flemmings | (no subject)

The world is invited to leave me alone tomorrow. I have the day off and the usual September megrims in the lungs and the Taiki arc of Juuni Kokuki in paperback that

shiny_monkey brought over for me, and I intend to spend the day on the sofa with that last trying to find some answers as to What Happened. There must be answers somewhere or people couldn't fic about What Happened, right? And if the answers aren't in Kaze no Umi Meiro no Kishi uhh don't tell me, OK, or I shall weep great salt tears.

Whatever, 12 Kingdoms makes a change from what I /was/ reading, which was Alberto Manguel's Black Water, my third copy of same. I keep leaving it behind when I move, thinking 'I've read this several times before why drag a great thumping tome along with me' (back from Japan, last time- and last time I figured it'd be cheaper buying it here than shipping it back which was true, cause I got it at a yard sale for $3.) And then I need to read something in it again, and then I read other stuff, and then... well, then I get well and truly fantodded.

Granted, you're supposed to be fantodded by Black Water but it's not the otherworldliness that does it. It's the grim grimy and claustrophobic everyday details in certain stories, like Graham Greene's and Daphne du Maurier's. No offence to present company, but English writers have a genius for making life in England sound like Hell. Sometimes I think the last English novelist with any sunshine in her books was Jane Austen; and it only gets worse when you come to the 20th century. Children's writers don't count; they're generally quite wonderful (Dahl's nightmares apart.) But writers for grown-ups... (shudder)

(No, OK, Chesterton, if he counts as a novelist and not a genre writer. And my problem might just be people writing about London. London fantodded me completely every time I was in it, even when I was in my 20's and thought I loved the place. Then I went back a few years later and had to cut the trip short, I was so badly weirded out by the vibes. I'm not particularly psychic but London... just feels bad. And the feel-bad gets captured very well by anyone who writes about it.)

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Is it weird that I consider Dahl (and his books) wonderful too? James and the Giant Peach was my favorite escape story when I was young.

(Though I suspect that you are talking about atmosphere and not in general terms of wonderfulness and that I am looking at it through the rose-colored glasses of childhood.)

Enjoy your day of reading. I hope the lung ick goes its merry way.

I didn't read Dahl when I was young. Had a look as an adult and said-- well, what someone said to me recently: 'I just looked at his stories again and my *God* he's so *nasty*. He hates everyone.' Actually, now I'm afraid to reread Austen. I know the darkness is there, but this time it may be everywhere.

I think Austen would hold up. The evil characters were evil before, the depressing parts are still there (like Charlotte not marrying for love), but the good parts that make you cheer will probably still work. I was never a fan of Northanger(sp?) Abby though. I understood it was a send-up of Jane Eyre-esque gothic stories, but some parts were just so silly.

Yeah- NA is silliness. It's more Mansfield Park I'm thinking of. Depressing dismal book, utterly unlikable heroine, author's intentions just a bit susicious...

I'll have to go see if I've ever read NA .. intriguing.

I found Mansfield Park dull, the characters unlikable, and the whole thing felt like a big lecture on why one should be religious. Of all Austen titles I've read, it's the only one I don't think I'll ever read again for pleasure, unless someone wants me to read it so I can help rend it apart savagely and with prejudice.

Hope you feel better.