For the past year or so Tiemen Zwaan, the SF/F and YA buyer at my favorite local bookstore (the delightful American Book Center in Amsterdam), has been doing what he calls Blind Book Dates. As he explains in a blog post on the subject:
I discovered that if you wrap a book and just put a few keywords with cryptic descriptions on it, suddenly something mysterious started to happen. People were drawn to this unknown book. They started to try to guess the obscured title. Interestingly enough, not knowing the title and the author made people more likely to try a new read. All the great (but not widely known) books suddenly started to fly off the shelves. And people came back for more Blind Book Dates. They tried new books, novels that they usually wouldn’t have picked up, and they really liked them.
I’ve seen the Blind Book Dates in the store, and the ones I’ve recognized have been well-chosen and well-described. I’m not surprised that people like them.
Tomorrow, the ABC in Amsterdam is hosting a Blind Book Date party, where people can bring their own wrapped and labeled books and try them out on other attendees. I’ve got other things to do and can’t go, but it does sound like a fun idea. I thought we might play along here on Making Light.
Of course, on the internet we can only “wrap” things with our words. So I’m suggesting a wrinkle on Tiemen’s rules: try to describe the book in about three points, but write them out in the style of another writer. I’ve included a couple of examples in this post, using fairly guessable books and styles. But I’d really love to hear about things I haven’t run across before. (Christmas is a-coming, and my wishlist is looking kind of thin.)
For the first, this book is the story of a revolution—or perhaps it might be more precise to say, a rebellion. The terms are, alas, often used interchangeably by lesser historians, which has led to a not uncommon degree of confusion among readers of history. Therefore, rather than mislead, I shall merely state that it contains one or the other, depending on the reader’s understanding of the matter at hand.
As a second clue, one of the characters in this book is not, in fact, human (nor, and I state this to once more be precise, is the character an Easterner). In short, he (or she, for the matter is not so much indeterminate as it is ambivalent) is not made of flesh at all.
The third hint that I will produce is this: the greatest proportion of the events that the author does us the honor of narrating take place not on the soil of our own native planet, but on, or rather principally underneath, that of a satellite of said planet.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a demon-hunter desiring to retire must be in want of a final challenge.
However little he himself may wish it as he sips cardamom tea in his beloved city, this truth is so well fixed in the mind of the All-Merciful, that he is considered the rightful pursuer of any jackals and falcon princes that may appear.
Usual parlor game rules apply, please: it’s OK to duplicate books and authors, because everyone’s interpretations are interesting; ROT-13 your guesses. And do feel free to pick examples from outwith our usual genres and authors.
I vote in every election, even funny little off-year ones. And I’m very sympathetic to the argument that if voting didn’t matter, certain factions among the powerful wouldn’t be going to so much trouble to reduce the number of people allowed to do it.
But there’s an argument I’m not sympathetic to, and I’m seeing it everywhere I look online today. It’s the one that goes “If you don’t vote, you have no right to complain.”
It’s bullshit. Everybody has the right to complain. People who disagree with you and me about the value of voting have the right to complain. Monarchists and anarchists have the right to complain. The foolish, the feckless, and the chronically annoying have the right to complain. People who forgot about the election have the right to complain. People who were too tired to get out of the house have the right to complain.
I don’t want to get too far into the philosophical weeds of what “rights” actually are, which ones are “inherent” or “natural,” or what any of that actually means in the real world. But to put it plainly, if there are fundamental rights to justice and equity, to fair treatment, then we’re born with them. We don’t earn them by voting, or by participating in any other specific political transaction that’s evolved from the contigencies of history. To argue that “if you don’t vote, you have no right to complain” is basically to frame fundamental human rights as a grant, not an entitlement. And it’s to assert that you, O virtuous voter, have the right to revoke that grant to someone because they didn’t value voting as highly as you do.
It’s a bullying assertion of unearned moral superiority. Voting is fine. Go, vote. But stop saying that people who disagree about this should be stripped of their rights. Alternately, if you keep saying it, well, we have a pretty good idea of how much you respect the idea that fundamental rights are for everyone, not just people you happen to like and agree with.
One in Seattle. Vicki Rosenzweig writes:
We are planning a memorial gathering for Velma on Saturday, November 8, at 1:30 PM, at Washington Hall in Seattle. Everyone is welcome.And one in New York City. Elise Matthesen writes:
There’s no formal officiant. Instead, this is an opportunity for her family and friends to get up and share our memories of Velma. We’re still working on the details of the planning. If you know you’ll want to get up and speak, please tell Vicki Rosenzweig, by email at email@example.com. Or if you just want to be with people, please let Vicki know you’re likely to attend so we can get a head-count for food and drink.
Washington Hall is in the Central District, at 153 14th Ave., Seattle, 98122. We will be in the Lodge Room. The space is wheelchair-accessible and easily accessible by mass transit; there is also a parking lot. We have the room from 1:00 PM until 5:00 PM, including set-up and clean-up time; if you want to come early and help with set-up, please let Vicki know.
RSVPs to Vicki at firstname.lastname@example.org, please; I’m trying to reduce the burden on Scraps.
A memorial service for Velma deSelby-Bowen will be held Tuesday, November 18, in the theater of St. James Presbyterian Church, 409 W 141st St. (corner of 141st St. and St. Nicholas Ave) in Manhattan. The service will begin at 6 PM and will be followed with a light repast.To repeat: Please email Vicki if you plan to be at the Seattle event, and email Elise if you plan to attend the event in New York. Comments are closed on this post.
NOTE: If you plan to attend, please confirm by email to email@example.com, so that adequate preparations can be made to accommodate everyone at the service. (If you forward or repost this notice, please include this information as well. Thank you.)
Today, after all, is a great day for such a thread. Not just because it’s (at least in the Northern Hemisphere) a gathering-in and hoarding time, but also because it’s All Saints’ Day. In the Catholic tradition, today is kind of the catch-all feast for the saints who didn’t make the Calendar, or who made it and were then superseded by some more recently beatified whippersnapper. It’s a good day for thinking about quirky, eccentric figures and their forgotten histories.
So tell me. Who, among the neglected and misunderstood figures of the past, inspires you? In whose story do you find delight and inspiration? (They don’t have to be Catholic, Christian, or religious at all. Just, you know, awesome in their own ways.)
I’ll start with kind of a gimme: Joshua Norton, Emperor of the United States and Protector of Mexico.
I mean, yes, it’s fairly clear that the loss of his fortune, and the loss of the subsequent court case, contributed to a fundamental departure from consensus reality. But, like alcohol, that kind of delusion is a real test of character. We’ve certainly seen other people who have suffered such reverses and become their darkest selves.
So what did Norton do when he’d slipped his moorings? What true self did he reveal? He made a number of proclamations, which seem to have ranged from “a good idea but impractical” to “wait a century or so and we’ll have it” (he called for a bridge across the San Francisco Bay and a tunnel under it). He spent his time inspecting the infrastructure of his demesne and paying attention to the activities of its public servants. He stopped a riot from becoming violent. He pardoned the policeman who arrested him for insanity and consistently thanked his benefactors.
If the proof of his life was in the ending of it, he proved out well: his funeral was paid for by well-wishers and attended by a reported 30,000 people. He’s an icon of the Bay Area, but really, he belongs to us all: a man who lost his mind, perhaps, but never his heart.