Wed Aug 23rd, 2017
|10:42 pm - Belatedly|
Monday's optimistic expectation of blissful early slumber was foiled by malign astronomic influences: the conjunction of full moon and eclipse resulted in such next-morning parental notes as 'bad night', 'didn't sleep much', 'restless sleep', and so on. I was corralled for an early shift by an 11 pm phone call and so, naturally, couldn't fall asleep until 1, with, yes, frequent wakings. The resulting 8:15 to 5:45 day passed in a sweaty haze.
But then the wind blew Tuesday evening and suddenly we're in a different world; which is a relief. I was still plagued with leg and ankle and thigh cramps all through last night. They eased off when I finally put my woolly bedsocks on, and I shall hope today's acupuncture has helped. Shall go back to twice a week sessions of same, because once a week has led to five days of lumbar twinges and spastic leg muscles.
Agatha Christie, The Mysterious Mr Quin
- about as close to numinous as Christie can come, in particular the last story where Quin becomes the great god Pan. Of course, I had no idea what Harlequin's schtick was supposed to be, and having googled it, discover why I always preferred Pierrot.
Pratchett, I Shall Wear Midnight
- Is it only in light of recent events that this book reads as much more lowering than the first three? Had thought there was more Granny Weatherwax in it, and am sad about the lack of same.
Marie de France, Lais
- the notes certainly demonstrate that there's much more there there than I, the naive reader, would have picked up.
- the book's publishing history doesn't tell you this, but I figured for myself that these were originally independent stories that Lee wrote a framing device for. And frankly I preferred the stories to the half of the book devoted to the main plot. Cyrion is almost ludicrously a Zhuge Liang Smartrthnu figure, never wrong, never outsmarted, always on top. But fun, at least in the earlier stories.
Moore and O'Neill, League of Extraordinary Gentlemen
- helps that I've now actually read Dracula, I suppose. My first read of the first books was devoted to the text, but now I come to look at the art, I'm astonished. Does O'Neill have the stable of assistants that any Japanese mangaka commands? I mean, he'd *better*.
I have Sherlock Holmes and the Giant Rat of Sumatra and some other volume of Holmes pastiche if the end of August proves to end of Augustish for me. Otherwise a translation of the Inferno that doesn't rhyme but does assonate, if that's a word. It looked so tempting in BMV but of course once opened, and the need registered for two bookmarks because of all the notes, interest palls a little.