jheti: (big bad world)
Tumblr. It's a minimal, visuals-based, upload and reblog-operated journal.

I am there.

I am sparklebiscuit.

It still isn't to my taste, not really. For one thing, I can't figure out how to reply to other users in the threaded fashion I see going around and therefore know is possible. But the dashboard can be mesmerizing.

And it sometimes even gets updated.

I am face deep in this universe, six volumes and over two thousand pages in, and I have no desire to stop.

Fair warning: the third volume is nearly unreadable.

Then again, it's in a radically different style from the others, which might be good, for some. I can't stand it. I wonder if it was ghostwritten.

I would say you could skip it entirely and just go from Invader straight to Precursor, which is far and away my favorite.

Do you know what I want? I want CJ Cherryh and Julie E. Czerneda to team up. It would be kind of unstoppable.
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (Default)
There is a certain sort of modern poem that I just can't stand.

It's like they grab a nature symbol, a pop culture reference, and an abstraction, and butcher them in the plainest language they possibly can. All sort of straining toward one another like girders rusting inward in the rain. But nothing touches, nothing matches, nothing signifies anything. And it's not really sound and fury so much as a dull roar, a little trickle, the wet dribbling patter of an idea about rain tortured down the kitchen tap, tonight at eleven.

Death has no mouth and I must not scream. Go to sleep, o.
But Oprah's on! How can I rest 'til I have run, run, run
After brilliant kites waving goodbye? No money down.
Low monthly payments.
Might be more relevant if we roped in something about diets
Chicks read poetry
and hate themselves
and that's what we call a win-win, Bob.

I tried? I can't even.

I see a lot of "kitchen references to loneliness and ennui" in the few slim journals I'm able to find at the magazine counter ever. It's like they're all writing love letters to each other in some kind of unbearable mouldering code.

I wanted so badly to be swept up in Scar Night, the jacket for which reads like everything I need recently, but.

The characters mean nothing, and the city isn't well-described, and there's--nothing to attach to. It's literally a city without foundations, and the book feels the same way. I sat and read it halfway through, waiting for some hint of a sign that it would live up to everyone on the flyleaves with their knees openmouthed, gasping through slick wet lips and still trying to swallow right.

No. Never saw it. Strained through hundreds of pages, plural. Never got a glimpse.

I felt a slight something for the angel that can't fly, but nothing else. We don't know these people, and we never get to know them. And then there's the part where the book...just doesn't...make much sense.

While I'm up here: Ulcis, ulcer, religion is cancer--we get it already. You can stop impressing us with your atheism now.

Look. This is very basic, Alan. I want characters I can empathize with, a setting I can see in my mind's eye, and a plot I can solve. Okay?

Even Mercedes Lackey can do that.
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (peace love harmony)
Why exactly is everyone in the fandom but me so excited about Keith R. DeCandido?

He could kill Vulcans with his brain. (With his sentence structure alone. See: How the Borg Spent Their Summer Vacation as Exhibit A.)

Guy makes Kevin J. Anderson look like Proust. For fucksake. Or maybe Melville.

Okay, okay, done proving I can read actual books. Still, aaaaughafkljshljks D:

Do not want.
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (beautiful snowflake)
I got home two days ago. All I've done is sleep and flail at cleaning and sleep. I'm gonna go do it some more.

I sobbed all the way through a one-sitting reading of Al Capone Does My Shirts. Like so. Which is the latest news in the What The Fuck, Jheti column, direct from the desk of yours truly.


...It, it just seems cooler somehow when Stan Lee does it.

Dragon*Con 2011 is only a year away. If I keep saying that it will help.
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (peace love harmony)
I love estate sales.

Formwork For Concrete, Fourth Ed. Hurd, M.K., Ed.
Welding: Fundamentals And Procedures Gaylen, J., Sear, G. & Tuttle, C.A.
Introduction To Industrial Drafting Pawelek, J. J. & Otto, W.E.
Principles And Practices Of Heavy Construction, Second Ed. Smith, R.C., Ed.

I totally didn't buy these for roleplay purposes. Honest.

The guy at the door laughed and asked if I was changing my career plans. BONUS.
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (othering)
Everytime I read 'Pride and Prejudice' I want to dig [Austen] up and beat her over the skull with her own shin-bone. --S. Clemens (Mark Twain)
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (the empire has the awesome uniforms)
I have a sadomasochistic habit where I start reading material related to my courses of study while I'm in them.

In the order in which they are currently visible on my tabletop.

Oh god, don't stop; it only hurts when you stop. )

The best part of this list is that, once I have incorporated it into my existing collection, I will have three full shelves of nothing but pretentious grownup books, all of which I have actually read at least once.
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (lolcat nero)
From Last Thursday! A bus adventure, tagged, but not locked. THERE IS ALSO BOOKSTUFF UNDER THE CUT.

Bookery. On Julie E. Czerneda and Herman Hesse. )

So I'm sitting there, reading In The Company Of Others, and this dude gets on the bus. (Warnings: misandry, major, MAJOR tmi, and blasphemy for dessert.) )

I'll be honest, the only thing I really remember from the Song of Solomon is this: at some point, he compares tits to gazelles.

Gazelles. You guys. Seriously. Zeus. Goat tit. Gazelles.

A part of me wonders if this is where the term "bazongas!" got its starting point.

(I want to strangle the stars for all they promised me)
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (ayel is prettiest)
Holyshit poetry D:

Nero/Ayel, in the manner of freshman lit class. )

Pardon any misquotes, will you? It's been a decade since I gave a damn and five years since I read any fancy books other than Twain or London, and those not recently, and they're not European enough, you know.

Frost doesn't count, he's not European EITHER, and I can only take him in small doses, neat, with bourbon, yes I'm serious.

Migraines do odd, odd things to my thought processes. ^_^
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (greed!sleep)
You know you've had a long day when you take "Script Writers 2009"

to mean "Styptic White 2009".

Sometimes when I hold a book up and flip through it quickly, words will sort of zip past my eyes, portmanteaus or substitutions, unconscious changes like the one above. I don't even have to be tired. Serif font books, or books with heavier type, will do it more predictably, and the pages have to be obvious blocks of text, as with a narrative; thin lines, like cooking instructions, don't fuse properly.

Poetry is also iffy.
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (it is too in the right aspect ratio)
I can't read this book.

Why not? It's very simple: the Evil One's name?

Is Tharn.

As in, "Tharn goes stiff with shock and falls down dead."

I can't get past it. I just can't. Every time he's mentioned, there goes my canon fodder, CLUNK.

(No, that's not a typo. A presumption, yes, but not a typo.)

Tharn, Tharn, Tharn, CLUNK, CLUNK, KERPLUNK.

Oh. Also, it has grievous tone problems. I can forgive all sorts of stupid plot shenanigans--fantasy continues by them--but not tone problems like these. They're massive. By turns it tries to be a "horrors of war" pastiche, a Homeric wanderer's adventure, and a fucking kung-fu movie (without the kung-fu). It succeeds, kinda sorta sometimes in spots, at the last two. Its rendering of the first is laughable.

And it's got hideous First Novel Name Disease.

What's that? Simple. There are a dozen proper names in the first six pages, and it's just too many. Especially because it's a hodge-podge: some are places, some are people, and some are racial designations of these people, and since they're fantasy!Christians and fantasy!Arabs (with a side-order of fantasy!vaguely!Chinonipponese) those will be important throughout the battle, and, presumably, throughout the book.

Except, I can't care, because there's no way of telling them apart.

I got to page 80. Of 754.

I picked up Aurian next: Mary Sue Saves THE UNIVERSE.

Ah, ah, but I'm reading this for one thing only. I will stop after I get through her turn as a gladiatrix, whenever that comes.

Besides, it's at least swifter than most Mary Sue fiction, fan or otherwise. The thorougly hackneyed, totally undiverting plot is buoyed by its own stupidity: I keep reading with a sort of horrified, gleeful fascination, waiting to see when Aurian will reach up and eat the sun itself, simply because she discovers she has the power to do so.

And it was cool to see a woman with the "male" powers of earth and fire, and not, like "spirit" or "crystal" or "seabreeze" or any of that froofy shit women usually get stuck with.

I have the last book of the trilogy in my possession. Judging by the reviews, I will not miss much by not having the middle volume also.

She's ridiculously overpowered, and I like it. Not enough to recommend it, but again, it's better than other stuff I've read in the same vein, by virtue of its quickness.
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (Default)
About once every ninety days, I make it up to the library in the city to see what they have for sale.

I have a military fantasy, a historical* fantasy, a pair of urban fantasies, a fantasy classic, four 'standard' fantasy novels, one of those 'woman warrior' books, a novelization of a fantasy movie, and a horror-parody that somehow got lumped in with the others.

I also have Charles Darwin, and FINALLY my own copy of Othello.

*This is the proper word. Now with rabid swearing mouthfoam. And nearly-solid capslock. )

Hmm. My Shift key sticks now. XD
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (Default)
I have over three thousand pages of Star Trek stuff to devour now.
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (Default)
This one.

The subject matter is inconsequential to me. I chose it for her style.


"The Via Grande gave us a foretaste of what our life was to be in Ferrara--narrow, confining, mean, and muddy."

O! Vivid and alacritous and precise. <3
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (olivia likes you)
I spent yesterday digging through garage sales and halfassing a trip to Wet n' Wild. I have an annual pass, now. Much happier about the books, though I won't say no to a good water slide.

I hurt all over and still stink of chlorine, two showers later. -_-;

Here, I'll just post the back-copy of each book instead of reviewing them, since I've only read one. Two, technically, but there you are.

Hi there, buttons. )

Dear Readers: may I present:

Bradbury, London, Bradley, and Brin, all of whom write better than half the authors on the list following.

stolen from Nyohah: a booklist meme. I've read 32, 29 of those in their entirety, and two alternates by other listed authors. )

PS: Get [livejournal.com profile] nyohah to introduce you to Twain if you haven't met him yet. ^_^
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (Default)
Excerpt from Medalon by Jennifer Fallon.

You may kinda remember this book. Or not. XD

Physical violence and deeply ludicrous names behind the cut. )

I get the giggles when Main Character bumps into a Stupid Woman that she dislikes intensely--usually because said woman sleeps around, which is so much worse than, say, genocide and all the other stuff the Main Villains are busy perpetrating--but, anyway, usually Main Character meets Stupid Woman and spends the next couple chapters having a total shitfit and proving how much purer they are at great and tiresome length.

That's always good for a laugh. ^_^

I typed it up and couldn't take it anymore, so I rewrote the scene. FEAR my powers of copy-paste! Names changed because they were awful, prose changed because it was awful. )
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (pimpin')
ETA: After some consideration, the pretty book with the lion story is probably a version of the tale The Camel and His Friends.

I went to the art museum, and they had an exhibit displaying art by the almighty creator of DINOSAUR BOB.

Oh! I lack sufficient words for this book. Obtain the Bob, comprehend the Bob, praise be to Bob. It is my second-favorite book from childhood.

There is a beautiful new one, The Leaf Men and the Brave Good Bugs, and just, yes.

Fair warning: he has since gone on to create Rolie Polie Ollie. He has a screamingly yellow homepage here.

My most favorite infantile book was/is Pat the Bunny. I am a very tactile Jheti and it is A TACTILE BOOK. I sneer at your Aristotelian concepts and spurn your words of vocabulary with deeply scornful scorn. Who needs lessons? I has a bunny. <3

There is also an absolutely gorgeous book I can't remember the name of. Hardback, heavy, rough vinyl cream-colored cover, and all I recall of the story is that it's about the lion in the jungle, and he's not a good king, and there is a camel and a monkey, and the ART. Is deep, vibrant colors and has an arabesque motif. The lion is sad-eyed and has an indolent air about him.

I can't for the life of me remember its name. I rememeber the lettering was done with gold ink, and I thought that classy. (Preliterate!memory ftw. Hey, it was the '80's! XD)

I have a half-forgotten memory of a book, too, from when I was about seven, and really too old for these kinds of tales, but there was a unicorn and a goblin and rubies were important to the plot, which had the usual "without my horn I'll die!" fixture to it and shades of Rumpelstiltskin, and DAMN.

I have given up on ever finding the white book with dazzling pencil illustrations of the Fairy Queen's attempt to spirit away a young boy. I thought it was a Caldecott book; I am wrong. There is no hope for it. I speculate it was published no earlier than 1960 and not later than 1990, as I discovered it in 1989, and it's probably out of print, you know.

Apparently, Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs makes people uncomfortable?


In conclusion: children's books are srys biz.



Because I see this cropping the hell up all over the place lately.

Adverse IS NOT averse. Watch.

You are averse to things you do not like. For instance, "Fred was averse to tuna fish, but he thought salmon was awesome."

If our friend Fred were adverse to tuna fish, that would literally mean that "Fred is bad for tuna."

Notice that he could be adverse to them by eating them, but he probably wouldn't eat them, because he is averse to them.

jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (miss commander)
It was on the bus that I discovered The Giver. I'm familiar with dystopia, but I loved some of the layers and twists in hers. (They're subtle lifts, gear-shiftings in the prose, and not "twists" as in OMG PLOT SHOCKER.)

The thing that sucked me in, as always, was the rhythm. The language arrangement, the prosody, is like water over stones, silver-white singing, graceful and insidious at once. At a base-technical level, the writing is tight and evocative, the imagery crisp, and the pacing perfect until her hasty MY ENDING IS PASTEDE ON YAY conclusion.

I heartily recommend it. Any age, from about seven up, will get something out of it. Stronger readers will finish quickly, but the writing's very clear; there's not much to trip up problem readers. It would make a good classroom discussion book for a fourth or fifth grade class. Gifted third-graders will get a kick out of it.

Adults reading it for a class *cough* will get something out of the writing itself, and see the twist coming, but probably enjoy it anyway; it's very well-executed and I've got the squirms waiting for Wednesday when we get to discuss it in class.

I have not been this excited about/in love with a book for eight years.

"Easiness" of content should not be a deterrent to anyone who may have read Harry Potter.

Well, well, lookit that. A mutant trying to read. )

There should be a fictional world where all the midwives are armed with machetes and all the temple whores are male. Just once I'd like to see a society where nevermind, I've already ranted that rant into exhaustion.

No, you know what, let me say it once more. I want to see a book about a society where all the women are soldiers and the men stay at home and mind the children. It's that simple.

He was never like the other guys
Sellin' curly fries
Or riggin' the games

Gonna step up, step up, step right up
(He looked good, from behind)
Well, step up, step up, step right up


Recently Finished: Crisis on Centaurus, The Last Innocent Man, The Giver

Ongoing: Journals, Kurt Cobain
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (good with everything)
I can't stop laughing. For oh so very many reasons.

HOW, paleface?

Or maybe that should be, "Why?"


jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (Default)

August 2012

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