I've been meaning to read Pratchett for years. In fact - as is usual for me - there's an ebook of his somewhere on my ereader this very moment. Recently, when Pratchett died, a friend said "oh really, you must read this" and gave me her copy. Which, because it is Someone Else's Book (capitalized to indicate respect!), I treat as though it's made of glass and only read it when at home, when I'm no where near food or anything else potentially damaging. If I'd been reading it as train/bus-commuting material I'd have definitely buzzed through it by now, because it's great stuff. As yes, many have told me.

Here's the quote from this book that I've waited way too long to read Pratchett.

Wait - first, for those who've probably missed it, my rambling on about The Ceiling Crocodile:

Why I Will Eventually Have A Stuffed Crocodile Hanging From My Ceiling (Aug 2014)

Reading in Progress: A Traveler in Italy: Return of the Ceiling Croc (Aug 2014)

So there, that's background.

And now on to today's quote:

p. 44 (see? I'm just poking along), Mort has entered the home of the wizard Igneous Cutwell:

"The big low room inside was dark and shadowy and smelled mainly of incense but slightly of boiled cabbage and elderly laundry and the kind of person who throws all his socks at the wall and wears the ones that don't stick. There was a large crystal ball with a crack in it, an astrolabe with several bits missing, a rather scuffed octogram on the floor, and a stuffed alligator hanging from the ceiling. A stuffed alligator is absolutely standard equipment in any properly-run magical establishment. This one looked as though it hadn't enjoyed it much."

Having looked at a fair amount of drawings and photographs of ceiling crocs I can say with a small bit of authority, most don't look as though they enjoyed it. The really old ones look moth eaten at best.

Also, I know, I haven't posted much of late. I need to get back into a pattern. But the usual time that I'd write is sort of removed from me - and now after work I'm basically brain-fried and good only to watch a bit of videos before I crash. (Seriously, this is even taking time out of my video gaming. Though mostly because once I start playing I lose track of time and end up not getting enough sleep.) Hopefully I'll manage better in a few more months when I've built up some stamina.

On the plus side, I do love mass transit - it is the greatest thing for anyone who reads. Because given the choice between an hour plus car ride or the same via bus and train during which I can read - NOT a hard decision.

(Oh and if you bother to read that first linked post of mine? Pratchett quote is in it. Which I only just realized while writing this. Which is probably why Mort was so high on my I Need To Start With This Pratchett list.)

I've been enjoying everyone's end of year summings up (in various fun forms) and thinking on making one of my own - and I couldn't quite come up with a way to rank anything. Which is I suppose what happens when you end up reading a variety of random things. Anyway, there's no order to this - except I have a particular fondness for the first book mentioned. History wins out this year, which isn't always the case.

Annoyingly all my favorite reads have also been the ones that I haven't written reviews for. (Except one!) But I think I can explain that! (There's a trend of laziness too, but we'll ignore that bit.)

[Jan 2, 2015: Since this has been linked at booklikes I thought I should add - a few of these are much more academic than others and have what I'd call "some dryer patches" reading-wise. Mad Madge in particular. I'll go into more detail when I review them, and add links to this. In this list I was more focused on how the book impacted me personally - I usually post more info as to readability in my reviews to give readers a head's up. Which is usually why I go quote-happy.]

Mad Madge: The Extraordinary Life of Margaret, Duchess of Newcastle, the First Woman to Live by Her Pen

by Katie Whitaker

This book was the perfect sort for the mood I was in - but it also requires a bit of backstory. So about a year ago I started the fun process of getting divorced, and it turns out that ends up effecting everything, even things you'd not thought over. Like what you enjoy reading.

Madge is Margaret Cavendish, and she gradually realizes that not only does she enjoy writing, but that it's important to her. And she wants to publish a book. Noble women of her day did NOT do this. They especially did not do this without asking their husbands first. Margaret did both. The author spends a good bit of text quoting what contemporary men and women felt about women authors (and educated women) - not much of which is positive. And because I've read enough fiction, this looked like the ol' set up of Woman Tells Husband Her Big Secret and He Reacts Badly. (I always have hated the Big Misunderstanding/Disagreement trope.) Here's the fun part - in reality William Cavendish was not upset, and in fact was extremely proud of his wife and wents on to brag about her to anyone and everyone he knew (and some no doubt rolled their eyes a good deal). Theirs was also a love match, and there's a chapter that's full of some of the love poems he wrote to her.

Isn't it weird how sometimes the right book comes along at the right moment? This is not going to be an epically loved book for me or anything, but it's the kind of book I've kept thinking I'd eventually set aside and stop reading. But then I've read just a bit more. And so on. It's been interesting enough to take me out of myself when I've really needed stress relief - and been the most fun in those moments where I've found myself rereading the same paragraph over and over because in my mind I'm having an imaginary trip to Italy. I've also discovered that travel books are a wonderful way for me to waste even more time online, because there are photos of almost everything if you dig around enough. Which is especially helpful since this guidebook dates from 1964 and the photos are all in black and white. I actually have another weird history/link post to make (Italy + Alice in Wonderland + alchemy + medicine + candy + British candy folklore), but this post had to come first.

After my post on Stuffed Crocodiles Hanging From The Ceiling - which a quote from pg 338 got me launched off on - I thought that'd be it for the crocodile-related entries. (In this book anyway.) But noooooooo! I did not suspect that 212 pages later there would be a Sudden Surprise Appearance of The Ceiling Croc! Remember, back on pg 338 it was just a mention of a crocodile in a sculpture, not an actual ceiling croc, that had gotten me all wound up over the beasts. (Technically the creatures here are both "alligators," but ceiling croc just sounds better.)

And so here's the quote. Imagine me reading this with my mouth open, making a ridiculous expression, saying to myself "wait, I just burbled on and on about these things, and now they pop up in an obscure town?!!" Specifically The Hermitage and Monastery at Camaldoli, in Tuscany. (More here and here.) Pg 550-552:

"I entered the monastery and found myself in an ancient pharmacy where nothing had apparently been altered since the Middle Ages. A dusty alligator hung from the rafters and beneath it a bustling young lay brother in horn-rimmed glasses stood behind a rampart of objects on a well-stocked counter. Near the door, where in other chemists' shops there is usually a weighing machine, I noticed an upright coffin in which a skeleton was propped. I went to examine it and read an inscription: 'In this glass you see yourself, foolish mortal. Any other glass is not telling you the truth.' On a shelf near by I saw a good selection of pickled vipers and I noticed some badger skins, which I seemed vaguely to remember are infallible in cases of sorcery.

 

There must be a mediaeval hypochondriac hidden away in me, for this was the place I had always hoped to find: the apothecary's shop in which one could ask for half an ounce of crabs eyes, or a packet of powdered coral, or perhaps even a jar of hart's horn jelly, the wonder drugs of yesterday. And it did indeed look at first sight as though, isolated upon this Apennine, men were still searching for the Elixir of Life. Who could say what countless little drawers held in the beautiful, age-blackened walnut panelling; what, in spite of his horn rims and his modern air, might not the lay brother have under the counter? Fascinated, I stepped into another, smaller room full of mortars and pestles and retorts (and another alligator), a room which gave the impression that an alchemist had just slipped out to look up something in Galen. A stuffed armadillo gave a homely touch to one corner and upon the wall, framed perhaps for ready reference, I read a formula which contained the words grasso umano - human fat.

 

[The store also sells modern things like razor blades, cologne, and face cream.]

 

...I asked where his customers came from. He said they were living at the hospice up the road and were on holiday. Every year people came to spend a week or two in the pine-scented air of the mountains, to walk, to ride, and to fish; and the pharmacy was the village shop."

Apparently the author of this book can't always be relied upon for facts - so I've been unsure how seriously to take some of his descriptions. It's hard to know how much artistic license he's taking. It's especially hard to tell because the book is 50 years old, and there aren't any citations.

But then I found this on wikipedia under Camaldoli:

"In the monastery of Camaldoli there is a welcoming room, a great hall, and an old style pharmacy. The pharmacy was originally a laboratory where monks studied and worked with medicinal herbs. These medicines would be used in the old hospital which can still be visited today. The precious walnut decor dates back to 1543."

Couldn't find any photos. But the ceiling crocs alligators might still be there...

[Here I'll note that I could now go off on another tangent about stuffed armadillos. I even own a framed photo of a taxidermied armadillo holding a beer bottle. Because, Texas. But I'm restraining myself!]

MOMENTS LATER: I may have said "squeee!" aloud when I found this:

Camaldoli’s Antica Farmacia: charity without words

I don't see the ceiling crocs in any of those photos - but the skeleton in the coffin is there!!!!

HOURS LATER: I think I've found two Flickr photos with ceiling crocs/gators - only it looks as though these are wall walking:

Farmacia - photo by Come L'abete (on the wall to the right, possible armadillo on back wall)

Simon Luca - photo by Come L'abete (you can't really miss this one)

I suppose I should add that the planned croc is going to be paper mache, mostly because (good) taxidermy is expensive. (The fact that I already own a lot of creepy decor is a secondary thought.) You'd think that this might have something to do with the fact that I used to live in Louisiana in a wildlife area that put gators (I know, not the same as crocs, bear with me) right around the corner from my house. But no - this is thanks to reading many history books and continually finding references to or illustrations of "stuffed crocodiles" hanging from the ceilings of homes of the nobility or inside churches. You'd find a vague reference here and there as to why (never more than a few paragraphs) - I never did manage to find a full book on the subject. Because yes, that's the kind of thing I always have kept my eyes open for.

Today I was reminded about The Stuffed Crocodile by reading - and yet again I can blame A Traveller in Italy - this (p 338) quote, from the chapter on Venice:

"S. Theodore's statue may be seen on one of the two columns in the Piazzetta in the act of spearing a crocodile, which symbolizes Evil."

Venice is known for having Saint Mark as its patron saint - but apparently the city was wildly fickle, because once that saint was Theodore. So instead of having all those winged lions (which are awesome, seriously, as a child I loved looking at those in coffee table art books) all over Venice we'd have Theo fighting off a croc. It's worth a moment of pondering just to imagine the change of artwork.

Columns of Saint Mark and Saint Theodore (in which you only see Theo from the back, eyeroll)

Better photo - and yes, that looks like a dragon, not a croc. They were sort of interchangeable in some of the art. Also note, Peter Ackroyd quote! I need to read his book on Venice!)

I'd not googled for info on stuffed crocodile (and why they were hung all over the place) in a while, but this time I found much more information. In fact, here's 6min of video that answers all my questions. (And of course, more links after the page break, because I never can resist.)

The Inaugural Stuffed Crocodile - Idols Of The Cave (YouTube, 6min)