Many things that I am needing to keep me singing
I have awesome friends. A few days ago,
deadcities_icon sent me his stunning cybersexpunk calendar del.ici.ous tension: a digital romance, and today in the mail I received a packet of decaf masala chai from
strange_selkie. Oddly enough, I feel better already. You guys rock.
I'm re-reading Tanith Lee's Sung in Shadow (1983), which I first discovered in late high school and which has slunk into my subconscious from time to time since then. I can't shake the feeling that, as a retelling of Romeo and Juliet, it's drawn more from Zeffirelli's 1968 film than from the bare play itself—particularly in the contrasts and relationship of its Romeo and Mercutio, the dark and beautiful Romulan Montargo, who is more innocent than he likes to think, and the older, fair-haired, sardonically unstable Flavian "Mercurio" Estemba. If so, I suppose it's nice to know that I wasn't the only one who fell in love with John McEnery's Mercutio.
"Why not anticipate? What else have we of free will but anticipation?" Mercurio, arguing for the discussion's sake, questioning nothing, believing very little, mesmerizing the guardsman as a matter of course, smiled gravely at him. "A man, young or old, may go to bed healthy, wake at dawn with a pain like a knife in his side, and be laid in a box by sunset. Or a man may cut his thumb on an awl, a scratch no bigger than a cherry pit, and he may sicken of that, and take that road to a box. Or the earth may shake, as it did here, ten years past, stones fall on your noodle and brain you. Or a plague may breed in the very air. Who can outrun plague? Oh, all roads lead to boxes. It is a chancy business, life. And so, my friend, we kill each other on the streets, the pith of the thing being Surprise! Amazement! My Lady Death, we are before you."
"Death's a woman, then?"
"Love and death, women both. Trust neither."
The grinding, soaring street cry of the whores wafted up again from over the walls. Mercurio, taking it as a bizarre accompaniment, began to sing a courtly love melody of the Higher Town.
"Dance with me while time is yet slow,
Clocks run faster far than you know;
Wear your rose flesh like a glove
For roses wither. Fear it, love."
His voice cut through all like a gold wire, through time, place, dust, heat and faith. A girl on a balcony averted her eyes from him superstitiously, among the terra-cotta pots of flowers. Romulan looked at him, entranced. None of them had heard a verse sung better, or a love song more like a knell.
"A rose will bloom; it then will fade . . ."
I'm re-reading Tanith Lee's Sung in Shadow (1983), which I first discovered in late high school and which has slunk into my subconscious from time to time since then. I can't shake the feeling that, as a retelling of Romeo and Juliet, it's drawn more from Zeffirelli's 1968 film than from the bare play itself—particularly in the contrasts and relationship of its Romeo and Mercutio, the dark and beautiful Romulan Montargo, who is more innocent than he likes to think, and the older, fair-haired, sardonically unstable Flavian "Mercurio" Estemba. If so, I suppose it's nice to know that I wasn't the only one who fell in love with John McEnery's Mercutio.
"Why not anticipate? What else have we of free will but anticipation?" Mercurio, arguing for the discussion's sake, questioning nothing, believing very little, mesmerizing the guardsman as a matter of course, smiled gravely at him. "A man, young or old, may go to bed healthy, wake at dawn with a pain like a knife in his side, and be laid in a box by sunset. Or a man may cut his thumb on an awl, a scratch no bigger than a cherry pit, and he may sicken of that, and take that road to a box. Or the earth may shake, as it did here, ten years past, stones fall on your noodle and brain you. Or a plague may breed in the very air. Who can outrun plague? Oh, all roads lead to boxes. It is a chancy business, life. And so, my friend, we kill each other on the streets, the pith of the thing being Surprise! Amazement! My Lady Death, we are before you."
"Death's a woman, then?"
"Love and death, women both. Trust neither."
The grinding, soaring street cry of the whores wafted up again from over the walls. Mercurio, taking it as a bizarre accompaniment, began to sing a courtly love melody of the Higher Town.
"Dance with me while time is yet slow,
Clocks run faster far than you know;
Wear your rose flesh like a glove
For roses wither. Fear it, love."
His voice cut through all like a gold wire, through time, place, dust, heat and faith. A girl on a balcony averted her eyes from him superstitiously, among the terra-cotta pots of flowers. Romulan looked at him, entranced. None of them had heard a verse sung better, or a love song more like a knell.
"A rose will bloom; it then will fade . . ."

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I recently re-read Night's Master in this edition:
and spent many many days thinking about how much I dug this book.
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My love for Tanith Lee really kicked off with Death's Master, in fact, which I picked up from a used book store one summer in early high school: I'd walk by every day on my way home from summer school, and stop in and read a few pages, and finally I gave in and bought the book. Instant addiction. I'd read Black Unicorn years before, but hadn't realized this was the same author; and there seemed an endless supply of Tanith Lee in this particular bookstore. I hit The Secret Books of Paradys a year or so later and I think that quartet actually rewired my brain. By this point, I own damn near all her novels and a substantial quantity of her short fiction. I always need more bookshelves.
I think she is such an amazing stylist, with such a vivid, decadent, sensual style.
I love her language. She descends straight from Angela Carter, I think. And I know there was a time in my life when my writing sounded far too much like hers.
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erm.
Angela Carter, eh? I honestly had never made the comparison. She seems to have a very distinct Decadant (cap-D) leaning, and of course there's that generalized "Goth" reputation which is nonetheless accurate.
I have a huge amount of Lee's books. You ought to tell me which ones are good and which ones are trash, so I can be discerning when tackling the pile sometime in 2043...
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It might just be me: I have no academic evidence to support this. But I discovered Angela Carter after I had been reading Tanith Lee for some years, and she was the first person whose language reminded me of Lee's—it operates in a different register, but there's the same lush elaboration of imagery and a sort of linguistic synaesthesia. (Semi-relevantly, there seems to be a site here devoted to favorite images from Tanith Lee.) I'm not sure that Carter was writing early enough to have been a formative influence on Lee, but there's still a definite aesthetic likeness.
You ought to tell me which ones are good and which ones are trash, so I can be discerning when tackling the pile sometime in 2043...
Heh. Okay: which ones do you have?
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Honestly? Probably all of them. My book collection is quite... um... extensive.
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Of her early sword-and-sorceries, I really like The Storm Lord (1976) and Anackire (1983). The first is the traditional sprawling mythic adventure in which the son of a king and a priestess, one from the race of the conquering Vis and the other from the subject Lowlanders, grows from obscurity to claim his kingdom and change the world. The second occasionally veers off into the mystical, but it also charts what happens in the aftermath of a myth: once the hero has walked away from mortal kingdoms and out of this world as we know it, what happens to everyone left behind to pick up the practical, political pieces? (I believe there was also a third novel, The White Serpent (1988), but I've never found or read that one.) I am also very fond of the science-fiction pair Don't Bite the Sun (1976) and Drinking Sapphire Wine (1977), which chronicle the attempts of their androgynous narrator to grow up in a future city-state where adolescence by law lasts for decades and no one is expected, until adulthood, to do anything serious with their lives. They're not quite dystopian and often very funny, and are written partially in a futuristic teen slang that wouldn't keep Anthony Burgess awake at nights, but it's onomatopoeically entertaining.
There's also The Silver Metal Lover (1981), which was reprinted my senior year of high school: on a future Earth where the accidental capture of an asteroid some generations ago has changed the planet's topography and shaken up society, a girl falls in love with a robot; and maybe, if it's not just a trick of his programming, he loves her back. It's beautifully written and detailed, its characters make the story work absolutely even when the plot slides over into the melodramatic—although the narrator is sixteen years old, so melodrama in her reporting can be forgiven—and so it was with great regret that I discovered I didn't like the sequel, Metallic Love (2005), at all. Fortunately, it's not the kind of bad sequel that destroys the original. I'm just hoping there won't be a third.
One of her recent novels I did like was Mortal Suns (2003), in which an old poet who was once a princess looks back on her life and the fall of a dynasty: the royal house of Akhemony, into which she was born, from which she was rejected as an infant, and which she may have helped destroy. The culture's a fascinating, half-familiar blend of Greek and Egyptian and characteristic Tanith Lee, and the trajectory of the love story is not what we are led to expect from all the traditional signposts. And her young adult novel Piratica (2004), about a girl in an alternate eighteenth-century London who runs away from her oppressive girls' school to follow in the footsteps of her famous mother, whom she remembers as a pirate queen, was really excellent.
Er . . . I love The Secret Books of Paradys, even though I found The Book of the Dead much weaker than the other three. The novella "Malice in Saffron" in The Book of the Damned (1988) is one of my all-time favorite pieces of Tanith Lee. I'm ambivalent about The Secret Books of Venus: I love the first two, particularly Faces Under Water (1998), but the third felt far too constructed and the fourth was just sort of there. I'm now formally too tired to do reviews—so I'll just recommend Sabella, or, The Blood Stone and Kill the Dead (1980), Elephantasm (1993), Volkhavaar (1977), and the collection The Gorgon and Other Beastly Tales (1985). If you can find a novella entitled "Into Gold," that is also most worth reading: it involves both Greek and Arthurian myth, which is not a feat one sees often.
That help?
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And how!
Now I know which one to read next.
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John McEnery's Mercutio!!! I adored him.
I must check out more Tanith Lee - I've only read The Silver Metal Lover, which I loved.
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Cool. Which?
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Yeah . . . : )
The Silver Metal Lover is an incredible book. I hope you like the rest of her work!
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I think it was only ever printed once, but it's worth tracking down. What are your favorite Tanith Lees?
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The Birthgrave
Cyrion
The Silver Metal Lover
Sabella, or the Bloodstone
Sung in Shadow
Anackhire
Ah, hell, all the rest of them...
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I've never been able to find Cyrion! I've read a few of the short stories in other settings, Dreams of Dark and Light and Women As Demons, but I've never managed to locate the entire collection. Lucky. : P
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*I'm not crazy about the rest of the Blood Opera Sequence, but I really like Dark Dance because of its ambiguity: its reclusive and ritual-driven family might be vampires, or might not, and after a certain point it really doesn't matter to the protagonist or the reader: the effect will be the same.
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In addition to the language, it was also the beauty and the grace, the elegance of the characters. They really are beautiful, all of them. And proud, unlike anything...
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Here, try here (http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/2277216496/qid=1148671541/sr=2-1/ref=pd_bbs_b_2_1/103-4297973-1967840?s=books&v=glance&n=283155).
I am not sure of this edition, it is not the original, but it appears to be the complete book!
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Heart-Beast was so-so, indeed, and Vivia -- you know I don't think I actually read it, though it's sitting on my shelf. White as Snow I liked, I believe, but did not find particularly memorable.
Look now, you started talking about Lee and I cannot stop posting! This is the secret magent to draw me out of lurk! Eeek! Sorry!
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That's what happened to me with The Secret Books of Paradys. I'd seen The Book of the Dead for years in the local library, but I'd never read more than the first few pages in fragments; I'd picked up the paperback reprint of The Book of the Damned in a bookstore, but hadn't read more than the first few pages of "Malice in Saffron." But sometime in my senior year of high school, I became curious: so I ordered them all through interlibrary loan and read the entire quartet in two days.
I remember sitting on the couch, fascinated, reading The Book of the Damned in a sort of absorbed trance. (To be fair, Robert Graves' I, Claudius had the same effect on me.) I still can't pinpoint quite what makes the books work for me as they do. It's not only the language, it's the whole atmosphere of the world and its smoky mercury-shadow of transgression, boundaries that shift and slide, twilight always falling and nothing stays the same when you look at it again. And the characters, who are human and recognizable among all the shadowy, fever-burning strangeness. Sexuality and liminality. If you want to stay within Decadent terms, it was Dorian Gray's "poisoned with a book." I was so happy.
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Forget the first one I posted above, it looks a bit fishy, as though it's not an authorized edition...
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Eh. It has a wonderful cover (which appears in the text), but the story left me cold: a girl who has become a species of vampire through a strange encounter within a mountain, the warrior-sorcerer who wants to use her for his own gain, and the artist with whom she falls accidentally in love; it starts and it goes on and then it just sort of stops. She's just written so much better.
Look now, you started talking about Lee and I cannot stop posting! This is the secret magent to draw me out of lurk! Eeek! Sorry!
No apologies necessary! It's good for you. : )
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I think it's just the recent translation into French. But I'd rather have a copy in English. : P
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I think it's the combination of very aprt characterization, haughty beautiful people, elegance, grand style, a true evocation of wonder in the ancient sense, and just everything working together so well to make a cabochon jewel that is so smooth on the outside and holds a mini-world in its smoky depths.
Must... stop... posting! :-)
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You could always write an essay for your own journal. Then I could come and comment. ; )
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The good news is, you can get an English copy from the Amazon Marketplace for a penny.
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Ok, next week.
Oh crap, now look what you've done. :-)
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Thanks for the summation. Vivia shall probably remain on my to-read-someday shelf for quite some time.
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I read one of the books of the that was at a local library and loved it dearly. I've since forgotten the exact title. I liked the Venus books that I read. I was a teenager when I picked them up and it certainly began my fascination with alternate Venices. (My latest favorite being the YA novel The Water Mirror.) I'm looking through Tanith Lee's bibliography realizing that I haven't read an enth of her books yet. However, I do love Don't Bite the Sun and Sapphire Wine. I did love Silver Metal Lover and felt a little ambivalent about the sequel. When you wrote that the first has a great deal of melodrama, I had to laugh because it is quite true. I've often felt that way but loved the book anyway because it seemed believable for such a young and spoiled protagonist.
I've guiltily picked up the Claidi journals which I did love and White as Snow. I liked the concept but trudged through it a bit. I think I was hoping for another Tam Lin from the Fairy Tale Series.
Hmm I'm feeling the urge to go to the library today. I'll have to see what's available through ILL.
Yes, the more I reflect on how much I've adored Tanith Lee and her rich prose. I've mainly read her stories in the Windling collections. Every one has been quite good. I've also read her submission to Don't Bet on the Prince.