Jan Priddy > Recent Status Updates

I would call this magic realism, or perhaps fantasy of the more familiar type. The mythology and local magic come alive. A powerful story and an appropriate compliment to the recent read of House of Rust (a metaphor which I absolutely failed to grasp).

I have read a bit further than this, but I am done. This is simply not a good choice for me. Bajaber's imagination is impressive... but

Stunning so far! Mysterious and beautifully written.

The author has found a "happy ending," but it's not the end. I fear the rest will be downhill?

If this were not a Le Guin Prize winner, I'd have quit reading several chapters ago. I am tired of rereading in order to figure out who is talking and the piled-on similes wear me down. Yes, some beautiful language, but also multiple similes to little effect. Characters are male unless they are girls or mothers or grandmothers. Three monsters too much alike, and why? My opinion: she needed rigorous editing. Age.

so. many. similes. It wears me out. Beautifulbut distracting sometimes.

They can call this magic realism, but it's fantasy, pure and simple.

Fascinating, some gorgeous language, though I struggle with the author's syntax and use of pronouns—when there are four female characters in a scene and two of them are called the same thing (sometimes), my confusion is understandable when all action and speakers are "she."

"On the playground, he was the kind of kid who'd cry, 'You cheated!" any time he lost a game, but he would always be the cheater, in truth" (302-303).

I laughed out loud. You know why this sounds so accurate about a certain nationally famous fake politician.

I began reading this series when it first came out, and then stopped. I thought perhaps I'd read this one when I came across a familiar line: "The week before, in a fit of exasperation, I'd picked up a pair of nail scissors and whacked all my hair off. The results were just about what you'd expect" (5). But nothing after that is familiar, so I may have only picked it up and put it back. I was teaching in 1993.

As I read... if this is horror, I can do this. (I have done this.)

The chapter about higher ed (specifically Patchett's comments about Iowa) made me laugh. The next chapter about covers revealed she had more say about her covers than most authors, or perhaps knew more about home to get what she wanted.

Be warned, though not racist in text compared to unexpurgated translations, there are potentially highly offensive illustrations here. All the women are identical, but the men vary greatly. Often the thieves and evil magicians have larger hooked noses and spiky facial hair, etc.

But it was those gorgeously dressed slim women and the horses that I adored as a child.

I left this book in another city and I am aching to get back to it!

These are well-told stories and one so far was new to me, the cucumber story. The previously-read academic translation based on Burton was, at one volume, unable to hold them all. The inevitable endings with death is not here, but the quartering of Alibaba's brother is. How did I not remember that?

I recently read a longer selection of the Arabian Nights, unexpurgated (meaning there was a LOT of sex and drinking). I thought I might revisit the stories I loved as a child in this collection. The first two—the introduction to Scheherazade and Aladdin are much simplified, as I had expected. Scheherazade bore three children (often 3 tries to get it right) to the king while telling her tales, as just one example.

Note that the text of these essays ends on page 272. The index ends on page 308. I don't know where they got 320.

One of the delightful aspects of this essay collection—and only one of many—is the way she feeds my future reading interests. Historical essays and now Jamaica Kincaid.

A powerful chapter about enclosures and how appreciation of the natural world was contorted to extol the "natural" superiority of inherited prvilege in England. I knew about the period and the theft of commonly held property to the advantage of the aristocracy but had not found this particular angle.

My next red will be one of Orwell's essay collections.

About not having children... for most of my childhood I did not want children. I was colossally incapable as a babysitter, thought all babies looked alike, and were ugly and boring. I did change my mind.

Ursula K. Le Guin's husband was the partner Patchett theorizes. He worked in academia, came home for dinner, and then cared for the the children till they went to bed while Ursula wrote. That's how she did it.

Knitting and a best friend from childhood—yes, however she might deny it, both choosing good fortune and receiving it.