The Mortician's Daughter--Elizabeth Bloom
The Bee's Kiss--Barbara Cleverly
The Baby Merchant--Kit Reed
Runaways v.1-2, 4--Brian K. Vaughn
Rituals Of The Season--Margaret Maron
Bust--Ken Bruen & Jason Starr
Good Girls Do--Cathie Linz
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Finding Serenity--Jane Espenson
So back in the day I was a big Firefly fan. So I was thrilled to find out that BenBella Books, home of the SmartPop series, had put out a book devoted to our favorite space opera cum post-Civil War Western, featuring moral ambiguity, kickass heroines, strangely devoted siblings, and spaceships!
My opinion is skip the book and just watch your DVDs instead. There's 2 good pieces of commentary--Tanya Huff does an excellent examination of Zoe's character and Michelle Sagara West's analysis of the Zoe/Wash marriage is spot on. Roxanne Longstreet Conrad offers an excellent parody and discussion of Star Trek Enterprise and Firefly that nicely dovetails what the new face of science fiction might be. Lawrence Wat-Evans draws connections between the Reavers and the legend of Sawney Beane that is fascinating. But the rest of the essays are mostly either ridiculous or miss the mark. Part of the problem is that this collection was published in between the series and the release of the movie, so it suffers from a combination of not enough material to really get a lot of good, outside and different perspective on it. Oh, and having writers from the Whedon Cabal? Not helping matters any.
Oh and Serenity the movie? Sucked in my opinion. Too little Western, hated the Simon and River's escape retcon, too much sterile blue and gray (what, that's my Civil War shout-out?) in the color choices, and they turned poor Kaylee into a slut. I got in a 20 minute conversation with my comics guy last week on whether Joss Whedon can be trusted not to destroy his own work. I'm still not sure.
My opinion is skip the book and just watch your DVDs instead. There's 2 good pieces of commentary--Tanya Huff does an excellent examination of Zoe's character and Michelle Sagara West's analysis of the Zoe/Wash marriage is spot on. Roxanne Longstreet Conrad offers an excellent parody and discussion of Star Trek Enterprise and Firefly that nicely dovetails what the new face of science fiction might be. Lawrence Wat-Evans draws connections between the Reavers and the legend of Sawney Beane that is fascinating. But the rest of the essays are mostly either ridiculous or miss the mark. Part of the problem is that this collection was published in between the series and the release of the movie, so it suffers from a combination of not enough material to really get a lot of good, outside and different perspective on it. Oh, and having writers from the Whedon Cabal? Not helping matters any.
Oh and Serenity the movie? Sucked in my opinion. Too little Western, hated the Simon and River's escape retcon, too much sterile blue and gray (what, that's my Civil War shout-out?) in the color choices, and they turned poor Kaylee into a slut. I got in a 20 minute conversation with my comics guy last week on whether Joss Whedon can be trusted not to destroy his own work. I'm still not sure.
More Blitzkreig Book Reviews
Neither Five Nor Three--Helen MacInnes
Okay, some vintage fiction is really good. Consider this 1951 thriller which is concerned with the infiltration of Communists into the publishing industry. It's all turning to propaganda, and it's up to us as thinking, patriotic Americans to stop it!
Fast forward 55 years, and change the publishing industry to the blogosphere and add more sex, and we've got a blockbuster, baby!
From the back cover: Nothing in Rona Metford's chic, sophisticated world of publishers, writers and artists warned her of the sinister web of terror and treason that was slowly winding itself around her. But the insidious evil lurking just beneath the surface of her love affair with an ambitious young journalist could not stay hidden forever. Strange events and stranger friends suddenly triggered off an explosion that plunged Rona into the very center of a violent and dangerous conspiracy.
The Bookwoman's Last Fling--John Dunning
The Cliff Janeway series was really good when it started out as a cop turned antiquarian bookseller crime solver. The first two books--great. But since the third, the plots have become more outrageous and less about bookers and scroungers and that life. This one takes place mostly in the racing world, as Janeway is hired to figure out who made off with an odd assortment of books from the collection of a dead woman. The kicker? He's investigating it about 20 years the crime occurred. Still, it's a snore.
Okay, some vintage fiction is really good. Consider this 1951 thriller which is concerned with the infiltration of Communists into the publishing industry. It's all turning to propaganda, and it's up to us as thinking, patriotic Americans to stop it!
Fast forward 55 years, and change the publishing industry to the blogosphere and add more sex, and we've got a blockbuster, baby!
From the back cover: Nothing in Rona Metford's chic, sophisticated world of publishers, writers and artists warned her of the sinister web of terror and treason that was slowly winding itself around her. But the insidious evil lurking just beneath the surface of her love affair with an ambitious young journalist could not stay hidden forever. Strange events and stranger friends suddenly triggered off an explosion that plunged Rona into the very center of a violent and dangerous conspiracy.
The Bookwoman's Last Fling--John Dunning
The Cliff Janeway series was really good when it started out as a cop turned antiquarian bookseller crime solver. The first two books--great. But since the third, the plots have become more outrageous and less about bookers and scroungers and that life. This one takes place mostly in the racing world, as Janeway is hired to figure out who made off with an odd assortment of books from the collection of a dead woman. The kicker? He's investigating it about 20 years the crime occurred. Still, it's a snore.
In Which Kerry Reads The Newspaper, And Becomes Irritated: Part 1
Blogger and Safari do not communicate well in terms of giving me the icons that turn this blog into a multi-typeface and linked tool, so you'll have to go look for newspaper item that managed to come in 1st place in my irritation sweepstakes this week. I'll cover the second place winner later, but mosey on over to the NY Times food section and read the article "In Search of Grocery Gems." Or don't if you would like to avoid an itch to track down Julia Moskin and whack her with a shoe.
Right, so the whole point of this article is that Moskin goes to the grocery store, that plebian storehouse of food that appeals to the masses who do not care about their health or food trends and actually finds items she'd deign to eat. Seriously.
The tone of the article is so shocked and smug and the entitlement just oozes. Who the cares what you'd like to eat, Moskin? Guess what? A lot of us are balancing time, money, and a desire to eat stuff that's not too bad for us, quick, tastes good and are just doing the best we can. And the way to do that is *gasp* heading to the supermarket. And not a fancy supermarket either, a Trader Joe's or a Whole Foods, or even the Pathmark near my parents. Hell, I'm a Tops patron because it's open 24/7 and has the lights on, as opposed to the Giant Eagle across the street. I'd go to the West Side Market more often, but I am often unable to quite get myself together enough to go when its open and the traffic and parking is not so bad.
I know I have been a food snob in the past, but I swear this attitude makes me wonder if I could ever move back east or whether I'd last 2 weeks before I'd snap. The Midwest doesn't irritate in quite the same way--I'll pay it that compliment. I think that it's easier out here to lead a stripped down life. Or maybe that's me with no social life. Hmmm.
I didn't go into it last year when I read it, but in a backwards way this article reminds me of what I liked about Julie Powell's book and blog on her Julie/Julia Project. (In case you didn't hear--from 2002-2003, Powell had a mission to cook her way through Mastering the Art of French Cooking, which she documented in a blog and wound up turning into a food writing career. Very inspiring and totally hilarious.) Unfortunately, the book really made me wonder about Powell herself, but a couple of her observations about food really struck me--one was that the difference between French and Italian cooking styles and why she preferred the French attitude is that for the Italian cook, it's all about getting the best ingredients and turning it into something even more spectacular, while the French worked more in the vein of "This is what we've got, so let's do the best we can to turn it into something good. Where's the butter? " The overwhelming vibe these days is the Italian version--it's got to be locally grown, in season, organic, etc.
And you know what? I just don't care. And this comes from someone who likes to cook, entertain, eat and experiment with food.
Oh, and the other thing: Julie Powell's project ingredients? Mostly bought at the grocery store. Granted, she details how she was almost bankrupting herself buying the necessary amount of wine, cuts of meat that she had to scour the city for and the freaking foie grois, but doesn't that give you hope?
Right, so the whole point of this article is that Moskin goes to the grocery store, that plebian storehouse of food that appeals to the masses who do not care about their health or food trends and actually finds items she'd deign to eat. Seriously.
The tone of the article is so shocked and smug and the entitlement just oozes. Who the cares what you'd like to eat, Moskin? Guess what? A lot of us are balancing time, money, and a desire to eat stuff that's not too bad for us, quick, tastes good and are just doing the best we can. And the way to do that is *gasp* heading to the supermarket. And not a fancy supermarket either, a Trader Joe's or a Whole Foods, or even the Pathmark near my parents. Hell, I'm a Tops patron because it's open 24/7 and has the lights on, as opposed to the Giant Eagle across the street. I'd go to the West Side Market more often, but I am often unable to quite get myself together enough to go when its open and the traffic and parking is not so bad.
I know I have been a food snob in the past, but I swear this attitude makes me wonder if I could ever move back east or whether I'd last 2 weeks before I'd snap. The Midwest doesn't irritate in quite the same way--I'll pay it that compliment. I think that it's easier out here to lead a stripped down life. Or maybe that's me with no social life. Hmmm.
I didn't go into it last year when I read it, but in a backwards way this article reminds me of what I liked about Julie Powell's book and blog on her Julie/Julia Project. (In case you didn't hear--from 2002-2003, Powell had a mission to cook her way through Mastering the Art of French Cooking, which she documented in a blog and wound up turning into a food writing career. Very inspiring and totally hilarious.) Unfortunately, the book really made me wonder about Powell herself, but a couple of her observations about food really struck me--one was that the difference between French and Italian cooking styles and why she preferred the French attitude is that for the Italian cook, it's all about getting the best ingredients and turning it into something even more spectacular, while the French worked more in the vein of "This is what we've got, so let's do the best we can to turn it into something good. Where's the butter? " The overwhelming vibe these days is the Italian version--it's got to be locally grown, in season, organic, etc.
And you know what? I just don't care. And this comes from someone who likes to cook, entertain, eat and experiment with food.
Oh, and the other thing: Julie Powell's project ingredients? Mostly bought at the grocery store. Granted, she details how she was almost bankrupting herself buying the necessary amount of wine, cuts of meat that she had to scour the city for and the freaking foie grois, but doesn't that give you hope?
Blitzkreig Book Reviews
I've been reading a lot of things lately that have me considering switching preferred genres. I'm considering taking a sabbatical from mysteries and either becoming a Smart Bitch romance junkie or a faux-intellectual and reading the classics and modern fiction to clear my mind. I should take to writing, what with the spanky new computer and all.
But for the moment, I'll offer up some brief reviews:
Detour For Meg--Helen Diehl Olds
Wow, what a glimpse at what feminism has saved us from comes between the covers of this 1958 teen novel. Meg's family is scraping by (mom works at the library, so we know she's not making the big bucks) and her brother Robert is trying to win a scholarship with a fabulous physics notebook. Because they don't have enough money to send both kids to college and it's more important for Robert to go than Meg, and they'd have to pay to send Meg. And Meg is apparently not smart enough to be applying for scholarships herself. Stop and step away from the computer while your head explodes. Good. Anyway, the fabulous physics notebook gets lost during a car accident, which means everyone has to take the new driver's ed course, even Meg, who along with being nice and dumb is afraid to drive. She's not afraid to snoop around though, and this leads her to making new friends, mastering her fear of the car and the damage it can do, and becoming a candy stripper. Yes, everything turns out okay in the end. Whew! I was worried.
Mona Lisa Overdrive--William Gibson
Maybe I'll go back to science fiction. I have a longtime loathing of fantasy, but I do like science fiction. Right, so this book is a continuation of several concepts from Neuromancer, which I read 10 years ago in college. And I just got rid of my copy so I couldn't get the full effect of Gibson's vision. But this is an enjoyable romp, well-written, just not emotionally involving in terms of characters. Wait, that's the problem I always have with science fiction.
Babs: A Sub-Deb--Mary Roberts Rinehart
Stop me before I read more vintage fiction! Because it's really only good for the lines like "How pleasant it is to lie thus, having wine jelatine and squab and so on, and wearing a wrist watch with twenty-seven diamonds, and mother using the vibrator on my back to make me sleepy, etcetera." (341) Yeah, I snickered. Want to make something of it?
Snapshot--Garry Disher
I don't think I've mentioned how much I love Soho Press's Soho Crime imprint. Love, love, love. I'd work there. Anyway, for those of you who haven't heard, Soho Crime is an imprint devoted to the best current and reprinted crime fiction coming outside the US or written by US authors and set outside the US. The stories are all gritty and realistic portraits of life in each setting and culture. This is the latest in Garry Disher's series about cops on the Mornington Peninsula of Australia, which is a whole lot like various shabby, rural US locales. Meaning people are poor, crime happens, and its usually because of lost tempers and trying to get by. Hal Challis is chief inspector on the local force, and he's got a difficult past--his wife and her lover tried to kill him, and until she killed herself she was doing 8-25 in the pen. Whoops. That's what I'm talking about in terms of petty crime. Anyway, the rest of the force have their own problems and we get little glimpses of their lives as they try to figure out why the unpopular, unscrupulous, and mean psychologist who was the daughter-in-law of Police Superintendent got shot out in the middle of nowhere.
I like crime stories best when it's something I can identify with. There's a huge trend at the moment of the quirk driving the characters--it seems like every book I pick up is fascinated with serial killers, or jokey weirdness, and no attention is paid to human emotion and motivation. And frankly, that's where crime fiction's true resonance comes from. It's a genre of social commentary on our culture and what drives our actions, and the stress of righting a social order that has fallen apart.
But for the moment, I'll offer up some brief reviews:
Detour For Meg--Helen Diehl Olds
Wow, what a glimpse at what feminism has saved us from comes between the covers of this 1958 teen novel. Meg's family is scraping by (mom works at the library, so we know she's not making the big bucks) and her brother Robert is trying to win a scholarship with a fabulous physics notebook. Because they don't have enough money to send both kids to college and it's more important for Robert to go than Meg, and they'd have to pay to send Meg. And Meg is apparently not smart enough to be applying for scholarships herself. Stop and step away from the computer while your head explodes. Good. Anyway, the fabulous physics notebook gets lost during a car accident, which means everyone has to take the new driver's ed course, even Meg, who along with being nice and dumb is afraid to drive. She's not afraid to snoop around though, and this leads her to making new friends, mastering her fear of the car and the damage it can do, and becoming a candy stripper. Yes, everything turns out okay in the end. Whew! I was worried.
Mona Lisa Overdrive--William Gibson
Maybe I'll go back to science fiction. I have a longtime loathing of fantasy, but I do like science fiction. Right, so this book is a continuation of several concepts from Neuromancer, which I read 10 years ago in college. And I just got rid of my copy so I couldn't get the full effect of Gibson's vision. But this is an enjoyable romp, well-written, just not emotionally involving in terms of characters. Wait, that's the problem I always have with science fiction.
Babs: A Sub-Deb--Mary Roberts Rinehart
Stop me before I read more vintage fiction! Because it's really only good for the lines like "How pleasant it is to lie thus, having wine jelatine and squab and so on, and wearing a wrist watch with twenty-seven diamonds, and mother using the vibrator on my back to make me sleepy, etcetera." (341) Yeah, I snickered. Want to make something of it?
Snapshot--Garry Disher
I don't think I've mentioned how much I love Soho Press's Soho Crime imprint. Love, love, love. I'd work there. Anyway, for those of you who haven't heard, Soho Crime is an imprint devoted to the best current and reprinted crime fiction coming outside the US or written by US authors and set outside the US. The stories are all gritty and realistic portraits of life in each setting and culture. This is the latest in Garry Disher's series about cops on the Mornington Peninsula of Australia, which is a whole lot like various shabby, rural US locales. Meaning people are poor, crime happens, and its usually because of lost tempers and trying to get by. Hal Challis is chief inspector on the local force, and he's got a difficult past--his wife and her lover tried to kill him, and until she killed herself she was doing 8-25 in the pen. Whoops. That's what I'm talking about in terms of petty crime. Anyway, the rest of the force have their own problems and we get little glimpses of their lives as they try to figure out why the unpopular, unscrupulous, and mean psychologist who was the daughter-in-law of Police Superintendent got shot out in the middle of nowhere.
I like crime stories best when it's something I can identify with. There's a huge trend at the moment of the quirk driving the characters--it seems like every book I pick up is fascinated with serial killers, or jokey weirdness, and no attention is paid to human emotion and motivation. And frankly, that's where crime fiction's true resonance comes from. It's a genre of social commentary on our culture and what drives our actions, and the stress of righting a social order that has fallen apart.
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Bath Day
So in the beginning of August my coworker Abril came to me with a problem. Her neighbor was an irresponsible pet owner. He didn't spay his cat, she had a litter of three, and now the kittens were going feral, running around the neighborhood and scavenging. She couldn't take them because she has birds. Could I take them and get them adopted with Rainbow's help? Of course I said yes.
They are adorable little Maine Coon mix girls. We only have two because one got squashed by a car the day before Abril caught them. But they came with fleas. We washed them, and I thought we got the fleas eradicated.
Ha ha ha aha haha!
Two weeks ago, I got a lot of mosquito bites. How weird for late summer. And the cats were scratching lots. And one night I was petting Sidecar in bed and saw an actual flea (I know! I am so slow on the uptake!) and it all became clear. Oh shit.
I put medicine on all the cats. I started the cycle of washing and vacuuming and scratching. I didn't want to bathe the cats because the kittens had just been spayed, and we have:
Cain. Who weighs 20 pounds and was bathed once as a kitten.
Mencken. Weighs 14 pounds and was bathed once as a kitten.
Sidecar. Weighs 8 pounds, has never been bathed, and is the most suspicious cat you can imagine. He does not like to be touched. He is unbribeable--no food appeals to him. And if he thinks you'll pick him up, he runs. And fights.
However, this weekend it became clear I had no choice. I started with Cain, because he wandered into the bathroom. Oh, he did not like the dunking. The soap was okay, but the rinsing was a problem. He cried. He climbed on my shoulders. I kept telling him he was such a good boy and I was so sorry, but it was necessary because of the fleazles. Afterwards he was a sad and broken cat.
Mencken was a little better. He trusts me more. But still, the water is not our friend.
The kittens, Calcutta and Bombay, were easy because they are so small.
Sidecar...he knew something was up, that the bathroom was an abbatoir of some sort, if only of kitty pride and confidence. But like a horror movie heroine, he couldn't resist. I lured him upstairs with the Cat Dancer. I shut the door. We started with dunking. I had to soap him extra, because he has the worst flea infestation. Poor baby. All over there were fleas. I was picking t hem off. Afterwards, he looked like a Gremlin. He has a lot of fur, and it's all spiky and gross now.
It took an hour to do all five. I am soaked and exhausted.
Monday, September 04, 2006
What I Did This Weekend
Aside from actually leave the house? I mowed the lawn. And today? I caulked, washed the walls, and primed the heck out of the old bedroom. Goodbye Wheat Grass! Hello, Lime Rickey! Based on the fact that it took a whole gallon of primer to prime the room, I'm really hoping I can get away with one coat. Because I am so tired. And covered in Kilz. Which did not come off in the bath. Blech.
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Weekend
Right, so it's Labor Day weekend. Kerry's doing the same old same old right? Meaning to fix up the house, but instead sitting on the couch reading and watching DVDs. Right?
NO!!!!!
Yesterday I got a call at 9:30am from the Romance Heroine. She and her boyfriend were going on a last minute roadtrip to Pittsburgh, and did I want to come? "What are you going to do?" I asked. "Are you going to Ikea?" Because I loves me some Ikea. Cut rate housewares. Little Swedish meatballs.
She said they were going to a mattress factory.
I looked out the window. It's raining. I haven't been anywhere all summer. And face it, this house thing? Totally not following through. I start to ask why they are going to a mattress factory and if they are actually going to buy a mattress, but I stop myself.
"I don't care. Thank you for rescuing me from my house. I'm coming!"
They pick me up 45 minutes later after I've showered and provisioned the cats. We're on the road.
It turns out that it's not a mattress factory that we are going to, but a contemporary art museum housed in an old mattress factory.
Some of the art is really interesting, particularly the James Turrrell stuff, but after a certain point I hit the "Kerry needs context and meaning" wall and got annoyed. Afterwards we were going to the Warhol, but parking was outrageous. We got some dinner, and walked around Squirrel Hill where I got hit on by someone skeezy at the Ten Thousand Villages store. It's the Romance Heroine's opinion that I don't look mean enough (?) so I wind up pursued by the weird and drunk.
Then we hit Ikea.
It was a fabulous day.
NO!!!!!
Yesterday I got a call at 9:30am from the Romance Heroine. She and her boyfriend were going on a last minute roadtrip to Pittsburgh, and did I want to come? "What are you going to do?" I asked. "Are you going to Ikea?" Because I loves me some Ikea. Cut rate housewares. Little Swedish meatballs.
She said they were going to a mattress factory.
I looked out the window. It's raining. I haven't been anywhere all summer. And face it, this house thing? Totally not following through. I start to ask why they are going to a mattress factory and if they are actually going to buy a mattress, but I stop myself.
"I don't care. Thank you for rescuing me from my house. I'm coming!"
They pick me up 45 minutes later after I've showered and provisioned the cats. We're on the road.
It turns out that it's not a mattress factory that we are going to, but a contemporary art museum housed in an old mattress factory.
Some of the art is really interesting, particularly the James Turrrell stuff, but after a certain point I hit the "Kerry needs context and meaning" wall and got annoyed. Afterwards we were going to the Warhol, but parking was outrageous. We got some dinner, and walked around Squirrel Hill where I got hit on by someone skeezy at the Ten Thousand Villages store. It's the Romance Heroine's opinion that I don't look mean enough (?) so I wind up pursued by the weird and drunk.
Then we hit Ikea.
It was a fabulous day.
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