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Showing posts with the label BEOWULF

Goodbye, hobbits

I finished reading LOTR and its appendices (spoilers follow). I reiterate: The book is excellent so long as the hobbits take center stage. The rest is fine if one already likes Beowulf and such; but I was glad when Mordor, Gondor, Rohan, and Rivendell finally dropped out of view and Frodo & Co. set about restoring peace and homeliness to the Shire, expelling the non-hobbits. (Ultimately, though, the four little heroes and old Mr. Bilbo would all depart to live out their days with elves or man-kings: some in the last chapter, others at the end of Appendix B.)

Karin doesn’t want to call our new son “Frodo.”

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Speaking of ol’ J.R.R., I also finished the fourth installment of Anthony Powell’s Dance to the Music of Time, and it occurred to me that we might not be living in some Wild West regarding when to put a space between a person’s initials; there might be a rule, after all. Dance features a character, J. G. Quiggin, a writer, whose initials are spaced when grouped with the surname and unspaced apart from it. So, on Quiggin’s books’ covers, the name appears as “J. G. Quiggin”; but his friends (or, rather, frenemies – he’s that sort) use the familiar unspaced “J.G.” Well, they say the letters out loud, but that’s how the narrator transcribes them.

This topic interests me because I’m sometimes referred to by my initials; although, because of the hyphen, the letters of my name shouldn’t ever be spaced: they should always be written “J.-P.” (Or “J-P” if the writer does without the periods.) I actually prefer “JP” – less fussy – but who am I to decide my own name and its cognates?

(Not that society has made up its mind on this. Trump’s running-mate’s homepage calls its subject “JD Vance,” but the Google search result says “J.D.” Wikipedia says “JD,” deferring to Vance’s personal preference. But I wonder if the editors shouldn’t overrule him. Isn’t that what Wikipedia is for? There’s the precedent of this book cover, too.)

Awakenings; parks; Seusses; Mitfords, pt. 6

Warm-ish temps; constant rain patter. There’s nothing quite like reading Beowulf on the sofa, then dozing off, then waking – gradually and painfully – to the 1⁠-2⁠-3 punch of Modern Talking’s “Geronimo’s Cadillac,” “Brother Louie,” and “Cheri, Cheri Lady.” (The other songs in the queue were more soothing.)

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Karin obtained a puzzle with “thumbnail” sketches of the U.S. National Parks. Samuel spent hours gazing at the sketches and deciding which parks to visit. He’s keen on the Channel Islands (California).

I rose in his esteem by telling him which parks I’ve been to or seen from afar:

Acadia
Arches
Bryce Canyon
the Gateway Arch, glimpsed from I⁠-⁠70
the Grand Canyon, glimpsed from aircraft
Joshua Tree
Kings Canyon
Olympic, viewed from Vancouver Island (as in this photo, but not from so high up)
Mt. Rainier, viewed from Seattle (and see, again, the photo taken from Vancouver Island; I didn’t see this mountain during my stay)
Sequoia
Zion

I promised to go with Samuel to the Indiana Dunes. Poor boy, he rarely leaves the house, let alone the city.

He and Karin put the puzzle together last night, and this morning Daniel tore it up.

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ThriftBooks had a Seuss sale, and I bought a few of the immoral, discontinued titles (they were in a single omnibus, hee, hee), as well as I Had Trouble in Getting to Solla Sollew, which I’d been haunted by but hadn’t looked at since age four. It didn’t disappoint. I still don’t know how it concludes, though, because Daniel keeps slamming it shut before we reach the end. But I can guess.

As for the immoral ones, I re-read Mulberry Street and found mentions of a Rajah riding an elephant and a Chinese man using chopsticks.

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I finished The Pursuit of Love (1945), Nancy Mitford’s fifth and best-loved novel. At last, some contrition. Aristocrats celebrated … and punished: not for being aristocrats, but for making un-aristocratic marriages.