Trying to Get My Crafting Mojo Back

So we moved, and we did as much possible ourselves to save money, and it was a long and drawn-out and terrible and I'M NEVER MOVING AGAIN.

Not everything has been unpacked/put away, and we are still figuring out new routines and schedules, but I'm aching to craft again. Specifically, I want to make jewelry (I always do, come summer). So I whipped up these two bracelets:

I couldn't resist the red beads when I stopped by Michaels to buy some more sticker-based hooks for the walls (we are in a rental). The "pearls" were from a stretchy bracelet Beadboy2 bought me for Mother's Day a few years ago that was too tight for my wrist. The dichroic glass dangle was an earring, the other lost long ago.

I also made a necklace with a dried floral pendant that had been floating around my jewelry box, inspired by similar ones in the latest Beadwork (I'm dying to make the necklace on the cover, too -- perfect for all the small amounts of seed beads I have):

Next up is a bracelet made from lovely teal seed beads I couldn't resist at Michaels when I went in for some headpins. Perhaps I should stop going to Michaels.

Codex by Lev Grossman

At the heart of Codex is a manuscript that may or may not have existed, written by a man with a mysterious background, that may or may not encrypt a secret that could devastate a prominent British family. Margaret is a medievalist with expert knowledge manuscripts, book bindings, and the putative author himself. A prickly, interesting character, she is skeptical at first that the manuscript even exists, but soon her passion to discover the truth drives her to take more and more risks.

She's not the protagonist of the story, however, just the sidekick to the hero: a bland, passionless banker bro.  It's what I recently heard described as the Hermione problem -- modern literature (and movies, and tv shows) are littered with Strong Female Characters who are quite accomplished and interesting (often more so than the male characters), who are no longer relegated to passive-love-interest roles but who nonetheless don't get to be the center of the story, either.

It's a major disappoint in an otherwise exciting story, and I think it's also the reason why the end fizzled out. Edward (the boring Wall Street dude) spends the novel wandering from scene to scene and letting things happen to him. He never really decides what he wants or whose side he's on, so fittingly he's left in the dust by people who wanted something (the manuscript, the truth, revenge) and acted on it.

Macbeth by Jo Nesbo

Jo Nesbo's Macbeth was the second novel I read of the Hogarth Shakespeare series. This book was quite a bit heftier than Vinegar Girl; Nesbo turns the tragedy into a crime noir story, and sets it in an unnamed town (probably Glasgow) in the early 1970s amongst police officers and drug dealers at war for control of the city.  Drugs -- specifically, two formulas with the street names "brew" and "power" made by three female chemists -- account for the supernatural elements of the play, and gangs replace the Norwegian and Irish invaders.

The advantage of turning Shakespeare's plays into novels is the opportunity to flesh out the characters' backgrounds, motives, and so on, an advantage Nesbo fully uses. Lady's obsession with blood and babies is a consequence of her harrowing past. Less effectively, Banquo is loyal to Macbeth despite his misgivings because he was a surrogate father to him. But the bulk of the narrative is devoted to Macbeth's and Duff's relationship; their shared past in an orphanage and later the police force explains both their friendship and their eventual determination to destroy each other.

Crime noir is not my favorite kind of fiction, but what kept me reading (in addition, of course, to Shakespeare's storytelling) was Nesbo's way of humanizing the characters. When the novel opens, pretty much every one of them had done questionable, or even downright evil, things, yet Nesbo gives each one chance after chance to be brave and do the right thing. Some don't, some do, some do after a lot of waffling, so the tragedy plays out as expected. But by showing the role choices -- both active and passive -- have in what happens, Nesbo manages to achieve a kind of hopefulness in the narrative despite the bloody end. People do terrible things, but they can choose to do good the next day. Redemption is always available, if one is willing to accept it.

Vinegar Girl by Anne Tyler

The Hogarth Shakespeare project consists of modern retellings of the plays; Vinegar Girl is Anne Tyler's riff on The Taming of the Shrew. Tyler's Kate -- smart, prickly, insecure, a little odd, and kind of a jerk sometimes -- is not your typical "sassy" young woman. Pyotr is a dorky, equally odd Russian scientist working with Kate's father, in need of a wife right away because his visa is about to expire. Watching the two of them slowly grow to understand each other was entertaining and touching.

The other characters are good, too; Bunny is vain and bratty, but smarter than people give her credit for. She becomes a surprising advocate for her sister, although she ultimately doesn't understand why Kate goes through with the marriage (uh, spoiler!). Their father is an extremely absentminded scientist who loves his oldest daughter but doesn't understand why she doesn't leap at the chance of fraudulent marriage to a weirdo. Amusingly, his primary motive for the marriage is selfish -- he doesn't want to lose the best assistant he's ever had, right before his big breakthrough -- and only belatedly does he realize that he will therefore lose Kate's heretofore unappreciated housekeeping services. And Pyotr's landlady, her aide, and Kate's aunt all stole the few scenes they were in.

The only misstep is the speech Kate gives towards the end, defending Pyotr in particular and men in general. Not only did I disagree with the content (yes, it's wrong and damaging that men are taught to suppress most of their emotions, but no that doesn't mean men have it tougher than women), it seemed out of character for someone who otherwise tends to keep her own counsel.

My advice? Skip the speech and enjoy the rest of this delightful book.

Bureau of Peculiar Crimes

Christopher Fowler's mystery series centers around London's Peculiar Crimes Unit, a department of oddballs who investigate odd crimes. They are led by the septuagenarian detectives Arthur Bryant and John May.  I read the first three novels: Full Dark House, The Water Room, and Seventy-seven Clocks.

There's a lot to like here -- quirky characters; abundant references to mythology, folklore, and London history; spooky crimes; and clever solutions. But for all the lighthearted elements, there is an undercurrent of darkness. Full Dark House had a terribly sad solution, and some of the deaths in Seventy-seven Clocks were quite upsetting. Fowler doesn't shy away from showing the evil in human nature.

Fowler also sets the books in different time periods; the first is set during World War II and details the Unit's first case, the second is set in early twenty-first century, and the third in the 1970s. This allows Fowler to comment on London society at different stages and to make use of different levels of crime detection technology. And yet certain commonalities become apparent. Bryant (an old-fashioned type) laments the changes happening all around him. But apparently he's been complaining for decades, which suggests the problem is his -- change is inevitable, but that doesn't necessarily mean things get worse. Reading all three together highlight that fashions may change but human nature doesn't.

Book Round-Up: Librarian Edition

The Invisible Library by Genevieve Cogman: Of course I was intrigued buy a book centering around a woman who works for a magical library that connects to multiple worlds. Irene, who collects books for the library, was an enjoyable heroine, and I liked the peeks into alternate Earths and alternate literatures. My only quibble is with the purpose of the library itself -- why, exactly, are the librarians collecting books, if no one but librarians are allowed in the library? Cogman all too briefly explains that the books are important for the stability of the worlds they come from, but how and why? I think this element of the world-building needs more work.

The Masked City: The sequel to the above.  I found the writing to be a little strained in its cleverness, and the politics and red tape Irene was dealing with -- her assistant has been kidnapped, and it's her fault because reasons, and if she doesn't rescue him she'll be in trouble and if she does rescue him she'll still be in trouble because more reasons -- seemed forced and unnecessary.  The actual rescue provided plenty of drama and tension, and was fun to read.

The Dewey Decimal System of Love by Josephine Carr: on a librarian kick, I decided to re-read this book I first read over a decade ago, during the height of "chick lit."  To call this an example of that genre, however, would do it a disservice; unlike the utterly conventional characters of other novels, these ones are deeply weird.  It makes for a refreshing, if odd, read.

Falling for Trouble by Sarah Title: A romance novel about a librarian and a punk rocker, but in a twist on expectations, the librarian is a man and the rocker a woman. This book was absolutely delightful, the best romance I've read in a long time. Title's writing is skillful and clever, her characters are genuinely interesting, and the love story progressed without the usual "I hate you!/I love you!" nonsense.  Apparently this is part of a series, and I will absolutely check the others out.

What the Librarian Did by Karina Bliss: The flip side to the above (or, I guess, the A-side to Title's B-side?), where the librarian is a woman and the guitarist a man.  This novel was far more conventional, even cliched, in just about every aspect, and it didn't really hold my attention; I ended up skimming it. It didn't help that I read it right after Falling for Trouble.

Who Can Save Us Now? Edited by Owen King and John McNally

Who Can Save Us Now? is a collection of short stories about superheroes, and it was about what one would expect -- satires and parodies of characters like Batman and Superman, stories that show the darker, more prosaic side of superpowers such as broken relationships and inconvenient consequences, and riffs on issues like heroism, sacrifice, and idolization.  The stories were, for the most part, enjoyable and clever, but they don't add much to the genre.

There were a few exceptions.  I preferred the stories that addressed the human impulse to make things better, and recognized the inherent dignity of the characters no matter how dorky or pathetic they were. The (adorable) standout for me was "Nate Pinckney-Alderson, Superhero" by Elizabeth Crane.  It pits a child's idealism against adult cynicism, but I was left with the distinct impression that Nate would not be outgrowing his idealism.  Owen King's "The Meerkat" was both odd and touching. Jennifer Weiner's "League of Justice (Philadelphia Division)" was probably the most conventional, and incorporated many non-superhero elements from her other fiction, but the actual plot was surprisingly compelling. And the last story, "The Lives of Ordinary Superheroes" by David Haynes, was quite moving and at times profound. These stories alone are worth the price of the collection.