I had Jo Walton's Tooth and Claw
on my to-read list, but it wasn't available when I was shopping on Amazon. I happened to mention this on LJ, and rysmiel
saw and decided to get me a copy for my birthday, and got papersky
to sign it. So now I am really embarrassed, because the whole thing with wanting to read a book by someone you're sort of slightly connected to is that you have an extra incentive to support them.
I'm also embarrassed about reviewing the book. If I actually knew papersky
rather than just reading her journal and occasionally making comments (which usually seem to annoy her) it would be much easier, because I could just ask if she wanted me to review it or not. But talking about someone that I sort of know only not actually feels really odd. And it's worse when the book was a present. I think my problem is that I haven't really got over the idea that being dead is a necessary qualification for being an author.
Anyway, because I am a completist, I decided to publish my review
in spite of being all awkward and not knowing what the polite answer is. At least I have mainly good things to say, because otherwise I'd feel really
|Date:||February 11th, 2008 07:54 am (UTC)|
1 days after journal entry, 08:54 am (livredor's time)
Thank you, it was super nice of you to find this post and come and reassure me. I expect you'd probably rather I didn't go all to pieces over a famous person talking to me, wouldn't you? Actually, it's not so much that you're famous, it's that I want to make a good impression on you so that lethargic_man
won't be annoyed with me. My usual paradigm of: ooh, we know people in common, let's be pals! is clashing with the paradigm of: don't impose on famous people just because they're famous and you can claim an indirect connection.
I know from reading your journal that you're not a prima donna about negative reviews. What I'm worried about is that from the outside, it could look as if I took advantage of a slight personal connection to badger you for a present, and then rudely said, well, not negative things, but anything less than "I'm so grateful for this lovely present" would be rude in the circumstances. It's silly to worry about that, because I know it's not what actually happened. I'm sorry, I'll get some better manners and not angst at you.
Interesting about Eliot. I sort of assumed you would have read her long ago, because you're generally well read. But you'd probably gone over into SF before you were old enough to really appreciate the major Victorians. (Not that I can talk, my knowledge of the nineteenth century canon is pretty patchy anyway.)
|Date:||February 12th, 2008 12:43 pm (UTC)|
2 days after journal entry, 01:43 pm (livredor's time)
It's just occurred to me that almost all the unquestioned best writers of the nineteenth century were women, but I am sure everyone else already knew that.
I was lucky that I got into Dickens at just the right age, old enough to have the reading stamina to plough through all the excessive verbiage, but young enough to take his emotional reality seriously. But in terms of actual ability he doesn't compare to any of the major writers he usually gets bracketed with. I like Hardy more that a lot of people seem to, as well, though I've not read the most depressing ones yet.
Thanks for the link, by the way.