Sirenia Digest #60 will go out to subscribers this evening. And again, I apologize for the lateness. And, again, #61 will be sent out on January 5th.
The Dancy Box/Alabaster letter X auction is almost over. Whoever wins, I thank you ahead of time.
Spooky and I are listening, together, to Madeline L'Engle read A Wrinkle in Time. And it's wonderful, hearing the story in the author's own voice, because she knew it in a way, with an intimacy, that no one else ever will. Hearing her read the novel is a privilege. And yet...the book's page at Audible.com is littered with comments written by people who were so annoyed at her narration they couldn't enjoy the book. For example, this two-star "review":
If I were rating this on story alone it would definitely be a 5 star rating. Unfortunately the fact that the author is narrating the book is in this case not a plus.
I feel awful saying this, but Madeline L'Engle often speaks as though she has a mouthful of marbles and has a tendency to run through a paragraph without stopping for a breath. I end up having to repeat everything in my head at a more conversational speed in order to understand what was said. It's hard to keep track of which character is speaking and she sometimes has a very sing-song way of reading which I think would annoy even my 2 year old niece over a five hour period. Like I said at the beginning— I love this book —I'm 32 years old, have read it myself many times in earlier years and thought, "I'd love to hear this one again and in the authors intended tone." But in this case I'm wishing I'd just bought the paperback. Sorry, Madeline.
How can this not piss me off? How can people be so petty, so shallow? Sure, it's true— L'Engle sounds like her dentures don't fit. So what? For fuck's sake, this is the author reading the story to you, the story she wrote, between 1959 and 1960. How can that not be so amazing that all else falls by the wayside? These are her inflections, the way she heard the characters in her head, and so on. This is magic. How is it even possible that someone can't set aside their need to be coddled just long enough to appreciate how amazing this is?
Whatever. Fuck them. I would be a much healthier, happier person if only I could allow myself to say that with more regularity. Whatever. Fuck them.
Let's see, the last couple of days, there's been reading, mostly blackholly's very wonderful stories in The Poison Eaters. Saturday and Sunday nights, we read "The Land of Heart's Desire," "The Night Market," and "The Dog King." I especially loved the latter.
And there have been movies. Saturday night, we watched Neil Marshall's Centurion, which is one of his best film's to date (not quite as good as The Descent  or Doomsday , but very close). Last night, we watched Anne Fontaine's Coco before Chanel (Coco avant Chanel; 2009), with Audrey Tautou. An amazing and beautiful film.
And now...time to make the doughnuts.