nostalgia

Sitting in a crowded cinema, waiting for Hellboy II (more on that later) to show, I saw the preview to Mamma Mia and realised I'd love to have been able to see it with my Mum. Some of my earliest memories are of my Mum having the radio on, with ABBA playing, as she puttered around the house, waiting for my Dad to get back from uni.

Seeing this at a popular web site and wishing I'd seen it a few days earlier so I could have put my name in the hat. My aunt (who is a voracious reader--not just romances but everything) first gave me Devil's Cub to read when I was a tween. I can still recall how it ends, though I've not revisited it since I entered my teens. I recall liking how the heroine gets things done without waiting to whinge about stuff. During my undergrad years in far off Northern Queensland and when I had my first long-term job and was living (alone) in Thailand, I had Black Sheep and Venetia with me, both of which were excellent beach (and comfort) reads and reminded me of home.

Compelled.

I read a lot. A lot.

Mostly it's fluffy fiction. So I don't have to think. I can just enjoy the narrative. Escapism? Yes, please.

I finished a book today around 2pm. 8 and a half hours later and I'm still thinking about it.

I went back and read the epilogue twice. Because the first time I read it, I was too disturbed by my interpretation. So I went back and bent the words into something more acceptable. I'm not sure I've ever done that before. My investment in the characters is such that I can't be at peace with my first reading. Too upsetting. Perfectly in line with the story, yes, but personally unacceptable to me.

I'm not really sure why I am so affected by this story. It's rough-edged and sometimes winding, but, goddamnit, I can't get it out of my mind. My heart aches for Sam and Deanie (Jesus.). It doesn't help that Deanie is like every abused, neglected kid that comes into my office. I've ordered the rest of the books in this world.

Tabitha King has put a vapor lock on my consciousness right now. I'll be around later.

Muh.

I am very disturbed by this book:

I like this author, I like her other books in the series. This one...I don't know.

Applause on one hand for going somewhere unexpected, especially for this genre and sub-genre. And there are aspects I like. I love the fairy-tale-artifact aspect. It's obviously that archaeologist in me screaming to come out and play.

But...the more I think about it (and I suppose that's some measure of success, that I'm still thinking about a paranormal the next day), the more I feel just a little bit cheated and manipulated and at the mercy of editing decisions that impacted/impeded the narrative. Shoved the narrative down unearned paths.

I have opinions. I want others.

And I especially feel Bum should read this so we can disagree. No languid-handed vampires, though. I'm not sure if she can get past that disappointment.