A Dark Horn Blowing, by Dahlov Ipcar (& bonus: The Boxcar Children, by Gertrude Chandler Warner)

#11 for 2011

A Dark Horn Blowing, by Dahlov Ipcar

The search [for my true name] had been long and arduous.  I had journeyed deep into my own inner being, into a weird other world of dreams and nightmares.  There I had found not only my true name but also the inner Well of Power that I knew I would draw from again and again.  (p. 162)


"If I must do something that unbelievable," Nana said slowly, "I'd rather do it with my eyes open."(p. 236)

Quite, quite lovely!  Go read this one.

OH- also, the other day I reread The Boxcar Children, by Gertrude Chandler Warner. I hadn't read that since, well, when I was 7? no older than 10 at most. Talk about memory lane!  This book stands up remarkably well and is so timeless. 

This Bridge Called My Back, [edited] by Cherrie Moraga and Gloria Anzaldua

#10 for 2011

This Bridge Called My Back, [edited] by Cherrie Moraga and Gloria Anzaldua

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The Second Sex, by Simone de Beauvoir

#9 for 2011



Simone de Beauvoir's The Second Sex.

All 800+ academic pages of it.  Yowsa.

I didn't have the new translation, though- I read the original English translation...  I didn't even realize they had a newer, more applauded one available.  Well.

*placeholder* may read SparksNotes or something before commenting much.  at least have to let my brain settle down a bit so it can formulate coherent word structures.

The Princess Bride: S. Morgenstern's Classic Tale of True Love and High Adventure, by William Goldman: 5 stars

#8 for 2011



The Princess Bride: S. Morgenstern's Classic Tale of True Love and High Adventure, by William Goldman

I absolutely love this book. I also absolutely love the movie. Both without concession. I'm not sure that has ever happened before.

The movie is different from the book, and vice versa, but they are both brilliant, brilliant, brilliant and exceptionally well done. I am forever indebted to William Goldman for his (father)'s discerning retelling of S. Morgenstern's story. It is, indeed, "one of the funniest, most original, and deeply moving novels I have read" (LA Times)- and it gives me quite a bit to think about. (I'm sure I'll formulate words to deal with Buttercup- dear, daft Buttercup- sometime in this life... That must come. Simply MUST.  But as far as I'm concerned, she's not really a concern!)

If you have somehow missed this, seek it out.

It was only when they found him funny that he found it, though he did not know the word, degrading. No more yelling. Just laughter now. Laughter, Fezzik thought, and then he thought giraffeter, because that's all he was to them, some huge funny thing that couldn't make much noise. Laughter, giraffeter, from here to hereafter.

Fezzik huddled up in his cave and tried looking on the bright side. At least they weren't throwing things at him.

Not yet, anyway. (p. 181)

"I'm getting very bored, Vizzini" came from out of sight. "Three months is a long time to wait, especially for a passionate Spaniard." Much louder now "And I am very passionate, Vizzini, and you are nothing but a tardy Sicilian. So if you're not here in ninety more days, I'm done with you. You hear? Done!" Much softer now: "I didn't mean that, Vizzini, I just love my filthy stoop, take your time..." (p. 210)

Seriously, if Fezzik and Inigo were not in the story, it would not be a great story. I care more about them than I ever did (or will) about Westley or Buttercup. (Don't get me started on Humperdinck- but what great names!) I love Fezzik and Inigo. And right now that scene of Inigo's is about how I feel.

I'm not trying to make this a downer, understand. I mean, I really do think that love is the best thing in the world, except for cough drops. But I also have to say, for the umpty-umpth time, that life isn't fair. It's just fairer than death, that's all. (p. 283)