[booklog 2005]
Nov. 23rd, 2005 03:54 pmall three of these are re-reads, though i'm not sure i finished the Chandler book the last time i read through it.
71. Good Omens, Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett.
72. Buffalo Gals and other Animal Presences, Ursula K. Le Guin. a book i like very much, especially the stories.
lyonesse reminded me of it with a mention of Coyote in "Buffalo Girls, Won't You Come Out Tonight", and "She Unnames Them" is one of my most favorite story/poems.
73. The Simple Art of Murder, Raymond Chandler. slow going, this one, and i like some of the stories less than others. the first and the last i like best, i think: "Spanish Blood" and "Nevada Gas".
"She Unnames Them":
( ... )
None were left now to unname, and yet how close I felt to them when I saw one of them swim or fly or trot or crawl across my way or over my skin, or stalk me in the night, or go along beside me for a while in the day. They seemed far closer than when their names had stood between myself and them like a clear barrier: so close that my fear of them and their fear of me became one same fear. And the attraction that many of us felt, the desire to feel or rub or caress one another's scales or skin or feathers or fur, taste one anotherÃs blood or flesh, keep one another warm—that attraction was now all one with the fear, and the hunter could not be told from the hunted, nor the eater from the food.
( ... )
71. Good Omens, Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett.
72. Buffalo Gals and other Animal Presences, Ursula K. Le Guin. a book i like very much, especially the stories.
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73. The Simple Art of Murder, Raymond Chandler. slow going, this one, and i like some of the stories less than others. the first and the last i like best, i think: "Spanish Blood" and "Nevada Gas".
"She Unnames Them":
( ... )
None were left now to unname, and yet how close I felt to them when I saw one of them swim or fly or trot or crawl across my way or over my skin, or stalk me in the night, or go along beside me for a while in the day. They seemed far closer than when their names had stood between myself and them like a clear barrier: so close that my fear of them and their fear of me became one same fear. And the attraction that many of us felt, the desire to feel or rub or caress one another's scales or skin or feathers or fur, taste one anotherÃs blood or flesh, keep one another warm—that attraction was now all one with the fear, and the hunter could not be told from the hunted, nor the eater from the food.
( ... )