During one of my free evenings, I managed to shop at Powell’s Books. I haven’t been to Powell’s in over five years, at least. When I was at Reed, we would have occasional pilgrimages to Powell’s Books; the place seemed larger and more labyrinthine then. We used to just wander through the stacks any which way, and it seemed like there was always hidden treasure on every shelf. This time around I felt a little rushed and presented with more dross. Maybe I’ve gotten more picky.
I purchased a large bag full of mostly science fiction and fantasy, two books on "Magickal Mixology", and two books about medieval cathedrals (research!). Alas, when I got back, I discovered that one of the cathedral books had been cut up a bit by a scapbooking monster previous to selling the book to Powell’s. The fiction books were fine; I managed to pick up “The Calculating Stars,” by Mary Robinette Kowal, which I’ve enjoyed; the cozy “Legends and Lattes” books, which were refreshingly light; a recent-ish anthology of Valdemar short stories, which were diverting; a collection of David Sederis essays, which I haven’t gotten though yet, and some other books in the to-be-read pile. So far the only book I have’t been enchanted with is an anthology of short stories loosely based on Oregon folklore, which was a staff pick, so I’m giving it more of a chance, although it seems to be less “folklore” and more “campfire gothic.”
It’s nice to be reading fiction again—or rather, it’s nice to be reading things that are a bit more current than “Magic’s Pawn,” “War for the Oaks,” “Foundation,” or “Talking to Dragons.” Which I love; but I suspect one reason my writing sounds like it’s from the 1980’s is that I default to older books and stories that are comfortable when I’m not reading more modern works.
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