Books 49-51 (2007); Books 1-4 (2008); some movies.
I spent 7 billable hours on Friday and 10 on Saturday at a conference, pretending to care about various details of our micromanaged decorations and, also, people. I don't mind working a registration desk, greeting half of the alphabet and repeating the same instructions 90-110 times. But I loathe groups of people. Not knowing who they are individually, I always perceive them as a single, incredibly stupid entity, as if it were one person making the same banal remarks (the air conditioning, the presence or absence of particular items on the snack counter, the timing of the giveaways) over and over again, rather than 15 out of 220 people making them at various times. I have a similar problem talking with clients on the phone; although I know that providing one person with information informs only that one person, it bugs me to be encountering the same cluelessness over and over again - or, as it seems, endlessly and from a single source.
Oh, but meanwhile burn on the group that certified our conference materials: I wrote a good 70% of the training curricula myself, and I don't know from childcare. I read a handful of books, and then I birthed some cleanly formatted, blandly authoritative PowerPoints. The Liberal Arts Avenger strikes again!
In honor of my survival, let's talk about books, starting with 2007 and continuing to Wednesday of last week. Starting that Thursday, when I got a library card, everything changed, so that can wait for a bit.
Das Steinerne Licht and Das Gläserne Wort, Kai Meyer (2002). I'll review these two together, since they're parts of the same story and since, like Die Fließende Königin, I'm not so much reviewing them as commenting on my having read them in German. We dissected all that again in the last entry, which doesn't leave me much to add. I think the author built the story a little too solidly: the revelations come thick and fast as you approach the end, thoroughly answering several questions my children's-fiction-reading mind had not bothered to ask. But when I say that this series would make amazing movies, I mean it in the best way. There's a reanimated Pharaoh, a world of mirrors, some mermaids, and a terrifying surgeon in Hell. And a flying stone lion who later becomes a glowing, flying stone lion. Two thumbs up, unless of course that's a rude gesture where you are.
Im Zeichen der Löwin: Die Entscheidung, Tamora Pierce (1999/2007). While combing the Haus des Buches for more affordable (paperback), approachable (kids') fiction, I found a "new" book by the author of one of my favorite English-language series, the goofily-named "Song of the Lioness Quartet", or what normal people would call "the Alanna books". Aside: I love the Alanna books because the heroine is realistically smaller and weaker than most of the males, yet attains the status of Unquestioned Ass Kicker via hard work that you actually get to see. She wakes up early to practice and complains about it, rather than finding the Sword of Whatever and becoming a hero overnight. Then she has a handful of affairs rather than skipping right to Prince Charming. And her righteous indignation the first time she gets her period is perfect. Yeah, so, you can and should read the whole Alanna series some afternoon.
This book, as the title ([In the Sign of the Lioness: the Decision]) suggests, is from that same universe, but stars someone else. Maybe I'm just old now, or my expectations were too high, or the translation was bad, but I didn't care so much for this one. It continues the transparent stereotyping of the previous series (with the vaguely Arab desert tribes and the mystic East and so on), but the core element isn't nearly as strong. The new protagonist, a young martial artist (she's vaguely Japanese), suppresses her emotions to the point of being unsympathetic, and the role of bad guy is filled by an old, conservative, sexist dude, rather than by a sorcerer/would-be usurper who slowly develops an uncomfortable obsession with the main character after his own resurrection. I mean, maybe later in the series the old guy also tries to destroy the Earth and then trap the heroine with him in some kind of weird death pact, but what are the odds?
I also read Mark Twain's Bummel durch Europa last year, but I've chosen not to count it because my level of comprehension wasn't as high there as with the children's fiction. And finally, Barbara Tuchman's Der ferne Spiegel was technically a reread, despite the language change - and anyway, that was January. It's a measure of the regrettable post-trip forgetting that I can barely believe I read six-plus books in German a few months ago.
This year, I had a late start in February, which would constitute a handicap if anyone cared that much about me reaching the 50-book mark. To be honest, I would have dropped it for this year, except: 1) I can hardly afford to abandon one of my few excuses for posting and 2) I kicked this year off in style with two amazingly bad choices I can't wait to share. Yes, my friends, I read a pair of ROMANCE NOVELS, and what's more, they are CAJUN-THEMED ROMANCE NOVELS WRITTEN BY SOME YANKEE. No, wait, they are CAJUN-THEMED ROMANCE NOVELS WRITTEN BY SOME YANKEE AND FEATURING, IN A SUPPORTING ROLE, TELEPATHIC STATUES OF SAINT JUDE.
You. Guys.
The Cajun Cowboy, Sandra Hill (2004) and The Red-Hot Cajun, ibid (2005). Probably the worst thing you can do with romance novels is read two by the same author in a short period, because then the specifics of the sex scenes reinforce one another and you find yourself knowing far too much about the author's preferences in that department. So, assuming you will only read one of these, which should it be? The hands-down winner is #2, because the male love interest is a young soul-sick lobbyist, and the female love interest is the television reporter his friends kidnap and drop at his cabin out on the bayou. Did I mention they had a thing back in high school? And did I mention he can hear statues of St. Jude talking to him? Pleas for ecological intervention in southern Louisiana, Richard Simmons impersonators: this book has something for everyone, as long as you get your copy for free and then hide it behind something less shameful. And take your secret to the grave.
Then I read Big Bang: The Origin of the Universe, Simon Singh (2004), a Christmas gift from my sister and possible retaliation for my birthday present to her, which was a tome off the History of Science reading list. Virginia reads books like this one all the time, because deep in her soul, where the rest of us (ahem) want to win the lottery and retire to a life of stunning inconsequentiality, she wants to grow up to be an astrophysicist. I have no such wishes, but Singh can definitely write, about both the models for celestial workings variously advanced over the centuries, and the excommunications, arguments, and name-calling among their proponents. I liked this book. What's more, I understood this book. Go go gadget popular science!
A Whole New Mind: Why Right-Brainers Will Rule the Future, Daniel H. Pink (2006). Another from my mom's set of "big picture" books, Pink's argues that thanks to Asia, automation, and something else that starts with A abundance, pure left-brained analytic abilities are losing their value to American workers. Better to be a freethinking, storytelling, design-conscious creative type. Whether he's right or not, I couldn't tell you: books this clearly aimed at the lecture circuit make me antsy. Regardless, both sides of my brain function as advertised, so I'm sure I'll be fine.
So there you have it. My package finally arrived from Germany and I caught up with the book reviews; at this point, all I have to do is mail some Christmas gifts and file my taxes and 2007 will be completely behind me (oh, and post the video from New Year's Eve, but this computer has no video-editing software). First, though, St. Patrick's Day, and if anyone pinches me there will be blood. Then more book reviews, and possibly the story of Why the New Guy in the Office Irks Me. And more? Almost certainly more.
Oh, and Bonus Movie Reviews. The other night I was drawn in by the embalmed man on Turner Classic Movies and wound up watching a pair of spaghetti westerns, A Fistful of Dollars and For a Few Dollars More. The both of them star a Clint Eastwood so young and relatively uncreased that he appears to be his own maiden sister. The cinematography of these films is gorgeous (and obviously an influence on "Cowboy Bebop", perhaps most directly in the opening credits). On the other hand, the captioning read like a different person's translation of the script (quite possible): the meaning was there, but the words and phrases were almost always different. Luckily I enjoy a good distraction, which is why the captioning was on in the first place.
If I could have stayed up through the next movie, whatever it was, I could have caught the 2:15 feature, The Incredibly Strange Creatures Who Stopped Living and Became Mixed-Up Zombies. I'm sorry to report that I didn't even try.
Oh, but meanwhile burn on the group that certified our conference materials: I wrote a good 70% of the training curricula myself, and I don't know from childcare. I read a handful of books, and then I birthed some cleanly formatted, blandly authoritative PowerPoints. The Liberal Arts Avenger strikes again!
In honor of my survival, let's talk about books, starting with 2007 and continuing to Wednesday of last week. Starting that Thursday, when I got a library card, everything changed, so that can wait for a bit.
Das Steinerne Licht and Das Gläserne Wort, Kai Meyer (2002). I'll review these two together, since they're parts of the same story and since, like Die Fließende Königin, I'm not so much reviewing them as commenting on my having read them in German. We dissected all that again in the last entry, which doesn't leave me much to add. I think the author built the story a little too solidly: the revelations come thick and fast as you approach the end, thoroughly answering several questions my children's-fiction-reading mind had not bothered to ask. But when I say that this series would make amazing movies, I mean it in the best way. There's a reanimated Pharaoh, a world of mirrors, some mermaids, and a terrifying surgeon in Hell. And a flying stone lion who later becomes a glowing, flying stone lion. Two thumbs up, unless of course that's a rude gesture where you are.
Im Zeichen der Löwin: Die Entscheidung, Tamora Pierce (1999/2007). While combing the Haus des Buches for more affordable (paperback), approachable (kids') fiction, I found a "new" book by the author of one of my favorite English-language series, the goofily-named "Song of the Lioness Quartet", or what normal people would call "the Alanna books". Aside: I love the Alanna books because the heroine is realistically smaller and weaker than most of the males, yet attains the status of Unquestioned Ass Kicker via hard work that you actually get to see. She wakes up early to practice and complains about it, rather than finding the Sword of Whatever and becoming a hero overnight. Then she has a handful of affairs rather than skipping right to Prince Charming. And her righteous indignation the first time she gets her period is perfect. Yeah, so, you can and should read the whole Alanna series some afternoon.
This book, as the title ([In the Sign of the Lioness: the Decision]) suggests, is from that same universe, but stars someone else. Maybe I'm just old now, or my expectations were too high, or the translation was bad, but I didn't care so much for this one. It continues the transparent stereotyping of the previous series (with the vaguely Arab desert tribes and the mystic East and so on), but the core element isn't nearly as strong. The new protagonist, a young martial artist (she's vaguely Japanese), suppresses her emotions to the point of being unsympathetic, and the role of bad guy is filled by an old, conservative, sexist dude, rather than by a sorcerer/would-be usurper who slowly develops an uncomfortable obsession with the main character after his own resurrection. I mean, maybe later in the series the old guy also tries to destroy the Earth and then trap the heroine with him in some kind of weird death pact, but what are the odds?
I also read Mark Twain's Bummel durch Europa last year, but I've chosen not to count it because my level of comprehension wasn't as high there as with the children's fiction. And finally, Barbara Tuchman's Der ferne Spiegel was technically a reread, despite the language change - and anyway, that was January. It's a measure of the regrettable post-trip forgetting that I can barely believe I read six-plus books in German a few months ago.
This year, I had a late start in February, which would constitute a handicap if anyone cared that much about me reaching the 50-book mark. To be honest, I would have dropped it for this year, except: 1) I can hardly afford to abandon one of my few excuses for posting and 2) I kicked this year off in style with two amazingly bad choices I can't wait to share. Yes, my friends, I read a pair of ROMANCE NOVELS, and what's more, they are CAJUN-THEMED ROMANCE NOVELS WRITTEN BY SOME YANKEE. No, wait, they are CAJUN-THEMED ROMANCE NOVELS WRITTEN BY SOME YANKEE AND FEATURING, IN A SUPPORTING ROLE, TELEPATHIC STATUES OF SAINT JUDE.
You. Guys.
The Cajun Cowboy, Sandra Hill (2004) and The Red-Hot Cajun, ibid (2005). Probably the worst thing you can do with romance novels is read two by the same author in a short period, because then the specifics of the sex scenes reinforce one another and you find yourself knowing far too much about the author's preferences in that department. So, assuming you will only read one of these, which should it be? The hands-down winner is #2, because the male love interest is a young soul-sick lobbyist, and the female love interest is the television reporter his friends kidnap and drop at his cabin out on the bayou. Did I mention they had a thing back in high school? And did I mention he can hear statues of St. Jude talking to him? Pleas for ecological intervention in southern Louisiana, Richard Simmons impersonators: this book has something for everyone, as long as you get your copy for free and then hide it behind something less shameful. And take your secret to the grave.
Then I read Big Bang: The Origin of the Universe, Simon Singh (2004), a Christmas gift from my sister and possible retaliation for my birthday present to her, which was a tome off the History of Science reading list. Virginia reads books like this one all the time, because deep in her soul, where the rest of us (ahem) want to win the lottery and retire to a life of stunning inconsequentiality, she wants to grow up to be an astrophysicist. I have no such wishes, but Singh can definitely write, about both the models for celestial workings variously advanced over the centuries, and the excommunications, arguments, and name-calling among their proponents. I liked this book. What's more, I understood this book. Go go gadget popular science!
A Whole New Mind: Why Right-Brainers Will Rule the Future, Daniel H. Pink (2006). Another from my mom's set of "big picture" books, Pink's argues that thanks to Asia, automation, and something else that starts with A abundance, pure left-brained analytic abilities are losing their value to American workers. Better to be a freethinking, storytelling, design-conscious creative type. Whether he's right or not, I couldn't tell you: books this clearly aimed at the lecture circuit make me antsy. Regardless, both sides of my brain function as advertised, so I'm sure I'll be fine.
So there you have it. My package finally arrived from Germany and I caught up with the book reviews; at this point, all I have to do is mail some Christmas gifts and file my taxes and 2007 will be completely behind me (oh, and post the video from New Year's Eve, but this computer has no video-editing software). First, though, St. Patrick's Day, and if anyone pinches me there will be blood. Then more book reviews, and possibly the story of Why the New Guy in the Office Irks Me. And more? Almost certainly more.
Oh, and Bonus Movie Reviews. The other night I was drawn in by the embalmed man on Turner Classic Movies and wound up watching a pair of spaghetti westerns, A Fistful of Dollars and For a Few Dollars More. The both of them star a Clint Eastwood so young and relatively uncreased that he appears to be his own maiden sister. The cinematography of these films is gorgeous (and obviously an influence on "Cowboy Bebop", perhaps most directly in the opening credits). On the other hand, the captioning read like a different person's translation of the script (quite possible): the meaning was there, but the words and phrases were almost always different. Luckily I enjoy a good distraction, which is why the captioning was on in the first place.
If I could have stayed up through the next movie, whatever it was, I could have caught the 2:15 feature, The Incredibly Strange Creatures Who Stopped Living and Became Mixed-Up Zombies. I'm sorry to report that I didn't even try.