And there's the kind of review that sends me back to a book I love, with a feeling that I've just slipped time-tracks, and in the new track the book is all different, like a strange garden after the sun comes up, and it's kind of scary.
And if I tried reading the book that way, how long would it TAKE?
And now all or most of the things I was going to say in this comment are vanishing, like fragments of dream or morning mist, as common daylight is coming up in my time zone.
So, grabbing them without leading up to them.
But mostly: he went there. When I got to it the first time, I didn't know there was a there to go [....] I always applaud when an author kicks over the traces like that. It can be a great idea (The Stars My Destination, Lud-in-the-Mist) or a terrible one (and I know some people think it was that for Lewis). But it satisfies me down to my bones that he went for it, every time I get there.
Trigger warning, raise your shields, but that's how I felt about the ending of THE LAST BATTLE. Well, I won't spoiler it, but the thing that freaked out Pullman. Finally, there was a grown-up who really believed what they all pretended to believe. This wasn't kicking over the traces of literary conventions, but of the real world.
Now I have to read LUD-IN-THE-MIST again, too.
Perelandra is definitely an allegory, but it is an allegory with a human being at its center.
Hey, portal fantasy!
That Hideous Strength is the giant, clunky, horrible-shade- of-grey, scrapes-your-damn-knuckles what-was-anybody-thinking too-square concrete lozenge that somebody shoved a hole for your finger through [....]
Well, I haven't tried to wear it in a while (can't get past the bad parts now), but what it does for me is ground the whole thing, if not the whole Lewis opus, like a whole immense rocky planet of allusions to writings that Lewis knew about but I never will. "Some other bear that none of us had heard of" isn't the half of it.
The prose poem
Well, the book has one for the visual readers as well: the mural that as you zoomed back, what had looked like a whole picture was shown to be detail or background in a picture larger yet, with no boundary (or center?) to that either.
I have a kinesthetic, tactile, and olfactory imagination. With elements of temperature. I have never, ever read anything which is more strongly written specifically for that. [...] And what Lewis is trying to describe this way [....]is entirely devoted to giving the reader pleasure and delight.
Your language suggests that Lewis was sort of calculating this? I supposed he was indulging his own likings.
I suppose you went on to Lewis's non-fiction? When?
Well, that's all I can remember, so now I will try to sleep (if I've finally got all my formatting foul-ups corrected).
no subject
And there's the kind of review that sends me back to a book I love, with a feeling that I've just slipped time-tracks, and in the new track the book is all different, like a strange garden after the sun comes up, and it's kind of scary.
And if I tried reading the book that way, how long would it TAKE?
And now all or most of the things I was going to say in this comment are vanishing, like fragments of dream or morning mist, as common daylight is coming up in my time zone.
So, grabbing them without leading up to them.
But mostly: he went there. When I got to it the first time, I didn't know there was a there to go [....] I always applaud when an author kicks over the traces like that. It can be a great idea (The Stars My Destination, Lud-in-the-Mist) or a terrible one (and I know some people think it was that for Lewis). But it satisfies me down to my bones that he went for it, every time I get there.
Trigger warning, raise your shields, but that's how I felt about the ending of THE LAST BATTLE. Well, I won't spoiler it, but the thing that freaked out Pullman. Finally, there was a grown-up who really believed what they all pretended to believe. This wasn't kicking over the traces of literary conventions, but of the real world.
Now I have to read LUD-IN-THE-MIST again, too.
Perelandra is definitely an allegory, but it is an allegory with a human being at its center.
Hey, portal fantasy!
That Hideous Strength is the giant, clunky, horrible-shade- of-grey, scrapes-your-damn-knuckles what-was-anybody-thinking too-square concrete lozenge that somebody shoved a hole for your finger through [....]
Well, I haven't tried to wear it in a while (can't get past the bad parts now), but what it does for me is ground the whole thing, if not the whole Lewis opus, like a whole immense rocky planet of allusions to writings that Lewis knew about but I never will. "Some other bear that none of us had heard of" isn't the half of it.
The prose poem
Well, the book has one for the visual readers as well: the mural that as you zoomed back, what had looked like a whole picture was shown to be detail or background in a picture larger yet, with no boundary (or center?) to that either.
I have a kinesthetic, tactile, and olfactory imagination. With elements of temperature. I have never, ever read anything which is more strongly written specifically for that. [...] And what Lewis is trying to describe this way [....]is entirely devoted to giving the reader pleasure and delight.
Your language suggests that Lewis was sort of calculating this? I supposed he was indulging his own likings.
I suppose you went on to Lewis's non-fiction? When?
Well, that's all I can remember, so now I will try to sleep (if I've finally got all my formatting foul-ups corrected).