Book review #30 for 2024 is Collin Dexter's The Riddle of the Third Mile. This time Morse and Lewis face the task of identifying a severely mutilated corpse. Their journey takes them into the lives of men and women with much to hide. The plot was interesting and entertaining, but I found the end uneven, convoluted even. ☕☕☕ cup review. #books#bookreview#fiction#collindexter@bookstodon@books@bookstodon
Book review #29 for 2024 is Collin Dexter's The Dead of Jericho. Another Inspector Morse installment. The characterization of Morse in this novel showed an uncertain and anxious detective who works to solve a murder of a woman that he was wanting to have a relationship with (affair is the better word). ☕☕☕ cup review #bookstodon#books#fiction#bookreview@bookstodon@books@bookstodon
Flashing lights pass the bus the wrong way and then we will be home at this point in a bit and I can get an answer for me and the back door to be able the back of my car is the same as the other one is a bit of a hand to the old lady who shot a gun black and white hunting estate madam nhu beehive tommy gun silhouette me monk flames fumes around the scene blue lights yellow signs exposed spines backbone traffic hidden from logs the urban legend UDP ghost embryo packets hidden in TCP data destination ejected by code execution embedded in the header. only if the router is in on it. angry at hair and smooth corporate expo jackets. your hard hair a decade late so hilariously mussed post couch. foundation and face sweat. an impossibly hot back spoon proof. no cuddles. transactional. receptive receptionist. uninterested in the brilliant progeny I suspected you intended to bill some day for hours worked. happy to be doing something that was free of any family aligned trajectory. family was not a warm word in your warm mouth. and I was never coming in I was a barricade you were erecting. I was to be your escape but not fellow. I really believe you initially strapped me on like a JATO always intending my jettisoning and I think I was kinda aware and cool and ready for that and happy for your ascent. but at some altitude we hit some family radar and the product became a payload worth something to someone somewhere and when the waypoints moved on the HUD you just followed the new course. there was no cockpit announcement of the new destination no new ETA no forecast of turbulence no impact warning. shush a flower shush a flower shush altitude shush altitude shush a flower shush flowers shush water altitude shush.
#WordWeavers 2405.12 — Who is the best friend in your story?
The MC is incapable of seeing that it is her.
For most of her story arc, she's suspicious of making friends having been a prizefighter and then working in the mob. She's also somewhat autistic, but trained to deal with people. The problem is that when she's amongst people, working with them, even the baddies, she's the type that gets the job done, teaches those that need teaching how to get the job done, and will always protect her teammates and subordinates, taking responsibility. You don't get in her face, however; certainly only once, anyway. Strangely or not so strangely, those in her orbit see her as a leader and personable. (All she wants is to go home to be alone with her books, but she'd never complain.) She goes along with it when others are friendly with her, not really knowing how to say no and understanding this was what she was trained to do.
To say she's well liked is an understatement. Not many people support you as she does, or will straighten you out and make you fly right when things are bad for you. She saves one marriage by punching the husband in the nose. She's there for others. She'll enjoy a meal with you if that's what you need and listen to you vent. At least one guy has a crush on her. Others fight for her. Some will risk their life for her...
#PennedPossibilities 313 — Is your MC or SC one to confess romantic feelings early on, or to conceal them for long periods of time?
It's hard to know for sure. She has worked in a world were such attactions are a tool to control others, and she's controlled others with them. Having transitioned from being a criminal to operating in a similar capacity on the other side of the law, she ended up tailing a snobbish dandy... who went on, after various provocations, to being someone quite different than his affectations indicated. She thought to pin him in a wrestling hold to get information out of him, but he threw her off and she fought him only to a draw (not easy for anyone to do since she's a former prizefighter). When later that day she got him to drop his façade, she found him actually adorably vulnerable. Not really knowing her own reactions, she obsessively took him from dinner, to dancing, to... um... dessert in one evening.
#PennedPossibilities 311 — What is a memory that makes your SC swell with pride?
That armor. The black dragon armor, light as an autumn breeze. The last who owned it, legends say, a million died to take it away from her, but failed in the end.
She gave it to me: The ruler of the world, the most powerful thaumaturge alive. I was the one who nearly killed her, when we fought for our lives incidentally breaking the Curse of Harmony upon her.
I didn't break the curse but was the one who nearly killed her. Yet...
My friend—whose life I saved by pushing her out of the way of a plasma bolt and getting my flank burnt as a result—reminded me of the legend. Made me test the magic, which let me fly like an arrow and loop and dodge more agilely than a sparrow. She added, "She told me it's the first time anyone's got that close in a century. It's a bribe, you know, A loan. She wants you to work for her. You impressed her. "
#PennedPossibilities 312 — Is your MC or SC a leader, a follower, or something in between?
Wintereyes is not a leader, nor is she a follower. She knows her mind and will state it when needed to help someone, or protect to herself. She's human, but also a member of the Blue Feathers wolf pack—and she's bitten its leader when he's abused pack mates. She's not omega, not low status; wolves respect her knives in the hunt. She knows when to help, and when to stay back. She's a mediator, as she's demonstrated between a dragon and people. It's that she truly cares to do her best for others. Those that know her know this; they listen; they protect her.
Jenny Erpenbeck opens #Spring 2024 with Sloughing Off One Skin, a haunting #ShortStory that explores truth and identity, translated by Michael Hofmann.
@bookstodon Jakub Żulczyk creates a small epic, as Big Barrel goes in search of grub in Many Years of Hardships, translated by John and Małgorzata Markoff.
@bookstodon Over on the @fictionable#blog Caroline Lucas argues that in the face of division, we must tell "compelling, inspiring stories about what we can and must achieve together".
@bookstodon And on the @fictionable#podcast Jenny Erpenbeck talks about why writers are so suspicious of documents, the trouble with endings and the problem of arbitrary borders.
A DELICATELY HAUNTING THAI novel unfolds like a late-night story from its protagonist, a monk in his 90s telling tales of his youth in the remote jungles of the late 19th century, where tigers and crocodiles lurked in the darkness. Stunning. A MINUS
#Spring 2024 is here, with Jenny Erpenbeck – translated by Michael Hofmann – following a paper trail while Jakub Żulczyk, translated by John and Małgorzata Markoff, constructs a small epic. Grahame Williams examines a life without a plan and Lauren Caroline Smith tests her faith. Rose Rahtz reads the signs and Caroline Lucas makes the case for compelling and inspiring stories.
So here's a little taste of the marvellous #ShortStories from Jenny Erpenbeck, Jakub Żulczyk, Grahame Williams, Lauren Caroline Smith and Rose Rahtz for #Spring 2024.
#PennedPossibilities 310 — MC or SC POV: What was your favorite day or holiday when you were a child? Favorite Day Remembrance CW: Sad.
Why are you making me remember this now? My favorite day? When I was a child? It was /that/ day, each time Mom returned home. She would sing to me, but she belonged to the world, the theatre, to the concert hall. Plenty of her albums proclaimed that. "Midnight, the Voice and the Heart of the Nation." Those albums, they're all I really have of her. She wasn't one for family pictures. Or family. It's why I can't listen to them any more, and walk out of restaurants when any of her show tunes play.
I do sing her songs in the shower, unthinkingly. My roommate doesn't know who I really am, but she's told me my voice is just like hers. Stupid memory. Stupid reflexes.
I remember being /so happy/ when she'd return home. She'd sing to me, but wasn't at all "hands on." She'd sing and she'd listen to me telling all the things that happened that day with friends and nannies—always with a smile, but I was always on the floor or in my bed or in someone else's lap. Her manager—with whom I share my hair color and skin color so he likely fathered me—would hold me while she sang sometimes. He'd read to me. He'd call me his little tomato, since that was the hair color we shared.
I remember the pair once laughing after I'd been put to bed, not sleeping. I'd peeked through a barely opened door to see. /Him/ she held.
I loved them both.
You've made me remember. Are you happy now? How many times could it have been that I remember her returning? A few dozen? They died before I was five, and now I remember /that,/ too.
[That's the Aurora Midnight, the devil girl from the Reluctance stories. Author retains copyright (c)2024 R.S.]
#WordWeavers 2405.10 — Antagonist POV: What do you like the most about yourself?
[A short tootfic. Likely canon. Her Highness speaking. From /Inklings:/]
My jaw almost dropped at the shear gall of the question, but the Midlands plenipotentiary was, if anything, expert at being jovial. His smile was disarming. He was a diplomat. I didn't gape, but put the tea cup down carefully.
"You're referring to the dragon incident, aren't you?"
He nodded. He plunked a couple lumps of brown sugar in his tea, stirring. It accounted for his corpulence, something rare amongst his gaunt brethren who spent much of their day running on forest paths. He'd made it from the Midlands in just weeks, on horseback I guessed. Poor horse. "It's on everyone's tongue. You'd mobilized the militia. Detailed reports hit the Forest Ridge High Tower as if carried by a thunderstorm."
He was making sure I knew "people" kept him well informed, and that my military wasn't what interested him. Much, anyway. I sighed, crossing my legs as I sat back.
I'd mobilized the best and most radiant of my magic users. None could best me, but we expected to face a wyvern the size of my in-town mansion. It had burnt up part of the Fell Woods. A good thing, thinking about that unassailable haven for monsters and wild beasts. Then it attacked a farm.
"The attack on the farm was an accident," I said off-handedly, steepling my fingers.
He paused. Blue eyes speared me. I'd never announced the details of what happened because if I made them official rather than rumor, the public might panic. Nobody died.
The Midlands ought know, I decided then and there. It'd be to my advantage. I'd let him decide the implications. "The grain silo had a moisture problem. It had started to ferment. Who would have thought a dragon might like beer?"
He chuckled, then, "You're serious? You know this? /How?"/ He put down his tea cup with a loud clink, spilling some of the reddish liquor.
I'd rode in with an elite company of my army, through a wood arch that proclaimed "Cornfeld," into a farm yard. I'd been ready to use my radiance to repel fire; dragons of all shapes breathed fire. My troops had the best spears, but it had been centuries since anyone had needed weapons against dragon scale. Would newiron even work? Drowning the beast by swirling airborne the farm's pond was almost our best offense, if the magical beast decided to fight. I knew they disliked fighting. I hoped that I had that much correct. If I had to resort to radiant kinesis to heave rock from a stone fence, it might decide to retaliate against my Townships—if I failed.
What I found was a half-naked girl, barely a woman though very tall, mollifying a distraught farmer and mediating with a red dragon who looked to be hanging on her every word. I could tell this, even though the dragon had the form of a giant bat.
Apparently, with her mediation, both parties were apologizing to each other!
Worse, though covered with mud and ash, visibly scarred, the young woman was devastatingly beautiful. The type of beautiful that made a seasoned and well worn woman like me think of a different kind of bedmate. I wasn't a man...
Wintereyes was her name. She had befriended a dragon.
Innocent and kind.
And immeasurably dangerous.
The ingénue now attended my magic university, despite being uncomfortable around people and wearing clothing. Learning to be human. One of mine.
I said, "What I like about myself is that I know when to fight and when to make friends."
Finished #ThousandAutumns vol.3. story is great but writing isn't as great. Or maybe the translation isn't great? Lots of telling rather than showing (we know the characters is awesome, but show us don't tell us why), lots of repetitive paragraphs about plots as if the reader has the memory of a gerbil and forgets plot points by the next chapter. Prob has something to do with its webnovel structure. The editor in me wants to pick up my red pen and hack away 🤪
Still, I enjoyed it.