April kind of got away from me.
The Gormenghast Novels, by Mervyn Peake - I picked this absolute tome up a few years ago after reading about it in another blog post I can't find. I read the first of the trilogy, then put it aside for a year or two before picking it up again sometime earlier this year and finally pushing through. It's a work whose language makes it both enjoyable and difficult at times. Sometimes at the same time. I was not expecting the drastic tonal shift of the third book in the least, but it works for the fever dream it seems to be. Having read it, I'm now seeing references to it in other works frequently. It feels like one of these forgotten, load-bearing works of the fantasy genre.
It's hard for me to not read fantasy with an eye to gaming, and Gormenghast is indeed included in Appendix N. Sometimes it felt like you could hear the dice clattering. Everyone has 1d6 HP and every attack deals 1d6 damage. The characters have a defining physical trait and a personality trait that are easy to remember, but then polished and worried to a luster.
It's going to be a long time before I reread this series, especially having read some of the critical and historical essays in the back of this edition, but it's going to be rattling around in my head for a long time, too.
Time and Again, by Jack Finney - This was a birthday gift from my mom years ago, in a pile of time travel books. I picked it off the shelf because it was close and I didn't want to get off the couch. An odd one from the 70s, both for its method of time travel (cosplay hard enough) and its choice of protagonist (New York's horniest illustrator). I appreciated the attention given to the food in the past, and would love to visit one of the all-you-can-eat lunch counters he describes. The approach to cops and the military is swingy to a modern reader - sometimes lauding, sometimes bastardizing. The finale did not go the way I expected. There are other books in this series, but I don't think they're going to float to the top of my read pile.
The Survival of the Bark Canoe, by John McPhee - A Christmas gift from my family in Georgia, I had no idea what to expect picking this up. It turns out to be a combination of travelogue, historical overview, and biography centered around one Henri Vaillancourt, a young man in 1975 Vermont obsessed with crafting birch bark canoes with traditional native American methods and tools. For the most part. Unless he doesn't want to. The portion of the book that covers a long and challenging canoe trip with him, the author, and a few others does not paint him in a flattering light, except when it comes to the care of their crafts. McPhee's writing is what I think of a mid-century masculine - staccato, steeped in Hemingway, but brisk and illustrative. I never would have picked this up on my own but I'm glad I read it.
Carsick, by John Waters - Another Christmas gift, this one from my sister. I really should ask her if she read it. John Waters takes three hitchhiking trips across America - an imagined delight, and imagined disaster, and an actual journey. This is really only my second exposure to his work, outside of his presence in the vague pop culture fog. (The first was as a freshman in college, renting Pink Flamingos from the city independent video store as part of an evening entertaining a visiting prospective student. It went well.)
So not knowing really what to expect, I was thrilled to see him invent something like a roadtrip of the valkyries for himself, writing the weird and sordid into existence, and conjuring old lost friends from the dead for another surprise visit. Then the awful trip I would... also find awful. The actual trip was made in 2014, a strange time for technology. He's interacting with Twitter, but has also been convinced to carry a separate satellite tracking device, which doesn't always work. He encounters an Outback Steakhouse for the first time. It's a ride.
Maps and Legends, by Michael Chabon - In the same Christmas package as Carsick this comes from my sister. I have never heard of this author, but he is apparently well-established, at least enough to write a book about writing books. I skipped one of the essays, thinking it dissects a story I hope to read one day... but now I can't remember which one. The Golden Compass is now thoroughly spoiled, though. The personal essays got a little confusing in retrospect after a later one was revealed to be a speech that included several constructed stories. He seems incisive on his subjects, but I was not familiar with most of the comics or authors he was discussing, or his own work, so it was essays standing on their own for me, and they stood admirably. I can appreciate his love for maps of places that don't exist and their ability to excite the imagination. The physical book is lovely, with a three-part nested cover.
A Mirror Mended, by Alix E. Harrow - It's early in the year, so I'm working my way through the Christmas stack still, as you might have noticed. This one comes from my wife, and she got me the predecessor on a Christmas past. A fine novelette retelling of Snow White. Dimension hopping abounds, and the protagonist's many adventures between the two books are deftly touched on. Bittersweet as a late summer apple.
Watchmen, by Alan Moore & Dave Gibbons - Noticed I didn't have it on the shelf, and figured I must have lent it to someone when I still saw people. Ordered up a new copy, and then it was just sitting there so, yep. Not much to say. A classic for all the reasons, and every page, heck every panel, invites further study. Feels too real right now.
The House in the Cerulean Sea, by TJ Klune - Back to the Christmas stack. This romance was a gift from my wife. I do not usually read romances, not because I think love is icky, but knowing there must be a Happily Ever After at the end of the journey tends to muck with guide posts for me along the way. But here it was, so here I went.
You ever hear someone with a persistent sniffle during a test in school? And once you hear it, you can't stop waiting for it, and throws you off the whole effort? The main character in this book sweats every three pages, I swear. I kept waiting for it, to the distraction of whatever else was going on with the love interest or the supernatural orphans in their care.
The Transgalactic Guide to Solar System M-17, by Jeff Rovin - A friend back in high school found this at a thrift store and gave it to me. I read it then and it sat burbling away at the back of my mind since then, and I think this is the first time I read it as an adult. What an outsider art entry into speculative fiction. It's presented as an illustrated in-universe guide to the titular galaxy for Earth tourists to five planet/moon systems that seem to get weirder as you move out from the sun M-17. There's proto-civilizations, alien philosophies, mysterious lifeforms, magic and ghosts for some reason, scientific mysteries, and five, FIVE, alien language glossaries.
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| Absolute brain candy for teenage me. |
Terry Pratchett: A Life With Footnotes, by Rob Wilkins - From the Christmas gifts from my wife stack. I do not read a lot of biographies, so don't have a reliable measuring stick, but this one seems excellently done. The focus is relentlessly on Pratchett, but the people and family he's known move in and through that focus deftly. I've been a Discworld fan since high school, so learning more about the author seemed long overdue. He seemed like, to put it mildly, a cool guy, and also, to put it mildly, rather a handful. The world didn't work the way he wanted it to but he gave his damndest to write the world he wanted into shape and you have to think he succeeded at least a little. He deserved better than what he was dealt, but did so much with that hand. Definitely putting some Discworld at the top of the pile after this one.
