the Orphan's Tales: In the Cities of Coin and Spice by Catherynne M. Valente

My review rating: 5 of 5 stars I picked up this book because of the title which caught my eye. What a great line for a poem, I thought. Then as I read I realized I had to have this book. The language is part Arabian Nights and part pure poetry. In fact most of the chapters are in themselves little prose poems, or perhaps flash fiction pieces. Valente (a poet herself) layers image on image with a richness of sensory detail and a wicked sense or surreal humor all of which contributes to a romp through a multi-layered tale within a tale within a tale of fallen stars, bird people, cities made of paper and detritus, the wedding of a sultan's daughter in the dead of winter, women made of grass and tree bark and cows and serpents all from a girl with stories inked on her eyelids (I said surreal, didn't I?). Part Mirrormask, part Arabian Nights, part Charles Dickens, part Jeanette Winterson, and part James Tate, Valente's prose is as beautiful and intriguing as it gets. View all my reviews.

Communication, Procrastination, Mountains, and Music

This morning in my inevitable procrastination (because it is time to grade exams), I dragged my heels by cruising my favorite blogs and I stumbled a selection of Laura Nyro music I hadn't heard in ages. It was on Paul Lisicky's blog--something I was drawn to in the search for information about Craig Arnold, a University of Wyoming poet who was declared missing and presumed dead in Japan last Friday.

Lisicky has a copy of Arnold's Bird-Understander there on his blog. A poem that is one half of a conversation between friends. On the surface the poem is about a bird trapped in an airport terminal. Underneath, it speaks to fear and loss, and ultimately to the value one friend sees in another--a value beyond the separation, the distance between the two people. The bird is alone, like the man in the terminal who fears for it. But just as the man is there for the bird, understanding its fear, so is the poet there for the man, understanding him perhaps better than he understands himself. Someone to talk to. Someone with whom to share the beautiful poignant moments that life hands us.

Then, although I doubt that Lisicky meant them to be connected, when I scrolled further down below the post about Arnold, I came on some music by Laura Nyro. I was touched by the corollary commentary in Nyro's lyrics that seemed to fit right into the both the morning and the moment.

The song which particularly caught my attention was "Mr. Blue":



In that ineffably honey-sweet voice of hers, Nyro sings:

This is the song of communications
Sending out peace vibrations,
Genuine cause to end our wars.
Or is this the song of complications?
A hopeless declaration?
Can we mend, transcend
The broken dishes of our love?
Our conflicts?
Can we be friends?

And I am reminded of all the things, the broken dishes, that need tending to in my own life. My mother, who I have been avoiding calling even though it is Mother's Day. My children who are so far away (Arizona, Maryland, Australia!) and so busy in their lives that we don't talk enough. The friend I parted from over hard words. All the wars everywhere that might not have happened had we talked more. Listened harder.

So Nyro and Arnold. An unexpected serendipitous conjunction. Like a street corner where a couple of old friends might bump into each other and say: "Ah. There you are. How have you been?"

So many things to think about. Time. There is never enough of it. Life. It is way too short. And who knows what mountains loom before any of us?

Communication. Caring. The understanding that, although sometimes we cannot fathom why bad things happen--why birds get trapped in high ceilings, why poets fall off mountains, why friends and lovers and families drift apart--there is always someone listening, watching, wanting to be there for us.

I think I will call my mother, and my children. And I think I will send this blog post to my friend. To all the friends I with whom I have lost touch.

Love me because of who I am not in spite of who I am

Shakespeare said:

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds. . . .

Which is exactly the subject of this blog post from Stinky Angels. Well said, Jae and Bill!

Because of.... Sunday, April 12, 2009 [from Stinky Angels]

For anyone who is counting, today is Andreas' and my 6 year wedding anniversary. That makes it the 12 year anniversary of our first date. (Yes, we did that on purpose. Too cutesy?)

Back at the very beginning I created a phrase that described how I wanted to love and be loved, and Andreas and I have subscribed to this philosophy ever since. I said that I wanted someone who would love me "because of, not in spite of" the way that I am, and I'd do the same in return.

If I were to love everything about him except the one or two things, then I'd constantly be trying to "fix" him. If he were to love me "even though" I am one way or another, then he'd wonder when I was going to change. Instead, we try to accept each other exactly as we are, and love all of those things that are the hardest to love.

Andreas has loved me because of my big heart, my love of animals, my joy of life, but also because of my (occasional) sharp-tongued jabs at his expense, and the way I smell (stinky) after two days of not showering because being a mommy sometimes means I forget to be a (clean) wife.

In return, I have loved him for the way he sees humor in everything, his ability to keep me calm and sane, and the way he can make friends with anyone, but also the (sometimes maddening) way that he volunteers out his time to anyone who needs help even if I need him at home, and how he (usually, but not always, correctly) thinks he knows the best way to accomplish any task.
Now we have Eme (whose 14 month "birthday" was yesterday) in our lives. There are days (though they are very few) when we might wish that she would be different than the way she is (please, please, PLEASE sleep through the night). But we love her. Just as she is.

We love Emelie because...

she is very good at making us laugh.
she is amazingly smart.
she almost never lets us take naps.
she learns new things every day.
she gets excited by anything that moves by itself (trucks, cats, leaves, whatever).
she says "mama" and "dada" and means us.
she loves us.
she sometimes stinks.
she knows how to spit her food out (see Cuffs and Peaches).
she enjoys singing and dancing.
she enjoys spinning around in circles until she falls down.
she enjoys doing very unladylike things even when we're in public (see The F Bomb).
she's usually sweet and gentle.
she's sometimes not sweet and gentle.
she's awesome.

For all of these reasons and more, we love our beautiful, stinky angel.
Posted by Jae at 12:21 PM

The Neil Gaiman Latte

Courtesy of Joan of Dark and the Strange Brew here is a great new caffeine drink for those of you who, like me, are huge Neil Gaiman fans:

The Neil Gaiman Latte:

• Take 1 Cacao Bean per shot, grind with your espresso
• Pull shot, should take between 18-22 seconds to pull.
• While your shot is pulling, steam some whole milk to 140 degrees.
• Your milk should spin, leaving you with a nice, glassy sheen on top.
• Sprinkle cinnamon into your cup, then pour your shot into cup.
• Add milk, attempting a little leaf art if you're so inclined.
• Drizzle about 1 tsp of honey around the edge of your latte, followed by a half packet of Raw Sugar.

Enjoy while curled up on the couch with a copy of The Graveyard Book, Sandman, or Anansi Boys. Once the caffeine kicks in, stay up all night writing or painting your house. Whichever.

You can see a pic of this, leaf design and all, at the Strange Brew website. now all I need is my comfy chair and fuzzy slippers.

Short story by Neil Gaiman, animation by Gahan Wilson, directed by Steven-Charles Jaffe. Originally posted in the New Yorker.

Mean Streets

I just finished reading Mean Streets. Being a huge fan of Jim Butcher, Kat Richardson, and Simon Green, I was happy to find this collection of stories on the library shelves.

The Butcher story is a Harry Dresden one. A succinct little vignette that lets a bit of light into both Harry and the character of Michael Carpenter, the Knight of the Sword who was injured in the last Dresden novel. The story seems quite straightforward at first, but takes some interesting philosophical turns. I give it 5 stars.

I am a fan of the Green Nightside tales, always have been--much like Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere, The Nightside invokes a titillating combination of desire and disgust. The John Taylor story here, however, is not as well crafted as those I have come to expect from Green. Recently Green has been developing another series, with a protagonist named Eddie Drood, one that is all wisecracks and special effects. This Taylor story reads more like that one. Not my taste at all. The things I liked about the tales from the Nightside are those inexplicable, unexpected moments--Taylor's Sam Spade / film noir attitude, and his personal relationship with demons, or Merlin living in the basement of a bar, or the Walker character who reminds me so much of John Steed in the Avengers. Unfortunately this ending is not only predicitable, it also left me wanting to say "so what?" I give it 3 stars at best. (C'mon, Simon, you can do better. Remember Drinking Midnight Wine?)

Fortunately Richardson's story, which fits well into her Greywalker series, is a delightful romp through Hispanic culture while presenting a mystery with an unusual surprise twist at the end. Masterfully building suspense Richardson kept me guessing until almost the end, and I will say no more. Greywalker fans should read this for themselves. 5 Stars!

The last author was one was one with whose work I am unfamiliar, Thomas Sniegoski. Writing about another series character Remy Chandler, an angel living on Earth. The story reads like a bit of detective noir crossed with Christian mythos and fantasy. It, too, has an interesting twist at the end. In fact it nicely parallels the Butcher and Richardson stories in many ways. And now I need to find his other books. 4 stars.

So over all a book worth reading. Three out of four ain't bad.

Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog Rocks

I officially love Joss Whedon. The man is bloody brilliant.