Reading roundup
50. Lois McMaster Bujold, The Vor Game -- it's been 5 or 6 years since I've read a Miles book, and dammit, I've missed the crazy little guy. I greatly enjoy Miles's mile-a-minute (heh) internal voice, which makes things action-packed even when he is sitting in solitary for three days, spinning help messages out of lint. I can't always totally suspend my disbelief at some of the things he gets away with, the way things turn out, but it doesn't really matter -- the ride makes it totally worth it, so I don't care if my disbelief is strained a bit. And I really do enjoy young Miles more than the older one -- it's not that he's mellowed with age, exactly, but he hasn't been the same since Mirror Dance, or my perception of him hasn't been. I loved what there was of Aral in this book -- Miles thinking about him, talking to other people about him, and, of course, the scenes between the two of them. Miles's relationship with his father is incredibly touching. I also like Illyan, so I enjoyed all the scenes with him.
And I loved all the Gregor in this book. Gregor is one of my favorite characters in Vorkosiverse, and it was great to see so much of him, and in such unusual circumstances. I was a bit taken aback by his "half-hearted suicide attempt", but I guess if he'd just found out about his father that makes a bit more sense. Also, if I had a Vorkosiverse slash pairing, it would be Miles/Gregor, and this book, dear god, this book was full of it! I'm not even talking about opportunity for missing moments hurt/comfort or whatever. I mean, Gregor helps Miles put on his pants. And then there's the parallel set up between Miles and Cavilo. Gregor expresses regret that Cavilo was not real, since clearly she is the kind of person he wouldn't mind falling for, and then, not very much later, Gregor is the one to voice the similarities between Miles and Cavilo. Explain to me how this is *not* Gregor semi-admitting a crush on Miles... ;) And, of course, there's Miles's internal monologue about how Gregor is all his...
I was greatly amused by Metzov fumbling around with Gregor as prisoner, and by Tung fanboying Aral, and also by Bel's "exotic pet from Earth Thorne called a hamster"
Quotes:
"When a normal ensign looked at his commander, he ought to see a god-like being, not a, a... future subordinate."
"Forensic... plumbing."
"His best efforts had only served to get Gregor nearly murdered. It was time to try less hard, Miles decided."
"Oser's expression flowed from astonished to stunned to a kind of amused fury. 'You're insane,' he said." [excellent encapsulation of someone's default reaction to Miles.]
"With an effort, Tung pulled his mind away from his beloved hobby of studying military history and back to his (admittedly, closely related) job of making it."
I generally don't follow up one of my ramblings on something I read by rec'ing fic, but I read this piece and it felt like a perfect moment set after The Vor Game, so I can't resist:
For the Good of the Scheme, Miles/Gregor, PG-13 (somewhat spoilery for the book)
54. Lois McMaster Bujold, Brothers in Arms -- Loved this book a lot! which is sort of my usual reaction to the Vorkosiverse books. It was really neat to meet Mark (who is one of my favorite characters) for the first time, and see Ivan be competent (I'd always been slightly mystified by the rampant Ivan love in Vorkosiverse-fandom, but I understand it much better now, though he has not become one of my personal favorites). You know who did, though? I bet you do! Galeni!
I expected to like Duv Galeni, and boy, do I ever! I guess I have a thing, in general, for very tightly controlled characters, especially when they find themselves in very difficult circumstances, and that control starts or threatens to crack. Galeni is such a perfect example of the type! I love his dry wit, the fact that he is a scholar and an officer, the fact that when he *does* snap, he turns into a berserker who can take out two Cetagandan ghem-lords by himself. Half my favorite quotes from the book are Galeni quotes. And he uses the pun on "Mark" and "mark" (as in Barrayaran $) to give Miles secret messages. :) He is just awesome! Although, as I was telling etrangere in an earlier thread, I'm sort of puzzled by why "Duv Galeni" is supposed to be a Barrayarisized version of his birth name (David Galen), when neither "Duv" nor "Galeni" sounds Russian, French, or (I think?) Greek, and, if anything, sounds *less* Barrayaran than "David Galen" if you ask me. What's up with that?
I thought I would have more to say about Mark, but I kind of don't, not really. It's interesting to see him scared and lost and strangely innocent (before he's killed anyone -- although I find it a bit difficult to believe that actually killing someone wouldn't have been part of his training, unless Galen just didn't have the time to have him learn that lesson). And I loved the switches and tricks that having Miles and Mark in the book allows, impersonating each other, and the climactic shoot-out with the Cetagandans hunting for Naismith and the Barrayaran clean-up crew hunting for the clone and everything.
I am amused by Ivan quite calmly musing about guys making passes at him: "'Mm,' said Ivan. 'I've run across one or two of that sort in the Service, but... they have ways of letting you know." You'd think he'd have gotten the hint from Byerly already, then...
Also, he is a minor character, but I liked (in the sense of respected) Commodore Destang, who, in a small number of scenes, shows himself to be a competent, prudent (to the point of ruthlessness) but fair man, especially when he decides not to punish Galeni for disobeying orders simply because he cannot punish Miles for the same crime. It seems like Miles's superiors seem to either be competent and on his side, or incompetent and against him. It's neat to see a superior who is *not* on Miles's side, but is decidedly competent. And I like what Galeni says about him: "Commodore Destang is neither a sadist nor a fool. [...] He's careful, however."
I don't find any of Miles's romances terribly compelling, and him and Elli becoming lovers I'm fairly meh about. I mean, it's funny to see Miles lust and flail and babble through a proposal (that scene was hilarious!) but I'm not particularly invested in Quinn, and I don't see much of an emotional connection between her and Miles (Miles's strongest connections seem to be those of family and duty, which are very much interrelated) and, ultimately, I think Elli is not Barrayaran enough for the connection to feel (to the reader, anyway) really deep. I do like the realization he has, towards the end of the book, that Elli (thanks to her beautiful new face) knows what it's like to be defined by what she looks like and not her abilities. That is an interesting point of connection between them, but the only one that I found really interesting. But the relationship was pretty funny, and I liked the idea of the cat fur.
One of the things that struck me in this book (not that I hadn't noticed it before, I'm not that dense -- it's just that I didn't think about it consciously) is how much of the time Miles feels fear, or terror, or some other flavor thereof. Naturally, he finds himself in horrifying situations of all kinds of levels, from the preospects of getting injured or killed to the prospects of blowing his cover(s), destroying his career, destroying his father's career, getting people he cares about and/or people under his command killed, and incurring dire political ramifications for Barrayar. Often several of these at once, and frequently skating the razor edge between several variously frightening notions. So, it makes sense that he'd be scared, of course. But a protagonist feeling fear -- especially an action protagonist like Miles -- and feeling fear this much of the time, in what is essentially day-to-day business for him (at least as the narratives present it, since we don't get to see much of Miles's downtime), that seems rather unusual. I guess it's a side-effect of Miles's ever-racing mind. I suppose most action heroes just turn off thinking on some level and act on instinct alone, or suppress the little voice the would otherwise be screaming in fear -- but Miles is always thinking, and his mental narrative is a whole colloquy of voices, none of them particularly silenceable.
Also, just as I made the (belated XP) realization that Miles is what Tyrion Lannister would've been with a happier family life, this thinking about Miles and fear as evident in his narration connected me to another protagonist: Moist von Lipwig from the Discworld books.
And, remember how I was nattering on about Miles/River in my Vorkosivers/Firefly crossover mania? Well, this book contains the quote "Far more interesting to have a child, preferably with a woman who was smarter, faster, and better-looking than oneself." Telling you all, Miles Vorkosigan/River Tam is where it's at! :P
Quotes!
Too long to quote in full, but Miles plotting against the goldfish in the fountain was absolutely hilarious. "But if his guess were wrong, ah. The squish! under his boot, the dowager's recoil, and the Barrayaran prime minister's son would have acquired an instant reputation as a young man with serious emotional difficulties..."
"'Damnation,' Miles muttered [...] He rolled the words back through his mouth, switching gears, to Admiral Naismith's flat Betan accent, 'Aw, shit...'"
Galeni and Miles talking about Miles's dual identity:
"Schizoid or no, not even you can comparmentalize yourself to that extent."
"I'm not schizoid," Miles bit off. "A little manic-depressive, maybe," he admitted in afterthought.
Galeni's lips twitched. "Know thyself."
"We try, sir."
Miles: "Can you be paranoid about being paranoid?"
Elena: "If anyone can, it's you."
"Miles recognized the tone of Ivan playing dumb, playing devil's advocat, the ploy of a sharp but lazy intellect to get others to do its work."
"'Couldn't you have pretended to cooperate at least long enough to get away?" said Miles in exasperation.
Galeni's eyes snapped truculently. 'Never,' he hissed. The spasm of rage evaporated with a weary sigh. 'I suppose I should have. Too late now.'"
"Surely the clone must avoid any situations with people who knew Miles well, where he would be in most danger of getting tripped up. Unless he was a cocky little shit with a complusive experimental bent, like the one Miles shaved daily in his mirror."
After Miles finished reciting Richard III
Galeni: "What was that?"
Miles: "The play or the drug?"
"I recognized the play, thank you. What drug?"
"'I'm just dazzled by the glittering tinsel of neo-fascism,' Galeni informed him blandly."
Galeni, about his father: "the anguish of making hard choices has always appealed to the romance in his soul."
"'Bastard?' sighed Miles. 'No. That's the one thing he [Mark] is not, I'm afraid.'
'Nail him first,' Galeni murmured. 'Define him later.'"
"Miles clutched Quinn's elbow. 'Don't panic.'
'I'm not panicking,' Quinn observed. 'I'm watching you panic. It's more entertaining.'"
Right after Mark shoots Galeni's father:
"'Captain Galeni!' Miles turned. Galeni had not moved. 'You in shock?'
'Hm? No... no, I don't think so.' Galeni came out of himself with an effort. He added in a strangely calm, reflective tone, 'Later, perhaps.'"
"Nobody appointed you God, Vorkosigan. [...] I'm sure it was an oversight." (-Galeni)
In conclusion: Galeni ♥!
I'm currently reading Memory, which is breaking my heart... :*(
51. Rick Riordan, The Titan's Curse (Percy Jackson and the Olympians #3) -- I almost finished this one in one day, but I had about 20 pages left over and left those for a few more days because it will be a while before I get to read more Percy Jackson. I liked it! I think the plotting has been getting stronger with every book, and this one was a nice mix of things I saw being foreshadowed (Zoe being the one to die since Atlas is her father, Thalia removing herself by joining Artemis's Hunters) and cool twists, like the mortal girl who helps out Percy and Annabeth's father coming to the rescue. (I kind of loved Professor Chase, actually, with his toy soldiers and mad scientist inclinations.) I'm also intrigued by everything that's being set up in this book -- Nico the son of Hades who is now a wildcard (though I kind of think Percy is being a bit of an idiot by not telling anyone about this), Athena's opposition to keeping Percy alive, the mortal girl (who I'm sure will come in to play some role at some point). I also wonder what is being set up as the endgame for Luke, party because I'm hoping against hope he will survive it... Annabeth still wants to "rescue" him, and it seems that he is not entirely gone, in some of his scenes with her... but I'm guessing the most that can be hoped for at this point is a redeeming noble sacrifice... Also, I have a feeling Bianca is not really dead, although I'm not sure what could have happened to her.
I always enjoy the appearances of the gods, and while I was OK with Artemis (she was my favorite goddess, but I kind of disagree with casting her as a little girl... but Grover's crush on anything associated with her was pretty amusing) and pleased with how Aphrodite was portrayed, I really liked the glimpse of Athena as a docent at the Hoover Dam and loved Apollo and his Maserati of the sun and his penchant for bad haiku. Oh, and the scene where Dionysus comes to Percy's rescue without taking his eyes off the fridge? Awesome! (Mostly because Mr.D is such a comic and mostly antagonistic figure in these books, and it's neat to see the powerful god underneath that silly tracksuit.) Also, I kind of love this quote from Mr.D: "Yes, yes. And you procured a small annoying boy to replace her [i.e. Annabeth]." Oh, and while I was a bit bummed that Apollo and Helios had been conflated, I like the explanation of "downsizing" :)
Oh, and I suppose I should mention that I enjoyed Our Heroes' visit to San Francisco (OK, the Hoover Dam angels are probably slightly behind the times, so I'll forgive them calling it "Frisco"). So, Mount Tam is the Garden of Hesperides, huh?
52. Connie Willis, Doomsday Book -- Well. That was every bit as good (in terms of quality) as I expected, and every bit as bad (in terms of emotional impact) as I was afraid it would be... This book is set in the same universe as To Say Nothing of the Dog, which I read a few summers back and loved, but it's a very, very different book -- dark and... emotionally difficult (though still beautiful) where the other one was quirky and hilarious. I kept comparing it to Passage, actually, because the tone of the first half or so is not dissimilar. Willis does the sense of foreboding thing very well -- the first half of the book or so there's a mounting sense of worry in both the medieval and "present time" threads, and the sense that the danger could be coming from anywhere -- it was really quite nerve-wracking. Also similar to Passage was the sense of blocked-off communication, people talking at cross-purposes, missing each other's visits and phone calls and messages, which only added to the general unease.
And then, of course, the actual disaster hits, and it just keeps getting worse than you can imagine -- worse than the characters can imagine, too, and that sets up a kind of empathy loop. This hit me for the first time when Mary reports that they have the first mortality with the present-day virus, but it *really* hits when Kivrin is holding on to the "one third to one half of a village" statistics, and is counting up the dead and the dying, perversely relieved as the death toll gets closer to the 'quota' because it means the people she cares about are more likely to be spared. And then, of course, Agnes dies, and after that I was also feeling numbed to the further deaths, but still hoping that at least Rosemund would survive, or at least Roche, even when, in parallel chapters, Badri was calculating the slip, and the minimal slip was implying that there was nobody left alive to avoid meetings with. That part of the book, around and after Agnes's death, I couldn't read more than a few pages without taking a short break at least.
Up until the Black Death started, I actually was more interested in the "present time" storyline, Dunworthy and his quests, the detainees, trying to understand where the virus had come from, the odd churches and the petty academic rivalries, and Finch worrying about running out of toilet paper. And then those people started dying, too... I actually anticipated Mary's death, since she hadn't come to visit Dunworthy, and so caught the supporting evidence in things Colin stopped himself from saying. But when the revelation came, it was still accompanied by a shock, because I hadn't seen Gilchrist dying, for instance. He is such an unusual, unexpected character to die -- Dunworthy's antagonist who, by rights, should get his comeuppance when the true head of History returns from Scotland... and then he dies. And, of course, the book ends without any kind of closure in the "present time", without any look at the aftermath...
And it's such a weird plot arc... It's a kind of "there and back again" story, but unlike the usual "there and back" heroes who achieve something significant or set things right in a broken timestream or whatever, what does Kivrin actually accomplish? Well, practically speaking, nothing -- everyone she interacted with in 1348 still dies (well, Maisry possibly survives, and maybe some of Sir Bloet's household, but that seems unlikely). That's probably the only reason the net even admitted her to that year, since, obviously, she tried to do nothing BUT interfere since the Black Death struck. But, of course, Colin and Dunworthy's view of the other village shows that she did help the contemps in a way, making their deaths more confortable and dignified, as much as that was possible. And, of course, she becomes the recorder of "things which should be remembered", and that is also something. But it's still such an unusual arc, where the hero(ine) utterly fails to save anyone (though Dunworthy, at least, does get to save her... sort of... even though he himself thinks he came back "too late").
The first thing I usually talk about in any book are characters, but here it's taken me awhile to get to them. I'm not sure what I feel for Kivrin as a character. She felt kind of transparent, actually, in a way that I didn't think she had a lot of distinguishing personality traits, but that just allowed me to interact more directly with the contemps, which was not a downside. I guess what I'm trying to say is, she worked as a good reader stand-in, but it didn't seem like there was a whole lot else to her, except in a few brief moments, when she is railing against God when trying to save Agnes, and again when she hears Roche's confession. And, of course, there's the father/daughter relationship between Kivrin and Dunworthy, which, actually, felt a bit less real than the other relationships in the book -- maybe because we don't actually see Kivrin and Dunworthy interact with each other in real time until the very end, and by then they're both shell-shocked?
I liked almost all of the characters you were supposed to like. I remember Maisy kind of annoying me in Passage, but I really liked all the kid characters in this book. Colin was great, probably my favorite character, and Agnes was a very believable little kid, very sweet yet capable of being an enormous pain in the ass at the worst possible time, and saying things like "Will you tell me a story after the clerk is dead?", and Rosemund was quite heartbreaking yet very believably a real girl, with fears and a penchant for annoying her little sister and acting high-handed as a lord's daughter would. And she has this absolutely chilling and heartbreaking line, when she is lying ill with the plauge: "If Sir Bloet were here now, he would not dare to touch me. [...] It would be he who was afraid." And with Agnes and Rosemund, this depth of character and believability was achieved while preserving the "medieval" diction and sensibilities, which is even more impressive.
I liked Badri a lot (and was glad he got to expiate his original mistake that wasn't even his fault because he had thought of making a backup), I liked Mary (and was very sad that she had died, and, like Dunworthy, liked that she still got to help posthumously with her codes used to authorize the anti-plague shots and discharges for Kivrin's rescue), and I ended up liking Montoya, sort of admiring her single-mindedness about her dig. I also liked William Gaddson quite a bit, especially for someone who is only "onscreen" once or twice; his network and powers of seduction are maybe a trifle difficult to believe, but it was great to have him there to lighten the mood. (Is there a term for a character who spends little to no time onscreen yet still has a lot of personality or bearing on the story because the other characters keep talking about him? Because it feels like there should be...) And even some of the characters whose names Dunworthy never learned -- the nurses and med students whom he kept running into, who kept records of Badri's delirious babblings, emerged as sympathetic, interesting characters and decent people in the face of a crisis from their very brief appearances.
In the medieval times, other than the girls, I can't say that I really liked any of the characters -- Father Roche felt a bit *too* saintly to be believable (and I did guess pretty early on that Father Roche had seen Kivrin come through, and that he was her "cutthroat"), but I still liked the kind of characters they were -- Lady Imeyne's unyielding shrewishness (like when she blames everyone from Eliwys to Maisry to Kivrin to Roche for the plague, driven partly by her own guilt in inviting the bishop who brought the plague with his clerk, and then finally blames God: "'You must make your peace with God ere you die,' Roche said, but she turned her face to the wall and said, 'He is to blame for this.'"), Eliwys's plight, Gawyn's boasting and love for Eliwys and that it doesn't prevent him from still boffing Maisry in the stables. And I liked the contemps' matter-of-fact relationship with death, as when Agens asks,
I mentioned up above that I didn't think the Dunworthy/Kivrin father/daughter relationship really worked for me all that well, but Dunworthy and Colin totally did, and made for a rather wonderful sort of family (with the mostly-absent Mary) -- giving Christmas presents to each other (especially, "It's an appointment calendar. [...] It's so you can mark off the days till your girl gets back."), and, of course, Colin sneaking into the past with him. And Kivrin, in parallel, being adopted in a way by Agnes and Rosemund. And the two shattered "families" meeting at the end, after Colin and Dunworthy have lost Mary and Kivrin has lost everyone, and Colin instantly adopting Kivrin as a sort of surrogate big sister. Families of all kinds are my main narrative kink, so this really worked for me.
There are all kinds of neat things in the writing, that probably would have stood out to me more if not for the emotional pummeling of the book. I loved Kivrin's translator calibrating itself at the beginning, when she was trying to sort out what was going on -- loved trying to figure out what the contemps were saying before Kivrin could understand it, loved her frustrated allusions to The Canterbury Tales. I liked the parallels being set up -- because they were set up by the characters and not omnisciently, they felt less heavy-handed than they could have been: the Christian parallels that tie together present and past (Christmas and Dunworthy sending Kivrin "into the world", the Slaughter of the Innocents, Dunworthy identifying with God the Father and directing Mrs.Gaddson's scripture reading accordingly), and the parallels between Kivrin talking to Dunworthy into the corder, looking like she's praying and Roche praying and talking to God in much the same manner, and the story Kivrin makes up for Agnes, about the willful maiden going into the woods, which Agnes adopts for her own parallel. And the bells everywhere, like theme music for the entire book.
There is not a whole world of present-day worldbuilding to take the reader from our own present to then, and so much looks to be unchanged, but what little there is is very interesting: "Drops have been made to the Pandemic, to World War I battles where mustard gas was used, to Tel Aviv. Twentieth Century sent detection equipment to the site of St.Paul's two days after the pinpoint was dropped." I also liked the reaction to the epidemic in modern-day Oxford, especially that of the American bell ringers: "'Perhaps you'd like to explain it to me, too. I'm not used to having my civil liberties taken away like this. In America, nobody would dream of telling you where you can or can't go.' And over thirty million Americans died in the Pandemic as a result of that sort of thinking, he thought."
So, in conclusion: Great book, well deserving of its Nebula and Hugo. Really glad I finally got to read it. Quite relieved that I'm finished with it now. Would recommend it to anyone who thinks they can read it (including people who don't like sci-fi); I actually thought about you, _grayswandir_, a couple of times while reading it, because it deals so extensively with both human frailty and resilience in the face of tragedy, and touches a bit on Christianity/religion in general in this context.
53. Barbara Hambly, Dragonshadow -- I liked the book quite a bit, but a good deal less than Dragonsbane, which was a bit disappointing, and I have a feeling the sequels will be more like this one than the original. For one thing, while I'm a big fan of dragons, I find demons pretty boring. There is not much new to say on the subject of demons, and while I find Hambly's dragons rather neat (I like how they're not reptilian, for example, in the language that's used to describe them, but are compared to birds, rats, cats, fireflies, etc.), her demons are pretty run-of-the-mill. Being taken over by a demon and doing terrible things and being aware of it... meh. Though I did like newly!possessed!Jenny's view of the battle with dragons. I did like it that the effect of the demons was not reversible, that Jenny and the others longed for their demons when they were "freed", and that some could not survive the demons' eventual destruction. (I do have to wonder about Ian, though -- he seems to have taken being freed of his demon very easily... I don't know if that's an indication of his strength of character or a sign that something's not quite right with him still.) Similarly, I did not find John's dealings with the Demon Queen very interesting -- the illusion/seduction/torture, it's all not my cup of tea. So, that is all to say I was not thrilled with the whole demon plot, which it looks like will continue full-bore in book 3, since that's called Knight of the Demon Queen. The other elements still make the series worth reading for me, but I hope the demon thing is resolved sooner rather than later.
The things I did like:
John Aversin and his relationship with Jenny. You don't see very many long-established happy relationships in fantasy books (or any kind of books, actually), and this one is very nicely done. They understand each other so well, and worry about each other, and work so well as a team, yet are quite capable on their own. The device of John braiding on the red ribbon struck me as very poignant. My main complaint is that the two of them spent so much of the book apart, and I like it best when they are together. And I really liked the meta bit at the end, though it's not exactly subtle: "In all the ballads, evil was vanquished, order was restored, and the shining hero prince wed his lady, both beautiful and young. Neither, apparently, had nightmares afterward or dreamed of what they had lost. All wounds healed cleanly and no souls were broken by longings or obsessions or mistrust."
I love John's geekiness, and the dorky sweetness of the breakfast he assembles for Jenny: "John had used the bread, the boiled eggs, the fruits, and the salt fish to create a dumpy little lady all stuck together with Jam, "I love you" squiggled in honey around the rim." I also love the fact that, unlike so many heroes, he is not all that blase about being sacrificed for the common good: "But you didn't bother mentionin' that all anyone would say about it was, Oh, sorry, son, can't pay your teind, bit on the steep side. [...] But we'll take the protection and the freedom and the healin' nonetheless, thanks ever so, and we'll see to it that your name lives forever. So just lay right down there and wait while I get the ax." although he does admit the need: "'Well, and they're right, love.' There was a scathe of bitter rage in his voice. 'Can't let the demons into this world but somebody's got to go in and get the things to fight them with, for the sake of the King, and for Gar, and for the Law and all me friends. But it was for you, love. It was all for you.'"
I do continue to like the dragons. I mentioned their non-reptilian-ness above, and this is just an opportunity to jot down some quotes: "without altering his size Morkeleb seemed able to fit, as a rat can, through crevices barely a quarter his apparent girth." "He hissed, like a cat, and like a cat his tail moved here and there, independent of the stillness of his body." I liked that human-worked gold is like an addiction for the dragons, that Morkeleb, having been once caught by it, is reluctant to come near again. I liked the way the dragons in the Skerries of Light interacted with John and addressed him, and I liked Morkeleb's occasional reminders of how ancient he is. I like that, though he is not fully "a thing of dragons" anymore, he is still quite inhuman. "I would not have entered the Hell behind the mirror, Jenny, because I know the hopelessness of it. Yet he, too, knew, and here you stand in the hope of being freed. I could never have done such, for I did not -- I do not -- know how to perform acts of such foolishness. Yet I am grateful to him that he did what I, Morkeleb the Black, the Destroyer of the Elder Droon and the greatest of the star-drakes, what I could not and would not have done because it is not a thing of dragons." I was, however, a bit disappointed by him taking on human appearance. I knew it would lead to the "tears of a dragon" resolution, of course (and I find it neat that dragons apparently cry HF or something like that), but I liked it better when he stayed in dragon shape, even though I like shape-shifting-into-human dragons normally, and I wasn't terribly impressed with his human appearance, either. But whatever.
I liked Rocklys as a villain (actually, I noticed her and liked her character before it became clear she was a villain, too). Not because she was such a unique fantasy villain -- the nobleman who takes up arms against the rightful king because he thinks he can do a better job is a kind of villain I like anyway, but is not so terribly uncommon. The unique thing (in my experience anyway) is that this sort of villain role was filled by a woman. Female villains in fantasy are so much more likely to be more like the sorceress Zyerne from the first book, using magic and feminine wiles to surreptitiously ensnare for very personal gain. The fact that Rocklys is a soldier who is revolting in the name of efficiency -- a very masculine sort of job -- was really neat. And her sorcerously gifted assistant is a man (I pegged Caradoc as the guy with the demons as soon as he was first mentioned by the soliders, btw) -- it's like the gender-inverse of Stannis and Melisandre, almost. Anyway, that was neat, and sort of worth the price of admission all by itself, I think.
I liked the broader view of magic we get in this book -- that not only do dragons and humans have magic (well, and demons), but so do mice and rats (!) and whales, and, it seems, all living things. Totally randomly, I liked the ?penguins John discovers in the Skerries of Light and calls "dummies" ("some kind of fat gray flightless creature the height of his knee that waddled trustingly up to him as he dropped down over the gunwale and tried to eat the buckles on the sides of his boots. Killing them would have been embarrasingly easy; so easy in fact that John couldn't bring himself to do it.")
I liked getting some more backstory on John's Icewitch mother, Nightraven, who seems like a piece of work herself...
I can't say I liked it, but I am sort of amused that Jenny continues to be at the center of not even a love triangle anymore, but a love rectangle, with Amayon now also having a claim on her affections. Similarly, I can't say I liked it, but I am impressed with Hambly's willingness to go there -- Jenny's resentment of John for destroying Amayon, of Ian for still having his magic when she has lost hers (though I do wonder if it will be a permanent loss), the she is so scarred and crippled in her final fight with the demon/dragon/Caradoc. I don't *like* this damaged Jenny much, but I do want to see where things go from here, how she manages to recover.
Today, I stopped by the library to pick up my next two holds that came in: Feet of Clay (a Discworld book) and Kushiel's Mercy. I'll have plenty to read when I finish Memory (or if I get too depressed and need to take a break from Miles's woes by dipping into Pterry...)
And I loved all the Gregor in this book. Gregor is one of my favorite characters in Vorkosiverse, and it was great to see so much of him, and in such unusual circumstances. I was a bit taken aback by his "half-hearted suicide attempt", but I guess if he'd just found out about his father that makes a bit more sense. Also, if I had a Vorkosiverse slash pairing, it would be Miles/Gregor, and this book, dear god, this book was full of it! I'm not even talking about opportunity for missing moments hurt/comfort or whatever. I mean, Gregor helps Miles put on his pants. And then there's the parallel set up between Miles and Cavilo. Gregor expresses regret that Cavilo was not real, since clearly she is the kind of person he wouldn't mind falling for, and then, not very much later, Gregor is the one to voice the similarities between Miles and Cavilo. Explain to me how this is *not* Gregor semi-admitting a crush on Miles... ;) And, of course, there's Miles's internal monologue about how Gregor is all his...
I was greatly amused by Metzov fumbling around with Gregor as prisoner, and by Tung fanboying Aral, and also by Bel's "exotic pet from Earth Thorne called a hamster"
Quotes:
"When a normal ensign looked at his commander, he ought to see a god-like being, not a, a... future subordinate."
"Forensic... plumbing."
"His best efforts had only served to get Gregor nearly murdered. It was time to try less hard, Miles decided."
"Oser's expression flowed from astonished to stunned to a kind of amused fury. 'You're insane,' he said." [excellent encapsulation of someone's default reaction to Miles.]
"With an effort, Tung pulled his mind away from his beloved hobby of studying military history and back to his (admittedly, closely related) job of making it."
I generally don't follow up one of my ramblings on something I read by rec'ing fic, but I read this piece and it felt like a perfect moment set after The Vor Game, so I can't resist:
For the Good of the Scheme, Miles/Gregor, PG-13 (somewhat spoilery for the book)
54. Lois McMaster Bujold, Brothers in Arms -- Loved this book a lot! which is sort of my usual reaction to the Vorkosiverse books. It was really neat to meet Mark (who is one of my favorite characters) for the first time, and see Ivan be competent (I'd always been slightly mystified by the rampant Ivan love in Vorkosiverse-fandom, but I understand it much better now, though he has not become one of my personal favorites). You know who did, though? I bet you do! Galeni!
I expected to like Duv Galeni, and boy, do I ever! I guess I have a thing, in general, for very tightly controlled characters, especially when they find themselves in very difficult circumstances, and that control starts or threatens to crack. Galeni is such a perfect example of the type! I love his dry wit, the fact that he is a scholar and an officer, the fact that when he *does* snap, he turns into a berserker who can take out two Cetagandan ghem-lords by himself. Half my favorite quotes from the book are Galeni quotes. And he uses the pun on "Mark" and "mark" (as in Barrayaran $) to give Miles secret messages. :) He is just awesome! Although, as I was telling etrangere in an earlier thread, I'm sort of puzzled by why "Duv Galeni" is supposed to be a Barrayarisized version of his birth name (David Galen), when neither "Duv" nor "Galeni" sounds Russian, French, or (I think?) Greek, and, if anything, sounds *less* Barrayaran than "David Galen" if you ask me. What's up with that?
I thought I would have more to say about Mark, but I kind of don't, not really. It's interesting to see him scared and lost and strangely innocent (before he's killed anyone -- although I find it a bit difficult to believe that actually killing someone wouldn't have been part of his training, unless Galen just didn't have the time to have him learn that lesson). And I loved the switches and tricks that having Miles and Mark in the book allows, impersonating each other, and the climactic shoot-out with the Cetagandans hunting for Naismith and the Barrayaran clean-up crew hunting for the clone and everything.
I am amused by Ivan quite calmly musing about guys making passes at him: "'Mm,' said Ivan. 'I've run across one or two of that sort in the Service, but... they have ways of letting you know." You'd think he'd have gotten the hint from Byerly already, then...
Also, he is a minor character, but I liked (in the sense of respected) Commodore Destang, who, in a small number of scenes, shows himself to be a competent, prudent (to the point of ruthlessness) but fair man, especially when he decides not to punish Galeni for disobeying orders simply because he cannot punish Miles for the same crime. It seems like Miles's superiors seem to either be competent and on his side, or incompetent and against him. It's neat to see a superior who is *not* on Miles's side, but is decidedly competent. And I like what Galeni says about him: "Commodore Destang is neither a sadist nor a fool. [...] He's careful, however."
I don't find any of Miles's romances terribly compelling, and him and Elli becoming lovers I'm fairly meh about. I mean, it's funny to see Miles lust and flail and babble through a proposal (that scene was hilarious!) but I'm not particularly invested in Quinn, and I don't see much of an emotional connection between her and Miles (Miles's strongest connections seem to be those of family and duty, which are very much interrelated) and, ultimately, I think Elli is not Barrayaran enough for the connection to feel (to the reader, anyway) really deep. I do like the realization he has, towards the end of the book, that Elli (thanks to her beautiful new face) knows what it's like to be defined by what she looks like and not her abilities. That is an interesting point of connection between them, but the only one that I found really interesting. But the relationship was pretty funny, and I liked the idea of the cat fur.
One of the things that struck me in this book (not that I hadn't noticed it before, I'm not that dense -- it's just that I didn't think about it consciously) is how much of the time Miles feels fear, or terror, or some other flavor thereof. Naturally, he finds himself in horrifying situations of all kinds of levels, from the preospects of getting injured or killed to the prospects of blowing his cover(s), destroying his career, destroying his father's career, getting people he cares about and/or people under his command killed, and incurring dire political ramifications for Barrayar. Often several of these at once, and frequently skating the razor edge between several variously frightening notions. So, it makes sense that he'd be scared, of course. But a protagonist feeling fear -- especially an action protagonist like Miles -- and feeling fear this much of the time, in what is essentially day-to-day business for him (at least as the narratives present it, since we don't get to see much of Miles's downtime), that seems rather unusual. I guess it's a side-effect of Miles's ever-racing mind. I suppose most action heroes just turn off thinking on some level and act on instinct alone, or suppress the little voice the would otherwise be screaming in fear -- but Miles is always thinking, and his mental narrative is a whole colloquy of voices, none of them particularly silenceable.
Also, just as I made the (belated XP) realization that Miles is what Tyrion Lannister would've been with a happier family life, this thinking about Miles and fear as evident in his narration connected me to another protagonist: Moist von Lipwig from the Discworld books.
And, remember how I was nattering on about Miles/River in my Vorkosivers/Firefly crossover mania? Well, this book contains the quote "Far more interesting to have a child, preferably with a woman who was smarter, faster, and better-looking than oneself." Telling you all, Miles Vorkosigan/River Tam is where it's at! :P
Quotes!
Too long to quote in full, but Miles plotting against the goldfish in the fountain was absolutely hilarious. "But if his guess were wrong, ah. The squish! under his boot, the dowager's recoil, and the Barrayaran prime minister's son would have acquired an instant reputation as a young man with serious emotional difficulties..."
"'Damnation,' Miles muttered [...] He rolled the words back through his mouth, switching gears, to Admiral Naismith's flat Betan accent, 'Aw, shit...'"
Galeni and Miles talking about Miles's dual identity:
"Schizoid or no, not even you can comparmentalize yourself to that extent."
"I'm not schizoid," Miles bit off. "A little manic-depressive, maybe," he admitted in afterthought.
Galeni's lips twitched. "Know thyself."
"We try, sir."
Miles: "Can you be paranoid about being paranoid?"
Elena: "If anyone can, it's you."
"Miles recognized the tone of Ivan playing dumb, playing devil's advocat, the ploy of a sharp but lazy intellect to get others to do its work."
"'Couldn't you have pretended to cooperate at least long enough to get away?" said Miles in exasperation.
Galeni's eyes snapped truculently. 'Never,' he hissed. The spasm of rage evaporated with a weary sigh. 'I suppose I should have. Too late now.'"
"Surely the clone must avoid any situations with people who knew Miles well, where he would be in most danger of getting tripped up. Unless he was a cocky little shit with a complusive experimental bent, like the one Miles shaved daily in his mirror."
After Miles finished reciting Richard III
Galeni: "What was that?"
Miles: "The play or the drug?"
"I recognized the play, thank you. What drug?"
"'I'm just dazzled by the glittering tinsel of neo-fascism,' Galeni informed him blandly."
Galeni, about his father: "the anguish of making hard choices has always appealed to the romance in his soul."
"'Bastard?' sighed Miles. 'No. That's the one thing he [Mark] is not, I'm afraid.'
'Nail him first,' Galeni murmured. 'Define him later.'"
"Miles clutched Quinn's elbow. 'Don't panic.'
'I'm not panicking,' Quinn observed. 'I'm watching you panic. It's more entertaining.'"
Right after Mark shoots Galeni's father:
"'Captain Galeni!' Miles turned. Galeni had not moved. 'You in shock?'
'Hm? No... no, I don't think so.' Galeni came out of himself with an effort. He added in a strangely calm, reflective tone, 'Later, perhaps.'"
"Nobody appointed you God, Vorkosigan. [...] I'm sure it was an oversight." (-Galeni)
In conclusion: Galeni ♥!
I'm currently reading Memory, which is breaking my heart... :*(
51. Rick Riordan, The Titan's Curse (Percy Jackson and the Olympians #3) -- I almost finished this one in one day, but I had about 20 pages left over and left those for a few more days because it will be a while before I get to read more Percy Jackson. I liked it! I think the plotting has been getting stronger with every book, and this one was a nice mix of things I saw being foreshadowed (Zoe being the one to die since Atlas is her father, Thalia removing herself by joining Artemis's Hunters) and cool twists, like the mortal girl who helps out Percy and Annabeth's father coming to the rescue. (I kind of loved Professor Chase, actually, with his toy soldiers and mad scientist inclinations.) I'm also intrigued by everything that's being set up in this book -- Nico the son of Hades who is now a wildcard (though I kind of think Percy is being a bit of an idiot by not telling anyone about this), Athena's opposition to keeping Percy alive, the mortal girl (who I'm sure will come in to play some role at some point). I also wonder what is being set up as the endgame for Luke, party because I'm hoping against hope he will survive it... Annabeth still wants to "rescue" him, and it seems that he is not entirely gone, in some of his scenes with her... but I'm guessing the most that can be hoped for at this point is a redeeming noble sacrifice... Also, I have a feeling Bianca is not really dead, although I'm not sure what could have happened to her.
I always enjoy the appearances of the gods, and while I was OK with Artemis (she was my favorite goddess, but I kind of disagree with casting her as a little girl... but Grover's crush on anything associated with her was pretty amusing) and pleased with how Aphrodite was portrayed, I really liked the glimpse of Athena as a docent at the Hoover Dam and loved Apollo and his Maserati of the sun and his penchant for bad haiku. Oh, and the scene where Dionysus comes to Percy's rescue without taking his eyes off the fridge? Awesome! (Mostly because Mr.D is such a comic and mostly antagonistic figure in these books, and it's neat to see the powerful god underneath that silly tracksuit.) Also, I kind of love this quote from Mr.D: "Yes, yes. And you procured a small annoying boy to replace her [i.e. Annabeth]." Oh, and while I was a bit bummed that Apollo and Helios had been conflated, I like the explanation of "downsizing" :)
Oh, and I suppose I should mention that I enjoyed Our Heroes' visit to San Francisco (OK, the Hoover Dam angels are probably slightly behind the times, so I'll forgive them calling it "Frisco"). So, Mount Tam is the Garden of Hesperides, huh?
52. Connie Willis, Doomsday Book -- Well. That was every bit as good (in terms of quality) as I expected, and every bit as bad (in terms of emotional impact) as I was afraid it would be... This book is set in the same universe as To Say Nothing of the Dog, which I read a few summers back and loved, but it's a very, very different book -- dark and... emotionally difficult (though still beautiful) where the other one was quirky and hilarious. I kept comparing it to Passage, actually, because the tone of the first half or so is not dissimilar. Willis does the sense of foreboding thing very well -- the first half of the book or so there's a mounting sense of worry in both the medieval and "present time" threads, and the sense that the danger could be coming from anywhere -- it was really quite nerve-wracking. Also similar to Passage was the sense of blocked-off communication, people talking at cross-purposes, missing each other's visits and phone calls and messages, which only added to the general unease.
And then, of course, the actual disaster hits, and it just keeps getting worse than you can imagine -- worse than the characters can imagine, too, and that sets up a kind of empathy loop. This hit me for the first time when Mary reports that they have the first mortality with the present-day virus, but it *really* hits when Kivrin is holding on to the "one third to one half of a village" statistics, and is counting up the dead and the dying, perversely relieved as the death toll gets closer to the 'quota' because it means the people she cares about are more likely to be spared. And then, of course, Agnes dies, and after that I was also feeling numbed to the further deaths, but still hoping that at least Rosemund would survive, or at least Roche, even when, in parallel chapters, Badri was calculating the slip, and the minimal slip was implying that there was nobody left alive to avoid meetings with. That part of the book, around and after Agnes's death, I couldn't read more than a few pages without taking a short break at least.
Up until the Black Death started, I actually was more interested in the "present time" storyline, Dunworthy and his quests, the detainees, trying to understand where the virus had come from, the odd churches and the petty academic rivalries, and Finch worrying about running out of toilet paper. And then those people started dying, too... I actually anticipated Mary's death, since she hadn't come to visit Dunworthy, and so caught the supporting evidence in things Colin stopped himself from saying. But when the revelation came, it was still accompanied by a shock, because I hadn't seen Gilchrist dying, for instance. He is such an unusual, unexpected character to die -- Dunworthy's antagonist who, by rights, should get his comeuppance when the true head of History returns from Scotland... and then he dies. And, of course, the book ends without any kind of closure in the "present time", without any look at the aftermath...
And it's such a weird plot arc... It's a kind of "there and back again" story, but unlike the usual "there and back" heroes who achieve something significant or set things right in a broken timestream or whatever, what does Kivrin actually accomplish? Well, practically speaking, nothing -- everyone she interacted with in 1348 still dies (well, Maisry possibly survives, and maybe some of Sir Bloet's household, but that seems unlikely). That's probably the only reason the net even admitted her to that year, since, obviously, she tried to do nothing BUT interfere since the Black Death struck. But, of course, Colin and Dunworthy's view of the other village shows that she did help the contemps in a way, making their deaths more confortable and dignified, as much as that was possible. And, of course, she becomes the recorder of "things which should be remembered", and that is also something. But it's still such an unusual arc, where the hero(ine) utterly fails to save anyone (though Dunworthy, at least, does get to save her... sort of... even though he himself thinks he came back "too late").
The first thing I usually talk about in any book are characters, but here it's taken me awhile to get to them. I'm not sure what I feel for Kivrin as a character. She felt kind of transparent, actually, in a way that I didn't think she had a lot of distinguishing personality traits, but that just allowed me to interact more directly with the contemps, which was not a downside. I guess what I'm trying to say is, she worked as a good reader stand-in, but it didn't seem like there was a whole lot else to her, except in a few brief moments, when she is railing against God when trying to save Agnes, and again when she hears Roche's confession. And, of course, there's the father/daughter relationship between Kivrin and Dunworthy, which, actually, felt a bit less real than the other relationships in the book -- maybe because we don't actually see Kivrin and Dunworthy interact with each other in real time until the very end, and by then they're both shell-shocked?
I liked almost all of the characters you were supposed to like. I remember Maisy kind of annoying me in Passage, but I really liked all the kid characters in this book. Colin was great, probably my favorite character, and Agnes was a very believable little kid, very sweet yet capable of being an enormous pain in the ass at the worst possible time, and saying things like "Will you tell me a story after the clerk is dead?", and Rosemund was quite heartbreaking yet very believably a real girl, with fears and a penchant for annoying her little sister and acting high-handed as a lord's daughter would. And she has this absolutely chilling and heartbreaking line, when she is lying ill with the plauge: "If Sir Bloet were here now, he would not dare to touch me. [...] It would be he who was afraid." And with Agnes and Rosemund, this depth of character and believability was achieved while preserving the "medieval" diction and sensibilities, which is even more impressive.
I liked Badri a lot (and was glad he got to expiate his original mistake that wasn't even his fault because he had thought of making a backup), I liked Mary (and was very sad that she had died, and, like Dunworthy, liked that she still got to help posthumously with her codes used to authorize the anti-plague shots and discharges for Kivrin's rescue), and I ended up liking Montoya, sort of admiring her single-mindedness about her dig. I also liked William Gaddson quite a bit, especially for someone who is only "onscreen" once or twice; his network and powers of seduction are maybe a trifle difficult to believe, but it was great to have him there to lighten the mood. (Is there a term for a character who spends little to no time onscreen yet still has a lot of personality or bearing on the story because the other characters keep talking about him? Because it feels like there should be...) And even some of the characters whose names Dunworthy never learned -- the nurses and med students whom he kept running into, who kept records of Badri's delirious babblings, emerged as sympathetic, interesting characters and decent people in the face of a crisis from their very brief appearances.
In the medieval times, other than the girls, I can't say that I really liked any of the characters -- Father Roche felt a bit *too* saintly to be believable (and I did guess pretty early on that Father Roche had seen Kivrin come through, and that he was her "cutthroat"), but I still liked the kind of characters they were -- Lady Imeyne's unyielding shrewishness (like when she blames everyone from Eliwys to Maisry to Kivrin to Roche for the plague, driven partly by her own guilt in inviting the bishop who brought the plague with his clerk, and then finally blames God: "'You must make your peace with God ere you die,' Roche said, but she turned her face to the wall and said, 'He is to blame for this.'"), Eliwys's plight, Gawyn's boasting and love for Eliwys and that it doesn't prevent him from still boffing Maisry in the stables. And I liked the contemps' matter-of-fact relationship with death, as when Agens asks,
I mentioned up above that I didn't think the Dunworthy/Kivrin father/daughter relationship really worked for me all that well, but Dunworthy and Colin totally did, and made for a rather wonderful sort of family (with the mostly-absent Mary) -- giving Christmas presents to each other (especially, "It's an appointment calendar. [...] It's so you can mark off the days till your girl gets back."), and, of course, Colin sneaking into the past with him. And Kivrin, in parallel, being adopted in a way by Agnes and Rosemund. And the two shattered "families" meeting at the end, after Colin and Dunworthy have lost Mary and Kivrin has lost everyone, and Colin instantly adopting Kivrin as a sort of surrogate big sister. Families of all kinds are my main narrative kink, so this really worked for me.
There are all kinds of neat things in the writing, that probably would have stood out to me more if not for the emotional pummeling of the book. I loved Kivrin's translator calibrating itself at the beginning, when she was trying to sort out what was going on -- loved trying to figure out what the contemps were saying before Kivrin could understand it, loved her frustrated allusions to The Canterbury Tales. I liked the parallels being set up -- because they were set up by the characters and not omnisciently, they felt less heavy-handed than they could have been: the Christian parallels that tie together present and past (Christmas and Dunworthy sending Kivrin "into the world", the Slaughter of the Innocents, Dunworthy identifying with God the Father and directing Mrs.Gaddson's scripture reading accordingly), and the parallels between Kivrin talking to Dunworthy into the corder, looking like she's praying and Roche praying and talking to God in much the same manner, and the story Kivrin makes up for Agnes, about the willful maiden going into the woods, which Agnes adopts for her own parallel. And the bells everywhere, like theme music for the entire book.
There is not a whole world of present-day worldbuilding to take the reader from our own present to then, and so much looks to be unchanged, but what little there is is very interesting: "Drops have been made to the Pandemic, to World War I battles where mustard gas was used, to Tel Aviv. Twentieth Century sent detection equipment to the site of St.Paul's two days after the pinpoint was dropped." I also liked the reaction to the epidemic in modern-day Oxford, especially that of the American bell ringers: "'Perhaps you'd like to explain it to me, too. I'm not used to having my civil liberties taken away like this. In America, nobody would dream of telling you where you can or can't go.' And over thirty million Americans died in the Pandemic as a result of that sort of thinking, he thought."
So, in conclusion: Great book, well deserving of its Nebula and Hugo. Really glad I finally got to read it. Quite relieved that I'm finished with it now. Would recommend it to anyone who thinks they can read it (including people who don't like sci-fi); I actually thought about you, _grayswandir_, a couple of times while reading it, because it deals so extensively with both human frailty and resilience in the face of tragedy, and touches a bit on Christianity/religion in general in this context.
53. Barbara Hambly, Dragonshadow -- I liked the book quite a bit, but a good deal less than Dragonsbane, which was a bit disappointing, and I have a feeling the sequels will be more like this one than the original. For one thing, while I'm a big fan of dragons, I find demons pretty boring. There is not much new to say on the subject of demons, and while I find Hambly's dragons rather neat (I like how they're not reptilian, for example, in the language that's used to describe them, but are compared to birds, rats, cats, fireflies, etc.), her demons are pretty run-of-the-mill. Being taken over by a demon and doing terrible things and being aware of it... meh. Though I did like newly!possessed!Jenny's view of the battle with dragons. I did like it that the effect of the demons was not reversible, that Jenny and the others longed for their demons when they were "freed", and that some could not survive the demons' eventual destruction. (I do have to wonder about Ian, though -- he seems to have taken being freed of his demon very easily... I don't know if that's an indication of his strength of character or a sign that something's not quite right with him still.) Similarly, I did not find John's dealings with the Demon Queen very interesting -- the illusion/seduction/torture, it's all not my cup of tea. So, that is all to say I was not thrilled with the whole demon plot, which it looks like will continue full-bore in book 3, since that's called Knight of the Demon Queen. The other elements still make the series worth reading for me, but I hope the demon thing is resolved sooner rather than later.
The things I did like:
John Aversin and his relationship with Jenny. You don't see very many long-established happy relationships in fantasy books (or any kind of books, actually), and this one is very nicely done. They understand each other so well, and worry about each other, and work so well as a team, yet are quite capable on their own. The device of John braiding on the red ribbon struck me as very poignant. My main complaint is that the two of them spent so much of the book apart, and I like it best when they are together. And I really liked the meta bit at the end, though it's not exactly subtle: "In all the ballads, evil was vanquished, order was restored, and the shining hero prince wed his lady, both beautiful and young. Neither, apparently, had nightmares afterward or dreamed of what they had lost. All wounds healed cleanly and no souls were broken by longings or obsessions or mistrust."
I love John's geekiness, and the dorky sweetness of the breakfast he assembles for Jenny: "John had used the bread, the boiled eggs, the fruits, and the salt fish to create a dumpy little lady all stuck together with Jam, "I love you" squiggled in honey around the rim." I also love the fact that, unlike so many heroes, he is not all that blase about being sacrificed for the common good: "But you didn't bother mentionin' that all anyone would say about it was, Oh, sorry, son, can't pay your teind, bit on the steep side. [...] But we'll take the protection and the freedom and the healin' nonetheless, thanks ever so, and we'll see to it that your name lives forever. So just lay right down there and wait while I get the ax." although he does admit the need: "'Well, and they're right, love.' There was a scathe of bitter rage in his voice. 'Can't let the demons into this world but somebody's got to go in and get the things to fight them with, for the sake of the King, and for Gar, and for the Law and all me friends. But it was for you, love. It was all for you.'"
I do continue to like the dragons. I mentioned their non-reptilian-ness above, and this is just an opportunity to jot down some quotes: "without altering his size Morkeleb seemed able to fit, as a rat can, through crevices barely a quarter his apparent girth." "He hissed, like a cat, and like a cat his tail moved here and there, independent of the stillness of his body." I liked that human-worked gold is like an addiction for the dragons, that Morkeleb, having been once caught by it, is reluctant to come near again. I liked the way the dragons in the Skerries of Light interacted with John and addressed him, and I liked Morkeleb's occasional reminders of how ancient he is. I like that, though he is not fully "a thing of dragons" anymore, he is still quite inhuman. "I would not have entered the Hell behind the mirror, Jenny, because I know the hopelessness of it. Yet he, too, knew, and here you stand in the hope of being freed. I could never have done such, for I did not -- I do not -- know how to perform acts of such foolishness. Yet I am grateful to him that he did what I, Morkeleb the Black, the Destroyer of the Elder Droon and the greatest of the star-drakes, what I could not and would not have done because it is not a thing of dragons." I was, however, a bit disappointed by him taking on human appearance. I knew it would lead to the "tears of a dragon" resolution, of course (and I find it neat that dragons apparently cry HF or something like that), but I liked it better when he stayed in dragon shape, even though I like shape-shifting-into-human dragons normally, and I wasn't terribly impressed with his human appearance, either. But whatever.
I liked Rocklys as a villain (actually, I noticed her and liked her character before it became clear she was a villain, too). Not because she was such a unique fantasy villain -- the nobleman who takes up arms against the rightful king because he thinks he can do a better job is a kind of villain I like anyway, but is not so terribly uncommon. The unique thing (in my experience anyway) is that this sort of villain role was filled by a woman. Female villains in fantasy are so much more likely to be more like the sorceress Zyerne from the first book, using magic and feminine wiles to surreptitiously ensnare for very personal gain. The fact that Rocklys is a soldier who is revolting in the name of efficiency -- a very masculine sort of job -- was really neat. And her sorcerously gifted assistant is a man (I pegged Caradoc as the guy with the demons as soon as he was first mentioned by the soliders, btw) -- it's like the gender-inverse of Stannis and Melisandre, almost. Anyway, that was neat, and sort of worth the price of admission all by itself, I think.
I liked the broader view of magic we get in this book -- that not only do dragons and humans have magic (well, and demons), but so do mice and rats (!) and whales, and, it seems, all living things. Totally randomly, I liked the ?penguins John discovers in the Skerries of Light and calls "dummies" ("some kind of fat gray flightless creature the height of his knee that waddled trustingly up to him as he dropped down over the gunwale and tried to eat the buckles on the sides of his boots. Killing them would have been embarrasingly easy; so easy in fact that John couldn't bring himself to do it.")
I liked getting some more backstory on John's Icewitch mother, Nightraven, who seems like a piece of work herself...
I can't say I liked it, but I am sort of amused that Jenny continues to be at the center of not even a love triangle anymore, but a love rectangle, with Amayon now also having a claim on her affections. Similarly, I can't say I liked it, but I am impressed with Hambly's willingness to go there -- Jenny's resentment of John for destroying Amayon, of Ian for still having his magic when she has lost hers (though I do wonder if it will be a permanent loss), the she is so scarred and crippled in her final fight with the demon/dragon/Caradoc. I don't *like* this damaged Jenny much, but I do want to see where things go from here, how she manages to recover.
Today, I stopped by the library to pick up my next two holds that came in: Feet of Clay (a Discworld book) and Kushiel's Mercy. I'll have plenty to read when I finish Memory (or if I get too depressed and need to take a break from Miles's woes by dipping into Pterry...)