A favorite pair of jeans started showing signs of wear by the left front pocket (probably because of my phone), so i did some visible mending using sashiko and boro techniques:
These magnetic bookmarks are from a cute pattern from Craftapalooza.
I used interfacing scraps which were a bit stiffer than what was called for, which added to the bulk a bit. I plan on making more with a lighter interfacing, maybe fall-themed. They'd make a good gift, too!
This is the second novel in de Lint's Newford series, and a re-read for me. It's a fascinating concept -- especially talented artists are able to use their paintings to open a gateway to another world, inviting in fairy-like beings -- and as always I appreciate the urban fantasy setting and his commitment to both art and social justice.
However, his protagonist, Isabelle, was a frustrating character who made a lot of bad decisions for almost the entirety of the novel. Some of it is, understandably, a function of the abusive relationships she has been subject to; they do a number on both her self esteem and her understanding of what's normal. But her actions are also the result of her own selfishness and obsession with art; she is willing to overlook or justify all manner of bad acts committed by Rushkin because of his artistic talent. It's one thing to separate the artist from the art, a topic that is especially relevant today. It's another to let the artist get away with murder because he's fascinating.
Late in the novel we meet another painter who serves as a marked contrast to Isabelle; I wish we could have spent more time with her.
A Death in Cornwall by Daniel Silva: My first Silva novel, recommended to me by my husband because the protagonist has retired from spying to become an art restorer. It was fine, but the descriptions of how beautiful and wealthy every character was got tedious. I'm starting to believe there is an inverse correlation between how much time is spent on what the characters look like and the quality of the book.
All Systems Red by Martha Wells: This satirical sci-fi novella was utterly delightful. Murderbot was just so much fun to read about, and I actually teared up at the very end. I can't wait to read the rest.
Back After This by Linda Holmes: This wasn't my favorite of her novels (the podcast industry setting wasn't my thing), but I continue to love the wit of Holmes's writing, and the fact that her characters act like grown-ups.
The Sorceror's House by Gene Wolfe: My first Gene Wolfe was kind of a disappointment. I liked the structure (epistolary) and there were some neat ideas and intriguing motifs, but the attitudes of the characters were straight out the 1970s and 1980s, despite the novel ostensibly taking place in 2000s.
There is a certain pleasure in rereading a favorite book, in experiencing again its pleasures and in finding new ones. It can be especially worthwhile to reread a book when one is in a different stage of life.
I first read Orlando in college. I enjoyed it and admired it, but I didn't get much out of it other than the story itself and the commentary on the limitations historically placed on women. Rereading it 30+ years later -- wiser and more experienced, with a more nuanced understanding of the messiness of life -- was a different experience entirely. For one thing, I don't think I appreciated just how funny it is. The satire of not just gender norms but poets, publishing, and British history and culture is sharp, sometimes brutally so. Woolf has a keen eye for absurdity, as befitting a gifted writer who not only struggled with gender and heteronormative expectations but also the deeply flawed people she loved and with her own mental health. In this way the novel is strikingly modern, even though it is almost one hundred years old.
It's a postmodern novel too, purporting to be a traditional biography of Orlando, with a narrator who refuses to record some events because they are allegedly too distressing for the reader (such as Orlando's transformation from male to female, or her pregnancy), but seemingly accepts without question her subject's centuries-long life. Woolf includes portraits of real-life aristocrats as illustrations of her fictional characters, adding an element of playfulness. Moreover, each section of the book corresponds to a particular time period of English history, with heightened descriptions to match. The Frost Fair of 1608 is depicted with a cold beauty and startling details, such as the woman sitting with a lapful of apples for sale frozen at the bottom of the Thames and perfectly visible through the crystal-clear ice. Victorian England, by contrast, is pervaded with damp, resulting in lush, overabundant growth; so of course this is when Orlando gets pregnant.
But most of all, this novel is a love letter to Woolf's friend and lover, Vita Sackville-West, who inspired the character Orlando. Without the benefit of Wikipedia to educate me about Woolf's life, and reading this on my own rather than with a professor who could point me in certain directions, I completely missed this the first time around. This knowledge makes for a poignant read, because Orlando is very much an idealized (but not perfect) version of Sackville-West, without her selfishness and unfaithfulness, who finds true love in Shelmerdine (who was once a woman, and who is as unconventional as Orlando is).
I'm so glad I reread this.
Done!
I’ve been working on Satsuma Street’s Egg Hunt since the pandemic, but only for a couple of weeks around Easter each year. This year when I pulled it out I saw how close I was to finishing, so I made a big push to do it. Now I just need to find a nice frame for it.
A young couple with a newborn in a cramped apartment invite a friend over, who opens a closet door onto a spacious terrace with a spectacular view.* It's the dream of anyone living in an overpriced city, and it's the start of Leichter's wonderful novel. The first part is about that couple as they invite that same friend over and over so they can enjoy the terrace, but it ends with a devastating act. The next section follows a different couple as they attend a funeral out in the country. The third is about a young woman who struggles heartbreakingly to connect with other people, and the last one takes place on a space station.
How these characters and spaces relate to each other is opaque; names are repeated, images recur, and connections are hinted at. It can have a destabilizing effect on the reader, but Leichter uses that to meditate on grief and loneliness, something the characters experience in different ways. Space -- the magical terrace, literal distance, an inability to communicate -- represents the difficulty in connecting with others, and the fragility of such connections. It's a melancholic novel but the payoff is gorgeous.
*Once again, marketers and reviewers label a novel as magical realism when it's really, really not. I fear I'm fighting a losing battle, though.
