Five Stories About Time Travel and Bureaucracy
May. 15th, 2025 10:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)

What's the fun of time travel without a regulatory body to enforce the rules?
Five Stories About Time Travel and Bureaucracy
“How can I stop doing something that I don’t even know I’m doing in the first place? It’s not like I’m sabotaging myself on purpose. The feelings are just there.” [p. 281]
M/M romantic fantasy. Leovander Loveage is brilliant at small magics, his cantrips and charms executed with musical accompaniment. Sadly, Leo's larger spells -- his Grandmagic -- never work out right. He's a student at the Fount, an institution where scrivers (like Leo) write the spells, and are paired with casters who execute them. Unfortunately, in their final year, Leo is not paired with his best friend Agnes but instead with his nemesis Sebastian Grimm( Read more... )
Item the first: I totally failed to mention, yesterday, but one of the things we Observed the teenage coots doing -- okay, well, one of them was successfully managing to invert itself, Köpfchen in das Wasser, Schwanzchen in die Höh' -- but we only observed this after having already spent Quite Some Time laughing (delightedly) at its sibling, which was making great big determined accelerating shoulder-shrug motions, and separately managing to put its head and only its head underwater, but had not yet quite managed to work out how to combine the two movements so as to rotate itself around its axis. I realised while trying to describe this earlier that the reason for my feeling of Great Affinity is just how much it looks to have in common with learning to do a wheelie.
Item the second: cake of the day.
Item the third: the tomatoes I planted out and then abandoned for a couple of days seem to be none the worse for wear for it (and I established this on the trip where I took the water condensed in the dehumidifier from the latest round of laundry up to the plot, in an empty milk flagon, for the purpose of watering the blueberry, on the basis that the water butt is running low and there's still no rain forecast...).
Item the fourth: I am continuing to greatly enjoy Owl Facts. Favourite so far, which I am utterly failing to track down a specific reference for: apparently owl chicks start vocalising before they emerge from the egg, at the point at which they breach the air cell in their Containment! which you need a very sensitive microphone to pick up. The second favourite is a long shaggy dog story that I might manage to type up tomorrow, but I'm not holding my breath.
Item the fifth: I am now at two nights running for "watch thinks my sleep quality is significantly better if I spend ten minutes listening to wave recordings after lying down and lights out". If it continues to hold I will be both very pleased (about having a way to improve energy levels) and mildly irritated (about not being able to replicate this effect some other more convenient way). We Shall See.
According to this, and a new book I maybe have to read now, a gay pioneer in the UK was blind.
In 1960, seven years before the law in the UK changed to permit sex between men, he had written to the national press declaring himself to be gay. Roger believed that the only way to change public opinion about homosexuals was for them to take control of the gay rights movement – and this required them to unashamedly identify themselves on the national stage. But nobody else had been willing to do it.
It's because of his blindness that this person had to come in to his life: an Oxford student, also gay, who could be trusted to read his papers and write and generally be a kind of personal assistant.
To gay when it was illegal, and then to be blind, required a lot of access intimacy when everything was still on paper.
The article ends:
In the years since, it has often led me to wonder how many other quiet revolutionaries live among us, ready to share their stories, if only we knock on their doors.
So many. I'm sure of it.
What I read
Finished Dance and Skylark, which was a bit slight (felt there was a certain unresolved slashy subtext going on between Stephen and his former Greek-American wartime comrade in arms, hmmm) though I marked it up for the women characters looking as if they might be a bit one-dimensional and then revealing other facets.
Katherine V Forrest, Delafield (2022) - Kate Delafield, still retired, dealing with a stalker who is a woman who her poor handling of a case way back in her career led to being falsely imprisoned, and now released through the Innocence Project, also her PTSD issues, etc, also old relationship stuff.
Long Live Great Bardfield: The Autobiography of Tirzah Garwood - Persephone edition, 2016, initially published in limited edition 2012 - her memoir written when she was diagnosed with breast cancer and had a mastectomy in the 1940s, for her family, edited with some supplementary material by her daughter. Said a bit about it here.
Ursula Whitcher, North Continent Ribbon (2024) - v good.
KJ Charles, The Henchmen of Zenda (2018), re-read because not feeling up to much.
On the go
Still dipping into Melissa Scott, Scenes from the City.
Have started the other book for review - wow there is a lot of insider baseball stuff about the Parliamentary toings and froings over the legislation in question, or maybe I mean, how the sausage got made - and maybe my general state at the moment is not quite in the right space.
Just started, Kris Ripper, The Life Revamp (The Love Study #3) (2021) because it was on offer in my Recommended for You on Kobo today.
Up Next
New Literary Review.
Otherwise, not sure.
Current
Doctor Who: Warrior’s Gate and beyond, by Stephen Gallagher
Footnotes in Gaza, by Joe Sacco
These Burning Stars, by Bethany Jacobs
Last books finished
The Eleventh Doctor Archives vol 3, ed. Andrew James
So Let Them Burn, by Kamilah Cole
Beyond the Sun, by Matthew Jones
City of Last Chances, by Adrian Tchaikovsky
Coming of Age: The Sexual Awakening of Margaret Mead, by Deborah Blum
Amnesty, by Lara Elena Donnelly (did not finish)
Next books
Doctor Who: Logopolis, by Christopher H. Bidmead
Knowledgeable Creatures, by Christopher Rowe
Free: Coming of Age at the End of History, by Lea Ypi
The Clarke shortlist has been out for a couple of days, but I’ve been quite busy so am posting the ownership stats for the six lucky books only today. I’m also noting the ranking of each book in the equivalent table for the long list.
These numbers are crunched by hand, not by AI.
Goodreads | LibraryThing | |||||
raters | rating | owners | rating | |||
(1) | The Ministry of Time | Kaliane Bradley | 139,555 | 3.59 | 1,976 | 3.71 |
(5) | Annie Bot | Sierra Greer | 52,555 | 3.83 | 529 | 3.74 |
(13) | Service Model | Adrian Tchaikovsky | 11,505 | 4.04 | 350 | 3.83 |
(21) | Private Rites | Julia Armfield | 8,632 | 3.68 | 213 | 3.81 |
(60) | Thirteen Ways to Kill Lulabelle Rock | Maud Woolf | 642 | 3.69 | 27 | 3.75 |
(79) | Extremophile | Ian Green | 139 | 3.90 | 16 | – |
None of these was in the top quintiles of reader ratings from the long list. The last two seem to have made a big impression on judges despite low print runs.
I’m planning to be at the ceremony on 25 June – see you there perhaps.
‘The ones who have hoards don’t need to work, but the ones who don’t, well …’
Hoards. Like piles of gold or money. Why do dragons need money? They don’t shop for groceries or pay bills. It hits me that, in all my years learning dragon tongues, I’ve never questioned how dragons fit into our human society. [p. 180]
London, 1923, where there's a Peace Agreement between the British government and the Dragon Queen; where some dragons fought in the Great War alongside humans, but others massacred the entire human population of Bulgaria; where Vivien Featherswallow, seventeen years old and the daughter of respectable Second Class parents, will stop at nothing to ensure that she can continue her studies in dragon linguistics, and prevent her little sister from ever being demoted to Third Class. ( Read more... )
A persuaded me to make the ridiculous stale pistachio croissant breakfast. This was absolutely the right call and I am very happy about it.
It is definitely the weather for linen. Went out to meet A and acquire dinner ingredients; bimbled home via watching baby birds (two sets of teenage coots! two batches of Canada gosling!) and eating pastries and collecting a pile of drugs for me.
And then this evening I got myself onto the mat! Did a sequence! Full of happy chemicals about it! (Laughing at my brain for trying to pull the "nooooooooo if you get on the mat you'll want to do the whooooole seeeeequence and that would be baaaaaaad".)
Sleep now? Sleep now.
Since we are hoping to get to the Tirzah Garwood exhibition at Dulwich before it closes, I have finally got round to reading Long Live Great Bardfield: The Autobiography of Tirzah Garwood (Persephone 2016).
I think my original interest was because I thought her arty circles would intersect a bit more with my fubsy progressives, but although a few familiar names surfaced less so than I had anticipated.
However, in an episode rather counter to the kind of narrative one expects in arty boho circles of the period, in 1942 she had a therapeutic abortion in the local hospital, which is a thing I have never come across among all the tales of pills, backstreet operators, sleazo Harley street docs, dodgy nursing homes, etc, pre the 67 Act. She had just had a mastectomy - this was in fact what led her to start writing the autobiography for her family - and became pregnant only a few months later (!!!???). This was deemed entirely grounds for a termination, but even so, doing ward rounds with medical students, the surgeon remarked that it was 'illegal' but that provided medical opinion agreed that continuing pregnancy and childbirth would be dangerous, No Jury Would Convict. This was very few years after the high-profile Aleck Bourne case, that docs were justified if the woman would be left a 'physical or mental wreck'.
I also find this rather resonant, in view of the current situation with women getting charged under the 1861 Act.
The other thing that struck me was that Garwood and her circles could easily be hanging out on the periphery of Dance to the Music of Time - every so often they get invited to a country house or interact with the local gentry, and at one point have to do with a socialist peer who has an encampment of Basque refugees on his estate....
Second paragraph of third chapter:
She paused for a moment, looking out over the lake, smiling to herself. Then her face clouded over. ‘But mostly it is horrible. The farmers here, they are not like the boys of Bombay.’
One of William Dalrymple’s lyrical explorations of India, this tells the stories of nine people with roles in Indian religion – mostly Hinduism, though the point is well made both by Dalrymple and by several of his interlocutors that it’s all a bit syncretic, and drawing strict boundaries between different faiths is not a good path to understanding.
People who think that all religion is bollocks won’t find much to like in this book. But if you are interested in the belief and faith systems of the largest country in the world by population, this is a very enlightening guide to what nine of the 1.4 billion think, at least as reported by one observer. (No doubt, like any good writer, he has combined material from a number of sources to create nine good stories.)
There’s the Jain nun. There’s the prison warder who becomes a dancing god for two months a year. There’s the singer of epic poems which take five days to recite. There’s the woman Sufi mystic. There’s the maker of bronze idols. There’s the tantric guardian of the cremation grounds. There’s the blind bard of Bengal. Dalrymple respectfully gives them all their voices
And saddest of all is the Devadasi, the temple prostitute who has been servicing worshippers sexually since she was a young girl. Supposedly this practice was made illegal by both the British and by independent India, but it has simply gone underground, with even less protection for the women and girls who get involved. In general my instincts are for the legalisation of sex work where all involved are consenting adults, but that’s not what is going on here, and the story of Rani Bai is heart-rending.
Anyway, well worth getting, and you can get it here. This was the top unread non-fiction book on my shelves; next is the English translation of The Burgundians, by Bart van Loo.
Is the ship-shaped wooden object that can't float actually boat?
Yes, it was built to be a boat, rowed as a boat, it remains an unfloatable boat
15 (75.0%)
No, it's a collection of wood and metal that looks ship-shape but it's lumber
3 (15.0%)
No, not an actual boat because it's not seaworthy but it is a conceptual sculpture of a boat
7 (35.0%)
Now every debt is paid, every sin erased and I can begin anew, I who was once Odysseus and now am no one. [p. 145]
The conceit of this novel, or collection of short stories, is that the Oxyrhynchus Papyri contain 'forty-four concise variations on Odysseus’s story that omit stock epic formulae in favour of honing a single trope or image down to an extreme of clarity'. These are those variations, some more credible than others, which are effectively Odyssey AU*.
( Read more... )I managed to kick my cold enough to play the ice hockey tournament Saturday and Sunday afternoons. One of my teammates gave me a lift from Cambridge rink to Romford each day. It's an easy drive and we get on well, and the tournament itself was great fun. Exhausting, but fun and definitely great for developing and improving play. The other four teams playing were pretty friendly and we made some connections and enthusiasm for playing more games against each other as individual teams.
Unfortunately my ride home got injured in the last few seconds of the last game of the tournament on Sunday evening, a "needs A&E and good drugs" level injury. So I went with him to the local A&E on the grounds they'd probably want a responsible non-drugged adult to get him home, and it'd only be a few hours, right? Ahahaha, it was 16 hours before we got out and it was not a good experience.
Also neither of us had showered between "playing lots of ice hockey" and "showing up at A&E", so very sorry to anyone who had to sit too near either of us.
I got a very minimal amount of work done today on my phone from the hospital, but went to bed for a few hours as soon as I finally got home and feel more human now. I will have to figure out whether I take leave for today or make up the effort elsewhere in the week. But that is a problem for tomorrow; tonight I'm hoping to reset my sleep schedule by going to bed on time.
It's ME Awareness Day, and my train is running 39 minutes late last I heard, so I took the opportunity to finally read this piece in a tab I've had open so long I cannot remember where it came from. It's a really incredible read about chronic illness and narratives as necessary for access to care, and what hearing from ill people does to those in a position to offer care.
I had a dream that I missed my train to London today and it was fine.
Almost disappointed to wake up with my alarm, in plenty of time.
I was briefly tempted to just stay in bed...
Now, on my train back to Manchester 12 hours later, with two hours left to go before I get home, I can say with certainty that I could've stayed home and it would have been fine.