July 11th, 2009

hasui hirakawa morning

The dawn comes up like thunder

Well, not exactly. The dawn came up kind of flat pre-storm tropical, the red-tinged grey I associate with Tokyo. Of course I was awake to see the dawn, which peeves me, but one cannot fight those light = awake instincts. The storm came along a little later and was occasionally louder than it needed to be; but mostly it just rumbled constantly, in the way non-TO storms do, and monsooned rain as if from fire hoses. And I read the first chapter of Cloud Atlas which definitely suited that weather, and in the sunny warm blowy afternoon the second chapter, which was fun. I love epistolatory novels except when they forget they're epistles; and yes, Mr. Richardson, I *am* looking at you. Now I'm reading the third chapter, set in the 70s, and wondering sourly if the flat unconvincing female protagonist is a clever shout-out to those flat unconvincing 70s female protagonists written by men-- we could be channeling Pyncheon here-- or if Mitchell is just incapable of writing women, the way China Mieville is. You know where my money lies.

As for why I'm reading Cloud Atlas, Collapse )