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timerippleOne of the most irritating things in this world is the niggling sense of What If. For example, having read a book with an interesting plot and somewhat endearing characters but overall sense of mediocrity, it is most uncomfortable to be consumed with the half-longing, half-frustrated thought of "what if Such-and-such-author-person had written this book?"
I have been on a book-buying binge lately. Not to mention book-reading, which has been happening too. I started out trying to puzzle over bits of Plato, but gave up after deciding that first I need a better dictionary.
The purchases (made by myself or others in the past three weeks) now residing on or around my bookshelves are as follows:
Good Omens, Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman - hee hee. Agnes Nutter is great.
The Door to Ambermere, J. Calvin Pierce - Hmm. Unbalanced structure, but not too bad. Daniel is annoying, and Marcia is completely irrational. Not too bad, but it's headed back to the shop from whence it came. All $1.95 of it. I swear, bookstores are temples. Especially used bookstores.
The Harp of Imach Thyssel, Patricia C. Wrede - please see introductory comments. I liked it, but I couldn't help but be a little frustrated with things wrapping themselves up so neatly all the time. Vaguely reminded me of Riddle-Master (McKillip, of course), but that ultimately only made matters worse. Still, I liked it.
The Inferno, Dante Alighieri, transl. by John Ciardi - I'm sure it'll be glorious and complicated and depressing and all that when I get around to it. Which may not be for a while, as I've decided to tackle Atlas Shrugged (Ayn Rand) this summer.
The Last Unicorn, Peter S. Beagle - I find his style somewhat cold, but it's a lovely book nonetheless.
The Neverending Story, Michael Ende, transl. by Ralph Manheim - oh, it's been ages since I read this! Must read again. Some time.
The Outlaws of Sherwood, Robin McKinley - there was much glee until I got to the last three pages, at which point my mouth involuntarily said, "Huh?" I must read more, though; the style is fabulous!
Tales from Earthsea, Ursula K. LeGuin - have yet to read, but will eventually. Her stories tend to be exhausting in their beauty and/or creepiness, depending on whether they're Earthsea or otherwise.
All this is besides having re-read Lloyd Alexander's Prydain Chronicles and the four Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy books (Douglas Adams) I own. I saw Mostly Harmless in a store the other day, but had no money.
I am also in possession of two brand-new unread books by Patricia McKillip, but I am afraid to open them. Her books are beautiful beyond compare, yet they terrify me in some inexplicable way. Well, it's not really inexplicable, it would just take a very long time. Since I've already commented briefly on all the other books, I'll restrain myself... this time.
I have been on a book-buying binge lately. Not to mention book-reading, which has been happening too. I started out trying to puzzle over bits of Plato, but gave up after deciding that first I need a better dictionary.
The purchases (made by myself or others in the past three weeks) now residing on or around my bookshelves are as follows:
Good Omens, Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman - hee hee. Agnes Nutter is great.
The Door to Ambermere, J. Calvin Pierce - Hmm. Unbalanced structure, but not too bad. Daniel is annoying, and Marcia is completely irrational. Not too bad, but it's headed back to the shop from whence it came. All $1.95 of it. I swear, bookstores are temples. Especially used bookstores.
The Harp of Imach Thyssel, Patricia C. Wrede - please see introductory comments. I liked it, but I couldn't help but be a little frustrated with things wrapping themselves up so neatly all the time. Vaguely reminded me of Riddle-Master (McKillip, of course), but that ultimately only made matters worse. Still, I liked it.
The Inferno, Dante Alighieri, transl. by John Ciardi - I'm sure it'll be glorious and complicated and depressing and all that when I get around to it. Which may not be for a while, as I've decided to tackle Atlas Shrugged (Ayn Rand) this summer.
The Last Unicorn, Peter S. Beagle - I find his style somewhat cold, but it's a lovely book nonetheless.
The Neverending Story, Michael Ende, transl. by Ralph Manheim - oh, it's been ages since I read this! Must read again. Some time.
The Outlaws of Sherwood, Robin McKinley - there was much glee until I got to the last three pages, at which point my mouth involuntarily said, "Huh?" I must read more, though; the style is fabulous!
Tales from Earthsea, Ursula K. LeGuin - have yet to read, but will eventually. Her stories tend to be exhausting in their beauty and/or creepiness, depending on whether they're Earthsea or otherwise.
All this is besides having re-read Lloyd Alexander's Prydain Chronicles and the four Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy books (Douglas Adams) I own. I saw Mostly Harmless in a store the other day, but had no money.
I am also in possession of two brand-new unread books by Patricia McKillip, but I am afraid to open them. Her books are beautiful beyond compare, yet they terrify me in some inexplicable way. Well, it's not really inexplicable, it would just take a very long time. Since I've already commented briefly on all the other books, I'll restrain myself... this time.
