First lines: Once Upon a Time in the North

Posted & filed under First Lines.

Back in 2006 I read Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy, and I promply placed it at the top of my list of the best books I read that year. In March 2007 I spend a little while with a small book that ties into the same world. Today, I read another His Dark Materials tie-in, a little blue book called Once Upon a Time in the North.

With just ninety pages and some illustrations, reading a book in an afternoon isn’t that much of an achievement. It’s a self-contained short story featuring two characters from the trilogy proper, and it’s a very compelling read. If not for the closing ceremony of the Olympics which was clammoring for attention in the background, I would have finished it even sooner.

I’d recommend the trilogy as a whole, but if you’d like a taste before you jump in, this certainly isn’t a bad place to start. Meanwhile, I’ll be waiting for the proper follow-up.

Philip Pullman — Once Upon a Time in the North
The battered cargo balloon came in out of a rainstorm over the White Sea, losing height rapidly and swaying in the strong northwest wind as the pilot trimmed the vanes and tried to adjust the gas-valve.

First lines: Nineteen Eighty-Four

Posted & filed under First Lines.

Big Brother (who is watching you). Room 101. Sending stuff down the memory hole. The Thought Police and Thoughtcrime. 1984. George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four has unleashed quite a few concepts upon the world. And just like with that other book of his, I don’t think there’s much I can say about this book that isn’t already said ad nauseam.

As a novel, Nineteen Eighty-Four ain’t half bad. Okay, it dragged a bit in Part II where two lengthy excerpts of The Book were quoted verbatim. I mean, any book that presents an alternate future needs an explanation of the back story, but that doesn’t have to be a long, dry treatise on the perceived flaws of Ingsoc. Other than that, I don’t have any complaints.

George Orwell — Nineteen Eighty-Four
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.

Yada yada bla bla (week four, if you’re keeping score)

Posted & filed under Life.

Another week nearly gone. And yet again, I’ve got nothing to say. This sitting around indoors isn’t providing much inspiration. Okay, so I went to see The Dark Knight last Thursday, but who’s waiting on another review? No, these days, I’m mostly just killing time. Sometimes with some work (the muse of inspiration seems to have taken a holiday, though), but mostly with some reading (not really getting anywhere with Nineteen Eight-Four) and lots of television (the Dutchies are kinda letting me down in the Olympics). No, it’s not something I’d advise to anyone, not being able to stand for a six week minimum. But then again, it wasn’t like I had any options, did I? I was lying half paralyzed from that big freaking needle they shoved up my spine, and someone who supposedly knows what’s best for knees because he has studied the matter for some time and cuts ’em up on a regular basis says that this course of action is the one to take. Who am I to disagree? I know stuff. I know quite a lot of different stuff. But do I know anything about the best course of action for a knee that’s all messed up? No sir, I do not. That’s why I let people who do know that stuff tell me what’s best for me, and I go with the program. Even when I suspect that I won’t like the program. ‘Cause sometimes, well, you gotta take the bitter medicine, and swallow it.

Thus ends this selfindulgent whinefest. Thanks for indulging me.

Regeneration: 50% complete

Posted & filed under Life.

For those of you who desperately need an update: I’m caught somewhere between Oh—we’re halfway there and Halverwege—zo ver nog van het eind. Plus that I’m closer to whining like a little baby than anything else on account of the pain in my back. Probably overused some muscle I never used before.

First Lines: Four Past Midnight

Posted & filed under First Lines.

One of my favorite stories by Stephen King is one of his shorter ones, Rita Haywood and the Shawshank Redemption. So when I acquired another five books to fill out my collection, I picked up Four Past Midnight first, as it is a similar volume as the one that contains Shawshank, Different Seasons.

Of the four stories in this book, I knew vaguely what Secret Window, Secret Garden was about, and I do have a shady image of the mini-series based on The Langoliers: furry little creatures that devour the world around some airplane. Beyond that, my mind was a blank canvas. Spoilers ahoy!

The Langoliers turned out to be pretty much what I remembered: when today is done, little hungry creatures come to devour the past. Secret Window, Secret Garden is your typical ‘he was the guy he was looking for himself all along’, The Library Policeman tells of the guy who comes to get you when you fail to return your book to the library (do you still wonder why I don’t deal with libraries, except by looking at the pretty ones?) and finally, The Sun Dog deals with one messed up Polaroid camera. It’s also a prelude to the things happening in Needful Things.

Book read
Stephen King — Four Past Midnight
First line
Well, look at this — we’re all here.