I thought I knew what cold was, before cold stripped me bare of thought, then blinded me and froze my heart. I could not feel such cold and live; cold forced me into something other, something not quite human, who held a dream with bones of ice, and did not remember names, only what we . . . → Read More: Considering Patricia McKillip
I’m back, and I’ve got all sorts of different things for you today.
Books — we have books. (Well, we pretty much always have books, but still. . . .)
We have another one of those might be thriller, might be sf, might be. . . ? Iain M. Banks continues his Culture . . . → Read More: Goodies
So what do you consider the best imagined setting in fantasy and science fiction? Akkaris in Frank Herbert’s Dune series? The world of Mote Prime in Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle’s The Mote in God’s Eye series? The post-apocalyptic Minneapolis in Emma Bull’s Bone Dance? Or J.R.R.. Tolkien’s Middle-Earth perhaps? I’m choosing Earthsea as created . . . → Read More: Ursula Le Guin’s Earthsea series
Well, yes and no — I’m here doing a substitute gig for your regular posters, and I have to admit, what I mean by “miscellany” at Sleeping Hedgehog is not what I mean my “miscellany” here. However . . . .
We’ve got books, which is pretty normal. We’re starting off with a collection of . . . → Read More: A Little Miscellany
As you may know, Emma Bull is one of the writers who garners much approval here, as she’s a great writer, a talented musician, and a really nice person. So it’s not ‘tall surprising to me that one of her novels is on many of the lists of best novels that our staffers suggested for . . . → Read More: Emma Bull’s War for the Oaks
Jack Merry here. Let me put aside Emma Bull’s Finder: A Novel of the Borderland which I’ve been reading this foggy evening. Do have a pint of Dragons Breath XXXX Stout with me while I tell you a tale…
Depending on how you figure it, it’s either late summer or early fall here on the . . . → Read More: Blood Wedding
I prefer my history dead. Dead history is writ in ink, the living sort in blood. — A Feast for Crows by George R. R. Martin
Despite what Martin says, no history is ever dead so long as someone, somewhere ‘members it and tells others about it. Same’s true of trad music as anyone who . . . → Read More: Keeping Tunes Alive
Some hold that the Green Man is but a Celtic myth retold by the English as a sort of ethnic cleansing of the native culture. That is bullocks as there’s really no Green Men in English myth either no matter what Lady Raglan claimed backed in the period between the Wars.. But there is a . . . → Read More: The Lord of The Forest
Sara Kendell once read somewhere that the tale of the world is like a tree. The tale, she understood, did not so much mean the niggling occurrences of daily life. Rather it encompassed the grand stories that caused some change in the world and were remembered in ensuing years as, if not histories, at least . . . → Read More: Charles de Lint’s Tamson House
Take no scorn to wear the horn It was the crest when you were born Your father’s father wore it And your father wore it to Robin Hood and Little John Have both gone to the fair o and we will to the merry green wood To hunt the buck and hare o
‘Hal-N-Tow’ . . . → Read More: Robin Hood Redux