After Two Years...

Give or take, I finally finished American Gods.

Still like Anansi Boys better - still not sold on AG.

I get what Gaiman was going for - I really do. And I admire the book for that reason. It's like when you eat somethingin a fancy restaurant and you APPRECIATE the craft, but you don't like the taste. Or when you see a play and you understand what went into it, but don't viscerally enjoy it.

Leaving the discussion of Art Appreciation aside, my first thought was that this would be a good "nursing book" to read. That is, the long hours spent trying to get Megan to sleep plus the Kindle App on the phone - that combination would be perfect for getting my teeth into AG.

Um, not a good idea. Emotionally fragile, moderately traumatized, completely exhausted and afraid are not good things to be when tackling a book like this. At least for me. So, I did the wise thing and set it aside.

Picked it up again a few months ago - January maybe? And have been reading it off and on, finally got to the point where finishing it became a matter of sheer bloodymindedness. I think... I think that one of my main objections to the book, to the themes (as I look across the classroom at the bookshelves laden with books on Classical Mythology, historiography, and history) was a sense of "yeah, I study this stuff, and?"

Much like Shadow navigating that 'tweener world of America - I mean, he's our Everyman, right? We have this splotchy knowledge of Things That Went Before of gods and demons etc that were worshipped by our ancestors. Heroditus? Really? And what's it all for here? As our knowledge gets more splotchy and faded, do we lose a sense of who we were and are? I mean, obviously that's one of the themes, I think. And ok, fine... I get it. But there's a but here. A big one, and I think I'm getting my frustration with the dying and the relative irrelevancy of my profession mixed up in all of this.

Which is another blog post. One that I'm not liable to make on the grounds that it will get WAY too ranty.

Things I did like were Shadow's longer view at the end - who Odin is and is not. I like the duality of that and I think Gaiman hit the nail on the head really well there. Could've done with a lot more of that, but then, I went into this trip knowing more than Shadow did. Also enjoyed the pettyness off the gods (pettiness?) So very, very in keeping with those traditions where gods are projections of oruselves and our foibles. Would've liked to see more development of that, too, I think.

Now, shall I do what I ought to do and find something good for my Latin IV class to work on? Or read that pile of scholarly articles on Christian Feminism and Mariological study that I dug out today in my quest for something good for my IV class to work on.

Decent problem to have, innit?

"Quarterly" Book Report

I say "quarterly" - I mean, when I get a chance to update it.

Reads from January to March-ish

Lucifer Box series - Mark Gatiss
Fun, fun, and fun! Nice to see the action-adventure-James Bond tropes played out here, certainly he doesn't take himself to seriously, which is nice to see. Sort of a latter-day Harry Flashman, although, I find Lucifer much more endearing. Probably because Flashman's such a scoundrel that eventually he just put me off. Lucifer on the other hand, is equally a scoundrel but with a little more, not morals (never those) but oh, hell, maybe he's just nicer.

**note to self - try to write blog posts when you're more awake**

Lavinia - Ursula LeGuin
Wow. Epic wow, actually. Although it sags in parts (and it's going to, it's huge), this is a fabulous look at Lavinia - wife of Aeneas - queen of Latium, Latinus' daughter, etc. I love the pre-Roman history that LeGuin puts in, as well. No surprises that I enjoyed this - although I am leery of the ancient-novel genre. Just... I teach it, doesn't mean I have to be obsessive about it. Plus, they're generally not well written. This is the happy exception.

Death Comes to Pemberly - P.D. James
Jane Austen fanfiction. Written by P.D. James, so it's GOOD Jane Austen fanfiction, but it's still Jane Austen fanfiction. Which I'm okay with. I haven't been able to get into her latest Adalm Dalgleish mystery, so this was reassuringly readable.

American Gods - Neil Gaiman
Still working on this. And I'm trying, I really am. I enjoyed Anansi Boys - even chose it as Summer Reading two years ago and had an interesting discussion with the kids (2 boys) about it. I think perhaps because I was drawn to the strong sense of place that infuses the book - especially the Floridian scenes, the werid mix of Floridian Gothic and Englishness. And that sense of place infuses American Gods, too. I'm just having to work at it a bit more. I like the concept, I've read it before (Small Gods - Prachett), and it's a cool thing to play with. I just... I want to get into it, I really do, but I'm not sucked in the way I was by Anansi Boys.

Gambit - Rex Stout
Ongoing with American Gods - interesting mix, but there you go. Classic Nero Wolfe - maybe not one of the best, but still, little emotional investment needed here. Although, gotta say, I'm not fond of the "later" ones. I much prefer them set pre-war, I think. Gambit is set in the sixties and that seems to be stretching it for me. Of course the other nice thing about the Nero Wolfes is that it's New York. And really, who can complain about that?

So... what's next? No idea. Thoughts? Ideas? If it's in kindle format, that's a big plus, considering I really only have time to read for those forty minutes or so when I'm putting Megan to bed.

Gates of Horn and Ivory

Written as a submission for the Mini Operas Competition - a Libretto.
S Courtney, 2012

From the Gates of Horn and Ivory

Three dreams cluster DSR, dressed in grey and faded rags. They are hollow eyed and wraith-like. Insubstantial but brittle. USC, a woman sleeps. As they sing, they whirl around the bedroom – raging like Bacchantes.

Dream One: He's coming, can you feel it? The wind. The brush. He's coming.

Dream Two: She's waking, can you see her? Moving, shifting. She's waking.

Dream Three: Her alarm is crying out. Can you hear it? Beeping every morning, beeping, beeping, always beeping, make it stop make it stop, it fills me, shatters me. Beeping…

Dream One: He's coming, I can feel him.

Dream Two: She's waking, I can see her.

Dream Three: Make it stop, make it stop, the beeping, the noise, make it stop make it stop. Will she take me with her? Don't leave me here to shatter.

Dreams Together: She's waking, he's coming don't leave me. Don't leave me here to shatter, shatter, shatter, to skitter, scatter the broken pieces of our world.

Coming.

Waking.

Beeping.

Morning.

Moving.

Coming, coming, coming. He's coming with his broom to take us away. Keep us. Save  us.

Woman Rises. The dreams retreat from their Bacchic dance, cling to the woman's bed. She cannot see them.

Woman: They beg me. Every morning they beg me. Hollow eyes and ragged clothes. They scream to me as they shatter across their universe. Bright shards of glass and dreams, shooting stars of possibility and fairy tales.

Dreams Together: faintly. Keep me. Don't leave me. Don't leave me here to die.

Woman: I can hear them. They break with the crashing of glass and china, falling to the floor. I can feel Him, too. A Stygian breeze – he comes through the Gate of Horn and Ivory, crosses Lethe, drinks from Styx, such a man to take them away.

I hear them. Their final cries drowned by the swish of the broom.

Hear them. They cry out to me, call my name, beg me.

I see him.

He's older than I remember. I don't always see him. When I was young he was handsome, a knight. Once he fought the dragons that lived in me. I begged him to take me with him, kissed him. Loved him.

His lance was silver, his helmet of gold.

He left me, and although I knew of his coming, heard his footsteps and the soft swish of his broom, I didn't see him.

Now I am old. The dragons are gone and the dreams are sharp. Brittle.

And now I see him. Old and tired, grainy and grey. His weapons a broom and a dustpan.

And still they fear him. And I still yearn for him.

I welcome him. I offer him my hand.

If he would stay, the world would spin faster. Take me with you. Take me.

Now he nods, dusty and grey. And sweeps them all, leaving me behind, a stray sliver of memory a bright spark of a dream. Shattered. Shards. Shards to cut you when unwary you step.

The day begins. As it always does. He turns to smile at me, and I watch him fade.

Sweeping, sweeping them away.

And tomorrow morning and tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.

Dream One: He's coming.

Dream Two: She's waking.

Dream Three: The alarm shatters.

Dreams Together: He's coming.

She's waking.

Make it stop, take me with you, don't leave me here to die again.

They cling to the woman, to her bed, to her legs as she stretches, makes motions to greet the day. The Dream Sweeper enters USL, pushing his broom. The dreams cling to her and wail as the Dream Sweeper begins to hum (a little out of tune) "You'll Never Walk Alone" as he makes his trek DSR, as the dreams flee before him, whirling and breaking.

Introductory Post

So since I seem to find myself submitting writing to different events, it seems best to begin a blog.

And here it is. Posting will be mostly regarding original writing, editing, and various fangirling.

Specific fangirling over events, television shows, and movies is hosted elsewhere. Occasionally, I will attempted to post something amusing or at the very least, entertaining.

So, "allons y!" so to speak.