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Pride and Prejudice, play adaptation by Sherwood Smith ([personal profile] sartorias) of the Jane Austen novel. Thank you [personal profile] sartorias for letting us read your adaptation of P&P originally performed by high school students! It did a really good job of condensing the plot while leaving in some dialogue that adaptations often leave out, and it was funny!

Much Ado About Numbers, Rob Eastaway. I picked this up again and finished it, but found that the bits that I'd already read were the most interesting to me. I found this book to be strongest when it was explaining the technology level of Shakespeare's time, and weakest when it was going into speculative interpretations of Shakespeare. (Though some of the theories it admitted were too far out there, like the joking theory that Cassio the "great arithmetician" might have inspired the naming of the Casio calculator.)

Alice James: Her brothers, her journal, edited by Alice Robeson Burr. I recently learned about Alice James, sister of the better known late 19th century American intellectuals Willam and Henry James, and was interested enough to pick up her diary. This book also contains Alice Robeson Burr's essay on the James family, which had some interesting tidbits that led to my learning more about forgotten 19th century American women intelectuals, like Mary Moody Emerson, aunt of and inspiration to the better-known Ralph Waldo, and Sarah Alden Bradford Ripley, of which Burr writes "In those days and communities, there was always a woman who read Greek, and in Concord it was Mrs. Ripley who had this distinction."

I'm about halfway through Alice James's diary ; being a diary (and without contextual footnotes) it is slow going although it does have some good passages writing about her chronic illness and other things.

St. Helios, Alice Robeson Burr. The diary being slow going, I decided to look into what else Anna Robeson Burr had published -- she was a prolific popular novelist, and encountered this entertainingly snarky review of her novel St. Helios, which was enough to get me to pick it up. I found it to be very readable but ultimately disappointing novel. It is set in 1920 and centers on the triangle between an aristocratic British poet who is both a relic of the Victorian era and a Byronic figure, his illegimate daughter, and the American lawyer who falls in love with both (though the book is not that slashy). The daughter starts out as the most interesting of the three main characters, but halfway through she gets a change of heart and moves from manipulative schemer to damsel in distress. After reading, I found two more contemporary reviews of this book, which are just as entertaining as the NYT review.
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(OK, the books aren't celebrating Hanukkah, they're celebrating Walpurgisnacht if anything, but I am. Quick takes, I don't have too much to say.)

The Invention of Love, Tom Stoppard. Readaloud and reread, in honor of Tom Stoppard's death. It was very cool having an actual classics grad student read the part of young A. E. Housman, though ultimately I feel like I don't quite connect with the play, perhaps because of not being a classicist or not being sufficiently attached to Housman's poetry. (I do find it interesting to compare A. E. Housman to his Cambridge colleague G. H. Hardy, who mentions Housman a few times in his Mathematician's Apology, but I'm not sure I can fit into the context of this play.)

The Tempest, William Shakespeare. Also a readaloud, and of course a reread, as this is a play I know very well. Everyone agreed this time that Prospero is a jerk, but the language is still fantastic. Also, having read the role of Ferdinand that guy doesn't seem so great either.

Faust by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, translated by Walter Arndt. I've previously read three modern abridged translations of Faust (MacDonald, Brenton, and Clifford) that were designed to be performed on stage (partly to judge their suitability for readalouds), and then I ran across this in a Little Free Library and thought I would try a more literary/scholarly translation. Anyway, so I know how things go, but it's still interesting to see the things that get cut from the other versions, and will probably be more interesting once I get to part II. It makes an interesting comparison to The Tempest (which it is explicitly referencing by reusing the character of Ariel), but unfortunately as well as having to read it translation, I've also missed out on the opportunity to have imprinted on it at a younger age as I did with Shakespeare.
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Testimony of Mute Things, Lois McMaster Bujold. Another Penric! This should have gone in last week's book post, but I forgot, which says something about how much of an impression it made on me. I was looking forward to "Penric and Des solve a murder", but wasn't as excited by the book as I'd hoped. On the plus side, we got more princess-archdivine, who is the best archdivine, and not just because I like saying "princess-archdivine".

Much Ado About Numbers, Rob Eastaway. A book about the ways math is used in Shakespeare that provides relevant historical context, this lands smack in the intersection of my special interests Venn diagram. I thought it might be gimmicky, and it does have some trivia, but I really liked it, and it has helpful tables of things like units of measurement used in Shakespeare and how they compare. Unfortunately I only got about 70 pages into it because it was an overdue book that my mom needed to return to the library. Will be picking up for the rest, though.

Unabridged, Stefan Fatsis. A book about dictionaries, past, present, and future, seen from the perspective of Merriam-Webster, where Fatsis worked part-time proposing new words and definitions while researching that book. Very readable, I learned some things and enjoyed the inside peek at Merriam-Webster (which reminded me in some ways of my own workplace). However I found Fatsis's "I'm a sports bro, not one of these nerds" narrative posture a bit distracting (I think I felt the same way about his book Word Freak on tournament Scrabble when I read it over 20 years ago).

Lucky Few, Kathryn Ormsbee. [personal profile] lannamichaels reviewed this author's autobiographical-ish middle grade graphic novel Turning Twelve, and since I've been whining for decades now about the lack of books about homeschoolers that have plots other than "homeschooler goes to school for the first time", I was intrigued. (I'm pretty sure there are now a lot of millenial writer homeschool alumni who would happily write what they know, and the challenge is figuring out how to sell it; Kristyn Miller's Given Our History did it by having the homeschool bits be flashbacks in a second-chance romance, and I enjoyed the flashbacks but felt that the present-day romance suffered from being less grounded in reality.)

I picked this up because I was more interested in reading a YA book than a middle grade graphic novel, and I needed an airplane book; however I suspect that Turning Twelve is a much better book. Lucky Few did do its job of entertaining me during an extended travel delay, it had some good banter and I liked the protagonist's super nerdy BFF. I'm not going to get into a detailed critique of the book (though I could, and if you set me off in the comemnts I might), but this managed to make homeschooling come across as entirely unappealing. Now, not every book can be Libby on Wednesday with the awesome house and extended family. But the homeschooling here was pretty heavily on the school-at-home end of things, and had pretty much all the same drawbacks as school in terms of social life, as well as background toxic homeschool group parent dynamics, while not seeming to come with any real advantages.
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Jacques and His Master, Milan Kundera, based on the novel Jacques le fataliste et son maître by Denis Diderot, English translation by Simon Callow. Readaloud. I'd read the Diderot novel some years ago, in French, in the Project Gutenberg version; I'm pretty sure some of the subtleties were lost on me. The play felt structurally a lot neater than the book, but I maybe just didn't appreciate the structure of the book? Like the original book, this adaptation was meta, but being a play it expressed its meta-ness in different ways. It played up the male-gaze-y aspects of the book in ways that were not so fun. However, I got to read the Innkeeper, who is the only female role with agency in the whole play, and had a blast with it.

The Strength of the Few, James Islington. A warned me that the book was not as good as The Will of the Many, and he was right. Adding fake-Egyptian and fake-Celtic plotlines to the fake-Roman story from the first book meant that the worldbuilding overall felt shallower. However I'll keep reading and hope for more payoff in later books. (Also I grumble that in this fake-Roman worldbuilding, words ending "us" pluralize to end in "ii", e.g. "stylii".)

The Life of Sophia Jex-Blake, Margaret Todd. I finished this, and enjoyed it; it is very much a Victorian Biography, but I like that sort of thing. (There is one modern biography of Sophia Jex-Blake, which I may try to track down for extra context.) I enjoyed watching Sophia come of age, visit the US to get a sense of the state of women's education, and finding her way to her calling as a doctor and an advocate for women's medical education. It's delightful seeing just how much of a Charlotte Bronte fan Jex-Blake was; she's so determined to emulate Lucy Snowe from Villette that she shows up at a school in Mannheim which has already rejected her application to be a teacher there, to persuade them to take her on in whatever capacity they can, which ends up being as an unpaid substitute teacher.

After that, we get a blow-by-blow account of Jex-Blake's long endeavour, not just to get a medical degree that will allow her to practice in the British system, but to clear the path for other women to do the same, becoming a minor celebrity in the process. (There's a funny bit about a letter than a young Robert Louis Stevenson wrote to his cousin, saying, roughly, "Jex-Blake is clearly on the right side of history, but I wouldn't marry her". Jex-Blake, who preferred women, learned about this letter many years later, and her reaction was "LOL, I clearly admire Stevenson more than he admired me, but I never had the slightest desire to marry him!") This is sometimes dramatic, as Jex-Blake and the rest of the "Edinburgh Seven" are admitted to the University and then have to deal with angry male classmates and a lukewarm administration that chickens out on them midway through, on top of their regular coursework; but it also gets a bit dry at time.

The closing section, about Jex-Blake's final years in retirement, has a special warmth; Margaret Todd is writing from memory, having lived with Jex-Blake through that time, though she has completely effaced herself from the narrative. It would be easy to blame Todd for not better documenting her own life and Jex-Blake's, except that her own story is itself so sad; as I understand it, she had become depressed and isolated after Jex-Blake's death, and died, possibly of suicide, just months after this book was published.
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Ariadne in Mantua, Vernon Lee (1903). Readaloud. This play sets itself up as being in the Extended Shakespeare Universe: "The action takes place in the Palace of Mantua through a period of a year, during the reign of Prospero I, of Milan, and shortly before the Venetian expedition to Cyprus under Othello." However it's an odd, sad play, and not one that Shakespeare would have told. One of the laws of the Shakespeare Universe, as I interpret it, is that nobody dies of unrequited love; you can't die of a broken heart unless somebody else dies first to break your heart. (Ophelia is arguably an exception, but still her father dies first.)

Mona Maclean, Medical Student, Graham Travers (a pseudonym for Margaret Todd). I enjoyed this, though the romantic happy ending dragged out a bit. I feel that the title does it a disservice, as it is not a school story; there are a few scenes in the medical school setting, but that's not the main focus of the story. It is however enjoyable as a late Victorian novel with an introspective and intellectual protagonist, feminist themes, and strong female friendships. Also, the love interest recites the poem Stradivarius by George Eliot, which I was glad to be introduced to.

The Life of Sophia Jex-Blake, Margaret Todd (writing under her own name this time, even though Gutenberg uses the name Graham Travers). Sophia Jex-Blake was one of the first women doctors in Great Britain, and founded the medical school that Margaret Todd attended; the two of them became life partners. So far I've only covered Sophia's youth and education; she was a gifted child who chafed at the Victorian education system that wanted to shape her into a well-behaved young lady, but fortunately manages to get onto a path to a real education. The biography has just covered her brief romantic relationship and unhappy breakup with Octavia Hill, who went on to be equally awesome.

The Strength of the Few, James Islington. Sequel to The Will of the Many, and a change of pace from all these old books by and about women. Not as good as the first book, mostly for structural reasons, but still very readable. I'm about 80% in and it's getting to be a bloodbath, but hopefully there will be interesting plots twists in what's left.
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We submitted the revised paper last week, and now I'm back to reading more!

Poems and Ballads of Heinrich Heine, translated by Emma Lazarus. I've been curious about Heine for a while, and last week I was looking up what Emma Lazarus did other than write The New Colossus, and found that she'd translated these, so I thought I'd try them. I'm sure these are better in the original, but they're never boring. The one that jumped out at me was his version of Tannhauser, which is basically a Fairy Queen ballad, and therefore the translation into a ballad with somewhat antiquated language worked pretty well for me. But then there's a weird tonal shift at the end where it becomes a European/German travelogue, and Lazarus skips over a bunch of verses.

Love's Labor's Lost, William Shakespeare. Readaloud. Not the first time I've read this aloud, but I feel like this play is growing on me. Why don't people perform it more? This time I took the part of the Princess, which is a great role with some particularly fun lines. In comparison with the ending of A Midsummer Night's Dream, I appreciate that after the men have fun mocking the lower-class performers, the women follow it up by telling them to grow up, rather than fading into the background. (Also I noticed the parallels with Tennyson's The Princess / Gilbert & Sullivan's Princess Ida, only with genders swapped.)

The Rise of a Star, Edith Ayrton Zangwill. Scanned by [personal profile] kurowasan, not yet ready for Distributed Proofreaders, but eventually this will make it to Project Gutenberg! This is probably the most conventional plot of Edith Ayrton Zangwill's novels, and also the one with the most satisfying ending (and where the protagonist ends up with the most appealing guy). You can more or less guess the plot and where it ends up from the title, though I was expecting it to be about Hollywood, but Joan, our titular star stays on the stage, not on the screen. It also starts at an unusual point, when Joan's grandmother is forced to leave the stage just as her career is taking off, so that her daughter (Joan's mother) can marry a wealthy capitalist who detests the theater. This leads to a slow start, and overall there is not as much backstage theatre hijinks as I'd hoped. But the plot tension does ramp up, because while we know where Joan will end up, we don't know how or at what cost.
(As typical for Zangwill, there are some racial slurs used but no named characters of color.)

Mona Maclean, Medical Student, Graham Travers (a pseudonym for Margaret Todd. At the end of The Rise of a Star there's a bunch of quotes from reviews of Edith Ayrton Zangwill's earlier books, including one which said that she'd written the best lady medical student/scientist character since Mona Maclean. So then I had to look up this 1892 novel, written by an actual woman medical student and future doctor (though she kept up her writing career). This is generally charming, and I'll have more to say about it after I've finished, but I'm glad I read the Goodreads reviews first, because there is much less medical school in this book than you'd guess from the title. Instead the book starts when our protagonist, in despair after failing her exams for the second time, impulsively decides to agree to take six months away from school to live in a small Scottish village with a cousin she's never met from the less-respectable side of the family, which turns out to be an even worse idea than all her friends tell her it will be, but gives her a chance for self-reflection and personal growth.
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The Barbarous Babes: being the Memoirs of Molly by Edith Ayrton Zangwill is now freely available on Project Gutenberg! Thanks to [personal profile] kurowasan for scanning the book and the volunteers at Distributed Proofreaders for all their work m

This is Edith Ayrton Zangwill's first published book from 1904, an episodic children's book that reminds me of E. Nesbit's non-fantastic fiction. Molly is a relatable protagonist with an engaging narrative voice that sucked me in instantly. I reviewed it in a bit more detail here.
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For the last two weeks I've been in a state of "I really need to work on these paper revisions", which, being who I am, means that I have been coming up with all sorts of ways to procrastinate. Which is not a very good excuse for not posting last week, when I should have told you about the awesomeness of Una Silberrad, and in the past week I have been procrastinating by other means than reading; so I should still write up these books even though they are less fresh in my mind.

Una Silberrad was a popular early 20th century British novelist; like many popular women writers of the time, her books, though in the public domain, are hard to find electronic copies of. I first heard of her from Jo Walton's reading posts on Reactor. A friend of mine is involved with the process of getting her books into project Gutenberg -- in fact we became friends after I messaged her and said "hey, it would be great if someone did this for Edith Ayrton Zangwill, too", and she volunteered to do this, without having read anything of Edith's, just on a Discord friend-of-a-friend's suggestion!

Princess Puck, Una Silberrad. This book just made it to Project Gutenberg, thanks to my friend's efforts. This is a really charming coming-of-age story, with a girl who comes of age and ultimately gets to save the day with her interest in family/local history and her strength of purpose to do what is right. (I think the protagonist maybe could be read as having autistic spectrum traits, in particular her talent for mimicry, but it's unclear.) There is a romance, but this is the sort of story where you feel like the protagonist would have had a meaningful life even if the plot contrivances hadn't arranged to make the romance work out in the end. Reminded me a bit of The Secret Garden, with its combination of romantic tropes and groundedness in everyday work. Of the supporting characters, I particularly liked the protagonist's business-minded older cousin, and how the relationship between the two develops over time.

The Good Comrade, Una Silberrad. This is the only other fiction book of Silberrad's on Gutenberg so far (but this will change soon!) -- it was Silberrad's mos popular novel, and I can see why. This fits the conventional structure of a romance novel much better than Princess Puck, but it goes some really interesting places (Holland, and horticulture) first. Julia is a very resourceful heroine; she has the key Una Silberrad heroine traits of valuing hard work and not caring too much for social norms and class distinctions, but is also very much herself, and shaped by her family circumstances (her father is an alcoholic and gambler, her mother is a professional at keeping up appearances).

Desire, Una Silberrad. This one is not yet on Gutenberg, but was particularly recommended to me. This one has two protagonists; the titular Desire, a wealthy and alluring young socialite, and Peter, an aspiring young writer from a middle-class background. Again the ending is conventional, but the way it gets there is not. (Early in the plot there's some fake dating, but it's not at all used in a tropey way.) Desire starts out being not entirely likeable as a character, but I liked her arc.
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Chronicles of Avonlea, L. M. Montgomery. I've read the Anne series multiple times, but this was my first time with these short stories (which are only very loosely connected to Anne and her books). I was intrigued by [personal profile] ladyherenya's comment that they were mostly about spinsters, especially as I'm still thinking of writing a spinster story myself with this Therese Gauss project. The stories were charming, though by the end it was a bit too much of traditional gender roles and romantic happily ever afters for me. Interesting to note that the book was published a year after Montgomery herself married, unromantically and unhappily, at the age of 37.

Puss in Boots, Ludwig Tieck, translated by Wikisource. Readaloud. I booklogged this fourth-wall-breaking satirical comedy when I first read it, but now I can report that it works as well as a readaloud as I'd hoped! (And I suspect it may even work better as a readaloud than dealing with the difficulties of actually staging it.) It is very clever and I am excessively fond of it. (And probably would be even more so if I got more of the cultural references.)

Silver and Lead, Seanan McGuire. Book 19 of October Daye; don't start here. At this point I'm following along with the story for the ride, but not going back to reread earlier books (though A is following along more closely and able to fill me in with hints and theories). Toby is still not particularly skilled at detective work, but as usual solves things by heroically charging in and assuming that everything will work out, which it does, though with the potential to cause more trouble in later books.
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My Life and Functions, Walter Hayman. Walter Hayman was a mathematician who worked in complex analysis, but I heard about him first because of his daughter Sheila Hayman, descendant of Fanny Mendelssohn Hensel, who made documentaries about her family history (I watched the one about her family and the Nazis, which was powerful, and have still not watched the one about Fanny, because I don't think I'm its target audience.) Walter Hayman had a life that was in some ways not that unusual for a mathematician of his time and place, but still had some interesting features: he was born in Germany, grandson of the distinguished mathematician Kurt Hensel. Kurt Hensel retired and then died early enough to be protected from the worst effects of the Nazis, but Walter was Kindertransported to an English boarding school as a child, and lived the rest of his life in England (excepting some brief stays in the US and other travel). He married three times, outliving his first two wives; his first wife became a math educator who founded the British Math Olympiad team (with his help); his second wife was his former grad student who had come to the UK from Iraq, and he converted to Islam for her (but still continued to be a practicing Quaker), and his third wife was a successful writer and businesswoman.

This all sounded interesting enough for me to track down his memoirs, though I found it a bit disappointing, in particular because it didn't go into detail about the things I was most curious about. The sections about his early years were the best, but after that it became rushed. The title is appropriate; he does sometimes switch abruptly from reminiscences to a mathematical discussion (which I could follow but is not my field). However, I did learn details I'm not sure I actually wanted to know about his relationship with his former grad student who he eventually married, which was even more problematic than that description makes it sound like. It's interesting that he spent his life around smart, influential women; in addition to his wives, his Ph.D. advisor was the groundbreaking Mary Cartwright, and he had four daughters who all went on to have successful careers. But he doesn't come off as particularly feminist or thoughtful about gender.

The Summer War, Naomi Novik. This is a fairy tale novella, using many of the classic tropes, and a well-constructed one, as one would expect from Novik. I enjoyed it.

Teresa, Edith Ayrton Zangwill. Like the last Ayrton Zangwill I read, this is a un-proofread OCR'd copy: the book has just entered Distributed Proofreaders and will be on Project Gutenberg when fully proofread (at which point I expect I'll post about it again!). As I've come to expect from Edith Ayrton Zangwill, the writing is great, the social commentary is excellent, and I gulped the whole thing down in a day. The book feels like a response to Middlemarch, specifically the prologue that talks about all the latter-day analogues of St. Teresa of Avila who didn't reach their full potential, and this book's Teresa could be one of them (some characters compare her in-book to her saintly analogue).

Teresa starts the book as an idealistic girl fresh out of boarding school with a strong and inflexible sense of morality learned from her mother, who is a relic of the Victorian era but also a committed socialist -- and the theme of socialism throughout the book really helps Teresa's morality not come across as mere priggishness. (Vicki, who I am very grateful to for scanning the book from the British Library, commented that Teresa reads as possibly on the spectrum, and I think she has a good point there.)

Like The First Mrs. Mollivar, this is a story about two people who never should have gotten married to each other, and how they navigate being married anyway. Also like it, there is lots of good parts in there that is not just about the miserable marriage; I particularly liked Teresa's badass lady doctor cousin, though I'm sad that her roommate got shuffled out of the way to make room for a heterosexual love interest (the book does not use its femslash potential).
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Gauss, Titan of Science by G. Waldo Dunnington, with additional material by Jeremy Gray. I mentioned in last week's post that during recent air travel I watched a movie with a dubiously historical version of Gauss and was entertained but ultimately would accept no substitutes for actual historical Gauss.

This is the biography of Carl Friedrich Gauss that I picked up off a university library shelf when I was 15, and made me go all swoony over Gauss's letter proposing to his first wife (link is to the original German manuscript). Returning to it with less swooniness and a more mature ability to evaluate historical sources, and also reading a new edition with helpful front matter, it's clear the book is not 100% "actual historical Gauss": it starts off with a version of the famous 5050 story, which is based on an anecdote that Gauss reportedly told about his childhood, but probably didn't happen exactly that way.

Indeed, as I learned from the front matter, G. Waldo Dunnington was a professional Gauss stan; one of his elementary school teachers was a great-granddaughter of Gauss, and learning that there was no Victorian Great Man biography of Gauss, he spent his entire academic career (interrupted by WWII) remedying that lack. Since I'm also a Gauss stan, I found the book generally readable if sometimes a bit repetitive, and enjoyed various fun Gauss facts. (In the department of obscure historical figures who ought to be fictionalized, there is Friedrich Ludwig Wachter, Gauss's student who studied non-Euclidean geometry and vanished without a trace at age 25.)

I'll probably do more Gauss reading (though also I now have an unproofread scan of Teresa by Edith Ayrton Zangwill so I may read that first); I've started with the letters online, but may also seek out other biographies. I continue to be fascinated by Gauss's youngest daughter, whose story would make a good historical romance; and having done some Gauss reading I'm starting to think I can actually write this fic.
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Short post because (a) it's actually only been a week (b) busy and (c) while I did spend a bunch of time on planes it was mostly not reading. (I did watch the movie of Die Vermessung der Welt with English subtitles, and while it worked to keep me entertained while very sleep-deprived, on reflection I'm too invested in the actual historical Carl Friedrich Gauss to accept any ahistorical substitutes.)

To Shape a Dragon's Breath, Moniquill Blackgoose. I thought it would be appropriate to read about dragons on the plane trip, and then I didn't read very much, but that's fine as the dragons don't really get to fly in this book anyway. This book was not very subtle in a way that I suspect I'd have preferred if I was younger, which makes sense as it's YA. There are presumably people who would review this book as "I thought I was getting a story about dragons, not a story about how racism and colonialism are bad", but I had read enough reviews to know what I was getting, which was that, but also a school story with interesting alternate-history chemistry and telepathic pet dragons who are not yet a big part of the story, and I enjoyed it! I will definitely be reading book 2 (which I appreciate about summer vacation rather than skipping to the second year of school) when it comes out in January.
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(It may look like I'm posting this earlier than usual, but nope, I'm just in a different time zone!)

The Will of the Many, James Islington. This worked well as a book to read over the course of a long plane trip, except maybe for the bit where by the time I got to the complicated ending I had lost brain cells from lack of sleep and was rushing to finish before the plane landed. This book is so tropey: in the not!Roman Empire, a lost heir is sent to boarding school to investigate a mystery and climb to the top of the class rankings, which ultimately involves a deadly game of Capture the Flag. It's the first book in a planned trilogy, I will probably keep reading.

The Barbarous Babes: Being the Memoirs of Molly, Edith Ayrton (Zangwill). My Discord friend Vicki, who scans and digitizes old books to get them into Project Gutenberg, obligingly agreed to do some Edith Ayrton Zangwills! She sent me a preliminary OCR'd version with many typos; the text is currently being proofread by Distributed Proofreaders, after which it will appear on Gutenberg! This is not my favorite of Edith's books, but I still enjoyed it. It's in the tradition of early 20th century writers, particularly those involved with the suffrage movement, pushing back against the Victorian sentimentalization of childhood. It starts with a description of imaginative play games with a lot of pretend violence and torture, sometimes with near-disastrous results. Past the first couple chapters it doesn't so much live up to its title, but continues with tales of various family members misbehaving in adventurous ways. Not sentimental, but does have real family feeling and a charming ten-year-old narrator.

A Nursery in the Nineties, Eleanor Farjeon. This memoir got less excitingly plotty and more impressionistic once the author appeared on the scene, but was still enjoyable, and an interesting pairing with the book above, since it also focused on the protagonist and her brother's (less violent) imaginative play games. I put it down wondering what the next steps would be in Eleanor Farjeon's story, which led me to the next book.

Edward Thomas : the last four years, Eleanor Farjeon. This is the other memoir-ish thing that Farjeon wrote. It skips forward over a decade, and focuses on Eleanor's close friendship with the writer and poet Edward Thomas, who I hadn't previously heard of apart from having read his poem Adlestrop. I was more interested in Eleanor (who didn't talk enough about herself) than Edward, though I was charmed by this poem by Edward. Eleanor was in love with Edward, who was married with three children, and the love triangle resolved itself in an unusual way: Edward volunteered for WWI, where he was killed, and Eleanor and Helen remained fast friends for the end of her life.

As It Was and World Without End by Helen Thomas. After this, I was interested to look up how Helen wrote about her marriage with Edward, and these two short memoirs were much breezier reads. Helen Thomas was less of an intellectual than Eleanor Farjeon, but her writing is more emotionally evocative. She met Edward when they were in their late teens, and had an unconventional relationship until she got pregnant and everyone insisted that they should get married. They then proceeded to do something the Edwardian version of the cottagecore life, though this is not particularly romanticized -- Edward being a struggling freelance writer supporting a family the houses they could afford in the country were not particularly nice, and they moved a lot (also, they could afford a servant, which made the country life more pleasant). Helen's commentary on the socially progressive circles that she mingled with but ultimately found shallow were also interesting.
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V. busy right now preparing for upcoming travel, but I did not post last week and probably will be too busy the next two weeks also, so I should catch up on books.

Bartholomew Fair, Ben Jonson. I read this in college, and all I can remember of the experience of reading it is that I was on the bus home from Thanksgiving. As with all public domain plays, I was reading this with half an eye as to whether it would make a good readaloud, and I think the answer is probably not; I suspect it actually works best on stage with actors who can get the characters across.

A Tale of Time City, Diana Wynne Jones. Hugo Award winning (!) podcast Eight Days of Diana Wynne Jones released its episode on this book over the weekend. At some point I should actually try listening to the podcast, but I'm a text/instant gratification person, so I started reading, and midway through when they moved from the part of the book that is mostly setting to the part that is plot, decided I should reread the book before continuing, and fortunately realized that I had a copy in a box of books I hadn't unpacked. Things that struck me this read around: it is so very much a Diana Wynne Jones book, both in writing style and in themes. Vivian gets to be physically aggressive with the butter-pies, and I feel uncomfortable reading that. This is the sort of time travel book that doesn't fuss much about language barriers (as [personal profile] lannamichaels would say, everyone has the metaphorical fish in their ear); we know that Time City has developed its own writing system, which mainly exists for the purpose of the one hilarious translation scene, but everyone in Time City and the various bits of history we see is talking recognizable English.

A Nursery in the Nineties, Eleanor Farjeon. I know Farjeon as the author of Morning is Broken, and of Cats Sleep Everywhere, and for her novel The Glass Slipper that I read when I was about 8 or 9. Recently I was listening to a classical album with a track by her brother Harry Farjeon, and that caused me to look the entire family up on wikipedia, and they are incredibly fascinating. This is Eleanor's book about her family history and childhood.

The story so far: Benjamin Farjeon, Eleanor's father, ran off from his Orthodox Jewish family to make a fortune in Australia and New Zealand. After having set himself up there as a successful newspaper man, he receives a kind rejection letter from Charles Dickens and takes this as a signal that he should move back to England and start a literary career, which is remarkably successful (despite Dickens dying too early to be of any help). Meanwhile, Margaret Jefferson, Eleanor's mother, descended from a long line of popular actors, grows up in the US around the time of the Civil War. As a young woman she reads one of Benjamin's books and decides it is the best book ever -- now she is about to go to England where they will presumably meet and fall in love!
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The Adventure of the Demonic Ox, Lois McMaster Bujold. Another Penric novella! I was underwhelmed by Penric and the Bandit, but this one has POV from both of Penric's two preteen daughters (one adopted, with a demon of her own) which made it generally more enjoyable -- it was nice to be shifting the focus to the younger generation. I hope we get more books with the girls as they come of age. (Nikys is still trapped in domesticity but seems happy with it.)
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Musical Chairs, Amy Poeppel. Recommended by Ask A Manager; I liked Small Admissions by the same author, which was also recommended there. I didn't like this one quite as much; I suspect that's partly because Poeppel had experience in private school admissions, but not the classical music world, and also partly because of the larger cast of characters making it less focused. But it was still enjoyable and hard to put down!

It's basically a pastoral comedy -- a group of family and friends spend their summer in small-town Connecticut, learn things about themselves and their relationships, and end up romantically paired off at the end. It's having lots of fun with that, and also with its multi-perspective storytelling; at one point we get the POV of a character who has just arrived from New York City, doesn't know anyone, and is like, "wow, these rich Connecticut people are all super weird". The classical music angle didn't really do much for me (but also I am not a musician, just a fan). One thing I realized after finishing the book is that it's a fairly white book; or at least all of the major cast members are white or unspecified race. This is made more noticeable by the fact that there are a few Asian-American characters with walk-on parts or brief mentions, to represent the younger generation of classical performers who are even better than our protagonists; but we don't get their story. Though I do appreciate that this is a book that spends most of the time with characters who are 50 or older.
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Sorry, it's been a few weeks, but I have books to catch up on!

Homer's Daughter, Robert Graves. This continued to hold up well on reread -- though it does have the feature that you know there's going to be an absolute bloodbath at the end, just like in the Odyssey. I need to reread the Odyssey -- I'm sure there are references I missed, though at least I got the reference to the Iliad where after an important character died the plot stopped for his funeral games. The romance was a small part of the story, but surprisingly adorable. Trying to convince more people to read this so I have people to talk about it with!

Behind Frenemy Lines, Zen Cho. The second in Cho's series of contemporary romances set in London: this is in the same continuity as The Friend Zone Experiment, but there's only one very minor character overlap. Better than its title makes it sound -- it starts by quickly checking off the enemies-to-lovers and fake-dating trope bingo squares, but then goes on to become its own sweet workplace romance. Also super charmed by Charles's cousin who met her wife on Tumblr and their adorable cosplay wedding. I liked it better than The Friend Zone Experiment, though maybe it was that I hadn't read any genre romance in a while. If there's anything I didn't like it's that the characters and their situations felt stereotypical for their gender -- Kriya is dealing with workplace harassment, while Charles is a spectrum-coded workaholic.

Josephine Lang: her Life and Songs by Harald Krebs and Sharon Krebs. Josephine Lang is my newest forgotten woman composer obsession -- a respected contemporary of the Mendelssohns and Schumanns whose career was kickstarted when a Felix Mendelssohn heard her play her own songs. There aren't nearly enough recordings of her songs our there, which is a shame as they are delights: here's Fee'n-Reigen (Fairy Round Dance), one of the songs she composed as a teenager and played on her first meeting with Felix Mendelssohn, and the song of hers that first grabbed my attention -- an unaccompanied choral Ständchen (Lullaby, lyrics here ) from an unpublished manuscript.

Harald and Sharon Krebs are largely responsible for rehabilitating Lang's reputation as a composer, and this book was part of that: it was published in 2007 along with a companion CD, which is unavailable, but fortunately most of the songs discussed can be found to stream online, so I was able to listen along. (ETA, actually the songs are available on the publisher's website as .aiff files.) This is a very readable book (though I skimmed the denser musical analysis) -- Lang's life story is fascinating, though at times depressing -- in her mid-twenties, she fell in love and married Christian Reinhold Köstlin, a law professor and poet, who comes off in the book as a bit of a Romantic failboat. This derailed her career as she took up her new position as a housewife in a small university town without a large musical scene and quickly had 6 children. She did find some time to compose, but had to deal with family health problems (she outlived not only her husband but three of her four sons), which makes for a rather depressing arc, though the book is able to point out the occasional moments of hilarity (link goes to my tumblr, where I've been posting more lately).
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Fire and Hemlock, Diana Wynne Jones. Reread of a book I read many times in my teens and early twenties, but this was my first time reading it in quite a while. It is still a very good book, though I don't love it as unreservedly as I did when I was a teenager. (Also it is the source of my username :-)) Things I noticed in this readthrough: I find Tom's "heroic driving" far more alarming now that I actually know how to drive a car. I'm also thinking about how things look from Seb's point of view, which I didn't before because he comes across as such an unlikeable character. I was wondering if the detail that he's a fan of Michael Moorcock is supposed to suggest that he's a Moorcock protagonist seen from the most unflattering viewpoint, but as, thanks to this book, I have never had any desired to read Moorcock, I can't say. (That said, Seb actually has decent taste in rock music! I find the Doors' Riders on the Storm to be evocative of the same themes as Fire and Hemlock, and wonder if it was an influence.)

The Fair-Haired Eckbert, Puss in Boots, The Midsummer Night by Ludwig Tieck, in English translation by various translators, available on Wikisource. I've for a while entertained the extremely aspirational idea of writing historical fantasy about the Mendelssohn siblings, and as part of that project I've been reading fantasy/fairy tales by German Romantic authors whose poems Fanny and Felix put to music. (A previous installment of this was Eichendorff's The Marble Statue, which I never wrote up.) The Fair-Haired Eckbert is one of these, and generally worked for me as a weird fairy tale, despite over-the-top plot twists and being the sort of tragedy where the characters alwasy make the worst possible decisions. But the main thing I got from it was from looking at the song part in German, and learning the excellent word Waldeinsamkeit.

Puss in Boots was recommended by a friend on Discord, after I mentioned reading Tieck: it is a comedy-satirical meta-theatrical adaptation of the fairy tale, published in 1797 but not staged until 1844 (I can see why -- it seems like a hard play to stage! but I think it will be fun to do as a group readaloud.) Tieck is just much more enjoyable when he's not taking himself too seriously.

The Midsummer Night, or Shakespeare and the Fairies is 16-year-old Tieck's Midsummer Night's Dream fanfiction, which he was prevailed to publish late in life, and is pretty good for that. (I wish I knew more about the Mary C. Rumsey who translated it.)

Homer's Daughter, Robert Graves. [personal profile] cahn's Odyssey read reminded me of this book, which I enjoyed when I was younger; and while I should in fact reread the Odyssey, I was visiting my family and looking for a paper book to pick up, so I started this; the premise is that our protagonist is a young Sicilian princess who is going to go on to write the Odyssey, basing certain parts on her own life. I'm liking it as much as I remembered it (especially once I got past the info-dumpy prologue), and enjoying how many details of women's work it weaves in to the events of the story. (I know now that Graves shouldn't be taken seriously as a scholar of ancient mythology, but it still makes for interesting worldbuilding and story.)
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I've been busy with non-reading stuff, mostly work and playing Blue Prince with A (but also I went to Scintillation!) But I do have some books to catch up on.

Nathan the Wise, Gotthold Ephraim Lessing, translated by William Taylor. Looking at the Goodreads reviews, it looks like everyone in Germany has to read this for school, while it's much less well-known in the US -- I only learned who Lessing was because of his friendship with Moses Mendelssohn. I knew this was Lessing's plea for toleration between the three Abrahamic religions, but a post on tumblr made me decide to actually read it. Looking at the dramatis personae and seeing that one of the characters was the adopted daughter of a Jew made me concerned about the problematic ways that plot point could go, so I went and spoiled the ending for myself to make sure it would be okay -- the final plot twists take things in a much more interesting direction than I'd been worried about from the setup. The titular character is a bit too much the voice of wisdom (as one would expect from the title) to be the most interesting, but the supporting cast is fascinating.

The Falling Tower, Meg Moseman. A theological thriller about a group of college freshmen, written by a friend of mine from college -- she conveys the college atmosphere both recognizably and warmly, and the story is very page-turn-y. It is modern feminist take on Charles Williams, the lesser-known friend of Lewis and Tolkien, whose work I have not read (The Place of the Lion, about Platonic archetypes showing up in the real world, sounds intriguing, but I also hear it is not as good as its premise), and I'm not sure if I'm more likely to now. It is doing a lot of cool and ambitious worldbuilding stuff, and lets its characters have different relationships to Christianity; the spiritual aspects of the worldbuilding certainly are compatible with Christianity without it being message-y -- this is a story in which growing up in the way that college freshman grow up is more important than finding religion. I hope more people read it so that I can discuss it!
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The Incandescent, Emily Tesh. For years I have been complaining about the lack of SFF written from the point of view of a teacher, and Emily Tesh probably wasn't listening but she wrote this book anyway! Tesh taught classics at a boarding school for two years, and the worldbuilding of her boarding school in a world very much like ours only with magic is very much informed by that experience -- this is the sort of book that has a lot to say about education in our world, while also having creative and thought-provoking worldbuilding. It's not quite the type of story about a teacher that I wanted, but I hope it will lead to more of these.

(Also, I do still need to read Gooseberry Bluff Community College of Magic, which is the only other example I know of a fantasy novel from the point of view of a teacher.)

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Alison

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