I had no idea Pink Delicious was due to drop, but my copies arrived yesterday. Of course, I generally get my copies of my novels before everyone else can get theirs. Usually. We just opened the back door, and there they were. I have to admit I didn't feel even the least bit of excitement. I almost didn't take one out. Almost. I probably would have had a somewhat better day yesterday had I not. The book's street date is February 4th, though it'll probably start showing up before then. The cover is a great disappointment. But I've been over that before. They got it right the first time. This time, well, they didn't.
Still and all, yesterday was an okay sort of a day. We made it to the Avon for the 3:00 p.m. (CaST) matinée of the Coen Bros. Inside Llewyn Davis, a joy of a film. I immediately wanted to see it again. The Coen Bros. take another stab at Ulysses, far more hushed and indirect than O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000), and caught in an existential Möbius loop. But the mythic touchstones are there, spread out across a bleak northeast and midwest winter, instead of a broiling Deep South summer. Exquisite soundtrack. All my thumbs up. A pleasant surprise, Carey Mulligan as Jean. Doctor Who fans may recall her as Sally Sparrow. Also, cats.
The Coen Bros. are literally incapable of making a bad film. Or of not making a great film.
Afterwards, we walked in cold, up Thayer Street. We bumped into Brian Evenson. I dragged Spooky into the Army Navy store and bought my first "new" coat since November 2001, a huge Soviet/Bulgarian greatcoat, 1960s vintage, grey Cold War wool with red piping on the epaulets and collar. It's huge and heavy and feels right on me. We made it home just before sunset.
I have photographs:
All photographs Copyright © 2014 by Caitlín R. Kiernan and Kathryn A. Pollnac
I need to write an essay — or at least an entry — on my loathing for careerist authors. That word, careerist, recurred with eerie regularity this week, and I finally took notice. It's an appropriately ugly word.