Andrius, the nice Almalittera publicist who organized my appearance at the Vilnius Book Fair, met me at the airport and drove me into the city to my hotel, the Radisson in the Old City (there’s a New City, too, but I saw very little of this). Vilnius is an old (founded in 1527) Eastern European city, only twenty years free of Soviet occupation; it’s a little worn around the edges. At the same time, there’s a lot of evidence of vitality; a lot of new shops, and a large number of Extremely Well-kept churches. Vilnius has a lot of churches—at least fifty, Andrius told me—and a number of these are Russian Orthodox, some with onion domes. We passed one of these on the way in from the airport—with about a dozen large domes, all newly upholstered in brilliant kelly-green weather-proofed panels; it looked like a patch of Irish toadstools. The Soviets had closed down all the churches during the occupation, I was told, using them for storage, stabling, and other […]
Search results for ‘i give you my body’
Methadone List: Dana Stabenow
For those who like series, mysteries, books with rich, idiosyncratic settings, engaging characters, Strong Women (which frankly, I think is getting to be something of a cliché’—not the women themselves, of course, but the mention of them as a talking point for a book. I mean, who recommends a book by saying, “The heroine is a weak, whiny, wilted piece of toast—but it’s a great book!”) and reasonably hot sex on occasion…let me recommend Dana Stabenow. Dana is one of those amazing people who actually produces a book a year (I gasp in envy), and develops her characters and plots beautifully as the series progresses, though each book is a complete stand-alone mystery, and can be read on its own. The personal lives of the characters—particularly the main character, Kate Shugak—definitely would repay the effort of starting from the beginning, with A COLD DAY FOR MURDER. Dana’s Wikipedia entry gives the following description of the series, and since they do it a lot more succinctly than I can [g], I’ll […]
Methadone List: TOME OF THE UNDERGATES
I don’t know that one could really say that any author or book is the “opposite” of any other author or book—but by contrast to A.S. Byatt’s THE CHILDREN’S BOOK, a literary novel by an old master at the height of her craft—here’s epic fantasy by a young debut author—though equally crafty, it couldn’t be much more different in either style or structure. Sam Sykes’s TOME OF THE UNDERGATES, the first of the Aeon’s Gate series of books, is what’s called "epic fantasy." It’s not, however, anything like the classic "You know…boy/scroll/prophecy/dragon/sword…" description I once heard from a fan at a con. <g> In fact, one way in which Sykes’s work resembles Byatt’s is that nobody would ever mistake either one of them for someone else. Now, TOME is definitely not for the faint of heart or stomach. One review of it I saw described it (approximately) as “a slaughter-fest that makes “300” look weak.” It does feature head-eating fish-demons, and it had one scene (involving thumbs, and that’s all […]
BOOK EIGHT HAS A TITLE!
Which is…. WRITTEN IN MY OWN HEART’S BLOOD (I still want an octopus on the cover, but we’ll deal with that later.) ***************************************************** Now home from DragonCon!! Had a good time, but good to be back. Further info on title, pursuant to questions: Y’all are assuming I _know_ everything about that title, which is not the case. {g} I do know a _few_ things, though: First off, it has to do with the printing trade, the written word, and its effect on the American Revolution (and the effect of the Revolution on the printers and writers, for that matter). That’s why it specifically needs the “written with…”– Though that part has also to do with Roger, but I’m not going to tell you why. And as I said (I think) earlier, it has to do with the Gaelic term “A chuisle,” meaning, “my heart’s blood”–to refer to a beloved child. (You recall that Jamie uses it of his adopted grandchildren as well as those who really _are_ of his physical […]
METHADONE LIST: BLACK HALO
METHADONE LIST: BLACK HALO Last year, I mentioned Sam Sykes’s first book, THE TOME OF THE UNDERGATES. BLACK HALO is the second book in the AEON’S GATE trilogy, and even better than the first. These books are epic fantasy. Meaning—I’m told—that characters and storylines are writ large. This is certainly true of BLACK HALO, which includes the most striking assemblage of vivid misfits ever to try to save the world (or at least themselves) from demons—and a jaw-dropping array of creepy opponents, ranging from six-foot purple-faced female elite troops and jewel-wielding sexual sadists to the Akaneed, a giant cross between jelly-fish and sea-serpent, especially dangerous when mating. Add in the Omens, a chorus of harpy-like doom-sayers, giant cockroaches with rainbow-colored farts, and green Schicts (don’t ask), and you can be reasonably sure that Our Heroes are in for adventure on a grand scale. Add in the heroes’ personal problems—Asper, a priestess with a lethal left (not as in a talent for boxing; as in, people she touches with her left […]
Language, Language….(Part I)
It doesn’t happen often, but I do occasionally get email from people asking—always very politely (well, almost always very politely)—whether I have ever considered producing a bowdlerized edition of my books. Mind, none of them uses the word “bowdlerized”; I doubt most people under the age of forty have ever heard it. It comes from: Thomas Bowdler (pronounced /ˈbaʊdlər/) (11 July 1754 – 24 February 1825), who was an English physician who published an expurgated edition of William Shakespeare’s work, edited by his sister Harriet, intended to be more appropriate for 19th century women and children than the original. He similarly published an edited version of Edward Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. His edition was the subject of some criticism and ridicule and, through the eponym bowdlerise (or bowdlerize),[1] his name is now associated with censorship of literature, motion pictures and television programmes. [Source: Wikipedia] Now, what these readers would like me to expurgate from my own work, in order to accommodate their desires and sensibilities, ranges […]
BLACK RIVER, NAKED MAN
Let me be clear about this: I didn’t even see the naked man when I took a picture of him. “Did you just take a picture of that naked man?!?” my husband said, startled. “What naked man?” said I, more startled still. “That one,” he said, pointing over my shoulder at the shore. Sure enough. I _had_ been taking a picture of the picturesquely-thatched boat-rental place from which we’d just departed, embarked upon a cruise up Jamaica’s Black River (so called, according to the guide, because of a thick layer of decomposing peat moss at the bottom; the water is clear, he said—the bottom is black. It also releases methane gas as it decomposes, which is temporarily trapped under the water. When this gas bubbles suddenly up, it’s often ignited by lightning, which (the guide said) “burns down the whole swamp several times a year.” I don’t suppose the crocodiles care, one way or the other, but it must be a nuisance to the people who live next to it). […]
“Noises”
Copyright 1994 Diana Gabaldon The new captain of the Artemis was standing in the middle of his cabin, eyes closed and completely naked, blissfully scratching his testicles. “Er,” I said, confronted with this sight. His eyes popped open and his face lit with joy. The next moment, I was enfolded in his embrace, face pressed against the red-gold curls of his chest. We didn’t say anything for quite some time. I could hear the thrum of footsteps on the deck overhead, the shouts of the crew, ringing with joy at the imminence of escape, and the creak and flap of sails being rigged. The Artemis was coming back to life around us. My face was warm, tingling from the rasp of his beard. I felt suddenly strange and shy holding him, he naked as a jay and myself as bare under the remnants of Father Fogden’s tattered robe. The body that pressed against my own with mounting urgency was the same from the neck down, but the face was a […]
“Penis Syringe”
Dr. Fentiman lived in a modest house in the fashionable district—approximately ten houses, all told—of Cross Creek. The doctor was not in when I called, but his servant, a neat, plain young woman with badly crossed eyes, admitted me and showed me to the consulting room. This was a surprisingly pleasant room, with large windows and a worn but clean carpet, furnished with a desk, two comfortable chairs, and a chaise longue on which patients might recline for examination. He had a microscope standing on the desk, through which I peered with interest. It was a fine one, though not quite so good as my own, I thought with some complacency. I was possessed of a strong curiosity about the rest of his equipment, and was debating with myself as to the whether it would be an abuse of the doctor’s hospitality to snoop through his cupboards, when the doctor himself arrived, borne on the wings of brandywine. He was humming a little tune to himself, and carrying his hat under […]
“James Fraser, Indian Agent”
An excerpt from the novel, A BREATH OF SNOW AND ASHES, the sixth major OUTLANDER novel: "James Fraser, Indian Agent," I said, closing one eye as though reading it off a screen. "It sounds like a Wild West television show." Jamie paused in the act of pulling off his stockings, and eyed me warily. "It does? Is that good?" "Insofar as the hero of a television show never dies, yes." "In that case, I’m in favor of it," he said, examining the stocking he’d just pulled off. He sniffed it suspiciously, rubbed a thumb over a thin patch on the heel, shook his head and tossed it into the laundry basket. "Must I sing?" "Si—oh," I said, recollecting that the last time I had tried to explain television to him, my descriptions had focused largely on the Ed Sullivan show. "No, I don’t think so. Nor yet swing from a trapeze." "Well, that’s a comfort. I’m none sae young as I was, ken." He stood up and stretched himself, groaning. The house had been built […]