marenfuga: (Default)
I'm always trying to finish a collection of Joan Didion's essays. This is more of the same, only the last time I wasn't highlighting enough, so now I'm compensating by highlighting everything. Like,

The impulse to write things down is a perculiarly compulsive one, inexplicable to those who do not share it, useful only accidentally, only secondarily, in the way that any compulsion tries to justify itself.


My stake is always, of course, in the unmentioned firl in the plaid silk dress. Remember what it was to be me: that is always the point.


... we are talking about something private, about bits of the mind too short to use, an indiscriminate and erratic assemblage with meaning only for its maker.

and finally

I think we are all well advised to keep on nodding terms with the peple we used to be, whether we find them attractive company or not. Otherwise they turn up unannounced and surprise us, come hammering on the mind's door at 4 am of a bad night and demand to know who deserted them, who betrayed them, who is going to make amends. We forget all too soon the things we thought we could never forget. We forget the loves and the betrayals alike, forget what we whispered and what we screamed, forget who we were.
marenfuga: (think big)
I've always been able to take control of my feelings by writing about them. Not much of what I write makes actual sense, I realize, but it does help me to put things in order at least in my mind. I'm a mess and I need a journal, is what I'm saying.

Baby Niece is back at the hospital. They think it's nothing serious, but they're keeping her there until she can eat normally again. It's the realization that this is probably the first of many stays at the hospital over "nothing serious" that's killing us. Big Sister is at the hospital with her and we can't go, 'cause there's no room for non-parents, so I should be able to disconnect and do other stuff, but I feel so guilty. Guilty for not being unable to support my sister in ANY way, for not knowing what to do, for adding my depression and anxiety to the mix, for worrying about myself.

marenfuga: (aww clint)
I lost sleep watching (and crying over) Queen In Hyun's Man. I feel properly indoctrinated in KDramas.
marenfuga: coffee shop AU. Wait, what? (hawkeye)
 photo attachments_zps623cc735.jpg
Yay, my first book for March Madness is done! Just a thousand more to go!

I don't have a final opinion on this book. Some things I liked, some things I struggled with and some things I absolutely loved, but overall the impression isn't as strong as the ones I had with the other novels by Rainbow Rowell...

1) This book is about an IT guy who monitors the internet access of a newspaper room and becomes way too invested in the e-mails that two women working there send each other.

2) I remember reading a post about this book by Jenny from Reading the End, and thinking that yes, it sounded way too creepy and I would probably feel terribly uncomfortable reading something like that. But then I read the first page and... it's not that I didn't find it creepy, is just that I think I had time to make my peace with this story before I read it. Also, this review was the last push I needed. You say "Emotional truth" and I'm there in the blink of an eye.

3) It really helps that the focus was not in the fact that Lincoln, the IT guy, was reading the e-mails. The narration didn't make excuses for him, and he was well aware of how creepy it was. I think the real story was how Lincoln ended up being the kind of guy who would do that, actually.

4) I love the fact that Rainbow Rowell MO is to create a non-judgmental zone in her novels. What they do when they're going through a crisis always feels like a coping mechanism and you can't help but empathize with them.

5) There are a lot of maternity issues here. Jennifer and Beth, whose correspondence Lincoln is reading, have issues with their mothers and their marriages (or lack thereof). Jennifer, in particular, is really struggling with the idea of becoming a mother and her e-mails are both interesting and painful to read. Lincoln's mother doesn't seem to be able to let him go. Lincoln's sister has a lot to say about that, while also going through a similar experience with her own son. Lincoln's friend, Christine, has always a kid in her arms, so you're constantly reminded of maternity and... oh. Huh.

(I was just thinking what was the right word to define the feeling this book gave me and I couldn't think of one in English, so I opened wordreference to translate it from Spanish and, what were the odds, the word I was looking for was attachment. Yeah, I know. It was right in from of my eyes this whole time.)

6) I want to keep living in Rainbow Rowell's novels after they come to an end. But especially in this one, 'cause we didn't get too many endings. I'm fine with ambiguity, but Lincoln's mother really worries me. I kept expecting her to open a restaurant and it didn't happen and now part of me really needs to be reassured that she will be all right.

7) Beth and Jennifer's voices were fantastic and their relationship was the best part of the book. At one point they stop sending emails to each other and Lincoln spends a few chapters on his own and it's EXCRUCIATING. Not because he's not an interesting character, though at some points I kinda lost him. Is just that the fact that they had stopped writing meant SO much to their individual plots! And that's when I realized that as much as I liked Lincoln, what I really wanted to read was an epistolary novel featuring only Beth and Jennifer...
marenfuga: (nekkid librarian!)

March Madness is a month long read-a-thon, hosted by Cedar Station. Normally I at least try to stay away from reading challenges. I don't do well under pressure, and a month-long reading marathon looks like a recipe for disaster. In regular circumstances, setting a monthly goal would only make me angry and frustrated and would force me to spend the rest of the month ignoring books entirely and reading fanfiction or watching Sailor Moon (I know 'cause that's exactly what I've done in the past). But this March is special. It might be the last time I have so much free time in my hands and I plan to *invest* it in reading as much as I can.

Most of my TBR is in my Nook, so a picture wouldn't be terribly helpful. But here it is, anyway...

As you can see, my physical TBR pile includes:
  • The Water Beetle by Nancy Mitford

  • The Foundling by Georgette Heyer

  • Heroines and Harlots: Women at Sea in the Great Age of Sail by David Cordingly

  • Gaudy Night by Dorothy L. Sayers

  • Love From Nancy: The Letters of Nancy Mitford edited by Charlotte Mosley

  • Middlemarch by George Eliot (!)

  • A Friend From England by Anita Brookner

Sadly, I'm still afraid of Middlemarch and it's only on my list because part of me knows that if I don't read it know I'll never have the time again, so I'm approaching it with my "at least I'll read 10 minutes a day, that can't hurt neither of us, right?" reading strategy.

And not pictured in this image (though you can see my Nook), these are my other options:
  • Surprised by Joy by C.S. Lewis

  • To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

  • Fire and Hemlock by Diana Wynne Jones

  • The Cuckoo's Calling by Robert Galbraith (ha!)

  • Some Tame Gazelle by Barbara Pym

  • Strong Poison by Dorothy L. Sayers

  • Behind the Scenes at the Museum by Kate Atkinson

  • Consider the Lobster and Other Essays by David Foster Wallace

  • The Invention of Love by Tom Stoppard

  • Among Others by Jo Walton

  • The Haunted Bookshop by Christopher Morley

  • Among the Janeites by Deborah Yaffe

  • Fic: Why Fanfiction is Taking Over the Workd edited by Anne Jamison

  • The Blue Flower by Penelope Fitzgerald

  • Attachments by Rainbow Rowell 03/04

  • The Whitefire Crossing by Courtney Schafer

  • The Warrior's Apprentice by L.M. Bujold

  • The Daughter of Time by Josephine Tey

  • Kivrin Lavransdatter by Sigrid Undset

  • Ancillary Justice by Ann Leckie

  • Shaking a Leg: Collected Journalism and Writings by Angela Carter

  • Remake by Connie Willis

  • Passage by Connie Willis

  • Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

That's... a lot of books. The only reason I picked so many is because I need to have a lot of choice or I start feeling claustrophobic. (ETA: Now that I think of it, I still want to read L.M. Montgomery's The Blue Castle and at least one book by Graham Greene. And Wilkie Collins! And Trollope! And Montaigne's essays! AND HAWKEYE!) I think my choices are diverse enough, overall, though lacking in writers of the male persuasion... I'm mixing genres, time periods and length hoping I won't get bored by a constant rhythm.

I'm not setting a goal (again: pressure! claustrophobia! Sailor Moon!), I just hope to be able to stick with the challenge. Baby steps.
marenfuga: (serious investigating)
I should start writing about books more often. This morning I tried to do my usual book brainstorming and pieces of every book I've read in the past weeks came up demanding to be written about. And I choked.

The terrible part is that those pieces are part of a bigger picture I still haven't managed to look at, so I don't know how to put them in order...

So, let's begin with the strongest idea before another one surpasses it.

From Nick Hornby's High Fidelity (which I wasn't enjoying until suddenly I was and then it was over and I felt guilty for not having started to feel joyful a hundred pages earlier...):
The difference between these people and me is that they finished college and I didn't (they didn't split up with Charlie and I did); as a consequence, they have smart jobs and I have a scruffy job, they are rich and I am poor, they are self.confident and I am incontinent, they do no smoke and I do, they have opinions and I have lists.

I love that at some point in this story the narrator decided to embrace his stupidity. At first I thought it had cheapened the story somewhat, as if his ignorance was played for comedic value. And I think it was, but that doesn't make it less true. It's like instead of trying to get through life pretending to know things he suddenly realized he was unable to keep the pretense up and started to wonder how life worked at all. Man, in retrospect, I LOVED that book. Here he was, pretending to know what was life the whole time, and trying to convince us that he was a total jerk and he was just... treading water, I guess.

Anyway, the quote. I've come to realize that I don't... think much. I mean, I think all the time, but never complete thoughts, just random ideas I let go of to pick new ones. So, when it comes to putting arguments together (in a review of a book, for instance) I completely collapse, 'cause a bunch of random ideas doesn't make a whole point of view. I blame a lack of formal education for this, but it might just be me. And I'm terribly scared to change 'cause what if I go to college and it turns out they don't actually teach you to express yourself as an intelligent person? What if college is just useful to people that are already smart and with complete thoughts it doesn't help me at all? (hey, new anxiety! Welcome aboard!) THE POINT IS, that I'm totally a list person. I used to make lists like crazy and still, I'm much more likely to make a fabulous TBR list than to actually read the books in that list, but that's another story and I should tell it using that quote from Mr Knightley in Emma...

Back to the original idea, I never thought my love of lists could be born of how uncomfortable opinions make me. I normally complain that the only reason I don't comment in other blogs or sites is because writing in English is such a struggle and anyway I have nothing to say. In fact, though, I'm thinking maybe it's because having an opinion stresses me so much I kinda block the thought process and exacerbate the emotional response so I don't have to find words for it. And make lists instead.

And that, folks, was a whole hour of bibliotherapy. I had no idea High Fidelity made me feel so much and that those feelings were there because of REASONS. That just seems crazy...
marenfuga: (Default)
Do I need to develop my taste for Nick Hornby's fiction? Is that something doable? I mean, is totally fair not to love one of his novels and then read another and feel like it was made specifically for you. I can see that happening. I guess my question really is... would I be able to develop a taste for this particular Nick Hornby's novel?

OK, for some context, thus far I've read approx one third of Fever Pitch and a couple of the books collecting his columns about reading from The Believer, and loved them (I didn't get to the end of Fever Pitch because my specialty in life is to forget I'm reading a book before finishing it, then remember it a few months later and say "well, it is not like I even recall in which page I was *shrugs*" It wasn't personal, is what I'm saying.) But, for some reason, even though I enjoy the way High Fidelity is written, I'm having a terrible time reading it...

Which makes me wonder which part of it is not working for me. The narration is OK, and since the first mention of Elvis Costello, I've been listening to his discography on repeat, so I'm guessing music references aren't a problem either. Is it the story? The characters? The dismissive way in which Rob talks about everything and everyone? OK, that might be closer to the truth, but I actually find myself liking the way he's not consistently awful or consistently likable, so... that's not it.

Is it the pace? The unrelentingly bleak atmosphere of the novel? The smell of life failure? My own fears? I guess it depresses me that even the jokes that make me laugh out loud are dry. But they do make me laugh.


Book club, the things I do for you... (is it because I hate reading the books for our book club? Is it a COMMITMENT thing?)
marenfuga: (Default)
  • Rainbow Rowell's Fangirl, fanfiction, my swelling heart and fic recs

  • Emotional distance in reading and Sarah Rees Brennan's Unspoken and Untold, with extra fic recs

  • Rainbow Rowell's Eleanor & Park

  • ALL SHOEBOX THINGS (aka I've been rererererererererererereading The Shoebox Project and I have tears to prove it) (with extra, extra quotes)

  • Emotional reading, YA and how not to connect with 'literary fiction'

  • Why I can't read my book club picks (even when I get to choose the book)

  • Easy-to-read vs slow books. The 'Books in my Nook' categorization debacle.

  • Now that I think about it, how categorization helps and sucks and makes me very uncomfortable

  • On my lack of book blog assertiveness, a list in progress
marenfuga: (4 excellent questions)
―¿No te gusta el rollo de bizcocho? ¡Pero si es lo mejor del mundo! ―exclamé; me pirraban los rollos de bizcocho.
― Banana Yoshimoto, Recuerdos de un callejón sin salida (trad. Gabriel Álvarez Martínez)

Esta, damas y caballeros imaginarios, es la razón por la que no leo narrativas modernas traducidas al español. Mientras las editoriales iberoamericanas sigan convencidas de que los modismos de España son perfectamente aceptables en Sudamérica, no podré leer a autores extranjeros sin sentir que estoy pasando por un filtro españolizado (que es lo último que esperarías sentir leyendo a alguien como Banana Yoshimoto...)

P.S. Es... curioso? porque la primera copia de Pride & Prejudice que compré, era una edición tan españolizada que hasta los nombres de los personajes habían sido traducidos (Bebel por Lizzie, Juana por Jane, Carlota por Charlotte, etc.). Y la amaba con todo mi corazón, porque era gloriosamente ridícula. Claro que a ningún personaje le pirraba nada. Pirraban. Pff...
marenfuga: (nekkid librarian!)
So, step #1: getting the book? Check.
Step #2: read its first ten pages? ...

Yeah, apparently I reaaaally don't want to read Middlesex. I have no idea why. I mean, other than "but it's oh-so-long!" and "but I didn't choose to read it myself!", with a pinch of "but it seems to be about people suffering and having to deal with shit" to spice it up.

On related news, yesterday I had some time to kill and since the only thing I had yet to check off my to do list was Middlesex, instead I started three other books. As you do. So, on one hand we have Nora Ephron's I Feel Bad About My Neck which is a short book of essays that I started reading even though my brain was screaming I had no time to do it. Brains, am I rite? But brain had a point, so I stopped after the amount of pages needed for one to acknowledge the "currently reading" status of a book, which normally is close to fifty. But after that things got muddy. First came an article on (recommended by the lovely MJ) that included this treacherous sentence about the Vorkosigan series:
It is difficult to return to reading space adventure stories in a series where one has seen one’s heart wrenched from one’s chest and put back in differently...

Okay. First? Such a goddamned well-put turn of phrase. Two? I've only read two books from the Vorkosigan series by L.M. Bujold (Ethan of Athos and Falling Free) and both were fun books, but if you're telling me that at some point this series reach "a pinnacle of emotional impact in Memory and Komarr" then I'll have to read ALL THE BOOKS, 'cause if modern literary novels don't move me, SF/F with emotional undertones gets me EVERY SINGLE TIME. Which means now I'm also reading Shards of Honor ('cause I can't just jump straight into Komarr, can I? I have to develop feelings first.)

And, to make my life more difficult (or awesome, depending on how you view it) there's this other article on, by Jo Walton, on Georgette Heyer, feminist reading and why one shouldn't be ashamed of one's inclination towards romance novels. And it mentions Bujold's Shards of Honor and how for some people it's a romance novel and one thing lead to another and then, suddenly, I was in the middle of Georgette Heyer's Cotillion. No regrets, though. Georgette Heyer can have bad moments, but boy can she write a romp.

(BTW, I should post this stuff on my book blog, but for some reason I've arbitrarily decided that is a scary place. I think I miss the simple "Update" page on LJ/DW. Wordpress looks so professional.)
marenfuga: (serious investigating)
So, here's what I know about Middlesex:
1) It's a book!
2) Written by the author of The Virgin Suicides!
3) Is in no way related to Middlemarch...

For some reason, the sum of those facts make it sound very unappealing to me. But, by next Wednesday, I have to have read it (I have to have? really?) for my book club meeting.

Personally, I was planning on give it a superficial glance, read the summary, a couple of reviews on GoodReads and fake my way through the meeting. But, this book club, they're decent people. They're nice and spending time reading the book, and I feel awful lying to them. Hence, the title of this post. I'll make a project and read the hell out of Middlesex.

First step? Get the book. That's easy enough, right?

Baby steps.
marenfuga: (dude watchin' with the Brontës)
Mis fanfics favoritos del fandom de Inception, los que releo cuando necesito subirme el ánimo, los que me hicieron escuchar música nueva o leer cosas distintas o ver un ballet en particular o incluso, en un mágico momento, preparar café con amor (sólo una vez. El café me hace mal.):

  • Arctic Dreams by [ profile] wldnst
    AU. ~5.000 palabras. Arthur es un biólogo marino. Eames es su rival, pero no lo sabe.
    Arthur’s one consolation is that someone who studies the biggest fish in the world and then switches to whales with giant tusks growing out their jaws has got to be compensating for something.

  • Discovery by [ profile] solvent
    Lawyer!AU. ~15.000 palabras. Arthur consigue el trabajo leguleyo de sus sueños sólo para descubrir que se había acostado con su jefe. Shut up.
    He looked at himself in the mirror – serious face, serious suit, tight jaw. He looked like a lawyer, he assured himself. It still took him another ten minutes to leave.

  • I've Got Nothing To Do Today But Smile (The Only Living Boy In New York) by [ profile] gyzym
    Lawyer!AU. ~20.000 palabras. Arthur es vilmente explotado por el aparato burocrático. Eames es dueño de una cafetería.
    "Today is the day that Arthur grins like an idiot and laughs and blushes and advises people on the amount of vanilla in their scones," Yusuf says. "May 22, everyone. Mark your calendars."

    Eames, because he's a bastard, actually marks the calendar.

  • I Bet Nureyev Never Had To Deal With This Shit by [ profile] cobweb_diamond
    BALLET!AU FTW. ~20.000 palabrasEames, Mal y Arthur son los bailarines principales de... uh... una compañía de ballet en Londres.
    ‘OK, fine. What’s this... ritual?’ he asks, wary. People can get a little crazy when it comes to opening night.

    ‘Well, first I must get my bikini area waxed,’ says Mal. ‘And then, we watch Die Hard!’

    Arthur is still stuck on that first part. ‘I’m... sorry?’

    ‘It's a necessary part of preparing for the show,’ explains Mal, as if it’s perfectly obvious.

    ‘And... Eames joins in?’

    Eames grins. ‘I pour her wine. To dull the pain.’

    There are so many disturbing elements to this idea that Arthur doesn't know where to begin. ‘Has anyone ever told you two that your partnership is weirdly close?’ he wonders. ‘Doesn’t Dom mind?’

    ‘Dom is like an insane person before opening night,’ says Mal. ‘And besides, I suspect he thinks women are naturally smooth and hairless like beautiful, polished jewels. It’s charming.’

  • Jamais Vu by [ profile] thehoyden
    Creo que este es el único no AU de la lista. ~7.000 palabras. Yusuf prueba un nuevo compuesto en Arthur. Eames se beneficia.
    "I'm not sure what this is supposed to prove," Arthur temporizes.

    "Shush, darling, this is for science," Eames says, and creases the page of the Cosmopolitan magazine he is holding. "'The second time you go out with a guy you like, he wears an ugly shirt he says his mother bought for him. Do you think A.) he's a mama's boy and there will be no date number three--'"

    "Seriously, what is this?" Arthur asks.

    "A quiz entitled, 'Are You Way Too Picky When It Comes to Guys'," Eames says. "You haven't heard your other two options. 'B.) Well, everyone should get one fashion break, or C.) It's cute that he loves her enough to wear it.'"

  • Pagina Uno by [ profile] pyrimidine
    AU. ~6.000 palabras. Arthur es un bibliotecario, Eames es el usuario con las mæs altas multas en la historia de la biblioteca.
    “Mr. Eames. I’m not your English teacher. I’m not a sounding board for your pedestrian thoughts and I’m not here to pat you on the back for having a first grader’s analysis on Faulkner’s style. I’m calling because you apparently have over forty overdue books on your account here,” Arthur bites out.

    There’s a pause.

    “Quite an impressive eyebrow and mustache combination, though,” says Eames, as if he’s having an entirely different conversation. “Faulkner, I mean.”

  • Roll The Dice by [ profile] the_ragnarok
    Highschool!AU. ~8.000 palabras. Todos juegan Rol.
    Arthur's willing to admit he's being a little petty. So he tried extra hard for a friendly smile. "So Eames talked you into joining us?"

    She snorts. "Yeah, more like I wheedled at him to let me come along. I've tried to organize a game with my anime club, but it ended up dissolving into sparkles and yaoi."

  • Early Returns by [ profile] rageprufrock
    NEWSPAPER!AU. ~15.000 palabras. I fucking love this one. Arthur es editor, Eames es el periodista investigativo, juntos luchan contra el mal. O algo así.
    "Leave me alone," Arthur had said, because at that moment, that had literally been the only thing in the world he wanted. He'd been left as an injury and overlooked for ages as further insult, and he didn't want Eames to make it up to him; he wanted to stew in his self-pity and indulge in some much-deserved loathing and never, never have sex with anybody again.

    "Oh, Arthur," Eames had said, sounding hollowed-out.

    At which point Mal had proven her worth as a friend and hurled Dom's ASNE award out of his office window, shattering the glass and making such a fantastic racket that all attempts at having feelings in other corners in the newsroom screeched to a halt.

  • Spin! by [ profile] weatherfront
    POLITICAL!AU. ~21.000 palabras. Este fic es la razón por la que comencé a ver The West Wing. Arthur y Eames son los directores de campaña de Dom y Mal, respectivamente. Juntos combaten el mal.
    Like manna from heaven, a salad drops into his lap. The halved cherry tomatoes glisten at him, technicolor crimson, nestled on beds of curling parmesan. Succulent as the painted lips of a Rita Hayworth, he thinks, and then, what the fuck am I even saying.

    Dazed, Arthur lifts the fork and guides it to his mouth. The sweet-salty dressing is a balm to his burning tongue. He nearly sobs at the sensation of relief that floods him, the crunch of arugula stalks between his teeth, and all at once he's ravenous for more. It's only after another hurried shovel or two that he remembers he hasn't thanked his benefactor yet.

    He looks up, sees who it is, and promptly chokes on his mouthful of salad.

    "What are you doing here," he shouts. "Cobb, what is he doing here."

    "I'm a spy," says Eames, proudly.

    "I knew it," yells Arthur.

  • Run to Daylight by [ profile] whiskyrunner
    AU. Este es la secuela de otro fanfic que nunca releo porque es tan, tan, TAN angustiante. Este es angustiante, pero por diferentes motivos y el final no me hace llorar (tanto), so... Eames es el jugador estrella de un equipo de fútbol americano. Arthur es periodista deportivo. Juntos son IDIOTAS Y ME HACEN SUFRIR D:

  • Under the Steinway by [ profile] toomuchplor
    AU (por supuesto). Millones y millones de palabras. Eames es un genio musical igual de encantador que Pavarotti, pero joven y estudiante y flaco e imposiblemente inglés. Arthur es un estudiante de piano en la misma escuela. Juntos componen mi fanfic favorito de TODO el fandom de Inception.
    It's the Beethoven, it's giving Arthur trouble. It feels, actually, as though Beethoven himself is giving Arthur trouble. The dynamics in the sonata Arthur's learning are wildly wrong, and Arthur is pitching a battle with the long-dead composer, trying over and over to make the written dynamics make any kind of sense to him when he can't agree with a single one.

    "It's not a soft section," Arthur tells Beethoven, speaking into the soft cream paper of his worn Henle edition. "It's not, it should be at least mezzo-forte."

    Beethoven's pp marking -- pianissimo, very soft -- glares back at Arthur.

    "Look, I know you're a genius and everything," Arthur tries, "but I'm telling you, you fucked this one up, Ludwig."

    pp, says the score.

    "Fuck you," Arthur says, and sweeps the book to the floor, crashes through the offending section as loudly as he can, playing badly and with obnoxious volume, over and over. On the fifth or sixth repetition, the low A flat suddenly emits a cracking noise and falls silent. Arthur lifts his hands, startled. This is a sound he's never heard from a piano in his whole life.

    Arthur stands and peers under the piano's lid. He's actually snapped the piano string of the offending note -- one of the two, anyway. The broken wire isn't curled up like in a cartoon, it's just listing sadly across its tautly pulled brothers, loose and useless and pitiful.

    "Fine," Arthur says to the piano's insides. "Fine, you win, you dead asshole."

  • What's A Little Contract Between Friends by [ profile] laceymcbain
    Otro no-AU! Arthur, sin querer, contrata a TODOS LOS MERCENARIOS DEL MUNDO para que asesinen a Eames.
    Eames had been off the grid for more than a month, not answering calls or texts or emails.

    Arthur had started to think he was going to have to send up smoke signals. Possibly by burning Eames' London flat to the ground. So he'd made a few calls. (A lot of calls.) Casual enquiries. (A thorough and methodical search of all Eames' known contacts.) Just to let people know he wanted to talk to Eames. (Badly. Very badly.) Perhaps he'd sounded a little desperate. (He may have promised money and favors in return for information, or better yet, Eames.)

    In retrospect, Arthur can see how his actions might have been misinterpreted.

  • The Wingman by [ profile] whiskyrunner
    AU. ~17.000 palabras. Arthur es obsesivo compulsivo. Eames intenta conquistarlo con un perro gay.
    Sam jogs with him every day after that.

    The sun comes up earlier, the weather gets warmer, and he starts meeting more people on his route, fellow joggers and dog-walkers. Once upon a happy time he lived a nice, anonymous lifestyle in this neighbourhood. Now, to his horror, he finds his identity caught in a bizarre transition from anonymous jogger to Sam-And-Sam's-Dad.

    “He's not my dog,” he has to tell everyone who asks, at first. But soon they get used to the sight of Eames strolling around with the easily-recognizable dog at his heels, and then Arthur becomes Sam-And-Sam's-Dad's-Boyfriend.

    Which is so, so much worse.

It's here

Nov. 6th, 2011 12:30 pm
marenfuga: (Default)
(April 10, 1950)
Please write and tell me about London, I live for the day when I step off the boat-train and feel its dirty sidewalks under my feet. I want to walk up Berkeley Square and down Wimpole Street and stand in Saint Paul's where John Donne preached and sit on the step Elizabeth sat on when she refused to enter the Tower, and like that. A newspaper man I know, who was stationed in London during the war, says tourists go to England with preconceived notions, so they always find exactly what they go looking for. I told him I'd go looking for the England of English literature, and he said:

"Then it's there."

(April 11, 1969)
... But I don't know, maybe it's just as well I never got there. I dreamed about it for so many years. I used to go to English movies just to look at the streets. I remember years ago a guy I knew told me that people going to England find exactly what they go looking for. I said I'd go looking for the England of English literature, and he nodded and said: "It's there."

Maybe it is, and maybe it isn't. Looking around the rug one thing's for sure: it's here.

84 Charing Cross Road, Helene Hanff
marenfuga: (Default)
'Must have facts,' said Lord Peter, 'facts. When I was a small boy I always hated facts. Though of 'em as nasty, hard things, all knobs. Uncompromisin'.'

'Yes, my lord. My old mother--'

'Your mother, Bunter? I didn't know you had one. I always imagined you were turned out ready-made so to speak. 'Scuse me. Infernally rude of me. Beg your pardon, I'm sure?'

'Not at all, my lord. My mother lives in Kent, my lord, next Maidstone. Seventy-five, my lord, and an extremely active woman for her years, if you'll excuse my mentioning it. I was one of seven.'

'That is an invention, Bunter. I know better. You are unique. But I interrupted you. You were goin' to tell me about your mother.'

'She always says, my lord, that facts are like cows. If you look them in the face hard enough they generally run away. She is a very courageous woman, my lord.'
Clouds of Witness, Dorothy L. Sayers.
Page generated Apr. 23rd, 2019 01:03 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios