At the Same Time, Eris

Several months ago, I shared a poem called Chernobyl Kids by writer Eris.  I came across another one of her works today that brings me great pleasure and validation as an elder Millennial, rapidly approaching middle age.  At the Same Time is an ode to those of us who, while aging, are still not quite old enough to accept it.  Any woman (or man) above 35 can probably relate to some degree.

AT THE SAME TIME

Dermatitis, greying hair,

Folliculitis in my underwear.

Eczema and skin that flaps,

Stretch marks that look like road maps.

Skin tags on my neck and pits,

Sagging tits, Christ! I can’t shit!

Hemorrhoids I have enjoyed,

All because I could not void.

PEEK-A-BOO!  Who’s come to call?

What fun!  My bladder starts to fall!

Is that my uterus I see?

Ah-ah-AAACHOO!  Oops, I just peed.

Scoliosis,

Halitosis,

Hashtag osteoporosis.

Hair that grows in weird new places,

How ‘bout this ol’ diastasis?

I guess my body’s getting old;

Now my joints ache in the cold.

Nah, JK, false alarm!

Hot flashes warm me like a charm.

Old piercings that now get infected,

Hold up!  My youth is resurrected:

Acne,

Backne,

These comedones attack me!

It should come as no surprise

That all these years, I’ve been fed lies.

No line exists ‘tween “young” and “old”;

And now, my dear, let truth be told:

Zits and fine lines

Come at the same time.

In the Hall of the Dragon King, by Stephen R. Lawhead

I'm a big nerd.

I know this must be coming as quite a shock to you, but I've never been cool.  Not once in my life.  Just ask my kids.  

This nerditude extends to literary genres, too.  I know I've told you that I'm a sucker for period piece murder mysteries, but I also have a heart for fantasy fiction as well.  (And, apparently, accidental alliteration.)  It likely stems from a childhood love of fairy tales and mythology that grew to include wizarding worlds and Middle Earth in my adolescence.  But it has been a long time since I've read a book with that sort of magic.

A friend of ours recently recommended the author Stephen R. Lawhead for some of his historical fiction -- another favorite genre.  I'd never heard of Lawhead, but the guy sure is prolific!  Of particular interest (to me) are his Pendragon Cycle (love a good Arthurian legend!), Eirlandia (I have a weakness for the Emerald Isle), and Byzantium. (Spanning Ireland to modern-day Turkey, this epic covers lots of points and places of personal interest: I'm 50% Middle Eastern, with the remaining 50% being mostly split between ancient Celtic and Norse lands.)

After learning more about this author, I figured I'd give one of his works a shot, and decided to do so in audio format.  Unfortunately, the selection was limited; none of the series/novels listed above were available.  In fact, there were only a couple of options and, of those, I would have had to start with the second book in a series.  There was only one possibility to start at the beginning of a series, and that one was a fantasy series written for young adults:  In the Hall of the Dragon King, the first book of The Dragon King trilogy.

No matter.  I'm not above YA fiction.  Sometimes, I think it's even better, especially when it comes to fantasy fiction.  With YA novels, there is a tendency to focus more on the story and less on, say, 75 pages describing a type of hobbit tobacco.  (I'm looking at you, Tolkien, you longwinded bore.)

With the excitement of starting a new novel -one of a beloved genre that I hadn't touched in years!- I dove right in.  And it didn't take long to get right into the action.  But there was a bit of a surprise that, while not bad per se, kinda took me out of it.

Fully recognizing the irony of my own wordiness (I know, Tolkien!  Quit judging me!), I'm going to deviate a bit from this review to tell you a little story.  Travel back in time with me to the early 2000s... [Insert chimes, wavy lines, blurry camera]

I was in college. A group of guy friends invited a group of girl friends that I was hanging out with at the time over to their house to watch Braveheart.  (The movie selection tells you right away that this particular group of guys was not in the habit of hanging out with girls, but we accepted.)  Up until this point, I had never actually seen Braveheart in its entirety, only catching scenes and snippets here and there.  Ever the nerd, I was actually pumped about watching this movie.  We dimmed the lights, crunched on popcorn, and watched William Wallace defend Scotland and fall in love.  But then that monstrous king and his goons came and raided the village.  They exacted their revenge on WW by killing his secret wife since she had not made herself available for Prima Nocta, and also because they were assholes.  WHAT?!?!?!?!  HOW COULD THIS BE?  WHAT WILL MEL GIBSON DO ABOUT IT BECAUSE WE ALL KNOW HE IS NOT THE TYPE TO TAKE THIS LYING DOWN AND WHAT THE HELL, JOSH, WHY ARE YOU STOPPING THE MOVIE?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

Actual footage of me when Josh stopped the movie. 
(I've changed my hair and shaved my beard since college.)

Just as our protagonist was being thrust into the hardship that would lead him to greatness, Josh, the guy who had set up our little movie party, stopped the movie.  Why?  Well, he wanted to know if we, like William Wallace, had ever faced hardship in our lives, and how God surprised us with His wisdom and blessings.

Well, Josh, I was a (roughly) 19-year-old girl.  So um, no.  Not really.  I couldn't particularly relate to William Wallace in this story.  To be honest, my husband (whom I wouldn't even meet for another few years) never had to face some monarchical prick who wanted to deflower him on our wedding night, under threat of death.  Also, as I'm not trying to save 13th century Scotland, I cannot particularly relate to my hometown being raided by feudal thugs.  But what YOU'RE doing right now seems a little despotic.  So, I guess there's THAT...

We never finished Braveheart that night because Josh wanted to talk about God.  The whole thing was orchestrated as a secret, surprise Bible study, which would have been fine had it not been a sneak attack.  I went home, feeling played and disappointed that I'd have to walk to Blockbuster that night to rent the movie -on VHS or DVD, depending on which format was available- if I ever wanted to find out how Mel handled the death of his lovely Scottish bride.

Stephen R. Lawhead kinda pulled a Josh on me with In the Hall of the Dragon King.  I was expecting some thrilling fantasy ride (more on that in a minute), but he surprised me with semi-religious fiction.  To be clear: I do not mind allegorical writing inspired by faith or religion.  I just prefer to see it so skillfully done that it doesn't seem cheap.  Or even just not to be surprised by it.  My opinion is that it was rather forced in Dragon King; it caught me off guard and took me out of the story.  

Speaking of the story -the real reason we're here- it is clear whence Lawhead derives inspiration (apart from the Bible).  A coming-of-age novel in which a young protagonist embarks upon a heroic quest, it's a tale as old as time, which isn't necessarily a bad thing!  A narrative theme that is almost synonymous with the birth of storytelling itself, the hero's quest continues to be fan favorite.  Gilgamesh did it; Odysseus did it; Beowulf did it; Frodo did it; Bilbo did it; Luke Skywalker did it; the Pevensie kids did it; Aerin did it; Harry Crewe did it; Harry Potter did it; Eragon did it; Roland Deschain did it; Percy Jackson did it; Dorothy did it; Indiana Jones did it...hell, even Littlefoot did it!

Littlefoot and Roland Deschain...same character?  I think so.

In Dragon King, our protagonist is named Quentin.  An awkward teenage boy training to be a monk in a polytheistic society, Quentin often feels ill at ease, as though he is in the wrong place.  As an orphan, he doesn't have many choices in life and, because he gets along with the other monks in the monastery, he doesn't exactly question his being there...only knows that something's off.  When an injured knight of shows up one day at the monastery with grave news, Quentin knows immediately that he must help.  What that help will actually entail, he will later learn.  For now, he knows his help is required to save the king from the machinations of his wicked brother, Prince Jaspin, and the evil sorcerer Nimrood.

Along the way, Quentin meets a hermit, a disgraced (but good) knight, the queen, a deerlike boy of the forest, and dozens of others - both good and bad.  It is on his quest to save the king that Quentin learns about the physical and metaphysical world around him, but also about himself.

Truth be told, the story is quite predictable, as most stories of this genre are.  I mean, we all know that the hero will complete his/her quest at the end of the story, right?  It's about the ride!  Dragon King sort of delivered in this area, but I never found myself quite invested enough in the story or the characters to really care that much.

In the Hall of the Dragon King is certainly not a worthless read, although it isn't exactly how I would define the word epic.  It was tepid.  Maybe I'm jaded; maybe I just really got taken out of the story by the element of a surprise Bible study; maybe it was because of the very heavy Lord of the Rings influences.  (That has been done before!!!  SO MANY TIMES!!!!)  I just was mostly indifferent.  While I have no plans to read the other two books in the trilogy, I still have every intention of checking out some of Lawhead's other works.  But now I'll know not to be taken aback by any sudden religiosity.

Cheesy, Cheeky, Old-Timey, British Murder Mysteries: A Two-For-One Post!

It has been a whirlwind of activity around here and, despite continuing to read/listen to books, I am just now getting caught up on writing reviews.  You see, I had foot surgery yesterday afternoon and am presently stuck in a chair under the influence of Rx narcotics.  Might as well write the most riveting review in the history of the sport.

Sadly, riveting is not the word I would use to describe either of the following novels.  I got on a British murder mystery kick as I tend to when in between other genres.  I like the ease of them and, most particularly, trying to peg the murderer(s) before the author reveals them.  Add in some preposterous Regency backdrop and sensibilities (be they Georgian, Victorian, Edwardian, Amphibian) and it's a recipe that generally entertains me.

But these last two?  Cringe!

The first (and perhaps the worse)  of the two was Lady Helena Investigates, by Jane Steen.  To be fair, I listened to this one in audio format and absolutely HATED the narrator.  Had I read it in print, perhaps I would have felt differently...but only slightly.

I generally don't like to rip people's work apart, but when I find myself hoping the protagonist gets murdered -or at the very least clotheslined- I struggle to silence the beast.  

The youngest child of the noble Scott-De Quincy family, Lady Helena Whitcombe is suddenly widowed in her twenties.  Her overbearing (though mostly well-meaning) family seeks to absorb her late husband's fortune and marry her off to someone else as soon as the required mourning period is up.  But when The Trifecta -the village's new doctor, who also happens to be handsome and French- suggests that Sir Justin (I'm sorry, Sir Justin?  Is he a country gentleman or a Delta Tau Chi pledge?) did not die by accidental drowning, then Lady Helena must indeed investigate her beloved husband's murder...with the help of le bon docteur.

The first novel of the Scott-De Quincy Mystery series (good God, there are more of them?) was entirely predictable.  I'd been wanting a hot dog book -the type of book that might taste good, but isn't necessarily good for you; a "sometimes book"- and this one was Vienna sausage. 🤮 Lady Helena's dog was the only redeeming thing about her privileged, entitled life, but she even ruined that by naming him "Scotty".  Oh how original from someone whose maiden name is Scott-De Quincy.  What a twat.

Alas, even after this turd of a book, I still have not given up on my beloved hot dogs.  So I ate another one:  Snobbery with Violence, by M.C. Beaton (a.k.a. Marion Chesney).

Marginally better, I still found this book mostly forgettable.  Honestly, I finished it just over a month ago and I'm having to read the cover summary to remind myself what I read.  

Oh yeah!  This was the one with the predictably rebellious only child (a daughter) of an earl and lady-earl (whatever that's called -- England is weird, man!).  Lady Rose Summer is supposed to get married, but discovers her intended is a dick and calls it off.  Her parents are so desperate to avoid the embarrassment of a daughter who isn't married by the time she is 20 (or something) and they want to cover up the scandal of her appearing in the newspapers with suffragettes.  So they do the only thing loving parents can do: they send her to the home of noble friends who are hosting a meat market for marriageable young ladies and gentlemen to hook up in their gross old castle.  Then murders happen and it's like Clue at Downton Abbey.  SPOILER:  Lady Rose even gets pushed off a building (!) but she survives by landing in the castle's moat.

Of course, in order to flesh out the character of Lady Rose, she has to have a pet.  In this version of the same story as all of these stories, her pet is a human named Daisy.  (Rose and Daisy.  Lesser flower = lesser person, I guess.)  Daisy is a Cockney actress whom Lady Rose teaches to read, then subsequently hires as her lady's maid, leading Daisy to be so hopelessly devoted that she resembles a cocker spaniel more than a loyal friend.  But let's face it: even in stories and fairy tales, the rich and beautiful always need someone less rich and less beautiful to live for nothing but doing their hair and bringing them hot cocoa before bed...even when they're grownass adults.

Indeed what would a story like this be without some sort of reluctant romance?  Enter salty, old-but-still-in-his-twenties Captain Harry Cathcart, the impoverished younger son of a baron, who has recently begun working in private intelligence for hire.  He finds Rose annoying and unfeminine, but by jove is she beautiful, and therefore, irresistible.  

Perhaps the thing that most makes Snobbery with Violence superior to Lady Helena Investigates is a single line from the book.  This was a line that called my emotional maturity into question in a way that I'm not embarrassed to admit, but before I share it...

Lady Rose is on the precipice of a fashion revolution to reflect the growing support for women's rights in the western hemisphere.  Suffragettes demanding equality and the right to vote is synonymous with women ditching their corsets and other restrictive accessories.  (Thank God!  Can you imagine still wearing all of those buttons?  Distorting our spines and ribs?  Crushing our organs?)  Anyway, quick history lesson:  Do you know how corsets are made and how they work?  The short version is that rigid strips are placed vertically to help comprise the frame of a corset.  While types of corsets and materials used changed throughout history, these vertical strips are called boning.  This is likely due to the fact that, in early corsets, they used actual whalebone to create these devices.

Snobbery is set during the Edwardian Era, like this corset
(roughly 1901-1919)

Early 20th Century Style Corset

I may have ruined the punchline with all this lead up, BUT, it is important that understand boning to appreciate my favorite line from Snobbery with Violence.  Having a conversation with her mother about her wardrobe choices, Lady Rose attempts to explain why she has chosen to wear a blouse and skirt instead of a corset and gown/dress.  The response from the elder Lady-Earl Summers is without equal:

A lady must ohhhhhhhhlways* be prrrrrrrrroperly** boned***.

*British for "always"

**Really roll those RRRs for the most uppity effect

***Pronounced boooowwwwwned, in the most Jiminy Glick way possible

And with that, I take my leave.