of horror cos omigod, two more hours without a book?? Kill me now. I managed by going through the novel notes in my journal.
Now this new Gabaldon is a bit of a doorstop of a book, comparable with Strange & Norrell. So naturally me lugging it from office to court to court to office over this past week has inevitably invited comment. And while waiting to get back into the room after lunch, the applicant in the hearing --- yes, the property developer hisself --- struck up a conversation about this doorstop of a book. Sweet very affable sort of older guy, the kind of ethnic dude with such Ben Kingsley old world humility and sweetness and good manners that he kinda put my own ethnic teeth on edge. Dude, you don't need to bow quite so deep when you duck out of the court for a pee!
He asks me what the book is. I show him the cover. And he proceeds to inform me that it's a verrah meaningful title. Uh huh. He hasn't actually read the book, mind you, he just got that from the cover. But, see, the most hilarious and irritating thing about this is I was thinking about that very thing on the morning bus. So I know I'm a wanker anyway but does this make me the exact same sort of wanker he is? Oh GOD! Talk about brutal irony. Owie, dri. So to combat this horrible moment of self-revelation, I engage in conversation and almost end up in a religious anthropological debate. *facepalm* Later when court resumed, I was sitting in the monitor booth, slightly in awe of much specialised information is in my head that he doesn't have and, by the same token, how much specialised information is in the head of that property developer that I don't have.
Sidenote: I really wish people would stop telling me I need to find faith. Smacks of exactly the sanctimonious religious hypocrisy that has me telling my Aunt very firmly she'll be attending midnight mass this Christmas on her own. I think the dude thought because he's having no luck with his atheist psych student daughter, he might do better with me. Gah.
So having established just what kind of wanker I am, The Fiery Cross. When I discovered the title way back when and knowing enough of the series' direction, I figured this novel would be very heavily steeped in war. Cos yeah, fire = destruction, cross = burden in addition to the whole apocalyptic image and KKK imagery. But this close to the end, I was a little perplexed at the absence of military carnage, even somewhat disconcerted by the intense domesticity of the story so far. Earlier in the narrative, yes, a cross was raised and it was set alight. And it was utterly utterly fascinating how very different the explanation was to all the popular connections I had drawn.
It's about community, ostentatiously yes a call to arms, but Jamie in fact created a community around him. His wife, his son-in-law, and one by one his tenants. And that was so very very beautiful. In fact, Claire mentioned that this was probably where the KKK symbol came from, a sort of bastardised appropriation of something that had come from the Scottish clans.
Hey, Claire said it and I'll believe anything she says. She is so awesome. Claire and Tenar and Jane and Granny Weatherwax and Tiffany and Liadan and Sorcha, they're my female literary heroines of worship.
And yet, and yet there was so so much death in this book. It hung over the whole narrative, palled over both Claire and Jamie, it made me almost sick with dread 'cause I so don't want to suffer the loss of these two. I've pretty gone from teenagehood to (semi)adulthood with them. I still want to fall in love with a man like Jamie Fraser. So there's the destruction and burden, I suppose. Just fascinating, utterly fascinating that a book with such a bloodthirsty title should be so very much about hearth and home and family and handle the awful threat of death in this subtle fashion rather than steel and mud and crows. Seriously, Gabaldon writing about Culloden has bloody seared that event of Scottish history into my bloody racial memory.
But because it didn't, I'm now bracing myself for the next novel in the series, A Breath Of Snow & Ashes, the one in the bookshops now. If she kills them, I really will hate her forever. *sob*
So now I'm reading the novella, Lord John And The Private Matter. It's good to see Gabaldon write this happily about homosexuality without the slight unease or outright perversion of the other novels. That really really bothered me on this re-read. See, the bad guy for the first three novels was Jonathan Randall. Because of him, both Jamie and I have this total abhorrence for the scent of lavender. He was rampantly gay and Claire constantly referred to him as a pervert. Which niggled at me cos it was ambiguous enough for me to wonder whether it was the homosexuality she thought perverse. *shudder* Did not want to believe that either Gabaldon or my beloved Claire was homophobic. Twas relatively understandable if Jamie was, being a very heterosexual Papist Scot as he is. I could forgive him for being a product of his time. Couldn't forgive them, though.
But there was enough space there for me to hope she meant the total sadistic violence of him as perverse. And he really was hideous. Awful awful skin-crawlingly vicious man.
Then there was the Duke of Sandringham portrayed as a pedophile and another baddie. A pedophile with a taste for boys and a little too effeminate. Kinda made me screw up my nose and go "Okay, Diana, what's with both the baddies being gay?" Sure, there were very heterosexual baddies too but the homosexuality of these two kinda tipped them over the creepy edge. Hate that, hate that.
Funny, though. I wonder if someone did point that out to her or whether, upon re-reads of her own novels, she realised it herself. Cos Lord John Grey is quietly and resolutely gay and enough of a goodie that he gets his own novella. And such is the skill of Gabaldon that I was just as jealous and slightly creeped out by him as Claire was. Come to think of it, it's only Brianna's interaction with him in Drums In Autumn that made me really really like him. I always wanted to like him cos he was a not-bad gay guy but the jealousy of Claire and the subtle unease of Jamie always got in the way. Funny how a writer can be so skilful that the emotions of her characters become your own.
But then I've never liked Brianna. Hell, I realise now she was the reason I quit reading the series way back when. In Drums of Autumn, I didn't relate to her emotions, didn't understand her reasons, didn't agree with her decisions and when the bad thing happened to her, it was enough for me to throw down the book and storm away, furious with Gabaldon that she let it, made it happen. And remember when I said, maybe this time around, ten years later, I might relate differently to the series, to the characters? It was really Brianna and the Bad Event I meant.
And I still didn't understand or like that it happened. Only now I realise it's because I don't like Brianna herself. So while maybe other readers might feel horror and sympathy and shed some tears for Brianna and her Bad Event, I was just furious with her for putting herself in the situation and for something as small and stupid as a ring. I didn't like the way she toyed with Roger, didn't like the way she moaned about Claire, really really couldn't see what Roger and Claire saw and loved in her. *shrug*
Now with her steady maturation, I can tolerate her. I still don't like her in her own right. But if Claire and Roger love her, I can accept that.
It was absolutely fascinating what Gabaldon did with Roger in The Fiery Cross. I realise I could have reacted to his Bad Event the same way I did with Brianna. But funnily enough, I didn't. It so wasn't of his own making, he really was trying so very hard to do the right thing and the evil sodding jealous bastard betrayed him. So as a reader, it was very gratifying and suitably horrible 'cause I was on the Bad Event right in the middle of court and was actually gaping at the page, thinking "Omigod, she's not, she's not going to put me through this!" And she did but she brought me through and it was pretty harrowing but so so so good for Roger and so so so awesome for the reader's connection to Roger. When before I was slightly exasperated but tolerant of him, he came through it so truthfully and awesomely that I really can't help but love him fiercely. As a writer though, omigod, I cannot believe the sheer awesomeness and bravery of her, to take the one thing that defined him and gave him worth in that society so completely and brutally away from him. Jesus. I'm in total awe. That's the measure of a writer, aye? When you can build up a character to human truth and then break them totally perfectly apart and then put them back together in stronger finer shape. God, that's so fucking brilliant. That's something to aspire to. (possibly also not ending a sentence on a conjunction, too. wanker, wanker!)
So I snuck a look at the price of A Breath Of Snow & Ashes in Angus & Robertson today and resisted the temptation cos Glebe Library's supposed to be getting it in for me from (ha) Waterloo.
First words out of my mouth today at work: "Bags not doing That Court!" And I got my way. Hee. Repeatedly.
So yesterday during the Interminable Hearing, I resorted to reading my Gabaldon during the witness evidence. Concurrent evidence, as in two witnesses in the box. And it still managed to be tedious. Gah! If those were any fair representation, remind me never to engage in conversation with a valuer. I read a good thirty pages of The Fiery Cross, traumatic pages even, and still managed to properly log the names and speakers. Which was some kind of dangerous excitement cos oooohhhhh, lookit me being all risky wif the court monitoring. What if I miss something?? What, with these two wankers? Sheesh. I'd rather find out what's happening with Claire and Jamie, risk be damned.
Unfortunately, this meant I finished The Fiery Cross on the luncheon adjournment. Aaaaaarrrrgggghhhh! Now there's one very definite kind of horror cos omigod, two more hours without a book?? Kill me now. I managed by going through the novel notes in my journal.
Now this new Gabaldon is a bit of a doorstop of a book, comparable with Strange & Norrell. So naturally me lugging it from office to court to court to office over this past week has inevitably invited comment. And while waiting to get back into the room after lunch, the applicant in the hearing --- yes, the property developer hisself --- struck up a conversation about this doorstop of a book. Sweet very affable sort of older guy, the kind of ethnic dude with such Ben Kingsley old world humility and sweetness and good manners that he kinda put my own ethnic teeth on edge. Dude, you don't need to bow quite so deep when you duck out of the court for a pee!
He asks me what the book is. I show him the cover. And he proceeds to inform me that it's a verrah meaningful title. Uh huh. He hasn't actually read the book, mind you, he just got that from the cover. But, see, the most hilarious and irritating thing about this is I was thinking about that very thing on the morning bus. So I know I'm a wanker anyway but does this make me the exact same sort of wanker he is? Oh GOD! Talk about brutal irony. Owie, dri. So to combat this horrible moment of self-revelation, I engage in conversation and almost end up in a religious anthropological debate. *facepalm* Later when court resumed, I was sitting in the monitor booth, slightly in awe of much specialised information is in my head that he doesn't have and, by the same token, how much specialised information is in the head of that property developer that I don't have.
Sidenote: I really wish people would stop telling me I need to find faith. Smacks of exactly the sanctimonious religious hypocrisy that has me telling my Aunt very firmly she'll be attending midnight mass this Christmas on her own. I think the dude thought because he's having no luck with his atheist psych student daughter, he might do better with me. Gah.
So having established just what kind of wanker I am, The Fiery Cross. When I discovered the title way back when and knowing enough of the series' direction, I figured this novel would be very heavily steeped in war. Cos yeah, fire = destruction, cross = burden in addition to the whole apocalyptic image and KKK imagery. But this close to the end, I was a little perplexed at the absence of military carnage, even somewhat disconcerted by the intense domesticity of the story so far. Earlier in the narrative, yes, a cross was raised and it was set alight. And it was utterly utterly fascinating how very different the explanation was to all the popular connections I had drawn.
It's about community, ostentatiously yes a call to arms, but Jamie in fact created a community around him. His wife, his son-in-law, and one by one his tenants. And that was so very very beautiful. In fact, Claire mentioned that this was probably where the KKK symbol came from, a sort of bastardised appropriation of something that had come from the Scottish clans.
Hey, Claire said it and I'll believe anything she says. She is so awesome. Claire and Tenar and Jane and Granny Weatherwax and Tiffany and Liadan and Sorcha, they're my female literary heroines of worship.
And yet, and yet there was so so much death in this book. It hung over the whole narrative, palled over both Claire and Jamie, it made me almost sick with dread 'cause I so don't want to suffer the loss of these two. I've pretty gone from teenagehood to (semi)adulthood with them. I still want to fall in love with a man like Jamie Fraser. So there's the destruction and burden, I suppose. Just fascinating, utterly fascinating that a book with such a bloodthirsty title should be so very much about hearth and home and family and handle the awful threat of death in this subtle fashion rather than steel and mud and crows. Seriously, Gabaldon writing about Culloden has bloody seared that event of Scottish history into my bloody racial memory.
But because it didn't, I'm now bracing myself for the next novel in the series, A Breath Of Snow & Ashes, the one in the bookshops now. If she kills them, I really will hate her forever. *sob*
So now I'm reading the novella, Lord John And The Private Matter. It's good to see Gabaldon write this happily about homosexuality without the slight unease or outright perversion of the other novels. That really really bothered me on this re-read. See, the bad guy for the first three novels was Jonathan Randall. Because of him, both Jamie and I have this total abhorrence for the scent of lavender. He was rampantly gay and Claire constantly referred to him as a pervert. Which niggled at me cos it was ambiguous enough for me to wonder whether it was the homosexuality she thought perverse. *shudder* Did not want to believe that either Gabaldon or my beloved Claire was homophobic. Twas relatively understandable if Jamie was, being a very heterosexual Papist Scot as he is. I could forgive him for being a product of his time. Couldn't forgive them, though.
But there was enough space there for me to hope she meant the total sadistic violence of him as perverse. And he really was hideous. Awful awful skin-crawlingly vicious man.
Then there was the Duke of Sandringham portrayed as a pedophile and another baddie. A pedophile with a taste for boys and a little too effeminate. Kinda made me screw up my nose and go "Okay, Diana, what's with both the baddies being gay?" Sure, there were very heterosexual baddies too but the homosexuality of these two kinda tipped them over the creepy edge. Hate that, hate that.
Funny, though. I wonder if someone did point that out to her or whether, upon re-reads of her own novels, she realised it herself. Cos Lord John Grey is quietly and resolutely gay and enough of a goodie that he gets his own novella. And such is the skill of Gabaldon that I was just as jealous and slightly creeped out by him as Claire was. Come to think of it, it's only Brianna's interaction with him in Drums In Autumn that made me really really like him. I always wanted to like him cos he was a not-bad gay guy but the jealousy of Claire and the subtle unease of Jamie always got in the way. Funny how a writer can be so skilful that the emotions of her characters become your own.
But then I've never liked Brianna. Hell, I realise now she was the reason I quit reading the series way back when. In Drums of Autumn, I didn't relate to her emotions, didn't understand her reasons, didn't agree with her decisions and when the bad thing happened to her, it was enough for me to throw down the book and storm away, furious with Gabaldon that she let it, made it happen. And remember when I said, maybe this time around, ten years later, I might relate differently to the series, to the characters? It was really Brianna and the Bad Event I meant.
And I still didn't understand or like that it happened. Only now I realise it's because I don't like Brianna herself. So while maybe other readers might feel horror and sympathy and shed some tears for Brianna and her Bad Event, I was just furious with her for putting herself in the situation and for something as small and stupid as a ring. I didn't like the way she toyed with Roger, didn't like the way she moaned about Claire, really really couldn't see what Roger and Claire saw and loved in her. *shrug*
Now with her steady maturation, I can tolerate her. I still don't like her in her own right. But if Claire and Roger love her, I can accept that.
It was absolutely fascinating what Gabaldon did with Roger in The Fiery Cross. I realise I could have reacted to his Bad Event the same way I did with Brianna. But funnily enough, I didn't. It so wasn't of his own making, he really was trying so very hard to do the right thing and the evil sodding jealous bastard betrayed him. So as a reader, it was very gratifying and suitably horrible 'cause I was on the Bad Event right in the middle of court and was actually gaping at the page, thinking "Omigod, she's not, she's not going to put me through this!" And she did but she brought me through and it was pretty harrowing but so so so good for Roger and so so so awesome for the reader's connection to Roger. When before I was slightly exasperated but tolerant of him, he came through it so truthfully and awesomely that I really can't help but love him fiercely. As a writer though, omigod, I cannot believe the sheer awesomeness and bravery of her, to take the one thing that defined him and gave him worth in that society so completely and brutally away from him. Jesus. I'm in total awe. That's the measure of a writer, aye? When you can build up a character to human truth and then break them totally perfectly apart and then put them back together in stronger finer shape. God, that's so fucking brilliant. That's something to aspire to. (possibly also not ending a sentence on a conjunction, too. wanker, wanker!)
So I snuck a look at the price of A Breath Of Snow & Ashes in Angus & Robertson today and resisted the temptation cos Glebe Library's supposed to be getting it in for me from (ha) Waterloo.