Here’s another book I read while looking into the history of the Early
Church. I finished it over a year ago, and was moved to begin a long and
detailed description of its contents. I was never moved to complete that review,
alas, and now the details are too foggy, so a briefer summary will have
to do. This is from memory, mind you, so I might not have all of the
details perfectly correct.

Subtitled “The Early Church In Her Own Words”, Bennett’s book consists of
excerpts from the writings of four of the early Church Fathers: Clement
of Rome, Ignatius of Antioch, Justin Martyr, and Irenaeus of Lyons.
Bennett surrounds each with material on the background and context of
each excerpt, turning the whole into a complete, if narrowly focussed,
look at the first two centuries of the Early Church, written from a
standpoint of faith rather than skepticism.

The book is also about Bennett himself. Raised a Baptist, he’d been
taught that there is a wide gap between the time of the Apostles and the
later church, a gap about which we know very little and during which the
church had gone wrong, necessitating the Reformation and its drive to
return to the ways of the Early Church. Hence, the Reformation’s
rallying cry of Sola Scriptura! And yet, although Protestantism
harkened back to the Early Church, none of his teachers seemed to know
much about it.

Bennett determined to correct this, and went looking for what he could
find. And what he found were these four authors whose lives form an
unbroken chain from the time of the Apostles (Clement came to Rome in the
days of St. Peter) through the end of the second century–four authors
who neatly fill that pesky gap he’d always been told of. That was the
first surprise.

The second surprise came when he read what these men had to say, and
looked at the Early Church through their eyes. It did not, in fact, look
anything like the Baptist church he’d grown up in; it did, in fact, look
a great deal like Roman Catholicism. (Having grown up Catholic myself, I
can vouch for this; Justin Martyr’s description of Christian Sunday
observance is recognizably the Mass I grew up with–even given that I
grew up with the Post-Vatican II Mass and not the Latin Mass.) This was
a turning point in Bennett’s life, and he subsequently joined the Roman
Catholic Church.

This is a popular work; if you’re looking for a scholarly commentary,
look elsewhere. At the same time, I found this to be quite a good
introduction to Clement, Ignatius, Justin, and Irenaeus; and leafing
through it again, it’s clear that although he focusses on these four,
it’s evident that in preparation he covered the entire waterfront. I
liked it; and it’s a good complement to Chadwick’s
History of the Early Church.

Here’s the first set of books being purged this go-round. There will likely be more, but this is probably the lion’s share.

Baghdad-By-The-Bay, by Herb Caen. This was one of my mom’s books. I
thought I might read it; I’ve since decided that San Francisco is
insufficiently interesting.

Gardens of the Moon, by Steven Eirikson. This is the first book in a
series entitled “The Malazon Book of the Fallen.” I liked this book well
enough, and I’d like to read the rest of the series some day. This,
however, is a hardback I got as a review copy, and it takes up more than
its share of space.

Hawkes Harbor, by S.E. Hinton. Yet another review hardback. Not a
bad book, but not a favorite, and I need the space.

The Lovely Bones, by Alice Sebold. I think we were given this.
We’ve had it for some time, neither Jane nor I has been moved to read it,
and it’s a hardback.

What If? 2, edited by Robert Cowley. This is a collection of essays
by noted historians on what might have been if critical moments in
history had gone differently. It was Christmas gift, and one chosen
carefully to appeal to my tastes, and I received it happily. Alas, I
didn’t like it.

How To Read A Book, by Mortimer J. Adler and Charles Van Doren. I
read some of this; but I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m
insufficiently anal-retentive to ever study a book in the detail or
manner they recommend. Learning styles differ, I guess.

Agile Software Development with Scrum, by Schwaber and Beedle. An
interesting book, I guess, but not interesting enough to finish.

The Weird Colonial Boy, and And Disregards The Rest, by Paul
Voermans. I picked these up during a visit to Victoria, B.C. maybe ten
years ago; Voermans is an Australian science fiction author, and the
books caught my eye for some reason. I’ve never felt moved to re-read
them; what I chiefly remember is that it was in one of them that I first
encountered the topic of chicken-sexing.

Competitions, by Sharon Green. I rather tore this one apart when I
reviewed it some while back. ’nuff said.

Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, by Annie Dillard. This was recommended to
me, and I read quite a bit of it, but I’m afraid it never really grabbed
me.

Lord of the Far Island, by victoria Holt. I’m not entirely sure
how we acquired this book; I think we got it ten or fifteen years ago
from a friend who was purging her book collection. What’s certain is
that neither Jane nor I has ever been moved to read it.

An Edge in My Voice, by Harlan Ellison. I went through a real
Ellison phase quite a long while ago now. The man writes well, but I
find the prospect of curling up with a book of his essays no longer
appeals; I can easily get my daily dose of vitriol on the ‘Web.

Stagestruck Vampires, by Suzy Mckee Charnas. A review copy I simply
shouldn’t have accepted; I don’t like vampires. It’s well-written, but
not at all my kind of thing.

Dona Flor and Her Two Husbands, by Jorge Amado. I picked this up
during one of my occasional excursions out of genre fiction. I enjoyed
it, but I’ve no desire to re-read it.

Benchley Lost And Found, by Robert Benchley. This is a short
collection of some of Benchley’s humorous essays. Somehow the idea was
more interesting in theory than in practice.

The Great Gatsby, by F. Scott Fitzgerald. OK, so this is a classic
of American Literature. I’ve read it twice now, once in high school and
once a few years ago; I figure I’ve done my bit. If I ever feel moved to
read it again, I’m sure I’ll be able to locate a copy.

E=mc2, by David Bodanis. I feel odd getting rid of this one, but
I never finished it, and although the position of the bookmark indicates
I got three-quarters of the way through it I can’t remember any of it.

Little Altars Everywhere, by Rebecca Wells. We inherited this from
my mom, and have tired of it knocking around the house. Jane might have
read it, I dunno.

How To Clean Practically Anything, published by Consumer Reports.
Jane decided she didn’t want to keep this. Given that this kind of thing
is readily available on the ‘Web, and given that we’d be unlikely to know
where the book was when wanted, that’s probably the right decision.

Alice in Wonderland, by Lewis Carroll. Duplicate copy.

Hard Rain, and The Streetbird, by Janwillem van de Wetering. I
read these based on a recommendation from one of my correspondents, and I
wanted to enjoy them; however, I didn’t like them much. Something about
the author’s attitude put me off.

Most of The Most of S.J. Perelman, by S.J. Perelman. Another
humorist; the book had its moments, but in quantity Perelman’s appeal
palled rather quickly.

Idlewild, and Eden-born, by Nick Sagan. Two more review copies
of books which were merely OK.

Take a Thief, by Mercedes Lackey. I do not read Mercedes Lackey; I
read some of her early books avidly enough, but found them nauseating
when I went back to re-read them. Since then, I’ve avoided
her books. Possibly she’s improved. Jane bought this one, but was
content to let it go.

Arabesques, Arabesques 2, edited by Susan Shwartz. These are a
pair of anthologies of fantasy tales with a more-or-less Arabian setting.
I remember very little about them, so I’m content to let them go.

1632 by Eric Flint. Duplicate.

The Cat Who Talked To Ghosts, by Lilian Jackson Braun. I went off
this mystery series quite an amazingly long time ago; Jane bought this
one. She was willing to let it go, though, so maybe all of the others
I’ve got boxed up can go too!

No Secrets, by Lance Rucker. Another review copy. Not bad, not
great, not worth keeping.

Bicycling Through Space And Time, The 22nd Gear, The Ultimate
Bike Path, by Mike Sirota. Somewhat amusing, as I recall….but in all
the years I’ve had these, I’ve never been tempted to re-read them. Out
they go!

Essential Writings, by G.K. Chesterton. The writings might be
essential, but this collection of them is not. Get Orthodoxy
instead.

The Interpreter’s One-Volume Commentary on the Bible. This was one
of my mom’s books. It’s massive, takes up a lot of space, and given what
I’ve been learning about the state of biblical scholarship in the 20th
century, is probably suspect. Without knowing more about the scholarship
behind it, I’m not interested; and I don’t tend to consult commentaries
anyway.

Ancient Egypt: Discovering its Splendors, published by the National
Geographic Society. This is a massive coffee table book filled with
pictures of Egyptian antiquities. The pictures are good, but the size is
not.

Beautiful California, published by Sunset Magazine. Another of my
mom’s coffee-table books, this one is filled with pictures of California.
It dates from the year I was born, which is the most interesting thing
about it. Yet another book that’s just too darn big. Tell Lileks he can
have it if it wants it.

Middlemarch, by George Eliot. I got this many years ago when a
friend was culling her own library and I was experimenting with English
novels (Trollope, etc.). I never got around to reading, and I’m not all
sure I ever will. As with The Great Gatsby, I’m sure I’ll be able
to find a copy if I want one.

Beach Music, by Pat Conroy. I picked this up on a recommendation
back in 1997, and have never been moved to read it. The statute of
limitations has expired, and out it goes.

The Faerie Queene, by Edmund Spenser. I picked this up while working
on a novel called The King of Elfland’s Nephew which might see
the light of day at some point. I’ve since decided that Orlando
Furioso covers the same territory and is more fun.

If You Want To Write, by Brend Ueland. Not a bad book; but I’ve read
it. I took a creative writing class some years ago, and under its
influence I bought a fair number of books about writing. Most of them
are about unfettering your inner spirit, silencing your inner editor, and
letting the words fall where they may. Fact is, I don’t regard writing
as a magical expression of my inner spirit; I regard it as a way
communicating what I want to say, one word after another. Now, writers I
respect recommended this book…but there’s no royal road to success as a
writer. To lose weight, you need to exercise and control your diet; to
write well, you need to read a lot and write a lot. Books like this one
are mostly of use, I think, to those who freeze when confronted with a
blank screen.

Writing Down The Bones, by Natalie Goldberg. Another book on freeing
your inner writer. Ueland’s better, if memory serves.

Fiction Writer’s Workshop, by Josip Novakovich. I must have gotten
this one about the same time as Ueland and Goldberg, above, but I
remember even less about it.

A Dance to the Music of Time, by Anthony Powell. I bought two
volumes of the four volume set a long time ago on the advice of some
folks on the rec.arts.books newsgroup. After I finished the first
volume I was nonplussed–there was a lot of to-ing and fro-ing, and a lot
of people I didn’t much care for, and a lot social maneuvering I found
boring, and I asked, “Is this all there is? Does it get better?” I was
told, “Yes, what there is is what you’ve seen, and yes it goes on like
that. Sorry you don’t like it.” Perhaps I’m a philistine; oh, well.

Switching to the Mac, by David Pogue. I switched to the Mac years
ago, and this book was quite helpful. I’ve not had need of it in the
longest time, though.

Mac OS X, Second Edition, by David Pogue. Out of date; this was OS X
10.2.x, and I’m now using 10.4.3. It was helpful while I was getting
started, though.

Mac OS X Hacks, by Dornfest and Hemenway. Similarly out of date,
and not nearly as useful (to me, anyway).

iMovie 3 & iDVD, by David Pogue. Also out of date; I think we’re up
to iMovie 5 now.

Story of the Irish Race, by Seumas MacManus. Another book we
inherited quite a long while ago, and which I’ve never got around to
reading.

Great Books, by David Denby. At 48, the author returns to Columbia
University, and takes their Great Books curriculum for a second time, to
see if the Great Books are still valid, and to watch the youngsters
engage with them. It’s an interesting book, but I don’t imagine I shall
re-read it.

Lies My Teacher Told Me, by James W. Loewen. He’s got a valid
complaint (the content of most high-school American History texts is not
what it should be), but I don’t like his solution any better, and anyway
he annoys me.

Unreal–Official Strategy Guide, by Craig Wessel. I no longer have a
computer capable of playing this game; and I rather expect that all of
the essential information is freely available on the ‘Web anyway.

Myst: The Official Strategy Guide Revised and Expanded Edition, by
Barba & DeMaria. I could get a version of this that runs on my current
computer, with some nifty updates….but said updates obsolesce the book,
and (again) I’m sure the essential info is available on the ‘Web.

So why, after posting sporadically if at all for many months, am I suddenly posting up a storm? And why so many negative reviews?

It’s simply because I’ve been off work most of this week; and given that I’m not heavily involved in any personal projects at present, I’ve been taking the time to clean up my study. That necessarily involves organizing the stacks of books that have accumulated, and I’ve identified a number of categories, including the following:

• Books I’ve not yet read.
• Books I’ve started reading and mean to finish one day.
• Books I’ve read and reviewed and want to keep.
• Books I’ve read but not reviewed yet, that I want to keep.
• Books I’ve read but not reviewed yet, that want to get rid of.
• Books I’ve never finished reading and don’t intend to ever finish reading and indeed intend to dispose of because I really didn’t like them.

This categorization effort has had two immediate effects: first, the books that I’ve read but not reviewed are all together, on one shelf, staring me mercilessly in the face. So I’ve been trying to deal with them. Second, the kind of organization I’m attempting always involves a certain amount of purging of the book collection, which means donating books to the library, which needs to be done with expedition or else the boxes will sit around for ever. Consequently, I’m trying to focus on reviewing the ones I didn’t like, especially the ones I didn’t finish, so that I can get them out of the house.

So how are you spending your holiday?

I like Chesterton a whole lot, and I bought this book during my last
Chesterton binge. That was some time ago, and it’s taken this long to
review only because I never finished it. And why did I never finish it?
Because it isn’t a very good book.

What it is, is an anthology of a few essays and many excerpts from longer
books, most of which I’d already read. The excerpts are
all good bits, but somehow they aren’t as compelling when plucked from
their proper setting. Each piece has an introduction by some guy named
William Griffin, with whom I have two quarrels: first, I dimly remember
that his introductions annoyed me, and second, he somehow managed to make
Chesterton boring. Perhaps I’d have felt differently if I hadn’t read
most of the material before; and perhaps this book would be a good
introduction to Chesterton for one not yet acquainted. I dunno. But I
didn’t like it.

On a whim I did a Google search on the
American Chesterton Society’s
web site; for what it’s worth, they make no mention of the book at all.

A couple of years ago, due to controversies raging within the Episcopal
Church, I became interested in learning more about the history of the
Early Church, and especially the period from Christ’s resurrection up to
Constantine. This book was recommended to me, and it quickly migrated to
my car.

The thing about history books is that they are very often dry; and the
material takes some pondering, or it doesn’t really sink in. At that
time I was regularly stopping for breakfast on my way to work, and I had
the habit of keeping a book in the car to read while I ate. And
Chadwick’s book became that book. Then, of course, I was put on a diet
and started eating breakfast at home every week; and I only got to
Chadwick’s book on the rare occasions when I went out to lunch by myself.
Eventually I finished it.

My considered opinion? It’s OK, but it wasn’t the best book for my
purposes. In addition to getting the basic historical details, I was
also interested in tracing the thread of orthodoxy from its earliest
days, through the various controversies and heresies and schools of
thought. Chadwick covers all this, naturally, but he doesn’t seem all
that interested in the theological details, and I frequently found his
descriptions to be rather opaque. Nor, as he describes the various
disagreements, does he give any indication of which point of view
eventually won out. On top of all this, he writes as though the truth or
falsehood of any of the claims is irrelevant; or, rather, as though they
are all equally false compared to the historical truth he’s attempting to
describe. This is a common attitude among historians, but as a Christian
attempting to discover more about the early days of my faith I found it
uncongenial.

All that said, Chadwick’s better when dealing with the
non-theological details, and I intend to keep the book around for
reference.

The Guardian’s Tech Blog has posted a list of the 20 best “geek” novels of the last century, as voted on by their readers, and frankly it’s a travesty. Given that I’ve been writing software in C, the original geek language, for almost twenty years, I figure I qualify as a member of the geek demographic. Here’s the list, with my comments.

1. The HitchHiker’s Guide to the Galaxy — Douglas Adams 85% (102)

Personally (sorry, Ian) I think Adams is overrated; on the other hand, I’ve got hardcover editions of most of his books, the first four of which are signed. And I’ve never met a geek worthy of the name who hasn’t read them. So while I’ll quibble with its placing, this book certainly deserves to be on the list.

2. Nineteen Eighty-Four — George Orwell 79% (92)

OK, it’s a great book; but what makes it particularly a “geek” book? I don’t see why it’s on the list.

3. Brave New World — Aldous Huxley 69% (77)

Huxley’s vision is all too probable, but I hated the book.

4. Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? — Philip Dick 64% (67)

I know there are people who enjoy Dick’s work; I don’t understand them. But then, I don’t understand Dick either. Anyway, I suspect that this seriously overstates his popularity.

5. Neuromancer — William Gibson 59% (66)

Gibson deserves to be on the list as the seminal “cyberpunk” author. I hate his stuff, though.

6. Dune — Frank Herbert 53% (54)

Now this one, I’ve no quibble with. I’ve read it many times with great enjoyment. I’ve tried to read its immediate sequel a number of times as well, and have never gotten through it. Go figure.

7. I, Robot — Isaac Asimov 52% (54)

Not Asimov’s best work; but he’s got to be on the list somewhere, and given the theme this is almost certainly the right book to choose, what with the Three Laws of Robotics and all.

8. Foundation — Isaac Asimov 47% (47)

I’m less certain about this one. It’s a fun book, and a seminal book, but it hasn’t aged particularly well.

9. The Colour of Magic — Terry Pratchett 46% (46)

OK, I’m a big-time Pratchett fan. But this, the first book in his ever-expanding Discworld series, is easily the weakest, and it’s not at all representative of the bulk of the series. I can only assume that it was selected to represent the series as a whole.

10. Microserfs — Douglas Coupland 43% (44)

As a novel about geeks this qualifies for entry; I’ve not read it, so I can’t vouch for its quality.

11. Snow Crash — Neal Stephenson 37% (37)

I read this, and failed to understand what all of the hoopla was about.

The pizza delivery bits were fun, though.

12. Watchmen — Alan Moore & Dave Gibbons 38% (37)

I’ve not read this, though I’ve heard of it.

13. Cryptonomicon — Neal Stephenson 36% (36)

Stephenson’s big right now, but I still don’t understand what all of the hoopla is about.

14. Consider Phlebas — Iain M Banks 34% (35)

I’m glad to see that Banks made the list; I’ve have picked The Player of Games over this one.

15. Stranger in a Strange Land — Robert Heinlein 33% (33)

Now we’re starting to get a bit of a 1960’s vibe going. I’ve read this book with enjoyment, but ultimately there’s not much there there. I’d have chosen Time Enough For Love, or perhaps The Moon is a Harsh Mistress over this one; at least both of those involve self-aware computers.

16. The Man in the High Castle — Philip K Dick 34% (32)

I don’t care for Dick’s stuff. Lather, rinse, repeat.

17. American Gods — Neil Gaiman 31% (29)

Gaiman’s cool. I might have picked a different book, but he’s cool.

18. The Diamond Age — Neal Stephenson 27% (27)

Sure, he’s popular now, but will anybody be reading him in fifty years?

19. The Illuminatus! Trilogy — Robert Shea & Robert Anton Wilson 23% (21)

OK, now we’ve got a major ’60’s vibe going. Illuminatus! has certainly added some in-jokes to the geek joke-book, along with some remarkable silliness, but it’s rather dated, isn’t it. Still, the phrase “They’re immanentizing the eschaton” makes me giggle–not that I understood when I read the books years ago.

20. Trouble with Lichen – John Wyndham 21% (19)

OK, now I’m at a total loss. I’ve heard of John Wyndham; I’ve read some of his books, though none recently; but although I’ve been a science fiction fan since the early 1970’s I’ve never heard of this book. The list was produced by the Brits, and Wyndham was (is?) a Brit himself; perhaps this is a book that simply didn’t make much of a splash over here?

Significant Omissions



Where’s The Lord of the Rings? Where’s The Shockwave Rider? Brunner invented the term “worm” for programs that propagate themselves over the ‘net. For that matter, where are Niven and Pournelle, and Arthur C. Clarke?

Update:Ian has some comments.

This book has been sitting on my shelf, unfinished, for over a year. I’m
not going to finish it–in fact, I’m going to get rid of it–but I figure
I might as well review it first.

Loewen’s book is a critique of secondary school American history text
books, and as such he does have some valid criticisms; such texts are
notorious for omitting any kind of real controversy. It’s a complaint
that can’t be made too often, but given the process by which history
texts are selected it’s probably also unavoidable.

But I have two major criticisms of the book.

First, Loewen doesn’t seem to understand what high-school history class
is all about. The goal is not–cannot–be to teach our high-school
students everything that’s important about American history. There’s far
too much to know. In my view, history class should first attempt to give
students a working knowledge of the broad sweep of American history. I
don’t care whether the kids retain the precise dates of Millard
Fillmore’s presidency–or Abraham Lincoln’s for that matter. But they
should know approximately when the Civil War happened, and something
about why; they should know why the American Revolution happened, and
how. We’re talking about basic knowledge, and a foundation for future
study. In addition, it should demonstrate the workings of our
constitutional system over time; as such, it’s an adjunct to the usual
government class. In short, the goal is to give the kids the historical
knowledge they need to be good citizens. It isn’t about self-esteem.

Second, Loewen has a skewed notion of what our kids need to know. Yes,
we mustn’t sanitize our history out of recognition; on the other hand,
there’s no need to dwell on our every historical wickedness. Yes,
our heroes have feet of clay; but then, all heroes do. We can make that point
without dragging every hero’s name through the mud. We mustn’t eliminate
the negative–but surely the goal of history class is better met by
accentuating the positive? Loewen seems to want to substitute an
angry self-loathing. If his program were followed, I believe we’d be
teaching our kids to hate our country, rather than to love it while
recognizing and hating its faults.

I don’t have time or stomach to write a detailed critique of the
two-thirds of the book I finished, and in any event it was too long ago.
It’s possible that I’m not being fair. Anyway, I didn’t like it and I’m
not going to keep it.

I first read these books about five years ago, and found them to be a
rollicking (if gory) good time. I’d borrowed them (and their sequels)
from my brother, which is always a problem if I turn out to like the
books, because he wants them back. And then, by the time I want to read
them again, they are out-of-print. I managed to snag my own copies of
these two, and some of the later books are still in print, but number
three is selling used for absurd sums of money.

When I re-read a book, I make it a rule not to read any previous
reviews before writing a new review; what I’m writing about this time is
how the book struck me this time. In this case, though, I broke my
rule–and discovered that my original review really does capture the
spirit of these books pretty well. So well, in fact, that I’m going
to break another rule and reprint a review:

* * * * *

These are the first two books in the duo’s “Belisarius” series, a series
with one of the silliest premises I’ve seen in a long time. I’m tempted
to tear these books apart in at least six different ways, and the only
thing that’s stopping me is how much I’m enjoying them–which is
considerably.

First, let me describe the background. It is early in the reign of
Byzantine Emperor Justinian the Great, back for yet another walk on our
stage. Belisarius is his best general, and perhaps one of the greatest
generals of all time. But then a hermit comes to Belisarius with a
mysterious crystal that brings visions, and this is where Belisarius’
story and our own history explicitly part company. For the crystal
reveals that a new empire, the Malwa empire, has arisen in India. The
Malwa are bent on conquering the world–and they have weapons we would
recognize as cannon, grenades, and rockets. These weapons are still
incredibly primitive by modern standards–the rockets are particularly
erratic and hard to control–but they are far in advance of anything
available to the Romans. The crystal has come to aid Belisarius to defeat
the Malwa; the future of the human race depends on it.

First and foremost, these are war novels; the details of each campaign
and each battle are described with loving details. It’s the sort of thing
one could imagine Byzantine soldiers of fortune reading in their
off-hours, perhaps serialized in the latest issue of Swords and Scabbards
magazine, right before the “mercenaries wanted” advertisements. And,
perhaps because they are war novels, the authors have loaded them up with
mounds of casual, cheerful profanity, and school boy jokes that ought to
grow tiresome after a while–but somehow they don’t. There’s lots of arch
banter from almost all of the good guys that sits oddly on many of their
lips, and which should detract from the tale–but somehow it doesn’t.

Perhaps it’s just that I came to these books immediately after reading
something by Dorothy Dunnett, and that I’m trying to hold them to a
higher standard than I ordinarily would–but despite all of the silly,
profane, juvenile elements, the fact remains that I’m having a rollicking
good time. There’s just something delightful about watching a collection
of superbly competent folk cheerfully and cleverly kicking the bloody
hell out of some nasty people who desperately deserve it. Perhaps it’s
cathartic.

What can I say? If you have any taste for alternate history, and don’t
mind profanity and body parts gaily strewn about in pools of gore, you
should give these a try. You might not respect yourself in the morning,
but you’ll have an entertaining night.

I’ve just finished reading Prisoner of the Iron Tower,
sequel to Ash’s Lord of Snow and Shadows. The good news is
that the third volume of Ash’s trilogy The Tears of Artamon was
apparently released last month; the bad news is that it was released in
hardcover, so I’ll probably have to wait a year before reading it.

Anyway, Ash delivers a rousing good tale with lots of surprises…and
they are the best kind of surprises, the kind that you don’t see coming
at all but still make perfect sense after the fact. I’ll add that
Ash has a nasty imagination: our hero, Gavril Nagarian, has a perfectly
awful time (the lobotomy is just one of the trials he has to overcome);
more pleasantly, his adversary, Eugene of Tielen, has serious problems
as well, and frankly he deserves them. And, fittingly for the middle
volume of a trilogy, the book ends with the entire world on the verge of
going pretty much completely to hell–thanks mostly to Eugene’s
machinations, but I’ve no doubt the prince will suffer suitable
consequences.

And she manages to do all this without making the book horribly
depressing.

I have no idea how she’s going to come to any kind of happy ending, but
I’m confident she’ll manage it. It will be a bittersweet kind of
happiness, no doubt, but I’m OK with that.

Our daughter is at the age where she’s talking constantly but her speech is rarely clear enough for anyone to understand what she’s saying. Still, once in a while her clarity of speech is striking.

So my wife was at the pharmacy with her, and sat her on the counter whilst getting a prescription filled. She grabbed a handy pen and was happily scribbling on a handy pad of paper until the cashier took the pen away from her. She began to cry, and the cashier said, “Oh, no dear, don’t cry! You’ll make me feel bad!” Mary stopped crying, looked straight at the cashier, and said, with perfect clarity, “Feel bad!”