kinda, wicked: all kinds of great adverbs
One frustrating thing about getting galleys (and trust me, I know the world's smallest violin is playing a maudlin tune right now) is that I want to talk about the books I read and I can't without spoiling other people for them. At least when I am reviewing I do you get to talk about the books, if not in a conversation, at least to what I assume is an appreciative audience.
I just finished my second reread of Kristin Cashore's Fire, and I'm overwhelmed by how much I want to talk about it (which,![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
diceytillerman, means you are on tap). Those of you who have ever had to listen to me talk about books or culture know how much I love things that are kinda subversive, kinda hegemonic. Fire is one of the most kinda subversive, kinda hegemonic books I've ever read. I think I need to coin a new catch phrase for it: wicked subversive, wicked hegemonic. Except that "KSKH" rolls trippingly off the tongue, and "WSWH" most certainly doesn't.
On some axes -- say, gender -- it's got the same kinda subversive, kinda hegemonic reading which is pretty common in young adult girls' fantasy. But on others -- disability, attractiveness, class, family bonds, even narrative expectations -- it's just a wild swing along the subversive/hegemonic spectrum. Wicked S, Wicked H. Which, given my literary tastes, I obviously think is fabulous.
There are plenty of axes of convention this book doesn't challenge: heteronormativity, for example, or race in fantasy. Though it might be a surprise to the authors whose books I sometimes review, that's fine with me.
(Oddly enough, the last book I found this kinda/kinda was A Little Princess, of all things, which was much more complicated about class then it was in my memory. Though the book is one of my frequently-reread comfort books, the careful listen I had to give it while listening to the Librivox audio book showed me things about it I had never noticed while reading.)
I just finished my second reread of Kristin Cashore's Fire, and I'm overwhelmed by how much I want to talk about it (which,
diceytillerman, means you are on tap). Those of you who have ever had to listen to me talk about books or culture know how much I love things that are kinda subversive, kinda hegemonic. Fire is one of the most kinda subversive, kinda hegemonic books I've ever read. I think I need to coin a new catch phrase for it: wicked subversive, wicked hegemonic. Except that "KSKH" rolls trippingly off the tongue, and "WSWH" most certainly doesn't.On some axes -- say, gender -- it's got the same kinda subversive, kinda hegemonic reading which is pretty common in young adult girls' fantasy. But on others -- disability, attractiveness, class, family bonds, even narrative expectations -- it's just a wild swing along the subversive/hegemonic spectrum. Wicked S, Wicked H. Which, given my literary tastes, I obviously think is fabulous.
There are plenty of axes of convention this book doesn't challenge: heteronormativity, for example, or race in fantasy. Though it might be a surprise to the authors whose books I sometimes review, that's fine with me.
(Oddly enough, the last book I found this kinda/kinda was A Little Princess, of all things, which was much more complicated about class then it was in my memory. Though the book is one of my frequently-reread comfort books, the careful listen I had to give it while listening to the Librivox audio book showed me things about it I had never noticed while reading.)