From Redwood Dragon:

We don’t just borrow words; on occasion, English has pursued other languages down alleyways to beat them unconscious and rifle their pockets for new vocabulary.

Courtesy Lynn Sislo.

This is another book I picked up at Detroit Metro Airport so as to be
sure I wouldn’t run out of reading material on the flight home. I did in
fact start it on the plane, but finished it at home…not surprising, as
it’s huge.

I used to read King’s books in hardcover, as soon as they came out; more
than once I bought the latest at the airport while picking up a friend, simply because that’s where I first saw it.
But then Insomnia came out, and the plot was so remarkably
asinine that I quit. I’ve picked up all (I think) of his short story
collections since then, and I’ve got a copy of Bag of Bones
that someone gave me, and that’s been it. But there I was at the airport,
in need of a book, and I saw this one, and I said, “What the heck.”

Being a horror novel, it was, of course, gory, profane, and
obscene by turns. But it was also a masterful piece of storytelling.
I recently read something that described King as the 20th Century
Charles Dickens, and while that’s a bit of stretch, it’s only
a bit. King is damn good at creating multi-dimensioned, believable
characters and settings, and he’s always in firm control of his plots. I
don’t care for his pure fantasy work (e.g., “The Dark Tower” series) as
much, because he’s at his best when rooted in the everyday.

Anyway, this one’s about a small Nevada town, on desolate and sparsely
travelled Highway 50. It’s a mining town, and the miners have dug too
deeply, awakening a terribly evil thing. Mass bloodshed ensues–and then
the thing starts waylaying travellers.

Anyway, I liked it. It’s billed as being a companion novel to King’s
The Regulators, which was published at the same time under
the name “Richard Bachman”; I’ve just picked up a copy. More on that
later.

What can I say? Sometimes I have low tastes. It’s good to see that King
is back in his old form.

Every so often I’ll be at a bookstore, and I’ll see something by Kinky
Friedman. (In this case, I was at an airport with only about ten pages left to read in the only book I had with me.) And I’ll take it home, and read it, and then I’ll remember why I only read Kinky Friedman every so often.

Supposedly, these are mysteries–and, yes, I suppose they can be
categorized in that way. But although Kinky’s supposed to be a private
eye pursuing an investigation, that’s not really the way it works.
Really what happens is Kinky wanders about, talking to various old chums,
and himself, more or less interchangeably, and eventually, amid piles of
bad jokes and peculiar circumlocutions and weird slang, the case gets
solved. And it’s kind of fun, in an outrageous, profane, sophomoric kind of way.

But it’s not for every day.

This is the second volume of “The Swans’ War”, and a sequel to Russell’s
The One Kingdom which I reviewed last week. I wish I could say
that I enjoyed it as much as its predecessor, but I didn’t. It was
extremely slow-paced, and the big climax was so long in arriving that I
was rather indifferent to it when it finally straggled in.

However, in the interests of fairness, I should point out that I
read most of this while sitting and waiting for my flight, and then waiting
for my flight to be cancelled, and then waiting for my hotel voucher and
rebooked flight. And all this while not having had a good nights sleep
in almost a week.

So, all things considered, I’m going to give Russell the benefit of the
doubt, and buy the next volume when it comes out in paperback.
The Isle of Battle is quite possibly better than it seemed, and
then again it might simply be suffering from middle-book-syndrome. We’ll
see when the time comes.

Ian Hamet went to see this dog of a film, and surprisingly was mildly entertained–proof positive of the power of low expectations, because as Ian carefully outlines they eviscerated the story, dumbed it down, and made a number of ridiculous additions.

The book, on the other hand, sounds somewhat interesting, especially to a fan of Allan Quatermain like me. Ian, was that the novelization of the movie you were talking about, or the comic book series on which the movie was based?

I’ve just discovered a nifty technique hotels can use to make sure their guests do not wander off with all of the unused toiletries–little soaps, small bottles of shampoo, and so on–while at the same time maintaining an upscale, welcoming atmosphere. It’s simple. Just make the articles in question both fancy and unpleasant to use.

Take the shampoo I used this morning. It’s a conditioning shampoo in an elegant little tube–the kind that’s designed to stand on its cap. But the shampoo itself is so runny that if you put the tube down on its side with the cap removed, the shampoo runs out. Consequently, you must unscrew the cap, squeeze (pour) some shampoo on your hand, and somehow recap the tube with a handful of shampoo.

The soap is an even better example. It’s not just soap–it’s an “Essence of Vanilla Bar”. (I wasn’t planning on eating it.) The package says “Soothing Vanilla fragranced exfoliating soap enriched with Poppy Seeds provides an invigorating cleansing experience.” What this really means is that it doesn’t lather very well, and it has little prickly things in it that scratch your skin. Oh, and it smells funny.

There are bathrobes in the closet; there’s a little sign that you’ll be charged $90 for taking one home. I think they can do better than that. If they wanted to be consistent, they’d provide “Elegant bathrobes, lovingly hand-made out of the finest Eqyptian cotton, and delicately scented with lavender,” that are cut like hospital robes. I can guarantee that no one would walk off with those….

I’ve just posted Chapter 24 and Chapter25 of my novel, Through Darkest Zymurgia! Our heroes are beginning their investigation of Zymurgia and its people.

This is the first book in Russell’s series “The Swans’ War”; I first read
and reviewed it last year,
and liked it very much. It’s an epic fantasy, but it has a more intimate
feel than the other epic fantasies I’ve been reading recently.

Three young men from the remote Vale of Lakes travel south along the
River Wynnd. They want to see a little of the world, and perhaps find a
little fortune, before settling down again at home. Their plans take an
abrupt left turn when they share their fire with another wanderer and are
attacked by a force of men-at-arms in compensation for their generousity.
At first, the attack seems to be part of an generations-old conflict
between the once great Wills and Renne families–but as the story
proceeds, we and they learn that their troubles have their roots much
longer ago than that.

There’s very little humor in this book, but beyond that I like it.

This is the immediate sequel to 1632, and picks up,
unsurprisingly, the next year. It has a rather different feel.
1632 had a wild energy and an outrageousness that kept me
turning pages far into the night. This one lacks some of that energy,
and consequently wasn’t so compelling–but in many ways it’s a deeper,
more involved story.

1632 focussed strongly on the town of Grantville and the
obstacles its people had to overcome to survive their sudden
transposition to an earlier more violent time. In 1633, by
contrast, the rulers of Europe have begun to adjust to the presence of
the Americans; further, many have acquired copies of portions of the
history books brought back from the 21st century, and have altered their
policies and plans accordingly. Charles I of England, for example,
arranges to have Thomas Cromwell imprisoned. This, of course, completely
demolishes the value of those history books for short term planning.
Thus, this book has less of the gonzo battle scenes and more politics and
intrigue.

I found it to move somewhat ponderously; I wasn’t turning pages
compulsively until nearly the end. Fair disclosure, though–I read this
while attending a conference, and thanks to social activities, an
extremely hard bed, and a room that overlooked the hotel’s lobby and main
desk I didn’t get much sleep. I was consequently both exhausted and
easily distracted, and as my room lacked a comfortable reading chair,
I’d have had trouble falling deeply into any book of any description.

I first read this last year, and thoroughly enjoyed it. My previous
review explains the book tolerably well, so I won’t go into all that
here. The short version is this: for a thoroughly and comprehensively
and artistically absurd reason, the town of Grantville and
its environs are transported from modern day West Virginia to the Germany
of 1632. The 30 Years War, a truly nasty conflict, has been on-going for
about fifteen years; mercenary troops loot, pillage, and rape freely.
The citizens of Grantville conclude almost unanimously that This Has Got
To Stop, and proceed to open the biggest can of whup-ass that Thuringia
has ever seen.

The whole thing is unlikely, of course; still, it’s a delight to read a
book that celebrates American values and recognizes that there are ideals
worth laying down our lives for.