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Search tags: badass-crown
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review 2017-10-13 02:55
Because I'm a completist
Gunmetal Magic - Ilona Andrews

Drat, barely a vampire cameo. Will need another book. No matter.

 

I'm not as invested in Andrea, much less in her hit-me/kiss-me relationship with Raphael, but I had fun. It's inevitable with any of Andrews' books. Fast pace, mythology tie ins, and badass characters all around are always good. And I'm closer in filling in the bits of Kate Daniel's world.

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text 2017-10-12 09:59
Reading progress update: I've read 225 out of 326 pages.
Gunmetal Magic - Ilona Andrews

To say that Beau Clayton was a good old Southern Boy would be an understatement. The man kept a can of green boiled peanuts on his desk, for crying out loud. For some reason, it was half-filled with bullet casings.

 

I think I can see where this one is going...

 

“May I ask why you have bullet casings in that can, Sheriff?”
“Every time someone shoots at me, I put the casings into the can,” he said.

 

Yeap, lol. Beau Clayton is likely my most favorite normal badass of all badasses. The guy is surrounded by monsters and magic power-houses, and he still ends up being the solution for averting a war by sheer aplomb alone later.

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review 2017-09-19 01:21
The devil asks you to sign
The Crucible - Arthur Miller,Christopher Bigsby

When ruling is based, and made stringent, on fear of an outside opponent, and someone has the brilliant idea of escalating yet to marking a personal opponent as an outsider, and it catches.

 

Might be easier to stomach going in without knowing how the episode goes and likely part of the reason that one was picked: no way really. Because no sucker-punch surprise horror can surpass the terror of inevitability, of seeing the evil the pettiness, the hysterical fanaticism and envy wreaths, knowing all the while the devastation it lead to.

 

I'm a bit discomfited by the part women play on this, saints or demons with little true humanity, but as a whole, a masterful depiction that ages all too well for my ease of mind.

 

Giles Corey, the contentious, canny old man, takes the badass-crown with his memetic "More weight". He knew what it was all about, and everyone could keep their saintliness debate to themselves. With Proctor the sinner and Hale the naive believer, they make a nice triad.

 

 

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review 2017-09-15 05:19
Wholeness, duality, I and Thou
The Left Hand of Darkness - Ursula K. Le Guin

I did not want this to end. I feel a bit bereft, and very emotional, and somewhat fragile (even if Rokkanon's World had prepared me for the possibility). And in awe. Dazzled in awe of how Le Guin can weave this beautiful settings to address concepts, limitations, canons of society, give them new perspectives and lead into discussions well before their time.

 

She did warn in a way, in that introduction. Because, it might be that I had late access to the Internet, and so was somewhat cut out from the world-dialogue, but it looks to me that talk of gradients and varieties of sex and sexuality (beyond the ever polemical homosexual, bisexual or trans-gender, and those as isolated phenomenons at that), is pretty recent. Yet here it is, served as a "fait acompli" in the form of a world where gender has always been a fluid thing, when it's even a thing, and the protagonist just has to deal, get over and past it, once and for all. Let me tell you, I had some fun mocking the MC over his inability to accept, because at some point, it annoyed me. Which is exactly the point of the book, I think.

 

Tied to that, all the issues of friendship, love, miss/understanding, acceptance, and what have you, in an epic sprinkled with back-ground myths and wrapped up in a sci-fi package. And by all the literary muses, I loved it.

 

 

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text 2017-09-15 02:06
Reading progress update: I've read 240 out of 304 pages.
The Left Hand of Darkness - Ursula K. Le Guin

it was necessary to keep the mouth closed and breathe through the nose, at least when the air was forty or fifty degrees below freezing. When it went on lower than that, the whole breathing process was further complicated by the rapid freezing of one's exhaled breath; if you didn't look out your nostrils might freeze shut, and then to keep from suffocating you would gasp in a lungful of razors.
Under certain conditions our exhalations freezing instantly made a tiny crackling noise, like distant firecrackers, and a shower of crystals: each breath a snowstorm.

 

*wince* This is making me ache with cold by proxy. Good summer read I'd say.

 

On a usual day we would have pulled for eleven or twelve hours, and made between twelve and eighteen miles.
It does not seem a very good rate, but then conditions were a bit adverse.

 

You don't say... (he's not even referring to the cold, the confident bastard)

 

 

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