aamcnamara

Where do migratory birds have their home?

Below are just three screenshots from a series of 16 photos on the Instagram account of somadifusa (Laura Ortiz), of murals she and the tattoo artist Azul Luna (Instagram account azulunailustra) painted in Bogota, Colombia.

I'm captivated by these images both of traveling swallows, some bearing backpacks and baskets, some with shells on their back like hermit crabs, and of hearts that are also nests, or that morph into shells, or sprout flowers and eyes. "Home is where the heart is," or the heart makes the home.

They write [my clunky translation--see the link at the end to see their original]

I have seen swallows nest in dark passageways, in airports, beneath bridges, in the palm of a hand and in the center of a star. Their wings cover kilometers, crossing the scars of the earth, their free flight reminding us that to migrate is not a crime and that borders are imaginary.

They conclude their post with a Spanish translation of a poem they believe is by Emily Dickinson, but there's absolutely no sign of it in English, and no sign of it in Spanish, either, except their post. Very strange... Please let them not have been taken in by an AI hallucination... please let there be some other explanation

Original post on Instagram

Current Music: Biomigrant & El Monte Adentro: Voz emplumada del monte

bloodygranuaile

June’s entry in the Vorkosigan Saga read was A Civil Campaign, which had been hyped to me as a Regency romance dropped in the middle of this futuristic mil-sci-fi series. I’m not a huge Regency romance reader unless it is by actual Regency-era social comic Jane Austen, but the mixing up of Regency romance with the futuristic mil-sci-fi world of the Vorkosigan Saga and its charmingly nasty throwback empire of Barryar intrigued me, plus I already know and am invested in most of these characters. I really enjoyed Komarr, and I was actually interested in the dynamic between Miles and Ekaterin, so I was quite curious to see how this went now that Ekaterin is back on Barrayar.

In proper romantic comedy style, it goes very poorly, for everybody. Now that the big bad terrorist plot of the previous book has been foiled, everyone is going full-bore insane about Emperor Gregor’s wedding, except possibly Emperor Gregor, who is patiently bearing up under the weight of all the imperial pomp and nonsense associated with the wedding, apparently grounded both by his entire personality and the desire to get to the being married part without incident. Ivan has been press-ganged into service to his mother Lady Alys and a battalion of Vor matron social captains; Ekaterin is fending off unwanted suitors with both hands–at one point, literally–and trying to find work; Miles is trying to court Ekaterin without her noticing and also engage in some politicking in the Council of Counts. Mark has adopted a brilliant but utterly common-sense-free bug scientist and is trying to develop a real company with him and the help of some of the younger Koudelka girls, which is complicated by the Koudelka parents’ reaction to his relationship with Kareen.

This is the base state of problems established in the first few chapters. Things get much more contentious as Ivan’s old girlfriend Lady Donna takes a quick trip to Beta Colony to become Barrayar’s first openly transmasculine Vor, squarely for the purpose of inserting herself into the line of succession for a Countship. One thing I liked about this particularly pseudo-Regency book was all the “battle of the sexes” type bullshit was put quite squarely on Barrayar’s patriarchal culture and not any kind of “men are from mars, women are from venus” type gender essentialist bullshit. The men and the women are both from Barrayar, and if Barrayar stays a man’s world for much longer, it might one of these days find itself shorter on women than it already is.

Anyway, resting upon this foundation of fairly serious commentary about gender roles, the book consists largely of Shenanigans. There is an utterly disastrous dinner party, an extremely silly scene involving the Koudelka girls throwing bug butter at a pair of Escobarian cops, some tragic letter-writing, a Very Dramatic Parliamentary Scene in the Council of Counts, multiple awkward marriage proposals, some very satisfying psychological warfare from Countess Cordelia once she shows up again, and a nice helping of competence porn from all quarters as everyone slowly pulls themselves out of the holes they’ve dug themselves into, stops stepping on every rake on Barrayar, and rediscovers their ability to kick ass and take names. All the men get engaged (except Ivan) and all the women get jobs. There is a little bit of And Then Gregor Fixes Everything which really highlights just how utterly fucked Barrayar would be if basically anyone else were Emperor and how utterly fucked it will become if it doesn’t change before somebody else becomes Emperor. But, given that the Council of Counts says trans rights (in a very roundabout and fucked-up way that really wouldn’t pass muster in a serious society), it appears Barrayar is changing, and there may be hope yet.

shadaras

1.
The River Has Roots, by Amal El-Mohtar, is very beautifully written and really is a love letter to fairy tales and sisterhood, all of which I knew it would be going into it. It is also a novella I am turning over in my head because I am trying to figure out if my "I think it should've been longer" is a genuine structural thing or just the side-effect of the print volume being ~130 pages long, only 99 of which are the titular story. (the other 30 pages are a short story teasing her upcoming short story collection.)

This is not a long story! Reading a doorstopper novel, something like Priory of the Orange Tree or Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norell (neither of which I ever finished, hah), being off in your estimations of length by 30 pages is unlikely to matter to the overall pacing of the book or what you expect from it.

It is almost a quarter of these printed pages.

That is a very significant amount of difference! I think about structure and pacing as I read. It's not always conscious, but I know that the number of pages remaining matters to me and my expectations. Sure, there's often some number of pages that aren't narrative at the end of a novel, but: scale, again, and also the sort of book that has extensive end notes/an appendix/etc is visible from the start, where it probably has a map and/or dramatis personae as well.

All of this is to say: I liked this story quite a lot! Which is why I'm spending so many words squinting at the way it was presented and poking at it like "you could've done better to prepare me for how this story was going to pace so that I wasn't surprised when it ended". (Because it is a gorgeous volume, with beautiful illustrations and clear care given to how it appears as an object, so why—)

2.
I taught kids class for aikido last night, because my friend who usually lead teaches wasn't feeling well, and used this as an excuse to teach the kids a very basic forward roll technique. They're all good enough at forward rolls to take one, and this throw done at their level just guides them into the position to take a forward roll; there's no force behind it, just form. (If done with the right timing and angle, it is very effective at forcing a roll! But that's much more advanced and very hard to do unintentionally.)

They did great with it, as I knew they would, and idk why this is the first time they've been taught a forward roll technique other than "my friend didn't want to teach it yet".

Next on my agenda: making them do the ikkyo pin. We'll see how long it takes to get there. (This is more likely to be something I can be like "hey what if we taught this" about and get "oh, yeah, sure" in response.)

3.
I talked to my mom on the phone this weekend. [insert 1k of deleted words about family stuff here, which tbh boil down to: I really should figure out finding and seeing a therapist. (this is not a new thought.)]

4.
I've started watching The Apothecary Diaries, an anime that I have been "yeah I'd probably like this" about since I first heard of it, and: surprise! I do like it quite a lot, as I like most stories about women and their politics and also weird girls with specialized knowledge using that knowledge to solve mysteries and help people. Maomao, the protag, is a 17yo apothecary who loves poison, does not notice people flirting with her, and thinks about how pretty the women surrounding her are all the time. (Also there's a dude who's in love with her in part because she's the only woman who goes "ew, leave me alone" instead of mooning over him, because heterosexuality must be gestured at and dudes need representation too.) (There are other men in the show; that guy, who also has interesting plot reasons for existing and doesn't actually exist solely to moon over Maomao, is just the only one other than Maomao's dad/teacher who really matters.)

I'm 10eps in and having fun. Truly just one of those things where sometimes everyone going OMG IT'S SO GOOD makes it hard to give stuff a shot, and going "y'know what I want to try something new and this has always sounded fun" is a lot easier to make happen.

5.
In other thoughts about tv shows and structure/pacing. So. Okay. I have a terrible fondness for Hearing About Sports while also often having zero interest in watching sports. (Sometimes

tavina liveblogs sports at me and I adore this, it's very fun, please tell me about your investment in an event and explain to me why you have feelings about it; I love to go !!! over things I only just heard about and learn about underdogs I will promptly root for on principle. or about Your Team doing well at things when I have no investment about rooting for anyone in particular but like it when my friends' investment is rewarded!)

So there's the netflix sports shows, which I'm pretty sure started with Drive to Survive, which is about F1. There are a number of seasons. My twin got me to start watching them like. Three years ago...? Something like that. It's a good series, and that's in large part because in its first season it understood a very important fact about sports tv:

You need to give the audience enough context about the sport that they know why they should be invested in it.

It's not enough to present a charismatic and/or attractive person who wants to win (and probably won't) and say "look! root for this person!". You gotta know what the sport is, and what makes it dramatic, and what it takes for someone to be good at it, and then you need to show the people you're following being good at that sport! It's okay if they fail, or fuck up, or whatever not being perfect looks like; you just also gotta show when they do things right, when they get close to victory, when they have the stuff that makes it interesting to root for them. And that means the audience needs to know what that is, and what it looks like, and see that happening.

A startling number of mediocre Netflix sports reality shows do not understand that the first thing I want from a sports reality show is: the sport

perhaps I am unusual for this, but, like

if you want to get people into your sport... I think they need to be given the tools to understand the basics of how your sport works... and see that sport being performed/played in competition...

also your show can't just be "look! women can do this too!" and generally spend more times on the lives of the women than on the women actually doing the thing. like, yes, I know people find that inspiring, but wow it's more inspiring to see people doing thing than to see them crying with their families about having fucked up, couldn't you have used that time to show some people doing cool stuff instead. show me their training. their actions. not their failures to the point where I'm like... where even was the cool victory stuff... you were too focused on humanizing them and forgot that being visibly good at shit is part of the story of "I want to be one of the best in the world at this activity" too...

sartorias

It's very poignant to be here again. I'm in Minneapolis so rarely that I can still distinguish each visit, but the overall sense is one of extended memory, that is not just of my own, but of anecdotes from my mother and grandmother about their lives here, my grandmother as a (very) young adult, and my mother as a kid.

Not all the memories of mine are good--the week we spent in Bloomington ranged from weird to horrific, the axis we kid spun around was the sound of my mother crying in the bathroom when my bio grandfather started his daily drinking and turned into a monster. We kids at least escaped with his bio kids (our age, his second marriage) but mom couldn't escape--we had the car.

The city that was best to them all (though mom only got to visit, never got to live there) was Red Wing. I adore that place! There's something so peaceful about Red Wing. And extended memory is very complete, as we heard ALL the stories about life on the farm, etc. But it wasn't idyllic--my grandmother and her older sister had to go--that was the conditions my great-grandmother accepted when she remarried in order to save the farm, around 1930, with the Depression really digging in. The man said he could abide the two younger girls but the sixteen year old (my grandmother) and her older sister had to get out and find their way on their own. Which they did, in Minneapolis, waiting tables.

Anyway I'm here for a con. I came a day early, knowing that getting in at one in the morning would leave me a zombie for a day. The weather is perfect--cool and cloudy. I think I'll go out for another walk.

asakiyume

It's a cold, surreal post-apocalyptic world, plagued by meteor showers, crumbling apartments patrolled by tigers, one where former tar-spreading technicians repurpose themselves as morning soup sellers. Bobby is wakened by a knocking at his door. He doesn't open it, but he's told, through the closed door, that Belle-Medusa, an immensely huge jellyfish, needs his help. Belle-Medusa has a library of scents in her memory, but they're mainly ocean scents. She wants Bobby to collect and convey land scents to her:

In truth, she only had one passion anymore: she collected smells. Aromas, perfumes, whiffs, and scents of all types. She numbered them and she put them in tiny special cases in her memory, in a classification system that nobody, apart from herself, was able to understand.

For this purpose, Belle-Medusa has already "plugged into" Bobby. There are various ways he can convey the scents to her, but the way he settles on is to plunge his face into water and speak them.

I had my cheek pressed against the windowpane. Just under my nose, fed by the steam that escaped from my mouth, the frost drew branching ice wisps, which imprisoned the dust. If I had had to specify the smell that lingered on the surface of the glass, I would have spoken of a dusty ice floe, of frozen goose down, of dark sherbet. Wait, I thought, maybe I could send that to Belle-Medusa, in order to check that the communication between us is well established.

I left my observation post. I groped my way to the bathroom and I filled the sink with what flowed from the faucet, water that carried with it cubes and needles of ice. Before immersing my face, I had to stir it with my hand so as not to use the end of my nose to break the film threatening to form ... I sank my head into it to my ears.

"It's me, Belle-Medusa," I said.

( Heh, this got long. Let's put in a cut. )

It's a strange and wonderful story, and I recommend it. I read it in an anthology called XO Orpheus: Fifty New Myths, edited by Kate Bernheimer and published in 2013. The anthology was lent to me by a friend who had picked out that story especially for me to read because (I'm flattered to say), they said it reminded me of the story of mine they'd read--and also, I suspect, because the story's important to them: it's entered their vocabulary. They talk about their scent library. The other stories in the collection look promising too; while I'm borrowing the book, I think I'll read some more.

It also exists as a 64-page standalone publication, but only in its original French, as Belle-Méduse. For the anthology, the translation was done by Sarah and Brian Evenson.

*Manuela Draeger is a fictitious author, a librarian whose stories are intended as distraction for children in containment camps. The author of her world is Antoine Volodine ... which is in turn a pen name of the writer Jean Desvignes.

Current Location: Manu Chau: Mr. Bobby (Playing for Change version)

mrissa

Review copy provided by the publisher.

This is the first book in a duology, and it's the kind of duology that's really one book split into two volumes. The end of this book is merely the stopping point of this book, not in any way an ending. If that bothers you, wait around until the other half is out.

Honestly I can't tell you why I didn't love this book. I wanted to love this book. It's a secondary world fantasy where one of the central relationships of the book is an aunt and nephew, and that kind of non-standard central relationship is absolutely up my alley. It's a fantasy world where magical environmental contamination is a major threat, which is also of great interest to me. Sensitive yet matter-of-fact handling of trans characters, check. Worldbuilding that deviates from standard, check. And there wasn't anything that made me roll my eyes or say ugh! It was just fine! But for me, at least, it was just fine. Honestly if this is your sort of thing I kind of wish you'd read it and tell me what you think might have been going on here, or if it's just...that some books and some people are ships passing in the night.

asakiyume

This is the season when Rosa multiflora, the indomitable conqueror of roadsides and wastelands, the one who can render a pleasant meadow into an impassable, laceration-producing wall of arching, spreading, canes, puts out its flowers. Everywhere there are curtains and drifts of small, white-and-yellow blossoms, with a fragrance so intense that you breathe it in and begin to float. The whole rest of the year it's thorns and You Shall Not Pass, but right now it's Come To Me And Stay Awhile My Love.

"It's worth a little blood, isn't it? You can cede a little ground, can't you? To enjoy this moment with me now?" says the rambling rose.

Current Music: Melos Han-Tani: Give Thanks to Punctuation

bloodygranuaile

My May entry in the Year of Erics was the only reread of the bunch: Eric Jay Dolan’s Leviathan: The History of Whaling in America. I bought this on my senior year field trip to the New Bedford Whaling Museum at the end of my Moby-Dick capstone seminar in fall 2009, and read it the first time around in 2011, after a little of the whale trauma had worn off. Now, nearly 15 years later, I a older/wiser/sadder/fatter/etc. and my love-hate relationship with Moby-Dick has turned into a whole-hearted and unironic love of it, and I would give anything to go to three-hour seminars about it at the quite reasonably late-starting hour of 9 am on Wednesdays. (Youth is wasted on the young, etc. etc.).

I decided to include this book in my Year of Erics reading because 15 years is a long time, certainly plenty of time to forget most of the stuff you read in a nonfiction book. This, I think, was a good decision! I had, indeed, forgotten quite a lot of stuff, and there were many fun anecdotes about American whaling, plus some information on Norwegian whaling that some steampunk author or other really ought to incorporate into something. Also, even though Salem was never a big whaling port, the additional 15 years in New England coastal cities makes reading New England maritime history more fun than it was when I had only lived a few years in landlocked Worcester.

The book covers not just the golden age but truly the entire timeline of American whaling, including what little we know about pre-Columbian native whaling practices, and then from the very earliest drift whaling/scavenging of the English in what they would turn into New England up until the very last wooden American whaleship, the Wanderer, left port from New Bedford in 1924, which promptly wrecked on Cuttyhunk Island in Buzzard’s Bay. Whoops.

In the middle we learn about drift whaling, shore whaling, open-sea whaling, wartime raiding upon whaleships, the discovery and exploitation of various fisheries, and some whale anatomy. There are silly political cartoons and tales of battles and mutinies where people say all sorts of insane things to each other, because people have always been people. There are not really heroes although there are occasionally villains. Fun anecdotes are enjoyably woven through a narrative that does trace the overall rises and falls in fortune of the industry and explain how it shaped American life and commerce.

I am glad to have brought this old friend off the shelf for a little bit, and now I am going to put it back on the shelf of Boat Books where it will soon be joined by some new friends as summer lakeside reading season gets started.

shadaras

To nobody's surprise, I once again had the best grades in my apprentice cohort. (More entertaining: first/second/third for my year was the exact same people in the exact same order, and the other two were fighting over second place because they figured I'd get first again.) Apparently this means I'll get to go to the regional competition again next year, since the way that's structured is "the people who do best each year get to go and we figure out what category each of you is in along the way (and also the one TAB guy goes)". We'll see! (This means two of us will need to do something we don't do for work. Curious to see if the guy who did architectural last year will do it again this year. Very curious who gets asked to do welding.) It'll be in Boston next year, so that's an easy drive, something to look forward to.

The last day of school, where they announce this, is also a potluck provided by the instructional staff. There was. Functionally nothing I could eat, between "cannot eat cheese/dairy" and "does not eat pork/beef". I know why I expect better in general even if my reaction is weary disappointment and "yeah, of course". (I have explained these food restrictions multiple times and nobody thinks about them anyway.) (they are not hard to avoid)

Work is work. It continues. It's very funny any day that everyone's just sort of like... "we are doing obnoxious things that are not hard but are time-consuming and make us wonder what the people who told us to do this were thinking, and also it is hot, how much time can we spend talking instead".

Obligate Diurnalism continues to rear its head as we approach the solstice. Probably I am not getting as much sleep as I should most nights! Oh well. I am getting enough sleep, overall, and my body will force me to bed earlier if I actually need it.

in non-irl things:

Murderbot show continues to be good! Very fun to watch! Has some divergences from the book, in large part because of being a different medium I suspect, but that's not making it any less fun to watch. Everyone's facial expressions are fantastic. The in-universe media is a joy. They made a theme song for Sanctuary Moon and it's so cheesy and good.

I have been spending a truly impressive amount of time talking to

hafnia about a specific AU for our D&D blorbos (which started out as iddy kink nonsense but then GREW PLOT), which is so canon-divergent we're just like "this is basically original work with D&D filling in the worldbuilding that's not important". It is such a joy to wake up in the morning to see more of it turned into prose and be like "oooh YES :eyes:" and have feelings about things that I already knew were going to happen because we've talked out like the vast majority of what's going to happen. xD But it's DIFFERENT when it's in narrative prose instead of flowing between rp and brainstorming, y'know?

However also I need to write more things that are not about the D&D campaign that is my primary fandom brain thing right now, due to having exchanges etc that uh I did agree to do and do care a lot about but also I did most of those sign ups before (*checks*) the beginning of the month (50k later and we are at "gotta clear up the curse before we can get to the really iddy kink nonsense, but that shouldn't take too much longer!"). So. Can't plan for "I have been CONSUMED"?

...it's fine I can write enough words in the time available, I just need to drag myself away from going "HEY SO WHAT IF" or "OH NO: A THOUGHT" all the time. xD

(I am having SUCH a good time with this though <3)

skygiants

A while back,

lirazel posted about a bad book about an interesting topic -- Conspiracy Theories About Lemuria -- which apparently got most of its information from a scholarly text called The Lost Land of Lemuria: Fabulous Geographies, Catastrophic Histories by Sumathi Ramaswamy.

Great! I said. I bet the library has that book, I'll read it instead of the bad one! which now I have done.

For those unfamiliar, for a while the idea of sunken land-bridges joining various existing landmasses was very popular in 19th century geology; Lemuria got its name because it was supposed to explain why there are lemurs in Madagascar and India but not anywhere else. Various other land-bridges were also theorized but Lemuria's the only one that got famous thanks to the catchy name getting picked up by various weird occultists (most notably Helena Blavatasky) and incorporated into their variably incomprehensible Theories of Human Origins, Past Paradises, Etc.

As is not unexpected, this book is a much more dense, scholarly, and theory-driven tome than the bad pop history that

lirazel read. What was unexpected for me is that the author's scholarly interests focus on a.) cartography and b.) Tamil language and cultural politics, and so what she's most interested in doing is tracing how the concept of a Lemurian continent went from being an outdated geographic supposition to a weird Western occult fringe belief to an extremely mainstream, government-supported historical narrative in Tamil-speaking polities, where Lost Lemuria has become associated with the legendary drowned Tamil homeland of Tamilnāṭu and thus the premise for a claim that not only is the Lemurian continent the source of human origins but that specifically the Tamil language is the source language for humanity.

Not the book I expected to be reading! but I'm not at all mad about how things turned out! the prose is so dry that it was definite work to wade through but the rewards were real; the author has another whole book about Tamil language politics and part of me knows I am not really theory-brained enough for it at this time but the other part is tempted.

Also I did as well come out with a few snippets of the Weird Nonsense that I thought I was going in for! My favorite anecdote involves a woman named Gertrude Norris Meeker who wrote to the U.S. government in the 1950s claiming to be the Governor-General of Atlantis and Lemuria, ascertaining her sovereign right to this nonexistent territory, to which the State Department's Special Advisor on Geography had to write back like "we do not think that is true; this place does not exist." Eventually Gertrude Meeker got a congressman involved who also nobly wrote to the government on behalf of his constituent: "Mrs. Meeker understands that by renouncing her citizenship she could become Queen of these islands, but as a citizen she can rule as governor-general. [...] She states that she is getting ready to do some leasing for development work on some of these islands." And again the State Department was patiently like "we do not think that is true, as this place does not exist." Subsequently they seem to have developed a "Lemuria and Atlantis are not real" form letter which I hope and trust is still being used today.

jazzfish

Going through my books, because it's been a couple years since my last serious purge. Pick up The Fortunate Fall. Note that it's under the author's deadname. Ponder what to do about that: sticky-label on the spine? Shelve it under R?

Open it up. Note that my copy is signed (under the author's deadname). Flip through. Read two and a half pages. Realise I've just booksniped myself. Put it firmly back on the shelf.

Next up, I guess. I was gonna read some of my unreads to see if they're worth keeping / hauling but sometimes the bookshelf speaks.

(I believe Cameron Reed's second novel will be out this fall. FINALLY. I am excited.)

Just finished Michael Swanwick's The Iron Dragon's Daughter. It's ... the trappings are I guess "industrial fantasy." I think Abby described it as nihilistic. I can see where she was coming from but to me it's more about, mm. The process of outgrowing nihilism, maybe.

DONNY: Are these the nazis?
WALTER: No, Donny, these men are nihilists. There's nothing to be frightened of.

Currently reading the sequel, The Dragons of Babel, which starts off in the same nihilistic vein but quickly takes a turn for the at least somewhat more cheerful. I remember liking this one an awful lot when I read it. Looking forward to the third volume after this.

skygiants

Over Memorial Day weekend

genarti and I were on a mini-vacation at her family's cabin in the Finger Lakes, which features a fantastic bookshelf of yellowing midcentury mysteries stocked by

genarti's grandmother. Often when I'm there I just avail myself of the existing material, but this time -- in increasing awareness of the way our own books are threatening to spill over our shelves again -- I seized this as an opportunity to check my bookshelves for the books that looked most like they belonged in a cabin in the Finger Lakes to read while I was there and then leave among their brethren.

As a result, I have now finally read the second-to-last of the stock of Weird Joan Aikens that

coffeeandink gave me many years ago now, and boy was it extremely weird!

My favorite Aiken books are often the ones where I straight up can't tell if she's attempting to sincerely Write in the Genre or if she is writing full deadpan parody. I think The Embroidered Sunset is at least half parody, in a deadpan and melancholy way. I actually have a hypothesis that someone asked Joan Aiken to write a Gothic, meaning the sort of romantic suspense girl-flees-from-house form of the genre popular in the 1970s, and she was like "great! I love the Gothic tradition! I will give you a plucky 1970s career girl and a mystery and a complex family history and several big creepy houses! would you also like a haunted seaside landscape, the creeping inevitability of loss and death, some barely-dodged incest and a tragic ending?" and Gollancz, weary of Joan Aiken and her antics, was just like "sure, Joan. Fine. Do whatever."

Our heroine, Lucy, is a talented, sensible, cross and rather ugly girl with notably weird front teeth, is frequently jokingly referred to as Lucy Snowe by one of her love interests; the big creepy old age home in which much of the novel takes place is called Wildfell Hall; at one point Lucy knocks on the front door of Old Colonel Linton and he's like 'oh my god! you look just like my great-grandmother Cathy Linton, nee Earnshaw! it's the notably weird front teeth!" Joan Will Have Her Little Jokes.

The plot? The plot. Lucy, an orphan being raised in New England by her evil uncle and his hapless wife and mean daughter, wants to go study music in England with the brilliant-but-tragically-dying refugee pianist Max Benovek. Her uncle pays her fare across the Atlantic, on the condition that she go and investigate a great-aunt who has been pulling a pension out of the family coffers for many years; the great-aunt was Living Long Term with Another Old Lady (the L word is not said but it is really felt) and one of them has now died, but no one is really clear which.

The evil uncle suspects that the surviving old lady may not be the great-aunt and may instead be Doing Fraud, so Lucy's main task is to locate the old lady and determine whether or not she is in fact her great-aunt. Additionally, the great aunt was a brilliant folk artist unrecognized in her own time and so the evil uncle has assigned Lucy a side quest of finding as many of her paintings as possible and bringing them back to be sold for many dollars.

However, before setting out on any of these quests, Lucy stops in on the dying refugee pianist to see if he will agree to teach her. They have an immediate meeting of the minds and souls! Not only does Max agree to take her on as His Last Pupil, he also immediately furnishes her with cash and a car, because her plan of hitchhiking down to Aunt Fennel's part of the UK could endanger her beautiful pianist's hands!! Now Lucy has a brilliant future ahead of her with someone who really cares about her, but also a ticking clock: she has to sort out this whole great-aunt business before Max progresses from 'tragically dying' to 'tragically dead.'

The rest of the book follows several threads:
- Lucy bopping around the World's Most Depressing Seaside Towns, which, it is ominously and repeatedly hinted, could flood catastraphically at any moment, grimly attempting to convince a series of incredibly weird and variably depressed locals to give her any information or paintings, which they are deeply disinclined to do
- Max, in his sickroom, reading Lucy's letters and going 'gosh I hope I get to teach that girl ... it would be my last and most important life's work .... BEFORE I DIE'
- Sinister Goings On At The Old Age Home! Escaped Convicts!! Secret Identities!!! What Could This All Have To Do With Lucy's Evil Uncle? Who Could Say! Is Their Doctor Faking Being Turkish? Who Could Say!! Why Does That One Old Woman Keep Holding Up An Electric Mixer And Remarking How Easy It Would Be To Murder Someone With It? Who Could Say That Either!!!
- an elderly woman who may or may not be Aunt Fennel, in terrible fear of Something, stacked into dingy and constrained settings packed with other old and fading strangers, trying not to think too hard about her dead partner and their beloved cat and the life that she used to have in her own home where she was happy and loved .... all of these sections genuinely gave me big emotions :(((

Eventually all these plotlines converge with increasingly chaotic drama! Lucy and the old lady meet and have a really interesting, affectionate but complicated relationship colored by deep loneliness and suspicion on both sides; again, I really genuinely cared about this! Lucy, who sometimes exhibits random psychic tendencies, visits the lesbian cottage and finds it is so powerfully and miserably haunted by the happiness that it once held and doesn't anymore that she nearly passes out about it! Then whole thing culminates in ( huge spoilers )

Anyway. A wild time. Some parts I liked very much! I hit the end and shrieked and then forced Beth to read it immediately because I needed to scream about it, and now it lives among its other yellowing paperback friends on the Midcentury Mysteries shelf for some other unsuspecting person to find and scream about.

NB: in addition to everything else a cat dies in this book .... Joan Aiken hates this cat in particular and I do not know why. She likes all the other cats! But for some reason she really wants us to understand that this cat has bad vibes and we should not be sad when it gets got. But me, I was sad.

asakiyume

We have some sunny days, and I finished the job I was working on, so I drew a song sparrow. The song sparrow is found throughout most of North America, "continuous from the Aleutians to the eastern United States," says Cornell Ornithology. They're small everywhere bird with a lovely song. Both their song and their plumage varies across the continent.

Scientific name "Melospiza melodia." You can hear samples of their songs here. (The ones around here sound most like the fourth recording down.)

Current Music: Cheikh Ibra Fam: Diom Gnakou Fi (feat. Mo' Kalamity)

sartorias

I was taking to a felow customer when I stopped for sandwiches while strolling around downtown Albany last night, and when I commented on the deepeness of the verdure around me--I can't get enough of it--he said that it's been a very wet season here.

I took a walk along the Hudson, stopping at a little side canal, or whatever they are called, when I saw a bridge and inviting shadows (the sun was overly warm and the hair humid and kind of dirty). I snapped this shot:

If it works right, and you embiggen, look just above the top branch of the fallen tree. I'd spotted a pair of geeze swimming toward it, and thought they'd make a splendid shot framed by the two branches. But they never emerged from behind the top one, some twenty feet below me and upstream. I could see the ripples from them paddling, but no sign of the geese.

When I looked closer, I just spotted a black and white goose head peeking at me from beyond that branch. They were clearly waiting for the monster to lurk somewhere else.

And now I'm on my way northwards toward Montreal, which I should reach this evening.

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Reading

Dónde tienen su hogar las aves migratorias?

In which everyone is really in the soup, and the soup is made out of bug vomit

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Minneapolis

Wednesday reading: Belle-Medusa, by Manuela Draeger*

The Witch Roads, by Kate Elliott

the rambling rose and all her beguiling promises

Very like a whale

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bookbookbook

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driveway art: song sparrow

Northwards

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