This particular book was a birthday gift from a dear friend of mine. It seemed to be one of those books that was always on the favourites list of writers and other creative people, sparking my interest. I also enjoyed Rilke’s Sonnets of Orpheus and rather imagined this book was a book of letters in a rather lyric style to a generic young poet.

I was mistaken. This is actually a non-fiction book of correspondence—ten letters Rilke wrote to a young poet by the name of Franz Kappus after being contacted by the admiring latter.

The book left me with rather mixed feelings. Not in any bad sort of way. Most of it was simply that I had heard all of the best parts quoted already and most of the rest of it was too specific to be of any value to me as a writer. Nevertheless, I found it interesting to learn more about the man himself and glimpses into the way he worked. Despite (or perhaps because of) having very little education, he still came across as deeply philosophical, the kind of person that reflects at length on things and strives his utmost best to live his life according to the greater purpose he has perceived.

The book is divided into two sections—one containing the ten letters by Rilke spanning from 1903-8 and the other containing a biography, detailing the events of Rilke’s life during the time he was writing these letters and what he was working on. Although interesting, I didn’t find the biography shed any great light on the letters, except to perhaps explain in a little more detail the constant changes in the writer’s location.

Nevertheless, I enjoyed it, probably due in part to Rilke’s deep devotion to his work. And also for the letters which in themselves seem like an artform and one that has all but died out today, a century later.

This is a non-fiction book that examines the symbolic meaning of both indigenous and non-indigenous animals found in Australia. Particular mention in made of animals sacred to the Australian Aboriginals and the traditional associations such animals hold. The book functions like a dictionary and divides animals into several categories—land-bound, winged, insects, aquatic and reptillian. In the larger categories (land-bound and winged) further distinction is made between animals that are indigenous and those that have been introduced.

One of the things that I loved about this book was the plethora of scientific information about the animals alongside the more symbolic information. It held some fascinating facts.

I only had a few small quibbles. Firstly, the book could have used a better editor, as I caught a few small typos and the expression was awkward in places. The other thing was that at the beginning of each entry was a few short words that were supposed to sum up the symbolistic properties of the animal. I found that this extremely brief summary didn’t always accurately reflect the content of the longer entry on the animal that followed and that these words could have been better chosen.

Still, it has proven to be an extremely interesting resource.

Having just reviewed Kushiel’s Scion, I shall keep this short. The book is essentially a continuation of the previous one, following Imriel as he wrestles with the conflicting dictates of duty and love. There’s more duty, war, sex and intrigue.

It was another book I absolutely devoured.

Kushiel’s Scion is listed as the fourth book in the Kushiel’s Legacy series, but it is really more like the start of a new trilogy. It takes place some years after the last book and largely features the children of characters of the previous book—though the earlier generation still maintains a strong presence.

The book is written in first person from the point of view of Imriel de la Courcel, a Prince of the Blood and third in line for the throne. His parents were his country’s greatest traitors and his foster parents were the country’s greatest champions. It follows Imriel as he comes of age and tries to deal with both his heritage and the events of the last book (in which he was a significant but relatively minor character).

This book, like the others, is an epic tale. There’s plenty of adventure, war, politics, intrigue and love. Such a grand scale can make things seem rather ridiculous and melodramatic, and I acknowledge that it certainly won’t be for everyone. The author did a good job of hooking me in, however, and taking me on a complete emotional rollarcoaster. It is also rather sexually explicit in places, so again not for everyone.

My biggest concern when I started reading this book was how I was going to keep all the characters straight and whether I was going to remember them from the previous books. That was probably due to the long list of Dramatis Personae at the front. The author did a good job of easing me into it and I had no trouble after all. I didn’t have to refer to the lisitng once, though I’m not sure how a first time reader would go without having read the previous books.

If I could have, I would have read the entire book in a single sitting. It hooked me in and made it hard for me to put down.

A famous writer creates a house of horrors to enact revenge upon the SaDiablo family for perceived injustices and to get new material for his next murder mystry book.

The SaDiablo family are the heros of Bishop’s Black Jewels Trilogy and the following book of short stories Dreams Made Flesh. I don’t believe this book would necessarily make much sense to a reader who hadn’t also read the previous material.

That said, Bishop is one of my favourite writers and I have been looking forward to reading this book for weeks. Her stories are wonderfully character driven, full of rich interaction and witty dialogue. This book certainly didn’t disappoint, in that sense. It made me both laugh and hold my breath.

I had a few little quibbles however. One of the characters comes late to the rescue and his reasons for doing so comes across as quite weak. A short story is also included at the end of the novel and this story felt clumsy, particularly in relation to the previous work. It is clearly a sample of her earlier work and I feel it added nothing to the characters or the world.

But overall the book was an absolute joy to read.

In this non-fiction work, Foucault traces the history of thinking about madness from the Middle Ages through to Freud and points out how these old forms of thinking continue to impact upon how madness is seen and treated today. He particularly highlights how madness is tied to ideas of morality, religion, judgement and confinement.

This book started out wonderfully and for the first four chapters I followed along with delight. I particularly enjoyed his examination of portrayals of madness in art and literature. After that point, however, it becomes more heavily theoretical. The fact that it is heavily centred around French culture and thinkers also made it more difficult for me to follow along, since I was often unfamiliar with the particular works, examples and figures he referred to.

Nevertheless, for those interested in cultural theory and ideas of discourse and repression, it is definitely a thought-provoking read.

This anthology was recommended to me by my thesis supervisor as an example of fictocriticism. Fictocriticism appears to be a blend of academic essay, personal stories and the purely fictional. The exact proportion of these varies from piece to piece. As one of the contributors to this anthology puts it ”...working on a piece of fictocriticism, a term I’m rapidly becoming more and more critical of, if not fictional about, largely because if you asked me what it meant I’m not at all sure I could tell you anything.”

This anthology was, as anthologies tend to be, extremely uneven. There were some gems here, but I found them too few and far between. Perhaps this is because I generally dislike experimental writing. Unpunctuated and run-on sentences irritate me no end, as does excessive messing about with narrative structure. I like what I read to make sense to me, and a few of these pieces lost me completely. There were times I found myself staring at the page with absolutely no notion of what was being said.

I finished this book out of sheer stubborness.

This is not my first time reading this book, but I thought I’d read the whole series again in preparation for reading the last two books—which I haven’t yet read.

I’m thick in the middle of uni work at the moment and reading some heavy stuff, which is one of the reason I think this was such a delight to read. It was nice and light, the style a touch simplistic, obviously for younger readers. It had a great sense of adventure and urgency. The characters are likable and there are some great creative touches around how the world is built.

A joy to read.

I picked this book up on a recommendation from Lunacy Bleeding. It’s a non-fiction book from the academic tradition that explores contemporary paganism from the perspective of religious studies. As such, the author is interested in the contemporary practices and beliefs of pagans and not the history or “truth” behind them.

I found it a wonderfully informative book. Of particular interest was the outlining of several different branches of paganism along with their similarities and differences. The style wasn’t overly complex and I found it easy to follow.

It also walked an interesting line in terms of the author and reader’s distance from the subject. Since I am new to the topic, it’s easy for me to find it intimidating, particularly when approaching it via texts that are much more embedded in the practices examined. However, the academic style allowed enough distance for me to feel comfortable with the subject, allowing me to learn and prepare to tackle other texts on my own terms. At the same time, the author displayed great insight into his subject and gave me the sense that he had engaged with it on a deeply personal level, which I enjoyed.

As I learn more, I expect to come back to this book and find new resonances.

From the blurb:

A deadly serial killer is on the loose, modelling his sickening murders on Shakespeare’s plays. But why is he killing? And how can he be stopped?

Hmm… another book I’m left with mixed feelings about. On one hand, the description, particularly during the opening couple of chapters, felt laboured while striving for grandios and did nothing except annoy me. I also spotted the culprit from pretty much the beginning, having noted the parallel with The Da Vinci Code.

All of my first impressions of the characters turned out to be largely correct. Kate’s reason for not going to the police was flimsy at best and got thinner as the book went on. I also found the plot a touch confusing in places.

Still, I enjoyed the Shakespeare references and thought it was a great way to be introduced to Shakespearian scholarship and more particularly to the question of Shakespeare’s true identity (though despite that, I saw no real trace of the startling true revelations from the life of Shakespeare promised later in the blurb). The description settled down once the action really got started and it was generally fairly well paced.

On the whole, however, I was left rather disappointed.