Category Archives: Commentary

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on … Continue reading →

 Jerold took down a big, heavy book from the third shelf and read it for about an hour without quite making out the point of it … The man, the horse, the hounds, and the tree person were all part … Continue reading →

Such a quintessentially human thing, to express sorrow through apology. ― Becky Chambers’ The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet Ahhh, that heavenly smell is the fresh baked lussekatter, a Swedish traditional bun, that I’m having with cardamom spiced coffee for a snack on … Continue reading →

We think of forgiveness as a thing. An incident. A choice. But forgiveness is a process. A long, exhausting process. A series of choices that we have to make over, and over, and over again. ― Elizabeth Bear’s Ancestral Night: A White … Continue reading →

So much of who we are is what we remember and retell. Arkady Martine’s A Memory Called Empire Yes I’m covered with kibbles and bits of straw. It’s the time of year that we make new scarecrows, bodach ròcais in Scots Gaelic, … Continue reading →

There’s this moment, when you’re sure you’re about to die, and then you’re born. It’s terrifying. Right now, I’m a stranger to myself. There’s echos of who I was and a sort of call towards who I am. And I … Continue reading →

To absent friends, lost loves, old gods, and the season of mists; and may each and every one of us always give the devil his due. –Hob Gadling’s toast in Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman: Season of Mists It’s quite cold and blustery … Continue reading →

“I really didn’t mean to steal it.” Mr. Williams shook his head. He scratched at his chin nervously. “Why not? That’s what they’re there for. Tunes belong to everybody. So do stories.”  ― Robert Holdstock’s Lavondyss I’ve been out on a … Continue reading →

If you write anything criticizing editing or proofreading, there will be a fault of some kind in what you have written. — John Bangsund, Australian SF fan, 1939 – 2020 Its not yet the time of year that the Estate … Continue reading →

I did not want to think about people. I wanted the trees, the scents and colors, the shifting shadows of the wood, which spoke language I understood. I wished I could simply disappear in it, live like a bird or … Continue reading →