mjj (flemmings) wrote,


It's cold, it's raining, the skunks are back, and someone is playing loud music with the windows open at 10:30 pm. These unsatisfactory elements intrude on the archetypal peaceful grey and green May, the garden world with blossoms and flowers and new leaves and catkins filling all the spaces. Like snow does in winter, I guess. (And a month ago exactly there was snow on the ground.) Snow however doesn't make me feel philosophical, and fruit blossoms do, even if they're already drifting down from the trees in the rain and any gusts of wind.

May muddles the mind. Well, maybe it's the pollen vortex and not the month, but still. I have three books on the go-- four, if you count Acatl, but Acatl doesn't count because he's a male protagonist. My downstairs three books are The Eyre Affair (anything that has the line 'I've just been in 1978 and I brought you this' is my kind of book); an Ann Aguirre urban fantasy, latest in the Corine Solomon series; and Mary Morris' travel book, Nothing to Declare. All of them have a female protagonist, none of them have a truly idiosyncratic voice, two are fantasies and the third is removed enough from my life that it might as well be.

I can't keep them straight.

The evil archangel in the Aguirre gets mixed up with the evil agent in the Fforde; the Mexican setting of the Morris gets confused with the Mexico? or is it New Mexico? where Corine is currently holed up. I should put two of them down and just finish the third, because I'm always looking for characters or plot elements from one of the other books, and ascribing information to people that belongs to someone else who isn't even in this story.

Besides, I'm slightly of the opinion that only the Fforde is worth it in the long run. So much urban fantasy is just romance fic with vampires and werewolves, and Aguirre is no exception; worse, she has her Christian celestial power structure totally confused. (Stasheff did at least get his Catholic doctrine straight, though why he thought a medieval fantasy world, that happily plays fast and loose with social history, would have a RL religion rather beats me.) And the Morris is about a place I'm not much interested in, and a person ditto.

*In the night came the sound of wind and rain;
who knows how many flowers fell?
--Meng Haoran, Spring Dawn
Tags: reading_14, rl_14, verse

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