Thoughts on unraveling:
So once you get past the agony of realizing you have to frog rows and rows of a project, the actual act of frogging can be kinda cool, you know, one satisfying little pull and you rip out dozens of little stitches, a tremendous amount of effort undone with hardly a thought because you are these little stitches’ ruler, their god, capable of destroying them with a single tug and yes I am trying to romanticize frogging because this is absolutely terrible oh my god help me
Reading this week:
The Snowman by Jo Nesbø (Harry Hole #7). I must confess that I got this one from the library only because of the trailers for the Snowman movie that were all over my TV a few weeks ago. I am less than 100 pages into it, and I also confess that I am having a hard time keeping the characters and the plot straight in my head. That is probably not the book’s fault, though; I read before I go to sleep and haven’t read more than 30 pages at any one time. Each time I pick up the book I scratch my head and think, Who is that? Where are we? What’s happening? When is this? Maybe tonight I will make a point of going to bed at 8pm so I can get in several solid hours of reading… (I may also need to read the entire Harry Hole series sometime; there are a lot of references to previous cases.)
Magpie Murders by Anthony Horowitz. Finished this one a few days ago. I would call it a writer’s mystery because the author employs different writing styles in different parts of the book. Most of the first half of the book is the unedited manuscript of a mystery whose author dies right after the editor gets the ‘script; its style is heavily reminiscent of Agatha Christie. As much as I loved reading her books back in the day, I found the style of this homage to her to be draggy and dry and dated; not much fun at all. The writing style picks up when we return to the present, but even so the plot seemed far-fetched. The editor is the only one who thinks the author was murdered — everyone else, including the police, believe he committed suicide — and she pursues her inquiries doggedly.
Let me see: an amateur investigates something she believes to be a murder; she interrogates everyone concerned, undoubtedly including the supposed murderer. What could possibly go wrong? Of course, she eventually identifies said murderer. I will let you guess what happens next. (I remember thinking when I was reading that there were actually three different writing styles, but for the life of me I cannot remember what the third one was. Oh, well…)
In my ears:
The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead. This is well-written, well-narrated, and highly uncomfortable. Slavery was an abomination*, and being a slave was unimaginably degrading no matter the master or mistress. This is a book everyone should read and I am glad I am; but it is not an easy book.
::consults Goodreads to remember what I read before that::
::consults previous Unraveled posts to see if I told you about it; yup::
My personal deadline for the preemie hats is Wednesday, November 1 (the organizers want them in the mail by November 5); as many as I could knit by the first is how many I would send. These three plus…
…one more currently OTN = seven. Go, me!
* It is easy to condemn slavery from our lofty perch here in 2017. But what if we had been born in Georgia in the early 1800s? Would we have the same feelings of moral outrage, or would we have absorbed the ethos of the time? For that matter, what if we had been born in Germany in the first half of the twentieth century or a Hutu in Rwanda later on or a Hindu in Myanmar today? I would like to think I would have had the moral integrity and the courage to stand up for what was right, but I fear that I lacked those qualities until I was at least 30; before that I might well have just gone along with the zeitgeist, to my shame.