Kaia

It's fairly rare that I stop reading a book as early as I quit Natural History, but it deserved it. There I am, on the train into Copenhagen, when I get slapped in the face with this:

Frosty-assed and autistic, she was; he didn't want to touch her.

 

I sat in stunned silence for a while, blinking, wondering if I read that correctly. I read it again, several times. Finally, feeling like I'd been punched in the gut, I showed it to my husband.

The character in question is not, to my knowledge, autistic. Even if she was, that would be a fucked up thing to write, but she wasn't, and what the ever loving fuck? Not that I think there is a context in which that would ever be okay, but in context, it appears to be a slur.

A slur.

What the fucking fucking fuck? What ever possessed the author to think that was all right? No. No, no, no, no, no. Fuck that. Fuck this book, and fuck this author. My neurology is not an insult. This is gross and hurtful and seriously, fuck you.

This piece of shit is going back to the bookstore ASAP. 

Like, odds are good you probably knew that already, but Jesus fuck, that's a doozy. 

In the foreward of this first volume of Revival, Jeff Lemire writes:

You can only discover your favorite new comic once, so savor it.

And I'm thinking, "Dude, I read Saga." What beats that, right?

Well, nothing, but Revival matches it in its own way. Though it might sound like a zombie comic, it is very, very much not, and in a way that is very good (say more than that would mean so many spoilers). The only mark against it (and incidentally, the same mark the first volume of Saga got) is an unnecessary use of the r-word. Otherwise it would be five stars. 

Terry Pratchett

Always remember that the real problem is that they're jealous of all the fun you're having. 

I know, I know. I'm practically muggle Hermione. I know non-fiction isn't most people's idea of a beach read, but well. 

And I did it in spite of depression, pain and fatigue from the fibromyalgia, sleep deprivation from pain, and from the brick cleaning that went on here for several weeks and generally started at 7:30 in the morning with extremely loud grinding, and two colds barely a month apart. 

It took me four months, which is a bit longer than I would have liked, but considering what I had to fight through in those four months, I'd say that's not bad at all. 

I completed two manuscripts last year despite all the pain, fatigue and depression, and guess what? I'm going to do it this year, too.

But uh, first I'm taking a vacation. Sun, swimming, and books, here I come. 

Are Strange Grubs trying to say that none of the people they've "called out" as "bullies" have Asperger's Syndrome? Because I do, and in fact I got put on their list after talking about my experiences being a bullied autistic child. What's more, I'm pretty sure a few of the other "bullies" they've called out, that I've talked to, have also had an ASD diagnosis. I mean, not that I'm surprised they'd lie, just...blatant much? 

At around page 464 of this 700+ page monstrosity, I finally had to admit that I just don't have any fucks to give anymore. The series started going downhill with book 3 and now it's hit rock bottom.

The story, at book five, has already reached Robert Jordan and George R.R. Martin levels of dragged out and plotless. The characters have all become unlikeable and irritating.The prose has grown juvenile, like a YA book written by someone who thinks all teenagers are stupid. All the villains are bunny boilers; evil is represented wholly in black by rapists, pedophiles, slavers and animal abusers--every last one. Characters' moral opinions are shoved heavy-handedly into the text, told rather than shown, over and over and over. Romances are all insta-love with absolutely no chemistry to speak of between any of the characters involved. And Karigan, once a great heroine, now acts more like Bella Swan. 

After all the plot threads left dangling in book four, you'd think at least one or two would be resolved here, but instead Karigan is tossed 200 years in the future and nothing, not a single thing these books were originally about, is solved. It is one hundred percent unnecessary to actually finishing the story, and I have to draw the line. I've given this series more chances than I normally do, but I am done, done, done. Not to mention the author writes at a pace that would make a snail snicker, so it's not like I'd remember what happened in this book by the time the next one comes around, anyway.

To all authors who take what was supposed to be a trilogy and drag it out over multiple long, plotless, 600+ page books, you are just taking advantage of your readers and to that I can only say: FUCK YOU.

I really wanted to write a good, detailed review for this because holy fuck, it's awesome. Of course, then I came down with a cold, and it's vicious, and I can barely focus on words right now. I'll put this here as a placeholder, in the hopes that eventually I'll be able to write something longer. But seriously, this was so good. If you want some sci fi starring a female character, but David Weber is too infodumpy for you and Ann Aguirre uses too many romance tropes, then this is probably what you're looking for. 

So I'm back from the doctor. No sign of anything worse than a cold. Which was a bit puzzling, since I only got over my last one a month ago. The likely culprit is actually a suppressed immune system.

The thing is, I should never have gotten this cold. The doctor I saw last time completely ignored what I tried to tell her, got some test results back that indicated I might have some kind of infection, and put me on a course of antibiotics that in reality I didn't need. She didn't know if I actually had anything beyond the cold, but gave me antibiotics anyway.

The thing is, because antibiotics have a bit of a suppression effect on the immune system, they should only be used if absolutely necessary. I took her at face value because no doctor has ever put me on antibiotics when I didn't need it. If she had just listened to me and given me cough syrup so I could sleep instead of coughing all night, I would not be sick right now. Worse, she exposed me to potentially far worse infections; I'm lucky all I got was a relapse of my cold. 

Now I have a cough syrup that should actually do what I need, and I'm really hoping I recover faster this time, as I'm way behind in finishing my WIP. 

I kind of hate my life right now.

Apparently the infection I was tested for last time was bronchitis, and it came back negative. So now I'm off to the doctor again in a little while, because a person is not supposed to get the exact same cold twice in a row. 

Every time I start getting back on my feet, something knocks me down. The fibro, the depression, the pain, now this. Sometimes I don't know how much more I can even take. 

Don't make me cranky. You wouldn't like me when I'm cranky.

All I want to do is spend the next week or so treating my pain, finishing my current WIP, and feeling okay. 

And I mean, it's supposed to be like that, but I might have nailed it a little too well. I'm not sure how I feel about this.