A Day in the Lonesome October-fest, October 31 and Conclusion

The continuing account of reading A Night in the Lonesome October with an nine-year-old, out loud and during the day.

October 31

This was it. Lily was really nervous about Lynette's fate. She didn't really have any commentary until the ritual was already underway, and then she was the audience every author wants, gasping and cheering at all the right times.

Cheer Moment: He seized hold of the girl's left shoulder with his teeth and dragged her down from the altar.  With that rapid backing motion I had seen him employ before, he dragged her quickly before us toward the north, whence he had come, to my right.

Gasp Moment: The report of a gunshot filled the air and Larry staggered, a dark blot appearing and spreading high upon his left shoulder.  The vicar held a smoking revolver, pointed in his direction.

Lily really liked the Count, I think, in part, because she's on a vampire kick. She doesn't otherwise like villain protagonists. 

She was worried when the vicar attacked the Count, though confused about the mechanism.

     "Dirt from one of your own caskets," the vicar replied, "mixed with pieces of my church's altar stone relic, left over from more papish times.  Fingerbone of St. Hilarian, according to the records. 

Lily: What's he talking about?

Me: You'll see. Listen to the end of what he's saying.

 You require your consecrated soil, but overconsecration is like the difference between a therapeutic and a debilitating dose of strychnine.  Do you not agree?"

I do love that line, because it seems so characteristically Zelaznian, but it's certainly confusing to a little kid (though, she's not the intended audience, so it's hard to fault him for that).

Me: Okay, that's probably no clearer. You know how you'll get sick if you take too much medicine? It's like that. 

Cheer Moment: The Count muttered a reply in a foreign language, as the wolf disappeared with Lynette; and I realized that, from all his talks with Larry, plus his knowledge of drugs, and the samples he had obtained, he had succeeded several days ago in developing his own ideal dosage, and I had just witnessed the Great Detective's greatest disguise yet.  I howled a "Well done!" into the night.  Later, a "Good luck!" came back to me.

Another Cheer Moment: "Pret-ty kit-ty," he repeated.  Then he turned and walked away in the direction whence he had come.

     "Put me down!" she cried.  "I can't leave now!"

     He sat down just beyond the firelight and commenced petting her.

I needed to spell out the deal with Carpe baculum, but she dug it once I did.

Not strictly relevant to this specific readthrough, but a friend suggested the top ten best/worst Zelazny puns and Jack had braced himself. Then his arm moved, hand dipping into the satchel and out, emerging quickly, casting the wine bottle of slitherers into the Gateway, to gunk it up. He grinned at me. "Any port in a storm," he observed. certainly belongs there.

She really appreciated the ending, which I do think was the perfect conclusion to the story: 

    I turned and looked back in time to see the experiment man start down the southern slope, carrying the Count.
     "Hi, cat," I said.  "I'll buy you that drink yet."
     "Hi, dog," she said.  "I think I'll let you."
     Jack and Jill went down the hill.  Gray and I ran after.

Great book and great experience reading it. I wouldn't change a thing about either. Thanks for reading along with me.

A Day in the Lonesome October-fest, October 30

The continuing account of reading A Night in the Lonesome October with an nine-year-old, out loud and during the day.

October 30

This is a bit of a breather chapter, much like October 28th had been. It's essential, in that it fills a little more of the background and sets up the events that will occur in the climax, but it's not all that engaging when taken on its own.

However, my daughter and I had flown down to visit my mom, who is also reading the book, and we read this chapter together, so it had a certain special meaning for us.  Lily is really getting into it. She says we need a new family rule that we should read ANITLO to anyone born into our extended family on or before that child's ninth birthday. I'll let you know how that works out. 

A Day in the Lonesome October-fest, October 29

The continuing account of reading A Night in the Lonesome October with an nine-year-old, out loud and during the day.

October 29

This is my friend JL’s favorite chapter, and I like it a lot too.

Following lunch at Jill's place, to which Bubo was also invited, having finally acknowledged Graymalk to be a cat of a different category, I took a walk back to the ruin of the Good Doctor's place.

Lily: Heh, Boobie.

The meal had had an almost elegiac quality to it, Jack having asked outright whether she'd consider switching, Jill having admitted to a conflict in her sympathies now, but being determined to play the Game through as she'd started.

I defined elegiac for Lily (something that has the characters of an elegy, like a song or a poem, where you’re remembering something that’s lost or gone. Like an angel or a dog.)

"So it seems someone's killing openers." 

"Rastov was a closer." 

"I think Owen talked him into switching." 

"No, he tried but he didn't succeed." 

"How do you know that?" 

"I used to get into Owen's place through Cheeter's attic hole and listen to them talk. I was there the night before Rastov was killed. They were drinking and quoting everybody from Thomas Paine to Nietzsche at each other, but Rastov didn't switch." 

"Interesting. You sound as if you're still in the Game." 

There came a faint sound from below, just as [Needle] said, "Oh, I am, Get down! Flat!"

Lily was almost entirely disinterested in this revelation, because it was eclipsed by my Linda Enderby voice.

I knew that I was right when I heard the vicar utter an oath. I descended one more step. . . . Then I decided I could risk no more. I pushed myself backward, letting myself fall the rest of the way, recalling things Graymalk had said about always landing on her feet, wishing I'd been born with that ability, trying to achieve it this one time, anyway. . . .

I tried to torque my body in the proper direction, along the long axis, relaxing my legs the while.

Lily: Heh, torque.

She still remembered my definition from the earlier chapter, and for a magical Victorian era talking dog, Snuff sure uses “torque” a lot. For comparison, the word “October” only appears 35 times, and 32 of those are chapter titles or the name of the book itself.

Snuff says “I like being a watchdog better than what I was before he summoned me and gave me this job” and what he was before Jack summoned him was a high school physics teacher.

The bolt passed well above me, from the sound I heard of it striking wood. But the man was already cranking the weapon again as I hit the ground. I did land on my feet, but they went out from under me immediately. As I struggled to rise, I saw him finish cocking the thing, now ignoring the black form which darted before him. My left hind leg hurt. I pushed myself upright, anyway, and turned. He had the quarrel in one hand and was moving to fit it into place. I had to rush him, to try knocking him over before he succeeded and got off another shot. I knew that it was going to be close. . . .

And then there was a shadow in the doorway at his back.

"Why, Vicar Roberts, whatever are you doing with that archaic weapon?" came the wonderfully controlled falsetto of the Great Detective in his Linda Enderby guise.

Some people are good at voices. I have no particular talent in that arena, but there is one voice I can do consistently. It’s a warbling falsetto, if Julia Child were playing the role of Mrs. Doubtfire. It’s great. Lily thinks it’s hilarious. I used it for Linda Enderby, and added to what was already a great chapter.

The vicar hesitated, then turned.

"Madam," he said, "I was about to perform a community service by dispatching a vicious brute which even now is preparing to attack us."

I began wagging my tail immediately and put on my idiot slobbering hound expression, tongue hanging out and all.

"That hardly seems a vicious beast to me," the voice of the lady stated, as the Great Detective moved in quickly, passing between the vicar and myself to effectively block a shot. "That's just old Snuff. Everybody knows Snuff. Not a mean bone in his body. Good Snuff! Good dog!"

The old hand-on-head business followed, patting. I responded as if it were the greatest invention since free lunch.

This whole thing had Lily giggling hysterically.

"Whatever made you think him antisocial?"

"Madam, that was the creature that almost tore my ear off."

"I am certain you must be mistaken, sir. I cannot conceive of this animal as behaving aggressively, except possibly in self-defense."

The vicar's face was quite red and his shoulders looked very tense. For a moment I thought he might actually try angling in a shot at me, anyhow.

"I really feel," the Linda voice went on, "that if you have any complaints concerning the animal you ought to take them up with his owner first before embarking on a drastic action that might well draw the attention of the Humane Society and not rest well with the parishioners." 

"That man is a godless jackanapes . . ." he began, but then his shoulders slumped. "Perhaps, however, I acted hastily. As you say, the parishioners might view it askance, not knowing the full measure of my complaints. Yes. Very well." He lowered the weapon and released its tension. "This will be settled," he said then, "in another day or two. But for now I accept your counsel and will do nothing rash." He put away the quarrel in a case slung over his shoulder, slinging the weapon, also, moments later. "And so, madam, I thank you again for those cookies you brought by, which I found quite tasty, and I bid you a good day."

"I trust your daughter enjoyed them as well?"

"Indeed she did. We both thank you."

This is another great part. The Great Detective catches the vicar in a lie, which he attempts to cover, but the Great Detective knows.  He didn't share those cookies at all! The vicar is outstanding as a villain, so big and so small in all the right ways.

"Snuff, I know more about him than he realizes, and I have experimented with many sorts of drugs myself over the years. I know that his intent is to rescue Lynette on the night of the ceremony, but I do not believe that he has sufficiently refined the dosage which he feels will carry him past the moon madness of his affliction. And whatever the case, Vicar Roberts is aware that there is one of his sort involved, and he has melted down a piece of the rectory silverware to cast a bullet for a pistol he will be carrying with him that night."

Lily gasped softly and her eyes got wide. Kids, in general, are kind of annoying, and mine is no exception, but it’s really been a lot of fun reading this story with her because of moments like these.

A Day in the Lonesome October-fest, October 28

The continuing account of reading A Night in the Lonesome October with an nine-year-old, out loud and during the day.

October 28

Not many revelations in this chapter. I had filled Lily in on the details beforehand, and she had figured out the rest over the course of the book so that her only takeaway was that Jack was a lot older than Jill, and if they wind up as a couple, it may cause issues down the road. Keep your May-December romances out of her October!

A Day in the Lonesome October-fest, October 27

The continuing account of reading A Night in the Lonesome October with an nine-year-old, out loud and during the day.

October 27

There's nothing a smart kid likes more than being right about something, so Lily was, of course, overjoyed at this chapter, having speculated several days ago that the Good Doctor wasn't really a player.  Fortunately, she celebrated with quiet good grace and kept her victory strut under five minutes.

We enjoyed the dialogue with Gray and Boobie Bubo too:

Graymalk immediately moved near and asked, "Was the Good Doctor an opener or a closer?" 

"Please," he said, "let me be. I'm just a simple pack rat. Snuff! Don't let her have me!" 

"I've already eaten," she said. "Besides, I owe you courtesy as a fellow player." 

"No you don't," he said. "It's over. Over." 

"Just because your master is dead doesn't mean I should treat you as anything other than a player." 

"But you know. You must know. You're toying with me. Cats are that way. I'm not a player. I never was. Have you really eaten recently?" 

"Yes." 

"That's worse then. You'll toy more." 

"Shut up a minute!" she said. 

"See? There goes the courtesy."

A Day in the Lonesome October-fest, October 26

The continuing account of reading A Night in the Lonesome October with an nine-year-old, out loud and during the day.

October 26

Not a lot going on in this chapter. It reminded us of the older ones back in the beginning. Lily's reaction to the wolf was "Meh, that's weird, I guess", though she did wonder how it knew Snuff's name when Snuff never mentioned it. 

She was surprised when I stopped reading at the end of the chapter, certain there must be more. 

A Day in the Lonesome October-fest, October 25

The continuing account of reading A Night in the Lonesome October with an nine-year-old, out loud and during the day.

October 25

This chapter has my mom's favorite line:      Growing moon.  Angry cat.  Feather on the wind.  Autumn comes.  The grass dies.

Also, of note, I took Lily out Trick or Treating, and she said to her friend, "I'm reading a really good book with my dad, Roger Zelazny's A Night in the Lonesome October? Have you ever read it?" While I'm afraid my immediate circle of friends has given her a distorted impression of Zelazny's popularity, I am very pleased to be raising a second generation Zelazny evangelist.

Lily had a lot of questions about the specifics of the shadow ritual, which I was't able to answer beyond "That's just how it functions." We also had this interesting exchange.

"Are Morris and MacCab openers or closers?" I asked.

"I'm pretty sure they're openers," Graymalk said.

"Yes," Cheeter agreed. "They are."

"What about the Good Doctor?"

"Nobody knows. The divinations keep going askew for him."

Lily: Is he even a player?

Me: What do you mean?

Lily: He doesn't seem to do anything. He just hangs around on the outskirts.

Me: *steeples fingers*

Her attention wandered a bit during the shadow ritual, and I do think it is a bit longer than it needs to be. Still, we enjoyed it.

A Day in the Lonesome October-fest, October 24

The continuing account of reading A Night in the Lonesome October with an nine-year-old, out loud and during the day.

October 24

Lily called this chapter "action packed". She was still worried about Lynette, but she agreed with Larry's reasoning that it was better to rescue her closer to Halloween.

The chapter had a lot words that I thought she might not know, so I was regularly stopping the narrative to interject with definitions. Port wine (didn't know it but was able to get it from context), incandescence (knew it already), torque (new word, I defined it for her as rotating around a fixed point),  fluoresced (I knew she knew it because she defined it for the tour guide when we went on a tour of Lost River Caverns last weekend), ubiquitous ("everywhere", also noteworthy because I first began employing it after reading it in the ADRPG, though I initially thought it began with an "ooo" sound and not a "you" one), and tableau ("in this context, it means the scene"), feinted (had to clarify that Snuff was faking out the monster and not looking for the fainting couch), sherry (got it from context, figured it had to be another wine if they were drinking it in lieu of the port) and manumission ("The act of freeing from servitude").

I also filled her in on the background of the poem Snuff references as the the Things burn. 

A good chapter. Action packed, informative and funny ("What I'm wondering most, though, is what you're going to do with them now." Hm," he said, toying with his glass. "It's rather far to the river." I nodded vigorously.) What more could you want?

A Day in the Lonesome October-fest, October 23

The continuing account of reading A Night in the Lonesome October with an nine-year-old, out loud and during the day.

October 23

This chapter.

Yeah!

This chapter, man.

I love October 23rd. It's got three memorable scenes, and I would love it for any one of them.

Lily loved this part:

Up in the morning, out on the job. I hassled the Things, then checked around outside. A black feather lay near our front door. Could be one of Nightwind's. Could be openers on a nasty spell. Could just be a stray feather. I carried it across the road to the field and pissed on it.

She also had a strong reaction to Snuff's throwaway reference to Rocco.

He reminded me of someone I once knew: Rocco. Rocco was a big, floppy-eared hound, always happy, bouncing about and slavering over life with such high spirits that some found it annoying, and he was very single-minded. I called to him one day on the street and he just dashed across, not even paying puppy-attention to his surroundings. Got run over by a cart. I rushed to his side, and damned if he still didn't seem happy to see me in those final minutes. If I'd kept my muzzle shut he could have stayed happy a lot longer.

She was crying after this bit, so we took a short time to recover. We progressed on to Snuff's investigation into Rastov's murder, and she seemed to be in better shape, as she was pretty indifferent to Rastov, but when Quicklime started talking about him, she started crying again.

"I think I'm done with the Game. He was a good man. He took good care of me. He cared about people, about the whole world. What's that human notion, compassion. He had a lot of that. It's one of the reasons he drank a lot, I think. He felt everybody else's pain too much. No. I'm done with the Game. I'll slip back to the woods now. I still know a few burrows, a few places where the mice make their runs. Leave me alone here for a while now. I'll see you around, Snuff."

 "Quicklime loved him so much!" 

Just like Rastov, she's poisoned with compassion. 

We moved on to the vicarage. She liked it when Lynette was petting Gray, because she could imagine her own cats performing those same actions.

"I'll go rub up against her and let her pet me," Graymalk said. "That makes people happy. You can be looking at the chain while I do that."

It was actually the locks in which I was most interested. But even as I advanced to do that I heard the distant clopping of a horse's hoofs, approaching at a very rapid pace.

"Uh-oh," Graymalk said amid purrings, as the girl stroked her and told her how pretty she was. "Tekela must have seen us come in, flew off and given alarm."

For my part, I like Snuff's simple declaration "If Graymalk were dead, I was going to kill him." It's so Zelaznian in a lot of ways, but it also shows just how much Snuff cares for her. Throughout the entire book, he's talking how important it is to abide by the rules of the Great Game, and here he is willing to cut a great road through the law to get after the Devil" 

So they get away, ride into town and before the vicar can ask, "Snuff, does this smell like chloroform to you?" Snuff is captured and delivered to vivisectionists. 

Now, I'm not a pet person. I'm never cruel, but my preferred interaction with animals is not to interact with animals. Lily loves every kind of animal. So while the description of the lab was just flavor text to me, I knew as I was reading that she could see each and every one.

I could hear whimpers, growls, a pathetic mewing, and faint, sharp barks of pain from many directions.  When my sense of smell began to work again, all manner of doggy and catty airs came to me.  I raised my head and looked about and wished I hadn't. 

     Mutilated animals occupied cages both near and far, dogs and cats without tails or the proper number of legs, a blind puppy whose ears had been cut off, a cat missing large patches of her skin, raw flesh showing at which she licked, mewing constantly the while.  What mad place was this?  I checked myself over quickly, to make certain I was intact.

Fortunately, Jack arrives on the scene in short order.

There came a loud pounding upon an outer door...It came again, more heavily; this time it was obviously the sound of someone kicking upon the door...The third time that the knocking occurred it seemed as if each blow were performed by a strong man striking his shoulder against the door, attempting to break it down.

     The shorter man took a single step toward the entrance when a splintering sound reached us from the next room, followed by a loud crash. 

     _Dzzp!_ 

     Heavy footsteps crossed the outer room.  Then the door immediately across from me was flung open.  Jack stood upon the threshold, staring at the cages, the vivisectionists, myself upon the table.  Graymalk peered in from behind him.

That was a great detail to include, and I'd even go so far as to say that the scene, as perfect as it otherwise is, would not work if Gray were not there, peering from the threshold.

     "Just who do you think you are, bursting into a private laboratory?" said the beefy man.
  
   ". . . Interrupting a piece of scientific research?" said the tall man.

    ". . . And damaging our door?" said the short man with the wide shoulders and large hands.
  
   I could see it now, like a black tornado, surrounding Jack, settling inward.  If it entered him completely he would no longer be in control of his actions.

     "I've come for my dog," he said.  "That's him on your table."

That last line is one of my friend Frederick's favorite lines of the entire book. I'm inclined to agree with him.

A great chapter from a great book. Not an easy chapter, if you're nine and you love animals, but still a great one. 

A Day in the Lonesome October-fest, October 22

The continuing account of reading A Night in the Lonesome October with an nine-year-old, out loud and during the day.




October 22

This chapter.

Ugh.

This chapter, man.

I'm a longtime and enthusiastic fan of Roger Zelazny's work, but people who have been reading the blog know that I certainly have my hobby horses. Chief among them are the character of Merlin (he sucks) and Chapter 22 of A Night in the Lonesome October. 

We had to break this chapter into two parts. I read the first part before school and stopped after Graymalk and Snuff had been sucked through the portal. When we got home and homework was finished for the evening, I gave Lily the following choice.

Me: So the next part is Graymalk going into a trance and reciting five pages of boring poetry. Read it, or skip past it?
Lily: Oh yeah! Read it!
Me: Fuck.

She was kind of distracted, and I took advantage of that. She's usually very astute about noticing when I'm something, but she was finishing up an art project, so I would read something, skip to the next paragraph. I think I skipped an entire page near the end.    ". . . And there is Urg of the low domes, a stop on the way to Inquanok, frequented by onyx miners..." flip flip flip ". . . And there is Sarkomand, beyond the Leng Plateau." flip flip flip " ". . . Coming at last to fair Celephais in the land of Ooth-Nargai on the shores of the Cerenerian Sea. . . ."

Next time, I'll just dig out my audiobook copy and let Zelazny read the chapter for me.

A Day in the Lonesome October-fest, October 21

The continuing account of reading A Night in the Lonesome October with an nine-year-old, out loud and during the day.

October 21

This is the first chapter we had to break into two parts,.

"I was out last night," he said, "and I hung myself in a plum tree I'd learned Needle frequents when he feeds. When he came by I said, 'Good evening, Needle.' 

"'Quicklime, is that you?' he answered. 

"'Indeed,' I replied, 'and how go your farings?' 

"'Well. Well,' he said. 'And your own twisting ways?' 

"'Oh, capital,' I answered. 'I take it you have come to feed?' 

"'Yes. I always come here last, for these plums are my favorites and put a fine end to a harvesting of bugs. I prefer saving the best for last.' 

"'As it should be,' I said, 'with all endeavors. Tell me', for I was wise in these ways now, having lived with Rastov, 'have you ever sampled the long-fallen plums, those which look wrinkled, ruined, and unappetizing?' 

"'No,' he replied, 'that would be silly, when so many good ones still hang upon the tree.' 

"'Ah,' I told him, 'but looks may be deceptive, and "good" is certainly a relative term.' 

"'What do you mean?' he asked. 

"'I, too, enjoy the fruits,' I said, 'and I have learned their secret. Those over yonder on the ground are far better than those which hang yet upon the limbs. 

"'How can that be?' he said. 

"'The secret is that as they lie there, cut off forever from the source of their existence, they draw upon their remaining life to continue a new kind of growth. True, the effects wither them, but they ferment from their own beings a new and special elixir, superior to the simple juices of those upon the tree.'

Lily had her head tilted, and she was listening, trying to figure out what Quicklime was up to, when her mom just said it outright. She really enjoyed the scene with that knowledge.

" They taste a lot better?' 

"'No. They do not. This goes beyond mere taste. It is a thing of the spirit.' 

"'I guess I ought to try it, then.' 

"'You will not be disappointed. I recommend it highly.' 

"So he descended to the earth, came upon one of those I had indicated, and bit into it. 

"'Agh!' he exclaimed. 'These are no good! Overripe and… ' 

"'Give it a chance,' I said. 'Take more, swallow it down, and then some more. Wait just a bit.' 

"And he sampled again, and again.  

"A little later, he said, 'I feel slightly dizzy. But it is not unpleasant. In fact...’ 

"He tried another, suddenly more enthusiastic. Then another. 

"'Quicklime, you were right,' he said after a while. 'There is something very special about them. There is a warm feeling...’ 

"'Yes,' I answered. 

"'And the dizziness is not quite dizziness. It feels good.'

"'Take more. Take lots more,' I told him. 'Go with it as far as it will take you.'

"Shortly, his words grew harder to understand, so that I had to slide down from the tree to be sure I heard everything he said when I began, 'You were with the Count when he created his new graves, were you not. . . ?' 

"And so I learned their locations, and that he was moving to one last night," he finished.

I really appreciate how well-crafted Quicklime’s plan was. He traded for Needle’s feeding route, but in such a way that his true use for it would not be clear.

"Does Rastov drink like that every day?" I asked.
"No," Quicklime replied. "He only started on Moon-death Eve."
"Has Linda Enderby visited him?"
"Yes. They had a long talk about poetry and someone named Pushkin."

Lily: Who?
Me: A famous Russian writer.
Lily: Ah.

Me: Have you ever heard of Boris Badenov, from Rocky and Bullwinkle? 

Lily: Not once ever.

Me: It's kind of funny, because Boris Badenov is a play on Boris Godunov, probably Pushkin's most famous work.

Lily: Wow. How very interesting.

"Do you know whether she got a look at the Alhazred Icon?" 

"So you know we have it. . . . No, drunk or sober, he wouldn't show it to anybody till the time of its need." 

"When I was looking for you earlier, I saw him holding what looked like an icon. Is it on wood, about three inches high, nine inches long?" 

"Yes, and he did have it out from its hiding place today. Whenever he feels particularly depressed he says that it cheers him up to 'go to the shores of Hali and consider the enactments of ruin' and then to contemplate the uses he has for it all." 

"That could almost be taken as a closer's statement," I said. 

"I sometimes think you're a closer, Snuff." 

Our eyes met, and I halted. At some point, you have to take a chance.

"I am," I said. 

"Damn! We're not alone then!"

Lily was happy to learn this.

I approached to sniff about the thing. What odors I might have sought, I'm not sure. The Count had been scentless on the night we had met, a very disconcerting thing to one of my temperament and olfactory equipment. As I drew nearer and my vision cleared, I wondered why he had left the lid open. It seemed most inappropriate for one of his persuasion. 

Rearing up, I placed a forepaw on the casket's side and looked down into the interior.
Quicklime, nearby, said, "What is it?" and I realized that I had made a small woofing sound. 

"The Game has grown more serious," I answered.

Obligatory

"I heard someone crying upstairs. So I made my way up the siding and looked in what seemed the proper window. I saw a girl on a bed. She had on a blue dress, and there was a long chain around her ankle. The other end was attached to the bed frame." 

"Who was it?" 

"Well, I met Tekela a little later," she went on. "I don't think she was too eager to talk to a cat. Still, I persuaded her to tell me that the girl is Lynette, the daughter of the vicar's late wife Janet by a previous marriage." 

"Why was she chained up?" 

"Tekela said that she was being disciplined for attempting to run away." 

"Very suspicious. How old is she?" 

"Thirteen." 

"Yes. Just right. Sacrifice, of course." 

"Of course." 

"What did you give her for the information?"

Lily: Why didn’t Graymalk rescue her?!
Me: Because she’s an eight pound housecat?
Lily: *sulks*
Me: Gray and Snuff break into the Vicar’s house later to rescue her.
Lily: *Smiles* Gray and Snuff are the best people in the story. And they’re not even people!

A Day in the Lonesome October-fest, October 20

The continuing account of reading A Night in the Lonesome October with an nine-year-old, out loud and during the day.

 

   October 20

I had been wondering for some time how Lily would react to the following line:

     "I hunted rats and ate out of dustbins and saw my kittens killed and was hung by my tail and abused by wicked urchins," Graymalk said suddenly, "before the mistress found me.  She was an orphan who'd lived on the streets.  Her life had been even worse."

I was reading to her as she was getting ready for the day and the cat was right next to her. She said, “I need a hug, Lucy,” and gave the cat a big hug.

     "Sorry," I said.  "I've seen some bad times myself."

     "If the way is opened, things should change."

     "For the better?"

     "Maybe.  On the other paw, if it isn't opened, things may change, too."

     "For the better?"

     "Damned if I know, Snuff.  Does anybody really care about a hungry cat, except for a few friends?"

     "Maybe that's all anybody ever has, no matter how the big show is run."

We talked a little about this, how sometimes people in a bad situation will try to change it, thinking that any kind of change would be an improvement.

     "Checking out our new neighbor, Snuff?" came a voice from a tree to the east.

     "It never hurts to be thorough," I replied.  "What about you, Nightwind?"

     "The same.  But she's not a player.  We're almost sure of it."

     "Oh?  You've met?"

     "Yes.  She visited the masters yesterday.  They feel she's harmless."

Me: Also, they’re pretty sure she’s a woman.
Lily: Come on! You’re animals! Use your nose!

     "Strange.  Bubo have anything to say about this?"

     "Bah!  You ought to send Graymalk after him, if I don't get him first.  Rats aren't as salty as bats.  Tougher, though. . . . He's worthless for information.  Won't trade for anything.  Either he's stupid, ignorant, or just closemouthed."
 

Lily: *giggle* *snort* Boobie.

     "Her servant spotted me, on a sudden return to the kitchen, and she heard me call out.  She came back and called me by name.  She was very nice.  Even gave me a saucer of milk, which I felt obliged to drink.  Who'd've thought anyone would look at a cat well enough to recognize her later, not to mention remembering her name?"

     "Maybe she likes cats.  Must have, if she wanted to feed you."

     "In that case, you'd think she'd have one of her own.  But she doesn't.  There were no signs."

     "Just has a good eye and a good memory then, I guess."

I’ve since adopted Zach’s interpretation of this as my own, that this is the point when Graymalk realizes that humans can be kind as well as cruel.

     Then he turned his attention to Graymalk, and moving with a speed that belied his earlier gesture, he snatched her up from the ground and held her to his breast.      "Kit-ty," he said then.  "Pret-ty kit-ty."      Clumsily, he moved to stroke her with his other hand, rain streaming down his face now, dripping from his garments.      "Pret-ty...”      "Snuff!" Graymalk wailed.  "He's hurting me!  Too tight!  His grip's too tight!"      I began barking immediately, hoping to distract him into relaxing his grip.      "Hello!" came a call from the man at the farmhouse.  "Come back!  You must come back now!"      I kept barking, and the man dashed outside, rushing in our direction.      "He's let up a little, but I still can't get free!" Graymalk told me.      Apparently confused, the huge man turned to the approaching figure, and back again.  It appeared to be the Good Doctor headed our way.  I kept up the barking, since it seemed to have worked.      When the Good Doctor came up beside the giant he placed a hand upon his arm.      "Raining cats and dogs, I see," he said.      I stopped barking as the giant turned his head and stared at him, doubtless at a loss for words in the face of such a sallying of wit.

Bah! There’s nothing worse than a snobby dog, Snuff. That was freakin’ hilarious!

     "The doggy wants you to put the kitty down," he told him.  "The kitty wants to get down, too.  Put her down and come back with me now.  It's a bad night to be outside, with all this rain."

     "Bad…night," the big man responded.

     "Yes.  So put the kitty down and come with me."

     "Bad…rain," rejoined the other.

     "Indeed.  Cat.  Down.  Now.  Come.  Now.  With me."

     "Cat…kitty…down," said the big fellow, and he leaned forward and deposited Graymalk gently on the road.  His eyes met mine as he rose, and he added, "Good…dog."

     "I'm sure," said the Good Doctor, taking hold of his arm with both hands now and turning him back toward the farmhouse.

     "Let's get out of here," Graymalk said, and we did.

I liked this part too. It paints the Good Doctor in a good light. He shows a tenderness when dealing with the creature, and he seems genuinely concerned about both his creation and Graymalk.

A Day in the Lonesome October-fest, October 19

The continuing account of reading A Night in the Lonesome October with an nine-year-old, out loud and during the day.


 

October 19

It was a fine, crisp morning, of sunlight, breezes, and leaves crunching beneath my feet. A line of caravans was passing on the roadway, men in sashes and bright headcloths, Gipsies, all, walking beside or driving, headed, I guessed, for one of the open areas between us and the city, off in the direction of Larry Talbot's place. 

"Good morning, Snuff," came a voice from the roadside weeds. 

I walked over and investigated. 

"'Morning, Quicklime," I said, when I spotted his dark sinuosity there. "How you feeling?" 

"Fine," he replied. "A lot better than the other day. Thanks for the advice." 

"Any time. You headed anyplace in particular?" 

"I was following the Gipsies, actually. But this is far enough. We'll get word where they camp, by and by." 

"You think they'll be stopping near here?" 

"Without a doubt. We've been expecting them for some time."

"Oh? Something special about them?" 

"Well. . . . It's common knowledge now that the Count's in the area, so I'm not talking out of class. The master spent a lot of time in Eastern Europe, where he learned something of his ways. When the Count travels, he's often accompanied by a band of Gipsies. Rastov thinks he came here in a hurry when he determined where the locus would be, then sent for his band."

Lily: Is Rastov an opener?
Me: No, he’s a closer.
Lily: Oh, I thought Quicklime might be a closer, but he’d be an opener because he’s such a bad master.
Me: Wait, Rastov’s a pretty nice guy. Why do you think he’s a bad master? Sometimes he just has too much to drink and he vomits up the talking snake he keeps in his belly.
Lily: (Meaningful look)

"Vicar Roberts," I said, "has a good disguise as a fanatic churchman. . . ."
"What do you mean?"
"He's a player."
"You're joking!"
"No. He holds midnight services to the Elder Gods, right there in the church."
"The vicar . . . ?"

Lily: Isn’t he actually a churchman?

That’s a thing that bothered me too. I mean, the impression I got was that it wasn’t actually a disguise; he really was the lawfully ordained vicar for that parish, just one who happens to have an extracurricular interest in inviting nightmare tentacle-monsters into our dimension.

And re-reading my previous Lonesome October series, I see that I came to that conclusion last time.

I quitted my place of concealment in a stand of shrubs and headed that way, in time to see the coachman help an old woman to descend from the vehicle. I moved nearer, passing among a few ancient trees, upwind of them, as the lady, with the assistance of a blackwood cane, made her way to Larry's front door. There, she raised the knocker and let it fall.

Lily: That’s the Great Detective, right?
Me: Why would you think such a thing?
Lily: It is. You already told me that he disguises himself as an old woman.
Me: *grumbles*

A Day in the Lonesome October-fest, October 18

The continuing account of reading A Night in the Lonesome October with an nine-year-old, out loud and during the day.

October 18

First time out yesterday I got him farther through the muck, but he was still in it when I left him. I was tired. Jack was sequestered with his objects. The police were about, searching the area. The vicar was out, too, offering exhortations to the searchers. Night came on, and later I made my way back to the muck, chasing off a few vermin and beginning the long haul once again. 

I'd worked on and off for over an hour, allowing myself several panting breaks, when I realized I was no longer alone. He was bigger than me even, and he moved with a silence I envied, some piece of the night cut loose and drifting against lesser blacknesses.

I’ve always loved that line, but Lily was pretty indifferent to it.

He seemed to know the moment I became aware of him, and he moved toward me with a long, effortless stride, one of the largest dogs I'd ever seen outside of Ireland. 

Correction. As he came on I realized he wasn't really a dog. It was a great gray wolf that was bearing down on me. I quickly reviewed my knowledge of the submissive postures these guys are into as I backed away from the corpse.

I had to get into the whole wolf pack offering the throat submission, because she wasn’t familiar with it.

Only a few people, one woman, the rest of them men, were present, occupying the front pews. The vicar stood before the altar, which I noted to be draped in black, and was reading to his congregation. He squinted through his square spectacles, as the flickering light was not very good, all of it coming from only a few black candles. Larry pointed out that the cross was upside-down, but I'd already noticed this myself.

"Do you know what that means?" he asked softly. 

"Religious distress signal?" I said. 

"Listen to what he's saying." 

So I did. 

"'. . . Nyarlathotep,'" he read, "'cometh leaping upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills. He is like a many-legged goat, and he standeth behind our wall, he looketh forth at the windows, shewing himself through the lattice, horned in glory. Nyarlathotep spake, and he said, "Rise up, my dark one, and come away. For, lo, the winter is nigh and the cold rains fall. The flowers have died upon the earth, and the singing of birds is done. The turtle lies slain. The fig tree withers, as do the grapes. Arise, my dark one, and come away. . . ."'" 

The woman had risen to her feet, swaying slightly, and had begun to disrobe. 

"You've proved your point," I said to Larry, memorizing the faces of the parishioners, whom I suspected to be the crossbow crew as well.

Lily wasn’t familiar with the concept of a Black Mass (I know, I’ve neglected her education), but she comprehended the general situation well enough. This scene wasn’t necessary for her, because she already had the vicar pegged as a villain and a player.

If neither Talbot nor the vicar were technically involved, I'd a good candidate for the center. And if only Larry were involved, it still held. Though I was leery of the Count, it would have to be checked out. But the vicar was also a wild card. If he were to be counted, but not Larry, an equally good candidate for center came into existence, one I had even visited recently. If he _and_ Larry were both to be counted as players, though, a third possible site of manifestation was created, to the southeast, I hadn't quite figured where yet. I moved in a big circle about the hilltop, pissing on stone after stone as I calculated, partly to keep track of the lines, partly in frustration.

You’d better believe a nine-year-old liked that part.

A Day in the Lonesome October-fest, October 17

  The continuing account of reading A Night in the Lonesome October with an nine-year-old, out loud and during the day.

 

October 17

If yesterday was our vocabulary chapter, today was the anatomy chapter. She learned femur, patella and vertebrae. (She also learned what a sexton was, making this a little of a vocabulary chapter.) While the lines about trade unions went over her head, she enjoyed the reappearance of the old graveyard dog.

It's a fun chapter, and I enjoyed giving different accents to each of the speakers.

A Day in the Lonesome October-fest, October 16

  The continuing account of reading A Night in the Lonesome October with an nine-year-old, out loud and during the day.

 

October 16

This was our vocabulary chapter.  Lily learned "gauche" and "urbane". She couldn't hazard a guess for gauche, as the context didn't give her a lot to go on,  ("Larry," Jack said suddenly. "I confess that I really don't understand your part in this. That you are knowledgeable is obvious, that you know what you are doing, I am certain, and that you've been helpful, I can't deny. And I am grateful for it. But you haven't apparently been collecting the items necessary to assemble a structure of power to be focused one way or the other. Now, I admit that when you came out that first day and as much as proclaimed yourself a closer, I thought it a bit gauche. But even that, I suspect now, had a method to it. Still, so far as I can tell, you have done nothing that would further that end, let alone assemble defenses against the days ahead. If this be true, you are inviting disaster by announcing affiliation and continuing to reside in the precincts of the Game.") and she guessed "urbane" meant "subtle".

I thought "forte" would be a new word for her, but she already knew it. She pronounces it for-tay, like just about everyone else, and I wavered back and forth about telling her the proper, but never used pronunciation ("fort"), or just letting her go with for-tay. (Interestingly, Roger Zelazny pronounces it properly in the Amber audiobooks, and if anyone was going to say it the right way, he'd be the one. I'm reading ANITLO out loud this year, instead of listening to the audio book, but I assume he pronounces it properly there as well.) Eventually, I decided to tell her that "fort" is technically correct, but rarely used, and that most people say "for-tay", and let her use her own discretion. I'm pretty sure that the proper pronunciation of forte seldom comes up for nine-year-olds.

She was a little concerned when I read "Tomorrow it dies.  No hard feelings, however things go." because she loves all the characters, and doesn't want any of them to die, but I explained that it was just the moon. I tried explaining the phases of the moon, but, as her mom is quite the amateur astronomer, she knows them better than I do.

A Day in the Lonesome October-fest, October 15

The continuing account of reading A Night in the Lonesome October with an nine-year-old, out loud and during the day.

October 15

I made my rounds again, then went off to drag the inspector a little farther along. Having done it both ways, they're easier when they're stiff than when they're limp, and he was limp again.

Lily was confused by this, so I explained the process of rigor mortis to her. (And algor mortis and livor mortis, because I paid for that degree in forensic chemistry, and I'm goddamned well going to use it)

An eyepatched man with shaggy hair, a terrible limp, and a withered hand staggered by, selling pencils from a tin cup. I went on point even before he emerged from the fog, recognizing from the scent that it was the Great Detective in disguise. Jack bought a pencil from him and paid him handsomely for it.

He muttered a "Bless you, guv'nor" and limped off.

Lily really likes the segments where the Great Detective is disguised as someone. She's going to be in for a treat over the course of the month.

I predicted in an earlier post that she would warm to Graymalk's name the more she liked the character, so I asked her what she thought of the name. I mentioned that she possibly comes from the play Macbeth. She knows who Shakespeare is, but wasn't familiar with Macbeth, so I told her a little about it, and reassured her that both Jill and Gray make it to the end.

A Day in the Lonesome October-fest, October 14

The continuing account of reading A Night in the Lonesome October with an nine-year-old, out loud and during the day.

October 14

Graymalk had just finished digging something up and was dragging it to the house when I entered her yard. I brought her up to date on last night's events, and while she cautioned me never to trust a bat she acknowledged the seriousness of the threat presented by the vicar and his crew. Someone had apparently taken a shot at them from the top of a hill as she and Jill passed overhead last night, causing them to veer and experience an exciting moment or two near a chimney.

We talked about this for a bit and concluded that what really happened here was that Jill was hanging out behind the vicar as he was addressing his congregation, and mimicking his movements, but playing innocent as soon as he turned around to see what they were laughing at.

Lily really liked the voice I used for Graymalk, "It's like you're a cat and a woman at the same time!"

Now if I can only do something about my unfortunate Needle voice.

The rest of the chapter was mostly about the logistics of disposing of the body of a dead cop, which is the kind of thing that can upset little kids, but her only question was "Was the police officer a man or a woman?"

A Day in the Lonesome October-fest, October 13

The continuing account of reading A Night in the Lonesome October with an nine-year-old, out loud and during the day.

October 13

Lily dug this one. She caught on to the theme of the Great Detective's assistant suffering unfortunate mishaps with distressing regularity, and she thought that was funny. 

Somehow my voice for Needle wound up sounding suspiciously like Mickey Mouse's, but I couldn't stop doing it once I started.

     I'd seen Vicar Roberts many times on my rambles, a fat little man, dundrearied, and wearing old-fashioned, square-lensed, gold-framed spectacles.  I'd been told that he often grew very red of complexion at the high points of sermons, splattering little droplets of spittle about, and that he was sometimes given to fits of twitchings followed by unconsciousness and strange transports.

I explained what dundrearied meant (having conspicuous sideburns) and she'll thank me when it comes time to take her SATs. 

I've mentioned that she was not a fan of Gahan Wilson's artwork. I usually share her opinion, but I happen to like this drawing of the Vicar.

Lily: What is this?! 

Me: I like this picture.

Lily: He looks like a potato. 

Me: What? 

Lily: (pointing) Here. Potato body, potato face, potato hands. 

It's hard to dispute that. That jaw sure looks like a sideways potato. 

The Vicar's pretty fun to read if you ham it up and I sure did when he was shouting about Creatures of the Night and Unholy Practices and Living Blasphemies and Things Like That.

She dug the chapter. Never once did she consider the possibility that he was a misguided zealot; she jumped immediately to the conclusion that he was an outright villain. 

A Day in the Lonesome October-fest, October 12

The continuing account of reading A Night in the Lonesome October with an nine-year-old, out loud and during the day.

October 12

I didn't think anybody was actually reading these until a friend contacted me to ask where October 12th was. The answer is that Lily was staying overnight at her grandmother's house, because she had off of school on Monday for Columbus. Consequently, we didn't get around to reading this until today.

And I'm glad I have that story to tell, because there is otherwise nothing to say about this chapter. Lily thought it was amusing-in-the-abstract how Quicklime got dumped in the Thames, but that was about it.