All those books! {{PD-US}}

A lot of hardcore readers were doubtful when the Kindle came out, but there’s no denying sales of e-books have skyrocketed these past few years. More and more people own e-readers, and several authors are making more money self-publishing electronically than they could ever make with a traditional publisher. Does this spell death for the printed book? The very idea has ardent readers up in arms. Reading electronically is not the same. A Kindle can never replace the feeling of holding a book in your hand. What if you want to doodle in the margins?

When I first heard about Amazon Kindle, I was horrified. I love books. I love the musty smell of libraries, even if it means I’m supposed to be studying. I love how different books all smell different, and if I had my way I would have a double-storey library in my house with little ladders going to all the different levels. How could an electronic device ever replicate that experience?

Bloggers have a field day, arguing for one side or the other – but defenders of printed books tend to be more common. For example, here’s one post that argues e-books bore him, because all the books end up looking the same on an e-reader. Author Jonathan Franzen argues e-books aren’t permanent enough. Another blog lists advantages and disadvantages and declares print books will never go extinct.

But the more I think about it, the more I realize there is a possibility e-book will win out.

After all, I only love books because I know books. What if you grew up reading all your books on the iPad or whatever your parents bought for you? Then there’s no physical reality of books to miss. If kids are far more comfortable in a digital world, which more and more they are, then an electronic book will be the thing that makes the most sense to them. Think about the advantages of CDs and records – those little liner notes that came with the album, all the artwork that indicates what the album is like, the experience of listening to an album as a cohesive whole. CDs are still considered to have superior sound quality, and everyone knows the crackle and pop of records lends a warmth to the music you just can’t get any other way. Yet none of that prevented people from switching wholesale to MP3s, iPods and the rest of it. However nostalgic people might feel for that stuff, iPods are just too practical to give up.

And if e-books are convenient, cheap (cheap is important, because no one wants to pay for an e-books that’s only a couple dollars less than the printed version), and integrated with our cellphones or something, they could easily become the dominant mode for reading.

But I still think the printed book will never die. Not just out of nostalgia, even though I will always love the ‘book experience.’ But because there will always be someone or other who just finds print more convenient, or doesn’t own an e-reader, or loves real books too much. Going back to the CD and record example, you can still buy both of those technologies. Bands even release new music on records, from time to time. So no matter how obsolete printed books become, there will always be a niche market for them. And, after all, with print-on-demand and other new publishing technologies, you can always set up a book to be printed on the off-chance someone comes along who would prefer to read it that way.

Worst case scenario: You cannot buy printed books except from speciality publishers who produce high-quality hardcover books for library enthusiasts to purchase. They’d be more expensive, of course, and there wouldn’t be much point in paperbacks if you can pick up a cheap electronic version for a dollar or something. But they would exist, because enough people love books.

But I don’t truly think it’ll be that bad. It’s more likely both print and e-books will co-exist side-by-side, and people will buy whatever version they want. They may even test out multiple e-books, before deciding which ones to purchase in the printed version. And while publishers and bookstores will move more and more towards printing-on-demand – a move I would support, since it’s ridiculous to print thousands of copies of something and then trash them all when they don’t sell – they would still be printing things.

And that’s a world that most of us book-lovers could live in.

What are your predictions for the future of books?

Chapter 23B: Princess Paulina

Later that week I saw something that puzzled me. It was what looked to be the gypsy wagon again, unless there was more than one gypsy with a wagon like that, which didn’t tally with what I knew of gypsies. Gypsies liked to be individuals. I wondered the why the gypsy had told me he was leaving, and then didn’t, or had he changed his mind? But why should I expect him to tell me his plans anyway?

We were sitting at dinner in the Peak, when Casper pushed back his chair and stood up.

“I’ve been thinking about those legends about you lately,” he said to Paulina. “I know you’re worried about them. Why don’t we take a look around all the mystical dealers tomorrow, to see if there’s any Sabean objects of magic there for you?”

Paulina looked up, her shining eyes relieved. It was rather sweet of Casper to do that for her, I thought.

“I have been worrying,” she said. She did not say anything about our fruitless search for Casper’s object of magic, thankfully.

“Remember, they could be anything,” he said warningly, “So it may take a long time to search through all the junk to find one that isn’t a fraud or a hoax.”

Paulina nodded, but her eyes still shone. She was wearing her lavender dress tonight, and she looked queenly seated at the head of the table in her crown of golden hair.

So they began going out on the streets of Araba every day, seeking out dealers in ‘magical products’, which were mostly all fakes and frauds. But Casper could tell between them – I guess by whether he was able to use them or not. In the evenings they would come home and talk and talk about what they’d seen, and Stefan would join in, but I was suddenly totally left out.

Now Paulina had less time to cook too, so we had to resort back to Chaldean market food again. I tried not to begrudge Paulina. I would be happy for her if she found her magic and fulfilled the legends. But Chaldean market food got tiring, fast.

Paulina and I were not at all alike, and I knew we would have never become friends if we both had not ended up in Chaldea. We were so different. She was a princess, graceful, kind and beautiful, and I was a lowly flower girl, with nothing to set me apart from every other Angarian except my nose and my way of walking. It wasn’t fair. She was so perfect I believe that if I had met her otherwise I would have thought her a goody-goody.

At court I was rather looked-up-to, but at the Peak it was Paulina who was the lady of the house. I think I envied her for taking over the position I’d held at the Peak before going to court. And at court I was distinct because I was the only one with blond hair, but at home Paulina was blond too. And like I said before, hers was much more golden than mine was.

Yet she was my friend, and I tried to suppress my jealousy and like her for who she was. I would be sad when we went back to Angaria, because I wasn’t sure if we’d ever see each other again there.

Paulina and Casper did not have much luck. I sighed with irritation as they trooped out the door before I left, leaving me to got to the Palace on my own. Casper never had time for me anymore, or picked me up after court, saying I could now probably manage on my own. I felt deserted by him especially, and unnoticed. But I could see him watching Paulina often, and I knew he noticed her.

Like I said, they did not have much luck. There were millions of sleazy magic-dealers, eager to sell you junk, but few of these wares were genuine Sabean. And none of it was one of the rare devices that provided magic.

I could tell Paulina was disappointed. Before I would not have hesitated to comfort her, but now she had no time for me, and I felt reluctant to make her feel better. I would not do much more than send her a sympathetic smile.

She does so want to fulfil the legends, I thought. I was almost sure she cared nothing for the magic itself, she only wanted the whispers about her to stop when she returned to the Angarian court. I could not understand how anyone could be so cruel as to make rumours about someone as perfect and sweet as her, but maybe that was exactly why people did. Yet I envied her for how much attention was now paid her in the Peak.

And so we passed the last days of summer.

First! (public domain)

There was an annoying internet trend a few years back, where people would race to post comments like “First to post!” or “Yes! First” under every article, without any useful contribution to the conversation at all. Fortunately, that trend seems to have gone the way of the dodo bird by now – though the vast majority of internet comments are still strangely content-free* – but it does show humanity’s preoccupation with being first. At anything, however meaningless. Being first gives you bragging rights, something to be put down in the history books for, a reason to claim to be an expert on something. Actually, that’s garbage. The trick is to convince everyone, especially the historians, that you were first. Whether you actually were or not is beside the point.

Who was the first to figure out calculus – was it Newton or Leibniz? Who came up with the idea of evolution – Darwin or Alfred Russell Wallace? Which of these guys made it into the history books, and whose names do you know?

Newton’s and Leibniz’s supporters fought tooth and nail, but it’s not actually resolved who unquestionably “invented” calculus, or what exactly one would have to do the would prove they came up with calculus first. Then, of course, there are those that argue we should go farther back, and that Archimedes did enough to be called the inventor of calculus (there’s different types of calculus involved here, but not being into math, I’m not going to go into that). Well, if we pick Archimedes, there was no one around the time that would know of to compete with him, so that could solve a problem.

Then take the Darwin example. Does the title of “being first” go to the guy who thought of it first, or the guy who published first? Because Alfred Russell Wallace clearly published a paper on his theory first. But maybe Darwin thought it of it first, because he’d taken years to publish his ideas, and thus we still can recognize him? Well, if we go in that direction – how on earth are you going to know what people are thinking? That’s just asking for a floor of crackpots claiming they thought of relativity before Einstein.

Or, you know, if you want to make things easier you can always go back to the Greeks again. There was a guy running around and telling people that humans evolved from fish, so that may be close enough to count. After all, whatever theory of evolution scientists are working with now is not exactly the same as what Darwin came up with anyway.

But it’s that way with so many theories. Copernicus put the sun in the centre of the universe, but he thought the universe was finite and the planets were carried around their orbit by gigantic solid spheres of something-or-other. In fact, he put the sun in the centre so the spheres carrying the planets wouldn’t physically bump into each other. Being completely wrong on that helped him be completely right on something else, and for that we regard him as the guy who re-invented astronomy. Because of this, Copernicus’s system had to be improved by Brahe, Kepler, Galileo and so on, so the kudos for re-inventing astronomy don’t belong to him alone. So who should get the credit for the theory we ended up with – Copernicus, who put the sun in the centre, Kepler, who added elliptical orbits, or Galileo, who observed a bunch of stuff through a telescope that backed Copernicus’s theory up? It begins to look like credit is a difficult thing to parcel out. But we can at least give Copernicus the credit for putting the sun in the centre – except several Ancient Greeks argued that hundreds of years before. Maybe we just have to concede the Greeks were first at everything.

Okay, maybe it’s just science that’s weird. But the first person to climb Mount Everest – that pretty concrete, right? Or who discovered America, or who reached the North Pole, or who invented the airplane? No dice. Sir Edmund Hillary is well-known for being the first to climb Mount Everest, but tell me the name of the sherpa would helped him get there, and stood with him near the top. (That’s right, it’s Tenzing Norgay – though he did graciously allow that Hillary set his boot on whatever counts as the summit first.) To make things more complicated, Hillary may’ve been beaten by George Mallory and Andrew Irvine in 1924, but they died on their way down so no one can proof they got to the top. You know, if there’s no proof you were first, then you weren’t first, even if you were. Same with the North Pole – several people claimed to have reached it, but Robert Peary convinced enough people that he had, though nowadays they think there’s not enough proof. (And there’s certainly no proof anyone tried to get there before the twentieth century, but who’s to say no one did?) Maybe Roald Amundsen was first after all – yes, he’s the guy who reached the South Pole first too.

And the whole “discovering America” thing? That’s a quagmire to wade into. Shoot, Columbus met *people* living on that continent, and yet the place still didn’t count as “discovered” until he set foot on it. Not to mention the fact the Vikings beat Columbus to it, and yet they don’t count because they abandoned the place and forgot about it. Here in Canada, we claim the first European “discoverer” of Canada was John Cabot, but there’s a distinct possibility Basque fishermen were here before him, and just didn’t bother telling anyone important they’d discovered land.

To drive the point home, look at Apple (yes, Apple Computer, I’m leaping to the twenty-first century here). They were the first at nothing. They didn’t invent the MP3 player, the cellphone, or the tablet computer. They just made those things better. They’ve built their whole company around, not coming up with new stuff, but making clunky gadgets that already exist into something irresistible. In fact, there’s a huge disadvantage to being first at anything – it means whoever goes after you gets to watch your mistake and do what you do better. (The Wright Brothers’ “first” airplane was unstable and difficult to steer, something which subsequent inventors immediately improved on, and the Wright Brothers made zero advancements in airplanes beyond that. However, they did convince American museums to acknowledge them as the first to fly, so they pretty much had figured out what would make them famous.)

MP3s, cellphones, tablets – we don’t even know who invented each of these. They probably were developed by a team of people. Does this mean our society is moving away from its obsession over firsts? Not as long as history books and textbooks continue to claim they know who was first at what, and only these people’s names deserve our effort to memorize. Fortunately, many people now realize it isn’t so clear-cut. (After all, the CD, the atom bomb and the internet were invented by a team of people, so who’s to say who was first?)

Obviously being first has prestige attached, and people are still going to want to do it. But being first is a complicated process of being acknowledged first by others, possessing some proof of being first, and getting people after you to remember you were first. What, you mean you have to do more than just show up somewhere before anyone else?

Oh, buddy, since when was anything that simple?

* Excepting the lovely commenters who comment on my blog, of
course.

Chapter 23: Fading Summer Days

  “Summer is slowly ending,” Janeira said to me one day. We were picnicking with the court just outside the city. I’d asked Janeira if we’d ever go see the Falls of Araba, because I wanted to see them up closer again, and she said there’d been talk that we might.

“The court likes to see how far its restoration has progressed,” she told me. Now we sat on a wide blue blanket, under the leafy tree, eating a luncheon as elaborate as any at the Palace.

“Yes, summer is ending,” I agreed. It had seemed so long. But such a lot had happened.

I was enjoying court, but somehow I felt, like the summer, my time at court was coming to an end. I wanted to go back to Angaria. I felt almost torn, wanting to go back and see my old life, and wanting to stay here. Yet I knew when I went back it would never be the same. My life as a flower girl seemed too narrow for me now, and if I ever could return to Angaria I would not stay there always. What would I do if I escaped the jadess’s net? Wander, perhaps. Restlessly pace the face of the earth till I found someplace I could call home.

I sighed. That could not be for a while yet. I was still needed to watch the court. But I could not explain why I felt my time here would end soon. Perhaps Casper’s Rubion silver was going to arrive soon, and I would no longer be needed. 

“I think I shall go back home soon,” I told Janeira, leaning back and looking at the blue sky through the leaves of the tree above me. “I shall not be visiting Casper forever.”

“But what about the Rajah?” Janeira asked slyly. I sighed. That explanation of why I had come to court in the first place would always dog me.

“He shan’t miss me,” I laughed. “I’ll leave him to you ladies.”

I was really talking about Maria DeAballah. Out of all of the ladies at court, I was cheering for her most of all.

“Well,” I told Janeira. “Don’t worry. It may not be for quite awhile yet.”

We finished our lunch, talking and laughing. I thought of how much I would miss everyone.

“You’re a good friend, Janeira,” I said suddenly. She looked at me, surprised.

“Me?” she asked incredulously.

“Sure,” I replied. “Who’d have helped a newcomer like me out at court otherwise?” Yes, Maria had taught me everything, but Janeira had been my first supporter at court, and if I hadn’t had her I didn’t know how I would have stood it.

“I was a newcomer too,” said Janeira. “What else was I to do?” And she smiled.

I was still practising rapiers as hard as ever, and Earl Laftan told me I would probably be able to pass the test of becoming a swordmaiden officially, if I wanted to take it. I toyed with the idea for a little while, then decided to go for it. The test wasn’t too hard, and I passed. It was easier than the men’s test for swordmanship, because women were held to different standards, and it concentrated more on protecting yourself from an attacker, which I was good at. As a token of swordmaidenship I received two wrist-bands for supporting my wrists when I duelled, each embedded with a circlet of rubies and engraved with the word ‘Tigress’ by my friends. It was a bit of a joke, but I always wore them when I fought.

They would be a good reminder of my time in Chaldea when I returned home.

The other women realised there was not as much of a taboo on women fighting at court anymore, and sometimes I could convince one of them to join us. They were good, though their fighting style was different from the earls.

“You could go for your knighthood now,” Janeira told me, looking at my rapier. “And be in the army. Swordmaidenship is only the first step, though a woman has never wanted to try it for knighthood yet, though they can. And if you’re an exceptional knight the Rajah could make you an officer.”

“Forget it,” I laughed. “I’m only an Angarian. For the moment I’m satisfied with swordmaidenship.”

She looked at me with an odd light in her eyes.

Once I convinced Carmen to face me down, and since Carmen took out her rapier Mandarine did too. When I’d finished my duel with Carmen the Rajah came out, and to my horror Carmen and Mandarine began to fight over who would partner with him. They dropped their swords and began another cat-fight, which only reinforced my opinion they didn’t really want to hurt each other.

The Rajah came over to me. “Would you mind facing me instead?”

I stared back. “Why me?”

“They look rather busy to me,” the Rajah replied, looking at Carmen and Mandarine with something like disdain. “So, why don’t you duel with me?”

I complied, and I had enough time before we started to see Carmen and Mandarine turn surprised faces towards us.

“After all, we do make good partners, do we not?” said the Rajah to me.

“Who would have expected it?” I laughed, and met his blade.

I certainly had not.

Go to Princess Paulina: Chapter 23B

Photo by Brunswyk, licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported

Fleeting Fame

Just imagine – you’ve got it made. You’ve climbed to the pinnacle of your career in acting, writing, music, or whatever, and now everyone in the world knows your name. This is what you’ve been dreaming about since you were a kid. A household name. Yeah, that’s you. You bet a hundred years from now, people still will be talking about you.

Wait a minute – what do you mean, that’s not a guarantee? Doesn’t being famous grant you some sort of immortality?

Strangely enough, it doesn’t. Just ask Rudolph Valentino, or maybe Joan Crawford. Both were hugely famous movie stars in their day, Valentino to the point that young female fans attempted suicide when he died. Nowadays, you’ve probably only heard his name if you’re into silent films or something. So will people know who Will Smith or Angelina Jolie are in the next century? Perhaps only as the answer to a trivia question.

This works for authors too. For example, when Jane Austen started out, Sir Walter Scott wrote a review of her work, praising her writing skill. This review was a big deal – if you see J.K. Rowling praising someone else’s book, and she’s telling you it’s the most fantastic thing since sliced bread, you’re more likely to buy the thing. So obviously his name on a review, praising her, meant he was a big deal, and he was trying to use his fame to help her out. Now, Walter Scott isn’t completely unknown (I’ve actually read Ivanhoe), but he’s not the first thing you think of when you think of ‘literary superstar.’

When I was a kid and the Harry Potter phenomenon was just starting, my mom mused about whether they’d be known as classics in the future or not. I was like, of course! How could they not be, when every kid I knew liked them? But now I’m not so sure. People’s opinions towards even acknowledged classics changed over time – Shakespeare had his audience in stitches, and Dickens was so popular people would line up to get their hands on the next installment of his serial novels, but nowadays your average reader finds them inaccessible. They’re still famous, of course. But tastes could change so much in the future that they find Harry Potter twee, or too grim, or who knows what.

Or maybe the Huns will invade and burn all the libraries. That’s happened before…

In the end, we have no idea what’s the key to being remembered forever. Building gigantic pyramids named after you is one strategy, of course, unless everyone else does it too. It is strange how some kings/generals/authors/famous people are remembered, whereas others who were more famous at the time were forgotten. Of course, I’d argue fame isn’t the most useful thing to pursue, anyway. While I’d love it if every kid in English class was forced to read my books in a hundred years (and dissect exactly what I meant with that metaphor of a tree), I don’t write because I base my hopes on that.

I write because I hope some people are entertained by what I write, and maybe even think a little more deeply about some of the issues I present. If I achieve that with my writing in my lifetime, I should be satisfied.

Why do you think some famous people are remembered, while others are forgotten despite their fame? Is being famous worthwhile?

Yes, the quote is up there somewhere. (photo by Montrealais, licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported)

Where there is no vision, the people perish.

- Proverbs 29:18 (KJV)

 This quote happens to be inscribed on the Parliament Buildings of Canada, and it struck me the other day – it’s a pretty fitting quote for a government. A huge part of the apathy with politics is that people don’t believe politicians have a vision, or are willing to stand up for what’s right. Or, people believe politicians’ “vision” is to stay in power no matter what.

Of course, this being a proverb from the Bible, there’s a few more layers of meaning to the quote than that. The next bit emphasizes that to prevent perishing, you have to do what’s right. After all, if you follow the wrong visions, that’s not much use either. (See History for multiple examples…)

Proverbs can be quite thought-provoking…

Note: apologies to all whose blogs I haven’t visited recently… I’m entering the busy period again. I plan to have more time soon!

Chapter 22B: To Help An Enemy

 Immediately I felt abominably rude. So I did not leave.

“What is wrong?” I repeated.

“Oh, you don’t understand!” she wailed. “You don’t understand anything, you – dratted, dratted Angarian!”

She looked up at me fiercely. “Your cousin is as rich as anything – what do you know of facing eviction from the family estate, facing poverty, losing everything?”

I wanted to protest I wasn’t rich either, only a flower girl in Angaria, but I saw this was not the time or place to do it. She swiped furiously at her tears, then continued.

“My family is bankrupt from Chaldea’s troubles, and our only chance – our only chance is for me to marry rich!”

Her voice was low and bitter.

I bit my tongue. Whatever I had to say could only make her feel worse.

“I wanted to marry the Rajah. He would do very well, and he could easily save my family’s fortunes. So my family sacrificed what little they had left to send me to court, but the Rajah seems to have no intention of marrying! That fool of a man?”

“And then they tell me the Enchanter is rich too, and I think he would do very well if there is no alternative. But then he jilts me, and he humiliates me. And the Rajah would never marry someone who has been jilted.”

I stared. That bit of gossip I had not heard yet – but perhaps there was truth in it. The Rajah certainly had his faults of pride.

“I don’t want to be poor,” she said desperately. “I don’t know how. But we have no more money. My mother is weak, and she needs rest, but she will have to work if we are evicted off our estate. I don’t want to be thrown on the streets, and I could not bear to live on charity!”

I felt pity at her situation, and I saw her pride quite clearly. But I also saw quite clearly that Maria was right, that Cassandra and the rest of the nobility were completely unprepared for a life without their money. 

“I used to hope,” she sobbed, “Because many of the other ladies at the court had been jilted too. Perhaps I had a chance, after all. But then you came,” she looked at me, “And as you said to Mandarine quite clearly, the Enchanter has never jilted you. You flounce right in here, with all your ‘ cute, naïve Angarian airs’ and turn every man’s head on end. You’ve got the whole court wrapped around your fingers, and I’ll never, never have a chance now.”

The shock of this hit me like a wall. No wonder she hated me if that was what she thought of me!

“What – what do you mean,” I asked faintly.

“Don’t you see?” she cried. “How every earl all clamour to teach you to duel, and subsequently clamour to duel with you? How they vie for your attention? How much attention the Rajah himself pays to you?”

I looked away.

“I did not realise,” I said softly. For a moment I was silent. Then I said, “No wonder you dislike me.”

She pulled herself to her feet and dusted off her skirts.

“Do not trouble yourself about it,” she said coldly. “There is little you could have done differently to make me despise you less.”

Nonethless, I helped her to the ladies’ room to get cleaned up. She did not object. We were both tired out from screaming at each other.

“I didn’t know what to say to her, Maria!” I wailed while she helped me dress the next morning. “What does one say to that?”

Maria had left me to struggle with the laces at the back of my dress myself, while she paced the room.

“I’d do something about this situation in Chaldea!” she fumed. “How many times have I told the Rajah – now is the time to humble Chaldea before Sabea, and plead for assistance. That man and his blasted pride!”

I watched her and thought Maria would be the perfect person to lead Chaldea through this. She could motivate a rock, if she wanted to.

I put my hand on her shoulder.

“I can see you doing it,” I said.

“I will,” she replied fiercely, “I must convince the Rajah on this course of action.”

I wished Maria luck in such an endeavour. Unfortunately, the Rajah still appeared totally disinclined to marry anyone, much less the one woman intelligent enough to save him from himself. So I decided to speak to the ladies about the problem.

“We know Chaldea is – rather in straits,” Carmen said when I talked to her and the ladies seated around her, one afternoon. “And we’re all – afraid.”

“Do you agree about the League of Enchanters?” I asked them.

She nodded. “Yes – but to get the court to agree –“

“There are a certain percentage who insist our fortunes are absolutely fine,” Lady Indira put in. “My father suggests – certain landowners profit if the overall number of exports from our country is small? I do not fully understand. The young earls here at court, I am sure they do not fully understand either. But I am convinced if our whole country is to benefit, we need magic again.”

I was encouraged by nods of agreement, though some looked puzzled, and Janeira seemed almost disdainful.

“I will not always be here,” I said. “I shall have to return to Angaria somday. But I want you to promise you’ll do your best to get Sabea back on your side. I would be sad to see Chaldea ruined.”

They nodded slowly.

I hesitated. “Maria – is sworn to this. If you will support her in convincing the Rajah, through whatever opposition the rest of the court might put up, I believe you will succeed.”

“Of course – Maria,” said Carmen thoughtfully. “She would have the best chance of convincing the Rajah of anything. Penelope, you don’t need to worry. Someday you’ll be happily going about your business in Angaria, and you’ll hear about the magnificent comeback Chaldea has made. We will support the Rajah if he tries to get back the League of Enchanters.”

I looked at Cassandra. Her bitter expression had not changed. I hoped Chaldea’s turn in fortune would happen soon enough to benefit her. But if not, I hoped she could bring herself to accept whatever help her friends at court would bring her, because I could see little else for her to do.

I only hoped Carmen’s assertion would become the truth.

Go to Chapter 23A: Fading Summer Days

If you’ve been following this blog for awhile, you’ve probably started to see a pattern. I know I have, from writing it. The same books keep coming up over and over. If you were to take a guess at which books exactly were my favourite, what would you come up with? Say Lord of the Rings, Howl’s Moving Castle, and Pride and Prejudice, and you’d be pretty close.

Now, these keep coming up partly because they made a book impact on me, and I want to know why I classify some books as “good” and some books as “horrible.” But at some point the well is going to start getting a little dry. There’s a chance all you readers out there are going to start predicting, “She’s talking about romance again? I bet the example will be Pride and Prejudice,” or, “Is the topic fantasy? Lord of the Rings, of course!”

The obvious solution for this is for me to read more good books.

And here we come upon the realization that has slowly been dawning on me for the last couple months. I don’t read near as many books as I used to!

Part of the reason for this is because in highschool I was lucky (or unlucky) enough to have a forty-five minute long bus-ride to school, so I taught myself to read on the bus without feeling nauseated. This meant I had time to read all kinds of books that maybe I wouldn’t have otherwise – All Quiet on the Western Front (which I found gory but hugely insightful into the misery of war), Hiroshima (similarly gory, like All Quiet on the Western Front, but about how people felt after the atom bomb dropped on Hiroschima), The Old Man and the Sea (which I didn’t entirely understand) and The Three Musketeers (which I hardly remember, and should re-read sometime). I may not have read these books otherwise, because they don’t exactly fall into my usual genres of romance and fantasy, as you may have noticed. In university, I just don’t have as much time. Of course, I get to read lovely non-fiction books such as Imposing Decency and Revolutionizing the Sciences, which probably educate my brain too. But after reading assigned pages of somewhat dry material, my brain is too tired to read novels for fun.

The other up-side to being in highschool (and there’s not too many of these) is that you’re assigned books to read in English. Now that I’m done all my English classes for my university degree, no one is forcing me to read certain bits of fiction. Highschool is the reason I read The Great Gatsby, most of the Shakespeare I’ve read, The Chrysalids (which I hated) and Lord of the Flies (which I also hated, but I was forced to read it over summer vacation). Sometimes being forced to read stuff means you at least know what pop culture is referencing when they parody it – pig’s head on a stick, anyone?

I hope this is not part of growing up. I remember, as a kid, hearing my mum complain about never having time to read, and I used to wonder how anyone didn’t have time to read. Books had such a magnetic draw for me that I had to make time to read them, or go crazy. Now I understand a bit better about how sometimes, no matter how much you want to do something, you just can’t fit it into your schedule.

For example, I started re-reading The Hobbit, and it’s taking me a month. I think it took me a day the first time I read it. And the last ‘classic’ I started, Cyrano de Bergerac (on the recommendation of some of my lovely visitors here), I haven’t finished yet. But I will. I will make time to read.

Because if I’m reading a good book, I find it improves my writing immensely. It seems to turns on that creative side of my brain. That’s why finding and thinking about good books is so important to me. That, and getting another perspective on how one can view life. I do hope I do not reach a point where I am perpetually too busy to devote myself to challenging stuff.

How about you – do you think you read less than you used to? What books have you been meaning to read, and haven’t got around to?

Apparently Herodotus looked like this

According to the learned Persians, it was the Phoenicians who caused the conflict.

- Herodotus, The Histories

That is the beginning of Herodotus’ explanation for the war between the Greeks and the Persians (you know, the war that movie 300 was sort of, supposedly, set during). Pretty typical how the blame gets passed on to someone else – it wasn’t the Persians’ fault, honest! Or the Greeks’ either! Poor Phoenicians.

Anyway, I quoted it because Herodotus is pretty entertaining for an ancient “historian” – he’s hardly a historian by modern standards, because he inserts all sorts of folk tales and mythical creatures into his history – but apparently he was the first to come up with integrating all the stories of the various peoples living around the Mediterranean in one chronological tale. And I’m pretty glad I was forced to read some of it in my Classics class. So much of our culture is based on ancient Greek and Roman stuff, that these names (Pericles, Athens, Croesus, etc.) keep coming up. I really should read the whole thing when I get a chance.

Chapter 22: Back at Court

The next day I returned to court. Maria came in the morning, and even she agreed I was certainly well enough to go back. So she dressed me in my apricot gown with the golden circlet of leaves for my waist, and did my hair up.

They were all glad to see me back at court, but they were even gladder to see the Rajah. It was almost shameless how all the ladies hung around him and chattered incessantly. I wondered if the Rajah was glad to be back at court.

I heard that Carmen and Mandarine had gotten into a screeching cat-fight while I was gone, yelling at each other from across the throne room and accusing each other of really incredible things. I realised I was almost sorry to have missed it. It would have been amusing, though not exactly lady-like and proper.

Cassandra was as spiteful as ever, Janeira, calm and unmoved as ever, and the earls as teasing as ever. Especially when I took up my rapier again and found I had lost some of my skill during my illness. I was relieved to see Earl Seanit bore no hard feelings for my refusing of his proposal, indeed, I wondered if he had meant it. So I settled back comfortably into the routine at court.

“La, court is ever the same, is it not?” Janeira said as we walked in our daily promenade. “You could leave for an age, then pick up exactly where you left off.”

“But it is interesting, isn’t it?” I replied.

“But it is all the same!” she answered. “Same spites, same rivalries, same kinds of people. And I don’t think the Rajah will ever get married.”

“So that’s what’s eating you,” I said. “Well, I do not see either why the Rajah doesn’t just get this over with.”

Sometimes I would finger my jadess protection charm and wonder if a jadess was really hiding among the court. Casper had assured me that was the most likely place for her to be. The thought was unnerving.

“Back to your unlady-like antics, I see,” Mandarine said smugly as I went back to rapier-practising. But she was only jealous because the Rajah was watching my duel with Earl Parfin, and ignoring her, however she tried to attract his attention.

“Perhaps it is unlady-like,” I replied, testing my blade for sharpness, “But my antics are certainly more successful than yours.”

She glared, for she knew exactly what I meant.

The court went riding a few times, but not to Benishada again. I could never mount a horse without somebody jesting about me keeping up this time. Cassandra would always snicker meanly at that. I wondered that she could still be so injured at ‘my cousin’s’ treatment of her.

At the Peak things went pretty much back to usual again too. Paulina took over cooking again. Casper began instructing Stefan more fully in the control of magic, and in the evenings I would watch them. What they could do amazed me, and scared me a little too.

I spent more time with Paulina, whether I was tired or not, for I realised how little we’d talked before my illness. I thought she sometimes wished for another woman to talk to, besides the women at the market. So we would often go into the garden and throw a ball for Radagast, and sometimes Stefan would come along.

The evenings were pleasantly cool under the setting sun, and to run barefoot over the slowly darkening grass was rather nice. I would soon forget my tiredness. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy court anymore, but I was more free at night, when I could be as improper as I wanted and no one censored me for it.

So we would sometimes play tag, at the end of long Chaldean summer days, me, Paulina and Stefan, with Radagast running excitedly among us and barking, and Casper watching us amusedly from the steps. He looked very mysterious and gypsy-like sitting there, in the dim half-light, and in his flowing coat. He stretched out so lazily, and Paulina entreated him to join us, to which he replied the game would make him look too undignified for an Enchanter.

I went barefoot to build up the hardness of my feet, for I’d only realised how sadly I’d neglected this when walking back from Benishada. Fireflies were out, and they flew in a halo around my head, and less around Stefan and Casper.

“They’re attracted to magic,” Casper said, thoughtfully looking at the five fluttering around Radagast’s nose.

“Won’t you join us?” I asked. “Or are you too lazy?”

“Yes,” he replied, “And what if my customers were to see me?” He grinned.

“What if they did?” I said. “What if all of Araba were to?”

I looked at him slyly. “I bet you’re afraid your pompadour will fall out.”

“That too,” he answered. His hair was extra-red in the reddish gleam of the sun.

But after that Paulina could sometimes convince him to join us, though he was nearly impossible to catch, and impossible to out-run.

“Alright, you win,” I panted when he tagged me. I doubled over for breath.

“You’re not able to escape me,” he said, and I found myself entranced by the mischievous lights dancing in his eyes. Far too entranced – if I’d been I mite quicker I would’ve been able to tag Stefan behind me. I shook my head and pelted after Paulina instead, wondering why I wished so hard these warm summer nights would never end.

I was thinking of Angaria less and less.

“You’re not stopping, are you?” Paulina called, as Casper moved off through the trees.

“I’ve been undignified long enough for one night,” was his answer.

“Oh, but that’s only your opinion!”

At which he laughed and turned back to the game, with an, “As you wish, princess.” Which reminded me there was truly only one princess at the Peak, and chilled my heart a bit.

I dove and managed to tap Stefan, then leaned over, panting. “Just a minute,” I told him, in case his plan was to tag me right back. I could never do this running in my girdle, that was for sure, but in my blue dress and barefeet, with my hair tied back, I managed just fine.

“Yeah, I think Paulina needs catching,” he told me, darting away.

I was getting used to Chaldean undergarments, and I was beginning to understand Maria’s shock at the amount of clothes Angarian wore. They were heavy and constricting. When you went outside in the sun especially, so often even when I changed from my court clothes into comfortable dresses I didn’t put on my under-dress and left my Chaldean drawers and shirtwaist on, though I took my girdle off. It would have been scandalous in Angaria, but in Chaldean weather it was the only way to be moderately comfortable.

It was getting to the peak of summer now, so they days were the hottest of the year. The Rajah served ices at lunch, one of the few lucky people able to do so, and they disappeared almost immediately (if they weren’t eaten, they melted). We still practised rapiers, but rather half-heartedly. My real practice was in the morning with Maria, when it was still cool. And all the court was snappy and irritable at each other.

Especially Cassandra. And one day while I walked down the Palace hall, feeling as if I was suffocating, she came up behind me and pushed me a step too far.

“Why don’t you go back to Angaria, cousin of the Enchanter?” she asked. “If you can’t endure the heat.”

It wasn’t even an insult. I’d endured much worse. But I was hot and irritated, and I’d had it about up to here with Cassandra.

“Listen,” I hissed, and I whirled around and pinned Cassandra up against the wall. “I’m sick of you. Why don’t you just shut up?”

I could have drawn my rapier, but I’d forgotten about it, like I did every time I lost my temper. But perhaps that was a good thing.

“I don’t see what you have against me,” I continued angrily, holding down despite her struggling. “Why don’t you just quit it! Is you pride so hurt you have to take revenge on the Enchanter through me? What do I have to do with it?”

She snarled in my face.

“I’m only his cousin!” I shrieked. “Why don’t you get made at him? It was him who jilted you!”

She twisted out of my hold and pulled away. But she did not run down the hall, but sank to the ground in front of me, and suddenly, began sobbing.

“Go away!” she said.

And immediately I felt guilty for shrieking at her, even though I had no idea what had caused her to break out in tears.

No one could’ve blamed me if I had gone away, head held high. We certainly had never said a civil word to each other. But she looked so wretched huddled there, and she must be pretty upset to break into tears in front of me. After all, court ladies never flaunted their weaknesses in front of the others.

Tentatively I leaned forward. “Lady Cassandra, what is wrong?”

Her only reply was another snarl.

Go to Chapter 22B: To Help An Enemy