I’ve not been a fan of the Emperor Napoleon since I began reading Patrick O’Brian and found out what he’d put Europe through. Arecent biography agrees, according to the always interesting Cronaca; be sure to click on through for Victor Davis Hanson’s review.

This is the first book in a series, and I’m following the usual
pattern–each time a new volume comes out, I end up re-reading the whole
set. By the time I read the Nth book, I’ve read the 1st book N times.
This was the third time for this particular book, and rather surprisingly
I was pleasantly surprised. I liked it the first time I read it; was
rather unimpressed the second time; and this time I rather liked it
again. I think it’s partially because the second time I was rushing
through it; this time I took it easy.

The world of The Runelords is based on elemental magic. The
world is out of balance; Fire is becoming too powerful, and as a result
the insectoid “reavers” are pouring out of the earth and slaying humans
right and left. Prince Gaborn val Orden is chosen by the Earth to be the
“Earth King”; it’s his job to try to preserve a remnant of mankind from
the reavers. His success is by no means guaranteed (except by narrative
causality…); in similar circumstances, older races have perished.

There’s a hitch, of course. Raj Ahten, a king from the lands to the
south, is trying to conquer the entire continent. His stated goal is to
unite the continent under his rule, to better handle the threat from the
reavers. But in fact, he’s fallen in love with the destruction and
humilation he’s causing everywhere he goes; the reavers are secondary.
Gaborn must somehow save himself and those he loves from Raj Ahten, while
not neglecting the reavers.

That’s the overall conflict, but it’s obscured by the most unusual
characteristic of the world Farland has created. Given a magical
branding iron called a forcible and someone who knows how to use it, one
can “take an endowment” from another person. That is, one can borrow the
other person’s wit, or their brawn, or their hearing, or any of a dozen
other qualities. It’s a permanent loan, lasting until the death of
either party. And, naturally, the person who gave the endowment no longer
has the use of it. Those who give brawn are to weak to move; those who
give metabolism sleep as if drugged; those who give wit become stupid;
those who give glamour become ugly.

Farland’s taken this simple idea, and worked out all the logical
consequences. The noble class–the Runelords–take endowments as a
matter of course. It’s not uncommon for a King to be more powerful
than any of his knights, simply because he’s taken more endowments. But
every king has counsellors, knights, soldiers, scouts, and so forth who
have taken endowments as well. Thus, the central keep in any castle
is the Dedicates’ Keep, where those who have given endowments live and
are cared for. Kill a King’s dedicates, and you’ve hamstrung him.

On first reading, this was the bit that I focussed on. It wasn’t until
this time around that I realized that although endowments are a central
fact in this world, they aren’t the point of the story.

This isn’t a truly classic high fantasy series, but it’s good fun. I’m
looking forward to the next book.

My going-on-four-year-old made me a card at preschool. The teacher asked him some fill-in-the-blank questions, and wrote down his answers, which I present herewith. The questions are in italics, and his answers in normal type.

My Daddy’s name is Daddy.

He is I don’t know years old.

He has green eyes and black hair. [Brown hair, really. Mostly brown, these days.–ed.]

He likes to eat dinner, breakfast. That’s what he likes.

He likes to watch actually, commercials on TV. [I do? –ed.]

When he goes to work, he works at work.

I love my Daddy because I do.

It’s good to be Dad.

Wow! Michael Blowhard says that I’m one of the most civilized culturebloggers. Who knew?

Chapters 8 and 9 of Through Darkest Zymurgia! have been posted for your reading pleasure.

…and I’m tired, and I haven’t finished reading anything to review. So hie thee over to Cronaca where there’s a whole bunch of interesting stuff.

This is yet another book of Jeeves and Wooster stories, old favorites all
of them. It’s notable for having two unusual stories: the tale of how
Jeeves first came to be Bertie Wooster’s valet, and a tale (the only one,
so far as I know) told from Jeeves’ own point of view. I remember when I
first read that one–it’s funny, but it’s also a bit of a shocker. You
get to find out what Jeeves really thinks about his employer, and the
lengths to which he’s willing to go to maintain the status quo. He
really doesn’t have Bertie’s best interests at heart.

This is Wodehouse, so you already know I think it’s the most wonderful
thing since sliced bread. The book includes a number of short stories
set at Blandings Castle, including the first appearance of that majestic
pig, the Empress of Blandings (I especially like “Lord Emsworth and the
Girl Friend”); a Bobbie Wickham story I’m not sure I’d read before; and
Mr. Mulliner’s Hollywood stories.

Every so often I try to explain why Wodehouse is so good, and what makes
him so funny; I don’t believe I’ve ever done him justice. So I’ve
decided to let him speak in his own words, with a few short extracts from
this set of stories:

Lord Emsworth could conceive of no way in which Freddie
could be of value to a dog-biscuit firm, except possibly as a taster; but
he refrained from damping the other’s enthusiasm by saying
so.

* * * * *

It sounded to Lord Emsworth exactly like a snarl. It was
a snarl. Chancing to glance floorwards, he became immediately aware, in
close juxtaposition to his ankles, of what appeared to be at first sight
to be a lady’s muff. But, this being one of his bright afternoons, he
realized in the next instant that it was no muff, but a dog of the
kind which women are only too prone to leave lying about their
sitting-rooms.

* * * * *

His recovery was hastened by…the spectacle of his son
Frederick clasping in his arms a wife who, his lordship had never
forgotten, was the daughter of probably the only millionaire in existence
who had that delightful willingness to take Freddie off his hands which
was, in Lord Emsworth’s eyes, the noblest quality a millionaire could
possess.

* * * * *

Now it has been well said that with nervous, highly-strung
men like Montrose Mulliner, a sudden call upon their manhood is often
enough to revolutionize their whole character. Psychologists have
frequently commented on this. We are too ready, they say, to dismiss as
cowards those who merely require the stimulus of the desparate emergency
to bring out all their latent heroism. The crisis comes, and the craven
turns magically into the paladin.

With Montrose, however, this was not the case. Ninety-nine out of a
hundred of those who knew him would have scoffed at the idea of him
interfering with an escaped gorilla to save the life of a child, and they
would have been right.

As you know, I recently decided to self-publish my first novel here on my website. It’s a decision that took a long time to make; I do think that Through Darkest Zymurgia! is good enough to be published through the normal channels. The fact is, though, is that so doing is a royal pain.

And in an astonishingly display of synchronicity, over at 2blowhards, Michael Blowhard has written a detailed description of just how and why it’s so difficult.

There’s a lengthy and interesting comments thread, too.

From Cronaca:

Plans to build the world’s largest offshore wind farm on the site of the Battle of Trafalgar sailed into controversy Monday after claims they could destroy archaeological evidence and desecrate a war grave.

Hmmm. If they built such a wind farm, how many kilowatts of power could you generate from Admiral Nelson spinning in his grave?

The article also notes that all of the complaints have come from Great Britain, i.e., from the victors.