Take a good hard look at the motherfucking seal
It's been a patchy one again but there are more important things afoot, such as this seal who's been on our calendar through March and looks like he's staging some kind of intervention, like the Michael Jordan "Stop it, get some help" meme. It's become a bit of a running joke now; if someone doesn't have their shit together, just sit them down with this deeply concerned-looking harp seal pup.
Someone dipping into your posh yogurt without asking? Intervention Seal.
Colleagues not pulling their weight at work? Intervention Seal.
Trying to get someone off the smack? Intervention Seal.
Last note on this before we move on, the internet is over and we can all go home now because we've achieved peak little guy. There are definitely smaller cute, fluffy things out there (Behemoth the dolphin is smaller than this lad), but I feel like this little plush seal just epitomises the platonic ideal of being just a little guy.
In other news, my chillout playlist, left on shuffle in the background, has been blowing the dust off some old favourites and it's been lovely to hear them again after all this time. One standout in particular is Ceremony, part 2 by Off Land, from 2010. Absolutely gorgeous, dreamlike, mostly consisting of ethereal chimes, then gently introducing a mellow acoustic guitar towards the end. I'd highly recommend it if you need something to peace out to - the whole album is a joy.
Onto books now, and I read Taku Ashibe's 'Murder in the House of Omari', and came away with mixed feelings. Starting with what it does well: the historical detail regarding Japanese merchant families and the way they had to adapt during wartime is fascinating and it offers thought-provoking social commentary, which is carefully woven into the narrative without resorting to outright lecturing the reader, which is very refreshing. It also maintains a strong underlying theme of a seemingly distant war, the reality of which gradually comes closer to the Omari family and runs parallel to the smouldering tensions in the house, finally coming to its climax in the tail end of the second act, as the whole series of murders boils over mere moments before the Osaka air raids. It's harrowing reading, but I entirely respect the unflinching approach in describing the impact of war on civilian life, and deftly blending historical events into fiction without shying away from the reality of them. It's raw, impactful and it made a lasting impression.
That said, I do have some complaints... while the mystery is meticulously crafted, it suffers from bouts of awkwardly juddering pacing, excessive repetition of certain details and occasional jarringly cartoonish character moments (I love gallows humour but some of these moments feel a bit out-of-place.) It's not quite "Sack the editor!" material, but I do wish that the tone and pacing here were more consistent. It's also worth noting that quite a few characters have different names according to their social standing at different points in their lives, and while I respect this attention to historical detail, trying to remember several names of a particular character when the narrative jumps back and forth between different time periods is a bit of a sod. Overall, I came away feeling a bit lukewarm towards it, which is a shame because there's definitely a lot to appreciate there, but it's let down by its flaws, which leave the whole thing feeling too jagged and inconsistent for me to really get into a groove with it.
I also read Dorothy B. Hughes' 'In a Lonely Place', a classic that seems to have slipped my radar, and it properly grabbed me; whenever I had time spare to sit down and read, I was on it with that book. It hits all the notes you'd want in a noir novel, with a satisfying slow burn, a streak of melancholy lingering just underneath a hardened exterior and constant, simmering tension. However, I did keep misreading 'Brub' as 'Brum' and it was weird. It's hard to discuss what works with this book without getting into massive spoilers, but in broad strokes, it's artfully done, claustrophobic and compelling. The writing style is in the third person but it's very much filtered through the perspective of our protagonist, the comically named Dix Steele (a name that legitimately sounds like something from a Left Handed Radio sketch.) Having his internal monologue woven into the prose conveys his personality without derailing the flow of the plot, and creates a kind of uncomfortable complicity for the reader, as we are observing his growing web of deception in close proximity. The psychological element here is superb, blended deftly with that sultry noir atmosphere and I am loving it. My only complaint is pretty much a constant with moody, gritty mysteries at this point, as the endings often tend to fall flat; I've just learnt to accept it and enjoy the mainstay of the journey without expecting too much of a stunning payoff. The ending does at least cap things off reasonably neatly and feels thematically appropriate upon reflection, even if it doesn't feel particularly striking in the moment.
And of course, enabling my neverending fascination with Greek mythology and classical literature, I re-read Edith Hamilton's Mythology - yes, again. Her prose style is lush, like someone you've known for years sitting down to tell you some stories - absolutely sublime, evocative and emotional but down-to-earth and accessible in equal measure. While it's described as one of the "lesser myths" her retelling of Pyramus and Thisbe is especially moving, a beautiful little gem of a tale. I also appreciate how she cites her sources and gives context for her choices when referring to specific ancient texts, which helpfully guides the reader beyond the scope of this book, if they want to explore further. It's genuinely one of my favourites, out of the frankly staggering number of books that I've read over the years, this one is up there in my personal pantheon, and I cannot recommend it highly enough.
Computer-wise, I finally settled on a mini PC, bagged a bargain on a refurbished MSI Cubi; admittedly, it wasn't my first choice and the case design is the single blandest thing imaginable but it's a sturdy little thing, it fits neatly in the modicum of space I had spare on the TV stand (nestled between the Sega Saturn and the Mega Drive Mini - living the dream!) and compared to the laptop I've been working with previously, you can definitely tell the difference with the better processor and more RAM to work with. Rebelle 8 starts up immediately (compared to a few minutes' lagging before) and runs a lot more smoothly on the new machine, even with big canvases at 400dpi, fussing about textures and using watercolour brushes with the laptop-bricking paint simulations. Lagging and crashing are a thing of the past - at long last!
Anyway, there are plenty of photos to catch up with but the notion of editing those right now is, frankly, harrowing, so those can wait for another time. It remains for me to finish up this post, how else, but with more seals (they are mint and I cannot get over them.)
(Reverse image search failed to turn up the source of this dazzler, I'll update the post if I find where it came from...)
Note, once again, the grumpiness of the face. Truly, an inspiration to us all.
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