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somewhat random and catty
Recs first:
Experiments in Baby-Sitting, John/Sherlock, Sherlock, by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
earlgreytea68
mischiefmanaged!verse, post-epilogue, Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, the kids, Harry Potter, by irnan. Adore this a lot. Have nearly forgotten how lovely it is read in the heartwarming corner of HP fics.
I enjoyed every single fic recced insorrel_forbes's Deducing!John fics, Sherlock.
***
The random:
1) My underwhelming record of books read this year (0) continues to make me sorta guilty, as though I'm betraying my identity as a (somewhat) literate person.
2) On the other hand, I've read fanfics???? Because they go on my Kindle to read on my commute.
3) I re-read Sense and Sensibility two weeks ago and Marianne was as drippy as I remembered. Eleanor was, though a bit priggish, ok.
4) The Sunday paper had a section that interviewed Personalities about the books that changed his/her life. Well. I think you can't tell, really, about whether this or that book actually changed your life until years and years down the road (the content of the book, I mean: not whether you found ten bucks being used as a bookmark in it, or maybe the telephone number of the person who would become your spouse/friend/enemy one day). Unless it's a book that inspired you to be a writer/scientist/racecar driver or the like but if you didn't become a writer/scientist/racecar driver, would it still count?
4b) The books that changed my life... (or had an impact...):
(i) Romeo & Juliet. Because it was the first Shakespeare play I ever read, which was when I was 15. I'd never heard of Shakespeare before. (My school was - well.) So when I say the language blew my mind, it really did. I'd guessed he was famous because of the reaction of the teacher when saying 'SHAKESPEARE' (with a side-order of "and you probably won't understand it without notes, y'all barely passed English lang", which tone stuck with me for years and was why I didn't like doing lit at A levels and why I wanted - briefly, before sanity returned - to be a Shakespeare scholar at university [that'll show 'em~!]) - but I loved it by the first sonnet - still do.
(Tho' even at 15, I thought the two kids were really, really stupid - and I hated the nurse and Father Lawrence and I was so sad for Paris. I mean, c'mon, he's done nothing wrong but to show up and then get killed. I never did buy into the idea that this play was about love - I thought it was about doom and crazy parents and questionable child-marriage practices (this was before I learnt that this was all the rage among high class people. Crazies.)
That counts as life-changing? Who knows?
(ii) I am David by Ann Holm.
This is one that I would definitely say is life-changing for me, because it was the first time I emphathised liek whoa with a character even though his life (he's a runaway from a concentration camp) was so different from mine. I feel like/felt like I suddenly grew up while reading this book. Too much intensity to articulate well about it. And occasionally while writing fics I feel echoes of it. So yeah. I read this when I was about 10-11 because it was the assigned reading for my elder sister's lit class, so in fact this should go before (i), but well...
(iii) 1984
The most gruesome book I'd ever read at the ripe old age of 15-16 (or was it later?), though I was on a science-fiction kick in those days and had read loads of rather strange scenarios that were thrilling and adventurous and deep down fascinating. If scary, sometimes. But I guess the advantage of a Chinese girl reading a bunch of angmo authors is that you don't really take the social commentary that seriously, like the sexism (and the classism, in fantasies.) I just assumed white people did things differently (and yes, I'm sorry, I did assume that every published person was a white male - even when they weren't).
Anyway, science fiction was all about the future, which I loved. Robots! Time travel! Flying cars! 1984 was pretty unexciting in comparison, even if it was in the science fiction section. (It doesn't have spaceships!) And the TV spies on you. But the fist that clenches around your heart at Room 101 never really lets go. It was the first time I realised thatliterature fiction itself was/could be a thought experiment.
(The scariest, which is not the same as gruesome, authors I'd ever read then were Stephen King and then Lovecraft and then I discovered paperback romances and thankfully left horror behind. Still can't bring myself to read horror these days; my imagination is too erratic and generates nightmares.)
ETA:
(iv) And other honorable mentions (amended again only to include things I read prior-to-university):
The Changeover by Margaret Mahy
A Town Named Alice by Nevil Shute
Narnia series
The Dark is Rising Series
Gulliver's Travels. I only read until the horses.
"Ode on Melancholy" by Keats. Only this one. The others are crazy awesome too, but this one. Oh my god.
倚天屠龙记, 神雕侠侣, and most of all, 鹿鼎記, by Louis Cha
(I would add 红楼梦 too, except I haven't finished it (still) but Zhou Ruchang says (I'm paraphrasing) Gao Er's version is unofficial so technically the novel isn't finished either, ok?)
/ETA
4c) Books that ... (I read loads of? I enjoyed and they probably had an impact on me that I'm not aware of? I loved and love still? I loved and now am embarrassed about?)
i) Enid Blyton books. It's not my fault! They were all that my primary school classmates had. (I usually borrowed a book off my classmates in the morning and returned them that afternoon - I secretly read books under the table and openly at break.) Famous Five! Loved that. (Much later I collected the whole series - and then donated it.) I especially enjoyed those little hints about George's father, who was apparently working on a petroleum substitute. (Or was that in some other series?) You can tell I had a science-y bent to my interests in those days. Was v. annoyed at Anne 'playing house'. Dick was, well, a dick. Was determined never to have a slobbering dog as a pet. Fun to read about but... no. Did not see the point of dressing up as a boy.
The magic ones, yeah... ahhh, I think one of the fun things about the Harry Potter series was getting to read about a magical world (again) juxtaposed with the real world. There's something nostalgic about it. Of course, all those adventures about magical trees and flying chairs was easy to swallow when you remember that I had the mindset of 'white people do it differently'.
My reading tastes as a kid were heavily dependent on what my classmates' parents bought them. I think I read Enid Blyton books all through primary school and past, even the boarding school series (shades of HP again!)
And frankly, even if it's a bit embarrassing - if it weren't for the boarding school books I'd never have read the Chalet School books.
(ii) Chalet School series. The woman who had six children. Then nine children. Then eleven. Then (I heard) thirteen, but thankfully I'd stopped reading by then. Of course you can love children and love big families but c'mon.
(My greatgrandmother had thirteen - or more? - and it was... ugh.)
(iii) Heyer books. And Regency romances. And just paperback romances.
(iv) Elizabeth Peters books. This was when I abandoned science fiction for good, almost, and read detective stories and mysteries. Sherlock Holmes. Miss Marple. One really useful thing about Elizabeth Peters books (as well as those written under the name Barbara Michaels) - in addition to the unabashed and explicit feminist principles held by some/most of the female characters - was that there were loads of references to literature and history and politics, and by looking them up I learnt so much.
***
The catty:
I would say "bitchy" but I don't really care to use the word "bitchy" unless it's with a friend that I really know will understand what I mean.
Anyway. My f-list is full of talented and accomplished people, and it's sort of fun to read about other people's accomplishments, even if I get envious. But there's a species of self-crowing that gets to me. Just the other day I read that someone was happy that he/she had managed to read a book within 2 hours. Say what? That's... nice?
And another who says how he/she was able to 'switch' into professional mode, like flipping a switch, even at a social gathering. Yah. That's... what you are supposed to do, right? Like doctors being paged on a plane.
If you've got an awesome job, a wonderful family, really cute kids, top grades or was promoted to a fantastic job that you love and are great at, congrats and I'm here full of admiration AND secretly gnashing my teeth in envy. ^__^;; But some types of self-congratulation... (not that I want you to stop; I'm not your censor) just make me go wtf. (And laugh and laugh.)
Experiments in Baby-Sitting, John/Sherlock, Sherlock, by
earlgreytea68mischiefmanaged!verse, post-epilogue, Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, the kids, Harry Potter, by irnan. Adore this a lot. Have nearly forgotten how lovely it is read in the heartwarming corner of HP fics.
I enjoyed every single fic recced in
sorrel_forbes's Deducing!John fics, Sherlock.***
The random:
1) My underwhelming record of books read this year (0) continues to make me sorta guilty, as though I'm betraying my identity as a (somewhat) literate person.
2) On the other hand, I've read fanfics???? Because they go on my Kindle to read on my commute.
3) I re-read Sense and Sensibility two weeks ago and Marianne was as drippy as I remembered. Eleanor was, though a bit priggish, ok.
4) The Sunday paper had a section that interviewed Personalities about the books that changed his/her life. Well. I think you can't tell, really, about whether this or that book actually changed your life until years and years down the road (the content of the book, I mean: not whether you found ten bucks being used as a bookmark in it, or maybe the telephone number of the person who would become your spouse/friend/enemy one day). Unless it's a book that inspired you to be a writer/scientist/racecar driver or the like but if you didn't become a writer/scientist/racecar driver, would it still count?
4b) The books that changed my life... (or had an impact...):
(i) Romeo & Juliet. Because it was the first Shakespeare play I ever read, which was when I was 15. I'd never heard of Shakespeare before. (My school was - well.) So when I say the language blew my mind, it really did. I'd guessed he was famous because of the reaction of the teacher when saying 'SHAKESPEARE' (with a side-order of "and you probably won't understand it without notes, y'all barely passed English lang", which tone stuck with me for years and was why I didn't like doing lit at A levels and why I wanted - briefly, before sanity returned - to be a Shakespeare scholar at university [that'll show 'em~!]) - but I loved it by the first sonnet - still do.
(Tho' even at 15, I thought the two kids were really, really stupid - and I hated the nurse and Father Lawrence and I was so sad for Paris. I mean, c'mon, he's done nothing wrong but to show up and then get killed. I never did buy into the idea that this play was about love - I thought it was about doom and crazy parents and questionable child-marriage practices (this was before I learnt that this was all the rage among high class people. Crazies.)
That counts as life-changing? Who knows?
(ii) I am David by Ann Holm.
This is one that I would definitely say is life-changing for me, because it was the first time I emphathised liek whoa with a character even though his life (he's a runaway from a concentration camp) was so different from mine. I feel like/felt like I suddenly grew up while reading this book. Too much intensity to articulate well about it. And occasionally while writing fics I feel echoes of it. So yeah. I read this when I was about 10-11 because it was the assigned reading for my elder sister's lit class, so in fact this should go before (i), but well...
(iii) 1984
The most gruesome book I'd ever read at the ripe old age of 15-16 (or was it later?), though I was on a science-fiction kick in those days and had read loads of rather strange scenarios that were thrilling and adventurous and deep down fascinating. If scary, sometimes. But I guess the advantage of a Chinese girl reading a bunch of angmo authors is that you don't really take the social commentary that seriously, like the sexism (and the classism, in fantasies.) I just assumed white people did things differently (and yes, I'm sorry, I did assume that every published person was a white male - even when they weren't).
Anyway, science fiction was all about the future, which I loved. Robots! Time travel! Flying cars! 1984 was pretty unexciting in comparison, even if it was in the science fiction section. (It doesn't have spaceships!) And the TV spies on you. But the fist that clenches around your heart at Room 101 never really lets go. It was the first time I realised that
(The scariest, which is not the same as gruesome, authors I'd ever read then were Stephen King and then Lovecraft and then I discovered paperback romances and thankfully left horror behind. Still can't bring myself to read horror these days; my imagination is too erratic and generates nightmares.)
ETA:
(iv) And other honorable mentions (amended again only to include things I read prior-to-university):
The Changeover by Margaret Mahy
A Town Named Alice by Nevil Shute
Narnia series
The Dark is Rising Series
Gulliver's Travels. I only read until the horses.
"Ode on Melancholy" by Keats. Only this one. The others are crazy awesome too, but this one. Oh my god.
倚天屠龙记, 神雕侠侣, and most of all, 鹿鼎記, by Louis Cha
(I would add 红楼梦 too, except I haven't finished it (still) but Zhou Ruchang says (I'm paraphrasing) Gao Er's version is unofficial so technically the novel isn't finished either, ok?)
/ETA
4c) Books that ... (I read loads of? I enjoyed and they probably had an impact on me that I'm not aware of? I loved and love still? I loved and now am embarrassed about?)
i) Enid Blyton books. It's not my fault! They were all that my primary school classmates had. (I usually borrowed a book off my classmates in the morning and returned them that afternoon - I secretly read books under the table and openly at break.) Famous Five! Loved that. (Much later I collected the whole series - and then donated it.) I especially enjoyed those little hints about George's father, who was apparently working on a petroleum substitute. (Or was that in some other series?) You can tell I had a science-y bent to my interests in those days. Was v. annoyed at Anne 'playing house'. Dick was, well, a dick. Was determined never to have a slobbering dog as a pet. Fun to read about but... no. Did not see the point of dressing up as a boy.
The magic ones, yeah... ahhh, I think one of the fun things about the Harry Potter series was getting to read about a magical world (again) juxtaposed with the real world. There's something nostalgic about it. Of course, all those adventures about magical trees and flying chairs was easy to swallow when you remember that I had the mindset of 'white people do it differently'.
My reading tastes as a kid were heavily dependent on what my classmates' parents bought them. I think I read Enid Blyton books all through primary school and past, even the boarding school series (shades of HP again!)
And frankly, even if it's a bit embarrassing - if it weren't for the boarding school books I'd never have read the Chalet School books.
(ii) Chalet School series. The woman who had six children. Then nine children. Then eleven. Then (I heard) thirteen, but thankfully I'd stopped reading by then. Of course you can love children and love big families but c'mon.
(My greatgrandmother had thirteen - or more? - and it was... ugh.)
(iii) Heyer books. And Regency romances. And just paperback romances.
(iv) Elizabeth Peters books. This was when I abandoned science fiction for good, almost, and read detective stories and mysteries. Sherlock Holmes. Miss Marple. One really useful thing about Elizabeth Peters books (as well as those written under the name Barbara Michaels) - in addition to the unabashed and explicit feminist principles held by some/most of the female characters - was that there were loads of references to literature and history and politics, and by looking them up I learnt so much.
***
The catty:
I would say "bitchy" but I don't really care to use the word "bitchy" unless it's with a friend that I really know will understand what I mean.
Anyway. My f-list is full of talented and accomplished people, and it's sort of fun to read about other people's accomplishments, even if I get envious. But there's a species of self-crowing that gets to me. Just the other day I read that someone was happy that he/she had managed to read a book within 2 hours. Say what? That's... nice?
And another who says how he/she was able to 'switch' into professional mode, like flipping a switch, even at a social gathering. Yah. That's... what you are supposed to do, right? Like doctors being paged on a plane.
If you've got an awesome job, a wonderful family, really cute kids, top grades or was promoted to a fantastic job that you love and are great at, congrats and I'm here full of admiration AND secretly gnashing my teeth in envy. ^__^;; But some types of self-congratulation... (not that I want you to stop; I'm not your censor) just make me go wtf. (And laugh and laugh.)