A Ladys Life in the Rocky Mountains
1873 Mining towns and other adventures on her way home to England.
Isobella Byrd traveled on horseback and met quite the variety of colorful characters.
Book contains a collection of letters from Isobella to her sister as she describes in very detail her travels and things she sees along the way.
So very detailed it sounds so beautiful. Boric acid use for getting rid of bugs-we use it today even!
So many sites are seen up close and personal.
I received this book from National Library Service for my BARD (Braille Audio Reading Device).
I read this book to fill the ‘Monsters’ square of my 2017 Halloween Book Bingo card.
I’ve read a few accounts of Antarctic exploration and At the Mountains of Madness starts out in exactly the same style, but then it veers dramatically off course--the tale becomes an H. Rider Haggard adventure novel crossed with a cheesy horror movie! Lovecraft is very skillful at making the readers use their imaginations—he doesn’t describe the horrors experienced by the men of the expedition. Instead, he shows us a destroyed campsite and lets the expedition leader tippy-toe around the ancient ruins, jumping at every sound. There is a lot of hinting and alluding to mysterious writings, rather than descriptions of actual creatures, which would have become silly quite quickly. Much better to let each reader’s mind fill in the details that they would find the most horrifying.
It has taken me a long time to get around to reading Lovecraft, probably because I’m not much of a horror reader. If you are going to read any significant amount in this genre, a basic knowledge of Lovecraft and his Cthulhu mythos will stand you in good stead. I now realize that I have been missing allusions to his work in a number of short story collections that I’ve read in the past.
As I noted yesterday, parts of this book are really cringe-worthy. Other parts make me question whether Mt. Everest is of any size at all when compared to Messner's ego.
Others still tempt me to pledge to dnf the book the very next time he tells us (YET AGAIN!) that he is climbing Everest without oxygen (because everything else is cheating).
And then you get to passages like this one (excuse the shoddy writing - like I said, the book needed an editor - or at least a decent translator):
I must get this second tent up. I do want to come out of all this, I do want to survive. One more time. So Ang Dorje and I climb out from the chaos, under the torn canopy, and try in the lulls of the storm, to erect a new tent. But over and again the gusts of wind get under the slack fabric and blow it up like a balloon. The tent is almost ripped from our hands. The storm drowns our cries; we cannot understand each other from as little as a couple of metres apart. We have to keep turning out of the wind to rub away the snow which is clogging up our eyes. Once I can see the utter ridiculousness of our situation, I relax a bit. Even towards death. It is too late for anything. The storm builds up into a hurricane. My skin feels as if it burns. The first blue-white tinges of frostbite appear on my finger tips and the end of my nose. I am chilled to the marrow although I am wearing a complete down suit. At last, after an hour, I crawl into the second tent. It sways, it flaps, but it holds. It holds, and I burst into tears.