Things To Do On Page 82 Reviews

Things To Do On Page 82 Reviews!
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Showing posts with label "G" Books. Show all posts
Showing posts with label "G" Books. Show all posts

Monday, January 16, 2012

Page 82 of The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making

“Papers,” the Switchpoint said in a faint, airy voice. Its eyes were hard brass balls, glinting with judgment.

September fished the little green book that Betsy Basilstalk had given her out of the inner pocket of the smoking jacket. The jacket was deeply pleased to have kept it safe for her. She held it up so the cherubic little face could examine it. It clucked imperiously.

“Ravished, eh? Haven’t seen one of you in a while.” The Switchpoint looked dubiously at A-Through-L, who scratched at the grass with one enormous claw.

“He’s my ... companion. My Wyvern,” said September hurriedly. She hoped he would not be too offended at being called hers.

“Do you have a Deed for him?”

The Wyverary drew himself up to his full height, which was considerable. “True servitude,” he said gently, “can only be voluntary. Surely, you know that. Surely, you once chose to stand here and frown at those who wish only to enter the city. Surely, you once did something else--sold gloves or frightened children at festivals--and chose this instead.”

The Switchpoint squinted up at him. “Were a soldier, we were,” it grumbled.

The great goat-hair gate drew back like a theatre curtain. Four of the hands at the base of the Switchpoint post began to work furiously, so fast the fingers blurred so that September could not even see them moving. Slowly, a deep scarlet scrap began to spread out from the post, weaving itself as it went, a little brass thumb sliding back and forth like a shuttle. It flowed on, raw, shimmering silk, under September’s shadowless feet and through the gate, stopping there, as if to beckon them onward.

September took a step forward. The hands blurred into industry again, and the scarlet path wove swiftly on into Pandemonium.

(From the hardback edition)
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My Review

First off, if all books had titles as wonderful as this one's, I'd be forced to start a blog reviewing just the titles of books. But I don't have such a blog, and most books don't have such good titles, so on with the review.

What a whirl of concepts and characters this page is! In quite a short interval, we have five characters named if you include the smoking jacket ... and how can one not be intrigued at the notion of a smoking jacket as a character? Then there’s the categorization of September as “Ravished,” a fact apparently set forth in her green book of papers, her introduction of her companion, the idea that any mention of possession can imply that one should have a Deed ...

Without benefit of the previous 81 pages, the scene is a bit of a puzzle. We don’t know what a Switchpoint is and have only a few tidbits of description to go by; seemingly, the creature is an amalgam of many parts. Still, the situation is clear; September and her Wyvern are trying to enter a city (Pandemonium, one assumes from the final line), and the gatekeeper has challenged them. More or less everything in the scene is somehow magical, from the Switchpoint to the smoking jacket to the Wyvern (or Wyverary) to the goat-hair gate. The setting recalls the gates of Oz, with their recalcitrant gatekeeper and the magical road leading up to the city. But despite the tonal similarity, all of the details come across as highly original, and provoke one’s curiosity as well. Why are September’s feet shadowless? Why is the Wyvern serving her? What’s inside Pandemonium that attracts the pair?

And on top of all the imaginative details, we find in the middle of the page two elements that elevate this passage above mere fantastical storytelling: the notion that true servitude can only be voluntary, and also the implication that those who find themselves sour and unhappy with their lot in life perhaps have their own past choices to blame.

So: inventive, intriguing, and even philosophical. If I weren’t already reading this book, I would definitely start.

Thursday, January 12, 2012

Page 82 of A Gent From Bear Creek and Other Tales

All I wanted was to get in amongst them Barlows--I does my best fighting at close quarters. But at the moment I couldn't think of no way that wouldn't get me shot up. Of course I could jest rush the cabin, but the thought of seventeen Winchesters blazing away at me from close range was a little stiff even for me, though I was game to try it, if they warn't no other way.

Whilst I was studying over the matter, all to onst the hosses tied out in front of the cabin snorted, and back up in the hills something went Oooaaaw-w-w! And a idee hit me.

"Git back in the woods and wait for me," I told Bill, as I headed for the thicket where we'd left the hosses.

I rode up in the hills towards where the howl had come from, and purty soon I lit and throwed Cap'n Kidd's reins over his head, and walked on into the deep bresh, from time to time giving a long squall like a cougar. They ain't a catamount in the world can tell the difference when a Bear Creek man imitates one. After awhile one answered, from a ledge jest a few hundred feet away.

I went to the ledge and clumb up on it, and there was a small cave behind it, and a big mountain lion in there. He give a grunt of surprise when he seen I was a human, and made a swipe at me, but I give him a bat on the head with my fist, and whilst he was still dizzy I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hauled him out of the cave and lugged him down to where I left my hoss.

Cap'n Kidd snorted when he seen the cougar and wanted to kick his brains out, but I give him a good kick in the stummick hisself, which is the only kind of reasoning Cap'n Kidd understands, and got on him and headed for the Barlow hangout.

I can think of a lot more pleasant jobs than totin' a full-growed mountain lion down a thick-timbered mountainside on the back of a iron-jawed outlaw at midnight. I had the cat by the back of the neck with one hand, so hard he couldn't squall, and I held him out at arm's length as far from me and the hoss as I could, but every now and then he'd twist around so he could claw Cap'n Kidd with his hind laigs, and when this would happen Cap'n Kidd would squall with rage and start bucking all over the place. Sometimes he would buck the derned cougar onto me, and pulling him loose from my hide was wuss'll pulling cockle-burrs out of a cow's tail.

But presently I arriv close behind the cabin. I whistled like a whippoorwhil for Bill, but he didn't answer and warn't nowheres to be seen, so I decided he'd got scairt and pulled out for home. But that was all right

(From a somewhat expensive hardcover edition with kind of a goofy cover ... I felt obliged to scrounge up the Jeff Jones illustration from the version I read as a kid)
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My Review

Who are the Barlows? Who's Bill? Who in the world is this out-for-blood narrator who can bludgeon a "full-growed mountain lion" into submission with one fist and then carry it by the scruff of the neck on horseback to his enemies' lair? More to the point, does any of that matter, or do you just want to see what riot of carnage results when he tosses that cougar into the cabin?

Visceral titillation aside, there are many cues on this page that the writer has a cunning feel for what he's doing. Even a cursory analysis of the language reveals that the author has taken care to inject enough backwoods dialect to lend his prose a breezy, yokely vigor, but not so much as to render it deadening or difficult to read. Not every "there" becomes "they," and surprisingly few of the gerunds have their final "g" apostrophized. As much of the feel comes from word choice as from a hillbilly mangling of the language: "blazing," "lugged," "snorted," "squall," and "whilst" are all perfectly grammatical but sing of the rural wilds regardless. And there's an economy of narrative that moves us between disparate settings quickly and vividly. We don't learn the narrator's name on this page, but we do learn his horse's, and that the horse apparently has as much personality as the rider.

If a rip-snorting tall tale of the old west is your idea of fun, this page can't help but tell you that you ought to read the rest of the book -- even if you didn't know (or perhaps particularly if you didn't know) that it's by the same guy who invented Conan the Barbarian.