"The outer reaches of space remain unexplored by humankind to this day, but its greed is relentless. We grasp and yearn and hunger for knowledge— answers to questions we cry out into the endless void expecting to understand, expecting the stars to respond. The stars will not, but one day something else will— and we will not like what it has to say." — Rome Solomon, Beyond the Exosphere (1965)
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ok im spitballing here - kara's mother was a former ben-hassrath whose job was to essentially lobotomize mages. when she had kara and found out they had magic, she and her wife voluntarily (?) became tal vashoth and left their lives to protect kara. and while kara was growing up, their mother told stories of what happens to bad little mages who don't listen to their moms as some sort of cautionary tale. and they're like. ok. sure. they didn't believe it, but they were still a good kid lol.
as a merc, they haven't met any tranquil but have heard stories about them told around the campfire - and probably the first time this happened, kara was shocked that their mother's stories were true 😭
fast forward as the inquisitor and meeting magister erimond and all the shit that went down with the grey wardens, kara was like. yep. this dude deserves it. and since kara has so much respect for their mother and their old job, they felt proud that they could do kinda the same thing as the inquisitor with their judgements
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Book #145 - Der Schimmelreiter by Theodor Storm
[english title: The Rider On The White Horse]
(a PSA to all (future) teachers: this is not a good book for 8th graders. this is not the first classic that any kid should read. there are better ways to explain what a framing narrative is, please.)
A thing that I have realized over the last few months (possibly starting with something I wrote about Hold Me Closer, funnily enough) and which has definitely festered into full-on brain damage since then...
I love reading. I love books. I love stories. (Yes, I know, duh, but hear me out.)
Up until now, these things were true, yes, but in a more limited way. I loved reading good books. I loved reading stories that I liked, that I related to, that made me feel warm and fuzzy and good (or that completely devastated me emotionally, which is equally valid). And I liked it enough to not have it soured by books I ended up not liking.
I liked the quiet of reading, I liked that I didn't need electronics to do it, I liked that it didn't chain me to a sofa for a minimum and maximum of two hours. In short, I liked the convenience, the ubiquity and the comfort of books that lit up my brain.
Unfortunately, it has kind of come to pass that that is now... uh. Every Book. Like, I still have opinions and biases and and personal taste, but now I love reading whether or not I like the book I'm reading right now. I have fallen in love with the thing itself, and I refuse to climb back out of this hole.
Btw, wanna know how I know all that? The Rider On The White Horse is boring as shit!
Or it should be, if I were still sane. Because this book is mainly just about a weird dude who becomes this official (dikeduke??) and builds a family and a dyke. And a lot of pages are spent on this dude doing his official business, planning and drawing schemes for his dyke and getting permits and having local spats with his neighbors.
Like, the most interesting thing here by far is the framing narrative through which we know that this dude will somehow end up being a ghost story to scare grown men in a pub near the dyke half a century later. And it is spooky and atmospheric, yes, but remember that, in between that, the narrator insists on telling us in detail about the process of building a dyke, and about planning meetings, and about every spat he has with this one dude who hates him for no reason, and ugh. And still, I ate it up.
Half the book, before they get married, he has this sorta cute romance with his future wife, and it is mainly just them talking and having similar interests and holding hands and she is teasing him but also standing up for him, and she helps him into that official position for which they are both intellectually qualified (but, well, 1888. but hey, she can do math and doesn't get ridiculed for it, so yaaay). And she is wicked smart and them doing this shy little dance around each other is actually really sweet and the first time my brain mentioned that to me I kinda just had to stare at a wall for a while because what
Do you see my point? I am gushing. About a book. That is a 100 page snore fest. And this was just a taste, I could go on for at least twice as long again.
(help me)
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