pilfered_words: Escher bird tessellation, colored with watercolor pencil (Default)
My sister, doing her trig homework: “There’s a 3° angle! It’s so cute!” 
pilfered_words: Escher bird tessellation, colored with watercolor pencil (Default)
My sister went to the eye doctor’s today.
 
Negative: she needs glasses.
 
Positive: they dilated her pupils so that she looks like Puss in Boots from Shrek.

 
pilfered_words: Escher bird tessellation, colored with watercolor pencil (Default)

Yesterday evening:

Me, to my sister: So, how far are you in The Thief? You started this afternoon, right?
S. wordlessly holds up the book, open to Gen, Sophos and the magus escaping from Attolia’s prison. 
Me: Ah. Well. Carry on.

Today, as I pick S. up from school:

S, in a tone of great outrage: It ended with a plot twist! What?! What was that?!
Me, trying and failing to contain my laughter: Yep. 
S: He was… the whole time! And he didn’t! And what!?
Me: Yep.
S: OK, which one’s next? The Queen of Attolia? OK, got it, you can go back to work now.

5 minutes later, a phone call:

S: It’s in third person?!

There followed an interrogation about the POV of the other books:

Me: No comment.
S: That’s not a spoiler! Just tell me if they are third person or not!
Me, thinking about the “getting farther away from Gen” trend: Not telling.
S: Seriously?! Just tell me 1st, 2nd, or 3rd! It’s not that hard!
Me: Well, it’s not second. *pause* Except that one part.

S: ARRRRRRGGG.

(#she's now up to 'attolia in a tent'#so)


Later, responding to this comment

Yep, that’s part of the fun. I first picked up The Thief in my middle school library in …2004 or so? KoA was not remotely close to out at that point, and I didn’t even know to watch for it once it did come out! I found out there was another book when I randomly came across it at the library (the public library that time). Then it was 4 painful years until CoK, and seven more until now.
 
I’ve loved these books for about 13 years now. About half my life. My sister’s whole life. 
 
So here’s to many years more, from many fans, of many ages!
pilfered_words: Escher bird tessellation, colored with watercolor pencil (Default)
The Road to Isengard is kind of a boring chapter, until you get to the last couple of pages where you suddenly get Merry and Pippin being hilarious assholes. 
 
My favorite quote from this chapter, of course, is the last line:
 
 
“So that is the King of Rohan!” said Pippin in an undertone. “A fine old fellow. Very polite.”
 
(#I didn't think we'd make it all the way through this chapter in one night#but we did#also apparently we've been reading for a year#at this rate it will take us another year and a half to finish)

Edit on crossposting, 12/8/18: Over a year and a half later, and we're still only nearing the end of Book 5.

(crosspost)

Oct. 8th, 2016 12:52 am
pilfered_words: Escher bird tessellation, colored with watercolor pencil (Default)
 
My sister turned 13 this week. This picture, therefore, was taken 13 years ago. Over half my life ago.
 
It kinda feels like yesterday.
pilfered_words: Escher bird tessellation, colored with watercolor pencil (Default)
Ugh, I don’t want to write anything. I’ve been skipping around, reading anything that happens to catch my eye, and not having thoughts about what I read.
 
Before that, I was reading LotR aloud to my sister. “Isn’t she a bit old for that?” you may ask. Why, yes, yes she is. She’s 12. The last time I read aloud to her was years ago. But she started LotR on her own once before, and got bored and quit, and that’s just not acceptable. We started at the beginning of Book 2 earlier this week, and we’re in the middle of the Council of Elrond now. That chapter is… really long. It doesn’t seem that long when you’re reading to yourself. Especially if you’re me, and use every line to go, “Oh! He means that dude from the thing! And this is the part that will be super important later! Oh, there’s the canon part of that one fic!” S. doesn’t really care about any of that, obviously, because she doesn’t know enough things to really make the connections. She also doesn’t quite approve of descriptive language, so it’s sort of slow going.
 
Eh. I’m just going to post the beginning of a perennial WIP. It’s a translation of one of my favorite Russian books, actually:
 
 
The only things I have left of my classmates now are the memories and a single photograph. It’s a group portrait, with our homeroom teacher in the center, the girls around her, and the boys at the edges. The photograph has faded, and since the photographer carefully focused the camera on the teacher, the edges, smudged even when the picture was taken, have now completely blurred; sometimes I wonder if they have blurred because the boys of our class long ago passed into nothingness, before they had a chance to finish growing up, and their features have been dissolved by time. 

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