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And now is the part where I reread a book. Probably Malpertuis, but maybe The Jade Cabinet or Tristram Shandy - which one would you pick for a reread (or to read for the first time)? I'm genuinely curious.

Ever contemplated choosing homelessness? I have (when it's warm out). In "What the Vagabond Sees or The Parish Coda," an entire society and cosmology is outlined for English Vagabonds, whose motto is "No Parish But Albion". If you know, you know.

I'll be referencing my Cotswolds trip in this review! Also referencing Grasscut's

I found "A Dialogue of Innocence with the Hidden Parish" deeply moving. First, it created a deep psychogeography of a particular house seeping with sadness, longing for company. I thought of my parent's home, but more of that at a later time. I also thought of my own childhood and the deep impressions of place I felt.

Well, four pages of kindergarten level Latin and I only had to look up two words. Not bad, not bad. Funny, too, that they mention the city I lived in as a kid when we lived in Italy (Brindisi, aut Brundisium).

Locker, you clever, clever man. "The Jasmine Tear" is a story worthy of a Twilight Zone episode, which is one of the highest compliments I can give to a short story. The koummya, the djinn, the deal with a demon, and the treasures of the Maghreb - this is worthy of Musiqa al-Ala; a masterstroke of storytelling that will stick in my mind until the Last Day (or fifty years, whichever comes first)!

"In Search of the Wild Staircase" is an epistolary story in the vein of Harper's magazine travelogues from the late-19th- and early-20th-centuries, albeit with a folk horror twist. That twist is set on its head, though, as it is implied, at least that The Church is the source of the frisson. The story ended a bit too hurried for me, but it's still a very solid work. I'll never look at Liechtenstein the same again.

I think I need to add Tristram Shandy to my "to re-read in 2025" list.

Starting next week, I am quitting my learning of Latin via the Duolingo app and starting up an earnest reading of books in Latin to propel my language acquisition. I'll keep Duo around to brush up on my German before my travel there later in 2025 (for work), but I need to learn Latin from the books, not from the owl, cute as it is.

I understand why Alastair Brotchie's afterword was, well, after the rest of the book. All I can say is that I'm glad it wasn't at the beginning, as the tenuous, yet overwrought analysis of Manganelli's work wouldn't have spoiled the joy of "To Those Gods Beyond" so much as polluted it utterly. I'd rather it just not have been a part of this volume.

The lengthy and exhaustive essay "Disquisition on the Difficulty of Communicating With the Dead" is precisely what the title promises. Where does one begin searching to find the dead, seeing that we have no way to measure those who have no body? Where are they hiding? And what language would we or should we use when communicating with them, once found? More importantly, do they even care? Or are they just stupid?

In hindsight, it's plain to see that the title of the book: To Those Gods Beyond derives, in tone and principal, at least, from the story "An Impossible Love". Here, Hamlet (deceased) finds means to communicate with the Princess of The Princess of Cleve (also deceased) by means of a verbal catapult that launches missives across realities. But what is between and behind those realities?

Locker displays his acumen for ethnography and mythic studies in "Sea Salt and Asphodel," a story of dreams, prophecy, and the cycle of life and death. The depth of immersion here just has to be experienced - I can't describe it. Suffice it to say that this tale is told in such a way that one feels at one with the others presented in the story. The reader feels a part of the tale, such is the attention to detail.

"Ignominy" sees the (yet another) dead protagonist slowly reason themself into the state defined by the title. The self-awareness of The Dead leads them to disappear in the ever-diminishing (or, rather, spreading thin to near-infinity) of the self. Ignoring, it seems, is both ubiquitous and inevitable for those without a body and, hence without a firm place in space and time. All dissolves into near-nothing.

"The Secrets of Saxon Stone" was a delight to read, and I am not being facetious. Daimons abound, the the psychogeography of the region portrayed is reflective of the spirits that not only dwell there, but are interwoven into its very fabric. This is like Dunsaney, but without the pedantics that sometimes overween his work. This is mythical and approachable, lending familiarity to the representation of the divine.