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Welcome to Minnesota/catch up

Jan. 21st, 2026 08:50 pm
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[personal profile] catherineldf
Well, as a local friend said recently, "In 2020, it was us against us, and we're not very good at processing that. Now it's us against them and we know how to do that."

Okay, Me stuff first:
  • I have started working part time at DreamHaven Books in Minneapolis. A longtime staffer is leaving so I'm stepping into their bookselling shoes, more or less. I'm on my second week and enjoying it so far. Stop by and see us or order online! But not on 1/23 (see below).
  • I applied for and got an invite to be a participating pro at Dragon Con in Atlanta in September. I figure that's the sort of thing I should try for now while I can handle it physically. Going with a friend and am quite looking forward to it.
  • Queen of Swords Press had a lovely first event of the year at the Lodge of Lazarus Crowe in St. Paul. Highly recommended!
  • Jennie Goloboy and I are teaching "To Market, To Market: How Professionals Look at Your Manuscriptloft.org/classes/market-market-how-professionals-look-your-manuscript-0" at the Loft Literary Center at the end of February. We have tons of good advice and pointers! Come join us if you can.
  • I have had 2 article pitches accepted and got an anthology invite so am plugging away at new projects and making progress on my novel and new stories.
Minneapolis/Twin Cities/Greater Minnesota:
  • God, where to begin? 
  • So far: one known murder; many, many kidnappings; abandoned children, animals and cars; local people brutalized, beaten, gassed, shot and threatened; our streets are empty because immigrants and people of color are afraid to be out. Today, they kidnapped a 5 year old and a 10 year old and sent them from here to Texas. The impact locally is horrific. And we're getting the couch-fucker and more fascist shock troops this very week.
  • The plus side is that as a group, we are tough, hold grudges like watching Sisu on rewind and thanks to the local disasters of 2020, are super good at organizing. Everyone I know is doing something - donating, fundraising, monitoring bus stops, patrolling, delivering food and other necessities, rescuing abandoned pets, etc., etc. Oh and hey, we're having a general strike on Friday 1/23. It's being called by organized labor and lots and lots of businesses and organizations are participating (a partial list here). Big march downtown too.
  • What can you do? Call and email your Congress critters and demand that ICE be defunded NOW - Indivisible has a good setup. Author Naomi Kritzer has a good post up at about more comprehensive ways to help, including donation links. Please do these things. We are smaller than Chicago and have more immigrants than a lot of places our size or bigger - huge multi-generational communities of resettled refugees. This is part of why we're being targeted. 
  • Speaking of Target, the protests there are pretty lit - 100s of clergy doing a sit-in at HQ, people doing sing-ins at the store, buying and returning icemelt to gum up the works and more. Ask your local Target manager to send a message to Corporate to take a stand and stop allowing ICE to hunt their own employees in their stores and use their parking lots.
  • In short, please help us. This is not sustainable and they're going to kill more people if this isn't stopped. Yes, it is real. No, Fox News is not real. Thank you for coming to my TED talk.
tamaranth: me, in the sun (Default)
[personal profile] tamaranth
2026/013: Lingo: A Language Spotter's Guide to Europe — Gaston Dorran, translated by Alison Edwards
In autonomous Greenland, Danish initially retained more official functions than in the autonomous Faroe Islands. But that has since changed as well: in 2009, Kalaallisut became the one and only official administrative language. With this move, Greenland achieved a unique position: the only country of the Americas (yes, Greenland is part of the Americas), from Canada all the way down to Chile, where the indigenous language doesn’t play second fiddle to that of its colonial master. [p. 56]

Subtitled 'Around Europe in Sixty Languages' in some editions, 'A Language-Spotter’s Guide to Europe' in others, this is an entertaining and readable discussion of linguistic diversity in Europe. Read more... )

Winter Natterings

Jan. 20th, 2026 08:16 pm
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[personal profile] jreynoldsward
 
 
 

Weather-wise, this has been a weird, weird winter. Normally by now we have snow on the ground. Oh, we had some snow…and then it melted in a set of 40F temps, and we haven’t had any precipitation to speak of since.

Not that it’s been sunny all the time. Far from it. The fog blew in a couple of days ago. Until now, we’d been free from the freezing fog that gripped the lower valley. No longer. It started blowing in while I was preparing to go ride Marker, wisps suddenly blocking out the sun and limiting vision, then clearing out with sun while tendrils of fog rose faintly from the plowed land near the ranch before disappearing.

It looked promising to me, like maybe we wouldn’t get locked into days of rime ice and shadow.

No such luck.

That night, the fog settled in. The next day I rose to shadows and rime ice. While the fog hung a little bit above the ground in town, it hit the ground near the ranch. I couldn’t see even halfway across the horse pasture. We went from the ground thawing slightly enough to be soft over frozen soil to hard frost, and no thawing. A damp chill settles through everything, feeling colder than what the thermometer says it is. While the sun tries to break through, that doesn’t happen everywhere.

Everything slows down. The horses don’t do much running, except in small eruptions to warm up or break up the monotony. The ground’s just too hard. Unlike old Mocha, Marker doesn’t want to run very much in these conditions. I started riding him in the arena and in an open right-of-way to give him a break from the herd and the field. Because of the hard ground, we’re doing different types of work. Schooling at walk and occasional fox trot, although it’s a slow fox trot. Slow, careful, detail work. Spiraling in and out. Serpentines. Circles. But it’s a shorter period of work, avoiding concussion on his hooves. I don’t want to ride on the road in this fog, even though the visibility isn’t horrible—the fog can thicken without warning. Too much of a risk.

So we do our slow work in the arena, me riding him without a saddle today. Rime ice forms on his forelock, the tips of his ears, the hair on his legs, and the edges of my coat collar in sharp little spikes. But even though there’s a thin pad between us, to keep my pants cleaner, Marker’s body warmth radiates into my legs. A lot nicer than the saddle.

Meanwhile, the quail have decided to revisit our feeding area, though I suspect they’ve been sneaking in and out for some time now. The other day, I saw three males out there, then, later, the entire covey of about eleven or so. We think they might be a clutch that has gathered together for the winter—they’re all on the small side. No idea how often they’re coming by, but it’s a welcome sight to look out the window and see their bobbing topknots as they scratch chicken-like to unearth seed that we’ve either spread or that blew out of the feeders during windstorms.

The cold creeps into my bones and I find refuge in the heating pads. It’s damp. Not the same damp as the Willamette Valley, though—this is a sharper, edgier damp. I’m at the stage where I have the indoor base layers and the outdoor base layers. The chill gets worse at dusk, then warms back up.

A lot of people saw a truly amazing aurora last night. We didn’t. Oh, we probably could have driven out of town to a higher elevation—some of the people who did that got amazing pictures. But we just hunkered down, though I kept slipping out in hopes of seeing something.

Beyond a pinkish tinge to the fog at times, there was nuthin’.

The lack of snow means I don’t get the same vertigo I do when the fog sets in during a snowy period. It’s not as bad on horseback as it was when I was skiing the Magic Mile and had those moments when I didn’t know what was up and what was down, what was fog and what was snow. But it still has those challenging moments.

Eh, soon enough it will clear off. Maybe. Until then….


Tom, Tom, the Butler's Son

Jan. 20th, 2026 10:41 pm
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[personal profile] steepholm
Today I turn to my great-great-grandfather Thomas - or Tom, to his siblings. Tom is the middle child, between Weeden and Anne (older) and Fanny and George (younger), though we mustn't forget little Isabella, who is the youngest of all and not yet old enough to write.

We first meet Tom on 5th October 1822, shortly after his thirteenth birthday. It's a short letter, but it paints an enthusiastic picture, perhaps of a trip to Harrow:

My dear Weeden

I have not written you a letter for a long time. This morning after 10 O’clock we had a theme, it was on “Truth”. I wrote down to the bottom of the second page. I daresay that little George thought it rather funny that we dissapeared, for he must have thought so, I think as he did not see us go away. I hope you spent the day very agreably. I am sure I did, as we were coming home in the coach we began to sing “A Frog he would a wooing go”, &c. I dare say the people who passed by did not much care for our beautiful singing, or the Coachman either. We were at home at about a quarter after 11 O’clock. —Not quite so late.
I remain, yours,

ever affectionately,

T. Butler


Tom's father (also Weeden) was in the habit of appending notes of his own to his children's letters to his eldest son. In this case, he adds: "The children, dear Weeden, not your father, sang merrily. I was glad to notice their joy. W.B." Was he worried that it might appear undignified in a father, a priest, a headmaster, to sing about a Frog's adventures? Weeden had been widowed earlier that year, and perhaps that too was an element in his reassurance.

Tom was something of a worry to his sisters. Here's Fanny complaining about him to Weeden in a letter written in the Autumn of... well, I'm not sure which year, because it's undated (even the season is only implied by her concern for fires and muffetees). But I'm guessing 1822 or 1823, because it seems a little on the young side.

My dear Weeden

We began fires today. I got up at 8 o’clock this morning. Tom will not write to you because he says that it would be a waste of paper. Tom has been told more than once that he will be an old Batchelor & I think it is very likely to be true if he indulges such miserly opinions as these. Mr Dyer preached a sermon this morning that Papa says he remembers having read 4 or 5 times before. If you want some white muffetees for your wrists you can get them for 6d a pair at Carter’s. I remain

F. Butler


Perhaps Fanny's mind is set on misers because their next-door neighbour at the time, John Camden Neild, was a notorious miser, who (according to Wikipedia): "was so frugal with worldly pleasures that for a while he had not a bed to lie on. His dress consisted of a blue swallow-tailed coat with gilt buttons, brown trousers, short gaiters, and shoes which were patched and generally down at the heels. He never allowed his clothes to be brushed, because, he said, it destroyed the nap. He continually visited his numerous estates, walking whenever it was possible, never went to the expense of a great-coat, and always stayed with his tenants, sharing their coarse meals and lodging."

Anyway, Fanny's letter prompts another paternal PS:

Dear Weeden,

I let you have this letter for two reasons: first, to let you see the hurry of Fanny’s scrawl; which, secondly, exactly justifies Tom; who only declared he did not like to waste good paper by scribbling. Now, as I give the paper to them all, he could not object to writing out of covetousness; though, perhaps, he & Fanny are both idle. The one scrawls down what comes uppermost, the other declines such waste of paper.

I am, truly, yours,

Weeden Butler


Fanny to Weeden 2

Tom's laziness is not his only fault. Anne reports to Weeden on 27th April, 1824 about a more serious trespass:

My dear Weeden,

I have seen a great deal this week but do not know whether you will like to hear all about it. ...

Tom, Strachey & Charles Hancock were fishing in Kensington Gardens one day last week & ??? came & took them before a magistrate, he happened not to be at home & his wife did not like to let them go before he came home so she ??? ??? [staid?] with them in a room at his house. You may suppose that they were not a little frightened; the men talked of keeping them in the guard room all that night, & then writing to Papa the next morning. The Lady of the house heard the name of Strachey & asked him if he was a relation of Sir John & Lady Strachey, he said he was and she said she did not think a young gentleman of that name would have committed so bad an action as to rob the King of his property. Tom began to make apologies for himself & the others, Charles Hancock looked very grave, which made Strachey ready to laugh, but he was obliged to look very grave. Tom began to cry, & at last, when the Lady found that her husband did not come home, made them promise that they would never fish in the Gardens again, & then let them come home. They had been there two or three times before, but had escaped from the men. John Wyld used to give the men some money to get some bread, & then ask leave to fish, the men told him that he might fish if he took care not to let them see him, but if they saw him they should be obliged to take him up; when the men came to take them up, Tom advised them to run off, but they were too much afraid.


Thank goodness for the magical power of the Strachey name! I'm not sure exactly which Strachey this is, by the way, though his is certainly the family that later gave rise to Lytton of that ilk. A couple of months earlier Anne had described him in strict mourning ("He looks thinner than ever in black") for his aunt, Lady Strachey - Julia, wife of Sir Henry the first Baronet, who died on 12th February. But my idle Googling has so far failed to turn up any younger brother of Sir Henry to be his father, and no "Sir John" at all in that generation. Clearly some mistake - but mine, Anne's, or the magistrate's wife's? I feel a visit to the Strachey tombs in Chew Magna coming on. In any case, being the nephew of a baronet (or one of the nephew's companions) is, then as now, a sound method for getting away with petty crime.

We don't hear of Tom indulging in similar adventures thereafter, but Anne is still worried about his future. On 6th July she writes again, in the wake of the death of a young friend, William Gardiner, probably from tuberculosis:

Mrs Read went to see Miss Gardiner and Mrs Wishart, a few days ago, they were pretty well, but of course very dull and low-spirited. They say that poor William wrote a letter to Mr Gardiner, & another to Isabella about a month or six weeks before his death, and put them among his papers, which were not to be read till after his death. I think Tom will begin to think a little more seriously about the way in which he spends his time. I was talking to him last night about it, and he said with the greatest unconcern that at any rate he would go for a chimney sweeper or a scavenger. He seems to have a great desire to be a bookseller I think. He said also that he thought he should do for an auctioneer. I think I shall go to Chelsea church tonight. Tom says he intends to begin to study tomorrow. I advise[d] him to have some good historical or Geographical work in constant reading, as he has so very little idea of either history or geography.


In retrospect, it seems ironic that a boy who considered becoming a scavenger, a bookseller or an auctioneer should end up as Assistant Secretary to the British Museum during its most, shall we say, acquisitive period. But this is to peer too curiously into the glass of futurity. A month or two later Tom, not yet quite 15, was living in Bordeaux, working for his wine merchant uncle. His last letter from what we might called the Weeden Schooldays collection, from 21st May 1825, is prettily written, but speaks of a certain homesickness, I think:

In what part of the playground is the pump to be erected? You say near your willow is it close to the top bench in Fanny’s Garden, or where? Has H. Wylde still a garden in the old place. My last letter to you was written rather in a hurry, therefore I beg you will excuse me if you did not find it very interesting. I hope however that you were all contented with my letters to you. How does the violin get on. My music master is beginning to teach me some tunes. Did you see Strachey when he came to our house. I suppose you have been to see him and Stratford lately? Remember me kindly to them when you see them. My Uncle left Bordeaux rather sooner than I expected. Have you seen Edwin Dawes lately? How does he get on in the world. I believe it was settled that he should be a clergyman. Has he got rid of the impediment in his speech which he had when he was with us, if he has not I doubt if he will ever be able to preach so as to be well understood.


Poor, stranded Tom. And less than three years ago he was singing about frogs.

2026/012: Troth — E H Lupton

Jan. 20th, 2026 11:08 am
tamaranth: me, in the sun (Default)
[personal profile] tamaranth
2026/012: Troth — E H Lupton
“Don’t be so bourgeois, darling. You’re a powerful magician and your lover is a retired god. Of course things are going to be a bit unusual.”
“It’s terrifying.”
“Eh, bien?” Mariah made a dismissive French noise. “It’s love. It’s supposed to be terrifying.” [p. 191]

Third in the series, and the last (for now) of the novels that focus on Ulysses and Sam. It begins with the two moving into a new apartment together, and meeting the neighbours (Vikram and Sita) who have a ghost problem -- and, it turns out, a connection to Sam's family.

Both Ulysses and Sam are growing up.Read more... )

sunnymodffa: Batman & Robin in cat form (Bat!cat & Robin!kitten)
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The Justice League aren't just asking potential recruits if they eat pussy, they're trying to trap them into eating pussy and revealing their villainous nature.

No masturbation, no eating pussy, potentially no sucking cock: what even is there to live for? Really everyone in Gotham trying to destroy the city is just doing everyone else a favour.

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tamaranth: me, in the sun (Default)
[personal profile] tamaranth
2026/011: Old Time Religion — E H Lupton
...there was something delightful about being able to feel Ulysses’s emotions, even if it was also sort of terrifying. Ulysses had big, messy, complex feelings that reminded Sam of dahlias, so bright and intricate. [p. 153]

As soon as I'd finished Dionysus in Wisconsin I went on to this sequel, set a few months later. Ulysses has almost finished his dissertation (which is about Sam and 'the problem of demigods') and winter is over. All seems promising until Livia, Ulysses' ex, turns up with a tale of woe about a murdered husband.Read more... )

[fanart] Catlin(s)

Jan. 18th, 2026 06:15 pm
yhlee: Alto clef and whole note (middle C). (Default)
[personal profile] yhlee
Catlin(s) (from CJ Cherryh's Cyteen)

for [personal profile] ilyena_sylph

digital fanart: Catlin I & II from CJ Cherryh's Cyteen
jreynoldsward: (Default)
[personal profile] jreynoldsward

I’ll start out by saying that I’m not a big fan of any of the books read recording platforms. Setting a number of books to read for the year feels to me like a competitive activity, which…reading has never been that for me. Though I’ve tried. For a couple of years I set reading goals in Goodreads and…ick. I didn’t enjoy the process of needing to chronicle everything I read, especially since I am one of those voracious readers who prefers to curl up with a book rather than watch TV. It's just my thing.

 

But reading goals, reviewing everything I’ve read, just feels like a chore. That said, by not recording my thoughts about some of my reading, I somewhat miss out on dialogue about what people are reading, the impact of my reading on what I’m thinking, and the like. I end up scratching my head and going “I know I read that book, I know I found it impactful, but I can’t remember why.”

 

So what the heck. I’ll give talking about what I’m reading a try, but…unlike in past years, I’m not going to capture it all. Nor am I going to tie myself down to a mandatory, you must post about this schedule. That gets back into making posts about what I read into a chore. I’m also limiting these posts to Dreamwidth and Substack, because that’s where most of the dialogue about reading seems to be happening in my circles these days.

 

With that, here goes, a brief look at what I was reading in mid-January, 2026.

 

I finished Alix Harrow’s The Everlasting last night. It was one of those books that, once I started reading, I kept on going until I finished it. What also helped was that I started reading fairly early in the evening.

 

As for the book? What a ride. A mixture of Faerie and time travel, with commentary on power. But there were some interesting twists along the way, including how the two powerful women in the story interact and what their actual relationship is. Add in the male scholar who at first observes but then gets drawn into the story and that throws in some more power dynamics. Ultimately, though, this is a story about how national myths get made and twisted to serve the powerful. It’s well-written, with the voice of fairy tale.

 

I admire it—and yet. There’s something distancing about the voice. I can’t explain it, but perhaps that’s because it’s about deconstructing a national myth more than it is about the individual characters—at least that’s how it reads to me. I like it, but something about it niggles at me.

 

The night before, I read Desert Cabal, by Amy Irvine—a meditation on and dialogue with Edward Abbey’s Desert Solitaire. Irvine engages with Abbey’s problematic aspects and the fruit of his popularity—as shown by the hordes descending upon Moab and Arches National Park. Ironically, by writing as he did about the desert, Abbey inadvertently unleashed the very same national park industrial complex he rails against in his work. Irvine illustrates some of these tensions using the method of a very Abbey-esque dialogue.

 

I came across a recommendation for this work in a Substack post about unrecognized literary outdoorswomen which…echoed a feeling I had fifteen years ago that I was tired of just reading about the guys in the outdoors. The guy interaction with the outdoors. The guy experience. I’ve been seeing more outdoorswomen writing over on Substack and decided it was time to blow the dust off of my own attempts to write about the outdoors. Reading Irvine was just one start, enough that I might write about my own reflections on Abbey.

 

And, finally, I read Glen Cook’s latest Black Company book, Lies Weeping. I like Cook and I love the Black Company, but damn. Cook has this habit of ending books on cliffhangers and this one is no exception. That plus, along with Croaker, there are references to the origins and history of Lady and Soulcatcher that I know I’ve read before. I went digging through my Black Company books to discover that I’m missing one—and it appears that’s the one which may hold the sequence Cook describes repeatedly that gives us clues as to which Senjak sisters those two are. All the same, I’ll keep on reading each Black Company book as they come out.

 

I have some other books I’ve been reading slowly. I just finished rereading Anthony Trollope’s An Editor’s Tales and may pair it with Dorothy Parker in reflecting how in spite of computers, social media, and what-have-you, the more that publishing changes, the more it remains the same. I’ve also been wading through the revised and expanded Letters of J. R. R. Tolkien and, well, there’s some interesting stuff in there. No surprises that Tolkien was a rather conservative Catholic and it shows in his correspondence. But the other piece that shows up is the impact of health and the day job on his work. Interestingly, in responding to a request about Gollum, he expounds on inheritance and family dynamics in the Shire with some surprising egalitarian notions about heads of family (for example, the married heads are viewed as equal with equal authority, and if the man passes first, the title does not pass down to the next male heir but is assumed by his wife until her death).

 

I do have a winter tradition of rereading Discworld until I get sick of it (I like Discworld but can only take so much of it) and Earthsea in the big pretty book. I’ve finished Discworld and will be picking up Earthsea in the coming week. I just need to sort through the pile of to-be-read books so that I have a good place to put it.

 

Besides Earthsea, there are several other book-related blogs I want to write, and keep putting off because of perceived time constraints. I’m almost finished with a deep dive into the Mitford sisters, inspired by starting a reread of Jo Walton’s Small Changes trilogy because they play a role in those books, under a different name. I’ve read some primary work by Nancy and Jessica, a biography of all six sisters, and have a couple more books to go (all through library loan). And then there’s the book about the blending of French classical dressage with the vaquero tradition.

 

See why I don’t want to record what I’ve read? It becomes a chore, and these occasional blogs are not meant to be a chore. Rather, they are reflections on what I’ve been reading and thinking about, and might even want to…discuss.


Fairy Cat, by Hisa Takano

Jan. 18th, 2026 09:54 am
rachelmanija: (Books: old)
[personal profile] rachelmanija


One rainy day Kanade, a high school student, finds a mouse-sized cat in his room. It's a fairy cat or "palm-sized cat!" They are elusive magical creatures which sometimes adopt humans, but mostly behave like ordinary cats. Only extra-tiny!

That's about it for the plot. What this manga is actually about is showing an incredibly adorable tiny cat being an incredibly adorable tiny cat. It's an incredibly adorable manga. Proof:

The eyes, and what the eyes see

Jan. 18th, 2026 04:29 pm
dolorosa_12: (amelie wondering)
[personal profile] dolorosa_12
A busy work week like the one I described previously requires a quiet weekend, so that is exactly what happened. Gym, swimming, market shopping, and a loop around the river, market, and high street today with Matthias (we bought hot drinks from the coffee rig and browsed in the bookshop without buying anything), and otherwise no other excursions out of the house. I tried making these brown butter miso chocolate chip cookies as recommended by [personal profile] rekishi, and they were very delicious indeed! I've just taken more pine and red berry branches from the disassembled Christmas wreath, and they'll go on the fire in the wood-burning stove tonight.

Two nice things happened on Dreamwidth yesterday: [community profile] fandomtrees reveals went live, and [community profile] threesentenceficathon is open for prompts and fills for 2026. I wrote one Six of Crows Kaz/Inej ficlet and made a couple of recipe recommendations for the former (and got given so many soup recipes in response to my own request — I can't wait to try them out), and in general had an enjoyable time. I haven't had a chance to plunge into the latter so far, but I always enjoy it when I do. The first post of prompts is here — I think it's a great, low-pressure way to rekindle the creative spark, and the atmosphere is always so friendly.

I've read three books, and one serialised short story this week. All but one of these (the third in a really silly romantasy series that I'm grimly carrying on with for completionist reasons; it involves human women falling in love with the personified gods of the North, South, East and West winds, and is really not good) were excellent.

The other two books were The Left-Handed Booksellers of London (Garth Nix), and The Stolen Heart (Andrey Kurkov, translated from the Russian by Boris Dralyuk). Booksellers is Nix's first foray into novel-length fiction for adults, and is set in alternative version of 1980s Britain in which the titular booksellers have a secret life acting as a sort of supernatural security service. Back when I was a book reviewer, I interviewed Nix in his Sydney office, which was packed to the rafters with all the books he used as inspiration — encyclopedias and folklore dictionaries, fiction of all genres, popular history, anthologies of folktales and mythology, etc — and I could see the varied, myriad works of this personal reference library put to good use in this novel, which is heaving with references and allusions from all sources. There's Arthuriana, British children's fantasy (such as Susan Cooper, Alan Garner, Diana Wynne Jones), Terry Pratchett, Romantic poetry, local folklore, weird bits of London history, Cold War-era spy novels, and so on. It's the sort of book that will appeal to people who enjoy playing spot-the-reference to all the ingredients of this genre salad, and Nix clearly had the time of his life writing it.

The Stolen Heart is the second in Kurkov's series of historical mystery novels in which his hapless protagonist Samson (who fell by accident into a job working for the Soviet police force in 1919 Kyiv) tries to solve another bizarre mystery while struggling to survive the chaos around him. As with the previous book in the series, The Stolen Heart is written with a careful balance of humour and empathy, conveying both the terror and the absurdity of living in a place and time of violent, destabilising transition. I haven't finished it yet, but I'm confident that I'll enjoy its conclusion.

Finally, I read 'The Road Less Taken', a serialised short story by Amal El-Mohtar. The link goes to the final chapter of the story, with links to the previous six chapters gathered at the top of the page, so if you are interested in reading it, ensure you start at the beginning. The story interweaves a relationship breakup with the recent jewellery theft from the Louvre and the folktale of Thomas the Rhymer in a manner so clever that you will feel by the end that these three things are, of course, connected in reality! It's an Amal El-Mohtar story, so all her trademarks — the power of music and of female friendships, and food and cooking as a way to show love and care — are of course front and centre.

The most recent [community profile] snowflake_challenge prompt is all about tropes: Talk about your favorite tropes in media or transformative works. (Feel free to substitute in theme/motif/cliche if "trope" doesn't resonate with you.)

Snowflake Challenge: A pair of ice skates hanging on a wood paneled wall. Pine boughs with a few ornaments are stuffed into the skates.

Fictional cities, and more )

In the time it's taken for me to write this post, the light has left the sky, although it's still silvery blue at 4.30pm, as opposed to total darkness. The Earth moves on its slow tilt back towards the Sun.

Photo cross-post

Jan. 18th, 2026 10:24 am
andrewducker: (Default)
[personal profile] andrewducker


Gorgeous sunset behind Edinburgh Castle and I couldn't decide which of these photos I took was my favourite.
Original is here on Pixelfed.scot.

jacey: (Default)
[personal profile] jacey
Audiobook
Narrated by Joe Jameson, Kristin Atherton and Chris Humphries
Eight short stories set in the world of De Castell's Greatcoats, mostly set after the events in the first four Greatcoats novels, witrh one interesting exception. Falcio - the main character in the novels - only appears in two of these stories, but he's mentioned a lot. We're introduced to Estevar Boros, whom we meet again in another (later) book, Crucible of Chaos. Kest (one of Falcio's companions from the novels) also appears, this time in an advisory capacity rather than as a duellist/magistrate. There's plenty of swash and buckle and some deep introspection. Plus there's an interesting epilogue containing the author's notes on the stories and his rationale behind them. All the readers are excellent, especially Joe Jameson.
sunnymodffa: a little bird in a festive mood (Party Tit)
[personal profile] sunnymodffa in [community profile] fail_fandomanon
 
Party Tit vs Sad Tit vs Nip Neutrality (Imperturbable Nipples) - tag yourself.

This should be worked into a story where people have to be on guard against illusion magic. Character X secretly has sad nipples, and their fuckbuddy in the Antarctic research station is like, "All right, tits out, let's see if you're who you say you are."

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