A Light Inside

Currently Reading: Lud-in-the-Mist

noreply@blogger.com (Jenna St. Hilaire) — Wed, 19 Jun 2013 23:56:00 +0000

Master Nathaniel was drinking in every word as if it was nectar. A sense of safety was tingling in his veins like a generous wine... mounting to his head, even, a little bit, so unused was he to that particular intoxicant.

Endymion Leer eyed him, with a little smile. "And now," he said, "perhaps your Worship will let me talk a little of your own case. The malady you suffer from should, I think, be called 'life-sickness.' You are, so to speak, a bad sailor, and the motion of life makes you brain-sick. There, beneath you, all around you, there surges and swells, and ebbs and flows, that great, ungovernable, ruthless element that we call life. And its motion gets into your blood, turns your head dizzy. Get your sea legs, Master Nathaniel! By which I do not mean you must cease feeling the motion... go on feeling it, but learn to like it; or if not to like it, at any rate to bear it with firm legs and a steady head."

Author: Hope Mirrlees

Synopsis: In the long-lost days of Duke Aubrey, both human and fairy tradition had their influence on the city of Lud-in-the-Mist, which sits on the border of Fairyland. But the Fairyland-loving Duke was a rascal, and the law-abiding citizens banished him. With his banishment, importing fairy fruit—or fairy anything else—was criminalized, and the very name of Fairy became taboo.

In the days of mayor Nathaniel Chanticleer, however, the unspeakable things have begun to resurface. Haunted by the memory of a single Note he once heard in playful mimicry of old mysteries, Nathaniel himself feels set apart from his fellow lawmakers—and when fairy fruit smugglers and an enigmatic but popular doctor wreak discord and havoc in the city, and Nathaniel's own son shows disturbing signs of having eaten the fruit, Nathaniel is drawn into the resurgent conflict between the worlds of Law and Fairy. Only he can save young Ranulph and the city of Lud-in-the-Mist.

Notes: This is a tale of the relationship between Fairyland and ordinary life, which puts it at the heart of my favorite storytelling traditions. Born during the late lifetime of fellow countryman George MacDonald (relevant works: Phantastes, Lilith), and just thirteen years younger than G.K. Chesterton (Orthodoxy), Mirrlees seems to write under the guidance of the same muse that led them. It wouldn't surprise me if she were directly influenced by either one or both; nor would it surprise me if, like both of them, she influenced Tolkien (I'm thinking especially of "On Fairy Stories") and Lewis with her own work. Neil Gaiman (Stardust) apparently admits her as a favorite, and while I haven't heard anything Susanna Clarke (Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell) may have said on the subject, I strongly suspect she's read this book.

For all its both retrospective and forward-looking similarities to other great works of fantasy fiction, it's one of the more unpredictable tales I've ever read that yet managed an emotionally satisfying ending. I won't spoil the central points of unpredictability, but the satisfying ending bit required me to put my whole heart into sympathizing with the unlikely protagonist, which I did.

Nat Chanticleer, a plump, gin-and-cheese-loving, middle-aged lawmaker, is outwardly as steady and stodgy and Law-driven as his exquisitely stuffy friend Ambrose and all their comrades. But inwardly—well, inwardly, he's heard the Note. It's the Note that makes Nat a kindred spirit. He's never perfect; he's dithery and melancholic, and he bears comparatively little attachment to his daughter, for all he loves his son. But that Note helps him, and it's the first thing that puts tears in my eyes when I think back over the book.

For all the story's unpredictability, it's primarily a fairy tale. It reads a little like an allegory for something, but it's hard to fix on what, precisely. Mirrlees converted (from what, I'm not sure) to Catholicism just a couple of years after publishing this novel, and perhaps she, like me, saw in Catholicism one of the few places where Faerie took safe refuge from modernity, but her conversion did apparently come after writing the book, and her creatures of Fairyland are nearer relatives of Clarke's gentleman with the thistle-down hair than they are to any saint. That said, with the exception of possibly justifying certain dispositions of a certain rascal—I dare not get more spoilery than that—the allegory reads as true.

It's certainly an old-fashioned story; modern readers might find it difficult to get into, as it's heavily frontloaded with description and backstory. Nobody browbeat authors back then with the fear that such tactics might bore readers. The first half felt a tad long to me, but the second half—once the story began to be less about Lud in general and more about Nat—did not.

The second half is worth reading the first half for. It's hero's journey and murder mystery and philosophical conflict between law-abiding and lawlessness, and I thought it honestly delightful. But even the first half contains some startling little thought-gems and a lot of beautiful poetic prose.

I could see people disliking it, but it's hard to imagine who. If you like Clarke's work or Gaiman's, MacDonald's fairy stories or Tolkien's, it's worth giving Lud-in-the-Mist a try. It's not derivative fantasy; it's one of the classics from which the greats derive. I loved it. I could see myself reading it again. And perhaps again and again after that.

Today

noreply@blogger.com (Jenna St. Hilaire) — Tue, 18 Jun 2013 18:45:00 +0000

The Today meme is hosted by Masha! Join in over at Piękno, or leave your own sensory notes in the combox...

Today I am...

Feeling... close to all my friends who are suffering. So many prayers today. <3

Seeing... sheer gold curtains waving in the breeze. It's so wonderful to be warm enough to open the windows, even if I am sitting under a fleece throw and drinking hot coffee.

Smelling... fresh air. One of the great things about Bellingham is that it's almost never smoggy.

Tasting... the last cup of that Italian coffee, at least until it goes on sale again, and—last night—the very first cherry off our Benson sapling in the front yard. Lou and I split the cherry, which proved amazingly flavorful and sweet. That's a splendid little tree. I'm still furious at the deer that came by sometime Saturday night and ate a lot of the leaves off.

Listening... to myself singing "Dante's Prayer" and "Eileen Aroon" and "Scarborough Fair" and "Comin' Thro' the Rye" in the shower and around the house. My Scottish accent is horrifying. But I enjoy myself.

Grateful... for summer skies—the kind with puffs of white cumulus drifting across vivid, warm-weather blue.

Reading... the last chapters of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone; Terry Pratchett's The Wee Free Men, which is making me laugh a lot; a friend's long-awaited fantasy novel manuscript; and the sixth and seventh chapters (out of twelve) of my own work in progress.

Loving... my nieces and nephews. I got to spend Sunday with my family, and enslaved myself to the small fry out of sheer devotion. Being an aunty is one of my best consolations in life.

Hoping... for lots of pumpkins this year. I'd love to give some to the aforementioned small fry, and maybe let the little neighbor boys come over and pick one out, too. The neighbor boys are fascinated with the garden, and their mother tells me that watching Lou mow the lawn is a highlight of their week. :)

Harry Potter Book Club: Sorcerer's Stone, Chapters 13-15

noreply@blogger.com (Jenna St. Hilaire) — Tue, 18 Jun 2013 00:35:00 +0000

Good morning, magical friends! It's sunny, I'm wearing my Hufflepuff outfit—minus the fishnets—and it's time to talk about monsters and fame and unicorns and planets and Harry! Before we do, though, here's last week's recap and a mini-essay... I have a feeling those will be common henceforth:

Masha posted first with a beautiful drawing by her husband—seriously, you should follow her for Seth's artwork as well as her own commentary—and some tender thoughts on Ron's inner hungers and strengths as seen through his Mirror of Erised experience. Meanwhile, Christie posted pictures of her attempt at our first butterbeer recipe, which looks tasty, even if, as she said, chocolate wine made it not beery enough. She also expounded upon on some of the particulars of Dumbledore's conversation with Harry, to lovely effect.

Masha also linked two well-known anti-Potter articles in her post, coming from two entirely different directions, and here comes the mini-essay.

Mini-Essay #1: A Brief and Inadequate Reply to the Two Main Varieties of Serious Potter Critic

Surviving the World: Lesson 447 by Dante Shepherd

Anti-Potter article number one is one of the most famous among Potter fans: Harold Bloom's 2000 piece titled "Can 35 Million Book Buyers Be Wrong? Yes." Professor Bloom—of Yale—is a very well-known literary critic, author of The Western Canon as well as many other books, and certainly not someone whose literary understanding can be thrown away lightly. He's had a very interesting career, judging by a quick scroll through Wikipedia (yeah, I know), and I confess to respecting him more after looking at his achievements than I did after reading his article.

This response is inadequate on several levels; I don't have time to go point by point, and I don't begin to have comparable education, let alone experience. Others have done better. My difficulty with Bloom's piece is simple: he and I have totally different perspectives on something, and I'm not sure whether the point of profound disagreement is centered in the evaluation of literature itself or in the definition of what it means for reading to "enrich mind or spirit or personality." But we certainly have inconsonant opinions on the latter.*

Art by el-grimlock

Anti-Potter article number two is too recent to have gained the kind of widespread internet contradiction that it would have in the heyday of Potter fandom. Obviously, Michael O'Brien has gained widespread contradiction enough to put him on the defensive, however, and the whole tone of the piece is affected by this. To be fair, the piece is an interview with him on the very subject of his critics: Steve Jalsevac's "Michael O'Brien responds to his critics re: Harry Potter" at LifeSiteNews.

O'Brien, author of the controversial A Landscape with Dragons: The Battle for Your Child's Mind as well as the Father Elijah books and many others, has achieved something of a cult following for his detailed, religious-based criticism of various fantasy works. I hate to even give it the vague honorific "religious-based", since as a Catholic, he should know that there's no one-holy-Catholic-and-apostolic interpretation of any fictional work. The relationship of fiction to dogma is even fuzzier than the relationship of fiction to reality.

The inadequacy of my response is in how little space and time I have to devote to it at present. I'd love to go point by point, as displayed in my overexuberant reaction in Masha's combox. But I'll keep myself to the base problems with O'Brien's critical technique, which are twofold.

Source.

First, he treats symbolism as if each symbol is a neat container for a single positive or negative idea. This is simply not true. Snakes, for instance, are not universally irredeemable symbols of evil. They're not even treated that way in the Bible. With no appeal to the context of a given symbol's portrayal, O'Brien is doomed to miss the point of the story, and he consistently does.

Second, his understanding of the moral universe of Harry Potter is so baffling as to make me think of the ever-popular Internet aphorism, casually attributed on Goodreads to both Edmund Wilson and Diana Tixier Herald—goodness only knows with whom it actually originated—which states that "No two persons ever read the same book." If he'd read the same story I had, he could never have said this:

"In Potter world, the saving of the world comes through acquiring secret knowledge and perfecting supernatural powers, while never really developing significant character or virtues such as those we can so clearly see in Tolkien’s and Lewis’s heroes."

There are reasonable criticisms to be made of the Harry Potter stories, and he makes some, but that's certainly not one of them. He's wrong on all three points there, demonstrably wrong:

"the saving of the world comes through acquiring secret knowledge" The idea that "secret knowledge" and the power thereof can save either world or individual is Voldemort's mistake, not Harry's.
"and perfecting supernatural powers" Every last conflict between Harry and Voldemort is a David and Goliath scenario, as far as magical skill is concerned. It's also explicitly stated numerous times by a certain character that love, not magic, is Harry's sole hope of standing against his archenemy.
"while never really developing significant character or virtues" I just don't understand how it's possible to read Deathly Hallows and come away thinking this. Love. Courage, both physical and moral. Forgiveness. Compassion, even for an enemy. Respect. Harry makes visible, remarkable progress in all of these areas.

That last point, in particular, is farcical. If anything, Rowling is clearer in her symbolism and her direct emphasis on virtue than Tolkien was.

* * *

This Week in Reading Harry

Read: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, Chapters 13-15

It's hard to focus on single discussion points in these chapters; there are so many events to think over. Neville's character gets some development, and it would be hard not to end up loving him. Hermione and Harry manage to leave the Invisibility Cloak behind while sneaking around the castle at night, which has never made any sense to me, since Hermione is quick-thinking and cautious, and since the cloak is the only thing Harry has that was his father's. Harry's scar acts up in one of the most horrific scenes the books possess, and he's rescued by a centaur named after Florence, Italy (in Italian, the name is Firenze). Hagrid proves to be a valuable source of information, while cooing to a baby dragon and calling himself "Mommy".

Hagrid is so much fun. I just love him.

Some Other Potential Discussion Points:

1. Nicolas Flamel. This historical character—yes, he was real—has had long-standing legendary (and probably not real) status as an alchemist. A successful one; that is, he's said to have made the philosopher's stone. Rowling put the legend into play for her first mystery, and the sorcerer's stone, from which comes the Elixir of Life, is guarded underground at Hogwarts behind a series of enchantments and, appropriately, Cerberus.

This is only going to get more fun in the next chapters.

2. "Our kind have to keep putting spells on Muggles" Ron's offhand remark about the Ministry of Magic's handling of Muggle sightings of dragons is one of the first revelations of unethical Wizarding practices surrounding the Statute of Secrecy (the law preventing wizards from revealing themselves and their world to non-magical humans.)

3. Popular opinion. Rowling knows how fame treats a person now, knows it firsthand, but she apparently had a perfectly good understanding of it from the outset. Hogwarts students as a group vacillate between lionizing and demonizing Harry, and as far as I know, every famous person suffers this.

Ron was probably my favorite character in book one, and his loyalty to Harry in this section was part of that.

Art by wallace

4. Legality and mercy. Harry and Hermione get into trouble saving Hagrid from the law and himself. Hagrid is good-hearted, but not at all likely to pay much attention to seemingly arbitrary regulations about monster-keeping. And his confidence in his monster-managing skills—this is just the beginning of it, we haven't met Aragog or Grawp or the Blast-Ended Skrewts yet—is hyperconfidence; he's hiding a baby dragon in a wooden house.

Even law-abiding Hermione doesn't hesitate to help Harry get the dragon safely off to someone who has the wherewithal to keep it, though it means breaking a lot of school rules—and when she's caught, she doesn't betray Hagrid even to lessen her punishment. Nor does Harry.

This sort of ethical dilemma is generally resolved by Rowling with an eye to compassion rather than judgment, to mercy rather than straight-up justice. Ethicists and moralists will be arguing till the end of time over which virtue is more important in which case, but I think it's within the bounds of Catholic freedom to believe that both mercy and justice—as well as both compassion and judgment—are important, and that humility and wisdom and respect are prerequisites for good decision-making wherever the two seem to conflict.

In this case, going to Dumbledore would've been the best way to protect Hagrid, but Harry's just an eleven-year-old newcomer who doesn't yet know his headmaster. He handles it like a well-meaning eleven-year-old kid would, and suffers the consequences.

5. "Mars is bright tonight" The centaurs are reading the signs of war in the sky—and being infuriating in the process, which is mostly what the centaurs in Harry Potter do.

6. "Always the innocent are the first victims" Ronan's sighed philosophy strikes me as something to contemplate, but I'd need to put more time into it than I've got this afternoon. Anyone who wants to unpack his statement, feel free.

Art by Amy C. Reed

7. Unicorn blood. Firenze explains: "...it is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn... Only one who has nothing to lose, and everything to gain, would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You have slain something pure and defenseless to save yourself, and you will have but a half-life, a cursed life, from the moment the blood touches your lips."

This paragraph sets up the—if you'll pardon the wordplay—crux of the entire Potter saga. The conflict on which the whole story turns is this conflict between defenseless innocence and selfishness taken all the way to monstrosity.

Voldemort sets himself up as a god again and again throughout the story, sometimes coming off as a temperamental Grecian-style deity, but sometimes as something more sinister. Whether Rowling intended it or not, Voldemort's portrayal is often Luciferish, often a direct inversion of the Christ-image. This is one of the latter moments. Eucharistic imagery is inverted here as, instead of the divine self-sacrifice, we have a demoniac sacrifice of the innocent Other. And Firenze sets the passionate tone of righteous response:

"Do you not see that unicorn?" Firenze bellowed at Bane. "Do you not understand why it was killed? Or have the planets not let you in on that secret? I set myself against what is lurking in this forest, Bane, yes, with humans alongside me if I must."

As for what else stands between the defenseless innocent and the selfish monster, we'll get into that in chapter seventeen. But it's worth noting that both Harry and Voldemort are set up symbolically as representatives of our inner self. This becomes very clear in, if I remember correctly, books five and six—but if I say more about that, there will be spoilers....

Disserendo!**

* I was SO tempted to find a random trash can picture on the internet and caption it "The Dustbin of the Ages". Juvenile, I know, but that phrase just kills me.

** All right, Latinists. This is me using Google Translate; feel free to tell me I'm using the wrong word for the imperative "Discuss!", and that I'm liable to wind up smashed under a stack of hardbound doctoral theses....

Weeds on the March and other stories

noreply@blogger.com (Jenna St. Hilaire) — Sat, 15 Jun 2013 00:56:00 +0000

* * *

"There's already morning glory grown up the fence where I weeded last weekend," I said yesterday. "And there are buttercups blooming in the English ivy. Weeding doesn't even last as long as housework."

I snapped the morning glory stems this afternoon on my way by with the camera, but the English ivy will have to wait its turn again. The herb garden, which I had neatly cleaned out a month ago, is now being marched upon, besieged, razed, and trampled by the weeds overgrowing the brush pile. I didn't think anything could conquer the salad burnet, but it got beaten down a bit by wind, and now the buttercups and morning glory are taking advantage of its temporary weakness.

The sun needs to come out tomorrow. I'm rescuing the Egyptian walking onions (no, I've never caught them singing Bangles songs, but I have to wonder what they do when no one's looking...) and separating the pumpkins from the tomatoes and unburying the herbs. Also, I have a lot of little potted starts begging for some ground space:

Fern, pinks, basil, and sweet peas.
I can never resist tiny plants on clearance.

Cilantro, zucchini, fig tree, and wisteria.

The roses, however, are overall quite happy. They're currently showing their gratitude for Lou's conscientious care:

* * *

Music of the week: I came across William Joseph by way of Lindsey Stirling the other day, and goodness, what an exceptional young pianist. I'm trying not to be envious. This piece was my favorite of his that I came across; I liked the Led Zeppelin remake, too, but it got stuck in my head, so watch at your own risk.

* * *

Happy weekend!

Currently Reading: Right Ho, Jeeves

noreply@blogger.com (Jenna St. Hilaire) — Wed, 12 Jun 2013 18:16:00 +0000

I mean to say, one does not court praise. The adulation of the multitude means very little to one. But all the same, when one has taken the trouble to whack out a highly juicy scheme to benefit an in-the-soup friend in his hour of travail, it’s pretty foul to find him giving the credit to one’s personal attendant, particularly if that personal attendant is a man who goes about the place not packing mess-jackets.

But after I had been splashing about in the porcelain for a bit, composure began to return. I have always found that in moments of heart-bowed-downness there is nothing that calms the bruised spirit like a good go at the soap and water. I don’t say I actually sang in the tub, but there were times when it was a mere spin of the coin whether I would do so or not.

The spiritual anguish induced by that tactless speech had become noticeably lessened.

The discovery of a toy duck in the soap dish, presumably the property of some former juvenile visitor, contributed not a little to this new and happier frame of mind. What with one thing and another, I hadn’t played with toy ducks in my bath for years, and I found the novel experience most invigorating. For the benefit of those interested, I may mention that if you shove the thing under the surface with the sponge and then let it go, it shoots out of the water in a manner calculated to divert the most careworn. Ten minutes of this and I was enabled to return to the bedchamber much more the old merry Bertram.

Author: P.G. Wodehouse

Synopsis: Bertie Wooster has plans to help a sensitive friend into a successful wooing, while also trying to patch up his cousin’s engagement and soften a potential misunderstanding between his favorite aunt and uncle. To his chagrin, however, everyone seems to want his servant Jeeves’ advice instead—the more so as his helpful suggestions begin to go extraordinarily wrong.

Notes: I read this book for two reasons: one, I knew from acquaintance with Psmith that Wodehouse is a funny man, and I was in the mood for some lighthearted reading, and 2) I did not know who Jeeves and Wooster were, but everyone else seemed to, and I was tired of my ignorance.

Not since Spindle’s End have I laughed out loud so heartily and so often at a novel. I loved Wooster’s cheerful narrative; it was childlike to the point of innocence, it was full of fun, it was hilarious. I loved the clarity of the other characters’ motivations, frustrations, and feelings, despite being seen through such a confused filter. And the classically comic setups, full of human foibles and absolutely devoid of shock value, were great fun.

There’s not much more I can say. Bertie Wooster speaks for himself, and I think it’s worth letting him.

This is a great read, especially for reinforcing a cheerful mood. It would go well with sunshine and a cold drink of the reader’s choice. Possibly whiskey and orange juice, which appear together in the story—although for myself, I prefer my orange juice with champagne.

Today

noreply@blogger.com (Jenna St. Hilaire) — Tue, 11 Jun 2013 18:08:00 +0000

I'm hopping into a new meme started by Masha! Join in over at Piękno, or leave your own sensory notes in the combox...

Today I am...

Feeling... enthused about new plans for going to bed earlier. I'm enlisting Lou; he's supposed to tell me to get off my computer at 10:15. When I do that, I usually play piano till eleven or a quarter past, and then I'm in bed by 11:30 instead of staying up till midnight, which is what happens when I keep working on my computer much past ten. That's right when my second wind kicks in.

Seeing... a touch of blue on the bayward horizon, which is where all the weather comes from. It's been a rather gray morning.

Smelling... the last dissipating aroma of a big cup of Italian coffee with cream.

Tasting... Raisin Nut Bran for breakfast—so expensive that I rarely buy it, but so much better on every level than standard Raisin Bran. And coffee, of course. Also, my next door neighbor gave me fresh-picked local strawberries, and fresh-picked local strawberries are one of my favorite things in the whole. wide. world.

Listening... to the silence that means the dryer has stopped. I need to go get the laundry changed over.

Grateful for... a free afternoon to spend with my family. Owing to everyone getting sick and the hockey game, I haven't seen the niece and nephew in three weeks. Aunty needs a kiddo fix.

Reading... besides Harry Potter... Lud in the Mist by Hope Mirrlees. It's longer than I expected it to be, which is the difficulty with Kindle books—you can't predict that just by looking. But it's enjoyable old fantasy.

Loving... my friend Janelle, whose birthday I'm celebrating this evening.

Hoping... the little dog that dodged in front of my car yesterday near the grocery found its way back to its family.

Harry Potter Book Club: Sorcerer's Stone, Chapters 11-12

noreply@blogger.com (Jenna St. Hilaire) — Mon, 10 Jun 2013 22:14:00 +0000

We're flying (on brooms, of course) through Sorcerer's Stone, with probably just a couple of weeks left in it after this one. That is, unless we find too much to talk about, which is possible. There's lots of fun to be had at the end of book 1. :)

This is a huge post, so I'm dividing it up into mini-essays so you can choose what to read. First, however, here's last week's recap: Christie spoke of danger at Hogwarts and the improvement to Harry's situation, Masha celebrated Hogwarts, and Laura provided a roundup of pagan perspectives on Harry Potter. Laura also asked this question in Masha's combox, which inspired the first mini-essay:

Do you (pl. you guys, y'all) think magic in HP is more like its own entity, with its own personality, independent of its users, or more like an emergent property reflecting (with varying degrees of distortion etc.) the personalities (and foibles, and preoccupations, and limitations and hidden gifts) of its users?

There it is, an open discussion point for anyone and everyone to talk about this week!

Mini-Essay #1: Is Rowling's Magic a Silent Sentience, or an Incognizant Efficaciousness?

The way the characters interact with magic mostly seems to suggest Laura's latter option. At the very least, magic allows itself to be shaped by the user. There's the involuntary magic of children, e.g., Harry Vanishing the glass off the snake display at the zoo, or Neville bouncing when his uncle dropped him out of an upstairs window. This sort of thing isn't controlled by the young witch or wizard, but is shaped by his or her need and emotion.

There's controlled magic, usually worked through a wand, though goblins and house-elves have power over their magic without wands. These things obviously reflect the personalities, etc., of the users.

But then there are magic-infused items like wands and the Hogwarts castle, and it's harder to say how much of that infusion is created by willed wizardry and how much is magic gathering and acting of its own accord. For instance, as it's hopefully not too much of a spoiler to point out, Muggle electronics supposedly go haywire around Hogwarts because of all the magic in the air (this isn't shown, but it's mentioned by Hermione, and she and her photographic memory would probably know).

Four people who definitely left some magic lying around Hogwarts.
Art by Len.

There are talking portraits and moving staircases and trick doors and argumentative chessmen and something of the personality of Rowena Ravenclaw in her House's common room door-knocker, and sure, a lot of this is explainable by means of charms and other spells being put on inanimate objects, but is all of it so easily explained away? Masha is exactly right about Hogwarts: there's "a sense of humor in the castle, as though thousands of laughing wizards have left their joy hidden in nooks and crannies." Some of it was obviously deliberately left by the wizards, but some of it seems to be simply their magic embedding itself in the places they frequented.

Possibly the strongest argument for magic as its own entity comes from book seven, in which—trying to be spoiler-free here—a certain wand does a certain something, apparently of its own volition. The question there is: is the wand a semi-volitional creature in its own right, or is it magic itself that is volitional, acting through its own object?

It looks to me like this could be taken either way, but the idea of magic as an animate power is an interesting one to explore. Explore away, fellow students!

This Week in Reading Harry

Read: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, Chapters 11-12

Source.

Chapter Twelve is a heartbreaker, y'all. But there's so much in it.

Also, here's a pattern for making your own Weasley sweater. If you're not up for knitting one (I wouldn't venture without my mom or sister's help), you can also get them on Etsy, presumably handmade with love.

Potential Discussion Points:

Mini-Essay #2: Gender-Inclusive Language

Oliver Wood. Source.

Oliver Wood opens himself up to feminist critique when he turns to a team of seven young people in which both genders are represented and says "Okay, men." Feminist discussion frequently degenerated into serious brawling at The Hog's Head in its day, so I'm always a little hesitant about bringing up the topic. But this one touches on one of my pet peeves: gender neutral or gender inclusive language.

See, there are some times when neutering English actually changes the meaning; a word like "people" does not carry the same shades of definition as "man" or "mankind" or "humanity". Linguistic inclusivism is also often extraordinarily unartistic. I loathe the practice when it comes to "updating" old hymns, for instance; I'll be singing my heart out in choir, and all at once I'll be singing different words from everyone else, because I'm going off childhood memory and most of the other choristers are reading the hymnal. Dear well-meaning hymn updaters, you cannot replace this:

Mortals join the mighty chorus
Which the morning stars began
Father love is reigning o'er us
Brother love binds man to man

with this:

Mortals join the mighty chorus
Which the morning stars began
God's own love is reigning o'er us
Joining people hand in hand

It doesn't rhyme, AND it's a terrible cliché. Also, all of us who grew up with that hymn already have it ingrained in our heads the old way. Speaking of which, this ploy is worst when imposed upon Christmas carols. Everybody already has them memorized with the traditional lyrics. "God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen" is what it is, and it should be left alone.

All that to say, linguistic inclusivism is a touch ridiculous when universally applied. But it's not a pointless concept, either. In Oliver Wood's case, I'm entirely with Angelina Johnson. You can't just look at your Quidditch team, boys and girls together, and address them all with, "Okay, men." There's this little thing called tact. It's friendly.

Mini Non-Essay: Minor Notable Points

Art by Jess.

1. The funny stuff. There's so much in these chapters, especially eleven, that's just so beautifully comic. I love Quidditch commentary—and this is just the start of it; wait till we get to book six. Also, I get a kick out of the fact that Hagrid bought the hellhound Cerberus off "a Greek chappie" in a pub and promptly re-christened him "Fluffy". And then there's Fred and George, wizard chess, wizard crackers, and Hagrid's cooking.

2. Weasley family dynamics. We get more insight into them at Christmastime, with Molly sending Harry a family sweater—considering that she's met him just once, this is incredibly tender and perceptive of her—and Fred and George making sure Percy and Ron stick with the family spirit. Percy's resistance comes from a different place than Ron's, but both of them will pay for their withdrawal before the series is out.

3. Books in Harry Potter. The Restricted Section of the library is creepy and fun; the books, imbued with magic, don't just shut up and let themselves be read. I actually think Rowling could have done a lot more with this, but talking about that would mean spoilers for Half-Blood Prince.

Mini-Essay #3: Alchemy

I designed this emblem for this discussion point.
You can expect to see it a lot in future.

Before I get started: Everything I know about alchemy, I learned from John Granger. Granger's primary sources are Lyndy Abraham and Titus Burkhardt, as I recall (other oft-referenced names include Jung, Lings, and Eliade). Of course, I may be an imperfect student and make mistakes, but I'll shoot as straight as I can.

There's a lot to alchemy, so here's a basic summary—not of everything, but of the beginning salient points.

A. Alchemy is concerned with several key tasks, including:

Making the Philosopher's Stone, also sometimes termed the Sorcerer's Stone, which provides the means to immortality
Turning lead into gold
Purifying the soul of the alchemist

B. The alchemist's Great Work entails refining the prima materia—a formless, basic matter, analogous with his own soul—into the Philosopher's Stone. He refines matter and soul simultaneously in the one Work.

C. Refinement of the prima materia requires putting it through three main stages (or sometimes four; I'm sticking with Granger's explanation here), innately color coordinated for your convenience:

The nigredo or black stage, in which the matter is burned and decomposed
The albedo or white stage, in which impurities are washed away and the matter is acted upon by the "quarreling" opposites mercury and sulfur (this pair is represented in numerous ways, including cold and heat, female and male)
The rubedo or red stage, in which the reddening of the matter indicates success of the Great Work.

From the very title of this book—which Rowling and her U.K. publisher called "Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone," and Scholastic renamed "...Sorcerer's Stone" for American audiences—we see alchemical influence. The title, however, could just be a classic mystery title. The fact that Hermione Granger's initials form the periodic table symbol for mercury might have been coincidence. The colors dropped here and there in the book could just be colors.

Or they might not be.

Here are some beginning alchemical connections to watch for:

The quarreling couple. Hermione is our cool, feminine Mercury, and Ron is our hot, masculine Sulphur. The two bicker constantly throughout each of the seven books. Their arguing often intensifies in the middle, during the build-up to the climax of the story, and the pair must always reconcile for the final phase of the story.
Color progression. Each of the books takes Harry through all three stages (and the final three books are stages in and of themselves; more on that later). We're in the albedo stage now, in which white and silver are common colors; we've progressed from the trip across the "great black lake" to mirrors and silvery invisibility cloaks and snow and a generally paler tone to the story.
Nicholas Flamel. :D

There'll be much more to come about alchemy. This is just a place to start!

Mini-Essay #4: The Mirror of Erised

Art by Harry-Potter-Spain

The inscription:

Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi

Hold it up to a mirror, if you haven't yet. (I think I read this book at least three or four times before I got this.)

The Mirror is a tricksy thing, and probably a lot darker and more complicated for adults than for most children. (Harry, obviously, is not most children.) I expect that I'd see different things on different days... but I know what I'd see most commonly, and I know it would mean an explosion of tears, and I know it would feel like losing loved ones to turn away. What would you see? Answer aloud only if you're feeling brave.

Harry and Ron make an interesting contrast here. Harry sees himself with his family, and as Dumbledore put it, "Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them." I'd love to put both of their visions in context with Deathly Hallows right now, but SPOILERS.

There are at least a couple of major discussion possibilities just off Harry's conversation with Dumbledore after looking in the Mirror:

"The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is." I've never quite bought this. It almost suggests an odd individualism, as if there's nothing beyond being satisfied with ourselves, which sounds like hell, in my opinion. I suspect I'm over-reading it, but there the matter stands.
"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live." This is one of Dumbledore's most famous quotes, with excellent reason. The Mirror is one of the most dangerous things Harry ever comes across. Always wishing for what you don't have is a means to immense regret.

And I absolutely agree with Dumbledore on socks. Though I never turn down books for Christmas. :)

Go forth and talk Potter!

Jersey-Knit Lion Caves and other stories

noreply@blogger.com (Jenna St. Hilaire) — Fri, 07 Jun 2013 21:29:00 +0000

As a general rule, I don't use this space to advertise, but I'm willing to when family starts cute Etsy shops. :) Check out Bijou Villa for work in silk and copper, wearable art and whimsy. I ought to patch my jeans with some of those butterflies.

* * *

After several months of depressive episode—which feels, to me, something like the drugged heaviness and mental dysfunction of getting up too early after taking Nyquil, only much more painful—I am awake this week.

Awake. I can see beauty with haze-free eyes, and concentrate on reading, and take childlike delight in little blessings like milkshakes made with cocoa and peanut butter, and cheer myself over imperfect but comparatively smooth attempts at Aeris' Theme on the piano. I can imagine ordering my days better toward neatness and productivity. I can sometimes even face up to my unfinished novels with a smile, and have thought about writing music again.

The windows are open, the sun is often out, and I'm awake. And I'm grateful for every minute of optimism and sunshine.

* * *

The last of the peonies are in splendid form right now. This deep purplish-red one might be my favorite of the lot:

I'm fond of this softer, frilly one, too, though:

Also: snapdragons! And a random buttercup. Buttercups are noxious weeds around here—they'll grow right up under your carefully planted flowers and vegetables and choke them out—but it's hard to hate something so cheerful.

* * *

I'm in the mood for summer reading. So much so that I’m half tempted to swear I won’t read anything dark or dreary or even difficult until the twenty-first of September. At which point, maybe I'll be ready to tackle War and Peace as promised.

Depression, begone; summer, come hither! I’ve got the first of Terry Pratchett's Tiffany Aching books awaiting me, and the new Sarah Dessen, too; I may look up the next Jeeves and Wooster (write-up on Right Ho, Jeeves coming next Wednesday), and I’m feeling adventurous with my Kindle. There are a handful of random romancey novels on my shelves, and I’ve got several unread Madeleine Brents and Mary Stewarts. I’ve even got a copy of The Wind in the Willows, which I haven’t read since childhood, and which, according to memory, is at least summery if not always cheerful. I might even decide to re-read an old happy favorite or two.

Expect some bright, blithe, warm-weather reading material around here in the next few months. :)

* * *

Along reading lines, and along the lines of many a grumpy post on this blog: I loved The Crescat's short rant on the fact that Catholic fiction nowadays always has to be so stuffily Catholic.

* * *

As longtime readers may remember, one of Maia's favorite things is laundry day. And one of her favorite parts of laundry day is getting made into the bed, which is especially fun in jersey-knit sheets:

Note the cat eyes, caught by the flash even through the sheet.

Maia: "I am a BRAVE CAVE LION. Mess with me at your own risk."

* * *

Masha reminded me rather poignantly this week that introverts get lonely, too. On account of which, I hesitated to link Buzzfeed's 31 Unmistakable Signs that You're an Introvert today... but seriously, O readers! This introvert has been far too busy since, like, last October. Consequently, a good 28 of those signs feel absolutely true right now (not all, because I do get dressed on the weekends).

It's also hilarious. But if you're in a lonely mood, maybe wait to read it till you're tired of being a social butterfly again.

* * *

Music of the week: I promised some Maire Brennan a few weeks back, and after listening to a playlist, found some favorites—this lullaby for her son in particular:

* * *

Happy weekend!

Currently Reading: Finnikin of the Rock

noreply@blogger.com (Jenna St. Hilaire) — Thu, 06 Jun 2013 02:14:00 +0000

From the window of the stable loft, Sir Topher watched. The novice stood at the gate outside the dilapidated cottage. He knew she would stay there until the moon rose, as she had done each day since Finnikin's imprisonment.

"They will come," she said firmly when he joined her.

"And if they don't?" he asked. "I understand what you are trying to do, but your methods could get him killed."

"The captain will not let any harm come to his son."

"Sometimes fathers can't protect their children, Evanjalin. Did yours save you from harm?" Sir Topher asked, knowing the question was cruel.

"No," she responded fiercely. "But my father would warn, 'Be prepared for the worst, my love, for it lives next door to the best.' And for that I thank him each day of my life."

Author: Melina Marchetta

Synopsis: As a child, Finnikin sacrificed a piece of his own flesh to the gods to save his kingdom—not long before the five days of the unspeakable, when the king's family was murdered, his own father was imprisoned, and the land of Lumatere was sealed off with a curse. Now traveling among exile camps in neighboring lands, Finnikin finds himself teamed up with a secretive girl named Evanjalin who helps him one minute and betrays him the next. Finnkin just wants to gain relief for the Lumateran exiles, but Evanjalin is determined to find a way back into Lumatere itself—and she's convinced that a member of the royal family, Finnikin's childhood friend Balthazar, still lives. Finnikin would love to believe that, but then he'd have to trust the liar Evanjalin enough to do the impossible.

Notes: I've had my eye on Marchetta's work for a while, as she's acclaimed brightly around the young adult book blogosphere. Upon discovering that she'd written a fantasy, I had to check it out, and at the standard mid-book perusal of the back inside flap of the dust jacket—you know, that moment where you turn to the author bio because you want to get a look at the person who wrote the story—I was intrigued by this quote from her:

"I was told often that I couldn't write fantasy unless I had read all the greats and knew the conventions well, but I think the first step to writing good fantasy is knowing this world we live in well. I wanted to look closely at that world—where loss of faith, loss of homeland and identity, displacement of spirit, and breakdown of community are common—because these are the scenes in today's media that affect me the most. In this sense, the book is a search for identity in the same way that my other novels are."

With the most common complaint about fantasy being that everything seems like a Tolkien rip-off, there might be something to Marchetta's philosophy. I can't speak for whether she ever read Tolkien, but few of the common tropes made it into Finnikin of the Rock. It's less farm boy quest narrative and more the story of restoring a little city-state overrun by tyrants and cursed apart. Inside the boundaries of the curse, the Lumaterans suffer unthinkable abuse, and outside, they struggle to survive and retain some sense of Lumateran identity as exiles in foreign lands.

It's strikingly symbolic. The author "grew up with Bible stories, and although this trilogy isn’t religious, it’s biblical at times" (quoted from her blog). While it may not be specifically themed upon any one religion, there's certainly religion involved; the Lagrami/Sagrami goddess duality suggests the yin and yang, and the names Lumatere and Evanjalin have obvious connotations. Evanjalin's treatment of the savage thief boy, Froi, is redemptive charity strong enough to be shocking, and Finnikin, whose anger and sexual escapades made me dislike him for much of the book, is pulled toward goodness by her higher standards.

Higher being relative, of course. This is dark fantasy, and even the best characters do terrible things. Marchetta portrays humanity at a level of degradation I've not often seen up close, and there's a lot of violence, including rape; there's some open use of prostitution, plenty of hatred, and endless lying. The bedroom scenes are offscreen in keeping with the teen label—not that the teen label guarantees that nowadays—but the talk of sex and menstruation is frank enough to induce blushing. It's not a pleasant, poetic read like The Lord of the Rings, in which the "struggle is not against flesh and blood"; it's a rough and gory tale of human evil.

The scenes, especially the fight scenes, are written with a cinematic feel that I sometimes found hard to follow. I thought the narrative could have used some editing here and there for clarity, though I'm not sure how much to blame that on the fact that I read it during a head cold. The plot and mystery, however, are strong overall; I felt like I should have seen the twist coming, but it took me by surprise while seeming exactly right.

The ending contains a lot of hope, and I suspect the romance will be very satisfying for anyone who can love Finnikin. Rage and lust are supposedly common to male experience, but Finnikin was so dominated by the one and careless about the other that I never developed much respect or liking for him. I did love Evanjalin, however, despite her own set of not-so-defensible behaviors, and the fact that I developed a sort of tender concern for Froi—not usually the type of character an author will get a reader to sympathize with—is all to Marchetta's credit.

Readers who like their fiction dark and earthy will probably love Finnikin of the Rock, regardless of whether they like fantasy. The story doesn't focus on magic and visuals, but on the human experience of cultural and communal breakdown and the struggle to survive, not just in body but in spirit and identity. It's got a lot going for it on those grounds.

The Monster Captcha

noreply@blogger.com (Jenna St. Hilaire) — Wed, 05 Jun 2013 17:47:00 +0000

Hello, readers,

The day has finally come. I've been moderating away, but after getting well over a hundred spam comments on Monday's post alone, I've decided to enable Captcha.

I know it's frustrating. I'm sorry. I hate it, too.

Harry Potter Book Club: Sorcerer's Stone, Chapters 8-10

noreply@blogger.com (Jenna St. Hilaire) — Mon, 03 Jun 2013 20:05:00 +0000

Hold onto your pointy black hats! We're getting into Quidditch.

Which has been adapted into a full-contact, non-flying, fo'-realz sport, by the way... it looks like fun, but also potentially very painful. Here's the Complete Muggle's Guide, if you want further information.

First, however: This past week's discussion contained a variety of wonders, from Laura sorting Lady Gaga songs into various Houses, to Masha and Seth questioning why the Hufflepuff mascot isn't a goat, to Christie pointing out another aspect of House symbolism:

This brings to the forefront of my mind the idea that the houses of Hogwarts are actually four different aspects of one person. Though more developed in some than in others, most characters—and all real people—have to some extend the daring of Gryffindor, the loyalty of Hufflepuff, the cleverness of Ravenclaw, and the potential for power that is in Slytherin. It would do very well to explain the stereotyping of the houses because each house is not a complete personality, but an aspect of one boiled down to its essence (oooh, alchemy terminology—totally unintentional!)

Alchemy discussions coming very soon, by the way.

Masha also took on John Granger's distinction between invocational versus incantational magic:

Granger then goes on to liken Rowling’s magic to that of Lewis and Tolkien. There are similarities, for certain, but he chooses a strange example in Caspian’s invocation of aid (it’s a musical invocation, which is Granger’s link to his approved incantational magic - but it’s hard to avoid the obvious call to help from beyond)... Magic is not something easily divided - incantations often invoke, invocations often implore, and God-magic can include both - as the Liturgy does, as Tirian’s call or Frodo’s “A Elbereth Gilthoniel” do; as forbidden magic does (and all magic apart from God is forbidden, be it chanting spells or calling up ghosts).

While pointing out that there's no demonism in Harry Potter is helpful on occasion in arguing in favor of Christians reading the books, I agree with Masha entirely in that post. Rowling's magic is about as non-pagan as it can be without changing the words witchcraft and wizardry, but the words are there and are not so easily worked around. I don't, however, think the Potter books lead a lot of people into witchcraft. I think they lead a lot of people to be either a) more fervent Christians or b) more fervent social liberals... or, if nothing else, c) more fervent internet junkies... and potential readers can interpret the dangers there at will.

Also, for your vicarious cooking pleasure, I made pumpkin pasties, using this fresh pumpkin filling recipe (which made WAY too much pumpkin filling for the amount of pie crust I made; next time, I'll cut it in half):

I used frozen pumpkin puree, actually, which I ought to have strained, and substituted heavy cream for the evaporated milk. The flavoring turned out pretty superb; I just ended up with three times what I needed.

For crust, I made a recipe for an eight-inch double crust pie.

Pie pastry gets tougher the more it's worked, so I don't recommend rolling the scraps more than twice. Also, the coffee mug as template meant making tiny little pasties with no more than two teaspoons of filling apiece. They were good, but a higher ratio of filling to pastry would have made them more flavorful. No pun intended.

I melted butter for the tops and baked them on wax paper. The latter proved important; I doubt they'd ever have come off even a greased baking sheet in one piece.

They turned out really cute, however—and rather tasty:

And now, for next week's discussion!

* * *

Read: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, Chapters 8-10

Here's another recipe I'm inclined to try: steak and kidney pie. That's Jamie Oliver's dad's recipe, by the way, so I presume it's awesome, regardless of what kidney tastes like. (I have no idea, never having tried it.) The difficulty is that I'm at a loss where to get kidney in America, or in Bellingham, anyway, and although my husband is unbelievably patient with my attempts at making British food, I do not think he'll appreciate it if I substitute liver.

Potential Discussion Points:

Quidditch Rivals by Linnpuzzle

1. Safety isn't taken all that seriously at Hogwarts; nor, apparently, among wizards in general. Not by modern urban standards, at least. Madam Hooch's first flying class is disaster waiting to happen, and sheesh, what could go wrong with aggressive leather balls flying around trying to knock people off brooms fifty feet in the air?

Some perspective: According to Washington state motor vehicle laws, children are required to be in car seats or some other form of child restraint system until they're eight years old or 4'9" tall (an impressive hardship for enthusiastic young Catholic families, who may easily have four or five children under eight). Children are required to ride in back seats "when practical" until age 13. So, an eleven-year-old kid just three years out of booster seats in Washington state cars could be riding a flying broom skyward with twenty of his fellows at Hogwarts. A twelve-year-old, still forced to ride in the back seat of a minivan out here, could there be legally chased around in the air by Bludgers.

Believe me, I understand the desire and the reasons for child safety laws. But what kid wouldn't rather be at Hogwarts?

Warner Bros. Source: "Severus Snape: One Teacher's Hero"
by Mary Beth Ellis

2. Rulebreaking and unethical behavior are standard practice at Hogwarts, not just among the students, but among the teachers as well. Snape's bullying of Harry and Neville is mind-boggling in these early chapters (as well as throughout much of the series). Even strict McGonagall, however, rewards a broken rule and gets the school regulations bent further for the sake of having a good Quidditch team. Faculty rulebreaking makes for handy plot points all the way through the series, but the thought of a professor like Snape being allowed to go on teaching year after year is just plain shocking.

I suspect both these sorts of things are more common among public and private school systems than a demure little homeschooler like myself could ever imagine. But just because something's common doesn't mean it's good, and the whole of Dumbledore's spoilerific history is more comprehensible to me than the lone fact of his keeping Snape on staff—even though I know exactly why he did it.

3. Harry's big childhood weakness is his flat-out hatred toward Malfoy and the Dursleys, an actual pleasure in watching them suffer harm. Considering how much harm he suffers at their hands, and how little moral direction he's ever had, this is not surprising. It's also—from the Catholic point of view, at least—not a good thing; it's serious sin, in fact. No part of Harry's story is more uncomfortable for me to read than his moments of glee over his enemies' pain.

I'd like to talk about future resolutions of this problem, but that would mean spoilers all over the place.

4. "There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other..." I always thought this statement was rather profound. Perhaps anything's possible, but risking life and limb together and working for each other's safety is one of the surest ways of creating camaraderie. I used to work in outdoor adventure education, and this concept was very familiar among that crowd—and I still have warm feelings toward long-out-of-touch friends who pulled me out of a river or talked me down a nervewracking rappel.

5. Quidditch: way cooler than football of either the American or The-Rest-Of-The-World varieties. I'm not sure if there's anything in particular anyone wants to discuss about it, and I'm afraid enough of heights and uncoordinated enough with balls that I doubt I'd be good at it, but still. It sounds like so much fun.

Tutshill Tornadoes Quidditch Player by KlaasVDV

Happy reading and writing!

Street Hockey Obligations and other stories

noreply@blogger.com (Jenna St. Hilaire) — Fri, 31 May 2013 23:40:00 +0000

Anyone who smiles and cries and goes agog over Orson Scott Card novels as often as I do may not need another reason to love the author, but I found several dozen in this interview over at The Millions. I don't have a hard number on that; I didn't count the sentences in the post.

Among other things, he explained for me why I find present tense novels uncomfortable:

First person present tense [is] a convention that makes sense in French, which hates its preterite, but none in English, where our real present is present progressive: Not “I pick up the envelope from the table” but “I am picking up the envelope from the table.” Who could bear to read a story, let alone a novel, in the true present tense of natural spoken English? So we get stories written in this artificial, impossible voice.... It worked for Hunger Games because the story was so powerful; but the choice hampered the sequels.

and paraphrased Dumbledore* in response to a question about Xenocide and religion:

Even when we are genetically modified (and we all are; it simply is nature rather than government that usually does the modifying), our self is distinguished by what we choose to do about our drives and impulses, our weaknesses and strengths.

and gave further confirmation of his unusual perceptiveness about human nature:

All knowledge that we believe so firmly that we act upon it is faith, and almost none of it is based on our personal experience. We believe what others have told us, and consider “sane” those who agree with the people we agree with.

Advisory: if you want to save yourself a serious headache over the savagery of semi-anonymous humanity on the internet, do not read the comments. Judging by the dozen or so I saw, there's not much point, anyway, seeing as how they're not often responding to the article.

* * *

The question now is, should I get my next Card novel in paperback, or download it onto this?:

Less than twenty-four hours with that Kindle Fire, and... I think I might actually read books on it. Not that I didn't read books on the hardworking old 2nd Generation Kindle George passed on to me—I loved having it for book club books and free classics off Amazon, but I never figured out how to use it easily for anything I wanted to re-read.

The old Kindle burned out this week, and as I spoke with an Amazon CS rep, he said, "We can get you some good discounts on upgrades..."

He wasn't kidding. (Thanks for that, George!!) And now I have a Kindle Fire. And—not from Amazon—a cold, which has unexpectedly cleared up a bunch of my weekend. I'm furious about the cold; I wanted to have the book club girls over tonight and go to my friend Donna's party tomorrow, and I still hope to sing Mozart with the choir on Sunday and go see The Lonely Forest. But this does mean I'll have more time to set up apps and possibly start in on some Wodehouse.

* * *

Maia's favorite place to cuddle down this week: in my avocado plant.

* * *

I had to limit myself to a reasonable number of photos of exciting garden things this week. One of my favorites was discovering a hummingbird whirring around the hanging basket my in-laws gave us:

Lower left, just above the eaves of the neighbors' roof

I am also thrilled about having a way to keep cabbage worm butterflies out of my kale. Apparently tulle works well as a netting cover, even when it's bright pink stuff left over from tutu-making. Of course, I accidentally set one of the bricks on one of the long-suffering baby kale plants, but it seems to have forgiven me.

Then there's the up-and-coming fruit. This second-year blueberry plant is trying its hardest to please:

One of the surest ways to make me smile.

...and our cherry sapling is ripening its first fruit.

Then there are old roses and new roses, about to bloom their hearts out:

And the elderberry starts that my mom gave me just this spring are budding.

* * *

Music of the week: If you feature music regularly on your blog, and then you play a game of street hockey** with a musician, I think you're contractually obligated to feature them at first opportunity. But I would anyway—I've always loved John's voice and the thought he puts into his lyrics.

He's also an all-around good guy and one of our best hockey forwards. :)

* * *

The unfortunate thing about having a little cold is that it doesn't get you out of housecleaning. Lou would understand, but I'm not sick enough to overlook the hair in the bathtub and the even distribution of cat litter throughout the house. Off I go.

Happy weekend!

* The Dumbledore quote: "It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities."—from Chamber of Secrets, chapter 18

** The Great Annual Memorial Day Street Hockey Game, as I think of it. This was its fourteenth year. I'd never miss it if I could help (though sometimes people can't help... it wasn't the same without you, Matt and Darci!) All you street hockey Bible study friends, you're wonderful. <3

Currently Reading: Shadow of the Giant

noreply@blogger.com (Jenna St. Hilaire) — Thu, 30 May 2013 05:48:00 +0000

She had come here from Rwanda, as humans had come out of Africa for fifty thousand years. Not as part of a tribe that climbed down into caves to paint their stories and worship their gods. Not as part of a wave of invaders. But... wasn't she here to take a baby out of a woman's arms? To claim that what came from this stranger's womb would belong to her from now on? Just as so many people had stood on the hills overlooking the bay and said, This is mine now, and it always was mine, regardless of the people who happen to think it belongs to them and have held this place all their lives.

Mine mine mine. That was the curse and power of human beings—that what they saw and loved, they had to have. They could share it with other people but only if they conceived of those people as being somehow their own. What we own is ours. What you own should also be ours. In fact, you own nothing, if we want it. Because you are nothing. We are the real people, you are only posing as people in order to try to deprive us of what God means us to have.

And now she understood for the first time the magnitude of what Graff and Mazer Rackham and, yes, even Peter were all trying to do.

They were trying to get human beings to define themselves as all belonging to one tribe.

Author: Orson Scott Card

Synopsis: Bean, dying of giantism, doesn't have a lot of time to do the great things he has to do: aid Peter Wiggin in creating worldwide hegemony, and find his own eight missing children. Nor does he have a lot of time to live with his wife, Petra, and their son. With just months allotted to him, he's all over the world, leading armies into the final battles that will free their nations to ratify Peter's constitution, and getting the help of the International Fleet in tracking down his and Petra's IVF babies. As the clock ticks down for Bean and the chance for hegemony, the choices are made—not just by Bean and Petra, but by the other Battle Schoolers as well as Peter and the I.F.—that will set the course for post-Formic Wars human history.

Notes: This is the fourth of the Shadow books, and in it, Card picks up the question of what happens to a lot of young people who have never known anything but war, as Ender's Jeesh and other key Battle School graduates take their places among the heads of state. It's thoughtfully done, if not carried to great personal depths in every case; so much happens in this story that a lot of the political maneuvers simply have to be summed up, and some of the important character development happens in just one or two scenes. Card has quite the knack for doing great things with lone scenes, however.

Of those great lone scenes, I was surprised at which characters' big moments affected me the most. This was Bean's book, and Petra's, and yet I have loved Bean and Petra for five books. I did not expect to love Peter. That astonishing little delight provided for a hefty share of the sweetness in the bittersweet ending, and in some ways, this was his book as well. The narrative hops perspective a lot, giving the reader sight into the various Battle Schoolers' struggles to shape the world and their own lives; it focuses on Bean and Petra, but Peter's genius and his motivations, his hard work and his healing are the central tale.

As for the Battle Schoolers' struggles, Card structures the military movements with outstanding logic, best as I can tell; he appears to have done his research thoroughly on the various countries involved, and everything from motive for action to the playing out of battle upon available terrain seemed thought-through and believable to me. Someone more knowledgeable of strategy than myself may catch mistakes, but the only thing I saw that resembled a flaw was in how briefly big events had to be summarized—probably a consequence both of word count limits and the fact that not every active country had a Battle School graduate to follow around.

But that abbreviating of key events was well made up for by the thoughtfully optimistic perspective on life and humanity that carries Card's work. If Shadow Puppets came off slightly moralistic, Shadow of the Giant reverted to true Orson Scott Card empathy and brilliance. The comprehension of human nature and culture, the compassionate philosophy, and the powerful, ever-hopeful drive toward light and redemption are overwhelmingly beautiful even amid grief.

And there is grief in this book. This is a tale of hope and happiness and suffering together, and it was both the sorrow and the beauty of it—and the truth of it, for that matter—that had me in tears for the last thirty pages this morning. Card shows redemption working in the most unexpected characters, of which Peter is only the most central, and his latter scenes allow for the existence and goodness of a God who has, as in Psalm 18, 'made darkness his hiding place.' It was those things, even more than the sorrow, that put my eyeliner to the test. (Both eyeliner and mascara survived the meltdown. I'm impressed.)

Card sold me on the ending, but I can imagine some readers being a touch less satisfied. A handful of threads are left unresolved for sequels' sake, and the heartache and sweetness are pretty inextricable. I'll recommend the entire Shadow series wholeheartedly to anyone who has read much of the Ender saga and loved it.

For anyone who has not read the Ender saga: if I taught writing, Ender's Game and Speaker for the Dead would be required reading for an understanding of how to write humanity; but even for those only looking for some good reading, I recommend those two books almost without reserve. They are some of the best modern fiction I've ever come across.

Harry Potter Book Club: Sorcerer's Stone, Chapter 7

noreply@blogger.com (Jenna St. Hilaire) — Mon, 27 May 2013 17:00:00 +0000

Warrior Girl's homemade wands.

Last week we talked wands, so for those of us who can't quite justify shopping at the WB shop or Alivans, here's a link on how to make your own. Ollivander doesn't mention papier-mâché, but if he didn't use it, perhaps Gregorovitch did. But as Seth pointed out this week, you'll want to make sure it's long enough.

Masha began the conversation on classism in the story, with the probability of much more to come (yes, Masha and Seth wrote in one post together, so the wands and classism commentary are at the same link):

Harry is somewhat outside class - as lost in suburbia as he would be along side Draco, watching with longing the pleasantly proletariat Weasleys knock about at the train station. It’s an opportunity to set him up to do ‘great things’ formed either by a connection to and welcoming of the good that can grow in all of the classes he can see - but never belong to; or else a rejection of these pockets of belonging and all the people who fit easily in one or the other. I don’t know that Rowling managed either in the end..but right now, Harry is still in formation - full of potential and the loneliness it brings.

Christie talked about expectations:

So what is a boy to do? When he is already "known" by a whole class—no, a whole world—of people, yet still inherently unknown? How does he establish himself as an individual? And how does he climb out from under the shadow of such a daunting figure, someone he can't even be allowed to name in order to stand against face-to-face and ask, "Who are you? And, more importantly, who does that make me?"

And there's magic to be had over at Kelly Orazi's, too, as she discusses similarities between Mr. Dursley and Uncle Andrew from The Chronicles of Narnia:

While the others are able to hear beautiful music and understand the language of animals, [Uncle Andrew] and Jadis (the White Witch of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe) cannot and will not understand. The narrator states, "For what you see and hear depends a good deal where you're standing: it also depends on what sort of person you are" (125). Like Mr. Dursley, Uncle Andrew talks himself out believing what he is seeing and hearing...

And now, witches and wizards and Muggle ladies and gentlemen... are you ready for Chapter 7? This is a big chapter.

* * *

Read: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, Chapter 7: The Sorting Hat

All right, firs' years! Which House are you in?

I know where I belong.

I'm Hufflepuff and I'm proud

Yeah, I'm not one of the crowd

I'm in the right House, baby, I was Sorted this way*

Did you know that Hufflepuff has produced the fewest Dark wizards of any Hogwarts House? That you get doused in vinegar if you try and get into our dormitories without knowing what you're doing? That our dormitories are a lot like hobbit holes—round, underground, comfortable, and with easy proximity to the kitchens? That Professor Sprout keeps lots of interesting plants in the common room, some of which sing and dance? That, like the badger which serves as our emblem, we're quiet but extremely tenacious?

Okay, so that one's mostly aimed at Slytherin.
But Slytherins are the ones who mostly treat us like idiots, so, yeah.

All right, I'll try and rein in the House pride. Too much boasting isn't considered seemly among us, after all.

Also, we got Edward Cullen. *grins*
Composite by loveeisGonee.

Potential Discussion Points:

1. The Houses. Here we begin one of the more controversial aspects of the British Wizarding educational system: the dividing of Hogwarts into rival houses based on choice virtues or ideals. The rivalry is the source of much fun and team spirit and delight, which, as you've seen above, I don't have much trouble displaying wholeheartedly. On the other hand, that same rivalry has been known to cause serious problems and to exacerbate the usual competition and bullying among students—which my Hufflepuff heart can't be anything less than horrified over.

Discussion could go a million ways, but here are the dividing lines, as they ostensibly stand:

Shields via the Harry Potter Lexicon

Gryffindor

Values: Courage; "daring, nerve and chivalry"
Elemental correspondence: Fire
Emblem: Lion
Colors: Red and gold
Head of House: Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration Mistress
Ghost: Nearly Headless Nick
Teaches: Standing up for others, and for what is right
Weaknesses: Seeks glory, tends to believe itself to be the best of the bunch
Arch-rival: Slytherin

...HPL: Slytherin

Slytherin:

Values: Ambition, cleverness, status
Elemental correspondence: Water
Emblem: Snake
Colors: Green and silver
Head of House: Severus Snape, Potions Master
Ghost: The Bloody Baron
Teaches: Cunning, competition
Weaknesses: Arrogance, slyness, sometimes meanness
Arch-rival: Gryffindor

HPL: Ravenclaw

Ravenclaw:

Values: Intelligence, wit, ready mind
Elemental correspondence: Air
Emblem: Raven
Colors: Blue and bronze
Head of House: Filius Flitwick, Charms Master
Ghost: The Grey Lady
Teaches: Logic, reasoning
Weaknesses: Snobbery, "know-it-all" tendencies
Arch-rival: Hufflepuff

HPL: Hufflepuff

Hufflepuff:

Values: Loyalty, hard work, inclusiveness
Elemental correspondence: Earth
Emblem: Badger
Colors: Yellow and black
Head of House: Pomona Sprout, Herbology Mistress
Ghost: The Fat Friar
Teaches: Work ethic, kindness, universal dignity
Weaknesses: Often low achieving, over-simplistic
Arch-rival: Ravenclaw

All that should be something to start from, in symbolism studies and sources of rivalry.

2. Harry gets his first sight of several important people in this chapter. Among them are:

Albus Dumbledore, whose hilarious opening speech is the introduction to a supremely clever wizard who has learned not to take himself or anyone else too seriously.
Severus Snape, who obviously hates Harry from the outset—an unfortunate position for a teacher to take—and who seems somehow connected to Harry's past.
The pain in his own scar. Anything more than that, and we're straight into spoiler territory.
Peeves the poltergeist. With Peeves, Rowling proved her imagination to be wickedly funny. I'm glad he doesn't haunt my house, but he's one of the details that makes Hogwarts seem not only real but well worth visiting.

3. All right, this might not make much of a discussion point, but I love that the ceiling of the Great Hall is enchanted to look like the sky—full of stars, when Harry first sees it. If I were a Hogwarts student, the Astronomy classes would definitely be among my favorites.

Discuss!

* I love this Not Literally song. Advisory: being a Gaga parody, that is not a modestly-dressed bunch of girls in the music video. Fair warning! But the song is awesome. If you want to check out Not Literally's other House songs, here are their Gryffindor, Slytherin, and Ravenclaw anthems.

P.S. Don't look too closely at my wand. It has a sneaky habit of taking the form of a knitting needle.

Sunny Side Up and other stories

noreply@blogger.com (Jenna St. Hilaire) — Sat, 25 May 2013 01:31:00 +0000

So, the interstate bridge that collapsed last night is just a few miles south of us:

Photo: Joshua Trujillo, seattlepi.com

Which meant that I spent last evening calling family in the area and then watching Facebook and the news to make sure everyone was safe. As it turns out, no one died—something of a miracle; the Skagit River is something like eighteen feet deep there, and just shy of ice water this time of year. Had it happened a couple of hours earlier, during rush hour... that's a busy bridge, and it's hard to imagine that everyone would have made it out of the water alive.

Traffic is going to be a real bugbear for months to come, but I'm going to try and smile through it. Thanks be to God, we were spared tragedy. Moore, OK has worse to deal with by many orders of magnitude. Thoughts and prayers are with you, Moore.

* * *

Doctor Who fans? Buffy fans? I've seen only one episode of the former, and none of the latter, but I suspect I'd be addicted to both if I were willing to prioritize them over blogging, which is what I'd have to give up to have time for television. If you're a fan, though, check out Kat and Curt's TV Re-View, a podcast in which a couple of Mythgard Institute students—Katherine's a Hog's Head friend—watch and analyze both stories. I almost wish I was an addict, because this podcast is probably a lot of fun.

* * *

Speaking of The Hog's Head, it's under major reconstructive surgery right now, for any of you wondering why no one's posting. No one's posting because nargles got in and shut nearly all of us out. Tech elves and Headmaster Travis are working away on getting it cleaned out, but it's proving to be about as difficult as the doxy removal in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

* * *

OK, normal blog post detail!

* * *

This peony looks oddly like fried eggs, sunny side up:

But it blooms wildly, and I love it. The traditional ones are hard at work, too:

The snowball bush is still in full bloom:

And the maple tree is making these funny little things, which I don't have enough botany to name properly:

And we have two tiny lily of the valley blossoms!

...seen in context here:

* * *

Music of the week: King of Instruments feature! I need to do these regularly. Dad St. Hilaire sent me this one recently: Bach's Sinfonia, played by Diane Bish.

* * *

Off to make dinner... Happy weekend! And yes, there should be a Harry Potter post on Monday. Even though I will be off playing street hockey most of the day. :D

Currently Reading: The Last Unicorn

noreply@blogger.com (Jenna St. Hilaire) — Thu, 23 May 2013 03:05:00 +0000

"Do you know what I am, butterfly?" the unicorn asked hopefully, and he replied, "Excellent well, you're a fishmonger. You're my everything, you are my sunshine, you are old and gray and full of sleep, you're my pickle-face, consumptive Mary Jane." He paused, fluttering his wings against the wind, and added conversationally, "Your name is a golden bell hung in my heart. I would break my body to pieces to call you once by your name."

"Say my name, then," the unicorn begged him. "If you know my name, tell it to me."

"Rumplestiltskin," the butterfly answered happily. "Gotcha! You don't get no medal." He jigged and twinkled on her horn, singing, "Won't you come home, Bill Bailey, won't you come home, where once he could not go. Buckle down, Winsocki, go and catch a falling star. Clay lies still, but blood's a rover, so I should be called kill-devil all the parish over." His eyes were gleaming scarlet in the glow of the unicorn's horn.

She sighed and plodded on, both amused and disappointed. It serves you right, she told herself. You know better than to expect a butterfly to know your name. All they know are songs and poetry, and anything else they hear. They mean well, but they can't keep things straight. And why should they? They die so soon.

Author: Peter S. Beagle

Synopsis: The unicorn lives in a lilac wood where spring never fades, and she knows no sorrow. Upon hearing a rumor that she is the last unicorn in the world, however, she sets out to find the rest of her kind. Joined in her quest by the magician Schmendrick, whose unreliable magic causes more problems than it solves, and gaunt, bad-tempered Molly Grue, whose one grace is her love for the unicorn, she must brave the castle of King Haggard, where the Red Bull awaits her—the demon which drove all the other unicorns out of the world—and so does a more painful fate: that of experiencing mortal fears and loves.

Notes: The best books need more than one read for proper absorption, and this is one of them, which means that at the moment, I can only give it half the review it ought to have. Written in thickly poetic prose, with dreamlike aphorisms of original make broadcast throughout the text, it demands attention and thought beyond the one scatterbrained plunge through I could manage this week. I'm more than a little sorry that the library wants its copy back today.

There are a thousand ideas running loose in the story: the unicorn's mystique and immortality as related to by the humans, the thorough self-sacrifice demanded by love, the effects of greed and fear versus joy and hope on the human life, the effects of the physical body and mortality on the soul, and especially the need for—in the terms of the tale—the presence of unicorns in the world. There are striking Christian parallels, though I don't know enough about the author to tell whether he meant them, or how. The story itself is a wandering, often dark fairy tale, but it's drawn along by a single bright light that flickers but holds true.

Schmendrick and Molly, the unicorn's primary companions, are fascinating in that neither of them starts off as particularly sympathetic, but both earn their place. Prince Lír, too, is an odd mix of heroic and awkward. King Haggard, for all his badness, is not the sort of villain who can be indiscriminately hated, and the reader even winds up feeling sorry for the skull on the wall and partially losing sympathy for the unicorn in her mortal phase. It's uncomfortable at times, but the characters grow throughout the story, and the final juxtaposition of joy and suffering manages to be both painful and beautiful.

There was a moment toward the end where I was reminded acutely of The Little White Horse, another beautifully thick unicorn fantasy written for children but meant for the childlike. The two stories aren't much alike in terms of characters or plot, but both catch the exquisite bliss and sorrow inspired by the mystical beauty of the unicorn. They share a scene, more or less, albeit to different purposes, but it's hard to say whether Beagle's book owes anything directly to Goudge's twenty-two-years-older story, and not just because the older tale is a human drama touched by a unicorn and the newer is a unicorn's drama touched by humans. Goudge wrote a clearer, jewel-toned story with bright, untainted optimism; Beagle wrote in softer, more diluted colors, with a bit more modern sadness and a little less confidence in the goodness of either humanity or magic. Goudge is more my usual style, but I suspect Beagle appeals more naturally to most present-day readers.

The story meanders a bit, but that allows it to be contemplative in ways that heavily plot-driven tales rarely manage. It's the kind of read that can be picked up and put down and picked up again, thought through and relished, and while I didn't have time for a second cover-to-cover read, I did go back over a few key parts. Even that was enough to suggest it would only get better with time and consideration, and prove that it deserves the label of classic.

I've no idea how I made it to thirty-five without having ever read this book, especially since in childhood I saw the first part of the animated movie and have wondered about the ending ever since. Fortunately, I've never lost my little-girl love for unicorns. The tale of this unicorn is one I hope to have in my own library before long.

Harry Potter Book Club: Sorcerer's Stone, Chapters 5-6

noreply@blogger.com (Jenna St. Hilaire) — Tue, 21 May 2013 05:22:00 +0000

Art by Alkanet.

There's nothing more magical than fairy tales, and Christie's last post recognized our Harry's early similarities to a popular one:

the recurring theme of chapters two and three is nothing short of a Cinderella tale, a boy-who-in-reality-is-a-prince adopted by relatives and treated as a servant in his own house.... as far as situations go, it couldn't have been much worse for him and he couldn't have come out better.

She also covered the timelessness of the tale—that is, its clean avoidance of obvious references to pop culture, which would date it very quickly. The story would feel dated even nowadays if Rowling had built her world into the brand names and celebrities and public ideals and debates of summer 1991, which is the actual time period in which these few chapters of the story occur. As she didn't, however, children and the childlike should be able to read Harry Potter in a hundred years as easily as we now read Frances Hodgson Burnett's A Little Princess.

With a tip of pointy hat, then, I recommend Christie's post; also, her picture of her own homemade Knickerbocker Glory. Masha had the week off since her piece was already up, so we'll move forward. Before we do, however: the first butterbeer attempt!

From Masha's kitchen:

1 pint chocolate stout (Jenna used cold stout, but room temperature would make for a warmer drink)
1 pint vanilla gelato

Melt gelato over medium heat, stirring frequently, until gelato simmers (but don't boil it!) Whip on high speed until frothy. Stir in stout, pour immediately into mugs, and serve.

They come in PINTS???

Stir three times clockwise to one time counterclockwise

Every wizarding family needs a KitchenAid mixer;
you'll never get such good results with frothing spells

Make swirling motion with wand, say "Tempero"

One for the wizard, one for the witch

Got butterbeer?

The result met nearly all of my criteria for a good butterbeer recipe: 1) it was alcoholic, 2) it would almost certainly be good either warm or cold (for cold, just chill the stout well and don't heat the gelato past melting), and 3) it was foamy, with a nice, smooth consistency that wasn't at all watery or soda-poppy.

Also, it tasted good. This is where most butterbeer recipes fail; they're usually cream soda based and sweet enough to make your teeth ache. The stout gives this one a strong, pleasantly sharp flavor underneath the cream. It's like a cappucino translated from coffee language to alcohol. It did not taste buttery or butterscotchy, but that was the closest thing to a fault I could find with it. This recipe's going to be hard to top.

And now, Accio this week's study!

* * *

Source.

Read: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, Chapters 5-6

(We'll probably take more chapters per week once we're into Quidditch games and chasing around Hogwarts, but there's so much in these early chapters that I don't want to blast through them at the expense of good discussion.)

I am feeling very tempted to try this pumpkin pasty recipe. It could happen. I'll take pictures if I do.

Potential Discussion Points:

1. The amount of foreshadowing in these two chapters is astounding. It's hard to talk about all that without spoilers, but seriously... Gringotts and Griphook and thieves, James' wand being "excellent for transfiguration", the wand cores, Dumbledore's accomplishments, Harry's being "singled out"...

Holly tree, by Colin Smith. Source.

2. The symbolism of the wand cores and woods fascinates me, although I don't know much. I don't quite trust the websites Google turned up at the top, but here's what first results and a little comparing with the story got me:

mahogany: "strength and endurance"
willow: varied symbolism from use in the Jewish Feast of Tabernacles to Celtic association with the moon, which would work alchemically within the books
holly: unconditional love, sacrifice, and reincarnation
yew: dark, complicated symbolism involving immortality and death

Again, however, that's a Google search for you. Masha, this is your area of expertise! You're welcome to debunk any of my research, above and below. But here's Rowling on Harry's and Voldemort's wand woods, anyway:

"It was not an arbitrary decision: holly has certain connotations that were perfect for Harry, particularly when contrasted with the traditional associations of yew, from which Voldemort’s wand is made. European tradition has it that the holly tree (the name comes from ‘holy’) repels evil, while yew, which can achieve astonishing longevity (there are British yew trees over two thousand years old), can symbolise both death and resurrection; the sap is also poisonous." —Quoted from the Harry Potter wiki entry on wand wood*, referencing a now-dead link to Rowling's site

Art by Giova94.
Feel free to peruse the wand woods and cores,
decide what combination would be most likely to choose you,
and post the results in the combox!

According to Pottermore, my own wand is vine, like Hermione's, with a phoenix feather core, 14 1/2 inches long, and pliant. I like the vine wood's reputation for sensitivity and attraction to "personalities with hidden depths". But if I think outside Pottermore, I'm tempted to lean toward the likelihood of ending up with a unicorn hair core; I have sort of a devotion to innocence. The fiery rebirth of the phoenix is a moving concept as well, however, and the reputed flexibility of it appeals to another part of me, so I suppose things could go either way.

3. Hedwig, Harry's quiet white owl, is probably named after St. Hedwig of Silesia. St. Hedwig—feast day, 16 October—is the patron saint over the death of children.

4. Young students' first entry into the magical world as initiates is beautiful, even mystagogical. It starts with an act of faith—running headlong into a concrete barrier to get onto Platform 9 3/4—and continues with the Keeper of the Keys at Hogwarts leading them to the school on a boat ride, heading their procession up to the castle, and knocking three times on the door.

It reminds me a little of initiation into the sacred mysteries (sacraments) as a Catholic, actually. I don't recall our deacon marching my group of candidates up to the door of the church and knocking, but I believe that's sometimes done. Baptism itself is an initiation rite, though I suppose talking about Dennis Creevey getting dumped into the lake on his boat ride would be getting ahead of the game a little. And we won't even whisper about a certain event involving a silver doe yet.

5. "I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter. After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things—terrible, yes, but great."

6. The Weasleys—oh, the Weasleys, all foreshadowing their future. Molly is immediately empathetic and motherly, Ginny curious, Ron stubborn and self-protective but friendly, Fred and George hilarious, Percy self-important. Bill and Charlie get mention, and though Arthur doesn't, I wind up thinking of him all the same. I love the Weasleys.

I also love Ministry of Magic. They're probably going to get a lot of their videos embedded in these posts.

7. Another of the best naming jobs in the story: Draco Malfoy. Draco is Latin for dragon, and Malfoy is basically the French mal foi: bad faith. I'd call that a spoiler, but Draco doesn't waste any time making his snobbery and meanness known to Harry and reader alike.

8. Hermione Granger. I love our first sight of her—bossy, know-it-all, sniffy, and yet she's trying to help poor Neville find his toad. That's our girl!

Lots of things to talk about this week, and as always, those are just the options that came to me! Take from these topics or pick your own, and have fun!

* I only discovered the HP Wiki entries after doing all that Google search, which is why I didn't just take everything from there... silly Jenna!

Mopping to the Beat and other stories

noreply@blogger.com (Jenna St. Hilaire) — Fri, 17 May 2013 22:15:00 +0000

* * *

I'm short on words today because I've got an hour before a three-day scramble that's going to take in four different towns ranging 30 minutes to nearly three hours from home. And I want to spend some time working on my book. I want to, actually want to, which is amazing. Of course, I've been trying to get everything else done first, but at least I cleaned house to techno music. That makes it go faster. Even while taking a little time to dance.

Right, where was I? Short on words. But here, pictures:

Stars of Bethlehem... one of my favorite blooms of the year

Snowball bush

Golden chain... Mom, this is what that baby bush I gave you
will grow up to be someday, if I didn't kill it in the transplanting

Rhododendron.
This bush puts its whole heart into flowering.
I love it.

* * *

Music of the week: After a listen to Christie's Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone playlist, my first response was: Loreena McKennitt, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL MY LIFE?

She had me at 'Dante'. I'm already trying to learn it on the piano.

Also proven by Christie's playlist: Seth was right; I do like Maire/Moya Brennan. How could I not like Enya's sister? Music from her coming after I have time to listen around to more of her repertoire on YouTube and pick a favorite.

* * *

I've finally got my coffee and about thirty minutes. That ought to be enough to get a couple of paragraphs down.

Happy weekend!

Review Fail

noreply@blogger.com (Jenna St. Hilaire) — Thu, 16 May 2013 05:06:00 +0000

It finally happened: I didn't finish a book in time to review it on Wednesday. Granted, I read half of two books, but that's not particularly helpful here.

If you're desperate for a review, try Giffy Reviews. This one is my favorite—I've heard that about The House of Leaves, though I've never read it. Also, there's a cat. But there's plenty of awesome to be had in other entries as well.

Peace offering: a cat picture blooper. Is it just cat eyes in the flash, or is Maia wearing Spectrespecs? You decide.

Harry Potter Book Club: On Being Villainous

noreply@blogger.com (Jenna St. Hilaire) — Tue, 14 May 2013 03:31:00 +0000

[Spoiler redacted]
Source.

Hail, Muggles and wizards! We're hanging out in chapters 2-4 of Sorcerer's Stone this week, as Christie's post is yet to come. We can't blame her for the delay; she's been off among flutterby bushes and floating champagne bottles, wearing her best dress robes and witnessing a supreme example of that which is stronger than magic.

While we wait, of course, we at least need some things to talk about, and fortunately there's always something to say about Harry Potter. Before I start talking, though, let me direct your attention to Masha's excellent piece about name taboos, and the ensuing discussion:

Rowling does a lovely thing with Harry in allowing him to forget that fear. Because while it’s true that “fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself” it’s also true that speaking the name of another gives, in a vague and magical sense, a hint of power over him. We do not speak the name of God, but when we cast out demons, we do so by name. I like the subtle reminder here, that Harry is unafraid of Voldemort’s name because he has no need to fear. He rests in the power he has only begun to discover.

I should also add that Masha has come up with the first butterbeer recipe for us to try, the concoction of which will require me to make a trip to the grocery store, which is why you don't have pictures of my own attempt in this post. It hasn't happened yet. Wait till next week. :D

Despite his dearth of lines,
there's an image of him on the internet.
By Annezca.

Your resident wand-waver having recently enjoyed Kat Fernandez's beautifully humble and inspiring piece about suddenly finding herself identifying with Javert from Les Misérables, it seemed—since Harry Potter's tale, like Les Mis, is very much a moralistic one—reasonable to take some time to contemplate possible personal similarity to the moral villains of these early chapters. Which, thus far, is mostly the Dursleys, unless you really want to study the soul of Piers Polkiss, the boy with "a face like a rat" and approximately two speaking lines in the series. Voldemort is mentioned, but we don't know much about him yet, other than that he tried to kill Harry, and we're none of us likely to identify much with that, whether or not we like the books.

Here's the thing: The single most dangerous thing I've ever seen come out of Potter fandom, including my own, is a tendency to identify ourselves with the heroes and our principles with theirs to the point of making dissenters into villains and therefore enemies. Black-and-white moral tales carry this danger alongside the good they offer, and even a tale like this one, designed to encourage love and a righting of injustices, can turn into a justification for a complete lack of mercy and empathy toward anyone who can be perceived as an enemy.

The thing is: regardless of whether they're Republican or Democrat (which is where American Potter fans draw the lines surprisingly often), no one with any innate compassion is going to naturally feel much kinship with the Dursleys (or the Malfoys, or the Death Eaters, or Voldemort, or or or...) This is the way a moralistic tale works. We sympathize with the good guys, and despise the bad guys, and find ourselves championing whatever virtue the author wants us to approve. What we tend to forget is that we all do so in the context of our own pre-formed opinions and priorities.

But while it might be fun to let myself go off on a long-suppressed rant* over the mean-spirited nonsense contained in the idea that the American Republican is the epitome of the Dark Side (Star Wars reference? Not entirely; Harry himself uses that term at least once), it seems my time is better spent considering what ultimately makes characters like the Dursleys bad, and whether that ought to teach us anything about ourselves. I'm sure we'll all agree, anyway, that our own minds could use a good Scourgifying from time to time. Mine does. Disclaimer: never use a Vanishing spell to clean out your own mind.

Anyway, the Dursleys (didn't know I could talk about them for three weeks running, did you?):

You're too quick to judge,
Too quick to hate.
Too quick to speculate.
You're too blind to see,
That truth sets you free.
But then again,
You don't know jack about magic or me.**

I don't like the Dursleys—no one ever does, as far as I know. They're child abusers for one thing, and fatally unimaginative to boot. It horrifies me to think that I might have anything in common with them besides the mere situational fact of being middle class (although not high enough in the middle class tier to afford the outlay of presents Dudley received for his eleventh birthday... sheesh). It's certainly possible to argue that Rowling mocks middle-class values through them; if she did, she only jumped on the popular political bandwagon that suggests a correlation between financial status and virtue or lack thereof, with opinions on what financial status correlates to which virtue depending on whether one leans capitalist or socialist, and on one's own set of background difficulties and personal resentments.

But the Dursleys' problems, in the end, rely on internal issues rather than external ones.

This is not the face of a happy Muggle.
Art by Tr1nks1e.

Vernon's capital sin is pride manifested as the need to control. In that one attribute, he is more like Voldemort than—as we'll later see—even some of Voldemort's head Death Eaters, though far be it from me to suggest he's remotely similar in level. He is happiest when his daily life is running hitch-free under his supervision, and when he's handed the unmanageable problem of an adoptive son with uncontrollable powers, he makes a go of pretending the "problem" doesn't exist.

Petunia's moral weakness is envy:

"How could you not be [a wizard], my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that—that school—and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was—a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!"

She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It seemed she had been wanting to say all this for years.

It would be spoilerific to say too much more, and we can't have that! But the prim little border-garden flower has, we see, never gotten over the fact that she wasn't the tall, white, eye-catching Lily—she's never submitted to the call of humility, never accepted her own status in life. Her failure to do so has enslaved her to the need to prove herself superior to others, which is presumably why she likes spying on neighbors so much.

Oh, the spoilers...
Source.

I don't spy on my neighbors. I promise! Nor do I make my nephews sleep in closets. But if any of you readers can look at Vernon and Petunia and not see at least hints of their sins in yourself—not see the instances when you've made another person's difficulties all about you, the times when you've tried too hard to be attractive or attention-grabbing or likable, the people you've caught yourself judging for their not being as successful as you in some way or other, the times when you've made a point of getting out of an uncomfortable situation even though the discomfort-maker had at least the claim of Christ*** upon you—you're better souls than I.

Oh, and in the spirit of Kat's post... I sincerely hope I never find myself identifying with Bellatrix Lestrange. Because her taste in magic and men... ew. And, she's crazy. But mostly, ew.

Got a post on chapters 2-4 of Harry? Link it in the roundup! And stay tuned over at Christie's blog for her post, possible further thoughts from Masha, and here next week, the next set of readings and—if I can pull it off—butterbeer pictures. :D

* Yes, there's a long-suppressed rant, and I'm not even much of a Republican. I'm disenfranchised. But that bumper sticker and the ideas that go along with it are still mean-spirited nonsense. And that's the truth, so there. Pthththbbth.
** I LOVE that Oliver Boyd and the Remembralls disc, and may link every track by the time this book club ends. Christian Caldeira, you rock.
*** As in, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."

Some Passing Angel and other stories

noreply@blogger.com (Jenna St. Hilaire) — Fri, 10 May 2013 20:56:00 +0000

Some passing angel broke a half-dead sprig of purple lilac off some neighbor's bush two nights ago and threw it in our yard. Lou found the sprig and brought it in, and now our whole living room smells like it.

Goal for this year: get a purple lilac bush. I love our white ones, but the scent is just not the same.

* * *

With Harry Potter taking over Mondays for a while—I'm not complaining; he's ever and always welcome around here—I haven't been talking much about writing. Well. I don't think I can wait till the end of the H.P.B.C. to link Hilary Smith's post on the problem with trying to treat writing as an industrial profession. It's what I'm working with right now:

You're falling behind.
You're lazy.
Why are you so lazy?
Stop making excuses.
Be professional!
Be professional!

I don't have an industrial mind. Sometimes, it weeps for days at a time. That isn't very professional. Some days, it wants to sink to the bottom of the sea. Some days, it dissociates, like the key that's supposed to match up to the keyhole of reality just doesn't fit. Some days, I don't have the right key.

At the moment, I don't even feel like reading, and can't keep my mind on it, which is pretty weird for me. I've been finishing books on Wednesday afternoon and reviewing them Wednesday night.

As for writing, I'm having to dig and scrape through gravel for every word of my favorite section of my own beloved novel. The blinking cursor in a Word document sometimes puts me to the point of tears, though it never lets me actually get there. When I read back over the half-a-book I've gotten polished in the last few months, the gravel-dug feeling disappears and the story delights me—truly delights me: it makes me laugh, catches my attention, pulls all my heartstrings. But every step forward is so blind, so grating, so... just damn hard.

The blue pimpernels and dark red verbena
were some of my favorites last year.
I was so excited to see them at the grocery this week.

I'm not sure what to do with the end of Hilary's post. I'm not sure it is okay that nailing a Chopin prelude and getting blue pimpernels in the garden interest me more than my writing work right now.

It's just hard to know what to do about that. My best instincts, I think, tell me spend some quiet time with sunshine and flowers, love on my piano and guitar and choir, and let myself be taunted daily by the cursor in hopes of getting at least a few words down.

Of course, the standard industrial comfort likes to come around and haunt me: "If you're not enjoying writing it, nobody will enjoy reading it." Which I once believed, but which now makes me want to throw this month's six-hundred-page book club choice at whoever said that to me first. O aphoristic would-be comforter, that is not how things work. But that's another blog post.

* * *

Some of the sunshine and flowers, just for the heck of it:

...okay, these are pumpkin seedlings. I'm just so happy that they're alive.
You can do it, second set of baby pumpkins!

* * *

This week in life with our cat:

Maia: "Hey, it's fun walking on people who are lying under blankets. It's like the uneven floor of the jungle."

Me: "...mmmph... Maia, what time is it? Four-thirty? Six-thirty? It is not morning yet. Get off me."

Maia: "Ooh, make a cave. I want to hide out like a wild cave lion."

Me: "I'm not rolling over on my back and putting up my knees so you can crouch under the blankets and stare at me with glowy cat eyes and pounce on my hand if I happen to scratch my ankle. Go throw socks around the living room or something. Let us sleep."

Maia: "I'll bat your things off your bedside table."

Me: "Do. Not. Do. That. Now scram!!"

...later...

Maia: "MEOW."

Me: "I've got my hands covered in makeup, and the curling iron's hot on the counter. Don't jump up here. What now?"

Maia: "MEOW."

Me: "I don't understand what you want."

Maia: "If you were a good cat person, you'd just know. MEOW."

Me: "MEOW."

Also, there's zefrank's hilarious Sad Cat Diary. Maia could've written two-thirds of that herself.

* * *

Music of the week: The good thing about knowing you tend depressive is that you can actually be aware of the danger when you're skirting the abyss on a particularly unstable stretch of trail. You can see the demon creeping up on you. And sometimes, after a bad day or week, you can put on some fighting music, make a flying leap for a higher path, and shake the devil off. At least, for long enough to catch your breath.

Masha and Christie, thanks for introducing me to Florence and the Machine. This is now one of my favorite songs. (Advisory: admittedly dark video.)

* * *

I'm going to clean house and try and get some sun. And maybe blow off the last five hundred fifty pages of book club book for today and read The Last Unicorn instead. And make fresh bread, and hopefully re-string my guitar, and memorize the communion antiphon so I don't have to rely on shaking fingers to hold the music when I have to intone it in front of God and everybody on Sunday. And maybe I'll spend a little time digging for words.

Happy weekend!

Currently Reading: Scarlet

noreply@blogger.com (Jenna St. Hilaire) — Thu, 09 May 2013 03:47:00 +0000

They lingered, still and silent, Scarlet straining to listen for what had Wolf on edge. Slowly reaching behind her, she pulled the gun from her waistband. The click as she released the safety echoed off the trees.

Off in the woods, a wolf howled. The lonely cry sent a shiver down Scarlet's spine.

Wolf didn't seem surprised.

Then, behind them, another howl, this one farther away. Then another to the north.

Silence crept around them as the howls faded longingly into the air.

"Friends of yours?" Scarlet asked.

Clarity returned to Wolf's expression and he glanced at her, then down at the gun. It struck her as odd that he could be startled by it, when the howls had garnered no reaction at all.

"They won't bother us," he said finally, turning and heading down the tracks.

Author: Marissa Meyer

From Goodreads: The fates of Cinder and Scarlet collide as a Lunar threat spreads across the Earth...

Cinder, the cyborg mechanic, returns in the second thrilling installment of the bestselling Lunar Chronicles. She's trying to break out of prison—even though if she succeeds, she'll be the Commonwealth's most wanted fugitive.

Halfway around the world, Scarlet Benoit's grandmother is missing. It turns out there are many things Scarlet doesn't know about her grandmother or the grave danger she has lived in her whole life. When Scarlet encounters Wolf, a street fighter who may have information as to her grandmother's whereabouts, she is loath to trust this stranger, but is inexplicably drawn to him, and he to her. As Scarlet and Wolf unravel one mystery, they encounter another when they meet Cinder. Now, all of them must stay one step ahead of the vicious Lunar Queen Levana, who will do anything for the handsome Prince Kai to become her husband, her king, her prisoner.

Notes: Having spent comparatively little time with manga and anime, neither came to mind while I read Cinder. Knowing that Meyer credits the genres—particularly the crossover story Sailor Moon—as influences, however, made Scarlet an easier read and gave me a better understanding of the series as a whole. The juxtaposition of fairy tale and science fiction is too splendid to cause me any difficulties, but odd little details ranging from the erratic naming patterns to the sudden, shocking bursts of violence hadn't made sense to me outside the anime genre.

Inside, they fit right in. I haven't read Sailor Moon, but my hours with the Elric brothers (Fullmetal Alchemist) set me up well enough for accepting out-of-place names (on account of which, I assume I don't have to pronounce 'Scarlet' as 'Scar-leh', à la français). Likewise, the anime prepared me for the fact that teenage Scarlet is as casual about picking up a gun and shooting a human being as teenage Cinder is, despite neither of them apparently having had previous experience.

I can't say just how typical this is for anime, but Fullmetal Alchemist contained a lot of gut-kicking horror, and Scarlet had its moments as well. Scarlet is significantly darker than Cinder, in much the way that its base fairy tale—Little Red Riding Hood—is darker than Cinderella (except for maybe versions like the Grimms', where the stepsisters cut off parts of their own feet to get into the slipper). Marissa Meyer's werewolves are more Fenrir Greyback than Jacob Black: not simply frightening, but flat-out abhorrent.

That said, her werewolves, while not unique as a sci-fi human/monster trope, were kind of a neat spin on the much-done teenage werewolf meme. This is true both in terms of monster creation and monster romance. The attempts at Wolf's redemption also reminded me of one of the small handful of things I loved about Mockingjay, without coming off as a copycat treatment.

As fairy tale, the story is well handled; Cinder's character arc continues while her place in the traditional tale is on pause, and the take on Red Riding Hood was fascinating and sometimes a little bit lovely around the grotesque and horrible. I found myself reminded rather forcibly of Phantom of the Opera a few times, too.

The book isn't faultless. Cinder and Scarlet are both basically angry, independent, work-focused, gun-toting sixteen-year-old girls, with not much to differentiate them outside the obvious physical variances—which is odd, because Wolf and Kai manage to be perfectly well differentiated despite certain strong similarities. Meyer's France is no more culturally interesting than her New Beijing, and her prose is often sketchy. I can overlook a lot for the sake of good characters, however, and if I could barely tell Cinder and Scarlet apart, at least they didn't bore me. And I'd be remiss if I didn't praise Iko and Thorne, who both turned out to be quite entertaining.

Considering that I couldn't wait two weeks to read the sequel to Cinder, I suspect it's going to be a long year waiting for the sequel to Scarlet.

Harry Potter Book Club: Sorcerer's Stone, Chapters 2-4

noreply@blogger.com (Jenna St. Hilaire) — Mon, 06 May 2013 22:58:00 +0000

Art by 3petits-plaisirs. Source.

Even wizards must occasionally deal with droll, nitty gritty business details, such as the question of writing decent sentences, and Christie, in her introductory post, made a point that made me shoot jubilant sparks at the ceiling out of sheer exuberance and shout, "YES, thank you":

As someone trained in literature and an amateur writer myself, I noticed things like simple diction, trite turns of phrase, and tendency to rely on adverbs. But I've never been a fan of the high-brow literary school of critics—why can't plain but clear writing, as much as beauteous writing, be an effective stylistic choice?—and when I try to imagine HP written in a florid post-modern voice, it loses an essential quality I can't quite put my finger on.

This writer thinks it highly unlikely that famous Harry Potter (I should really stop quoting Malfoy) would have been nearly so famous if he had been written by a stylist of literary aspirations, particularly one aiming at hooking adult readers along with the youngsters. There's nothing wrong with simple writing; it's a good way to reach young audiences, and it's the only way to reach a broad audience.

Christie also had great things to say about Dumbledore and Muggles and Christmas—heartily recommended. Meanwhile, Masha, having been cheated (by me) out of the chance to be the first to argue with Michael O'Brien (if calling him "a naughty dragon-hating Muggle" counts as arguing), set her sights on John Granger instead:

None of us have the wish or temperament to argue against [magic or dragons]; but that doesn’t mean I won’t be bringing up the problematic aspects of Harry’s magic (there are plenty), and I think a good long discussion of this whole ‘incantational vs. Invocational’ [Granger's] argument has to happen at some point as well, which will be fascinating! Well be talking about the character of the characters, about Rowling's worldview, about the role of men as fathers in the books... Do [the books] inspire readers to see the world in rich possibilities or do they tie readers down to a secular-relativistic worldview in which evil is decidedly banal and suburban and good is its very near twin??

...as well as reminding us that "even if all the books bother you, it’s ok to be delighted by sections, just as it’s ok to be appalled by some things, even if you love the series overall. No author gets it all right!" I wholeheartedly concur.

And now, onto this coming week!

* * *

Read: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, chapters 2-4

Photo from Shelagh's page, as linked above.
Looks good, Shelagh!

Recipe: (Shelagh's) Knickerbocker Glory. Magic or Muggle, you'll need a whole mouthful of sweet teeth to down this tall-glass concoction, made with fruit, ice cream, fruit syrup, whipped cream, wafers, glazed cherries, and in some variations, even jelly. I'm not sure I could handle jelly, myself... even strawberry ice cream is a bit much for me... but it definitely looks like an exciting parfait.

I'm not sure I'd want to eat after Dudley, though. Cooties!

Potential Discussion Points (but by no means all the potential):

1. Harry has his first communication with a snake in Chapter Two: The Vanishing Glass. From henceforth, snake imagery in the series will—as I recall—be a very traditional, Book-of-Genesis kind of thing. Here, however, a lonely ten-year-old shares a friendly moment with another caged, controlled creature, and manages to unwittingly offer the boa constrictor a bit of helpful magic.

One of the recurring motifs in the books, and here I do owe this point to Prof. Granger, is the idea of doppelgangers—twins, mirror images, shades; pairs set up for striking similarity and/or contrast. They pop up everywhere, and Dudley is arguably Harry's first (of many), but this bored snake is a very early, very striking one. Harry sets the snake free from its confinement and mistreatment much as Hagrid sets Harry free from his. And the connection between Harry and the boa, innocent in itself, foreshadows a darker doppelganger, some sinister facts that aren't quite revealed until the last two books.

2. Voldemort. If I type 'flight of death' into Google Translate and get it turned into French*, the result is vol de la mort. Apropos, no? Of course, we're already being introduced to the fact that the Wizarding World is afraid even to speak that name. I can sympathize. I'm not fond of saying 'Satan' either—one doesn't want to draw diabolic attention, after all. But "You-Know-Who" and "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named" are admittedly kind of awkward and evasive, and when great big men like Hagrid jerk and wriggle at the very sound of the syllables, things have gone a bit far.

Art by FrizzyHermione. Source.

3. Both Petunia and Vernon Dursley give short, spiteful little rants upon being confronted by Hagrid, to much the same effect, if in their own voices. You're a freak from a family of weirdos, Harry, and we swore we'd stamp out all that dangerous nonsense. It's interesting to see the subtle differences between how Petunia handles things—or would handle them, if she were in charge—and how Vernon does, however. Petunia grew up with a witch; she knows when not to run. All Vernon knows is control, and he goes dangerously near crazy when he begins losing grip on his own idealized normalcy.

4. "Yeh've got your mom's eyes." It's the first time Harry hears these words. And since we're going cautious with spoilers, all I'll say for now is that it won't be the last.

I love The Keeper of the Keys—it's a favorite chapter of mine; with Hagrid, his pockets full of sausages and dormice, and with Harry's unexpected first experience of having someone call him by his name with affection—

"An' here's Harry!" said the giant.

Harry looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw that the beetle eyes were crinkled in a smile.

—it's the reader's earliest introduction to the Wizarding World through the protagonist's eyes. And Hagrid is such a big lovable cornball fellow, with magic clinging to him like the raindrops on his coat even though he's not technically supposed to do any... I don't care what you call the prose. This chapter is just delightful.

* * *

About spoiler warnings: Please include them in discussion posts if you're about to cover a later plot development, for the sake of Christie and others who haven't read the series from the front cover of SS to the back cover of DH yet.

Ready to discuss? Hop in!

* The spell for translating vernacular to French should be, I think, "Pretatio Franci!" Since I had to use Google Translate to get the Latin instead of actually consulting my resident Latinist (he's at work), however, use carefully or you might suddenly find yourself unable to speak anything but French. Or something equally unhelpful. I don't think you'll find yourself on the floor with a buffalo on your chest, but you never know.

Garden's Little Secrets and other stories

noreply@blogger.com (Jenna St. Hilaire) — Sat, 04 May 2013 00:47:00 +0000

It's hard not to be in a good mood today. The forecast has seventies in it for over the weekend, and the apple tree is in bloom!

as are the bluebells... and the pink bells, and the white bells:

and the Solomon's seal:

and the white lilac and the red rhododendron:

and the columbine:

and the roses are getting close:

and the sumac, after months of being an unassuming fuzzy stick, is leafing out. I love this baby tree.

Also, I love all the garden's little secrets. I've been having fun putting some of them in myself. Under the garden hoops live the tomatoes:

(and behind the garden hoops lives a ridiculously large brush pile)

and behind the rosemary, the sweet peas are beginning to climb their little trellises:

All the sunshine has me feeling positively cheery. If, as suggested, it gets to seventy-eight on Sunday—that's shorts weather, or wear-my-sundress-all-day weather. It's gin-and-tonic, read-out-on-a-blanket-in-the-sun, hook-up-the-hose-for-the-first-time-this-year-and-water-the-gardens weather. My kind of weather.

Maybe I'll take Harry Potter out on a blanket and get some reading in.

* * *

Maia in "There's something interesting on the floor, and I think I'm going to kill it" mode:

From here, it looks like a bit of already-dead koosh ball,
left over from nieces' visit.

* * *

Music of the week: The Flower Duet from Delibes' Lakmé. The speakers max out into crackles a few times in this recording, but I've no fault to find with the singing.

* * *

Happy weekend!

Currently Reading: Cinder

noreply@blogger.com (Jenna St. Hilaire) — Thu, 02 May 2013 00:49:00 +0000

Clearing her throat, Cinder refocused on the android. She found the nearly invisible latch and opened its back panel. "Why aren't the royal mechanics fixing her?"

"They tried but couldn't figure it out. Someone suggested I bring her to you." He set the foot down and turned his attention to the shelves of old and battered parts--parts for androids, hovers, netscreens, portscreens. Parts for cyborgs. "They say you're the best mechanic in New Beijing. I was expecting an old man."

"Do they?" she murmured.

He wasn't the first to voice surprise. Most of her customers couldn't fathom how a teenage girl could be the best mechanic in the city, and she never broadcast the reason for her talent. The fewer people who knew she was cyborg, the better. She was sure she'd go mad if all the market shopkeepers looked at her with the same disdain as Chang Sacha did.

Author: Marissa Meyer

From Goodreads: Humans and androids crowd the raucous streets of New Beijing. A deadly plague ravages the population. From space, a ruthless lunar people watch, waiting to make their move. No one knows that Earth’s fate hinges on one girl. . . .

Cinder, a gifted mechanic, is a cyborg. She’s a second-class citizen with a mysterious past, reviled by her stepmother and blamed for her stepsister’s illness. But when her life becomes intertwined with the handsome Prince Kai’s, she suddenly finds herself at the center of an intergalactic struggle, and a forbidden attraction. Caught between duty and freedom, loyalty and betrayal, she must uncover secrets about her past in order to protect her world’s future.

Notes: To be honest—perhaps too honest—my first thought upon reading the first page of Marissa Meyer's popular sci-fi/fairy tale was immense relief. It seems so long since I found a recently-published young adult novel written in third person and past tense. Thank heaven, the comfortable old narrative modes still hold some life and popularity.

Cinder is set in futuristic New Beijing, the details of which interested me much more than Meyer managed to provide for. I wanted to feel China, to track with the thought patterns of an Eastern culture and get some sensory intake from the city. Little of this was offered. I never did figure out how universally I was supposed to picture the setting and people as Chinese. The names are too mixed in influence to even guess; there are few physical cues to aid the reader, and next to no cultural ones.

That said, what Meyer did rather well was imagine life as a cyborg. Linh Cinder—surname first, China-style—doesn't remember life before the fusing of her badly damaged body to a futuristic set of mechanical parts: a robotic foot and hand, a control panel connected to her brain, a lot of internal wiring. Her experience is relatably human, with the additives of a computer feed into her thoughts and eyesight and an understandable teenage fear of being not human enough. While I occasionally found her choices less than believable—for all the fluttery interest she shows in Prince Kai, she is terrifically lackadaisical about fixing his android—she was very readable and sympathetic.

The juxtaposition of science fiction and fairy tale was fantastic. It's hard to point out and praise specific details without giving spoilers, but Meyer threw a deadly plague, an aggressive lunar colony, and cybernetic technology into the Cinderella story—cliffhangering it at the end to make room for three more fairy tales to come—and, in reverse, succeeded in imposing magic into sci-fi as well, which is hard to do believably.

Cinder's real identity came as no surprise to me, but the ending did. It had some nice finesse to it, but it made me want to yell. I railed at the abruptness for about a day, and then I went and tracked down the sequel, Scarlet, which I intend to read shortly. Of course, the way of the serial suggests I'll be waiting a couple of years and two more books before the last big element of Cinderella's story comes into play.