Books

Re-reading binge

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I borrowed the first book in Jack Whyte’s Dream of Eagles cycle from my mum on Sunday. I’ve read the series maybe three times before. The books are long — I believe all are over 600 pages; some significantly more than that — and including all of the companion books, there are nine in total. Nine. Even though I love them, I usually get tired around book five, because it’s a lot of time spent in that world (generations upon generations, in fact).

It’s historical fiction, though often shelved in fantasy, which has always bothered me. Sure, it’s about King Arthur and Camulod, but it’s an historical imagining of the “real” people behind the legend. There’s no magic in it. That’s the point.

It’s Thursday now, and I’m well into the third book, The Eagles’ Brood. It’s the one where the narrator changes from Publius to Merlyn, and it always takes me a bit to get over the fact I won’t be experiencing the world through Publius’s eyes any longer. It’s like when The Doctor re-generates. It takes me a while to give the new one a chance. (You too, Whovians?)

Anyway, I truly love these books. They’re well written and the research is super impressive. For a while after I re-read them, I know a lot about the decline of Rome. I know several of the dates of significant invasions in Britain. I know quite a bit about the military structure of the Roman Legions. I know a smidgen about early Christianity. These are all things I learned on previous readings (and, in part, in World History classes), but they come flooding back, and it’s nice to feel like I’m re-visiting and refreshing my knowledge.

These books are also pretty “R-rated.” Lots of sex; lots of death. Not quite to the level of GoT (because, let’s be honest, George R.R. Martin has set that bar shockingly high), but certainly more than your average novel.

If you enjoy historical fiction or books about war or series’ that go on forever or King Arthur stories or Canadian authors or layered and flawed heroes, I would recommend these books. The Skystone is first. Enjoy!

The controversy of dog-earing pages

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There are a lot of things that etiquette dictates we don’t talk about in polite conversation, not because they are distasteful but instead because they’re polarizing and often antagonistic. Religion, politics, unions, and recently, vaccinations all fall into this category.

Between readers, I’ve found almost nothing starts an argument more easily than “to fold or not to fold” (except for a discussion of  Twilight… but I’ll save that for another post). To be clear, I don’t think that dog-earing pages actually equates in significance to any of the big issues that have people protesting and legislating and committing violence. However, if you want to see tempers flare among introverted, mild-mannered booksellers, I dare you to fold your pages in front of them.

I am an unapologetic page folder. That, and a general dislike of cycling, were the two things that most set me apart from my indie bookstore cohorts.

To me, a read book should look as if it was handled. It should tell a story about the reader. If the pages are folded hundreds apart, it was read in hours-long stretches. If the cover is bent or marked, it was shoved into a purse or slept on accidentally when the lateness of the hour won out over the need to keep reading. If the pages are stained, it was too good to put down while eating. If it’s unnaturally fat and wrinkled, it was read on the bank of some body of water by a clumsy reader, or it was accidentally left out in the rain. If there are notes in the margins, it was studied or beloved or both.

I could keep my books pristine by reading indoors, by stopping to eat like a civilized person, by using bookmarks (I get enough as gifts), but reading is not an activity I want to do carefully.

A colleague of mine said it best when he described books as “artifacts of our lives” (shout-out to you, Duncan Stewart). They are not just a medium to receive information or decorations for our house. They are not just commodities.

They are pieces of our time in the world. They are tactile moments of education or escape, revelation or disappointment. They reflect who we were as we experienced reading them. And if that means they get a little dirty, bent, or warped along the way, all the better.

A reading slump not directly related to Netflix?

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Hey folks. Usually when I’ve gone a while without reading, I can directly point to Netflix binge-watching as the cause. Not this month. For some reason, my (varied and dare I say impressive) to-be-read list sits unappreciated and untouched, while the “Suggestions for you” list on Netflix seems equally unappealing. Are the slowly lengthening days inspiring me to more active pursuits? Has my time spent writing increased? To both of these, I’ve got to say no. It is a mystery that remains unsolved.

So back to reading. The last thing I want is for reading to become a chore, so instead of forcing myself into one of the to-be-read books, I’m going to kick-start my reading mood with a beloved classic. I’m thinking the first in the A Dream of Eagles series… or maybe a couple Harry Potter picks. Ooh! Or To Kill a Mockingbird.

Okay. Now I’m excited again.

Losing my virginity, graphically; or, My hunt for a rebound comic

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Did you know, good readers, that while I am a rich absorber of culture, I am rather skint when it comes to the graphic novel medium? What’s more, before I worked at my beloved bookstore, I had no interest in trying. At that point I knew only the “major” superhero comics, and the thought of starting them in the middle of a decades long story seemed about as appealing as starting A Song of Ice and Fire (a.k.a Game of Thrones) at book 4.

Working at a bookstore changes your perspective, and as my beloved bookstore had both a fairly impressive graphic novel section and the equally impressive and knowledgeable staff to tend it, my interest was slowly caught. So it was… four? five? years ago that “Bruce” recommended Y: The Last Man to me as the series to… pop my graphic novel cherry, as it were.

Yes, it took many years of putting it on my lengthy book list for someone to gift me the first book (first four issues), and then another few months for me to pick out the second in my “paper” anniversary book haul, but thanks to JT being the best present giver ever, I received rest of the entire series for my birthday.

(Side note: JT, who seems to have a culture-absorption shield, braved the local comic book store with only a title and a dream to get me all the books. His revelatory wonder on learning that – and I’m paraphrasing here – comic book stores are the only first-world place where you have to talk to someone to find what you want and bartering is alive and well, was priceless.)

The further I got into the series, the more appreciation I amassed for those people in my life who are real comic connoisseurs. It’s not just about the words (hey, I can critique dialogue with the best of them); they can identify a colourist at a glance of a page. They know all the artists’ names and the heaviness of their lines. It’s incredible. Me? I’m not such an expert. I know almost nothing about drawing, but I feel like I could get more of an education reading this oft-maligned medium than taking a six credit “contemporary art” course. So perhaps that’s what I’ll do.

Since I finished Y: The Last Man after a reading binge a few weeks ago (it was heartbreaking to reach the end — like any other excellent experience, this was too short), I’m now on the hunt for my rebound graphic novel.  I’m thinking something else off Empire’s “30 comic books you should have read” list.

Thoughts? Suggestions?