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acorn bread and açaí
May. 23rd, 2025 12:00 pmacorn bread
The leftover acorn meal I had in my fridge had gone moldy! Ah well. Fortunately I had acorns left over from last time, so I ground those up, leached them, dried them, and yesterday made a loaf of ... well it's mainly white bread--three cups white flour--but also a cup of acorn meal. So I am going to call it acorn bread, the same way you call a thing banana bread even though it's not mainly bananas.
Behold its majesty!
I still have leftover meal from this batch of acorns, but I will not make the same mistake twice by letting it linger. I intend to make acorn pancakes, or perhaps I'll use it to make some kind of meatballs or fish cakes.
Açaí
Or asaí, as they spell in in Colombia. We in America use the Brazilian (i.e., Portuguese) spelling. In Tikuna it's waira.
Açaí juice (wairachiim) is so beloved in the Amazon. And with reason--it's GREAT. Drink it sweetened, and with fariña, and it's a real pick-me-up:
The Açaí palms are very tall and very skinny. Traditionally, harvesting the berries involves a not-very-heavy person shimmying up the palm with a knife and cutting off the bunches of berries, as in the YouTube short below. (I say traditionally because in some parts of Brazil I think there are now large plantations, and they may have a mechanized way of doing this. But still--I gather--many many people do it the unmechanized way.)
The video specifies Brazil, but it'll be true anywhere that açai grows
My tutor's dad does this. Here's a picture not of her dad but of her boyfriend with a bunch of berries--gives a sense of how big they are:
And the process of making the juice is really labor intensive too. Here's my tutor's mom pounding it. You add water as you go along:
This year the river has really risen high, and in talking about it, my tutor said her dad had been able to go out in canoe and collect the asaí really easily. And I was thinking... wait... you mean the river's risen so high that he's up near the top of the trees? Is that what she's telling me?
I wasn't sure, so I did this picture in MS word (b/c I have no digital drawing tools) and sent it to her and asked, You mean like this?
And she said, "Yes, exactly."
Mind = blown.
The leftover acorn meal I had in my fridge had gone moldy! Ah well. Fortunately I had acorns left over from last time, so I ground those up, leached them, dried them, and yesterday made a loaf of ... well it's mainly white bread--three cups white flour--but also a cup of acorn meal. So I am going to call it acorn bread, the same way you call a thing banana bread even though it's not mainly bananas.
Behold its majesty!
I still have leftover meal from this batch of acorns, but I will not make the same mistake twice by letting it linger. I intend to make acorn pancakes, or perhaps I'll use it to make some kind of meatballs or fish cakes.
Açaí
Or asaí, as they spell in in Colombia. We in America use the Brazilian (i.e., Portuguese) spelling. In Tikuna it's waira.
Açaí juice (wairachiim) is so beloved in the Amazon. And with reason--it's GREAT. Drink it sweetened, and with fariña, and it's a real pick-me-up:
The Açaí palms are very tall and very skinny. Traditionally, harvesting the berries involves a not-very-heavy person shimmying up the palm with a knife and cutting off the bunches of berries, as in the YouTube short below. (I say traditionally because in some parts of Brazil I think there are now large plantations, and they may have a mechanized way of doing this. But still--I gather--many many people do it the unmechanized way.)
My tutor's dad does this. Here's a picture not of her dad but of her boyfriend with a bunch of berries--gives a sense of how big they are:
And the process of making the juice is really labor intensive too. Here's my tutor's mom pounding it. You add water as you go along:
This year the river has really risen high, and in talking about it, my tutor said her dad had been able to go out in canoe and collect the asaí really easily. And I was thinking... wait... you mean the river's risen so high that he's up near the top of the trees? Is that what she's telling me?
I wasn't sure, so I did this picture in MS word (b/c I have no digital drawing tools) and sent it to her and asked, You mean like this?
And she said, "Yes, exactly."
Mind = blown.
The first woman
At an intersection in my father's town, there was a woman with multiple signs. She cycled through them, holding them up. One said something along the lines of don't-throw-away-the-constitition, another said something like no-grift-jets. There was another relating somehow to 9-11. Her clothing made me think of a bee or a hornet: she had on a black T-shirt, a yellow jacket tied around her waist, a yellow baseball cap, tawny shouder-length hair, pale-ish freckled skin.
"You have a lot of signs there," I said.
"Oh, these are nothing. I have like twenty at home."
"Do you come here every weekend?"
"Every Tuesday. And sometimes on the weekends. And yes, I have a job! Sometimes people shout that at me, 'Get a job.' I'm a physical therapist. And a swimmer. After I finish here, I'm going to swim a mile."
"Wow," I said. "I couldn't swim a mile" (vast understatement).
"Yep. I'm going to be in a competition in a few weeks. A two-mile swim. I've got stamina and endurance. I'm perfect for this." She indicated herself, the signs.
The second woman
The second one was more like a flower. She had a magenta T-shirt and bright violet-purple hair cropped close to her head, and dark brown skin. She was with a boy with undyed hair. I saw them walking up one side of a street when I was walking down the other side, and then I saw them again when we were both going the opposite way, and a third time when I was in my car and they were waiting for a bus.
If we'd been walking on the same side of the street, and if it seemed like she wouldn't mind a random remark from a stranger, and if I had a surfeit of temerity, I would have told her how much I loved her hair. But we weren't. So I just enjoyed her hair and T-shirt silently.
At an intersection in my father's town, there was a woman with multiple signs. She cycled through them, holding them up. One said something along the lines of don't-throw-away-the-constitition, another said something like no-grift-jets. There was another relating somehow to 9-11. Her clothing made me think of a bee or a hornet: she had on a black T-shirt, a yellow jacket tied around her waist, a yellow baseball cap, tawny shouder-length hair, pale-ish freckled skin.
"You have a lot of signs there," I said.
"Oh, these are nothing. I have like twenty at home."
"Do you come here every weekend?"
"Every Tuesday. And sometimes on the weekends. And yes, I have a job! Sometimes people shout that at me, 'Get a job.' I'm a physical therapist. And a swimmer. After I finish here, I'm going to swim a mile."
"Wow," I said. "I couldn't swim a mile" (vast understatement).
"Yep. I'm going to be in a competition in a few weeks. A two-mile swim. I've got stamina and endurance. I'm perfect for this." She indicated herself, the signs.
The second woman
The second one was more like a flower. She had a magenta T-shirt and bright violet-purple hair cropped close to her head, and dark brown skin. She was with a boy with undyed hair. I saw them walking up one side of a street when I was walking down the other side, and then I saw them again when we were both going the opposite way, and a third time when I was in my car and they were waiting for a bus.
If we'd been walking on the same side of the street, and if it seemed like she wouldn't mind a random remark from a stranger, and if I had a surfeit of temerity, I would have told her how much I loved her hair. But we weren't. So I just enjoyed her hair and T-shirt silently.
El río creciendo
May. 12th, 2025 01:49 pmA tale of two rivers. Here's high waters on the Amazon....
And here's high waters on the Connecticut. This road (Aqua Vitae Road! Great name!) floods easily:
The speed limit sign enjoins you to drive your water-worthy car no faster than 25 mph:
The high waters create our very own "selva inundada"
And here's high waters on the Connecticut. This road (Aqua Vitae Road! Great name!) floods easily:
The speed limit sign enjoins you to drive your water-worthy car no faster than 25 mph:
The high waters create our very own "selva inundada"
only connect
May. 8th, 2025 03:03 pmHoly moly, a person from the Tukano Amazonian people just friended me on Bluesky, and she's learning Tikuna too! I was able to say to her that I thought Tikuna was tagarü mecuraum (a beautiful language). I apologized for my poor orthography (Tikuna is rendered into letters differently in Peru, Colombia, and Brazil, but what I write is not even correct by the Colombian orthography because my teacher is pretty random about spelling). This woman then kindly gave me the correct (for Brazil) orthography, plus a grammar correction: Tága rü nã mecüraū (I left out the ña... not entirely sure what it does/means, but learning is a slow and wondrous thing).
Truly, the internet remains a wondrous place for connecting with people! And now I know the Tukano word for cassava: kií. (Tikuna is a language isolate, so the chances of my Tikuna helping me know Tukano are slight, except for common loan words they both might have from, e.g., Tupi.)
I have other things to post about but I'm going to put the different flavors on different plates (i.e., save it for another post)
Truly, the internet remains a wondrous place for connecting with people! And now I know the Tukano word for cassava: kií. (Tikuna is a language isolate, so the chances of my Tikuna helping me know Tukano are slight, except for common loan words they both might have from, e.g., Tupi.)
I have other things to post about but I'm going to put the different flavors on different plates (i.e., save it for another post)
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Yesterday morning I saw a construction across the asphalt path that runs through the common area in our neighborhood. It was a long stick, and leaning on the stick were smaller sticks and twigs, bits of lichen-covered bark, and moss. It looked as if ambitious small-scale beavers had decided the path was a flow of water and were attempting to dam it.
Later in the day I was passing by again, and three little kids, two boys and a girl, were happily at work on it. It was, they told me, a bug city, complete with bridges, roads, parks, districts--everything.
This morning Wakanomori and I found it expanded, so I took a video:
They were all so wholly engaged with the work, excited and happy, feeding off each other's ideas.
What White Horses, Nazca lines, pyramids, citadels, or hanging gardens did you get up to creating in childhood? Or now, for that matter?
Later in the day I was passing by again, and three little kids, two boys and a girl, were happily at work on it. It was, they told me, a bug city, complete with bridges, roads, parks, districts--everything.
This morning Wakanomori and I found it expanded, so I took a video:
They were all so wholly engaged with the work, excited and happy, feeding off each other's ideas.
What White Horses, Nazca lines, pyramids, citadels, or hanging gardens did you get up to creating in childhood? Or now, for that matter?
being drawn to an author by an interview
Apr. 25th, 2025 07:26 pmDue to household habits regarding the radio, I end up hearing a LOT of radio and a lot of author interviews. Some of these people are funny, charming, surprising; others are self-important grandstanders, others make you wince with vicarious embarrassment, on and on.
The other night I heard an interview with Chloe Dalton, the author of Raising Hare, about her experiences during covid raising a newborn hare. She was a happy urbanite, contented in her life, not the sort of person who does animal rehabilitation, but she had animal rehabilitation thrust upon her, and it transformed her. Eventually she decided to write up her experiences, but for a long time she had no intention of doing so.
( musings )
I've never understood why I have such a hard time reading books about people's experiences of the natural world and their relationship to it when it's such an important part of my own life and when I'm interested in what other people have to say. What I realized, listening to the interview, was that I like *conversation* for this topic. Direct, spontaneous talk. So I don't know if Chloe Dalton's actual book can duplicate the experience I had listening to her talk. (Here's the interview, by the way. It's almost 30 minutes long.)
Maybe I'd like it? I will put it on my to-read list so that I don't lose track of it, but mainly I'm just glad to have heard the interview.
What about you? Everyone who follows me here loves books, but are there some topics that you can't go to books for? (Topics you like, I mean.)
The other night I heard an interview with Chloe Dalton, the author of Raising Hare, about her experiences during covid raising a newborn hare. She was a happy urbanite, contented in her life, not the sort of person who does animal rehabilitation, but she had animal rehabilitation thrust upon her, and it transformed her. Eventually she decided to write up her experiences, but for a long time she had no intention of doing so.
( musings )
I've never understood why I have such a hard time reading books about people's experiences of the natural world and their relationship to it when it's such an important part of my own life and when I'm interested in what other people have to say. What I realized, listening to the interview, was that I like *conversation* for this topic. Direct, spontaneous talk. So I don't know if Chloe Dalton's actual book can duplicate the experience I had listening to her talk. (Here's the interview, by the way. It's almost 30 minutes long.)
Maybe I'd like it? I will put it on my to-read list so that I don't lose track of it, but mainly I'm just glad to have heard the interview.
What about you? Everyone who follows me here loves books, but are there some topics that you can't go to books for? (Topics you like, I mean.)
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The movie Flow
Apr. 22nd, 2025 12:18 amMaybe you've seen the trailer for this wordless animated film about a black cat in a post-human world. (If not, here's a link.) The visuals were so evocative and beautiful--and the cat so like my own cat--that I was very excited to see it.
Yesterday I did see it, and it was indeed beautiful to look at ...
( but... )
Yesterday I did see it, and it was indeed beautiful to look at ...
( but... )
handle with care
Apr. 16th, 2025 01:26 pmI arrived at the post office today as a postal worker was bringing a wide, low rectangular box out to a car. The box had holes, and I could hear peeping. As we both walked into the building, I asked, "Were those chicks?" And indeed they were.
The post office was very quiet at that time of day--except for cheeping and peeping! From the back room.
"I know I can't go back there," I said, "But can you take my phone back and take pictures?"
Well, he did better than that. He brought out a box of ducklings...
and then came a box of chicks!
"I guess these are all spoken for," I said wistfully.
"No, they're mainly going to tractor supply stores," he said.
But even though B'town is a right-to-farm community, I live in a neighborhood with a homeowner's association, and sadly, poultry is not allowed. We talked about backyard chickens, the price of eggs and the cost of feed, and homeowners associations.
I love my post office and the USPS generally. [That is your veiled political commentary for the day]
The post office was very quiet at that time of day--except for cheeping and peeping! From the back room.
"I know I can't go back there," I said, "But can you take my phone back and take pictures?"
Well, he did better than that. He brought out a box of ducklings...
and then came a box of chicks!
"I guess these are all spoken for," I said wistfully.
"No, they're mainly going to tractor supply stores," he said.
But even though B'town is a right-to-farm community, I live in a neighborhood with a homeowner's association, and sadly, poultry is not allowed. We talked about backyard chickens, the price of eggs and the cost of feed, and homeowners associations.
I love my post office and the USPS generally. [That is your veiled political commentary for the day]
Tags:
An Art of Noticing
Apr. 9th, 2025 10:11 amOver on Mastodon I was made aware of the existence of this beautiful little zine, done in the traditional way (all printed on a single sheet of paper), Meditations with Insects: An Art of Noticing, so I decided to order it.
It came in a brown envelope with drawings of a beetle, small bird, and owl on it, and the sender was "Unfolding Connections."
It was everything I hoped for and more. The main text directs readers to quiet, curious attention to creatures often ignored or disliked:
And then, wonder of wonders, there's text on the reverse side, too: quotes about recognizing and appreciating the presence and wisdom of other beings--unfolding connections to make ;-)
That quote has a typo, but it's the one that got me choked up reading it aloud to Wakanomori.
I really loved this one, too:
"the world is full of persons
only some of them human
and life is always lived in
relationship with others"
--Graham Harvey, Animism: Respecting the Living World
The creator, Kristian Brevik, has a Patreon, and he also makes lanterns of sea creatures that when lit up show the creatures' skeletons. Seems like a very cool guy.
And here's a photo from a week or so ago of some bright yellow coltsfoot pushing up through the leaf litter.
... I offer these as necessary nourishment in the harrowing landscape we're navigating right now.
It came in a brown envelope with drawings of a beetle, small bird, and owl on it, and the sender was "Unfolding Connections."
It was everything I hoped for and more. The main text directs readers to quiet, curious attention to creatures often ignored or disliked:
And then, wonder of wonders, there's text on the reverse side, too: quotes about recognizing and appreciating the presence and wisdom of other beings--unfolding connections to make ;-)
That quote has a typo, but it's the one that got me choked up reading it aloud to Wakanomori.
I really loved this one, too:
"the world is full of persons
only some of them human
and life is always lived in
relationship with others"
--Graham Harvey, Animism: Respecting the Living World
The creator, Kristian Brevik, has a Patreon, and he also makes lanterns of sea creatures that when lit up show the creatures' skeletons. Seems like a very cool guy.
And here's a photo from a week or so ago of some bright yellow coltsfoot pushing up through the leaf litter.
... I offer these as necessary nourishment in the harrowing landscape we're navigating right now.
I present to you "The Bee Wife"
Mar. 31st, 2025 06:34 amToday “The Bee Wife” is available! You can get it from all the usual suspects (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Apple, etc.) for 99 cents, or if you’d prefer to get it directly from me, drop me a message here or by email.
It’s the story of Florian, a beekeeper whose wife (Joy) has just died, and the swarm of bees that attempts to comfort him. Here’s what they do (this is what I read at the Mythic Delirium 25-plus-one-year anniversary reading):
( Death is a law that cannot be broken )
It’s the story of Florian, a beekeeper whose wife (Joy) has just died, and the swarm of bees that attempts to comfort him. Here’s what they do (this is what I read at the Mythic Delirium 25-plus-one-year anniversary reading):
( Death is a law that cannot be broken )
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Netflix content notes
Mar. 30th, 2025 02:15 pm(about half of these are real)
Netflix content notes
Peril
Language
Noteworthy soundtrack
Brief smoking
Introverted
Unstable
Suspenseful
Mutable
Provocative
Dizzying
Loneliness
Bravado
Last chances
Gritty
Barren
Fleeting
Gone
Netflix content notes
Peril
Language
Noteworthy soundtrack
Brief smoking
Introverted
Unstable
Suspenseful
Mutable
Provocative
Dizzying
Loneliness
Bravado
Last chances
Gritty
Barren
Fleeting
Gone
In case this is useful or a good prompt
Mar. 28th, 2025 02:52 pmA friend here on Dreamwidth urged me to share with US readers the means of getting in touch with your legislators so you can keep them apprised of your feelings and concerns. [ ] (The square brackets are made of adamantium and are capable of holding the depth and heat of your feelings and concerns.)
It is very easy to contact your federal legislators. congress.gov has a "find your member" feature. Type in your address, and it will tell you your senators and your representative.
If you then go to your legislators' websites, you can get contact information not only for them in DC, but in your state as well. For example, my US senators have phone numbers in Washington, in Boston, and--for people like me in western Massachusetts--in Springfield, MA. If one voice mail gets filled up, you can try another.
You can also use organizations like Five Calls.
I believe most (maybe all?) states have similar pages for your state-level legislators. As an example, here's what I got when I typed "find my state legislators" into Google.
I think reaching out is important regardless of the political orientation of your legislators. If they think like you do, they can still use encouragement. If they're dead set against you, they can still damn well listen to a person in their voting district.
It is very easy to contact your federal legislators. congress.gov has a "find your member" feature. Type in your address, and it will tell you your senators and your representative.
If you then go to your legislators' websites, you can get contact information not only for them in DC, but in your state as well. For example, my US senators have phone numbers in Washington, in Boston, and--for people like me in western Massachusetts--in Springfield, MA. If one voice mail gets filled up, you can try another.
You can also use organizations like Five Calls.
I believe most (maybe all?) states have similar pages for your state-level legislators. As an example, here's what I got when I typed "find my state legislators" into Google.
I think reaching out is important regardless of the political orientation of your legislators. If they think like you do, they can still use encouragement. If they're dead set against you, they can still damn well listen to a person in their voting district.
Billy Behind Me
Mar. 27th, 2025 10:50 amBilly Behind Me, who was a character in the Patricia Russo flash story "Mena, Until," which I talked about back in February, makes an appearance in the second of this trio of short poems.
I like everything about that poem. I have a broken pot whose shards I want to try drawing with (though I have brilliant street chalks, so I don't really have the need--but it's the principle of the thing).
The end makes me think of how we talk with people when we can't talk to them in the waking world anymore. How we talk in dreams. Makes me think of what Ailton Krenak says, and about what the characters say in Embrace of the Serpent, and also of the story The Lathe of Heaven.
Some music for you: Baixi-Baixi
I like everything about that poem. I have a broken pot whose shards I want to try drawing with (though I have brilliant street chalks, so I don't really have the need--but it's the principle of the thing).
The end makes me think of how we talk with people when we can't talk to them in the waking world anymore. How we talk in dreams. Makes me think of what Ailton Krenak says, and about what the characters say in Embrace of the Serpent, and also of the story The Lathe of Heaven.
Some music for you: Baixi-Baixi
Bright Water Bog
Mar. 21st, 2025 07:31 pmWe went for a walk at Bright Water Bog in Shutesbury, MA, yesterday. It was a misty, moisty, equinoctial day, with ice still present in places.
It was perfect. I do love-love-love places that blur water and land. Best of all? There were cranberries. Enchanting.
Cranberry, lower portion of the photo
( two more photos of two other cranberries, in case, like me, you can't get enough of them )
I saw a few just out of reach and was going to put a foot off the boardwalk and onto a tussock to pick one.
"I don't know if that's solid," Wakanomori said.
So I pressed on it with my hand, and down, down my hand went into that cold water. Not solid! Magic.
Canada geese or maybe otters or moose deliver mail here, I think:
Actually it's a geocache location.... shhhhhhh
This lichen-bespangled pine sapling is enjoying the acidity of the bog.
So much beauty--a mingling world of blurred boundaries.
It was perfect. I do love-love-love places that blur water and land. Best of all? There were cranberries. Enchanting.
Cranberry, lower portion of the photo
( two more photos of two other cranberries, in case, like me, you can't get enough of them )
I saw a few just out of reach and was going to put a foot off the boardwalk and onto a tussock to pick one.
"I don't know if that's solid," Wakanomori said.
So I pressed on it with my hand, and down, down my hand went into that cold water. Not solid! Magic.
Canada geese or maybe otters or moose deliver mail here, I think:
Actually it's a geocache location.... shhhhhhh
This lichen-bespangled pine sapling is enjoying the acidity of the bog.
So much beauty--a mingling world of blurred boundaries.
We have grass; it exists
Mar. 17th, 2025 11:14 pmLast week I saw No Other Land (2024; Oscar-winning documentary on destruction of a group of small hamlets in the West Bank, filmed from 2019 through 2023).
In it, at one point the father of Basel Adra (one of the two main young men making the documentary) takes several of the children in the extended family to school in a van. (The school is later destroyed.) The children are chanting in the van, they say--
We have grass; it exists.
We have a mountain; it exists.
We have a chicken house; it exists.
We have a rock; it exists.
There may have been other things they say--those were the ones I scrawled down in my notebook in the theater.
This could be something similar to playing "I spy with my little eye" ("I spy with my little eye something striped!" and then people guess what you see). Or part of a nursery rhyme or something that doesn't rhyme when you translate it into English.
But to me, watching that movie, it felt like a verbal way of touching, and touching base with, things that are really there and won't disappear. It felt like a spell, even.
Although the chicken house does, in fact, get bulldozed.
In it, at one point the father of Basel Adra (one of the two main young men making the documentary) takes several of the children in the extended family to school in a van. (The school is later destroyed.) The children are chanting in the van, they say--
We have grass; it exists.
We have a mountain; it exists.
We have a chicken house; it exists.
We have a rock; it exists.
There may have been other things they say--those were the ones I scrawled down in my notebook in the theater.
This could be something similar to playing "I spy with my little eye" ("I spy with my little eye something striped!" and then people guess what you see). Or part of a nursery rhyme or something that doesn't rhyme when you translate it into English.
But to me, watching that movie, it felt like a verbal way of touching, and touching base with, things that are really there and won't disappear. It felt like a spell, even.
Although the chicken house does, in fact, get bulldozed.
A spectator society
Mar. 14th, 2025 10:20 amA friend and I were talking asynchronously the other day**, and she put forward this interesting idea:
What do people think? More than an agree or disagree, what questions does the question raise for you, or what roads does it take your thoughts down?
For me, it got me thinking about the difference between something being effortful and something being miserable. Building something strong takes effort, and effort, by definition, involves work, which isn't always fun. But that's by no means the same as misery. You can rightly want to avoid misery, but I think you're likely to be disappointed in life if you try to avoid effort. ---But that's just one tangent. What does the question raise for you?
**"talking asynchronously" is my new way of saying "exchanging letters."
A thought: we've become a spectator society, where people often watch sports or plays rather than participating themselves. Are we also becoming a society where many people watch social relationships (on TV, the internet, etc.) rather than participating?
What do people think? More than an agree or disagree, what questions does the question raise for you, or what roads does it take your thoughts down?
For me, it got me thinking about the difference between something being effortful and something being miserable. Building something strong takes effort, and effort, by definition, involves work, which isn't always fun. But that's by no means the same as misery. You can rightly want to avoid misery, but I think you're likely to be disappointed in life if you try to avoid effort. ---But that's just one tangent. What does the question raise for you?
**"talking asynchronously" is my new way of saying "exchanging letters."
Wednesday reading: Saint Death's Daughter
Mar. 12th, 2025 09:20 amI am loving Saint Death's Daughter, by C. S. E. Cooney, with a powerful love and a deep wonder. No description I encountered of the book before starting it comes anywhere near doing it justice, including the author's own, so I'm not going to try. Instead I'll tell you about its effect on me and some of the things it's done so far. (I'm a little more than a third of the way through the story.)
I was enjoying from the start its humor, both in language and in in-story encounters, and its tenderness and darkness, and how deftly and quickly I knew and loved the characters--there were some dramatic moments, some regrets for the main character, Lanie Stones, and some sweet successes--and THEN there was a tremendously dramatic moment, and I realized I was experiencing the story with the sort of bated breath and tenterhooks feeling that I haven't had since childhood. In that moment there were several swooping twists and turns that I totally didn't expect, and yet they were completely right and justified, if you know what I mean. They had been prepared for, but I hadn't noticed the gears and scaffolding of the preparation, not because I wasn't reading closely but because it had been in beautiful plain sight all along, and I'd been admiring it for other reasons. As if the painting on the wall of a woman with a sword is actually a woman with a sword--I didn't notice! But of course!
To be transported like that by a story, it's like flying.
But it's not plot magic for just for plot magic's sake, there's profound stuff going on too, about different understandings of love and everything it can shade into, and about regret/remorse/recompense, and about children and adults, but none of that stuff is blared out like an object lesson; it's not a burden the story's carrying-it's all just part of the weave.
Have some wonderful lines.
Here, a terrifying character observes her beloved:
Nita’s gaze tracked the gyration, a terrifying tenderness colonizing her face.
Here, a conversational gambit typical of children:
“Why not?” repeated her remorseless niece now. Datu was entirely capable of repeating those same two words for the rest of the night.
Here, curiosity described in a way that lingers:
“And what is it,” breathed the Blackbird Bride, her colorless eyes brilliant with calamitous curiosity, “that you ask?”
Here, a father (Mak) saying to his young daughter that choices have consequences:
“Mumyu is not here,” said Mak flatly. “Mumyu made her own choices, and her choices found her out. We are here. You and I and your aunt and the Elif Doéden. We are all here together in this place. We are in great danger. We must trust and respect each other. We must treat each other as allies.
Anyway--thoroughly enjoying it. And the sequel, Saint Death's Herald, comes out next month!
I was enjoying from the start its humor, both in language and in in-story encounters, and its tenderness and darkness, and how deftly and quickly I knew and loved the characters--there were some dramatic moments, some regrets for the main character, Lanie Stones, and some sweet successes--and THEN there was a tremendously dramatic moment, and I realized I was experiencing the story with the sort of bated breath and tenterhooks feeling that I haven't had since childhood. In that moment there were several swooping twists and turns that I totally didn't expect, and yet they were completely right and justified, if you know what I mean. They had been prepared for, but I hadn't noticed the gears and scaffolding of the preparation, not because I wasn't reading closely but because it had been in beautiful plain sight all along, and I'd been admiring it for other reasons. As if the painting on the wall of a woman with a sword is actually a woman with a sword--I didn't notice! But of course!
To be transported like that by a story, it's like flying.
But it's not plot magic for just for plot magic's sake, there's profound stuff going on too, about different understandings of love and everything it can shade into, and about regret/remorse/recompense, and about children and adults, but none of that stuff is blared out like an object lesson; it's not a burden the story's carrying-it's all just part of the weave.
Have some wonderful lines.
Here, a terrifying character observes her beloved:
Nita’s gaze tracked the gyration, a terrifying tenderness colonizing her face.
Here, a conversational gambit typical of children:
“Why not?” repeated her remorseless niece now. Datu was entirely capable of repeating those same two words for the rest of the night.
Here, curiosity described in a way that lingers:
“And what is it,” breathed the Blackbird Bride, her colorless eyes brilliant with calamitous curiosity, “that you ask?”
Here, a father (Mak) saying to his young daughter that choices have consequences:
“Mumyu is not here,” said Mak flatly. “Mumyu made her own choices, and her choices found her out. We are here. You and I and your aunt and the Elif Doéden. We are all here together in this place. We are in great danger. We must trust and respect each other. We must treat each other as allies.
Anyway--thoroughly enjoying it. And the sequel, Saint Death's Herald, comes out next month!
Choose what you're in the mood for and what you'd like to avoid.
( my story The Bee Wife )
( heard and seen in the woods behind my house )
( a grimmer find in other woods )
( a fun moment from the public elementary schools of Japan )
( some recent microfictions )
( my story The Bee Wife )
( heard and seen in the woods behind my house )
( a grimmer find in other woods )
( a fun moment from the public elementary schools of Japan )
( some recent microfictions )
Embrace of the Serpent (2015)
Mar. 1st, 2025 12:01 amEarlier this week, I not only got to see this remarkable film, I was able to participate in a video-link Q&A with the director, Cero Guerra.
At the start of the film an indigenous man dressed in traditional garb (which is to say, just with necklace, arm bands, and a loin cloth) watches as a canoe approaches. The year is 1909. The canoe holds a desperately ill German ethnographer and is paddled by his indigenous (but more assimilated) assistant. "Go away!" the man on the shore shouts, but the assistant, Manduca, addresses him by name: "Are you Karamakate, the world mover?" Manduca says that no shaman has been able to heal his friend Theodore Koch-Grünberg: they all say that only Karamakate will be able to. "I'm not like you," Karamakate replies. "I don't help whites." But eventually he does agree to help.
In 1940, this same Karamakate, now an old man, is approached by a different Westerner, the botanist Evan Schultes (whom we find out is from Boston--he's a fictionalization of Richard Evans Schultes, who, Wikipedia says, "is considered the father of ethnobotany"). Evan is searching for the rare flower that Karamakate had sought out to heal Theo.
These two timelines and stories ripple in and out of each other like the water of the river.
The harrowing effect of colonialism on indigenous people is the large topic, but the near-at-hand one is the attempts of the main characters to understand one another.
In the Q&A, Guerra said he shot the film in black and white to capture the feeling of the actual Theodore Koch-Grünberg's sketches and photographs and also to escape the easy touristic appeal that comes with color filming. Also, he said, when you're filming in black and white, there's not the same distinction between people and forest--everything shades into each other... which goes with the world view there.
Many languages get spoken in the film, both colonial ones and indigenous ones, and among the indigenous ones spoken was... Tikuna! The character Manduca speaks in Tikuna,** and a couple of times I could understand whole sentences he said (... only a couple of times--but I could also catch the odd word here and there). I was so pleased! And I was mind blown when I was talking about the film with my tutor and she said that the actor is her uncle! He's her mother's brother.
( some quotes from the film )
The movie is available to see for pay through Youtube and Apple, and is free (but with ads) on Tubi. I highly, highly recommend it.
**I've seen him before: he played the shaman in Frontera Verde.
At the start of the film an indigenous man dressed in traditional garb (which is to say, just with necklace, arm bands, and a loin cloth) watches as a canoe approaches. The year is 1909. The canoe holds a desperately ill German ethnographer and is paddled by his indigenous (but more assimilated) assistant. "Go away!" the man on the shore shouts, but the assistant, Manduca, addresses him by name: "Are you Karamakate, the world mover?" Manduca says that no shaman has been able to heal his friend Theodore Koch-Grünberg: they all say that only Karamakate will be able to. "I'm not like you," Karamakate replies. "I don't help whites." But eventually he does agree to help.
In 1940, this same Karamakate, now an old man, is approached by a different Westerner, the botanist Evan Schultes (whom we find out is from Boston--he's a fictionalization of Richard Evans Schultes, who, Wikipedia says, "is considered the father of ethnobotany"). Evan is searching for the rare flower that Karamakate had sought out to heal Theo.
These two timelines and stories ripple in and out of each other like the water of the river.
The harrowing effect of colonialism on indigenous people is the large topic, but the near-at-hand one is the attempts of the main characters to understand one another.
In the Q&A, Guerra said he shot the film in black and white to capture the feeling of the actual Theodore Koch-Grünberg's sketches and photographs and also to escape the easy touristic appeal that comes with color filming. Also, he said, when you're filming in black and white, there's not the same distinction between people and forest--everything shades into each other... which goes with the world view there.
Many languages get spoken in the film, both colonial ones and indigenous ones, and among the indigenous ones spoken was... Tikuna! The character Manduca speaks in Tikuna,** and a couple of times I could understand whole sentences he said (... only a couple of times--but I could also catch the odd word here and there). I was so pleased! And I was mind blown when I was talking about the film with my tutor and she said that the actor is her uncle! He's her mother's brother.
( some quotes from the film )
The movie is available to see for pay through Youtube and Apple, and is free (but with ads) on Tubi. I highly, highly recommend it.
**I've seen him before: he played the shaman in Frontera Verde.
