Suddenly I feel so much smarter.

I also meant to say that I tried to add the comments feature to this blog but did not have any success--this is kind of a weird old template (you will all, I'm sure, have noticed the lovely cut-off title at the top--argh!) so it didn't turn out right. I'll have Odious take a look, because it would be fun to hear from my visitors.

Well, what a fun surprise! I was just looking at my cooking blog, and discovered that several people have left comments. The best part is that I don't know them, so that means people other than my family read the blog...or maybe that's the scary part. No, I'm happy to share my infinite wisdom with all and sundry--I just wonder how on earth all the connections get made. The blog world is nearly as small as my old network of homeschool magazine editors, where eventually everyone knows each other. Weird.

Anyway, I finally have a job, as a hostess at the new Melting Pot restaurant opening in Portland, which means that I may actually start getting things done. A lack of schedule often sadly means a lack of productivity, unless, of course, one counts as productivity watching TV and reading for hours on end, in which case I've been busy as a bee. We've discovered all the nearby libraries, so Odious and I have stacks of lovely new-to-us books in the bedroom and have been reading them avidly. I love how every library has just a few more of the books I'm always looking for, keeping me happy yet not entirely satisfied. For instance, I was pleased to find one of the Borderlands books at the Beaverton library (although unfortunately I'd already read the story by Charles de Lint), and thrilled to find Nina Kiriki Hoffman's short story collection Time Travelers, Ghosts, and Other Visitors at the Portland library. Both were excellent, but only made me eager for more...

I'm not sure why I haven't kept up with posting. Heaven knows I've had enough time, and I've certainly been reading plenty as well. It's harder than it sounds not to have a schedule--the day sort of melts away when there's nothing one has to do. But I'll soon be back in the workforce, and most likely looking back longingly to these days of lounging about and reading fantasy novels.

I recently re-read The Gathering Storm, the fifth book in Kate Elliott's "Crown of Stars" series, and am now even more anxious for the sixth and last to appear. Much as I generally dislike getting into long fantasy series (even with my speed reading ability, a shelf-ful of two-inch thick mass markets is daunting, to say the least), with their convoluted plots and reams of characters, this one is actually worthwhile. I do think Ms. Elliott could have spared her readers some of the details and subplots, since 6000 pages is a lot to demand from any fan, and it's quite difficult to remember what has happened to each of the fifteen essential characters, but the skill with which she has brought each thread into her weaving is remarkable. And actually, the last book should be much easier to follow, since quite a few of the characters were either killed off or their stories resolved in The Gathering Storm.

I'm not going to attempt to explain the plot, since it would either take too long or be too generic to excite anyone (stalwart characters go on various quests to save their world), but Amazon might help if you're interested. Apparently some readers don't share my enthusiasm, but as I said, 6000 pages is a lot to demand.

I've been immersing myself in short stories lately, mainly because of our recent jaunts to Powell's and the number of bad anthologies I picked up there. Yesterday, however, I found the library (my wallet breathes a sigh of relief), and while our tax money seems to have gone to the building before the collection, I was able to find several things I'd been wanting to read. One was the latest from A.S. Byatt, a collection of stories called Little Black Book of Stories, which I read more or less in one sitting. Of course I inhaled them too fast, and will probably have to go back and savor them more carefully, but it's difficult not to gobble when the fare is so wonderfully tasty. There is a definite knack to short stories that, for lack of a better word, I call snarkiness--a sort of sly, wry humor that turns around at the end and elbows the reader in the back--and Byatt possesses it beyond a doubt. Someday, maybe, if I ever get to practicing, you'll see something from me like that.

Anyway, every story in this book is a gem. I particularly liked the first one, where two young girls sent away from their homes during WWII discover something bizarre and old and earth-shattering in a forest, and are forever after secretly affected by it; if ever anyone had an excuse for psychological hangups in later life caused by childhood nastiness, it was these two girls. Another story follows a doctor's concern for a young artist who is hired to decorate the hospital for Christmas and stays on afterwards, living in corners and creating strange and frightening sculptures with medical artifacts from the basement, and their disastrous but compelling love affair. The last story gives account of a husband dealing with the last stages of his wife's descent into Alzheimer's, detailing the small harmless ways in which he exacts revenge for her tantrums and messes, and the curious late-night visits of a beautiful woman who seems to know all about him and his wife. Every one made me shudder a little, and at the same time yearn for such talent.

Nina Kiriki Hoffman is a terrific writer. Unfortunately, however, it seems most fantasy readers don't agree with me, since few of her books are still in print and only one is readily available in bookstores (the newly-released mass market A Fistful of Sky). I just spent an irritatingly long time trying to find used copies of her short story collections online, but apparently they were published by a small press and have, even in this age of wonders and eBay, vanished from the reading sphere. So I suppose I must resign myself to continue my search for anthologies that contain her stories, though it's so much more difficult to appreciate them when sandwiched between authors who by some chance of blind luck became well-known and have all of their books still in print and stocked in bookstores. Not that I'm bitter.

During recent forays to Powell's, I picked up several anthologies for the sole reason that Hoffman's stories appeared in them (not, I must admit, that I scorned to read the rest of the stories!), and one in particular was really excellent. I enjoyed nearly all of the stories in Little Red Riding Hood in the Big Bad City (edited by Martin H. Greenberg and John Helfers), but Hoffman's was especially charming--a tale of that strange entity known to society as a mall. In fact, I think I have to quote from the beginning of it, as I found myself quite tickled.

Gwen hated the mall. It had eaten her three best friends when they were all in sixth grade, and even though it threw them up later, they had come back partially digested by shopping acid and were never the same. --"Mallificent"

Well, we made it to Oregon. We're happily settled into suburbia, in a cute little house with blue trim, a porch, and roses on the back patio. It'll do. Things are mostly unpacked and arranged, including all the books. We spent a happy day sorting and organizing, which has never really been done before and was desperately needed--now we actually have a nice library in our front room with everything arranged by subject (more or less arbitrarily). During this undertaking, of course, both Odious and I made new stacks of things to read, that had been buried or forgotten. One of them for me was Ellen Kushner's The Fall of the Kings, which I'd been meaning to read since we picked it up at a library book sale. Odious said he found it boring, as well as a little heavy on the buggery (which bothered me about its prequel, Swordspoint, also!), but I gave it a try anyway, and found myself completely immersed. I was disappointed by the ending, which seemed a bit of a cop-out, but the characters were well-developed and interesting and the plot fascinating (until it fell apart at the end, sadly). So I'm recommending it with reservations, if you liked Kushner's other two books.

This weekend we'll be heading into Portland for, among other things, a pleasant visit to Powell's Books. Now that we've moved, I feel liberated to buy books again!

Well, I finally finished Nabokov's short stories. I was appalled to log on after a whole month and see that that book had been on my nightstand for so long, but as always, I got distracted. It took a little while to get into Nabokov, anyway. Several of the stories were delightful and entrancing, while far too many others were just Russian. Actually, they were all extremely Russian, but some had other things going for them. I particularly liked the story "A Bad Day", about a boy from the country who goes to a birthday party at his cousin's house. He doesn't want to go, because he knows it will be awkward and unpleasant for him, but of course the grown-ups expect him to want to go. It's an interesting vignette of a child's life--perhaps more depressing than I like to think, but fairly accurate--and the ending was shockingly heartwrenching and unexpected (if you're somewhat oblivious, like me). I also enjoyed the story about the man whose doppelganger makes his life difficult and harried--this one has a good ending too. The best thing was that I got inspired to write some short stories, and in fact started one at work last night. It's based on an odd dream I had, and will perhaps appear in Kate-hill sometime soon.

I believe it was Sarah Ban Breathnach who suggested always having three books on one's nightstand--one simply fun and light; one slightly more challenging that requires some attention; and one to study and learn from. This way you'll always have something that suits your present mood, without flitting, as I often do, from book to book and gathering great stacks next to the bed. Anyway, I've been trying to do this, and ended up setting aside a specific time each day to read something edifying. Since I need something to read while I eat breakfast, this seemed the perfect time for working through more serious books a chapter at a time, and I'm finding it an excellent practice. Besides giving me something to think about throughout the day, it also starts me off feeling productive!

Since starting this pleasant little habit earlier in the summer, I've read three terrific books and am just starting a fourth. The first book was recommended by my dear Meg--The Sacred Romance, by Brent Curtis and John Eldredge. Though a little too casual and chatty for my taste, the subject was thoughtprovoking and interesting, as the authors described a lifestyle that draws one closer to God. We don't usually think of a relationship with God as being romantic and passionate, but it must be in order to take part in all that He wants to give us.

My second book was Franky Schaeffer's A Time for Anger, which I found amazingly stirring and apropos despite its 1980's publication date. Many of the social problems and moral issues that still concern us today were fully blossoming at that time, and he addresses them with righteous anger and a call to action. He questions the apathy that modern Christians have fallen into--the mood of "tolerance" that seems to keep us from protesting the horrors and travesties that surround us. In particular he discusses the abortion holocaust that slips by general attention because even the staunchest pro-life advocates have been jaded into thinking of precious babies as mere fetuses and lumps of tissue. It's a book that will be on my mind for a good long time, and has already stirred me into speaking my mind more bluntly than usual.

A friend had sent us a copy of Hidden Art, by Franky Schaeffer's mother Edith (also the wife of the philosopher Francis Schaeffer and co-founder of L'Abri), and for some reason I couldn't get into it until I made it my morning read. Then I could hardly bear to read only a chapter at a time! With the premise that God is an artist, and the best way to worship him is to share in his creation by being artistic ourselves, she goes through all aspects of life with suggestions on how to become more creative and artistic. She doesn't necessarily advocate becoming a great artist, writer, or musician, but rather using those natural talents to enhance life and glorify God. A grocery list can be a creative outlet as well as a pleasant sight when it's decorated with a flowering vine or little cartoons of the needed items; evenings become pleasant and productive with an impromptu concert or singing circle; a house is more comfortable and welcoming when arranged with personal style and special finds; friends are always thrilled to receive long newsy letters filled with description, dialogue, and philosophical musings. Each chapter provides new ideas and fresh ways to brighten one's life and grow closer to God--I found it interesting, inspiring, and thoroughly enjoyable.

I just finished reading a really, really weird book. I’d read a few of Iris Murdoch’s novels previously, which were good but mostly unmemorable–The Nice and the Good, Under the Net, and I think one other. The Unicorn is really not in the same category. The best genre to which I can assign it is that of the Gothic novel, only in the 1960's instead of the 1800's. I’m not sure how much I want to describe it, partly because I still have to think about the sort of symbolism and metaphor of the situation and figure out exactly what happened, but I’ll do my best. The "unicorn" is a woman imprisoned by her husband in an incredibly remote house on the Scottish (I believe) coast, who has in turn imprisoned the group of people who care for her, keeping them under a mysterious spell. They are all enchanted by her in various ways, yet at the end of the book, when at last the spell is broken, it’s as if nothing happened. The mystery is shaken off, stowed beneath layers of normality, and they return to their respective lives. I don’t know why they’re not more changed or affected by the whole affair (which lasted seven years!), or if that’s the point... Hmm. More thinking is necessary.

"I have become unreal. You have made me unreal by thinking about me so much. You made me into an object of contemplation. Just like this landscape. I have made it unreal by endlessly looking at it instead of entering it."
–Iris Murdoch, The Unicorn

Perhaps, because it was so unreal, it was easier to leave behind–but if the characters haven’t learned anything, then what has the reader learned? I don’t usually analyze books so closely, but I really am baffled by this novel. I don’t know why it was written.

So I suppose it’s now my turn to say a word about the opera, since Odious and Jack have written extensive reviews with which I mostly disagree. Odious and I just spent a month of Wednesdays seeing Beatrice and Benedict (Berlioz), Simon Boccanegra (Verdi), Agrippina (Handel), and Don Giovanni (Mozart), which I liked in that order. I am not an opera buff, and have no desire to be one–what I enjoy most is the experience of going to the opera, dressing up and drinking champagne in the parking lot and feeling sophisticated. However, this summer I have also enjoyed the operas themselves, with the exception of, I am sorry to say, Don Giovanni. That was the only opera on the program that I had any experience with, and that was limited to listening to the CD a few times while cleaning the house. Of course I knew the basic story, but little about the music or the motivations of the characters. Unfortunately Odious for some reason was unaware of my ignorance, and thus got rather shirty with me for asking him to explain his comments about the opera (assuming I was playing devil’s advocate). Once we finally got that worked out, we were able to have several good conversations about it that helped me understand why I didn’t like the production.

While the singers were excellent, and the music of course beyond reproach (I would have to agree that it may be the best opera ever written), the producers chose an interpretation that took away nearly all of the impact and depth of the story, to the point where it stopped making sense because the music and the acting were so contradictory. It’s one of the few operas where the music actually has plot–like most Mozart, the characters are expressed through the music. For instance, Don Giovanni’s seduction takes place within the music, as the key in which he sings takes over the keys of his victims until they are completely under his sway. Because of this, it’s impossible to change the genre of the opera (from tragedy to comedy, basically) without making it ridiculous. Odious’s observation, which I thought quite apt, was that perhaps the producers felt that the story was morally unfashionable, and that Giovanni as a bad man who refuses to repent and so is sent to Hell (which, incidentally, is a bad place) would not be taken seriously. Besides having a problem with people who try to adapt morality to current social trends, I have to say the alternative failed miserably.

All the characters were acted shallowly and farcically until their conflicting emotions inherent in the music and lyrics made no sense and the story began to lose focus. Leporello was played as a clownish rascal who bumbled about the stage and grabbed large handfuls of female flesh, which was vaguely amusing until I started paying attention to the creepiness of his position. He’s a man who hangs outside of bedrooms while his master seduces women, and keeps records of each seduction in a little notebook. That’s not exactly normal! And it’s certainly not funny, at least in my opinion. Donna Elvira was disappointing, too, as a conniving bitch who stormed about screaming at everyone, so that when she began falling back in love with Giovanni it came completely out of the blue. Giovanni himself was more effective, since it would be hard for him to come across as anything but suave and persuasive, but because no one thought of him as evil, he wasn’t scary. To me, a man whose power over women is nearly absolute, and who has no compassion or sense of wrong, is terrifying, and this Giovanni was merely alarming.

I wish I could have liked it better, since Mozart is so wonderful, but frankly I got bored and irritated. At least it made Simon Boccanegra a welcome surprise, especially since Odious had implied that I probably wouldn’t like it. On the contrary, while the music wasn’t as exciting as Mozart, the story was much more fast-paced and compelling because, being Verdi, there was no other possible interpretation. Verdi defies irony, and this opera is perfectly straightforward. The singers were excellent, especially Boccanegra–he had a quiet dignity that propelled the entire production. I didn’t like some of the things Amelia did with her voice, though Jack found it effective and impressive vocal control. To me it sounded inconsistent–she would go from waveringly soft to rich and full within a single song, which reminded me too much of Jewel in her first album.

Well, I hate to spend so little time on an opera I enjoyed, after writing paragraphs on one I disliked, but it was simply an excellent opera that I found completely entertaining and have very few criticisms of! I have more to criticize in the opera we saw next–Beatrice and Benedict–but I also enjoyed it even more. It was not at all what I expected, being more like a musical than an opera (probably why I liked it!), with the songs interspersed with the Shakespearean dialogue. Fortunately this worked very well, thanks to terrific actors as well as singers. The gentleman who played Benedict, while not able to rival Kenneth Branagh, was a wonderful comic actor with a perfect sense of timing, and he had a beautiful rich voice, so that watching him was pure delight. In particular, the scene at the beginning with him and Claudio and Don Pedro, where they talk about marriage, was highly amusing and very well sung–they managed to stay steady while running about the stage and getting into mock fights. Beatrice, on the night we attended, was sung by an apprentice rather than the regular singer, and it was unfortunately obvious. She sang well, though too softly, but was clearly not comfortable in the role and didn’t quite understand Beatrice’s motivations. To be fair, however, Berlioz’s adaptation sets her up as a more tragic character–one who is still bitter about being jilted by Benedict. As the opera program noted, much of the "ado" is left out of the opera, focusing instead on the relationship between Beatrice and Benedict, so I would have liked to see the regular singer for a fuller experience of the opera.

Don Pedro tried to take over the antic role that is rightly Benedict’s, instead of maintaining a certain amount of dignity that sets him apart from the other characters, but his fine voice almost made up for it. Claudio was just what a Claudio should be–mildly handsome, earnest, and nondescript, and Hero was about the same. Berlioz’s made-up character, Somarone, who takes the place of Dogberry, was very funny, although a half-hearted striptease during the party scene fell flat as a pancake.

I nearly forgot to mention the set, which sported a rippling yellow floor, slanting purple trees that I at first mistook for large quill pens, and, in the entire first act, several rows of red-clad dormitory beds (we were relieved when these finally disappeared for the second act). Odious liked the antic, Dr. Seuss-like quality it lent the opera, but I found it distracting and unnecessary.

Another pleasant thing about Beatrice and Benedict was that it was quite short–only 2 ½ hours with intermission. The next opera, Agrippina, lacked that appealing feature–3 acts, 2 intermissions, 3 ½ hours. Thank goodness it was Handel! Even so, the second act could have been cut almost entirely, as the plot lagged dreadfully and few of the songs were, in my opinion, terrifically interesting. However, I realized as we left that I liked it as much as Boccanegra, to Odious’s surprise. It was the only opera where the music engaged me more than the story (which was good, because the story was pretty silly)–even if Handel recycled all his music, it’s still Handel! Anyway, he wrote this opera at age 24, so it’s actually the original of more familiar pieces (when the overture started, I thought automatically, "oh, the Messiah!"), and I enjoyed every note.

It was also a treat to hear two fantastic countertenors–one was so good it took the whole first act for me to determine whether a man or a woman was singing. In fact, one of the male roles was sung by a woman, as is traditional now because of the lack of castrati. In Handel’s time, the oddity of castrati was what drew audiences to opera–more like a freak show than anything else. Still, I have to admit that the countertenors really made this opera worthwhile–it’s such an unearthly, androgynous sound that somehow suits Handel’s music perfectly.

I do, however, have to agree with Jack that it was somewhat disconcerting to hear such beautiful music and voices attached to such scheming, disloyal characters! The story and the music were so disconnected, especially, as Odious says, for those of us spoiled by Mozart. And yet at the same time it was effective, as an illustration of how easily people can be deceived (not, obviously, by 10-decibel asides, but by sweet voices and flattering words) and how often we don’t want to see what’s right under our noses.

The last opera on the program is La Sonambula, by Bellini, which is coming up in a few weeks. It’s already sold-out, so it should be good–we’ll see how it ranks with the rest!

Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me... Odious is sitting on the bed, all dressed up to go out for my birthday dinner, while I lounge at the computer in shorts and t-shirt. It's too hot to get fancy yet! Anyway, I wanted to post briefly, since I've read several good books in the past week or so but haven't had time to write anything about them.

After a long time of believing Wallace Stegner to be a writer of westerns (don't ask me why), I finally picked up Crossing to Safety a year or so ago and absolutely loved it right off. I had Angle of Repose sitting on my bookshelf for quite some time before an acquaintance urged me to read it, but I didn't get into it as immediately as I did the other. That's partly because I was reading it in little bits and never got a good bite to savor, but also it started out a little slow. After a while, though, I became thoroughly engrossed, and greatly enjoyed the story. It's about Lyman Ward, a disabled 60-year-old man in 1970 who's writing a novel about his grandparents. His grandfather was a mining engineer and his grandmother an elegant society girl, so their marriage was quite a struggle in the rough West of the 1800's, detailed in a vast series of letters and other documents to be sorted through. The book switches back and forth between Lyman's life and excerpts from the novel, which is more or less historically accurate and a study of the marriage. I found it really interesting, though it was hard not to be irritated with the marital mistakes so clear from my omniscient view as a reader. Oliver and Susan Ward were astoundingly different people, and had a very difficult time relating to each other; yet even in its tragedy it's a beautiful story. However, I was most disappointed by the end of the book. I won't give anything away, since other than that it was a terrific novel, one to really sink your teeth into, but I hate cop-out endings like that.

Oh dear. And here I just said this morning that I wasn't buying any more books until we move.

I decided to start a new blog today. For a long time I took up most of my journal pages with book reviews and food notes; then I started this blog, and that took care of the books, but I still tend to go on for pages about food. Hence, Milk and Honey (which is also the name I plan to give my future bakery/bookshop). And now I have room in my journal to write about the other things happening in my life! Hmm... this could get depressing...

My day yesterday was unusually uneventful, since I wasn't feeling quite up to snuff and so stayed quietly at home cleaning, talking on the phone (for more hours than I care to count up, although I did take the chance to do a little crocheting and sewing), and reading a book by Robert O'Brien called The Silver Crown. My previous experiences with this author were confined to Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH (an excellent read), so I was pleased to find this reissue, which I quite enjoyed. It's a simple tale of a young girl whose life goes completely awry on her tenth birthday when she awakes to find a strange silver crown on her pillow. Donning it strengthens her belief that she is not just Ellen Carroll, but a queen--of what she doesn't yet know, but the consequent adventures lead her closer and closer to the answer.

I have to say I wasn't overwhelmed by Reading Lolita in Tehran itself--it was interesting, but a little too scattered to capture me entirely, and the writing style kept all the characters very impersonal and unindividual (which was perhaps intentional to protect privacy). Also I was a little disappointed that the books read and taught by Azar Nafisi were not discussed more, and that their effect on the characters seemed unimportant. However, I did enjoy it, especially because it inspired me to read the books the author talks about.

I'd read The Great Gatsby as a teenager, but wasn't old enough to appreciate it--my memory of it was vague and slightly distasteful. I just finished reading it again today, and I am blown away. From the first page I was enthralled with the clean elegant prose and the strange intricacy of the characters' lives. This is a great novel, and I'm sorry not to have recognized that before.

Odious, Jack, another friend, and I had the recent pleasure of attending a book-signing and talk on Eagle Dreams at a lovely little bookshop in Albuquerque. We hadn't seen the author, Steve Bodio, or his wonderful wife Libby for quite some time, so it was quite a treat to visit with them as well as to hear Steve give more background on his travels described in the book. They were pleased to see us as well--I had the gratifying feeling of being a celebrity when Steve finally noticed us in the crowd and interrupted his talk with a delighted wave and greeting--and quickly introduced us to their other friends who had come as well. We met several falconers and a wonderfully adorable little girl named Grace, and got to see part of the extensive native bee collection that Steve has been working on for UNM, before heading out to a nearby bar for several rounds of cocktails and, of course, vodka shots. When one has just been hearing about a country where the staple foods are mutton and vodka, it's rather inspiring to go out and drink expansively. The frightening thing, as Jack remarked, was that after two shots of Ketel One and an impressively large cocktail each, we were all quite sober enough to drive--the dangers of living the restaurant life.

I had brought along the other two books of Steve's that we own, as this seemed the right time to have them signed for posterity, and handed them over at the appropriate time. After expressing surprise that we had found an original edition of Aloft (his 1990 meditation on pigeons and pigeon-flying), he opened it up to the title page to discover that it was already signed. While I was feeling mildly embarrassed for never having noticed, he read the inscription and realized that he had written it to a friend in 1992, over the weekend that he and Libby first met! So he signed it again, in hopes that Odious and I will keep it longer than Sana did, and we now own an interestingly historied book. Odious says that we almost have to sell it, just to see if the cycle continues, but I don't intend to let any of Steve's books out of my hands. Which I suppose is a recommendation in itself.

I've been meaning to say something about Tamora Pierce ever since briefly noting that I'd read the first Protector of the Small books, but haven't gotten around to it until now. Well, after that first book, I gobbled down the rest of the quartet in a couple of sittings. When I went to Ohio a few weekends ago, I took along the third book (which didn't last beyond the plane), leaving behind the other three. Odious happened to pick up the first one while lazing about in bed, and met me at the airport with an insistent demand for the one I'd taken (to be fair, I did get a brief hug first). They are particularly charming books, with a compelling story and characters that become as dear as friends--definitely a treasure among children's literature, and indeed literature in general. This quartet follows the life of Kel, a young girl who is the first to be allowed to train as a knight, from her lowly beginnings as a page to her fateful adventures as a lady knight. Throughout it all she displays admirable self-control and determination, working towards her goal with single-minded motivation despite prejudice and pitfalls. I found myself rooting for her far more violently than I usually do for any character. While Pierce may not possess a fantastic writing style, at least in these books it's polished enough not to intrude upon the story.

The Immortals quartet, published previous to Protector of the Small, is unfortunately not so polished in style, but I enjoyed the story nearly as much, as it gives the background of one of the most intriguing characters in Kel's story. Since her mother's magic brought on the destruction of her family, Daine has done her best to avoid magic, including the small vestiges she seems to possess. After she is taken under the wing of the sorcerer Numair, however, she begins to learn that her magic may help to save the land from a dangerous threat. I spent most of our time in Eugene last month whipping through these four books, and found them well worth it.

So far I've read two of Patrick O'Brian's books, and while I really enjoyed them, they both sure took me a long time to get through! With Master and Commander I got distracted, but with Post Captain I didn't read anything else and yet it took me nearly a week to read. However, I did enjoy it more than the first one, partly because it was, as Jack said, more Austenian in style. I've never been one for the men and boats stories, but O'Brian manages to make those parts of his books exciting and compelling (maybe because they usually catch up to whatever they're chasing, rather than pursuing a non-existent whale for hundreds and hundreds of pages!?!), and I found myself on the edge of my seat several times during Post Captain. What I enjoyed most, though, were the social exchanges and interactions that made up their lives off ship. In general what makes a novel interesting to me is the characters and their relationships, so it was nice to see so much of that in this book. It was especially neat to see the fluctuations between Jack and Stephen, and how their friendship won out when it really mattered.

'Tis the season for weddings! I've traveled across the country to attend two in the past few weeks, and Jack is on her way to another this coming weekend. It's wonderful and joyous, but a bit tiring, I must say. I spent a brief weekend in Ohio, celebrating the marriage of a dear friend who became my pen pal 12 years ago and who I just met face to face at my own wedding six months ago; and then Odious and I took a week off to fly to Oregon for the wedding of another friend who worked with us for a short time last year. After a few days in Eugene for the wedding, where we had a lovely time and met some marvelous people, we headed up to Portland to scope things out and take a quick vacation. Besides eating at some fabulous restaurants (I'm not so upset about leaving Santa Fe now!), visiting the Western Culinary Institute (which I will attend starting in January), wandering through the beautiful Rose Garden (where I was thrilled to see the Rose Music fountain from Virginia Euwer Wolff's The Mozart Season!), and getting ourselves hopelessly lost amid the tangle of one-way streets and mysterious exits, we also spent some happy hours in the world's largest bookstore.

Powell's is also called the City of Books, and takes up an entire block in downtown Portland, as well as spilling over into a number of offspring stores across the city. It is a wonderful place. We spent most of our time in the science fiction/fantasy section, which is roughly a quarter the size of our local Borders store, with a brief foray into children's, and that took nearly three hours. Of course every shelf had to be combed carefully to avoid missing anything, since they stock used and new books together, and an out-of-print treasure was often hiding innocently amongst current bestsellers. We walked away with a huge stack of finds, among them a signed first edition James Branch Cabell, Tasha Tudor's A Doll's Christmas, a collection of folk tales by Richard Adams, and The Essential Bordertown. Getting them all home was interesting, especially since that was not the only bookstore we visited--at a hidden basement shop in Eugene that stocked mostly used philosophy and theology, we walked away with an armful of Chesterton, the Schaeffers, and Jacques Ellul.

So as you can see it was a highly successful trip, and I'm certainly looking forward to moving to Portland in the fall. In the meantime, however, I'm going to enjoy being home and back to a somewhat normal schedule.

After reading a Writer's Digest special edition magazine about writing for children, I've decided that I really need to get back into that sort of writing. I've always enjoyed it, and for a long time intended to be a children's writer, but I haven't written anything in that vein for a while. Then I had an idea that Odious and I should write a children's fantasy novel together. We haven't yet decided what it should be about, but in preparation I started reading and rereading some children's fantasy (research is always important!). I love children's books so much--after reading them it seems pointless to bother with "adult" literature. Anyway, so far I've discovered a couple of excellent reads.

I'm already going to have to reread Peter Dickinson's The Ropemaker, because I started it while babysitting and consequently was interrupted too many times to absorb the beginning very well. Once I was able to settle down with it, however, I gobbled it down voraciously. The story is fascinating--a young girl named Tilja must go with her grandmother to discover why the magic is leaving their forest at home, and on the way they learn something quite unusual about Tilja that allows them to overcome all obstacles in their path. The characters are well-defined and interesting, and the writing crisp and clear. Highly recommended.

The unicorns in The Ropemaker got me inspired to reread The Little White Horse, by Elizabeth Goudge, which has long been a favorite of mine. The writing style is wonderfully flowery and verbose, with a dramatic flair that always delighted me. It suits this charming story perfectly, and is done with a masterful hand. Maria Merryweather is an orphan who goes to live with her cousin Sir Benjamin at the family manor, which has long been under a curse due to the quarrelsome nature of the Merryweathers. With the help of Robin the shepherd boy, the godly Old Parson, a well-spoken dwarf named Marmaduke Scarlet, the children of the village, and a menagerie of animals (who all seem to have a touch of magic), Maria charms the frightening Black Men who dominate the forest, reunites two long-separated couples, and solves the mystery that perpetrated the curse years ago. A truly delightful book.

I started reading Protector of the Small: The First Test yesterday afternoon, and found myself unable to put it down until I'd finished it. A long time ago I'd read Tamora Pierce's first book of Tortall, Alanna, and quite enjoyed it, though until recently I didn't know she'd written anything else. Turns out she's fairly prolific, and is working on a new series called Protector of the Small. I'm going to have to go to Borders today and get the rest of the books! Ten years have passed since the proclamation that girls may train to be warriors as well as boys, before ten-year-old Keladry of Mindelan, who has been trained since childhood in the Yamani martial arts, announces her desire to become a warrior. At the request of the master of the academy, she is put on a year's probation, to ensure that she will be able to keep up with the boys and prove her ability. It proves to be the most difficult year of her life, but through sheer determination and the stoicism learned from the Yamanis, she manages to complete the first test and receive an invitation to return.

I also read Cornelia Funke's The Thief Lord, which didn't impress me much. The story was too disjointed and confused, with some things that turned out a little too conveniently to be believable. Hopefully her newest book, Inkheart, will be better. Right now I'm rereading the third Harry Potter in preparation for the movie, and it's as good as I remembered it.