Review: The Night Circus

The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Wow. This book fascinated me; I read it in two nights straight. I even dreamt about it in between. The description of "behind the scenes, a fierce competition is underway: a duel between two young magicians" doesn't half do it justice. Indeed, that's all I ever read of the description, and then stopped reading because it sounded silly. The book is anything but silly. Something about it, and about the circus itself, just resonated with me. The way the chapters are laid out and the stories overlap kept my brain intrigued.

My only regret is that I read it on my nook. The dates at the beginning of each section are important, and if I had been reading a hard copy, I would have been able to turn back and double-check dates more often. My first edition nook makes that nearly impossible (and when it is possible, very cumbersome).

One thing about downloading the eBook from the library is that it has to "prepare" and then open the file on my laptop in Adobe Digital Editions. The message for this book said: "Preparing The Night Circus," which led to visions of a tiny circus in my computer (and made me giggle).

I may have to purchase a hard copy to reread again.

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Why I Don't Say 'African-American'

Just in time for Black (not "African-American") History Month,...
I do not use the term "African-American."  As with most things for Leonard, it breaks down to semantics.  And, per usual, we'll break this down bullet-point style.

• Africa is not a country.  It's an entire CONTINENT.  So when you say someone is "African," yes, they might be from Kenya, Somalia, or Nigeria.  They might also be from Egypt, Libya, Sudan, Ethiopia, Morocco, or one of the 55 recognized countries that make up the continent -- including the island of Madagascar, where we like to move it move it. 
•  America isn't quite a country either.  This gets a little tricky, but bear with me.  The full name of this country of my origin is The United States of America.  That preposition "of" is  important.  These United States are part of America.  Given our location, we'll have to presume that we mean North America, which is a continent.  So "America" in this instance can also mean Mexico and Canada.  And if we don't use the adjective "North," we're also left with Latin America and South America.  So even though we might say we're "American," the word itself is rather ambiguous.
• Not all black people are from the continent of Africa.  What about Haiti?  Or the Dominican Republic?  Or a thousand other places around the world where non-Caucasian people are found?  You might say, "But Leonard, all of those black people originally came from Africa."  To which I'll say, "Fine, and if we trace back far enough, we ALL came from that same region before the phenomenon of continental drift."  You'll say, "It's ridiculous to go that far back!"  And I'll say, "Exactly."  I find it ridiculous to assume to trace all black people back to Africa.
• Did you ever stop to think that perhaps that person doesn't want or is unable to trace their heritage back that far?  Perhaps he or she would simply like to be known as a person in the here and now, as a citizen of the United States.  Speaking of which... 
• What do they call black people in other countries?  They certainly don't say "African-American" in Ireland, do they?  Here, I'll put it in the form of a joke:
• Q:  What do you call a black person in Great Britain?
• A:  British.
• That's the thing of it.  I think perhaps country of origin is more important in terms of identity than race.  Which reminds me, race is social construct.  I'm sure you've all heard that there could be a larger difference in DNA between a (white) blonde and a (white) brunette than between a white person and a black person.  But what about this?  Y'know in those demographic boxes we sometimes fill out (I check "white"), well "white" is a relatively new option.  A hundred years ago or so, the U.S. of A. was the Great Melting Pot, so the demographic options were things like "Irish," "Polish," "German," etc.  "White" did not exist.  That we have it now as a concept is part of why it's a social construct.  (This is, of course, a very simplified explanation of a larger concept.  This article by Ta-Nehisi Coates gives more insight into the discussion.)

I could fill this page with more anecdotes about times the term "African-American" has backfired, but here's the one that sticks out:  a student at a prominent university here applied for and was almost granted a scholarship for "African-American" students.  The university started to renege on the grant upon learning that said student was originally from Egypt.  That's not the kind of "African" they meant.

When we/you say "African-American," what we/you really mean is "black."  So why not just say that?

"But, Leonard," you'll say, "'black' sounds so crude.  Maybe even...racist," you'll whisper, hoping we're not overheard. 

"African-American" is way for people to assuage whatever guilt they might feel over "race" while still sounding "politically correct," or, as I like to call it, "pretentious."

If you're uncomfortable saying "black," ask yourself this question:  why do you feel compelled to say it (or "African-American") at all?  Is it somehow necessary to the story you're telling that we know the skin color of the person involved?  Let me put it this way:  would you still say it if the opposite were true?  Would you say, "I ran into this white guy today..."?  Probably not.

Similar to when I discuss heteronormativity with my students, I point out that we do not feel compelled to say "I was talking with my straight friend at work" because we assume the person is straight unless told otherwise.  Similarly, we might assume a person is white unless told otherwise.  Black people, gay people, are not the "Other," defined only by their non-straightness or non-whiteness.

I suggest instead that, unless it is somehow imperative to the idea you're trying to get across, you not say "black" or "white" or "gay" or "straight" at all.  Let your audience's assumptions fall where they may; that's on them.  You  might be amazed at how your speech changes.

Kill Da Wabbit

Well, I can finally say that I've tasted rabbit meat.  Not that it was on my "To Do" list or anything, but now I've done it.

Perhaps I should back up, though, and explain how we buy meat in this household.

We buy meat in bulk -- but not from Sam's Club or any such nonsense.  Being the hippies we are -- well, they are (my Unit and in-laws; I consider myself "half-hippie" at best) -- we buy our delicious, organic, grassfed beef from local farmers half a cow at a time.  Let me repeat:  half a cow.  That's a lot of meat.  (Make your own jokes.)  We split that "half beef," as it's called, between our three families (during a process I like to call "meat poker"); each family ends up with approximately 60-80 pounds of red meat deliciousness.  That is roughly one regular freezer full of meat.  My Unit has to play "meat Tetris" in order to put it into our freezer.

We order chickens this way, our Thanksgiving turkeys, and now most recently, rabbit.

I should add that I did not order the rabbit; I had no interest in eating rabbit.  My Unit ordered it.

After making a certain number of jokes about bunnies in our freezer, she roasted the rabbit in the oven with carrots and potatoes.  While it did smell good (not unlike roasting a turkey), I could not bring myself to try any when it was done.  Just couldn't do it.

The next day, she took the leftover rabbit meat and made rabbit and dumplings.  Now I love her chicken and dumplings -- LOVE IT.  Hell, I just love dumplings!  A wad of delicious carbohydrate goodness dripping in gravy?!?  What's not to like??

This, too, smelled delicious from the stove top.  I finally called up enough courage to taste a spoonful, with a large dumpling right on top.  It was warm, and the initial flavor was what I remembered from chicken and dumplings.
But then...

Then there was this taste, clinging to the roof of my mouth.  A kind of tangy burnt-ness I didn't like.  I described it to my Unit, even saying, "It almost tastes like it's burnt," and she said the taste I was describing was probably the "gaminess" of rabbit.
Eww.

I said, "But I still like dumplings!"
She said, "So just eat a bowl of dumplings!"

I took another spoonful of broth and just dumplings, but no go.  It still had that weird, "gamey," rabbit-y flavor on the roof of my mouth.  All those dumplings that I couldn't eat -- it still makes me sad (and hungry) thinking about it.

So there ya go.  I've tasted rabbit, and I didn't care for it.  I guess it goes to show that not everything tastes like chicken.

Queen of Denial

My last teaching gig did not end well.  So much so, that even my therapist has said that I've been going through post-traumatic stress disorder since it ended.  My first semester back teaching after that I was a nervous mess.

Anyway, I was filling out some employment paperwork, making sure all my teaching gigs were listed, and they needed the name of the principal of said PTSD teaching gig.

And I absolutely could NOT remember.  I could picture her (and her very dour expression) in my mind's eye , but I could not remember her name for the life of me.  I actually had to Google the school and look over its webpages to find her name. 

So that's healing, right?  Completely blocking out the name of horrible person means I'm moving on?  Eh, probably not.

It's also ironic as we have similar first names.

Inappropriate Eva

Twice in the past 48 hours, I have had thoughts that have come out as lyrics from Andrew Lloyd Weber's Evita.

First, I was making and then eating a steak.  Leonard loves steak.  It wasn't a great steak; meaning, we usually buy delicious, flavorful grassfed beef, and this was plain ol' Angus beef.  But I was desperate for red meat and iron, so I ate it anyway because you're flesh, you are meat, you shall have every breath in my body.

What the -- ???

Then I was explaining to a friend that he could call rather than text, but when it comes to unknown numbers showing up we don't always answer the phone.

It may not seem like a big deal to you, but

1. These were full-on sung lyrics, complete with Mandy Patinkin styling in my head
2. The second bit is from "Goodnight and Thank You" which chronicles young Eva Duarte's string of lovers as she sleeps her way to and through success.

I haven't listened to Evita (or any show tunes) in months, but apparently it's in my head anyway, waiting, watching, ever vigilant, striking when I least expect it.

Tiny Evita is mocking me.

The Princess and the Pea: A Retelling

Once upon a time in a kingdom not very far from here, there was a Princess named Leonar Lenora.  One day, whilst going about her princess-y duties, Princess Lenora cried out in pain.
"Ow," she said.  "Owwwwww!"

Princess Lenora clutched at her princess-y midsection.  "What in the kingdom could be causing such pain here in my princess-y midsection and slightly to the left?" she asked of no one in particular.  When the pain subsided, she consulted the Interwebs her magic mirror.

"Oh magic mirror!" she typed asked, "What is located here in my princess-y midsection and slightly to the royal left which could be causing so much pain?"

The magic mirror replied that all princesses have an organ there -- two, actually, on the royal left and royal right -- about the size and shape of an almond.  "Occasionally," the mirror continued, "the almond can produce small peas which can cause some discomfort."

"But I'm allergic to almonds!" Princess Lenora cried.  "And I don't like peas."

"That's not really the point," said the mirror.  "Please focus."

Days passed, and Princess Lenora was still in royal pain.
"Ow!" she would cry when her almonds acted up.  "Owwwwwwwwwww!  How can one tiny pea cause so much discomfort?  I do not believe it is a pea.  It must be a grape!"

Weeks passed, and Princess Lenora would still clutch her princess-y midsection and cry out.
"Ow," she said.  "Owwwwwwwwww!  Peas and grapes do not cause this much pain.  There must be whole limes in there!"

The magic mirror promptly turned up a recipe for fruit salad.  Princess Lenora was not amused.

Months passed with Princess Lenora still crying out in pain.
"Ow," she said.  "Owwwwwwwww!  Grapefruits!  I must have grapefruits in there to be causing this much royal pain."

The over-the-counter berries she was consuming did not seem to dull the pain in her princess-y midsection (and slightly to the left).  She still had some elixirs from the royal alchemist, but those caused some royal side effects, including the inability to operate heavy princess machinery.

Finally, Princess Lenora consulted a good witch.  Well, "good" and "bad" are relative, but she consulted a witch nonetheless.

The witch looked over Princess Lenora from head to toe, inside and out.  "Hmm," the witch said.  "Come back again in two weeks."  Princess Lenora groaned in pain and royal frustration and took her almonds and grapefruits back home only to return again in two weeks' time.

The two weeks passed by slowly.  Princess Lenora could not even look at a piece of fruit without clutching her princess-y midsection and groaning in pain.

She returned to the neither-good-nor-bad witch two weeks later, still in pain in her princess-y midsection and slightly to the royal left.  She awaited the bad news, white-knuckled and clenched.  "It's grapefruits, isn't it?" she asked.  "You'll have to perform surgery a major spell, right??"

The why-do-we-have-to-put-a-value-on-everything witch patiently said, "No.  It's not grapefruits."

"Oranges, then?  Figures it'd be oranges."

"No, it's not oranges."

"Then what??" Princess Lenora cried out in dramatic princess fashion.

"Peas," said the witch.  "You had peas.  And they're gone now."

Princess Leonora was flabbergasted.  How could the peas be gone when she was still in royal pain??  The non-denominational witch explained how peas can come and go, and how some princesses are more sensitive to pea-and-almond pain than regular, non-royal, peasant-type folk -- especially princesses who don't always feel happy and princess-y, a condition for which they take regular royal elixirs.

The nonsectarian witch packed Princess Lenora off with a new set of royal compounds to take, instructions to write everything down in her diary, and another appointment in three months' time.  Princess Lenora left feeling deflated and still in pain, muttering to herself about princesses and peas.

The Republic of Thieves (Review)

Leonard figured out how to borrow library books on the nook!  Woohoo!
Here is a review of the first acquisition, The Republic of Thieves, the third book in Scott Lynch's Gentlemen Bastards series.

The Republic of Thieves by Scott Lynch
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Overall, I am generally happy with my return to the life and world of Locke Lamora. I particularly enjoyed the additional information on the Eldren. They are such a unique aspect of this world; I am glad Lynch has mentioned them more, rather than just the previous throwaway lines of "no one knows what happened, but look at these cool bridges!" This, in addition to other information (no spoilers!), opens the view of the books to its whole universe, rather than just Locke's somewhat narrow (although very entertaining) view of the next job.

I am not sure that I "get" Patience's last joke about tailoring (don't want to give anything away). MSG me if you understand it.

My one quibble (besides the fact that this particular cover doesn't seem to make much sense) is with the Epilogue. It is, at best, distracting. It is the last thing left in the reader's minder; why fill it with something other than the main character(s)? I am also not a fan of returning previously vanquished foes; it feels cheap.

Go, read, and tell me if you understand the parts I don't :-)

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