are expressly verboten, LJ among them, and so I am posting by email. I do
not recall how to set privacy setting by email, but don't plan on
indiscretion in any case.
Actually, presence at a library is not so odd, as I am perhaps their biggest
fan on principle. What is odd is to be here midday Saturday, and in a
writing mood. A loquacious mood, even. I have been listening again to the
audio versions of Patrick O'Brian's Aubrey/Maturin
novels after which I tend to feel more intelligent and eloquent than
ever I am in any actuality. It rubs off. It is helped in doing so by a
moderate volume of fine amaretto, in that my susceptibility to spirits is
high and resistance low, that one such dose will do quite well for some
The more I listen to these novels, the more I love Maturin. I weep at the
events that break his heart and hold my breath at his risky assignations. I
want to stab his enemies. I wish him all the joy his love of nature can give
him. I wish him freedom from laudanum.
Lately my attention has been drawn to Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell,
a novel set contemporaneously with these as well as Bernard Cornwell's
Sharpe series. The librarian agrees with Reebar that the story is
fantastic, once it actually gets going, for it is a slow start indeed. I
wish it would get on with it; I'm a good quarter of the way in and not
inclined to go much further. However, it's funny to think how events in
these works map against each other's timelines, and Horatio Hornblower's.
Aside - Captain Pellew of Hornblower fame is briefly mentioned in the
Outlander series as a midshipman who takes command and rescues his
ship on Lake Champlain during the Revolutionary War - or as the British
called it, the American War. This, it turns out, is not fiction.
Alas, I am called away...