December 12th, 2019

hasui: winter moon

(no subject)

The mundaneity of my dreams yields briefly to something more resonant, where I need to apologize to the boyfriend I treated so badly in my teenaged years, who turns out to be Ramses II and still miffed after all these decades. Yes, I did have a thing for Ramses when I was thirteen and no, I had no boyfriends or even sig.oths when I was a teenager, so go figure. But the up thing about the meds is that they screw my time sense as badly as morphine did post-op, but much more happily. As in, I sleep and wake and sleep again and wake again and think 'oh rats, I've been sleeping for hours, it must be nearly noon.' (I have a very precise internal clock that I usually won't even consult because it will tell me the time too closely.) And then I discover that my luxurious sleep-in has taken me to merely 9:15, my preferred wake up time. But I'm as sleep-sodden as if it were in fact noon.

Have finished nothing last week but got maybe 200 pages into Marlon James' Black Leopard, Red Wolf which is slow because it eschews familiar narrative style for something more opaque. I'll buy it at Bakka and proceed at my own pace: it requires more than the three weeks the library permits me, with thirty other people waiting to read it. Also it's work, having to translate the narration into terms that make sense to me (not unlike that other James, Henry) and in these parlous times all I can stand is the lightest of entertainment.

But I did what is usually fatal and read a few reviews, which wasn't fatal this time because I seem to have read a different book from the reviewers. They referenced GRRM and Star Wars and Neverwhere and several other totally western narratives, and nobody once mentioned Amos Tutuola, let alone Daniel O. Fagunwa. But if Marlon James isn't working in the fantastic African tradition, what is it? because there was nothing of Martin or Lucas or Gaiman in what I read. Maybe thenarration changes halfway through?