Drums in the Deep:

Maintaining two blogs might prove to be a bit... much.  Writing in relative depth about the Camino over at Quo Vadis eats up most of my keyboard time (although quality-wise, you wouldn't know it), but I'm determined to also faithfully keep up with GTv2.0 this year.  In brief, here's where we stand:

The Return of the King, J.R.R. Tolkien (544 pages):  Rereading 'Return' with new eyes after reading Humphrey Carter's biographies of The Inklings and Tolkien brought real joy to the characters.  I'd assumed I was done with them, but maybe there's more there to explore and appreciate.

Sourcery, Terry Pratchett (260 pages):  As always, good times and quick laughs.  Not my favorite so far, but I'm committed to Discworld, for what it's worth.

Miss Peregrine's Home For Peculiar Children, Ransom Riggs (352 pages):  Surprisingly good find on the Kindle Daily Deal, I'm always a sucker for well done creepiness, stories of physical isolation, and mixed media widgets.  Riggs pulls it off quite well, and I'm excited for the next.  Supposedly a YA novel, although it's violent and dark enough to make me wonder.

The Description of Wales, Girauldius Cambrensis (41 pages):  Brief anthropological and geographical synopsis of Wales from a medieval author, interesting though short.

Ilium, Dan Simmons (730 pages):  KT': "You should read Ilium, it's one of my favorites." Me: "I'm not sure if I'm in the mood for hard science fiction, giant space robots or discussions of quantum teleportation."  KT': "There's almost none of that, it's about the Trojan War."  Cut to Chapter Three: Giant Space Robots Talk About Quantum Teleportation At Length.  But it's really, really good.  

Saint Francis of Assisi, G.K. Chesterton (134 pages):  Rediscovering my love of Chesterton by actually giving him some real attention.  I am still confused by Chesterton's method of biography - he skips factual accounting and heads straight for a kind of meditation on character.  It's a book that requires time to unfold, and demands a rereading in the future.

The Cosmic Puppets, Philip K. Dick (145 pages):  It's been a long time since I read any Dick, and I was halfway through this one before I checked the publication date to realize how early it was written.  Almost everything I've read by him was published in his middle or later years, and it was refreshing to read something both firmly in the vein of early science fiction and strongly PKD-like.  Short, but great.

A Million Little Pieces, James Frey (430 pages):  I didn't read it when it came out, and my intention on finding a copy at base was to read it as fiction.  I want to like stories of addiction and recovery, I really do, but I have yet to read one by an adult that didn't scan as trite or boring.  This one wasn't any different, and Frey's writing style annoyed me to no end - it seemed flat and choppy.

"It All Turns on Affection", Wendell E. Berry Lecture, 2012 (15 pages):  This was recommended by my Camino friend, Brother Sam, and it is amazing.  I've never read Berry before, only listened to him on NPR, and the framework he creates in this lecture on the two competing paradigms of American history - 'Boomers' and 'Stickers' (i.e., the conflict between forces of commercialization and cultures that practice sustainability and affection for the land) resonated strongly with me.


So... six weeks, 2651 pages down in 2013.  I'll take that as a strong start.

If Books Were a Drug...

THE GEEK THROWDOWN RETURNS!

Ok, so it's not as dramatic as all that.  However, last week at work someone asked me what my 'official' 2012 turned out to be, and I couldn't give her a straight answer.  I had to estimate.  The shame.  

If you recall, my Disgraced Opponent offered up her submission way back in June, and so the need for me to keep such meticulous records of reading ceased to exist.  I kept a rough tally, however, and when asked the best I could come up with was "Around 35,000 pages, total".  

Looking back, I think that was more or less accurate... but it's still a ballpark figure, and 'ballpark' is bullshit. Ballpark is for people who play sports-balls.  Ballpark is not for a Book Geek of any merit.  

So in lieu of any 2013 resolutions (how...pedestrian), I will take a vow.  An Oath of Geekdom.  

I profess, before Almighty God, all the Saints, and martyred Librarians everywhere, to record every single page I read in 2013.  

No competition, no races, no consequences, just the pride of a tame pathology this year.  Most importantly, no restrictions on rereads!  Here are the first four from January, a slow start, but there are others in media res.  

The Return of the King, J.R.R. Tolkien, 544 pages.

Sourcery, Terry Pratchett, 260 pages.

Miss Peregrine's Home For Peculiar Children, Ransom Riggs, 352 pages.

The Description of Wales, Girauldus Cambrensis, 41 pages.

Pilgrimage:

On Monday I leave for Spain to begin the Camino de Santiago, a pilgrimage through northern Spain that has seen pilgrims walk its’ paths for nearly a millennium.  

Let that one sink in for a minute.  I’m still trying to wrap my brain around it, to be honest.

First, the logistics: I’ll be walking from Pamplona to Santiago de Compostella, to the tomb of St. James the Great, some 450 miles (give or take), by myself, staying primarily in pilgrim hostels, attending masses as often as possible in the ancient churches along the route – culminating in a pilgrim’s mass at the cathedral at Santiago on or around October 21^st.  

So that’s all well and good, but it’s the reasons that are important.  I’m going to Spain to reflect on the changes in my life since January – this year I’ve faced some challenging questions about what role faith needs to play in my life, I’ve seen the sudden end of my long-term relationship which I believed would lead to marriage, I’ve returned to living a simple, nomadic lifestyle after believing that part of my life was finished, I’ve stepped into new and exciting roles and responsibilities at work and seen my relationships and commitment there deepen in ways I never expected.  

I’m also going to Spain to ask some difficult questions of myself and God: to enter a time of discernment.  I want to pray and think deeply on a couple of things – how to live my life under the values I feel are so important to the community we create at work; how to continue to escape my old patterns in unhealthy relationships and grow the ones that are valuable, deep, and meaningful; how to take the passion and faith I have toward God into whatever future directions my life will take. 

How to let go, listen to my heart, and follow God’s guidance toward a joyful existence. 

This summer I’ve experienced all the best that work has had to offer, I’ve seen how the community we create in our program mirrors the communities I want to live in and be a part of in my faith and personal life, and how valuable relationships with colleagues can become when you trust and are trusted.

This summer I’ve experienced what it means to be on my own and trust my abilities, energy, and instincts toward health and wellness without having a finite ‘end point’ in mind.

This summer I’ve focused on practicing gratitude toward what I do have rather than what I don’t, and I’ve begun to learn that I work best when I have so little that there is ample room for joy to fill the space. 

I pray that on pilgrimage I will have the time and space to listen closely to whatever messages God wants me to hear, to find Christ in all the people I meet, to lean into the discomfort and take joy from overcoming the difficult moments, to allow myself space to laugh and love unconditionally.  I pray that I will be ‘ruined for life’ in my relationship with God and come to understand how to bring that more fully into the world. 

Square Hell: Rage-Quitting Deus Ex 3.

This is a post about a video game.  Do not be afraid. 

So in the post-throwdown era, I've been catching up on video games I've missed.  After I brought myself forward into this century, I picked up the third in the Deus Ex series. 

I expected great things.  If I still had a LiveJournal, I could actually link you to long essays about how much I loved the original game: great writing, a deep sense of openness for the time, excellent environment and setting, and a real sense that I could choose a faction with whom to ally and completely shift the game's narrative.  It was a great example of why I play video games - the narrative was interesting, engaging, and I felt as if I were part of a unique story.

Deus Ex Number 3 (or, the Great Turd +1) had none of these things. 

Let me elaborate.  DE3/TGT+1 is a trite, frivolous game of no consequence.  Here are my chief complaints, ordered by subject matter. 

GAMEPLAY:

If you are making a technology-centric game in 2011, you probably shouldn't use Starfox-era 'popups' in the HUD whenever someone radios you.  Every time Sarif sent me an IM, I tried to do a barrel roll.

The AI is either a) severely mentally handicapped or b) precognitive.  I can shoot the baddies, with impunity, from 2 feet inside a vent and they can't figure out how to fire back... or I can be in plain sight, blast away, then run into a room and shut the door behind me (OH MY GOD HE SHUT THE DOOR HE'S A WIZARD WE'RE FUCKED) without any of the 'Elite Spec Ops' bots learning how to turn a handle.  On the other hand, literally the moment I peek over a crate into a room, as long as I'm in line of sight, every bot in the room has me in their sight picture.  I call shenanigans. 

No matter how much havoc one causes, running through rooms tossing grenades like confetti and blasting away like Scarface, it takes less than two minutes of hiding for the guards to return to calm.  It's like they were all trained by the United States Air Force.  "Haven't seen him in a couple of mikes, boss... coffee break!  Let's read US Weekly!"

The conversation trees are literally pointless.  There are no lasting consequences for playing Jenson as a nice, cold, or harsh guy over the course of the game... which means each conversation is a mini-game where I'm trained to press the right button to get the tidbit of info I need (which is probably sitting on a desk two rooms over anyway). 

In the entire game, I found hundreds of ventilation shafts that led me exactly where I needed to go (because at CIA HQ, vents often provide the most direct means of travel from the maintenance closet to the Room of Infinitely Sensitive Information)... and I only found two (2, dos, etc) false leads.  For the duration of the game, my problem solving skills were reduced to FIND THE VENT TAKE THE VENT GET THE XP JUMP OUT OF THE VENT LEVEL COMPLETE. 

The level design is boring on almost every level.  Coming out of the sewers to the Chinese skyline was pretty neat. 

It makes no sense to put things where they are and not other places.  Why are there sniper rifle rounds in a TV station closet?  Why do I need TO EAT A CANDY BAR TO POWER MY MILITARY-GRADE CHEST EXPLOSIVES and I can't buy one from a vending machine?  WHY ARE THERE VENDING MACHINES IN EVERY BUILDING?

The story is linear.  Make no mistake, this is a game-writing crime that offends me more than anything else.  I'll put up with all manner of shenanigans if the story is good, and it feels like I can affect it in a meaningful way, but other than side quests, the main narrative travels from Point A to Point Bullshit.

By the time I'd sunk 2 hours into the game, I'd become a sociopath.  Linear story line?  No consequences for my moral choices throughout the game?  Ammunition hiding out in trash cans?  I literally executed every major character I was able to, just to prove it didn't matter.  I felt a mild remorse when I ran out of 10mm ammo. 

DESIGN:

Apparently, some time in the next 30 or 40 years, EVERYTHING IN THE FUTURE BECOMES SQUARE.  Maybe Apple effectively copyrights everything rounded.  Maybe the level designers loved Square Enix so much it's a joke.  But shit gets old, quick.  Ever seen a round trash can?  Well, rejoice, because no one at the Montreal studio has. 

I am typically a stealth-based player in games like this... and, typically, skill trees play to my play style.  By the end of the game I had nearly every skill maxed, and I used... um... three of them.  Not for lack of trying.  But seriously?  There's no incentive to try different things, so the ENTIRE HOOK OF YOUR GAME DESIGN IS BROKEN.  Time to reboot, jackass. 

Everything cool that happens in the game is done in a cinematic.  All the neat stuff that you saw in the trailers?  Cinematics.  Your job to make that cinematic happen is to run up to something and hold a button, then sit back and watch the carnage.  Oh, and ANY meaningful interaction with a plot-dependent character happens in cinematic.  Spend 45 minutes sneaking your robot-ass through a level like a ninja?  Yep, you're going to walk straight through the door like Clint Eastwood the moment you get within ten feet of a plot point.  Except you don't shoot like Clint.  You shoot like Napoleon Dynamite. 

AND FINALLY:

This game is racist.  Deeply, deeply racist.  Remember what Asian people and Black people sounded like in movies from the 60s?  Yep, that's what they sound like in DE3/TGT+1.  BUT!  BUT!  I learned a very valuable lesson from the random street people in this game:

If there are two black men wearing hoodies standing in a corner ANYWHERE IN THE WORLD, they will sell me guns and explosives. 

Everyday Fuel:

GEEK THROWDOWN VOL 2:

            To blatantly steal from Fukuyama, the Geek Throwdown is now in the End of History.  The zero-sum game has ended; we are beyond competition for supreme hegemony.  

            It’s good at the top.  

            Call it hubris, or the sweet flush of victory, or overwhelming relief, but I did forget to mention the final books I read in my race to the top.  And since I know you all wait with great trepidation, here they are.  Pay attention, they’re some good ones. 

1.    The Virgin Suicides, Jeffrey Eugenides:  It is easy to forget how amazing this book is, to remember only the movie and the soundtrack and to lose sight of how the prose wraps itself up into your bones and takes root there, blooming in strange and unexpected ways when you see a field of grass or the summer scabs on a young girl’s knee.  It’s a primer for being a sentimental boy, for trying, and failing, to know a girl, for the consequences of binding our souls to something lost long ago.  In another life, Lux and I could’ve been sweethearts. 

2.    Ready Player One, Ernest Cline:  So I’ll admit that the premise, and how it was originally described to me (“It’s like someone crammed every geek culture reference into ONE BOOK and MADE IT AWESOME”) didn’t sell me at all.  There are too many books out there that try to be self- and geek-aware, and fail miserably, like your mom using LOLZ in her awkward texts.  It doesn’t work far more than it does.  RP1… worked.  I think it worked because the world was fully realized and consistent, which is where many science fiction novels fall down.  I think it worked because it made sense.  I think it worked because I cared about the characters.  Ultimately I’m not really sure what the secret was… because I was way too busy getting all ehmehgerd!!! over the Dungeons  & Dragons references.  

3.    The Magician King, Lev Grossman:  So… hm.  I felt tricked by the first in this series (It’s like Harry Potter if Harry were Holden Caulfield and Brett Easton Ellis wrote all the characters to be like his terrible friends!)… and I couldn’t put it down.  I feel exactly the same way about the sequel.  It feels cheap to make such self-aware jabs at Harry Potter and Tolkien and then to lift, wholesale, entire plot devices from Tolkien, Lewis, and Rowling.  I imagine Mr. Grossman explaining how clever and post-modern the whole premise was using Power Point to some room of jackasses at the NYT Book Review and then getting high-fives (Ironic Pro-Plebe High Fives, at that) from Michiko Kakutani.  But I bought it, and read it, so I guess Grossman wins. 

Necessary Noxious Navel Gazing:

      Last week I booked my ticket to fly to Spain and hike the Camino de Santiago.  Seven short weeks from now I’ll start that trip and it feels both very shockingly real and impossibly far away.  I originally started thinking about it from the pilgrimage perspective, and then, as things went suddenly sideways in Boone last spring, as a time to find some peace and let go of the expectations I’d had, and lost, for the future.

      Right now I’m mostly curious about what will happen.  I feel confident in my ability to do the physical work and to navigate the process.  I feel confident in my commitment and ability to pick up enough Spanish between now and then to stumble through the basic interactions.  I feel comfortable in just committing to it, letting the process happen, and being grateful for the opportunity to reflect and examine my faith and myself.  

      I think I’m less confident in the kind of support I’ll get from my family – it seems like all of the major decisions I’ve made as an adult, they immediately fall into questioning and focusing on the potential problems or disadvantages.  Or, to be honest, seeming distant or uninterested when I try to talk to them about why it feels important to do, what it could mean.  

      Part of being an adult means standing on your own – I understand that.  But I’m often jealous of people who have parents who get excited about the great things they are able to do ahead of time.  I only really get that excitement after the fact, so when it comes time to take the plunge, I nearly always feel alone.

Endgame:

The time has come, faithful readers: Kate has conceded the Geek Throwdown.

I thought I would be eager to gloat.  I thought I would run triumphantly through the streets at dawn, half-naked and giddy, proclaiming my victory to any open window... but, much like finishing the last of the ice cream, waking up next to the sorority girl, arm-wrestling your 15 year old cousin, or polishing off the bottle of Aftershock, all I feel is disappointment and shame.

Don't act like you haven't been there. 

So instead of my crowning as King of All Book Geeks and subsequent benevolent reign of Geek Glory, let's do a video recap in the style of a posthumous lifetime achievement award:

In 7 months of competitive reading:
I read over 40 books totaling nearly 18,000 pages...
While working 60+ hours per week without a vacation...
Getting booted out of a 3 year relationship...
'Trending ascetic' aka Living Out of My Jeep For 2 Months...
Moving to a new state...
Significantly changing job responsibilities...
Training for a marathon...
Writing increasingly inane and obnoxious blog entries...
Finishing Alan Wake, Mass Effect 3, and Dragon Age: Origins...
Learning how to operate a 'smart phone'...
Playing Dungeons & Dragons...
and NOT LOSING MY SHIT. 

Ok.  Maybe I did win a little bit.

"We are always sixteen / I am a thousand Julys":

Summer broke on the backs of children... wait.  Right man, wrong book (and if you can snap up that dangling allusion, kiddos, I'll buy you a stiff drink). 

I realize the Throwdown is morphing more into a regular old blog as my distinguished opponent is increasingly absent, work has gotten busy enough to keep me from reading as much, and the fact that summer is here.
Summer. Is. Here.

Since it's actually gotten warm, I've sat up late among fireflies and stars drinking cold beers with multiple sets of good friends, gotten tasty food at the farmer's market, run through swarms of bugs on gorgeous trails next to the Ocoee, rekindled my love for Lux Lisbon, spent quality time with coworkers at the Universal Joint every dang week, fallen asleep on the back porch while the bright sun warmed my skin, stumbled post-workout through the doors of Jittery Joe's in search of a 7AM coffee fix, gone on an amazing bike ride through farmland and the 90-degree heat on the promise of pizza, imagined honeysuckle everywhere, found delight in the tartness of pineapples, driven with the windows down, driven with the music up.  Sung loudly.  Fallen asleep happy.

Before the leaves start to kamikaze down onto our heads, I want to crash a hostel near a beach (any beach, really), pretend like I know how to navigate a boat down a large body of water, swim in a lake, load the Jeep out with gear and friends and find a place to camp, put a few hundred rounds down range, laugh until I hurt. 

I am grateful and joyful.  Winter is coming, but summer is now.

"She radiated health and mischief."

In keeping with tradition, Dan Simmons gets his own entry.  He is allowed to stand alone, unchallenged, with a smug look upon his bearded face.  You go, Dan Simmons, you go girlfriend.

So it's taken me a few weeks, but when I was in Asheville last month for the Zombie Prom (Hey!  I finally got to go to prom!  I knew all those people were wrong about me all those years ago.  Except when they weren't.  Um.  Crap.), I made my obligatory trip to Malaprops (hereafter known as The Finest Bookshop in All the Land).  In those hallowed stacks, smelling the coffee beans, hearing the delightful banter, possibly touching the best books in an inappropriate fashion (you can't prove anything), I picked Summer of Night. 

Again, in keeping with tradition, when I brought it to the counter the bookseller not only was a Simmons fan but also wanted to talk about said fandom.  And she wasn't upselling me a damn thing. 


NOTE TO BOOKSTORES ACROSS THE LAND:  This is how you build loyalty.  I actively want to spend my hard-earned money at Malaprops.  I want to throw it at them and thank them for taking it from me.  I want to buy them a drink afterward.  I want to roll around on the floor like a happy Labrador.  I want to evangelize about Malaprops. 

I want to do these things not because they have 20,000 books on the shelves, or because they have the best discounts, or because they have a loyalty program.  I want to do these things because the people there obviously, deeply, love books and are willing to talk about it.  I believe that when I walk up to the counter, the person taking my money will have something useful and sincere to say about what I'm reading.  I believe that if I want help finding a good book to read, their booksellers will help me not because it's their job, but because they enjoy talking to people about how fun it is to read. 

But let's get back to Summer of Night. 

You know how much I loved The Terror.  Summer of Night isn't quite there, let's be honest.  I didn't expect it to be.  What Summer of Night does really well is evoke what it is like to be a kid brimming full of wonder, mystery, and fear as the classes are let out in June and the bikes are oiled and the pellet guns are loaded and you think you're going to explode with excitement and also sadness.  What it's like to be sweaty and tan and invincible underneath the noonday sun and then feel a terrible ache for the back door light when the shadows go sideways and you can't see the path clearly.  What it's like to have the entire world condensed into one awesome, heartbreaking moment of holding hands or kissing a girl for the first time. 

Plus, all the other stuff in the book is scary as hell and gave me nightmares.  I can see a Venn diagram in my head that connects Dangerous Lives of Altar Boys, Stand By Me, It, 'That Place', and Winter's Bone around the focal point of Summer of Night.  It works, it's good, and you should read it.

Summer of Night - Dan Simmons, 528p.

TOTAL PAGE COUNT:  16,131!

Only Revolutions of Ruin:

As far as the books go, all good stuff.  I knew that things would take a slow turn this summer as sun, the outdoors, work, and friends take precedence to sitting on my tail reading (And definitely not Mass Effect 3, not at all, nope, didn't spend any time at all on that bastard of a time-suck.), but I'll take the numbers I've got. 

Mostly, I'll take the impending trash-talking that I'm going to deliver to Kate, in person, tomorrow.  Lady can't hang. 

To be totally honest, I'm less interested in writing about reading this month than I have been.  (WARNING! WARNING! INTROSPECTION AHEAD!)  The move to Athens and the shift in job duties has been both hectic and deeply fulfilling - it is a blessing to be back among friends with whom I have history, who know the stories that get told over drinks late in the night, who smile at my flaws and laugh at my terrible jokes.  Life at work is full of energy and excitement from the new staff, and from me as I learn new things and take on new responsibilities.  It's been a while since I have felt both challenged on this level and able to deliver a high amount of energy and enthusiasm to side projects of my own; the shift reminds me of the reasons I love and believe in our program and seems to have fueled a growth spurt for my own development. 

Personally, my sudden life changes back at the beginning of the year have been judo-flung into embracing everything.  It works.  I keep wondering when the nasty grief and loss will hop out from behind a rock and kick me in the neck, but those feelings float somewhere between resignation and bewilderment.  That's fine.  Mostly I miss beautiful Boone - the wind and the bright blue skies, Stick Boy Bread, family dinners, the hardwood floors, St. Elizabeth's of the Hill Country and the wonderful people there, the guy at Gamestop who was nice, the evidence that everyone in Watauga County was deeply connected to the outdoors, the strange blend of 'good ole boy' and 'local/organic/green/yoga' folks.  It felt like home.

Alright then.  Enough of that.

On a side note - I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but I have officially decided that Summer 2012 is the Season of Really Good Music.  Not all of these albums have come out in the last few weeks, but they are new to me: Regina Spektor, Of Monsters and Men, Company of Thieves, Horse Feathers, Laura Marling, and Metric right around the corner.  It's raining awesomeness.

The Fifth Elephant, Terry Pratchett - 400p.
My Life With the Saints, Fr. James Martin - 432p.
Believing in Jesus, Leonard Foley - 324p.
By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept, Paulo Coehlo - 208p.

SIX MONTH TOTAL: 15,603 PAGES!

"A child could know the meaning of fall..."

So in lieu of the missing Kate's competition, I have done a couple of things: 

First, I have given up reading.
Second, I got a tattoo of the entire text of Howl on my backside.
Third, I have done other things.

(Only one of these is true.)

June 1st, and the subsequent 6-month watermark, are on deck this week.  That being said, I will wait to see Kate in person to confirm that I have duly SUNK HER BATTLESHIP before talking trash and posting my recent books (not many, to be honest) and half-year page count (pretty decent). 

On the other hand, I have used much of my normal reading time to watch all the YouTube videos.  All of them.  Here are some of my favorites, for you.

They made a statue out of us.
The pressure is rising.
You don't meet nice girls in coffee shops.
We are all our own devil.
I could say that I don't love the light and the dark.
Ringing joyful and triumphant.

That's all, folks.

An Open Letter to My Distinguished Opponent:

Dear Kate,

I cannot help but note that you have failed to update your book list or post your page count since... January.  This fact is distressing; although I know that you continue to read books in a geekly fashion, I am concerned that your commitment to the Geek Throwdown is waning.

I have been tempted to declare victory by default.  However, in my infinite magnaminity magnaminousness goodness, I will offer you a temporary reprieve. 

If you recall, we originally agreed that whichever Geek was behind at the quarter-year mark would be subject to an embarrassing penalty.  I am prepared to postpone your immanent (Get it?  GET IT?) social disgrace until the half-year mark. 

Be prepared.  It is coming.  And when it does, the shaming will be epic.

Hugs,

Rob

Going Postal:

I remembered recently that every morning before I went to high school senior year, I listened to American Music, Kiss Off, and Add it Up by the Violent Femmes.  For some reason, this seems like information key to explaining the following 12 years of adulthood. 

That's all for now.  So....

The Corrections, Jonathan Franzen:  Funnier than the first time I read it, but Franzen is still an ass.  Actually, I think I feel about Franzen in general the way I feel about watching all of The Simple Life, Season 2: I enjoyed the experience, laughed a lot, groaned a lot, and feel sleazy after.  Actually I guess that makes reading Franzen like many things that people do shamefully, in private.  Him as a person (read: utter contempt for all that is humane and compassionate) comes through so strongly that I sometimes began to feel nauseated.  Also: Long-Winded Bastard (see: Literary Parlor Tricks For Dummies).

Guards! Guards! and Small Gods, Terry Pratchett:  These books gave me tears.  Literal tears of mirth and delight.  Instead of a review, I'll refer you to St. Thomas Aquinas: "To one who has faith, no explanation is necessary.  To one without faith, no explanation is possible".

The Book of Daniel, E.L. Doctorow:  Dear Kate.  Normally when you push a book on me in such an aggressive fashion, I imagine it must be highly literary, studied extensively in the hallowed halls of the ivy league, cleverly written, and an astounding work of art.  I imagine I will not like it one bit.  When it comes to Doctorow, I am happy to be Very Wrong.  Very Wrong Indeed.

Iron Sunrise, Charles Stross:  Not as good as the first Eschaton-based novel.  Couldn't tell you why.

Coraline, Neil Gaiman:  Joyous.  Creepy.  Good. 

WEEK 17 TOTAL: 14,239 PAGES!

The Corrections:

Mistakes were made.

There, I said it.  Now I'm going to take accountability for the actual mistakes, detail the very important corrections that need to be made, and provide more information about what has actually happened - which officially gives me more integrity than this asshole.

1.  After some very careful accounting, my Actual Very Official Page Count is... 11,996 pages. 

2.  Application of sophisticated data magic algorithms has provided the following analysis which you shall find both stimulating and life-changing:  I have read 31 books over 13 weeks for an average of 2.38 books per week, 11,996 pages over the same period for an average of 922.76 pages per week and an average of 386.96 pages per book, and a 'category break down' of 31% Fiction, 9% Nonfiction, 16% Mystery, 9% Steampunk, 25% Science Fiction, 3% Fantasy, and 6% History.  Categorical terms are subjective. 

3.  If I continue at the current pace, by the end of 2012 I'll have read 47,984.5 pages - not quite the 50,000 I'm shooting for, but close enough to consider it a possibility.  In my defense, I've been distracted lately.

These are serious times.  Stay informed, stay alive.

Summer Broke on the Backs of Children:

I don't know that I have much to say this week - it's been a busy one.  But, I did read some books.  Instead, I'll give you a selection of music videos that provide a deep, meaningful commentary... but you'll have to piece it together based on your own subjective interpretations.  Go brains go!

Eastern Standard Tribe, Cory Doctorow, 224p.  I've wanted to read this guy for a while but haven't managed to get around to it; the kindle edition was a couple of bucks.  Pretty good, pretty short, a little bit scattershot with the ideas and light on character development.  It was an early one, though, and I understand that he's written more, that's better. 

The Woods, Harlan Coben, 324p.  Throw-away mystery found abandoned on a shelf somewhere, but entertaining.  Why can't all mystery writers be as good as James Lee Burke?  Oh.  Yeah. 

Proof Positive, Phillip Margolin, 448p.  See above.

Columbine, Dave Cullen, 443p.  Such an excellent book, for a number of specific reasons (Ok, so generally I generalize the platitudes.  It's a thing.).  First, the pacing was perfect and measured enough to keep the book moving as if it were plotted, without getting bogged down.  Second, it is exhaustively researched and meticulously detailed.  Third, the central argument is well-founded, logical, humane, and supported by both expert opinion and overwhelming evidence.  Last, the stories presented are given an extraordinary amount of compassion and humanity; I never felt like a voyeur or that the information was gratuitous.  I expected this book to be particularly hard to read and hard to revisit, instead I felt quite a bit of catharsis.  So there.  If that doesn't convince you to read it, I can't help you.

The Tiger's Wife, Tea Obreht, 368p.  As perfect as I expected. 

In other news, Kate is still missing.  There's probably a boy involved... It's a good thing I have no social or romantic life to speak of - I am an engine for kicking book-geek booty.

WEEK 14 TOTAL: 11972 PAGES!

Atrocities Archived:

Big news in the GT world this week - I have confirmed visually and verbally that Kate (aka, my esteemed opponent) is still alive and reading; I was beginning to wonder.  She did make some vague threats about her page count, but I couldn't hear her all that well because she was running out the door carrying something that looked suspiciously like a paddle and using words like "Gnarly Hole", "Class 4", and "Kayak".  I really have no idea what she's doing, but apparently there are rivers involved. 

I also cleared the 10,000 page mark.  No autographs, please, but I am available for speaking engagements.

Current emotional state vector: Collapsed, but moving slowly toward Nova.

The Books:

The Reader, Bernard Schlink, 218p.  Literally less than a dollar at McKay's, took about an hour to finish.  One of those few novels that can be terse and terrific; can't wait to cook a fierce dinner and watch the movie with a friend. 

World's Fair, E.L.Doctorow, 288p.  So I think I'm reaching my limit with 'coming of age' stories - I've read too many phenomenal ones and too many craptastic ones to expect anything new (Read Dangerous Lives of Altar Boys now, as if your life depends on it!), so I had to treat Doctorow's take as a series of vignettes in order to enjoy the book... but it was as great as the blurbs claim.  My biggest complaint is that I'm sick of the obligatory New York Novel: other cities do exist, and New York isn't all that interesting as a literary device.  Emperor's Children did it well, most others don't pull it off.

The Fountainhead, Ayn Rand, 704p.  Disclaimer: I probably should write about how I really despised every person I met who touted Rand as this philosophical/political genius, how Objectivism makes me want to head-butt kittens, how her nonfiction writing is both arrogant and immature... but it's simpler to say that Roark appeals to how I've always ached for a singular point of focus despite his total lack of compassion (which, sadly, is something that's a teeny bit important to me) and I really enjoyed the plot.  I will say that the rape scene is unconscionable, period.  I'd like to have seen sexual assault victims get free neck-punches on Ms. Rand, for life.

Mockingjay, Suzanne Collins, 400p.  Holy crap, fantastic. 

The Jennifer Morgue, 397p.  Witty little break from the last two weeks' more serious novels.  Lots of fun and I ought to have read the prequel first.  I'm impressed with Mr. Stross' ability to genre-jump like a methed-up kangaroo, and I'm really looking forward to plunging back into the sequel to Singularity Sky, Iron Sunrise.  Another random find from McKay's in Chattanooga, my home away from home.

WEEK 12 TOTAL: 10,165 PAGES

 

Memories Worse Than Bullets:

Due to Unexpected Major Life Events, you'll notice three differences in this week's entry:

1.  Last week's entry is mysteriously absent and will remain so.  Much like my long-term relationship.

2.  The book reviews are going to be abrupt and lacking detail.  Much like the end of the aforementioned long-term relationship.

3.  You're going to get a peek into my personal life as I detail my near-frenzy level of activity over the past three weeks and justify my merely mortal page count.  I'd really hoped to break 10,000 pages by now, but shit happens.

So, in no particular order, a list of things that have taken priority over reading since February 16th: packing half my house into a storage unit and my Jeep, moved my entire life from Western North Carolina to Eastern Tennessee, bought a Kindle, run many miles, applied to strange and interesting jobs in exotic locales, re-certified my first responder qualifications, run many miles, listened to Adele, decided that was a bad idea, listened to Lana Del Rey which was a Good Idea, let my dog Harper sleep in the bed for once, driven All Over the Entire Southeast, drove to Charleston in particular, laughed until I hurt, got sick, got over it, lifted several heavy things in repetition, spent time with my family, gotten a migraine, signed up for a race, replaced my luggage, talked to long-lost friends, watched a shocking amount of Mad Men and Portlandia, listened to Wild Flag until I memorized the album, had an existential crisis in Athens, Georgia.  Oh, and tweeted some.

Since I'm working this whole 'post-breakup humor' thing to the bone, here are my favorite one-liners from the past three weeks:

1. "Clearly this means you should be a priest, since you don't want kids and you're crap at relationships."

2. "Does it count as vacation if I can't go home afterward?"

Ahem.  The books:

A Long Shadow, Charles Todd, 368p.  Consistent, interesting, excellent.  Strangely cathartic.
Good People, Marcus Sakey, 336p.  I don't understand 'crime' novels.  It's like a mystery except you already know what's gone down. 
The Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins, 384p.  Holy crap, I'm hooked.  Got my Ender's Game fix all lined up, thank you.
Catching Fire, Suzanne Collins, 400p.  Is it too soon to get a movie ticket?  Also: unfair to cast Jennifer Lawrence in the lead - she is all kinds of appealing. 

WEEK TEN TOTAL: 8158 PAGES!

A Long Shadow:

I don't know if reading truly awful books makes me funnier, or it's all the caffeine and anger, but this week's round up promises some real chuckles.  Things are going steady with the page count - I knew that this month I'd not have nearly as much time to read, but I'm planning a major rally for March.  Plus, I got a Kindle.  I'm considering it a force multiplier.

Bossypants, Tina Fey, 277p. I don't generally read 'funny' books, since people trying to be funny on the page usually fail miserably.  I also don't generally read autobiographies, because I don't trust 'em.  However, Ms. Fey made me laugh out loud (LOL!) many times in the midst of Major Personal Drama, which is a pretty ringing endorsement of her wit.  The extra-large font, though, just makes everyone feel old. 

A Discovery of Witches, Deborah Harkness, 580p.  Aka, Harkness's Hot Mess.  So... once again I was suckered in by a couple of blurbs that made references to The Historian and Name of the Rose.  Do Not Believe Their Filthy Lies.  Basically, this giant pile of trash is everything from Harry Potter, Twilight, Jasper Fforde, The Da Vinci Code, Twilight, and Twilight, that you loathe and despise with all your being, in one book.  All of which, mind you, I was prepared to accept if there were a decent historical/textual mystery to wrap the cheese around, but the plot is something like this:
There's a book about alchemy.
Only one person can access it, and her parents died saving her as a child from this terrible fate!
She's a witch/hermaphrodite/historian/messiah/mitochondrial Lilith/Bella/WithUnlimitedPower!
She's in love with a vampire/scientist/Templar/domestic abuser.
Other vampires/witches/daemons want the book.
Time travel!
Wait... wasn't there some cool stuff about a book in the beginning?  Screw it, Vampire Fight!

WEEK EIGHT TOTAL: 6670 PAGES!

Short and Bitter:

This week I've only read one book, but I have some pretty reasonable excuses.  I am still posting, briefly, just to keep you faithful readers in the know.  I know that you wait in anticipation.

Singularity Sky, Charles Stross, 352p.  I started and abandoned this guy at least 5 times since I snagged it from some used bookstore, let it languish on the communal bookshelf at work, rescued it, left it in my bag, in my trunk, and finally committed.  I was reluctant because I'd read Stross's Accelerando and thought the ideas were good, but the characters were weak.  It's a problem.  This one, though, was great.  Good enough to make me pick up the sequel.  

WEEK SEVEN TOTAL: 5813 PAGES!

Big Numbers in a Vacuum:

I am beginning to worry that I have won by default in the early weeks of February.  I realize this is not the most competitive attitude, since Uncontested Victory a mere six weeks into 2012 would, inevitably, crown me King of All Book Geeks and free up lots of time for video games... but we are not amused.  I demand competition! (I have no idea where Kate is, but I suspect she is falsifying a retreat in order to ambush me with artillery fire in the form of The Twilight Saga.)

The Emperor's Children, Claire Messud, 496p.  Remember last week when I said I was afraid this book might be really pretentious, obnoxious, and not live up to the ridiculous amount of hype?  I am so happy to report that my worries were totally unfounded.  Messud's critical darling read like a gem, was as funny as Tom Wolfe, and never ventured into pure meanness, which can be pretty tricky in satire.  I can't recommend it enough; holy crap was it good.

Loose Girl: A Memoir of Promiscuity, Kerry Cohen, 240p.  Totally unexpected find at work - one of those 'therapeutic' books that the students are sometimes given to read.  Burned through in a couple of hours, Cohen's memoir left a strong impression on me mostly because I feel like I've known many girls like her, mostly in college, all in some sort of need, and all unreachable.  I especially liked that it conveys a sense of struggle and psychological truth without getting bogged down in external, clinical details.  Not a cheery read, for the record. 

I really, really want a Kindle.  I think the new ultralight version is the way to go, and would also solve my ongoing problem of living in a town that lacks those places that sell you books from shelves neatly ordered into subjects.  You know, book stores.  I remember them, from the 90s, when God still loved America.  At this point, if Amazon will give me access to more than a few dusty P.D.James castoffs and Belva Plain paperbacks, I'll give them my firstborn.  Sign me up, Kindle-borg! 

WEEK SIX TOTAL: 5461 PAGES!

The pay's not great, but the work is hard:

It was the most of pages, it was the least of substance.  It was a week of triumph, it was a week of mind-numbing woe. 

If the beginning of January's reading escapades (like real adventures, except with more coffee and none of the pesky fun!) left me enthralled with reading and proud of our noble endeavor, February...  February... felt like the deformed calendar bastard it is. 

This week I read 4 books so I'll keep the reviews short and sweet.  Or short and bitter (like espresso / like me!), because not much could save these books from massive mediocrity.

Let the Great World Spin, Colum McCann, 375p.  I SAT UP UNTIL 3AM FINISHING IT BASED SOLELY ON THE FIRST TWO CHAPTERS... which, turns out, was a Bad Choice.  I'll give you the low-down.  National Book Award Winner Does Magnolia In NYC 1974 But It's Really About 9/11.  I like the first two chapters, even with the Massively Unnecessary Stylistic Whizz-Bangs, but you should probably just go watch Magnolia. 

Siddhartha, Hermann Hesse, 152p.  Nobel-prize winner's most famous novel?  Welcome to the generic new age message machine!  Let's talk about Buddhism without talking about Buddhism!  Go sit by a river and become enlightened!  Let's read allegorical dialogue!  I'm sure it was neat in 1939, but in 2012 it holds the same watered-down message of all its' Alchemist & Millman cousins.  Be present, do your own thing, and buck the system.  If you've listened to a punk rock record, you know the score already.

Oxygen, Carol Cassella, 320p.  Library recommendation.  Grey's Anatomy in book form.  Actually pretty good entertainment - the author writes some pretty great dialogue when the characters aren't advancing the plot and some pretty fantastic bits about two middle-aged adults who are, but aren't, in a relationship. 

The First World War: A Complete History, Martin Gilbert, 391p.  Finishing this book after I got out of work this week was my saving grace.  Perfect, flawless history.  The best recommendation I can make is if you like history, read the damn book.  If you don't like history, you're doing yourself a massive disservice.  I learned things about WW1 that I didn't know (big picture things, no small feat; well-researched details, of which there are legion) AND Gilbert kept me interested in the naval warfare, which usually bores me to tears.  I particularly liked his portrayal of the Balkan and Italian campaigns as well as his use of letters throughout. 

GRAND TOTAL: 4725 PAGES!

(Only 400 of which I am proud to claim this week.)

The Book Geek is strong.  I'm tackling Claire Messud's The Emperor's Children this weekend... wish me luck.  I've heard, alternatively, that it is Funny Like Wolfe or Hugely Pretentious Like Everyone In New York.  Flip a coin...

Rob