Lenticular Clouds!

Jul. 13th, 2025 06:03 pm
[syndicated profile] robinreidsubstack_feed

Posted by Robin

It was a beautiful morning today, and we took the dogs to walk in their favorite park (which is near the marina and looks out over Bellingham Bay). We also a have good view (one some days!) of Kulshan (Mt. Baker), our areas’s dormant volcano, from parts of the park. On even better days, we can also see the Olympic mountain range which is about 90 miles south of us (in a straight-line distance, meaning “as the crow flies”!—over 200 miles by car on land). I always remember Merry’s love for mountains in the distance when I see the Olympics from here.

Kulshan today was sporting multiple lenticular clouds today, a specific type of cloud which can only form over mountains/mountain ranges. It’s fairly common to see one lenticular over Baker, but today there were four or more (changing fairly quickly as we walked around the park which usually takes between 30-40 minutes, depending on how Daisy, the Senior Dog, feels). I could not resist taking some pictures as we walked!

Here is Kulshan playing with clouds!

I’ve tried many times to take pictures of the Olympics from the park but have failed every time (there’s a mistiness about them even on the clearest day, and their blues and whites blend into the sky, water, and the islands that lie between our two locations; sometimes it takes a while for us to determine if we’re seeing the mountains or only clouds on the horizon—or sometimes, both). They float at the very edge of our perceived world. This is the one of the many attempts I’ve made that I’ve saved, but I’m still hoping to get a better one some day (this one was on a cloudy winter day—a very different ‘feel’ than the summer mountains!).

Ending on a musical note: One of my favorite songs is Joni Mitchell’s Both Sides Now which starts with verses about clouds and the narrator’s differing perspectives.

May today bring you some good moments!

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Jul. 13th, 2025 11:41 am
marthawells: Murderbot with helmet (Default)
[personal profile] marthawells
A really thoughtful essay on Murderbot: ‘Even If They Are My Favourite Human’: Murderbot Just Explained Boundaries

https://countercurrents.org/2025/07/even-if-they-are-my-favourite-human-murderbot-just-explained-boundaries/

“I Don’t Know What I Want”: The Line That Changed Everything

In the final moments of the season, Murderbot says: “I don’t know what I want. But I know I don’t want anyone to tell me what I want or to make decisions for me. Even if they are my favourite human.”

This is not a dramatic declaration. It is confusion wrapped in clarity. A sentence that holds discomfort and self-awareness in equal measure. It reflects a truth often ignored in stories about intelligence and emotion: that it is okay to not know, as long as that unknowing belongs to the self. In a world that constantly demands certainty, this line opens up space for uncertainty without shame.



* And a great interview with Alexander Skarsgård!

https://collider.com/murderbot-finale-alexander-skarsgard/

So, it just wants to start fresh and get away, and figure out who it is and what it wants. It doesn't really know that. I quite enjoyed that Murderbot didn't end up having answers to all the questions or knowing exactly what it wants. It's more messy and complicated than that. But it definitely knows that it needs to find its own path and make its own decisions, to make its own mistakes, and not have the Corporation or anyone tell it who it is or what it wants.

(no subject)

Jul. 13th, 2025 12:50 pm
oursin: Brush the Wandering Hedgehog by the fire (Default)
[personal profile] oursin
Happy birthday, [personal profile] kimsnarks!

Dear Rare Male Slash creator

Jul. 13th, 2025 11:38 am
carmilla: (Default)
[personal profile] carmilla
Hi! Thank you for making something for me. That automatically means you're awesome :) I promise I am super easy to please. If you want to ignore the contents of this letter and just write whatever first sprang into your head, please do that. This also applies to the prompts in my sign up- they're there for if you find it helpful to have a jumping off point, but if you'd rather write a plot that has nothing to do with them I'll be equally delighted to read it. The following is a ramble on me and my tastes for if you like that kind of thing, but it's totally skippable.

Also want to note here that while I've only requested fic, I'm open to (and would be delighted by) treats in any medium.

AO3 name: Carmilla

General likes )

Smut likes )

General dislikes/DNW clarifications )

Copy of sign up prompts:

The Persuaders! Brett Sinclair/Danny Wilde )

The Limehouse Golem, George Flood/John Kildare )

Critical Role RPF, Matthew Mercer/Brennan Lee Mulligan )

British Comedy RPF, Steve Pemberton/Reece Shearsmith )

Some things never change...

Jul. 12th, 2025 11:23 pm
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[personal profile] brithistorian

Two days ago, Twice and Blackpink both had comebacks on the same day: Twice's "This is for" and Blackpink's "뛰어(JUMP)" (links go to the videos, so as not to spam your feed with two embedded videos).

Blackpink's song is a 1-song single, per YG's strategy of keeping Blinks starved for new music from Blackpink, while Twice's song is part of a 14-song album, keeping with JYP's strategy of giving Once as much music as they could possibly want from Twice. I prefer the JYP strategy — at first I was a bigger fan of Blackpink than of Twice, but eventually I got tired of waiting for new songs from Blackpink.

Two interesting things I noticed:

  • Twice Jeongyeon has had difficulty meeting the ridiculous weight standards imposed on K-pop idols (i.e. still not fat by any measure), so in recent comebacks Twice's stylists have started dressing everyone but Jeongyeon in midriff-baring tops. I don't know if this was done at the company's request or at Jeongyeon's, but they did it again this time.
  • Blackpink's song actually includes the English lyric "Are you not entertained?"
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[personal profile] brithistorian

I've got an idea about the plotting one of my fics, but I'm not sure if the idea I've got right now is the right thing. So. . . if any of you have read my fic "Turning of the Year" — or if you feel like reading it right now — and you'd like to give your input on the future course of the story (at the risk of possibly getting spoiled), send me a message.

conuly: (Default)
[personal profile] conuly
and completion of orientation. They really are taking anybody with a pulse, as judged by the extremely detailed list of instructions for appropriate behavior during orientation. I'd be more insulted, but that's good for me, I really need a job. If they had higher standards they would hire somebody with formal work experience, or at least an associate's degree.

(Don't think I've stopped applying other places, mind you, but I'm really not in a position to be picky, either.)

**************


Read more... )

Huh

Jul. 12th, 2025 12:02 pm
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[personal profile] james_davis_nicoll
This is probably in no way significant, but it just occurred to me to check to see where WorldCon was the years I was nominated:

2010: Melbourne, Australia
2011: Reno, USA
2019: Dublin, Ireland
2020: Wellington, New Zealand
2024: Glasgow, Scotland

(I was nowhere near the ballot in 2009, Montreal)

At a guess, those are years where vote totals were a bit lower?

Read more... )

Assortment

Jul. 12th, 2025 04:12 pm
oursin: Brush the Wandering Hedgehog by the fire (Default)
[personal profile] oursin

Walkouts, feuds and broken friendships: when book clubs go bad. I don't think I've ever been in a book club of this kind. Many years ago at My Place Of Work there used to be an informal monthly reading group which would discuss some work of relevance to the academic mission of the institution, very broadly defined, and that was quite congenial, and I am currently in an online group read-through and discussion of A Dance to the Music of Time, but both these have rather more focus perhaps? certainly I do not perceive that they have people turning up without having reading the actual books....

Mind you, I am given the ick, and this is I will concede My Garbage, by those Reading Group Suggestions that some books have at the end, or that were flashed up during an online book group discussion of a book in which I was interested.

Going to book groups without Doing The Reading perhaps goes under the heading of Faking It, which has been in the news a lot lately (I assume everybody has heard about The Salt Roads thing): and here are a couple of furthe instances:

(This one is rather beautifully recursive) What if every artwork you’ve ever seen is a fake?:

Many years ago, I met a man in a pub in Bloomsbury who said he worked at the British Museum. He told me that every single item on display in the museum was a replica, and that all the original artefacts were locked away in storage for preservation.
....
Later, Googling, I discovered that none of what the man had told me was true. The artefacts in the British Museum are original, unless otherwise explicitly stated. It was the man who claimed to work there who was a fake.

This one is more complex, and about masquerade and fantasy as much as 'hoax' perhaps: The schoolteacher who spawned a Highland literary hoax

This is not so much about fakery but about areas of doubt: We still do not understand family resemblance which suggests that GENES are by no means the whole story.

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plaidadder:

Between Men: Wilkie Collins’s Armadale

I appear to be on a Wilkie Collins tear this summer. With The Woman in White and The Moonstone well behind me and having finished The Dead Secret earlier this summer and found it interesting but uneven, I decdied to give Armadale a try. I have just finished it, and I can say that this is the most insane plot I have yet encountered in a Wilkie Collins novel–and that’s saying something. But I tore through it anyway, partly because the point of the plot is really just to find out the answer to the novel’s two central questions. The first, and the one that will be most heavily emphasized by the many entities out there trying to sell you summaries of this novel, is: does Fate exist? In other words, is there an external force out there that really determines our destinies, or is all the evidence that we think we see of Fate at work in the world actually the result of a human desire to believe in such a force? The second, and the one that I personally found more compelling, is: can the devotion of two young men to each other survive against all odds, despite all the material, social, psychological, sexual, and possibly metaphysical forces seeking to destroy it?

I will try to avoid major spoilers in the discussion behind this cut tag, but it will be impossible to avoid some spoilers. The short story is that I’m telling everyone to read this novel. It is unlike anything else you will have ever read; it features one of the most deservedly notorious villainesses in all of Victorian fiction; and it also has a lot to offer the reader who is neurodivergent, anxious, or both–or the reader whose loved ones fit any of those categories.

Keep reading

OK, so in the post above I didn’t say much about Lydia Gwilt, because she’s where all the spoilers are. But she does deserve her own little writeup, so if you don’t care about spoilers, go behind the cut tag and there she will be.

So, Lydia Gwilt is a treasure; and if you like rooting for the villain, this is a great novel to do that in. Lydia is a beautiful redhead who has had an absolutely shitty childhood, but now has some highly developed life skills, including the ability to enslave virtually any man she encounters with her hotness and wiles. Most of the first part of the novel is in third person, but Lydia is introduced to us via an exchange of letters between herself and her childhood mentor/exploiter, Mrs. Oldenshaw; and right away we learn that she’s plotting a completely mercenary campaign to win the hand and the fortune of Allan Armadale III, who has just inherited a huge estate in Norfolk. She starts out with unlimited confidence, a deliciously satirical voice, entertaining contempt for the men she bamboozles, and no apparent moral compass whatsoever. Between herself and Oldenshaw, who invests in the scheme in exchange for a share of the profits, they do actually manage to get Allan Armadale III to propose to Lydia (again, he is the most easily manipulated man in the world, and Gwilt and Oldenshaw appear to be experienced con artists). This plan, however, is foiled by a few things:

  • Allan Armadale III’s lingering attachment to the sixteen year old daughter of his tenant, Eleanor Milroy. (Gwilt gets herself hired as Miss Milroy’s governess in order to be near Allan, based on a reference faked by Mrs. Oldenshaw.)
  • The pathological jealousy of Miss Milroy’s invalid mother, who wants Gwilt out of her house and away from her husband, and therefore tricks Allan Armadale III into confirming that Gwilt’s reference was faked.
  • The fact that “Ozias Midwinter” (the other Allan Armadale) falls in love with her–and even worse, she falls in love with him.

This section of the book was the most interesting to me. The fact that (at least for a while) Gwilt does genuinely feel love for Midwinter–something she was sure would never happen for her again after being abused by her first husband and betrayed and abandoned by her second–introduces some complexity to her, which allows Collins to raise some credible questions about exactly how this plot will turn out. Gwilt recognizes immediately after meeting Midwinter that he, like her, is the scarred survivor of a miserable childhood made up of equal parts of abuse and neglect. As far as she is concerned, he is not only the superior man, but a much better match for her–in every way but financially. When she agrees to marry Midwinter, she tells herself it’s for diabolical plot reasons; but by the time they actually do marry, she’s realized that she is in love with him. For a while, she drops the plotting and allows herself to enjoy being married to someone she genuinely loves.

This is the only part of the novel where Gwilt is really happy. And by the time you get there, you want her to be happy. Allan Armadale III has now returned his affections to his first love–the sixteen year old daughter of a tenant on his estate–and so the threat telegraphed in the chapter title “SHE COMES BETWEEN THEM” does not materialize in any serious way. (By the way, both Neelie Milroy, the aforementioned 16 year old, and Lydia Gwilt frequently complain about the fact that Allan and Midwinter show more concern for each other than for either of them.) All along we’ve been shown little bits and pieces of a Lydia who might have more depth than we can see in her letters to Mrs. Oldenshaw. She loves music, for instance, is a talented pianist, and is very funny on the subject of her piano students, whose butchering of Beethoven causes her physical and psychic pain. When Oldenshaw first proposes the initial scheme Gwilt’s response is an angry rejection. For a while, we can believe she might actually just give up criming and get her happily ever after with Midwinter, who could also really use some domestic bliss after all he’s been through.

But within a couple months Gwilt starts to feel like Midwinter doesn’t love her any more, and she gets bored with marriage. (Once again, part of her grievance is that Midwinter is willing to take time off work to go sailing with Allan but won’t drop everything to entertain her.) She obviously can’t marry Allan any more–but that just pushes her to invent a bigger, bolder, even more illegal con that will not only get her all of Allan’s property but rid her of Allan himself, who she’s really come to despise. So ultimately, Collins won’t allow her to grow out of her generic role; and that’s kind of a shame. But probably he just couldn’t deprive himself, or his readers, of the pleasure of seeing Lydia Gwilt return to the field of play at the top of her game. As critics of the novel have pointed out, Lydia’s first person narration makes her in some ways the author of her own story, competing with Collins’s own power and authority. And that battle is really worth watching.

Anyway. Come for the Armadales, stay for Lydia Gwilt. To the extent that Fate really exists in the world of this novel, it’s Lydia and not either of the Armadales who’s most truly doomed. Once a villain always a villain, at least if you’re also a beautiful woman. But Lydia, despite all the setbacks and failures and complications she has to deal with, has a lot of fun on the way to her inevitable end.

conuly: (Default)
[personal profile] conuly
Well... if you're interested in reading a book about how living in an over-privileged Connecticut town is terrible and nobody should ever do it (especially if that's going to intersect badly with their terrible childhood) then this is a book you'll like. I preferred Dreadful - the realism : magic ratio in this book leaned a little too realistic, also, I just do not believe that the only school choices are a. fancy schools for wealthy overachievers that have massively high standards and high stakes testing b. xenophobic schools with very low standards and c. homeschooling. Even if there are no public school options there still have to be artsy fartsy schools for wealthy people who know that their kids cannot do the pressure cooker thing starting in kindy.
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[personal profile] james_davis_nicoll


Four books new to me.Two are SF, one is fantasy, one is a mix of both. I don't see anything unambiguously labelled as series works.

Books Received, July 5 — July 11

Poll #33350 Books Received, July 5 — July 11
Open to: Registered Users, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 39


Which of these look interesting?

View Answers

Secrets, Spells, and Chocolate by Marisa Churchill (December 2025)
14 (35.9%)

Spread Me by Sarah Gailey (September 2025)
14 (35.9%)

The Forest on the Edge of Time by Jasmin Kirkbride (February 2026)
14 (35.9%)

The Universe Box by Michael Swanwick (February 2026)
18 (46.2%)

Some other option (see comments)
1 (2.6%)

Cats!
31 (79.5%)

Connexions (27)

Jul. 12th, 2025 10:06 am
the_comfortable_courtesan: image of a fan c. 1810 (Default)
[personal profile] the_comfortable_courtesan
Other hands that might undertake these burdens

Clorinda looked up from the letter she was perusing as Sandy entered the parlour. La, my dear, you are a late riser the morn – or, indeed, might I suppose you did not sleep at home last night? She picked up the little bell upon the breakfast table to ring for fresh coffee.

Sandy scowled at her as he went sit in the chair opposite and helped himself to a muffin.

I will not attempt, she said, to engage you in conversation until you have been fortified.

He scowled but said nothing.

Shortly afterwards came Hector with coffee and hotter muffins as well as a platter of bacon and grilled kidneys.

Clorinda continued to read her correspondence – oh, fie, here are the orphanage ladies go be troublesome yet again, I must go call on Lady Jane betimes so that we may devize some plan to rout 'em – sure I have no engagements this very afternoon –

Most unwonted! Sandy remarked, as he poured himself a third cup of coffee.

– though I go dine at the Wallaces this e’en, to bid farewell to dear Polly Fendersham and Mr Enderby. But my dear, are you now restored to waking consciousness once more, had a thought while reading a letter from Barbara Collins –

They are all well, I hope?

O, entirely, business flourishes, &C, though she misses young Una. But thinking of how well they are doing out of horseflesh over there, wondered if that young groom that fell foul of Blatchett had any notion to seeking his fortune in the colonies?

Sand raised his eyebrows and took a drink of coffee. 'Tis indeed a thought, he agreed. For quite apart from our concerns over Lady Isabella, I have come to consider that Blatchett may come to wonder what else young Oxton might have seen – even he might find a guilty conscience preying upon him from time to time – and take further measures.

La, Mr MacDonald, did you ever essay the Gothic mode? But that is a point well taken.

Let us not dilly-dally, then: I must to the godless institution this morn, but may take myself into Berkshire and Offerton’s stables to sound Oxton out later. 'Tis no great journey.

Clorinda nodded. 'Tis the wisest course. And you may mention that there is a philanthropic scheme for aiding such deserving young persons to emigrate

There is? – Clorinda smiled – Ah.

So that was one piece of good work dispatched, or at least, well in hand, so early in the day, very gratifying!

But she must look into the matter of the orphanage – alas, dear Dumpling Dora Pockinford had been sadly distracted of late – even had the Honble Simon pulled round from those shocking ways of which the Pockinfords did not speak but of which Clorinda had heard from Josh, that had prevented the boy from laying violent hands upon himself, it must fret a mother that he was now going so distant, and doubtless she imagined all sorts of perils. 'Twixt that, and first Aggie and now Thea showing religious leanings that were anathema to Lord Pockinford’s Evangelicalism, that family was not at its most harmonious. And her deputy, her daughter-in-law Lady Demington, only very lately returned from recovering her heath in Harrogate.

'Twas no wonder matters were somewhat awry!

So Clorinda gathered up the necessary papers – the Matron at least was a good businesslike woman! – and had the horses put to the carriage to take her to that quiet and unfashionable but perfectly respectable neighbourhood where Lady Jane had her apartments, adjacent to those of Amelia Addington. Looking out of the carriage window, Clorinda saw signs that these streets were coming up, 'twas no wonder, were convenient for a deal of matters.

Nick Jupp handed her down, and said he would take the carriage round to the King’s Head and tend to the cattle there –

And I hope you will tend to yourself and take a mug of ale or so!

She was rather surprized, on entering Lady Jane’s sanctum, to find the place in a considerable bustle of company – there was Janey Merrett, and Amelia, and, why, Viola Mulcaster – 'twas quite the family gathering –

But also, over at the pianoforte, that Lady Jane was finding her fingers rather too stiff to play herself these days, but that Janey came to play to her quite frequent, Zipsie Rondegate and Thea Saxorby.

Lady Bexbury! cried Lady Jane, beginning to rise, as Clorinda besought her not to do so. I have a rare treat brought to me the day. Lady Rondegate has been rehearsing Lady Theodora in dear Grace’s settings of Sappho’s lyrics – lately turned 'em up among some papers sent from Nitherholme – Miss McKeown had copies –

But how charming! said Clorinda, taking a chair. One must suppose that dear Viola must have had somewhat to do with this – showed very well in her, when one recalled her own disastrous history with those songs, as a very young woman just out in Society.

Zipsie waxed very effusive about the songs, to Lady Jane’s perceptible gratification. O, she said, I must have been in some concern that they would be considered sadly old-fashioned – not to mention the work of an amateur hand

Not in the least, declared Zipsie, showed 'em to Uncle Casimir and he wondered was there any other compositions of hers surviving.

That was praise indeed!

So after some preliminary exercizes, Zipsie and Thea commenced upon the recital.

O, though Clorinda, that one might prevail upon Thea to perform at one’s drawing-room meetings, if not at a soirée. Such a voice. Not, perchance, these songs – mayhap somewhat unsuited to the taste of the present day? – one supposed Thea was ignorant of the life of the poet –

Tears were running down Lady Jane’s face, a most unwonted event.

Amelia Addington was an actress, and capable of keeping in character whatever disasters were going forward on stage or in the wings or even was there a riot in the audience – yet to Clorinda’s eye of old acquaintance, there seemed an air of – of distress?

The song became silent.

O my dears, said Lady Jane, blowing her nose, you have given me a great gift. I never thought to hear those songs again, and you performed them exquisitely.

Clorinda stood up and said, did not wish to be uncivil, but saw that they were about to engage in deep musical converse, and collected that she needed to talk to Miss Addington about a drawing-room meeting, might they step aside for that?

She drew Amelia out into the corridor, where the actress sank her head onto Clorinda’s shoulder and burst into tears.

Dearest Amelia, she said as she put an arm about her, you should not think that she loved who His Grace always refers to as that jealous Billston hag more than you – she remembers, doubtless, happy times of youth but that is very much about those years –

O, sobbed Amelia, it is not that. It is that I think of how ephemeral my own art is. I strut and fret an hour upon the stage –

Things were very bad was she quoting the Scottish play! Clorinda made certain gestures learnt in her youth backstage.

– and 'tis gone. Mayhap a critic will remark upon me in a newspaper, that will then wrap fish.

And you have taught a deal of generations of other actors. I daresay in Sydney there is Orlando Richardson saying, Addington did thus and so – I remember how Addington directed this scene – you will never come up to Addington in that role –

She gave a weak giggle.

– in New York I daresay Charlie Darcy reminisces, though careful to add that of course, his wife is in a very different style – would that one might see the pair of you together on stage –

Amelia mopped her eyes and blew her nose. 

– And one dares imagine that in heaven the great dramatists gather round and debate the rival virtues of your performance and that of Mrs Siddons in their great roles.

You flattering weasel! she exclaimed.

Is it not a vocation to bring those works to life?

The two women embraced and Amelia said sure she was being very foolish. And mayhap the late Miss Billston had had a pretty talent but she had led poor Lady Jane a sad dance – jealous scenes, and then getting up flirtations herself when they went into Society – and making a deal of her poor health –

Clorinda stroked her hair and said that Lady Jane had been young – only just coming into the understanding of her nature – in maturer years she had made a wiser choice –

She will even say as much, Amelia admitted. Let us go in, and make sober compliments to the performers.

They discovered Lady Jane quite exhorting Lady Theodora to consider upon the Parable of the Talents – and what is that fine passage from the Bard that you are wont to quote, Lady Bexbury, about not concealing our virtues but letting them shine forth?

Thea was blushing, and murmuring that mayhap she should think upon that.

So Clorinda went away, having agreed upon a further rencontre to talk orphanage, feeling that that had been an agreeable occasion and that mayhap Thea would come about to let her virtues go forth of her.

And now there was going to dine with the Wallaces, that had been wont to be an entire pleasure but had been constrained for many months by the louring presence of Lord Fendersham.

However, on her arrival she was greeted with positively giddy glee by Sir Barton and Susannah Wallace, as well as Bobbie and Scilla, conveying the very happy news that Fendersham was finally ceasing to be the prodigal father and returning home to take up his responsibilities.

Has been all day about settling various of his affairs – his valet about packing – takes a morning train –

So even though we are saddened to have dear Lady Fendersham going away for who knows how long, said Susannah, flourishing her lorgnette, we cannot be other than merry at this prospect.

Well indeed, thought Clorinda, wondering how it had come about. Had been quite unable to fathom how she herself might contrive such an end!

Later that night, darling Leda giggled and said, la, did Clorinda take a pet that some other hand had wrought this?

At which she laughed herself and said, was heartily glad that there were other hands that might undertake these burdens.


RPG checklist

Jul. 11th, 2025 10:43 pm
james_davis_nicoll: (Default)
[personal profile] james_davis_nicoll
Specifically Fabula Ultima

Read more... )
oursin: Drawing of hedgehog in a cave, writing in a book with a quill pen (Writing hedgehog)
[personal profile] oursin

This time it was online, in Teams, and worked a bit better than some Team events I've attended, or maybe I'm just getting used to it.

A few hiccups with slides and screen sharing, but not as many as there might have been.

Possibly we would rather attend a conference not in our south-facing sitting-room on a day like today....

But even so it was on the whole a good conference, even if some of the interdisciplinarity didn't entirely resonate with me.

And That There Dr [personal profile] oursin was rather embarrassingly activating the raised hand icon after not quite every panel, but all but one. And, oddly enough, given that that was not particularly the focus of the conference, all of my questions/comments/remarks were in the general area of medical/psychiatric history, which I wouldn't particularly have anticipated.

Trying to read Dogs of War

Jul. 12th, 2025 01:52 pm
conuly: (Default)
[personal profile] conuly
Adrian Tchaikovsky is amazingly hit-or-miss for me, but this looks like it's coming up "hit". The sapient arthropods are a swarm of bees. If there are any spiders, I haven't met them yet!

a sudden update

Jul. 12th, 2025 12:51 am
issenllo: strawberry thief print from William Morris (Default)
[personal profile] issenllo
It's been so long since I posted that I will not look for my last post. Suffice it to say that I had plans for Yuletide, then Hikago Day, then nothing. Yikes. I had not quite anticipated how much a big fandom does swallow you up. My heart Hanyu Yuzuru <3

On the other hand, I've also stumbled upon the world of tolerable to terrible Chinese language webfiction, on podcasts via (probably) an AI-generated narrator, on Youtube. Some of them are long-ish, about 1 hr, the ones I'm going for are about 30mins. I set them on the kitchen counter while I cook... this is the level of intellectual engagement they require. On the other hand it's doing a lot for my listening comprehension of Mandarin, especially the ones that (inexplicably) run at about 1.5 speed.

Most of these webfiction (flashfiction?) that come via my algorithms are of broadly three types:

1. set in unnamed/imaginary ancient Chinese dynasty, a young lady's (yes it's nearly always a noble lady) journey to marrying the right guy, finding love and happiness. Plots include some version of evil stepmother or stepsister drama, mother-in-law drama, harem plots, invasion by barbarians and a/an (in)conveniently conferred decree of marriage by the emperor. Eventually she gets rid of her rivals and villains and live happily ever after.

2. Teenager on the verge of gaokao/national examinations, becoming the top scorer in the province, finding love and happiness. Plots include some version of school bullying, evil best friend/sister/stepsister, nearly missing the exam due to plots, switched at birth drama and meeting a tall, handsome boy who is smart, rich and madly in love with her. Eventually they move to Beijing or Shanghai, build a global business empire, and live happily ever after.

3. Either of the above except with rebirth/redo/reincarnation premise, or that they have been pulled into an imaginary bookworld where 1 or 2 are happening. These variants come with the ability to predict what bad guys are doing and getting on top of that, exposing the two-timing boyfriend, backstabber best friend, etc. and getting some vindictive revenge (in the best way!) along the way

They are incredibly addictive given how generic and predictable they are. It's a bit like Mills and Boon. You know how it will end but you can't stop. A few came close to being genre-savvy but most of them have been very earnest so far. Some are pretty funny and a few genuinely made me cry.

Admittedly my algorithms have skewed me towards a certain type of fiction, so I'm drowning in Mary Sues on a wish-fulfilment journey. They have similar names. The male lead and the 2nd male lead also have similar names, and the ability to differentiate them is how you know the skill of the author. For the stories that are reincarnation premises, I'm grappling with the morality of pre-emptive revenge, i.e. you are reborn and you meet the villain who murdered you horribly in your last life, but now that it's a redo and you've just met him and yes, he's still a baddie but right now, he hasn't yet done a thing to you, should you - just go ahead and skin him alive, so as to speak?

Something to consider lol
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Posted by Nicola Griffith

Square blue graphic of a novel, Ammonite by Nicola Griffith, and text reading "Ebook Deal $1.99, today only"
One-day only sale of Ammonite

Apple Books | Amazon | Barnes&Noble | Google Play

Ammonite was my first novel.

  • “Ammonite, by Nicola Griffith, is the first novel of a major talent.” — Denver Post
  • “Uncompromisingly packed with non-dogmatic feminist and queer ideologies… Griffith reveal[s] herself to be fluent in presenting realistic science and its implications, capable of cinematic clarity in her prose, insightful with emotions and character.” — Washington Post Book World

It was a cut-rate little mass market paperback original, with no publisher support and zero marketing or publicity budget—in the days before social media. Yet it won a boatload of awards and was named on Esquire‘s Best Science Fiction of All Time.

  • “Gripping and gutsy, rich in layers of feminist and queer thought, Ammonite gleefully throws a stick of dynamite into the sci-fi firmament.” — Esquire
  • “Ammonite is utterly believable, and at times heart-wrenching in its emotional power; the characterisation is impeccable.” — New Statesman and Society
  • “Ms. Griffith is an astonishingly gifted writer… Her work is of the very best in the lesbian and gay literary field.” — Allen Ginsberg

Curious about why I’ve been inducted into the SFF Hall of Fame?

  • Ammonite is a self-assured, unselfconscious, convincing depiction of a world without men…doing what only SF can do, and doing it with skill and brio. It answers the question ‘When you eliminate one gender, what’s left?’ (‘A whole world,’ is the answer.)” — Ursula K. Le Guin
  • “Nicola Griffith’s first novel, Ammonite, flies all the banners of traditional sf but beneath the banners, it is armed to the teeth against convention.” — Interzone

Why I was recently honoured as the 41st Damon Knight Memorial Grand Master?

  • “Ammonite represents a major, no, make that a revolutionary change…a remarkable departure from the commonplace.” — Locus
  • “A serious assault on conventions so enormous that it is very much more dangerous, sometimes, than writing about lesbianism.” — Dorothy Allison
  • “Pays homage to Ursula K. Le Guin’s Left Hand of Darkness without inviting invidious comparisons.” — New York Times Book Review

Well, this is where it all began.

  • “Probably the best debut novel of the year—an accomplished, moving, intelligent, and graceful examination of gender roles, and a helluva good read.” — The New York Review of Science Fiction
  • “Pays homage to Ursula K. Le Guin’s Left Hand of Darkness without inviting invidious comparisons.” — New York Times Book Review

So here’s your chance to try it—for just $1.99—today only. All US platforms (maybe Canada too, but you should check that). If you’ve already read it, buy it for a friend. Perhaps they’re curious, too…

Bookshop.org | Apple Books | Amazon | Barnes&Noble | Google Play

  • winner, Tiptree award
  • winner, Lambda Literary Award
  • winner, Premio Italia
  • runner up, Locus First Novel Award
  • shortlist, British Science Fiction Award
  • shortlist, Arthur C. Clarke Award
  • Esquire, Best 75 Sci-Fi Novels of All Time

Apple Books | Amazon | Barnes&Noble | Google Play

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New Dawn requires only that people conform without exception or face memory erasure and worse. Yet, a minority insists on being individuals.

The Memory Librarian by Janelle Monáe

Connexions (26)

Jul. 11th, 2025 07:41 am
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Had two missions to undertake

Polly, Dowager Lady Fendersham, could scarcely believe it. It was only days now before she would embark, along with that excellent fellow Cyrus Enderby and that still rather annoying young man the Honble Simon Saxorby, bound for Peru. And after so many years would see dear Christie, that had been doing well in the Consular Service at Lima, and the wife he had lately wedded. It was quite extraordinary.

But before she left, she had two missions to undertake.

She was staying with the Wallaces, the dear hospitable creatures, and most fortunate, Bobbie and Scilla had just lately returned from visiting Firlbrough to sound out the feeling there in advance of the anticipated General Election.

Also staying with the Wallaces, a much unwanted guest, was her stepson, Lord Fendersham, that continued to linger in Town even though Lady Wauderkell had gone on a retreat in a convent.

Polly had almost immediate upon her arrival in Town gone seek out Lady Bexbury, that she fancied would have the most useful intelligence upon this matter, and she was not in the least deluded.

Why, said Lady Bexbury, pouring tea, and drawing Polly’s attention to the cake-stand, I confide she continues to reside there because Lord Fendersham is unlike to venture within a league of a nunnery. And while I daresay the accommodation may be a little austere, and the food somewhat plain, 'twill all be a great improvement over Newgate. Furthermore, I apprehend from my friend that is a sister in the convent that she takes up her pen once more –

Polly groaned.

– takes up her pen to write improving tales for young people of the childhood of various saints, that will be published and sold for the benefit of the convent. So she is not idle – attends the various offices during the day – has had several visits from her cousin from Cork with a view to settling their legal difficulties – passing the time really quite agreeably until the evidence comes from Chicago confirming O’Neill’s previous marriage so the case can go to court.

One hears, she added, that there is an antient suitor in Cork that is now a widower still yearns

Polly snorted. One might suppose she had had quite enough of marriage.

Lady Bexbury raised her eyebrows and remarked that one must only suppose that with some, 'twas like unto a laudanum habit, a craving that they could not resist.

So she was able to go to Andrew, armed with this intelligence, although she intended to present him first with an appeal to duty. For had been approached by various neighbours and local dignitaries discreetly asking when Lord Fendersham was going to return and put matters in order, and with an election forthcoming, surely 'twas prudent that he should be at home.

For indeed, at present Fendersham Hall was a scene of riotous living by Drew Fendersham and his cronies. There was not a great deal of harm in Drew himself, but Polly did not feel so sure about some of the set that gathered about him. There was a deal of drinking, and while at first they had been engaged in the usual country pleasures, as far as the season permitted, latterly there had been a resort to cards as well as billiards, and, she feared, high play.

There her stepson was, sitting reading the Times with an expression of great disapproval, though indeed that was his normal expression. As he grew older he came to look a deal more like her late husband, but he had never had such sour looks. Oh, he had taken pets when he thought some fellow or other was showing Polly undue attention, and in his later years when he became invalid was wont to be fussy and demanding. But he had taken pleasure in life, simple though his pleasures were – give us a jolly tune, Poll! – and while he had not had particularly sensitive feelings, had been within his limits, kind.

Her stepson had been conscientious, and ever done the proper things, before this recent upheaval, but she had never felt that there was kindness.

She sat down opposite him and decided to go straight at the point. Everybody has been asking when you intend to return to Fendersham Hall and take matters in hand, she said. Your presence is considerably missed in local affairs as well as about the business of the estate. Drew is entirely irresponsible and treats the house as an inn, inviting who knows what chance-met boon companions under your roof.

He looked up from the newspaper and blinked at her.

I have been doing what I can, but I am going to Peru to visit Christie, that I have not seen these many years. And there is a deal that only you can attend to. Your father, she added, may have been given to self-indulgence – had not the present Lord Fendersham expatiated upon this theme to his father’s very face? – but did not neglect the duties of his position, even did he undertake 'em with a deal of sighing and groaning.

Fendersham emitted a sound somewhere 'twixt a moan and a whine. Then said that felt obliged to remain in Town lest Lady Wauderkell should need him –

Lady Wauderkell, said Polly, managing not to snap out the words, is very comfortable in the convent – you must not at all imagine a grim cell – bread and water – kneeling on hard stone. I have been assured that the guest quarters are entire what one would desire. She was not conveyed there by sinister monks directed by a conniving Jesuit priest, and is under no kind of duress. She has chosen to stay there now that she, as one understands, returns to the faith that she was brought up in.

Profound groan from her stepson.

Furthermore, there is a cousin from Cork comes to Town, about some matter to do with their business there, and is entire willing and competent to look after her interests – prepares to come to a compromise in the lawsuit &C – offers that is there aught he may do to assist her suit in this case of bigamy he is entire at her disposal –

Further groans.

Really, Andrew, I am astonished the Wallaces have not dosed your tea with laudanum and bundled you on to the next train going north, under care in the guard’s van! 'Tis a shocking abuse of hospitality the way you linger here.

He flushed. Really, he did not look at all healthy. Town life did not suit him. And was he literally pouting?

She left him to seethe and brood.

Her other mission was a good deal more agreeable! And it was a very agreeable jaunt out there in the carriage that the Wallaces had insisted that she took. She had no particular qualms about how Una Wallace did in the Ferraby household – would doubtless have heard was there any matter of illness – but still, she would like to be assured that the girl was doing well, for it must be a considerable change for her.

Indeed, Blackheath, though fine and green and leafy, and sure far more healthful than Town, was very different from a farm in Nova Scotia! And one must wonder how Una, that had been brought up among older people, got on now she was with the boisterous Ferraby girls and going to school.

Here they were, at this very fine house in excellent grounds that the Sir Harry Ferrabys occupied. And quite running out to greet her Lady Louisa, in very merry mood.

O, Lady Fendersham – oh, Polly – such a pleasure to see you! The girls are in the garden, a-romping with the little boys, so very pretty, come see.

So Polly stepped down from the carriage, and Lady Louisa instructed the coachman where to go, and then to go to the kitchen for refreshment.

Peru! she cried. So venturesome of you – Josh has been in some envy of the excursion –

Fie, said Polly, one apprehends that Lima is a fine modern city, I have no intention of making expeditions into forests and jungles, will leave that to Mr Enderby and his young apprentice.

Are there not, murmured Lady Louisa, enormous snakes in those parts that are said to swallow animals whole? and might one ingest Simon Saxorby? A very annoying young man.

O, he is somewhat improved though now will bore one quite like unto Mr Nixon about Peru and its history and its fauna &C.

Lou giggled.

They came out into the garden, where Hester and Maria Ferraby along with Una were playing at catch with their little brothers Hal, that was already breeched, and Gervase, that was still in dresses, though looking at him, Lou sighed that 'twas nigh time to cut those curls and put him into breeches.

Polly sighed too, thinking of the day when she had performed the like for Christie.

Quite letting fall the ball in her to come running up and embrace Polly, Una Wallace. Most delightful! For Una had been wont to be a little reserved and shy, one dared say that being among the Ferrabys had perchance given her easier manners than those she had learnt from Barbara Collins, that, though a very fine woman, had learnt hers in an earlier day, so that they showed somewhat of a stiffness in a child of Una’s years?

Oh, Auntie Polly, how exceeding! Do you come a long visit?

Polly looked down into the dark eyes, noting the healthy rose that had come to her cheeks – the gloss of the dark hair – one need be in no concern at all about the sanitive benefits of her present residence.

Alas, said Polly, stooping to kiss her, I only came for this very afternoon – am about to depart for Peru to visit my son, and his wife, that I have never yet met –

Una’s mouth drooped a little, before she straightened her shoulders and said, they would go look that up in the big atlas – study upon it mayhap –

The Ferraby sister came up to shake hands and make their curtseys and demonstrate that they were not, as their mother sighed, quite wild savages. Hal essayed a bow.

Came out of his workshop Sir Harry, and Una turned to him with a smile, that was warmly returned.

Here, said Sir Harry, is Miss Wallace shows a deal of interest in engineering.

Well! No, one could not have the least worry about Una, in this place. Little Gervase, clutching her hand – It was well.

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Between Men: Wilkie Collins’s Armadale

I appear to be on a Wilkie Collins tear this summer. With The Woman in White and The Moonstone well behind me and having finished The Dead Secret earlier this summer and found it interesting but uneven, I decdied to give Armadale a try. I have just finished it, and I can say that this is the most insane plot I have yet encountered in a Wilkie Collins novel–and that’s saying something. But I tore through it anyway, partly because the point of the plot is really just to find out the answer to the novel’s two central questions. The first, and the one that will be most heavily emphasized by the many entities out there trying to sell you summaries of this novel, is: does Fate exist? In other words, is there an external force out there that really determines our destinies, or is all the evidence that we think we see of Fate at work in the world actually the result of a human desire to believe in such a force? The second, and the one that I personally found more compelling, is: can the devotion of two young men to each other survive against all odds, despite all the material, social, psychological, sexual, and possibly metaphysical forces seeking to destroy it?

I will try to avoid major spoilers in the discussion behind this cut tag, but it will be impossible to avoid some spoilers. The short story is that I’m telling everyone to read this novel. It is unlike anything else you will have ever read; it features one of the most deservedly notorious villainesses in all of Victorian fiction; and it also has a lot to offer the reader who is neurodivergent, anxious, or both–or the reader whose loved ones fit any of those categories.

So, when I say this plot is insane…

This novel is obsessed with doubles, thematically and structurally. Most Victorian authors contented themselves with maybe one pair of dopplegangers. Please don’t be put off when I tell you that there are five characters in this novel named Allan Armadale. It’s OK because for most of the novel, three of them are dead.

Here’s how Collins gets us to five Allan Armadales:

  • The first Allan Armadale–not the first one we encounter, but the ancestor, the ur-Armadale–is a hugely wealthy plantation owner in the West Indies. He has, as is still fairly common, named his oldest son after himself. I will call him Allan Armadale Junior.
  • Alas, Allan Armadale Junior is a feckless ne'er-do-well wastrel type who disappears into a maelstrom of scandal and depravity. Allan Armadale senior, having booted Junior out of the estate, decides he wants to leave his fortune to a relative also living in the West Indies. The only condition is that this relative has to take the name Allan Armadale. So he does, bringing the total number of Allan Armadales to 3. I will call him New Allan Armadale.
  • Soon after he inherits, New Allan Armadale makes the acquaintance of a guy going by the name of Fergus. Fergus has a bad rep but New Allan Armadale doesn’t care; he becomes besties with Fergus. At one point, New Allan Armadale confides to Fergus that he’s been invited by the rich Mr. Blanchard, also a distant relation, to visit him at Madeira and (assuming they hit it off) marry Mr. Blanchard’s beautiful daughter. Fergus then poisons New Allan Armadale, sails to Madeira himself while NAA is recovering, presents himself to Mr. Blanchard as New Allan Armadale, and seduces the beautiful Blanchard daughter. With the help of a young lady’s maid named Lydia Gwilt (as they used to say in the Hannibal fandom: it fucken rhymes) they forge enough letters and other documents to convince Mr. Blanchard that “Fergus” is in fact New Allan Armadale, and they get married. The irony (first of many) here is–of course!–that “Fergus” is actually Allan Armadale Junior, come to steal all the stuff of the man who supplanted him in the first place. So when New Allan Armadale shows up and is told that Miss Blanchard has already been married to Allan Armadale…well she is in fact married to AN Allan Armadale, just not THE Allan Armadale, i.e. the one her father wanted her to marry.
  • Allan Armadale Junior and his ‘stolen’ bride run away. The disappointed New Allan Armadale marries a biracial woman who loves him but about who he cares very little. Each of them has a son. Each of the sons is named Allan Armadale. This brings us to our full complement of five Allan Armadales.

As I said, three of them are dead for most of the novel. That’s because, after Allan Armadale senior dies and all these post-inheritance shenanigans take place, New Allan Armadale hunts Allan Armadale Junior down and kills him. The novel begins with New Allan Armadale, now a dying man, dictating his confession of the murder, in hopes of protecting his son from whatever karma might be coming for him. Convinced that the Armadale name is doomed and that the two Armadale sons are, like their fathers, destined to Destroy Each Other, New Allan Armadale’s dying letter to his son closes with a dire and doom-laden warning to NEVER UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES COME INTO CONTACT WITH THE OTHER ALLAN ARMADALE.

That’s the prologue. Guess what happens after the time jump.

That’s right! Just about the time he’s becoming a Young Grown-Up, Allan Armadale Junior’s son (let’s call him Allan Armadale III) befriends a lost, hungry, sick and distressed boy about his own age who’s going by the handle of Ozias Midwinter. His mother doesn’t like this; but Allan and Ozias are soon so devoted to each other that nothing can separate them–except maybe Ozias’s knowledge that his own father, who is of course New Allan Armadale, murdered Allan Armadale III’s father and then gave him that WARNING FROM FATE. For the rest of the novel, “Ozias Midwinter”–his real name is of course Allan Armadale but he doesn’t use it–struggles with his fear that he is fated to bring destruction to the man he loves, viz., Alan Armadale III.

OK. By the way. You all know I see slash people. But there is a very heartfelt conversation early on between “Ozias Midwinter” and the clergyman who is standing in loco parentis for the orphaned Allan Armadale III in which “Ozias Midwinter” straight up says, verbatim, “I love him.” And the clergyman is like, I know, and good for you. Will each of them fall in love with a woman (or maybe more than one) before this novel is over? Sure. All the same, Midwinter’s love for his namesake is not just friendship or fellowship or comradely love. For him, Allan Armadale III is The One. As for Allan Armadale III–well, he feels the same, only his personality is really different.

See, Alan Armadale III isn’t worried at all about whether he and Midwinter are Fated To Destroy Each Other, for two reasons. One: because his mother told him nothing about her scandalous past, Allan Armadale III doesn’t know what his father did to “Ozias Midwinter’s” father OR that “Ozias Midwinter’s” father murdered his own father. Two: Allan Armadale III is one of the happiest upper class twits ever to grace the pages of a Victorian novel. Allan Armadale III trusts people immediately, assumes that everyone around him is as transparent as he is, fails to pick up on subtext in any form, takes everything said to him at face value, never appreciates the importance of observing social rituals, falls in love with every beautiful woman he sees, and just in general fails when it comes to any kind of self-preservation.

And this is where the neurodivergence thing comes in. I am in general very reluctant to apply modern psychological terminology to pre-Freud fictional characters. Nevertheless, it is undeniable that Allan Armadale III sports a collection of traits that in our age would be more than enough to earn him an ADHD diagnosis. Having failed to interest Allan Armadale III in most of the standard subjects, the clergyman in charge of his schooling eventually decides that the only thing for it is to let Allan Armadale work at the one thing he’s interested in, which is building and sailing boats. The fact that Allan Armadale III can’t narrate anything without going off on tangents, is continually distracted, and is notoriously terrible at explanations, is emphasized throughout the novel and sometimes becomes important to the plot. (He’s great at writing letters, though–because he does it impulsively, without thinking at all about the possible consequences of what he’s saying.) All of this is endlessly charming to Midwinter, and it also endears him to the readers–which is important, because this novel really depends on the readers desperately wanting Allan Armadale III to be OK.

So whereas most sensation fiction relies for audience engagement on escalating endangerment of the heroine, this one relies on the escalating endangerment of the hero. Things seem to be going well until Lydia Gwilt, the maid who helped Allan Armadale III’s mother elope with Miss Blanchard, comes back into the picture. What starts off as a simple enough plot to lure a rich man into marrying her goes off the rails in all kinds of directions until Allan Armadale III becomes the target of an insanely elaborate conspiracy. Gwilt’s devious and diabolical intelligence, combined with her Magical Redhead Hotness, make her a truly Machiavellian manipulator; and it is often really funny to see her wasting her talents on the world’s most easily manipulated man. What keeps it from getting completely ludicrous is Midwinter’s ever-deepening devotion to his magnificent idiot, and his haunting fear that by trying to protect his beloved he is only bringing him closer to his fated destruction. As I have told my family, it’s like this is a novel where ADHD and depression fall in love, and we have to root for both of them.

I’m gonna stop here because anything else I tell you is going to ruin something. But I’m surprised that it took me this long to read this novel, and you should not let it go for as long as I have! Read Armadale, you will not regret it.

New Murderbot Short Story

Jul. 10th, 2025 09:33 pm
marthawells: Murderbot with helmet (Default)
[personal profile] marthawells
The new Murderbot short story is up at Reactor Magazine:

Rapport: Friendship, Solidarity, Communion, Empathy

https://reactormag.com/rapport-martha-wells/

Edited by Lee Harris, art by Jaime Jones.


And Murderbot was renewed for a second season!

https://deadline.com/2025/07/murderbot-renewed-season-2-apple-tv-1236453764/

“We’re so grateful for the response that Murderbot has received, and delighted that we’re getting to go back to Martha Wells’ world to work with Alexander, Apple, CBS Studios and the rest of the team,” Chris and Paul Weitz, said in a statement Thursday.

Things happening this week

Jul. 10th, 2025 07:32 pm
oursin: Brush the wandering hedgehog dancing in his new coat (Brush the wandering hedgehog dancing)
[personal profile] oursin

For the first time in forever I have been making The Famous Aubergine Dip (the vegan version with Vegan Worcestershire Sauce, I discovered the bottle I had was use by ages ahead, yay). This required me acquiring aubergines from The Local Shops. There is now, on the corner where there used to be an estate agent (and various other things before that) a flower shop that also sells fruit and vegetables, and they had Really Beautiful, 'I'm ready for my close-up Mr deMille', Aubergines, it was almost a pity to chop them up and saute them.

A little while ago I mentioned being solicited to Give A Paper to a society to which I have spoken (and published in the journal of) heretofore. Blow me down, they have come back suggesting the topic I suggested - thrown together in a great hurry before dashing off to conference last week - is Of Such Significance pretty please could I give the keynote???

Have been asked to be on the advisory board for a funded research project.

A dance in the old dame yet, I guess.

Starling House by Alix E. Harrow

Jul. 10th, 2025 08:53 am
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[personal profile] james_davis_nicoll


Desperate to pay her brother Jasper's way out of Muhlenberg County, Opal accepts a job at an infamously cursed mansion.

Starling House by Alix E. Harrow

Connexions (25)

Jul. 10th, 2025 08:37 am
the_comfortable_courtesan: image of a fan c. 1810 (Default)
[personal profile] the_comfortable_courtesan
Brought up in Town Society from their earliest years

O, Verena – Verena, Countess of Imbremere, wife of Augustus, Earl of Imbremere that was the heir to the Marquess of Offgrange – had loved the Ukraine and the wide estates of her real father Count Rozovsky. She had not even minded the long winter and the deep snows &C, had quite relished 'em! Sleighrides through the forests &C –

And had not been idle, for while dear Gussie had been following in his father’s footsteps by studying upon the botany of those parts, she had begun learning the local tongue, and talking to the maidservants &C. While doing this, had come across the folktales of those parts, that she put herself to gathering, and also some of the songs. Finding her doing this, her father had sent for ancients from the villages thereabouts, and now she fancied she had quite enough to put together in a pretty volume when they returned to Town.

But much as they had enjoyed their time there and the more than generous hospitality, as it came towards spring, Rozovsky had groaned and declared that he supposed he should be making his way to St Petersburg – where one of his sons was in the Imperial Page Corps –

Gussie had sighed and said, had been thinking himself that they should be on their return to England. Sure his father was by no means old and in the halest of health, but news took a deal of a while to reach 'em where they were.

So they had all come to an entirely amicable agreement that the party should break up, and that Gussie and Verena were ever welcome, and Gussie extended a mutual invitation to come visit Dambert Chase was Rosovsky ever in England.

They decided to travel back southwards, by way of the Mediterranean – let us, Gussie remarked, make this a really extensive honeymoon voyage – have we not been quite exhorted to call at Lady Bexbury’s villa at Naples? – that indeed seemed a very pleasing prospect.

And here they were, so much sunlight, thought Verena, as she sat upon the terrace of the Villa Bexburi, looking over its magnificent vista of the Bay of Naples.

Had not quite anticipated to encounter the company they found there: here was Emma Reveley, that was, had married that most romantic figure, Bernardo di Serrante, half of antient Neapolitan aristocracy and half of Boston Quaker breeding, that one had heard had fought with Garibaldi in ’48, but now turned to the arts of peace and studied with the agrarian reformer, Marcello Traversini. Nardo was, she supposed, some connexion of her own? for was the son of Reynaldo di Serrante that was her elder sister Cara's father. 

La, Signore Traversini was not the vision one conjured up when thinking agrarian reformer! Not in the least like pudgy little Artie Demington, more like unto some classical figure in the paintings one saw when one went call on various local inhabitants to whom one had introductions! A demigod of grapes and olives one might fancy as he walked among his vines and groves.

Along with Nardo, that was very fine-looking himself! Not that she inclined to any fellow but darling Gussie, but one must admit that the men hereabout were very pleasing to the eyes. Even Mr White, that ran the printing-press that produced a journal and pamphlets on agrarian matters, and was English – one might even detect a slight Cockney note in his speech – was quite a handsome chap for his years.

Sure did she dabble in watercolours like Emmy she would find that a great inspiration to her brush! but there was Mrs di Serrante, conscientiously painting away at depictions of scenery, and ruins, and mayhap a quaint olive-tree or so. Well, mayhap in private she prevailed upon her husband to present as a sleeping satyr or such….

Verena, that was lying in a long chair on the terrace, a novel drooping from her hand, looked over to where Emmy di Serrante was leaning upon the wall with her sketchbook and colour-box, intent upon a seascape.

It was really somewhat vexing! Verena had been wont to consider the Reveley sisters as a pair of dowdy provincials that had been quite thrust into Town Society upon the death of the late Lord Raxdell – Verena, like possibly every other young woman in her set, had passed through a girlish passion for that dashing Viscount, so handsome, such a prime sportsman, a most noted whip, and while she had recovered, still felt a pang at his untimely demise. Their mother had been no use at all to 'em –

So unlike dear Mama! Mama that knew not merely all about dress and how to be in the crack o’style, but all the little tricks of manner that gave one a deal of assurance when going into Society. And indeed, my darlings, you will need that, alas, I fear.

(Because of the whispers that Cara – Adeline – Verena Zellen is not Sir Hartley’s daughter. Even if, in all matters of affection, they were.)

So darling Mama had conveyed 'em knowledge of Society and its conventions that had served 'em all well, and Cara and Adeline had married well, and Verena herself had made this quite spectacular and enviable match, to Gussie, that she had liked since childhood and come to love.

But the Reveley girls – so awkward – but then they were took up by Lady Bexbury, one supposed as it were as a bequest from Lord Raxdell – had long been give out that there were feelings 'twixt 'em of great affection – and had he not left her the famed pink diamonds? – though there had also been vulgar speculations concerning his feelings for Lady Ferraby –

That had conveyed 'em somewhat more of polish – and the elder of the two, Miss Harriet, received a most eligible offer from the Honble Brumpage Parry-Lloyd, heir to Lord Abertyldd, not perhaps the most thrilling of suitors but an excellent match.

Still, they might have improved considerable, but Verena had still been wont to consider 'em unsophisticated creatures compared to the Zellen sisters that had been brought up in Town Society from their earliest years. One was kind, of course, there was no need to be spiteful and cattish like that set that used to gather round Lady Trembourne before her disgrace, but in the way one was to visiting relatives or neighbours from Cornwall.

Yet, here was Emmy not in the least awkward – fluent in Italian, including the particular tongue of this region – on the easiest of terms with Signor Traversini and Mr White – and widely received in the very various social circles hereabouts.

Had, Verena discovered, the entrée to the local nobility by way of her husband – and also to the Americans that came here for assorted reasons – of course to English Society – also, one discovered, to a deal of savants through introductions from Signora Umberti, whose late husband had been an esteemed professor before fleeing into exile, and had been by way of a governess to the Reveley sisters.

And took this all with entire easiness and one could only say, aplomb.

Was, it appeared, in quite a constant whirl of routs, balls, excursions to sites of interest, invitations to come view this or that one’s villa or gardens, &C&C. One supposed she had to find some diversion while her husband went about with Signor Traversini or others learning about grapes and making wine with the intention of in due course setting up to do the like on American shores. Or going to meetings of agrarian reform societies.

Both couples were attending this ridotto at some palazzo: indeed, very fine, but such a mob of company, thought Verena, that found her head aching a little at the noise. Feeling a little chagrin at observing Emmy di Serrante quite the sparkling butterfly, flitting from group to group, demonstrating a little discreet flattering flirtatiousness to this or that older fellow. Nardo, Verena observed, was smoking on a terrace with a group of younger chaps – perchance former comrades?

Gussie took her hand and said, had a notion that there was dancing a little further on, and they were about to go there, for they danced together exceedingly well and it was quite of  their greatest pleasures, when came bustling up to 'em some lady she had met in the English set with Emmy – fancied her husband was here for his health? – begging to make known to Lord and Lady Imbremere her American friends.

This was undoubtedly what Mama would consider encroaching presumption, but one could hardly go so far as to deliver a cut, so they conceded to have the Rutledges, from Virginia, introduced to 'em, that made exceeding effusive –

Had not Emmy said somewhat about 'em, and that for citizens of a democratic nation they were greatly dazzled by tinsel show?

One gleaned that impression!

Upon finding that Gussie was an earl and a botanist, Mr Rutledge launched into the tale of his father’s friend, that had also been a botanist, and had gone plant-hunting in the Virginia forests with an English earl some considerable while ago. And alas, the fellow was attacked and killed by a bear, did not know the ways of things with the wild animals in those parts –

Gussie said drily that that must have been his grandfather – his mother’s father – that died before he was born.

This put a considerable chill on the conversation.

The following morning Verena found herself feeling considerable qualmish – somewhat she had consumed perchance – and said she would lie in a little when Gussie rose. A little later, feeling no better, she got up to seek her smelling-salts. Her maid had not seen them, very tiresome.

She would go ask Emmy did she have such thing as a smelling-bottle about her.

There was Emmy, sitting out on the terrace, carefully shaded from the sun, writing at a lap-desk. Shielding her own eyes from the glare of light, Verena went over to make her request.

Why, certainly, cried Emmy, I will go fetch it immediate, as she closed the lid of the lap-desk, not before Verena had observed that she had been writing in what looked like cypher – had come across Gillie Beaufoyle about the like. Gillie, challenged about this, had shrugged and revealed that he had been desired to make use of his sojourn in the Ukraine by his superiors –

But Emmy, about secret communications?

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[personal profile] sartorias
Actually I've been doing a ton of reading while I shake off the last of this influenza, which is mostly now lingering chest crud and zero stamina.

While nothing has blown me away, and I've abandoned some other "not for me" books, I did make a virtuous start on The Cull. Beginning with C.S. Lewis's Out of the Silent Planet, first published in 1938.

My copy, the 1965 paperback edition printed in the US, has a cover that actually sort of fits the book, unlike a lot of SF covers of the time depicting generic space skies and cigar rocket ships, with or without a scantily clad lady joined by guys in glass helmets and bulky space suits.

No woman on the cover here, which would have been false advertising as the only woman on stage during the entire novel is a distraught country housewife in the first few pages. (And no, I do not think that this is a sign that Lewis despised women, so much as that he had spent all his childhood and early manhood among males, so his default characters are going to be "he" among "hims". But that's a discussion for another book.)

I've had Lewis's space trilogy since high school (1968). This one I read I think twice, once that year, and then again when the Mythopoeic Society had branches and our West LA discussion group covered the three books.

Teen-me trudged through the first reading looking for story elements that would interest me, and though a line here and there was promising, I found it overall tedious, missing the humor entirely. On that second reading during my college years I saw the humor, and found more to appreciate in Lewis's thematic argument, but that was a lukewarm enough response that I never reread it during the ensuing fifty years.

Now in old age it's time to cull a massive print library that neither of my kids wants to inherit. What to keep and what to donate? I reread this book finally, and found myself largely charmed. The structure is strongly reminiscent of the fin de siecle SF of Wells, Verne, etc--inheritors of the immensely popular "travelogue" of the 1600-1700s--which means it moves rather slowly, full of the description of discovery (and anticipatory terror) as its protagonist, a scholar named Ransom, stumbles into a situation that gets him kidnapped by a figure from his boarding school days, Weston, and Weston's companion, a man named Devine.

As was common in the all-male world of British men of Lewis's social strata, the men all go by last names--I don't think Weston or Devine are ever given a first name, and there are at most two mentions of Ransom's first name, Elwin, which I suspect was only added as a nod to JRRT. Apparently this book owes its origin to a bet made between Lewis and Tolkien, which I think worth mentioning because of the (I think totally wrong) assumptions that Lewis was anti-science. The bet, and the dedication to Lewis's brother, make it plain that they read and enjoyed science fiction--had as boys.

I suppose it's possible to eagerly read SF and still be anti-science, but I don't think that's the case here; accusations that Lewis hates scientific progress seem to go hand-in-hand with scorn for Lewis's Christianity. But I see the scientific knowledge of mid-thirties all over this book. In fact, I don't recollect reading in other contemporary SF (admittedly I haven't read a lot of it) the idea that once you're out of Earth's gravity well, notions of up and down become entirely arbitrary. Though Lewis seems not to understand freefall, he does represent the changes in gravity and in light and heat--it seems to me that the science, though full of errors that are now common knowledge, was as up-to-date as he could make it. That also shows in the meticulous worldbuilding--and to some extent in the fun he had building his Martian language.

What he argues against when the three men are at last brought before the god-like Oyarsa, is a certain attitude toward Progress as understood then, and also up through my entire childhood: that it didn't matter what you did to other beings or to the environment, as long as it was in the name of Progress or Humanity. We get little throwaways right from the start that Lewis's stance clear, such as when Devine and Weston squabble about having a guard dog to protect their secret space ship, but Devine points out that Weston had had one but experimented on it.

Lewis hated vivisection. He knew it was torture for the poor helpless beasts in the hands of the vivisectionists, who believed animals had no feelings, etc etc. He also hated the byproducts of mass industrialization, as he makes plain in vivid images. Lewis also makes reference to splitting the atom and its possible results; I think it worthwhile to note that during the thirties no one knew what the result would be--but there was a lot of rhetoric hammering that we need bigger and better bombs, and splitting the atom would give us that. All in the name of Humanity. Individual lives have no meaning, and can be sacrificed with impunity as long as it's in the name of "saving Humanity."

As his theme develops, it's made very clear that moral dilemmas trouble Ransom--he's aware that humans contain the capability for brilliant innovation and for vast cruelty. He also holds up for scruntiny the idea that the (white) man is the pinnacle of intelligence in the cosmos. The scene when Weston talks excruciating pidgin in his determination to subordinate the Martians and their culture to the level of "tribal witch doctors" is equally hilarious and cringey.

In short, it took over fifty years for me to appreciate this book within the context of its time. I don't feel any impulse to eagerly reread it, but I might some day. At any rate, it stays on the shelf.
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[personal profile] conuly
"Why work here?"

"Weekly pay!"

Yup, that's why I would like to apply for any and all jobs!

(On a side note, A has been sending me a lot of job links today. I'm a bit inundated, but I somehow don't think that "Great, please don't send them to me, just fill them out with my resume for me" is going to go over very well.)

***************


Read more... )

Bundle of Holding: Pyramid 2

Jul. 9th, 2025 03:46 pm
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The latter half of Pyramid's ten-year run, the issues published from November 2013 to December 2018, sixty-two issues in all.

Bundle of Holding: Pyramid 2

Not Much of Anything, Alas

Jul. 9th, 2025 02:32 pm
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[personal profile] lydamorehouse
 The library finally coughed up KD Edward's Tarot Sequence triology (Last Sun, The Hanged Man, and the Hourglass Throne.) I picked these up because Edwards is going to be one of our GoH's at Gaylaxicon. Have I read much of Last Sun yet? No, not really. I'm finding it a little difficult to get into. I'm hoping that will change? I'm giving this book a bit longer than I would normally because I want to give a GoH more than a fair shake, you know? Someone on ConCom loves his work! So, I guess we'll see if I ever warm to it.

Obviously, it's okay if I don't. But, I'm generally bummed that it's not dragged me in because I'm having some reading ennui. Do you ever get this? I have a ton of options of things to read, but nothing is looking appealing and nothing that I'm currently reading is grabbing me. I've also got Waubgeshig Rice's Moon of the Crusted Snow on audiobook and I can't seem to get past 10%.   And I've heard good things about this book!

So, here's the other stuff I have in my Libby folder right now. Help me pick something?

When the English Fall by David Williams
The Future is Yours by Dan Frey
Meet Me in Another Life by Catriona Silvey
How High We Go in the Dark by Sequoia Nagamatsu
Arch-Conspirator by Veronica Roth
The Archive Undying by Emma Mieko Candon
Feed Them Silence by Lee Mandelo

Anything look good to you? I noticed that Martha Wells recommended  the worldbuilding in The Archive Undying to the New York Times in their "Let Us Help You Pick Your Next Book: Science Fiction" article. So maybe that's worth a go?

What are you reading?

Wednesday is back on schedule

Jul. 9th, 2025 07:28 pm
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[personal profile] oursin

What I read

Finished Murder in the Trembling Lands and okay, you have a mystery based on something that happened during some very confusing battle events back in the past, and this is all taking place during the upheavals of carnival in New Orleans decades later, and people lying, giving their versions of past events based on gossip, rumour, speculation etc etc, and possibly this was not really one to be reading in fits and starts.

Zen Cho, Behind Frenemy Lines (2025). This was really good: it does what I consider a desideratum particularly in contemporary-set romance, it has a good deal of hinterland going on around the central couple and their travails. And is Zen Cho going to give us a political thriller anytime, hmmmm?

Natasha Brown, Universality (2025), which I picked up recently as a Kobo deal. I was fairly meh about this - kind of a 'The Way We Live Now' work, about class and the media and establishing narratives and the compromises people make, I found it clunky (after the preceding!) if short, though was a bit startled by the coincidental appearance of the mouse research I mentioned earlier this week being cited by an old uni friend of one of the characters, now veering alt-right.

On the go

Also a Kobo deal, Taffy Brodesser-Akner, Long Island Compromise (2024): in my days of reading fat family sagas set in T'North, this would have been the 'to clogs again' section of the narrative.... it's sort of vaguely compelling in its depressing way.

Up next

Have got various things which were Kobo deals lined up, not sure how far any of them appeal. Also new Literary Review, which has my letter in it. The new Sally Smith mystery not out for another week, boo.

Got a callback

Jul. 9th, 2025 11:57 am
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[personal profile] conuly
Asked where I lived, was concerned that the answer is "Staten Island". FFS, it's not Siberia!

I need to start telling people I'm moving in with a friend in Tribeca. Just straight up lie.

Lapis Earth

Jul. 9th, 2025 03:00 pm
[syndicated profile] nicola_griffith_feed

Posted by Nicola Griffith

My absolute unit of a Grand Master award arrived!

Lucite rectangle, about 14" high and 4" square, in which are embedded several different semi-precious stones, including a squash-ball sized sphere of lapis lazuli
My Damon Knight Memorial Grand Master Award arrived yesterday…

I kept trying to get a decent picture of it to show the lovely colours of all the different stones.1 I tried dim light, bright light, sunlight… All the things. None of them conveyed its true glory—and sheer size. It’s well over 30 cm tall, maybe 11 cm square, and its weight is not trivial (though only about half what it might be if it were made of glass).

Then I lugged it into my office and stuck it on my desk while I decide what to do with it. Serendipitously I put it in front of a padded mailer (which I’m about to sent out to the winning bid on one of my Locus pledges) and that made everything look much nicer.

Lucite block with semi-precious stones in it in front of a padded mailer
Well, that’s better

So then I futzed about a bit more and finally got a picture of the lapis sphere. It’s huge—at least squash-ball size—and in front of the buff envelope it looked its proper colour. Also remarkably like our planet turning serenely in space.

So here you go: my Damon Knight Memorial planet, Lapis Earth.

A polished sphere of lapis lazuli with cream and light brown inclusions that make it look like the planet earth spinning in front of a buff-coloured padded envelope
Lapis Earth floating serenely in lucite
  1. See The glory of a grand gong for an annotated image of what’s what. ↩

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In a city with over a million people per square kilometre, real estate firms will never lack for clients. Good news for the employees of the Wong Loi Realty Company!


Kowloon Generic Romance, volume 1 by Jun Mayuzuki (Translated by Amanda Haley)

Connexions (24)

Jul. 9th, 2025 08:40 am
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[personal profile] the_comfortable_courtesan
An admirable capacity to grasp a situation

Rosamund, Dowager Countess of Trembourne, was finding life in Delft curiously agreeable. Had quite seen the necessity of going into exile, somewhere where she would be most unlike to meet any of her social circles either from England or the Continent, before her condition became too apparent to conceal, but had supposed that 'twould be quite immensely tedious.

For she had been used to the diversions of the spaws and the cities she and her late lord had been in the habit of frequenting, quite aside from the excitements of her secret endeavours for the interests of the nation. And dear Gillie….

Even when they had returned to England, while there were still those shunned 'em after the scandal over slandering Clorinda Bexbury and Lord Trembourne had been obliged to publish a public apology in the newspapers, they were still received in enough circles to have a bustling social life, as well as a deal of family matters in train with all this marrying and begetting.

So she had anticipated that it would be exceedingly dull to rest and wait upon lying-in, and then to be brought to bed, and fancied that at her time of life might take rather longer than had been wont in earlier years to recover from her travails once that was done. Entirely ennuyant.

But she had not imagined how much she would feel freed of a burden: like to float up like unto a balloon. Sure she and her late husband had not lived in one another’s pockets, had not shared a conjugal bed since before Lewis’s birth: but he had ever been there, moping about complaining of draughts or stuffiness and sitting down to table to discourse of the unwholesomeness of whatever fare had been set before 'em, and getting into a fret about some symptom he supposed he had. Boring everybody about his spaws and his quacks &C.

At least he did not recount aught about the ladies that provided for his particular pleasures – one felt a little sorry for the creatures, though supposed they were well-remunerated for their trouble.

Here she was, under the care of Mevrouw Peeters, that was kind, and competent, and not in the least encroaching, a very good sort of woman, one perceived that midwives were considerably esteemed in these parts. And the house so very clean and well-kept.

She might beguile the time by improving her understanding of Dutch, one never knew when that might come to be of use, whilst also polishing her abilities in cyphers and lock-picking. And dear good Grissie, sure she did not deserve that her daughter had turned out so well, had put into her trunks materials for embroidery and some several novels.

She entirely did not deserve that Clorinda Bexbury, that must have a deal of business upon hand, sent her the English newspapers accompanied by letters that contained gossip about the inwardness of various matters reported. La, Talshaw dead of some accident! though Saythingport had very properly ceased pursuing that suit to Nora as most improper while the family was in mourning.

But she had not imagined how much time she would pass in simply doating upon tiny Penelope. Had found it not only possible, but strangely pleasant, to feed her herself, although Mevrouw Peeters was quite able to find a wetnurse was one required. Look into those miniature features and endeavour to discern some resemblance to Gillie. Wonder whether the blue eyes of babyhood would darken to that warm brown…. Gaze upon the little hands and feet as if she had never seen a baby before.

Indeed, she had give little enough attention to her others. Had seemed to her an entire ordeal from the begetting to the birth – the months of the discomforts of increase – the time out of the pleasures of Society – And then once born, the infants handed over to wetnurses and nurserymaids.

How different things were, now.

Mevrouw Peeters strongly commended the practice of going promenade somewhat, now that Rosamund was growing stronger – though forbade her yet from carrying the babe herself, so she was followed by Geertje with the child well-bundled-up as she walked along beside the canals, or ventured as far as the Markt square with its bustle and fine buildings.

As they were about to re-enter, came out Mevrouw, saying that there was a gentleman come call for Her Ladyship, that she had put in the best parlour.

A gentleman? Rosamund put out a hand to steady herself against the door. She could only suppose it to be Undersedge, come with some news that should be delivered in person – she could not suppose that the matter of Talshaw was of any great urgency but oh dear, mayhap somewhat had come to Hermione?

She gulped, straightened her back, desired Geertje to take Penelope to her nursery and went towards the best parlour, that was very seldom used.

As she opened the door, she saw that that was too tall to be Greg Undersedge – took a second or so to realize, yes, that was Gillie, Gillie that had somehow found out her refuge. She shut the door behind her and leant against it, her legs trembling.

Why Delft, asked Gillie, though I quite apprehend that it is entirely out of any society that you are to know, a retreat quite like unto a convent perchance.

You are unacquainted with Mevrouw’s profession?

Gillie frowned. Profession?

Rosamund took a breath, stood up straight, leant over to take his hand. Come, she said, opening the door, and leading him upstairs to the nursery, where Penelope was already sleeping peacefully in her crib.

Mevrouw is a very skilled midwife.

Gillie looked down into the cradle, and then up to Rosamund. Ours?

Sir Vernon had initially commended Lord Gilbert to her as a young man that had an admirable capacity to grasp a situation with exemplary rapidity. She nodded. Her name is Penelope.

He picked her up quite surprizing confident for a young bachelor, then Rosamund collected that he had several nephews and nieces, so perchance had some practice in the art. She watched him thoughtfully scrutinizing her.

A pretty babe, he remarked at length. What are you intending to do with her?

She caught his uneasy tone.

Fie, I am not going to leave her outside some foundling institution! She took Penelope, that was still peaceably slumbering, in her own arms. No, 'tis my intention to take her to Yeomans –

Yeomans!

My dear, you must have had the thoughts I have had that perchance the orphans are not quite as bereft of parents as 'tis give out? Even did those parents mayhap not go to church with one another.

Indeed I have supposed 'em mostly by-blows rather than true orphans! Doubtless of friends of Miss Ferraby that found subscribing to her views cost 'em rather too dearly.

Well, 'twould be unmannerly to interrogate upon the matter, but Clorinda Bexbury assured me that Miss Ferraby and Miss Roberts would be entirely agreeable to taking Penelope –

Gillie grinned and said, and she would be in the hands of that peerless mistress of nurseries, Betty Higgins! One could not have the least objection. Those very healthful surroundings – Essie entirely commends the characters of the existing family – for of course visits quite often, still doats on the fiery Flora, to the great distress of all aspirants to his hand – there is an excellent governess – indeed, a prime solution to any difficulty. For Sir Vernon, I must reveal, is most anxious to call you back into the game – has been worrying at me and any other who might know to discover where you are.

She kissed Penelope and placed her back in the crib. The dear thing. But one saw that it would not do to keep her with her, no, she must put her in that very excellent situation among good kind people.

She took Gillie’s hand. I am gratified to hear that Sir V thinks so well of my services! I daresay for the next several months I must be about lingering at spaws, repairing my nerves from the shock of my husband’s death. But I daresay there may be work to be at there.

Indeed, she thought, she was still somewhat knocked up from bearing Penelope, at her age 'twas no light business, recruiting was only sensible.

But let us go and take coffee so that you may tell me what you have been about.

So they went to sit in the parlour, and Gillie recounted his adventures on Rozovsky’s estate, and how the Imbremeres did, and then how things had gone in St Petersburg, and then throughout the Baltic –

Very cold, he remarked. But now, after this short holiday at home in the bosom of my family, I am bound for Paris.

Paris, sighed Rosamund. Alas, that is not a destination for a grieving widow I fear – mayhap when I am out of black – but I might try one or other of the French spaws – Vichy? one hears well of it. Or Spa would not be any very great distance, would it?

Gillie sighed. I fear Sir V may have opinions in the matter and desire you to go to Carlsbad

Rosamund groaned.

– or Baden-Baden, now that would not be an entire impossibility

They sighed. Duty to the nation’s interests, it had to be considered, and here she had been, resting up very comfortable these several months.

A silence fell.

I suppose, Gillie began, stammered, began again, I have been in some thought – now that you are free – that now there is no obstacle

O, Gillie! He had never looked so young.

Rosamund took a deep breath. My dear, she said, do not go further towards where I think you tend. 'Twould be entirely unanswerable –

And one day, she surmized, there would be a younger woman that would ensnare his heart, she could not imagine that this could endure – however much it had become more than a flirtation or a brief indulgence – however little could she deny that 'twas love

No, she would not tie him in formal bonds. And while they might keep the matter clandestine, was it ever revealed, she shrank from the spiteful gossip there would be. Had circulated too much of the like herself.

Now, she said, I fear you should depart. I may tell Mevrouw that you have been bringing me news and messages from family and friends, but I do not think it wise to make it look any more than that you were passing through and did that civil task.

Slowly he nodded. Wisest, he conceded. Lifted her hand to his lips. Until Vichy, then.


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[personal profile] lydamorehouse
 I'm already having one of those weeks. 

The only good news is that my family and I are getting a lot done around the house. Mason, at 21, has been aggitating for a new bed. To be fair to him, he was still sleeping on the bed we bought him as a toddler. His feet literally hung off the edges as he's grown. Shawn, my incredibly thrifty and clever wife, saw that someone on our local Buy Nothing group was offering up a mattress and box spring. My parents have been trying to get me to come down to LaCrosse for over a month now to pick up an old bed frame. So, clearly the stars had begun aligning. 

Step one, was getting Keven to help us get the mattress and box spring to our house. We don't have a truck or a minivan or anything with any real cargo space, so we have to rely on what my brother-in-law likes to call Big Brother's Roadside Assistance. Mason and Keven went to the Buy Nothing address with the truck on Sunday and hauled it back to ours. Shawn, Mason and I struggled it into the living room because Keven needed to tap out. He says he feels fine since his diagnosis, but it's clear that his strength isn't what it used to be. I mean, he's also 70? So, there's a little bit of all of that going on.

At any rate, we sent Keven home as we always do these days with food. Shawn had made him a nice lasagna from their mother's recipe, but also froze it knowing that Keven's chemotherapy is coming up this week (tomorrow, I think.) And he might want something easy the day of or, even more likely, the day after.

After Keven left, my family and I started to negotiate what came next. Should we try to take apart Mason's bed the same day? Should we wait? What did we need to accomplish the next step? It was determined that Mason--who was up early to do the hauling--nap on the mattress on the living room floor while Shawn and I went to Target and JC Penny's in order to get fitted sheets, etc., for a full size bed. We actually had a full-size bed at some point, so we had SOME of these items, but we didn't have a mattress topper.  So, Mason face planted and we shopped. 

When we came back we still didn't really want to tackle the job of dismantling and hauling everything up our stairs, but Mason wisely pointed out that there was no good reason to wait. Shawn and Mason took apart the bed. I helped haul things to the garage--where we decided to store the old bed in the meantime, with the hopes of also passing it off on Buy Nothing (Shawn had already taken a picture of the stripped bed to show it off.)  I also started dinner while all this was happening because my family gets notoriously cranky when we are hangry. Then, it came time to haul the box spring and mattress up the stairs and I do not know how we managed it, but the three of us did it. Mason is currently sleeping on the box spring and mattress on the floor, but we have an appointment to pick up a U-Haul truck on Friday for a trip to LaCrosse to collect the last item in this scavenger hunt!

Last night, Shawn got a ping on Buy Nothing. A young family was ready to move their toddler into a "big boy bed," and ours looked perfect. We made arrangements (I hauled everything back OUT of the garage and set it up near the alley so it would be easy for them to throw things into their truck.)  We got a reply after delivery from the mom that read, "Thanks again! He just kept saying 'my bed is so huge!' Over and over as he was getting ready for bed tonight." Which makes everything worth it.

As part of all this, of course, we discovered a bunch of boxes we had stored under Mason's bed which we now have to figure out what to do with--but honestly, they'll probably end up in the attic with all the other things we'll need to sort "someday." 

All and all a very productive set of days.

Today I recorded the next podcast with Ka1lban today, in which we talk about American Flagg. As often happens, I wonder what of substance we'll have to say and then suddenly we're having a deep discussion about corporate greed or whatever. Good times!

But, man, all I want to do is nap now!

How was your weekend?

Aud begins to meet UK readers

Jul. 8th, 2025 07:01 pm
[syndicated profile] nicola_griffith_feed

Posted by Nicola Griffith

The Aud books have been out in the UK 5 days. I don’t really have much of a window into how they’re selling and/or how readers are responding, but I know that at in Edinburgh and London at least she’s beginning to find her way into new hands. I am jealous—I still don’t have my author copies.

Here’s Canongate in Edinburgh—home of Caongate Books, home of Aud in the UK.

Photo of a novel, THE BLUE PLACE b Nicola Griffith, published by Canongate, being held in line with a street sign on an Edinburgh city street, Canongate
A Canongate on Canongate, Edinburgh (thanks @sailboat@mastodon.scot)

And here’s Daunt’s, a bookshop in London, where apparently Aud was spotted face-out in a high-traffic area of the shop.

Image of a shelf in a book shop holding several books face out, including, prominently at te end, a novel STAY  by Nicola Griffith
Aud Daunts her public (Daunt’s in London displaying STAY face out—thanks Magda)

If anyone else has pictures, or simply reports of sightings of Aud out and about, I’d be happy to hear about it. (Pet pix a bonus!)

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[personal profile] brithistorian

Yesterday I finished reading Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel. I enjoyed it, but was frustrated with the ending — it seemed like it didn't end so much as just stopped.[^1] Today, I learned from [personal profile] cmcmck's comment on my July book record that this is actually the first book of a trilogy. This makes me feel better about the ending — I'll give an author more leeway on an ending when I know that a book is part of a series. But even if Mantel does give us a satisfying ending at the end of volume 3, that's still not going change the fact that, as much as I enjoyed the book, it feels like slice-of-life Thomas Cromwell fanfiction. (Of course, because it was professionally published and won awards, the literary establishment would quarrel with that characterization.)

[^1] Well, it didn't just stop — it reached a stopping place where one of the subplots had just resolved — but it didn't reach an actual conclusion.

Musical fanfic

Jul. 8th, 2025 12:50 pm
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[personal profile] brithistorian

Yesterday when I was in the grocery store, the music system started playing Elton John and Kiki Dee's "Don't Go Breaking My Heart", and my mind started rewriting the lyrics, turning into part of a M/M mafia musical rom-com. Specifically, it's the song in Act 2 where the two main characters realize they have feelings for each other. Below are the new lyrics I wrote for the first verse, where person A is the small business owner (I'm thinking baker) who's in debt to the mafia[^1] boss and person B is the thug sent out by the mafia boss to collect on a loan.

A: Don't go breaking my arm. B: I'm s'posed to shatter your knee. A: Tell Vinny I'll get him his money. B: He's not so patient like me.

[^1] I just looked it up (because of course I did), when using mafia in a generic sense you don't capitalize it, and when referring to a specific organization (e.g. the Sicilian Mafia), you do.

oursin: Fotherington-Tomas from the Molesworth books saying Hello clouds hello aky (Hello clouds hello sky)
[personal profile] oursin

The following are all in the area of environmental history: enjoy!

Rebecca Beausaert. Pursuing Play: Women's Leisure in Small-Town Ontario, 1870-1914.

Beausaert’s discussion of the growing popularity of outdoor recreation in the early twentieth century, as opposed to earlier forms of indoor leisure such as book clubs and church gatherings, also highlights the role of women in the rise of environmental activism in towns like Elora. In these communities, grassroots efforts to maintain the local environment and cater to the influx of ecotourism travelers flourished, further illustrating the agency of women in shaping both their social and environmental landscapes.

***

Robert Aquinas McNally. Cast Out of Eden: The Untold Story of John Muir, Indigenous Peoples, and the American Wilderness:

McNally’s emphasis on the role of race in Muir’s thinking, and, therefore, on his vision of wilderness preservation, helps readers more clearly see Muir not as wilderness prophet but as a man of his time coming to terms with the consequences of American expansion.

***

B. J. Barickman. From Sea-Bathing to Beach-Going: A Social History of the Beach in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Edited by Kendrik Kraay and Bryan McCann:

The book begins with Rio in the nineteenth century and shows that Cariocas regularly went to bathe in the ocean. The work incorporates an assortment of sources to give a vivid picture of this process. For instance, it was customary for bathers to go before dawn—as early as 3 a.m.—since many in Rio went to bed early in the evening, but also due to colorism within Brazilian society. The dominant white society enjoyed swimming in the ocean but also prized fairer complexions and thus aimed to avoid the sun. Yet, few amenities existed for sea-bathers. The city dumped its sewage and trash into the ocean and provided few lifeguards, which resulted in frequent drownings.
In chapter 2, a personal favorite, Barickman discusses the evolution of sea bathing from a therapeutic practice (thalassotherapy) in the nineteenth century to a leisure activity that provided a space for socialization across gender lines by the 1920s. Locals went to the beach to escape the heat of the summer, rowing emerged as the most popular sport in the region, and, as in other parts of the world such as the United States and the Southern Cone, beach-going became a popular way to make or meet friends. In short, the beach became a public space at all hours of the day, not just before dawn. Moreover, the beach captured the “moral ambiguities” of nineteenth-century norms (51-63). Men and women of all races and classes could be present in public spaces partially nude, to observe others and to be observed, in ways that society did not permit beyond the beach, but this continually frustrated moral reformers.
Chapter 3 centers on the work of Rio’s civic leaders to “civilize” the city in hopes of altering public perception of the city as a “tropical pesthole” (p. 69).

***

David Matless. England’s Green: Nature and Culture Since the 1960s:

The range of sources and topics is impressive, but at times the evidence is noted so briefly and the prose proceeds so quickly that breadth is privileged over depth. For example, the deeper connections between England and global ideas of green (as defined by the International Union for Conservation of Nature and the World Wildlife Fund), the influence of colonial experience on conservation events of the 1970s, and the tensions between the various governmental nature management organizations would all have benefited from a little more attention. Yet, even if the reader sometimes wishes for a slower pace to get their thoughts in order, Matless offers enough analysis to build the examples up into a clear and insightful picture. The reader is left with a general appreciation of the central environmental debates of the period and good understanding of how they evolved over time. For scholars, it is a multidimensional study that adds something new and long awaited to British environmental and cultural history. For others, it is a fascinating book filled with interesting stories, cultural context, and many moments of nostalgia.

***

Michael Lobel. Van Gogh and the End of Nature.:

Lobel makes a systematic case for a new way of seeing Van Gogh’s paintings. Carefully introducing readers to a host of environmental conditions that shaped Van Gogh’s lived experience and appear repeatedly in his paintings—factories, railways, mining operations, gaslight, polluted waterways, arsenic, among others—Lobel compellingly invites us to see Van Gogh as an artist consistently grappling with the changing ecological world around him. Color and composition, as two of Van Gogh’s most heralded painterly qualities, appear now through an entirely different perception influenced by a clear environmental consciousness.

***

Ursula Kluwick. Haunting Ecologies: Victorian Conceptions of Water:

The author sets out to consider how Victorians understood water, seen through nineteenth-century fictional and nonfictional writings about the River Thames. In chapter 2 she points out the existence of writing that emphasizes how polluted the Thames was as well as writing that never mentions the pollution, and wonders at their coexistence. The conclusion that the writings don’t relate to any real state of the river is not particularly surprising but points to the author’s overall intent, summarized in the book’s title.

***

Alan Rauch. Sloth:

Rauch views these caricatural depictions—including portrayals of sloths as docile and naive creatures, as seen in the animated film Ice Age (2002)—as potentially detrimental to the species’ well-being. Through his analysis, the author critiques how sloths have been appropriated to fulfill human (emotional, cultural, and economic) needs and how this process misrepresents sloths, leading to harmful stereotypes that diminish their intrinsic value and undermine their agency.

rydra_wong: Lee Miller photo showing two women wearing metal fire masks in England during WWII. (Default)
[personal profile] rydra_wong
Especially while it's at 75% off in the sale, making it 62p:

https://store.steampowered.com/app/406150/Refunct/

For anyone who might want to sample some easy platforming with a very very low entry threshold.

Chill and rather lovely environment (okay, probably depends on you liking brutalist architecture, but still -- there's a day-night cycle! there's sunshine! the water is gorgeous! the music is gentle!) with no time pressure and no penalties for failing a jump hundreds of times (except that, at worst, you fall in the water and have to swim about and haul yourself out again).

N.B. Most reviews describe this as a half-hour game, and there are achievements for speedrunning it in under 8 minutes or under 4 minutes.

It took me over five hours of playtime to beat it, which should be indicative of the co-ordination and skill levels I'm working with here. And yet it did not at any point feel stressful or humiliating for me. It felt like a pleasant, relaxing environment in which to fail repeatedly and experiment.

It started at a level low enough that I could manage it, and then had a really satisfying difficulty curve. If I was stalling on the next objective, I could still run and parkour round the environment purely for fun (and sometimes ended up working out how to pick off the optional achievements in the process).

Towards the very end, I started to think that the last jumps might just flat-out exceed the limits of what I am currently capable of, and it felt like if that did happen, I would still be able to walk away pretty happily having already got way more than 62p's worth of enjoyment out of it.

Will absolutely be playing it again.

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