I remember reading the last book in The Fionavar Trilogy late at night, summer vacation, in high school. I was about 15. I've been a stay-up-late reader for a long time, so my parents didn't care, as long as I was quiet.
It was about 4 a.m., and I was drinking iced tea with plenty of lemon, listening to the Everly Brothers (I know, but my dad loves them, and I do too) and I read the part where Diarmuid fights the urgach, and at the end of it, I just burst into tears. I had an absolute sobbing meltdown, crying so hard I couldn't even see. I had to go outside and cry some more. I think I bawled for about 20 minutes.
It was the first time, I think, that an author had killed off a major character AND DIDN'T BRING THEM BACK. He was dead, dead, dead...and he HAD to be dead. I think all of my disdain for ass-pulls on everyone coming back from the dead, la la la, magic will make it all right comes from.
Damn, I cried HARD. Then dove back into the book, and cried some more at the end. Cried, cried, cried.
I think there were crackers involved somewhere.
I was one rebel teen, yo. (Hee, that's actually pretty funny to think about, because the next summer, it was all about smoking, cruising, cheap vodka and making out.)
the Everly Brothers (I know, but my dad loves them, and I do too)
At least the Everly Brothers are cool--my dad got me hooked on the Kingston Trio (dork city!).
Hang down your head, Tom Dooley...
Um...I know all the Kingston Trio songs too. And Harry Belefonte, and Johnny Mathis, and Ella Fitzgerald.
Kate, they claimed to have Thirsty, but I couldn't find it on the shelf!
Bastards! Check for it again next time you go back (or request it from another library); I really think you'll like it.
Reading experiences: When I was in Australia a few years ago, I travelled from Perth to Melbourne by train, a three-day trip. It wasn't a sleeper train (that is, nobody had sleeping berths, at least in my section of the train; we all slept reclined in our chairs, which reclined only slightly farther than most airplane seats will go). Anyway, I wasn't really looking forward to the trip, because I figured it would be long and sort of boring and uncomfortable, so I purchased several books that I really wanted to read a few weeks ahead of time, and would not let myself open them until I got on the train. That way I was actually excited about the long train journey instead of dreading it. So I read Neil Gaiman's Smoke and Mirrors and most of Sarah Waters' Tipping the Velvet in a protracted delirium, only occasionally interrupted to visit the dining car or the bathroom, or to drift off into a shallow, restless nap. I can only think of a few other instances (since I was a kid, anyway) when I was so fully and completely engrossed in the experience of reading a book. I can't say it was the most pleasant reading experience of my life, but it is among the most memorable.
So I read Neil Gaiman's Smoke and Mirrors
How did you like it? I was kind of disappointed because the best story was one I'd already read: "We Can Do It for You Wholesale." Most of it was pretty hit-or-miss. And the hits weren't that hard, but they were good.
I really liked it. I hadn't read any of the stories before, and I had actually only started reading anything by Gaiman within the last year, so a lot of his themes still seemed pretty new to me. I remember especially liking the one that was a Baywatch/Beowulf takeoff.
I couldn't really get into any of the poetry ones.
I liked the Hollywood one. The troll one was nice too. I actually really liked the story he sneaked into the introduction, "The Wedding Present."
My most memorable (and not at all my most pleasurable) reading experience was reading King's
'Salem's Lot,
while my father's twin was dying. We'd go up to the hospital and stay for a couple of hours. My uncle was out of it a fair bit, and often agitated when he was not out of it. One day, there was a baseball game on. The Sox won, and it was a big deal. On TV, everyone was shouting that the game was over. My uncle kept trying to get out of the bed, but he was too weak. He also kept taking off his oxygen mask. When my parents tried to stop him, he said, "But it's over. They said it's over. It's over. Is it over?" It broke my heart.
I had
'Salem's Lot
with me, because sometimes on long visits, I needed a break. I was nineteen years old, and this was definitely one of those times, so I went to the solarium to read. Well, the sun started to set, and I was reading frigging
'Salem's Lot —
you know? I got a wiggins. A major wiggins. I laughed at myself, and stuck the book in my pocketbook. It was the 80s; big pocketbooks were big. I went back to my uncle's room, and he was sleeping. I left them there, and drove myself home.
By the time I got home, it was dark. I had to enter the empty house, alone. The door was original to the house, which is about 125 years old now, so, it was about 105 years old, then. At the time, the only lock we had was the one that opened with a skeleton key that we kept in the mailbox.
I started up the front steps, went back down, opened the trunk of my car, took the book out of my purse, threw it in the trunk, slammed the trunk shut, and ran in the house.
I may have gone and found a cross necklace, too.
