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The words “Once upon a time” have always made me shiver in a good way. Anticipation is at a high at the beginning of a story that will be exciting; an adventure, something unknown, meeting new characters, facing new villains, visiting new places.
After a drought of good books or just having read too many serious books, it is good to find some really wonderful stories to bask in like sunshine on a cold day or like a cool drink of water on a hot day.
Fortunately, I have some wonderful examples that I recommend to everyone.
The first book is the 50th anniversary edition of The Curve of Time by M. Wylie Blanchet. Capi’s husband died in 1927 and she took her five children out on a small boat to explore along the islands and coast of BC, Canada each summer.
The book itself is a small hardback with wonderful paper and gorgeous black and white photos.
The adventures are exciting. The chapter "Fog on the Mountain” beginning on page 139 is one of the scariest. The chapter before that also has excitement.
Pages 135, 136
No, he had never heard of grizzlies climbing trees, their claws were too long. Every afternoon about four o’clock half a dozen of them and some cubs came down to the flats to catch fish and feed.
“Funny thing,” he said, “they never seem to go for women or children-they don’t pay any attention to my wife, but as soon as they see me they come straight for me-they don’t like men."
“What flats do they come down to at four o’clock?” we asked.
He pointed. “Along there, at Ah-ash-na-ski Valley.”
We got hurriedly to our feet and looked at watches. It was now almost half-past three. The boys we had left on the flats ranged from fourteen down to five. Just when did a grizzly consider that a boy had reached man’s estate? Was four o’clock the same on a sunny day as it was on a dull day? Or did it just depend on when the bears felt four-o’clockish, and simply had to have their tea? Our reactions were simple and to the point…we rowed wildly to the rescue, our shouts drowned in the roar of the streams. Not a single child paid any attention to us. I transshipped the others to the ketch to start the engine and follow-the dinghy would not hold everybody.
It wasn’t until I ran right up to the children that they heard me; they were busy examining the huge spoor of those same chivalrous grizzlies that never touched women or children, but always made for the men. I explained in a hurry-and we reached the dinghy all at the same time. No one would go back for a line they had left under the tree, and nobody breathed quite properly until we were safely on board the ketch…
“Look! Look!” they shrieked, and we scrambled up on deck after them.
There under the tree on the flat were five big bears-twice the size of black bears-and three small cubs-all smelling the footprints the children had made under the trees…lifting and swinging their noses high in the air…trying to trace where the intruders had gone.
“Whose been stepping on my sand growled John. And all the youngsters took up the cry, and the bears came closer and looked at us.
The second book is
The Charioteer by Mary Renault. Published in 1959, my copy is a new paperback with easy to read print.
Wiki says:
The novel derives its title from the Chariot Allegory employed by Plato in his dialogue Phaedrus.
It is just a marvelous story. The language is beautiful. The main character’s story unfolds with grace and love and sometimes joy.
It is set in England during WW II and Laurie who was rescued at Dunkirk is recovering from a wound that nearly lost him a leg. The man in the bed next to him, Reg, is a friend who was rescued with him.
New workers arrive at the hospital who are conscientious objectors. Laurie is drawn to one of them named Andrew who he begins to understand reminds him of a Head prefect of his House at school named Ralph Lanyon who had to leave school abruptly due to a scandal. These few words do not do justice to the story. Having to chose whom to love and the fear and tension of maybe being caught pervades Laurie's story, but it is a story that is still basically a love story. I cared about the characters and worried about them. I cried, too. But despite all, there is a good ending.
Page 80
An eddy of air in the quiet lane brought back like an echo the stamp and jingle of the horses, a shake of the bridle and a snort.
...Let us say, then, that the soul resembles the joined powers of a pair of winged horses and a charioteer. Now the horses and drivers of the gods are of equal temper and breed, but with men it is otherwise…
For the first time in months, he had remembered the dirty little parcel done up in newspaper at the back of his locker. It had contained the things saved from his pockets after Dunkirk when the clothes had been cut away. A pocket-knife; a pipe he had been trying to get used to; a lighter; and the book Lanyon had given him seven years ago, with a brown patch of blood across the cover, and the edges of the pages stuck at the top. At different times he had tried the knife, the pipe, and the lighter, found them ruined, and thrown them away. The book had looked done for, too; but it was still there.
Pages 98, 99
The declining sun was ripe and warm. Hips and haws shone like polished beads in the hedgerows; the damp mats of fallen leaves had a smoky, rusty smell. There was a bridle-path running between brambles, and a stile he had taught himself to manage. It was all right when no one was about.
The blackberries tasted of frost and faint sun and smoke and purple leaves: sweet, childish, and sad. Soon came the wood, with light edges of coppice, full of birds, and birches beyond; the golden leaves shook like sequins against the sky. Presently the path opened into a field of stooked barley. Along its border he found his old place, a smooth bank running up to a big elm. He lowered himself down, carefully. It had been a long pull up and the knee had hurt him, but it was worth it.
He hadn’t been here since two operations back, before he had met Andrew. The barley had been standing in the ear then, dipping and shivering silkily under the running breeze. It was caught now, its fancies were ended...
The sun slanted deep into the wood, making hidden birds sing softly. The touch of autumn struck from his youth that cosmic sadness, which time will tame like the bite of spring. Under the pale sun, beauty and fate and love and death ached through him. After a while he sighed and took out his book.
He found that the sea water hadn’t soaked in beyond the notes at the back. The front cover unfortunately recalled the butcher’s order book which his mother used to keep, fastidiously, apart from others; but though the tops of the pages were stained, they parted easily, and inside they were clean. He turned them to and fro, remembering other places where he had read them: in a punt moored to a willow by Magdalen Bridge, on a packing-case behind a Nissen hut; and the first time of all, in a sunny clearing, with a stream running through it, a short way from his home. It had struck him with religious awe to find Phaedrus leading Socrates almost, it might have been, to the very spot. The spreading tree, the green bank to lean on, the water cold to the foot: nothing had been wanting. Except the votive offerings and the shrine. “Give me to be beautiful within,” Socrates had prayed, “and for me let outward and inward things be reconciled together.”
I highly recommend this story.
The third book is Bared Blade by Kelly McCullough. It is the sequel to Broken Blade which I enjoyed, but this one is even better. Aral is fully awake, now, and coming to understand that he is still needed in the world. He still is trying to decide what Justice means now when the goddess is dead, and that is an important theme in the story.
Page 126, 127
I was trying to spot the Dyad, when a pillar of ochre light like a giant’s staff drove up from a spot maybe a hundred yards away along the bayside street and swung around to meet me. Firespike! The spell caster led my course perfectly, Elite work if I was any judge. He would have batted me neatly out of the sky, if not for Triss wrenching free of my control and collapsing his shadow wings to send us plunging toward the dark water below.
Even so, the swinging pillar of orange light slid along my chest, and clipped the side of my head as I turned away from the burning pain of that contact. It felt like I’d
been grazed by the fiery tongue of a gigantic hunting salamander. I was already dazed from the sudden severing of my deep-channel connection with Triss when he’d broken free of my command. Now the added pain and shock sent me to dance along the edge of unconsciousness as I tumbled through the air.
Threatened, exposed, hunted and facing incredible fighting monsters while not knowing who will betray him next, Aral keeps busy to say the least. I really enjoyed the story and will be glad when the next book comes out.
The fourth book, “Be Still and Know” by Svetlana Marisova (who died from brain cancer just before it was published) and Ted van Zutphen, is a book of haiku that MT Spaces told me about a few months ago with a Haiku:
year's end –
no more leaves –
to turn:
RIP Svetlana Marisova
by MT Spaces on Wed Jan 04, 2012 at 10:03:32 PM EST
You can buy it from Karakia Books for a wide variety of prices.
It is printed on-demand by CreateSpace.com.
More information is here:
https://www.createspace.com/...
Ted and Svetlana's trust do not intend to make any profit on the sale of this book. They merely hope that any income from the sale of the book will help defray the costs related to its publishing, as well as some of the internet and publishing ventures that they have started over the past year and a half. Any excess, as well as donations, will be designated for distribution among charities that are dear to Svetlana's heart. Therefore, all things being equal to the buyer/reader, we would urge prospective buyers of the paperback to make their purchase from the CreateSpace eStore.
It is the kind of book that you re-read and savor for each haiku has a special image to consider and absorb.
Here are a few of my favorites:
for each feather
that blows in the wind-
a winter’s tale
………….
a stream
below the ice…
spring whispers
……………
stepping back
into my footprints
summer dreams
…………………
oneness now…
the caress of your lips
tasting my words
…………………
And last, but not least, I have finished the three books by
Taylor Branch:
Parting the Waters: America in the King Years 1954-1963
Pillar of Fire: America in the King Years 1963-65
At Canaan’s Edge: America in the King Years 1965-68
As I have said before, they are wonderfully written and pull no punches. It is all there.
It has taken me months to read all three, but it was worth it. I stand in awe of those who marched, went to jail, were beaten, saw loved ones killed and whose homes were bombed, but who kept going. The change they brought because they would not quit is inspiring. We must not forget.
When I read the words “Once upon a time" a door swings open in my mind and I embrace the story. Each time I pick up a new book there is a chance for splendor and inspiration. I never know for sure what I will find, but when it is good, I rejoice.
Please share your favorite books in the comments. It is because of my readers that I have found all the books mentioned above. Thank you!
Diaries of the Week:
Write On! The villain reveals all.
by SensibleShoes
http://www.dailykos.com/...
Thursday Classical Music OPUS 89: Memorial to the People of Lidice
by Dumbo
http://www.dailykos.com/...
AIDS Walk Austin - my first 2012 diary
by anotherdemocrat
http://www.dailykos.com/...
NOTE: plf515 has book talk on Wednesday mornings early