~~random observation time
Sep. 3rd, 2002 03:15 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
reenka``Draco kissed him like he was air and he wanted to breathe him in, and, as far as Harry was concerned, that was the best way to be kissed."
i adore the last chapter of `the losing side', and of course i could've quoted any number of lines... but.... *sigh*
yeah.
that's such a good (and obvious, but still) way to tell, if the person kissing you is The Right One, i swear.
am i a ridiculously over-the-top romantic (well, i know i am). but... yeah. that is definitely the best way to be kissed.
~~
gah..! neil gaiman has a journal..! everyone has a journal, these days-- even me...! (gah, again). he's funny & adorable & wow. almost too good to really exist, heh. and he won a hugo for `american gods', which i'm feeling happy-joy-joyous about, except that i haven't read it yet (oh yeah, *gasp*, *sputter*, etc). i haven't read good omens either. i've read a bunch of his short stories-- i adore them, and they go fast-- & of course i've read every graphic novel i've been able to lay hands on, except his first one, that collab with Dave McKean, that is so hard to come by. i'll read it. sometimes i guess i get sidetracked by reviews and such and take them as excuses to put off reading things (sometimes indefinitely). and, i have to admit, a part of me still is bitter that he's not doing comics, heh. a bit weird, but true.
i've missed my comics. i haven't read them for like, a year now, not consistently-- maybe even more-- too lazy to go to the store (out of the way), and, now that books of magic is...well, the way it is. neil is pretty much singlehandedly responsible for making me such a comics lover anyway. so, it's all his fault.
i don't know, though, how i wound up this way-- not having read any of his novel-length works, and yet worshipping him probably more than any writer currently living. i was a bit disappointed with stardust, true, but that doesn't quite explain it. i'm sure this won't be the case permanently though. it's funny because i adore authors for so long, and yet i don't quite know how to deal with not loving every single thing they write, with seeing fluctuations in them. patricia mckillip's like that-- she's amazing, but she kind of... varies, as to how much a particular book grabs me by the throat. and peter beagle-- i haven't read all his stuff-- & `a fine and private place' wasn't that... intense-- ok i didn't even finish it. i definitely play favorites. in the end-- as much as i adore authors-- my actual worship, i think, is of their particular works. i mean, sometimes it's more than one-- but even if it's ten, i think it's just those particular ten.
i adore sandman with a crazed passion. everything about neil's writing and the storyline and the characters and everything, is like, divinely tailored to my sensibilities, it seems, almost. i adore his books of magic mini-series, and black orchid, and his short stories, which are just so punchy and dense and atmospheric and lyrical and yet gritty and.... just, so full of personality and yet not bogged down by it. he uses language without it ever using him, and i'm amazed and flabbergasted by that. even as much as i adore intensely lyrical writers, with loads of imagery and metaphor and beauty spread everywhere-- it's a whole different level, when you just precisely place your words, and one doesn't even notice the beauty of them, or the shaping of the text, and the text just reaches out and shapes you, and you're just part of the narrative.
patricia mckillip can actually do that, too, as much as i love her language for itself. and peter beagle. and a.s. byatt. and joyce carol oates, & harlan ellison (ha! would harlan be surprised?) and theodore sturgeon (you can tell my genre-bloated roots, can't you). it's almost like it's beyond poetry-- this is the demonstration that not only is prose not inferior to poetry, but indeed it can transcend poetry by being unnoticeable, by going beyond structure and rhythm and meter and metaphor and conventional things-- into just pure flowing story, into complete transparency.
another thing, now that i think of it, that i associate with Really Great Writing, is a sort of inevitability. as much as i enjoy `shipping and identifying with characters and the soap-opera aspect of things-- i love following the great human drama, with the stories just unfolding, as they always have, and the emotions playing themselves out, and the follies coming to their natural ends. maybe i'm just thinking of The Sandman, but.... i wouldn't call it a tragedy. i mean, everything in it was perfect and inevitable and contained within its very beginning-- and yet with every microcosmic view, it was still fascinating and involving and you still cared about every character. in the end, even with the death and destruction and loss of dreams-- (ahem)-- it was just full of hope and rebirth and a love for life. and it wasn't because of anything that happened. it was the characters themselves. they wouldn't let themselves be brought down. they were-- literally-- endless, and paradoxically indestructable-- even though they were. death isn't the end-- there is no end. that is, i think, one of the central insights found in storytelling and dreaming, which are.... endless.
in the end of `brief lives'.... that scene, where they bury orpheus' head, and the one directly before it, with delirium and her new canine friend-- wow. nothing can touch that.
i adore the last chapter of `the losing side', and of course i could've quoted any number of lines... but.... *sigh*
yeah.
that's such a good (and obvious, but still) way to tell, if the person kissing you is The Right One, i swear.
am i a ridiculously over-the-top romantic (well, i know i am). but... yeah. that is definitely the best way to be kissed.
~~
gah..! neil gaiman has a journal..! everyone has a journal, these days-- even me...! (gah, again). he's funny & adorable & wow. almost too good to really exist, heh. and he won a hugo for `american gods', which i'm feeling happy-joy-joyous about, except that i haven't read it yet (oh yeah, *gasp*, *sputter*, etc). i haven't read good omens either. i've read a bunch of his short stories-- i adore them, and they go fast-- & of course i've read every graphic novel i've been able to lay hands on, except his first one, that collab with Dave McKean, that is so hard to come by. i'll read it. sometimes i guess i get sidetracked by reviews and such and take them as excuses to put off reading things (sometimes indefinitely). and, i have to admit, a part of me still is bitter that he's not doing comics, heh. a bit weird, but true.
i've missed my comics. i haven't read them for like, a year now, not consistently-- maybe even more-- too lazy to go to the store (out of the way), and, now that books of magic is...well, the way it is. neil is pretty much singlehandedly responsible for making me such a comics lover anyway. so, it's all his fault.
i don't know, though, how i wound up this way-- not having read any of his novel-length works, and yet worshipping him probably more than any writer currently living. i was a bit disappointed with stardust, true, but that doesn't quite explain it. i'm sure this won't be the case permanently though. it's funny because i adore authors for so long, and yet i don't quite know how to deal with not loving every single thing they write, with seeing fluctuations in them. patricia mckillip's like that-- she's amazing, but she kind of... varies, as to how much a particular book grabs me by the throat. and peter beagle-- i haven't read all his stuff-- & `a fine and private place' wasn't that... intense-- ok i didn't even finish it. i definitely play favorites. in the end-- as much as i adore authors-- my actual worship, i think, is of their particular works. i mean, sometimes it's more than one-- but even if it's ten, i think it's just those particular ten.
i adore sandman with a crazed passion. everything about neil's writing and the storyline and the characters and everything, is like, divinely tailored to my sensibilities, it seems, almost. i adore his books of magic mini-series, and black orchid, and his short stories, which are just so punchy and dense and atmospheric and lyrical and yet gritty and.... just, so full of personality and yet not bogged down by it. he uses language without it ever using him, and i'm amazed and flabbergasted by that. even as much as i adore intensely lyrical writers, with loads of imagery and metaphor and beauty spread everywhere-- it's a whole different level, when you just precisely place your words, and one doesn't even notice the beauty of them, or the shaping of the text, and the text just reaches out and shapes you, and you're just part of the narrative.
patricia mckillip can actually do that, too, as much as i love her language for itself. and peter beagle. and a.s. byatt. and joyce carol oates, & harlan ellison (ha! would harlan be surprised?) and theodore sturgeon (you can tell my genre-bloated roots, can't you). it's almost like it's beyond poetry-- this is the demonstration that not only is prose not inferior to poetry, but indeed it can transcend poetry by being unnoticeable, by going beyond structure and rhythm and meter and metaphor and conventional things-- into just pure flowing story, into complete transparency.
another thing, now that i think of it, that i associate with Really Great Writing, is a sort of inevitability. as much as i enjoy `shipping and identifying with characters and the soap-opera aspect of things-- i love following the great human drama, with the stories just unfolding, as they always have, and the emotions playing themselves out, and the follies coming to their natural ends. maybe i'm just thinking of The Sandman, but.... i wouldn't call it a tragedy. i mean, everything in it was perfect and inevitable and contained within its very beginning-- and yet with every microcosmic view, it was still fascinating and involving and you still cared about every character. in the end, even with the death and destruction and loss of dreams-- (ahem)-- it was just full of hope and rebirth and a love for life. and it wasn't because of anything that happened. it was the characters themselves. they wouldn't let themselves be brought down. they were-- literally-- endless, and paradoxically indestructable-- even though they were. death isn't the end-- there is no end. that is, i think, one of the central insights found in storytelling and dreaming, which are.... endless.
in the end of `brief lives'.... that scene, where they bury orpheus' head, and the one directly before it, with delirium and her new canine friend-- wow. nothing can touch that.
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Re: passing by, saying hi....
Date: 2002-09-02 02:21 pm (UTC)Saying a bit to reenka, but also replying to this and saying I think the same actually. American Gods wasn't my favorite after reading it through either. In fact, many times it put me to sleep! ;-; Also, it was strange and made me think it not quite Neil. I was very relieved at the end though when it definately came together to be something that Neil would write. I don't think it horrible, just not one of his best that I adore. Of course I want to re-read it, but a second time and I think I'd be satisfied.
But anywho, yay for Neil! He's like the excentric Unca'(uncle) I never had. XD
And yes, I miss his comic books tremendously! Yet I can't wait until Endless Nights comes out! ooo so very excited about that! :D
Cheers,
Em