My kids crack me up. Today it was Mollusc.
I bought my First Terry Pratchett book today. I think I may mark it down as a personal holiday from now on. I can't wait to read it, but am still inching through the Thomas Covenants. I know, I know, I know. It's been MONTHS. Sigh. Partly this is my fault, due to getting sucked into blogland rather than reading books. But mostly, this is Stephen R. bloody Donaldson's fault for writing sentences like this:
". . . and at the foot of the slope lay a still vlei with colors floating across its surface like a lacustrine portrait of the cachlan itself. Daphin moved onto the hillside and sat down, disposing her cymar gracefully about her."
I mean, really, WTH?!?! Can we not just say "puddle" or "pond" or what the hell ever? Must it be "vlei?" Who the hell says that?? Is vlei even in the online dictionary so I can link it for you? Reader, it is not. In fact, the site I found that DOES use the word "vlei," does so to tell how the word is a problem because it is not adequately defined. (ctrl f, "vlei" if you really are that interested, which I doubt) And the 3 non-agreeing definitions given lead me to believe that Donaldson misuses the word anyway. Or maybe he really did mean to refer to this seasonally waterlogged freaking boggy area as "of or relating to lakes" cuz that's what "lacustrine" means. I know, cuz I looked it up.
A few pages on, we get, "the Elohim enacted astonishment as if it were merely gratuitous - the spilth or detritus of their self-contemplations. But now each of these nonchalant theurgies appeared ominous to Linden, suggestive of peril and surquedry."
And a few sentences on after that: "Appareled in cymars and mantles, in sendaline, jaconet and organdy like the cortege of a celebration. . ."
OK, you know what? I am a sewist (I'm not yet good enough to be a seamstress, and "sewer"sounds icky) and organdy is the only fabric I recognised there. Sendaline isn't in the online dictionary I tried, but jaconet is apparently lightweight cotton. And you know, this probably wouldn't bother any of you, but I tend to get a bit anal about words. I'm this way about virtually nothing else in my life - a look into my house will demonstrate that rather effectively - but words, well, for some reason, even when the meaning is seemingly easily inferred, I feel compelled to look them up.
So why the Amazing Carnival of Compaining? Because in spite of all this, the story is actually interesting. I want to finish re-reading these so I can read the new sequels. Curse you, Stephen R. Donaldson. May your thesaurus curdle and rot, may your dictionary disintegrate into pulp and become hopelessly lodged in your toilet, may your server forever deny you access to websites of long-forgotten word stockpiles.
I went to his website just now and even though I rant, he sucked me in with this (in explaining a comment about one of the characters):
It's amazing what people can accomplish when they respect their limitations. I take a sparring class every Saturday morning, and everyone I train with has more speed, strength, and stamina than I do. As they should: they're all much younger than I am. Plus most of them can kick me in the head, and I'm just about flexible enough to reach their waists. But you know what they say about age and cunning. I don't stand around feeling sorry for myself--or, worse, drop out--just because I'm slow, weak, gasping, and stiff. Instead I work on timing, distance, precise technique, and tactics. In other words, I respect my limitations, but I don't use them as an excuse. And it's surprising how often those young guys with all their advantages get frustrated because they can't handle what I'm throwing at them.
Tae Kwon DO?!?! Sigh. I love him, I hate him, I respect him, I despise him. Mostly I'm just really freaking sick of the cephalalgia I get from perquisitioning lexemes I won't remember, and feeling like an idiot.
That is all.