This is the ultimate in fanfiction: written with the complete support and cooperation of the original author, who has done an outstanding job of engaging with her fan base. And as such, it is the very best of fanfic. It ties up some loose ends from the original series, speculates on complex characters’ motivation, develops and resolves some important relationships, and – most importantly – it made me cry, several times.
This is a romp – I can think of no other word to describe it. I love ‘His Dark Materials’, and I think it needs to be made very clear that Count Karlstein is a completely different kind of book. It has none of the moral depth, the complex world-building or the deep philosophical underpinning. It was written for fun, and it is fun to read.
I am quite the neophile. I like trying new things, and I confess that I am a bit prone to losing interest when the novelty wears off. I’m not terrible, or anything, but the tendency is there. Not a completer-finisher, by any means.
I’m usually quite good at new things, too. I used to call it ‘beginner’s luck’, but now that I am old, I would like to own that picking up the basics of Stuff fairly quickly is one of my superpowers. Obviously prior experience and natural ability both play a role, but in general, compared with other people, my learning curve tends to be relatively steep at the beginning. This may be not be entirely unrelated to my experiencing new things as more fun.
And off to one side of all that, my body is – well, a bit crap, really. I’m not what you would call disabled (unless you were being particularly generous), but I take Bad At Sport to whole new levels and there is some pain, somewhere, most of the time.
So. Earlier this year I started a New Shiny kind of yoga, and it was very much fun because there was lots of Learning, and I was improving quickly in terms of what I could do, and I could see some differences in daily life, and being not-hurty, and there are some bits that I was ‘good at’ because I am Very Stretchy.
And then there were a few weeks when I couldn’t go as regularly as I’d have liked, and I didn’t really practice at home either because I was Busy.
The way this class works is that you do Things, and when you can do all those things, your teacher teaches you a New Thing to add on the end. And my teacher hasn’t deemed me worthy of a New Thing for weeks and weeks and weeks, and I realised that I had come to see the New Things as a reward and a reinforcement – quite apart from the fact that I can see perfectly well for myself that I’m not getting any better at the Things.
And of course, I would not say to my teacher “I’m sad because you’re not giving me New Things to do” because I am all chill and yogic, man… But I did mention that I was frustrated that I didn’t seem to be making any progress.
And she said: “Maybe for you it’s not about making progress. Maybe it’s about maintaining, and staying healthy.”
And I thought: “Ping! Maybe for me it’s not about making progress.”
And that is HARD. Because I have always measured life in progress, as well as in praise (I think I’ve mentioned inner Hermione…), and the idea that anything is not about making progress is a bit alien, if I’m honest.
But there we have it. It’s not about making progress. Maybe.
I once read an article which suggested that rather than trying to stop procrastinating, people could increase their efficiency by finding really efficient ways to procrastinate. If you really don’t want to clean your kitchen, find something you want to do even less, and then cleaning the kitchen will feel like a natural and appealing way to avoid it.
I am henceforth applying the same principle to my neophilia. I will not give up the yoga class because I’m not making progress. Instead, my shiny new hobby shall be Not Making Progress.
For a while.
This whole, rambly, unusually introspective post does have relevance. The astute my observe that I haven’t posted anything here for nigh on three months, to the point where it was starting to get a bit daunting to come back to – and leaping straight in with a book review and no explanation felt a bit strange. To be fair to me, this was partly because I had a Life Event which I can’t post about because technically it happened in somebody else’s Life, and that had me a bit discombobulated for a while there. But also – this isn’t a new blog any more. My stats are not dramatically changing, and my small, perfectly formed audience is showing no signs of growth. But hey – that’s OK! It’s not about making progress. I am writing this for me, and my few loyal followers, and if anybody else shold stumble upon it and enjoy what they find, so much the better – but either way, it’s all good.
I really enjoyed ‘The Miniaturist’. I remember thinking that there were definite indications that it was a First Novel, and I looked forward to seeing how the author would progress.
I really, really enjoyed ‘The Muse’. It has all the thoughtfulness and artistry and detail of ‘The Miniaturist’, but it reads a lot more smoothly. The characters are fascinating and delightful, and their relationships are both intriguing and completely believable.
I’ve just got back from a rather exciting storytelling conference. It was tangentially work-relevant, but another exciting thing was that I had my first go at Free Writing. I’ve heard of this lots of times, but never got round to trying it. Essentially, the idea is that you write for at least 20 minutes without stopping or editing. It was fun, and I wrote a story. This version is slightly edited, but not much – I found I liked the unpolished language of the original.
The girl was walking by the river when she came across a deer, a young doe walking along all by itself. The deer had a ribbon round its neck, so the girl thought, Who is this? She must belong to somebody. Maybe she is lost like me.
The deer was lost by the river but the girl was lost in her heart. She went through her routines every day but she didn’t know who she was or what she was for.
Essentially, someone recommended that I read ‘Noughts and Crosses’ but that was reserved by someone else at the library, so I got this one instead. As such, I don’t really feel as if I’ve given Malorie Blackman a fair hearing, and I will definitely go back and do it properly.
‘Thief’ is OK. It felt very slow at first. I was expecting time travel, which didn’t actually kick in until a good third of the way through. The set up chapters didn’t ring entirely true, but maybe that was partly because my expectations were off – if I’d been expecting a real-life contemporary school story, I might have been prepared to give it more time.
I did enjoy it much more once it was in the future. Continue reading “Malorie Blackman: Thief!”
I remember studying the Battle of Hastings in history. We were told that because of weather conditions, William the Conqueror was delayed in setting off from France. Harold thought he wasn’t coming and dismissed some of his armies before William arrived, and that’s why our meat is named in French. Continue reading “Chapter XVII: To be a lonely lighthouse keeper”
This has been fairly low down on my ‘to read’ list for a long time, and I’ve kind of been putting it off. I think I was vaguely intimidated by it, because I’d read so many reviews saying how great it was. I was worried it was going to be either too clever or too grim for me.
It is neither of those things. It is extremely clever, but it’s also very readable. It’s similar to ‘1984’ or ‘Farenheit 451’ in that the complexities of world-building are conveyed entirely through the plot, which is gripping in its own right; and it’s absolutely as well-written and as original as either of those.
I am very aware that there’s not much point in writing reviews if you never write a remotely bad one; and I feel really mean writing bad things. Maybe I’m not cut out for this.
Instead, I think I will write a good review of a different book.
Yes, she gets two chapters named after her. She is That Good.
This chapter is peculiarly alien in culture, and at the same time I feel closer to John than ever before. Continue reading “Chapter XVI: The best of all natives”