I finished reading the second book of George R. R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire (Game of Thrones) series a couple weeks ago. A Clash of Kings continues to expand the stories, so many story lines, independent and interwoven. I love it.
Check out these beautiful lines:
Page 97: The color of the ice was wont to change with every shift of the light. Now it was the deep blue of frozen rivers, now the dirty white of old snow, and when a cloud passed before the sun it darkened to the pale grey of pitted stone.
Page 147: The burning gods cast a pretty light, wreathed in their robes of shifting flame, red and orange and yellow.
Page 342: The white horse and the black one wheeled like lovers at a harvest dance, the riders throwing steel in place of kisses.
Page 398: At sixteen, he was cursed with all the certainty of youth, unleavened by any trace of humor or self-doubt, and wed to the arrogance that came so naturally to those born blond and strong and handsome.
Page 498: The long ranks of man and horse were armored in darkness, as black as if the Smith had hammered night itself into steel.
Page 708: Dawn was breaking, and pale ripples of light shimmered on the surface of the river, shattering under the poles and re-forming when the ferry had passed.
Page 960: A spark flew, caught. Osha blew softly. A long pale flame awoke, stretching upward like a girl on her toes. Osha's face floated above it.
Saturday, April 25, 2015
Saturday, March 28, 2015
A Game of Thrones
Although I don't have HBO at home, I did see the first three seasons of Game of Thrones before I started reading the A Song of Ice and Fire series. And of course the books are better, but not by much. There's nothing like a story told, and George R. R. Martin is masterful in his telling.
A Game of Thrones is a complex and epic tale, constructing a thorough world in which to lose oneself.
Page 9: When the blades met, there was no ring of metal on metal; only a high, thin sound at the edge of hearing, like an animal screaming in pain.
Page 86: Something about the howling of a wolf took a man right out of his here and now and left him in a dark forest of the mind, running naked before the pack.
Page 251: "Minds are like swords, I do fear. The old ones go to rust." (Grand Maester Pycelle)
Page 760: Dany called out for the men of her khas and bid them take Mirri Maz Duur and bind her hand and foot, but the maegi smiled at her as they carried her off, as if they shared a secret. A word, and Dany could have her head off... yet then what would she have? A head? If life was worthless, what was death?
I'll keep reading.
I am looking forward to finding out what happens after book three.
A Game of Thrones is a complex and epic tale, constructing a thorough world in which to lose oneself.
Page 9: When the blades met, there was no ring of metal on metal; only a high, thin sound at the edge of hearing, like an animal screaming in pain.
Page 86: Something about the howling of a wolf took a man right out of his here and now and left him in a dark forest of the mind, running naked before the pack.
Page 251: "Minds are like swords, I do fear. The old ones go to rust." (Grand Maester Pycelle)
Page 760: Dany called out for the men of her khas and bid them take Mirri Maz Duur and bind her hand and foot, but the maegi smiled at her as they carried her off, as if they shared a secret. A word, and Dany could have her head off... yet then what would she have? A head? If life was worthless, what was death?
I'll keep reading.
I am looking forward to finding out what happens after book three.
Tuesday, February 17, 2015
Ender's Game
I have been reading A Game of Thrones this year, but I subbed in an English class for three days last week and decided to read the book that they were working on: Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card. It was on my "list" to get to someday. Made a nice excuse to borrow the teacher's copy and be able to help the kids with the study questions. Really enjoyed it. For a sci fi book written in 1977, I found it pretty current. Most notable for me was the treatment of the human, the layers of emotions and motives and power, internal structures, and the search for identity and role separate from manipulation.
Page 102: "Listen, Ender, commanders have just as much authority as you let them have. The more you obey them, the more power they have over you." (Dink)
Page 231: Perhaps it's impossible to wear an identity without becoming what you pretend to be.
Page 241: "...If you try and lose then it isn't your fault. But if you don't try and we lose, then it's all your fault." (Valentine)
Definitely recommend it.
Page 102: "Listen, Ender, commanders have just as much authority as you let them have. The more you obey them, the more power they have over you." (Dink)
Page 231: Perhaps it's impossible to wear an identity without becoming what you pretend to be.
Page 241: "...If you try and lose then it isn't your fault. But if you don't try and we lose, then it's all your fault." (Valentine)
Definitely recommend it.
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
Tuesday, December 30, 2014
Black House
I'm not a fan of horror, but I started reading Stephen King after I read a book he wrote on the art of writing. And after seeing The Green Mile. I find his talent at crafting words and structuring story amazing. There is a depth and a life to his "worlds" that is beautiful. So that's why I picked up Black House, the creepy thriller that Stephen King and Peter Straub collaborated on together. I haven't read Straub before and have no way to identify who penned what lines or how they shared the writing. I don't care. I found myself in a frightening and tangible world, alongside a believable other-world. The characters were fully, roundly developed. I especially liked the blind disc jockey with his various on-air personas, his insight and his gumption.
I kept only three quotes. I'm glad I did. As I read them over again, the story comes back. And I remember why I connect to the story; it's written by people who, from what they write, seem like me.
Page 6: Like most assumptions, this one embodies an uneasy half-truth.
Page 83: Voluntarily, idly, he walked into craziness, and now he was crazy.
Page 93: Jack's grief, which has been sharpening itself underground, once again rises up to stab him, as if for the first time, bang, dead-center in the heart.
I kept only three quotes. I'm glad I did. As I read them over again, the story comes back. And I remember why I connect to the story; it's written by people who, from what they write, seem like me.
Page 6: Like most assumptions, this one embodies an uneasy half-truth.
Page 83: Voluntarily, idly, he walked into craziness, and now he was crazy.
Page 93: Jack's grief, which has been sharpening itself underground, once again rises up to stab him, as if for the first time, bang, dead-center in the heart.
Monday, December 29, 2014
Congo
Maybe it seems funny, reading a jungle thriller during the holidays. I actually was reading Michael Crichton's Congo mostly during November though.
At the time I was participating in Portland Storyteller Theater's workshop of Urban Tellers. I was encouraged to do it by a couple of friends thanks to some animated stories I've told. But it was much harder than I thought it'd be. I ended up telling a story that I do like, but that feels a little "fluff." But that may be only because it is a story from twenty years ago. It's about a hike I took in Papua Guinea during my honeymoon, trying to find a waterfall I'd seen from the little bush plane. You can find it on youtube under my name or by clicking here. Although I was more challenged than I expected by storytelling, I did enjoy it and would do it again. It's such a unique art form. Oral stories are a little different every time they are told.
I had seen the movie version of Congo several years ago (years!) when it came out in theaters. It was interesting how dated the technology in the story was, yet how cutting edge it still felt. To me, my story about the waterfall was so similar to this one, which seems strange to say. But the similiarity was in the failure of both missions. I never made it to the waterfall; the team didn't get the diamonds. Yet the lessons from the journey proved to be the value of the undertaking.
Okay, it's a stretch.
And I didn't keep any quotes. The power was in the suspense, not the lovely use of language. :-)
At the time I was participating in Portland Storyteller Theater's workshop of Urban Tellers. I was encouraged to do it by a couple of friends thanks to some animated stories I've told. But it was much harder than I thought it'd be. I ended up telling a story that I do like, but that feels a little "fluff." But that may be only because it is a story from twenty years ago. It's about a hike I took in Papua Guinea during my honeymoon, trying to find a waterfall I'd seen from the little bush plane. You can find it on youtube under my name or by clicking here. Although I was more challenged than I expected by storytelling, I did enjoy it and would do it again. It's such a unique art form. Oral stories are a little different every time they are told.
I had seen the movie version of Congo several years ago (years!) when it came out in theaters. It was interesting how dated the technology in the story was, yet how cutting edge it still felt. To me, my story about the waterfall was so similar to this one, which seems strange to say. But the similiarity was in the failure of both missions. I never made it to the waterfall; the team didn't get the diamonds. Yet the lessons from the journey proved to be the value of the undertaking.
Okay, it's a stretch.
And I didn't keep any quotes. The power was in the suspense, not the lovely use of language. :-)
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
The Gravedigger's Daughter
Joyce Carol Oates writes dense, rich characters and tense yet satisfying scenes. I've loved her books in the past, and I loved The Gravedigger's Daughter. I kept only two quotes from this long novel. It's shows where my headspace is.
Page 46: The danger in motherhood. You relive your early self, through the eyes of your own mother. (So true!)
Page 303: She was lying awake in the dark, hands clasped behind her head. Thinking of her life strung out behind her like beads of myriad shapes, in memory crowded, confusing as in life each had been singular, and had defined itself with the slowness of the sun's trajectory across the sky. You knew the sun was moving yet you never saw it move.
I'm gripped.
Page 46: The danger in motherhood. You relive your early self, through the eyes of your own mother. (So true!)
Page 303: She was lying awake in the dark, hands clasped behind her head. Thinking of her life strung out behind her like beads of myriad shapes, in memory crowded, confusing as in life each had been singular, and had defined itself with the slowness of the sun's trajectory across the sky. You knew the sun was moving yet you never saw it move.
I'm gripped.
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