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Jun. 22nd, 2007 10:33 pmI meant to get so much done tonight. Instead I browsed over hairdye at the drugstore, browsed over art books at Chapters, and came home to read about parenting and spookiness (two different books, just so's ya know) over Strongbow and pasta.
Bought myself a nice book of art nouveau ladies that should be handy for glass painting experiments. Kiln and paints will be purchased tomorrow!! And also tomorrow sometime I have to sit down with Corey and figure out what the hell to do with the 2nd bedroom, because I am going to need more space for this. And I need to send my application to UrbanArt.
The above-mentioned spookiness was a kids' book called Zoe Rising, which I ran across on amazon.com recently - it's a sequel to Stonewords, which was absolutely the most stunningly written ghost story I have ever read. Zoe Rising is likewise beautifully written but not so arresting nor as spooky as the original. The stakes seemed higher in the first one somehow - I mean, we know her mom's alive, after all. Plus her mom seemed mostly sort of phoned in via exposition; we met her mom briefly in the first book, but not at all in this one, and that doesn't work when the whole story revolves around us caring about her mom and why she's so unwell.
What I loved most about Stonewords - aside from the writing, which was chock-full of gorgeous poetry and always shows what even the first-person narrator is feeling and thinking rather than baldly stating it - was how she let this really very strange thing unfold in a totally natural way; the main character grows up with it and takes it for granted, but as the spookiness intensifies she eventually figures out what it's all about. I loved how what happens is mostly unexplained, with only occasional and peculiar "rules" (you can get to the ghost's time by going one way up a certain staircase, but going the other way something really awful and uncanny keeps you back). I loved how the ghostliness of the ghost, while mostly defined as lack of substance, is also sometimes presented as awful, physical decay. Reading that book was very much like having a very vivid and sort of scary dream, a weird and original little story with its own internal logic, pieces of which stick with you for years afterwards.
I have a couple of other old spooky favourites on their way. Can't wait to re-read Wait Till Helen Comes.
Bought myself a nice book of art nouveau ladies that should be handy for glass painting experiments. Kiln and paints will be purchased tomorrow!! And also tomorrow sometime I have to sit down with Corey and figure out what the hell to do with the 2nd bedroom, because I am going to need more space for this. And I need to send my application to UrbanArt.
The above-mentioned spookiness was a kids' book called Zoe Rising, which I ran across on amazon.com recently - it's a sequel to Stonewords, which was absolutely the most stunningly written ghost story I have ever read. Zoe Rising is likewise beautifully written but not so arresting nor as spooky as the original. The stakes seemed higher in the first one somehow - I mean, we know her mom's alive, after all. Plus her mom seemed mostly sort of phoned in via exposition; we met her mom briefly in the first book, but not at all in this one, and that doesn't work when the whole story revolves around us caring about her mom and why she's so unwell.
What I loved most about Stonewords - aside from the writing, which was chock-full of gorgeous poetry and always shows what even the first-person narrator is feeling and thinking rather than baldly stating it - was how she let this really very strange thing unfold in a totally natural way; the main character grows up with it and takes it for granted, but as the spookiness intensifies she eventually figures out what it's all about. I loved how what happens is mostly unexplained, with only occasional and peculiar "rules" (you can get to the ghost's time by going one way up a certain staircase, but going the other way something really awful and uncanny keeps you back). I loved how the ghostliness of the ghost, while mostly defined as lack of substance, is also sometimes presented as awful, physical decay. Reading that book was very much like having a very vivid and sort of scary dream, a weird and original little story with its own internal logic, pieces of which stick with you for years afterwards.
I have a couple of other old spooky favourites on their way. Can't wait to re-read Wait Till Helen Comes.
