I have no confirmed reservation, and I must scream
trapped in Auckland airport an unexpected 75 minutes (at least) due to wonky fan belt on one of the 747's engines. I didn't even know jet engines had fan belts.
to kill time, brief reviews of books read so far this trip:
ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN, Mark Twain - magical, wonderful, superb, up to the last 50 pages where Tom Sawyer shows up and the whole thing falls apart.
HARRY POTTER AND THE GOBLET OF FIRE, JK Rowling - mmm. mind candy.
STARDUST, Neil Gaiman - excellent. miles better than NEVERWHERE.
THE BONE PEOPLE, Keri Hulme - was suspicious at first due to wish-fulfillment protagonist (name almost identical to author's; fabulously wealthy, genius painter and musician and seawoman and hunter and cook, expert martial artist who can dispatch six simultaneous attackers without breaking a sweat, whose Tragic Flaw is that she drinks because her family misunderstands her. I mean, really.) but warmed to it eventually, because the story and characters are mostly compelling and it's really beautifully written.
THE MAN WHO MISTOOK HIS WIFE FOR A HAT, Oliver Sacks - absolutely fascinating, as much for where he seems obtuse as where he seems perceptive.
FROM A BUICK 8, Stephen King - starts off great, and ends OK. At his best - for me, IT, SALEM'S LOT, BAG OF BONES, EYE OF THE DRAGON, and a bunch of short stories - King is as good a writer as you can find. At his worst, say DREAMCATCHER or CHRISTINE, he's still readable. This is a mid-tier fast-food book; tastes great going down, but leaves you feeling curiously hollow. Gets bonus points for not being set in Maine.
THE LOSERS, David Edding - mainstream, not fantasy. picked it up for a buck. A weirdly fascinating train-wreck of a book. Shows quite clearly why sixtysomething writers shouldn't have protagonists in their early twenties unless they're better at inhabiting other skins than Eddings. Pissed me off repeatedly - it's basically an anti-welfare state novel, which is fine, but in a vicious, narrow-minded, mean-spirited, bad-pop-psychology way. Intensely anti-sex to the point I got a little weirded out by it. Good enough to infuriate, I suppose, which is something; I read it (just a few hours ago) in one sitting.
up next: THE MERCHANTS' WAR (sequel to THE SPACE MERCHANTS, arguably the most incredibly foresighted science fiction novel of all time; I expect disaster but love TSM so passionately that I couldn't turn it down) and then FALL ON YOUR KNEES, by Anne-Marie McDonald.
update: flight delay is now 3 hours, and counting...
to kill time, brief reviews of books read so far this trip:
ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN, Mark Twain - magical, wonderful, superb, up to the last 50 pages where Tom Sawyer shows up and the whole thing falls apart.
HARRY POTTER AND THE GOBLET OF FIRE, JK Rowling - mmm. mind candy.
STARDUST, Neil Gaiman - excellent. miles better than NEVERWHERE.
THE BONE PEOPLE, Keri Hulme - was suspicious at first due to wish-fulfillment protagonist (name almost identical to author's; fabulously wealthy, genius painter and musician and seawoman and hunter and cook, expert martial artist who can dispatch six simultaneous attackers without breaking a sweat, whose Tragic Flaw is that she drinks because her family misunderstands her. I mean, really.) but warmed to it eventually, because the story and characters are mostly compelling and it's really beautifully written.
THE MAN WHO MISTOOK HIS WIFE FOR A HAT, Oliver Sacks - absolutely fascinating, as much for where he seems obtuse as where he seems perceptive.
FROM A BUICK 8, Stephen King - starts off great, and ends OK. At his best - for me, IT, SALEM'S LOT, BAG OF BONES, EYE OF THE DRAGON, and a bunch of short stories - King is as good a writer as you can find. At his worst, say DREAMCATCHER or CHRISTINE, he's still readable. This is a mid-tier fast-food book; tastes great going down, but leaves you feeling curiously hollow. Gets bonus points for not being set in Maine.
THE LOSERS, David Edding - mainstream, not fantasy. picked it up for a buck. A weirdly fascinating train-wreck of a book. Shows quite clearly why sixtysomething writers shouldn't have protagonists in their early twenties unless they're better at inhabiting other skins than Eddings. Pissed me off repeatedly - it's basically an anti-welfare state novel, which is fine, but in a vicious, narrow-minded, mean-spirited, bad-pop-psychology way. Intensely anti-sex to the point I got a little weirded out by it. Good enough to infuriate, I suppose, which is something; I read it (just a few hours ago) in one sitting.
up next: THE MERCHANTS' WAR (sequel to THE SPACE MERCHANTS, arguably the most incredibly foresighted science fiction novel of all time; I expect disaster but love TSM so passionately that I couldn't turn it down) and then FALL ON YOUR KNEES, by Anne-Marie McDonald.
update: flight delay is now 3 hours, and counting...