Rating three and a half. The grandmother of all romance stories. Tragic as it was, though, I had some problems with the two lovers and their partly strange actions and behaviour. That may be because I'm not familiar with medieval society and conduct in general, or because my translation was horrifically old. Then again, it was good that the main characters had some flaws and this story is after all written without much modification from the legend and poetry, so Bédier basically worked with what he had. Inspirational and beautiful nevertheless, and not as sappy as I thought.

After the funeral they came back to the house[.] - - - Young Mrs. Halloran, looking after her mother-in-law, said without hope, "Maybe she will drop dead on the doorstep. Fancy dear, would you like to see Granny drop dead on the doorstep?" "Yes, mother."

I'll be honest here: as much as I love Jackson, The Sundial didn't fully meet my expectations. All the good stuff is there: quirky and unpleasant characters, a bizarre plot, dark humor etc. I just never really had the kind of connection with it I have had with her other stories.

That being said, it is a unique and memorable story. A strong three and a half star experience. I loved the disorienting descriptions of the lush garden and how its secrets are never fully revealed, the hilarious party where the disjointedness spreads properly into different directions, the open lingering ending that leaves behind the sort of uncertainty that Jackson is a master of, and how sometimes the characters are speaking at each other instead of with each other.

Perhaps the meaning you give to bigger things is just a distraction from yourself.

Out of the 20th and 21st century fairytale illustrators that I've been introducing myself to for the last couple of weeks, Craft is easily my favorite. Her work is full to the brim of magic. The pictures are almost otherworldly and could jump from the pages at any moment to draw you in a whirlwind of fairy dust.

I absolutely adored the whispy illustrations in Beauty and the Beast and Sleeping Beauty, but the ones in Baba Yaga are even more gorgeous. I've always had a thing for Russian / Eastern European visuals, so all the ornate clothes and interiors and dark forests filled my heart with joy. And the food! My god, I want to try them all.

The story itself is great as well. It starts as Cinderella, but then ends up in a Hansel and Gretel situation, and there's a glowing skull, knights who bring times of day with them, a talking doll, a creepy as hell old crone etc. I appreciated the fact that once again Baba Yaga is not a simplistic villain, although

Spoiler

because it was revealed that she knew Vasilisa's family, it kind of made it seem like Baba Yaga released Vasilisa so that she could kill the stepmother and stepsisters indirectly through her

.

Since I have a couple of LA books lined up for my holiday, I figured this would be the perfect time to crack this open. I knew it would be a depressing read and I wasn't disappointed. So many beautiful buildings have been razed in favor of parking lots or developers' whimsies. I know that everything can't stay the way it is, but to destroy the side of a city that has more personality because you measure value with dollar signs... Ugh. Not to mention some of these places were destroyed/repurposed at the expense of immigrants.

If you're interested in finding out about the real heart and soul of LA, check out Alison Martino's Vintage Los Angeles.

Just a small sampling of interesting things that caught my eye:

1) Streetcars! I had no idea LA used to have them. There was also a scenic Mount Lowe Railway and a bigger canal area.

2) Original Angel's Flight: A funicular that was out of use for a couple of years, but it's now open for public at a different location. You can see the original in action in a lot of old movies.

3) Pink Palace: I hate pink, but Jayne Mansfield's home was pretty neat in all its gaudiness. Not appreciated by the final owner who bulldozed it.

4) Brown Derby: A restaurant shaped like a hat! It was part of a movement where businesses wanted to attract the attention of driving customers by conveying information about their products in the form of novelty architecture (a cute owl ice cream kiosk with glowing eyes, a tamale joint shaped like a tamale etc.). One of the Brown Derby buildings exists brimless in a slightly different place.

5) Garden of Allah: A legendary hotel that was established by the silent film star Alla Nazimova and helped define the bohemian Hollywood with its legendary parties.

I don't know what it is about Levin's writing, but this and Rosemary's Baby are like rice cakes: you keep chewing because you're hungry, but they taste like styrofoam. It's a pity, because the stories are actually interesting.

In Stepford, a lot of the horror comes from the eerie perfection that the wives are striving to uphold. Nobody's that perfect, right? Must be exhausting to constantly keep up a smile and the demeanor of a pretty but vacuous doll. No dreams, no ambition, no genuine connection to their husbands and no mutual respect.

What makes this even more chilling is the fact that there are still men who'd rather take the easy route, to choose a mother substitute instead of a multi-faceted, interesting, living and breathing being who complements their husband instead of catering to their every need. Nothing wrong with choosing to live according to traditional values, but submission is a no no in my book. Tradwives might disagree.

Lack of individuality is a horrifying thing. Moreover, it's damn boring. Much like Levin's writing.

"What did it matter where you lay once you were dead? - - You were dead, you were sleeping the big sleep, you were not bothered by things like that. Oil and water were the same as wind and air to you. You just slept the big sleep, not caring about the nastiness of how you died or where you fell. Me, I was part of the nastiness now."

Endless rain, the oppressive smell of orchids, shadows on the walls, cigarette smoke, orange groves, oil fields, guns, and beautiful women fluttering their eyelashes. Chandler's novels are noir blueprints for good reason. The plot of The Big Sleep is convoluted but it's the one I care the least about. It's the mood, the razor sharp dialogue, the milieu, and the funny parts that jump from around the corner to surprise you that elevate this to a more literary crime novel than you'd expect. It demands to be taken seriously, but at the same time it doesn't care whether you like it or not. Above all, it has style and depth that nobody can duplicate.

Marlowe, our beloved private dick himself, is sharp, witty, a little cynical, and a bit boozy like Chandler. He lies in bed, drinks, works, stares at the ceiling, repeat. We don't really have to know that much about his past or his personal issues, because he's compelling enough without stretching the novel into a relationship drama. Sure, he doesn't always do things in the most conventional way, but he's a professional and definitely better than the corrupt police force of 1930s LA. The world is a tough and slimy current of pollution, but Marlowe swims in it with a glass of whiskey in hand.