Refractive lens replacement surgery: the actual surgery

Part one refers; but left you hanging as to when it would happen. The answer turned out to be not until a day ago, for a combination of: them needing to find the lenses; me needing a gap in my busy schedule; and them only doing a couple of days a month in Cambridge.

So I walked in, bright and early for 8:30, had my pre-checks, some eye drops, and the first of a billion confirmations-of-identity; oh, and a confirmation of which-is-dominant eye, and writing the numbers 1 and 2 above the eyes to indicate sequence. Then it turned out that the surgeon was stuck on a train; bref, the actual surgery didn't start till about 11:30. But then it took way less than the advertised three hours, so it was mostly a wash.

Taken upstairs we did identity again, I was given about five different eye drops, had a cap put on to voer my hair, and tissues put under my ears to absorb the cleaning fluids that would flow later, laid down on a gurney, and wheeled around into surgery. This featured the surgeon, who kindly offered me my choice of music, which was Mussorgsky's "Pictures at an Exhibition", which was almost exactly the right length; sadly the orchestral rather than in piano version but you can't have everything. He also did his fairly successful best to make light conversation to distract me from what was going on. There were two or more others present as well, though for obvious reasons I didn't see all that much.

Then I'm covered with a surgical masking, I guess, which completely covered my head, apart from a hole made for the first eye, my left, the non-dom one. Then some more eye drops, including I think anaesthetic, oh and also at some point a thorough cleaning around that eye and eyebrows. Then something to prevent my blinking, I'm not sure quite what: it felt like the left eye was plastic pulling it open, whereas the right felt like a clamp, but more likely they were the same. Then a warning that I was going to see something like the northern lights, and indeed - more eye drops? - it all went purply-yellow or whatever, and the action had started. Vague, hard-to-see things that must have been cutting a hole. Then a little noise - which I was warned about - which I think was the vacuum cleaner sucking out my macerated old lens. And then, taking little time at the end, inserting the new lens. That was the first eye done. Oh, and he checked - holding up two then one fingers - that I had basic vision with the just-done eye.

Surgical masking off, brief rest, during which I think I could tell that I could see the ceiling more clearly through the newly corrected eye than the other. Then we're onto the right - dominant - eye. This was slightly more "uncomfortable" than the left, in a way that's hard to describe, in the way that having yourself anaesthetised for dentistry is. Though this wasn't painful, just... disturbing? Mostly I was worried I was going to blink and ruin things, which is silly. But perhaps the dominant eye fought harder. During this one the surgeon told me about his formative experiences practising on the practice-surgery eyeballs his father (also an eye surgeon) had; and about how the lens he was putting in had tiny dots on the edges so he could get the orientation right (I am astigmatic, the lens corrects this just like glasses). Again, once done, quick basic-vision check and pass; and he says that all has gone well.

My vision is pretty blurry at this point with various cleaning fluid sloshing around, and I get plastic tranparent shields taped over each eye to prevent me rubbing them. I'm taken off for a quick after-care talk (these are your eye drops, anti-inflammatory, which continue for a month, do you feel pain? No, good; don't shower for a bit; and so on), and taken downstairs into the care of M who has come to pick me up. I can see well enough, and could had I needed to have gone home alone, but it is comforting to have someone to look after me. Also it is slightly more comfortable to have my eyes shut, and I'm feeling rather sunlight-sensitive. We go to Fitzbillies in Bridge Street for a light lunch, and then home.

I'm advised to keep my eyes mostly shut for today, so listen to the Henley livestream and the book of John, to which I fall asleep. I find I can watch from a distance, and I think I can see my vision is stabilising. I can't read my phone or a book though; distance is definitely better than close.

Overnight I leave my eye-protectors on, but remove them in the morning. For the first day in my adult life my first action is not to put my glasses on!

10 am: back for a check up: various machine-that-go-bleep and check obscure things like eyeball pressure, but all is well. I'm given an eye test and get 20/20 or a little better at distane, a little worse at close up, and told that it will get better. Things are definitely stabilising, distance vision is close-to-perfect, close-up is still a bit iffy but I can with effort read my phone. To W/S, coffee and book, Radiant Star which happily has a largeish font. And so home. Next check up in a week, then a month.

Update: a few days later: distance vision still good, I'm putting in my eyedrops reasonably faithfully. Reading vision stiff iffy; I bought some reading glasses and may have to keep them. The major irritation with that is taking pix from my phone.

Book review: Alchemised

Alchemised is the debut fantasy novel by SenLinYu... dark fantasy, horror and gothic romance... follows the life of a former alchemist, Helena Marino, as she recovers her memories of a civil war...  a reimagining of SenLinYu's popular fan fiction Manacled... reimagine the Harry Potter series in a dark alternative universe, with a romance between Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy. Or so wiki says. It stood out to me as not having a cover looking like AI generated slop - not that I oppose AI covers, but there is a terrible similarity to them all.

It is unique as the only book anyone has ever asked me about while I was reading it at W/S; the first asked me why I was reading it, which rather surprised me; but I learnt in the conversation about the fanfic past. And to the second, who asked if it was any good, I could honestly reply that up to about page 800 it was pretty good; pages 800-900 drag somewhat; then it recovers a bit until the ending goes all soppy and mushy.

Ranking notes: I find it ever harder to slot new books into my increasingly unreliable ranked list. This one gains because I genuinely enjoyed reading it. But it lacks the beauty of, say, Pavane. It also has nothing to say that isn't banal. And its a doorstop. I doubt I would re-read it (I have re-read most of the books in my "worth reading" section, which is where I placed this). Oh, and I think she tries too hard for the "horror" element in places; the flesh-eating for example is crude.

Real spoilers ahead, so don't read on if you're going to read it.

The story opens with Our Heroine pulled out of "stasis", with her memories missing in important respects; an apparently uninteresting medic from the losing side of the necromantic war. She has a bad time, and is assigned for interrogation by KF. Part two then goes back to the war a few years ago, and her experiences therein; her gradually developing role as "handler" for the "evil" KF who gradually falls for her and vice versa; in part three she regains her memories and the evil necromancers are defeated and so on.

So it begins with mystery, and some interesting "alchemy", and a nice moody atmosphere and tension. This is the best bit. Flipping to part two gives us a different perspective, and we begin to see that the vaunted "resistance" isn't quite as noble as we were lead to think (though why they are called "the resistance", when they start off as the govt, I don't know). Various tropes - outsiders getting their chance at education but being looked down upon by the hereditary insiders - are well deployed. Eventually it all turns into a teenage love story of the "oh, Artagel" sort and her failure to handle the culmination of that well is the duff patch around pages 800-900. But knowing that in advance would I think vitiate from about half way through; fortunately I didn't. I did begin to think that the way she and KF were able to meet up regularly without anyone tracking them was really Not Very Plausible At All, but unless you're really concentrating that takes a while to seep through. The scheme by which Cetus does his stuff rather flowed by me and I didn't quite understand whether she thought she had explained it but failed, or was deliberately being vague, but never mind. The bits with Ivy - first, her implausible ability to infiltrate, and then her implausible ability to steal the phylactery - grated somewhat. And in the end the "international community" (ffs) trying to bury the past all seemed far too much like a rather naive smearing of current ideas onto a different world. Was she trying to make a point? I hope not.

The two central characters are clearly the most important things in the world to each other, just like in teen romance. But the megadeaths all around them don't seem to produce much more than generic sadness in Our Heroes. Would it not perhaps have been better for the world if KF had simply died, thereby weakening the evil necromantic side? The excuse given is that he was also killing the bad people, so perhaps not; but I think a more honest book would have examined this more carefully.

Character notes: Our Heroine is really a bit wet, and allows everyone to push her around. The resistance assigns her tedious arduous supporting roles, and she just accepts this. Characters with no formal authority give her commands which she accepts. She is not an analogue of Hermione Granger. Her relationship with Luc is... odd. She is devoted to him, but apparently - it gradually and I think implausibly emerges - not at all in a romantic way. I think it would be natural - given her background - that she would be; there should be tension there, between her and him, and then a tension in her relation to KF.

Book review: The Grace of Kings

As I said on Goodreads: Yet more generic fantasy not saved by a Chinese tinge. Dull, with dull characters and dull writing and dull plot. 

There isn't much more to be said without bothering to talk about it, which I can't bring myself to do at any length, so won't. The plot is desperately generic as are the characters as is the setting as is the dialogue; there is nothing there yet it continues at vast length - it is yet another doorstop, and predictably enough the first in a series.

I gave up after about 150 pages when nothing interesting had happened - the assassination by glider was almost interesting, but he ruined it by allowing three passes and the pilot not to get killed by archers - and I realised that rather than being a pleasant distraction from the prickly heat, it was just bland pap my mind wouldn't even focus on.

Anyway, the point I'm trying to make to myself here is: you've just got to stop starting to read this stuff. You will be disappointed. There is better out there. 

Speaking of which, E M Forster's Guide to Alexandria turned up today.

Wien, 2026

A long weekend in Vienna, with M, Si and B. Mostly to spend a weekend together; we don't meet often enough. But also to relax, see Vienna, and also to see some sights associated with M's family history, specifically her father's.

There was a  climbing wall nearby but I didn't visit; sort-of I wasn't in the mood; I'd just finished quite a bit of climbing and was feeling a bit tired (but I did push myself to go running, good).

My pix are here, but beware they are mostly art, from the Kunsthistoriches Museum, the Nat Hist, the Leopold and the Belvedere.

My main pic makes the unoriginal observation that graffiti is the art of our times. I notice, now, that I haven't chosen to inline any of the "proper" art. Well, it is hard to choose between them.

My second pic makes the equally unoriginal observation that I have a thing for rude pictures. Ah well.

That's from a sarcophagus; of nes-schu-tefnut, around 300 BC says the label, but it doesn't tell you anything about the scenes carved so beautifuly into it. I recall seeing it before; possibly from a couple of EGU visits in 2006 and 2007, but quite possibly from when I went though in 1986 on the way to Budapest.

I was formerly doubtful about Egon Schiele's, but am now quite converted: they are good.

We also chanced across a political protest, near the Dom. Initially I assumed it was the usual idiots, but no, it was pro-Iranian-monarchy. Well, good luck to them. A curious feature was the absence of any police.

Book review: The Hare With the Amber Eyes

The Hare with Amber Eyes: A Hidden Inheritance (2010) is a family memoir by British ceramicist Edmund de Waal... the story of his family, the Ephrussi, once a very wealthy European Jewish banking dynasty, centred in Odessa, Vienna and Paris, and peers of the Rothschild family. The Ephrussis lost almost everything in 1938 when the Nazis confiscated their property, and were unable to recover most of their property after the war, including priceless artwork; an easily hidden collection of 264 Japanese netsuke miniature sculptures was saved, tucked away inside a mattress by Anna, a loyal maid at Palais Ephrussi in Vienna during the war years. The collection has been passed down through five generations of the Ephrussi family, providing a common thread for the story of its fortunes from 1871 to 2009. Says wiki, largely accurately.

I read this in Vienna, sort-of at Mfd's instigation, though M passed it to me. That is a good place to read it, because - whilst quite a bit of the book concerns Paris¹ - the main interest is Vienna, and the horrible events of the Anschluss. EdW is a terribly cultured person, and his book is terribly cultured too, but somehow lacking. Spread too thin perhaps. In a way, he has nothing to say. He fingers his netsuke, speculates on what others might once have thought of them, and puts them back in their vitrine. I'm being unkind and perhaps unfair; but nonetheless - having visited rather a lot of paintings in my days in Vienna - the analogy that comes to mind is of the hyper-refined modern artist or connoisseur who can no longer appreciate the old masters and instead hangs only white circles on white backgrounds, or somesuch.

I said that wiki's description is "largely accurate" and the qualifier is because whilst they were finally ruined in 1938, the family lost greatly in WWI, and seems - from what I recall of what the book says - to have mostly lost its influential banking role either then or between the wars. Viktor seems to have little business acumen and I think the family was living off past glories, the bank rescued by others. Certainly they didn't have the finely-tuned political connections that top-level banking requires in my mind, nor the ability to take decisive action.

Notes

1. Some of the stuff about Charles being in Proust's circle is nice.

Book review: The Left Hand of Darkness

Is Light, obvs. Just in case you were wondering. This is a famous well-regarded LeGuin, which I re-read for the first time since my childhood recently, prompted by E reading it. She liked it, and so did I. The story is good, and well told; the gender-politics is interesting, and well folded in.

Wiki says The Left Hand of Darkness is a science fiction novel by the American writer Ursula K. Le Guin. Published in 1969, its popularity established Le Guin's status as a major author of science fiction. The novel is set in the fictional universe of the Hainish Cycle, a series of novels and short stories by Le Guin, which she introduced in the 1964 short story [Semley's Necklace]. It was fourth in writing sequence among the Hainish novels, preceded by City of Illusions and followed by The Word for World Is Forest... [it] was among the first books in the genre now known as feminist science fiction, and it is described as the most famous examination of androgyny in science fiction. A major theme of the novel is the effect of sex and gender on culture and society. And all that is fair enough. I don't rate TWFWIF, BTW.

Of the story: mostly told through the viewpoint of Genly Ai, Envoy of the Ekumen, to the world of Gethen aka Winter. Alone, so as to not arouse fear, and unable to wow the yokels by the Law of Cultural Embargo, he struggles to make progress in the kingdom of Karhide, partly because the king is "mad", especially after Estraven, who appears to be his chief supporter, is exiled. He goes instead to Orgoreyn, a sort of grey-commensual East-Germany-like place, where political jockeying leads to his imprisonment in a gulag, from which Estraven rescues him. They escape across the Ice and after a long journey make it back to Karhide, by which time he has called his ship down, and politics turns in his favour.

The Gethenians are generally neuter, except for a brief monthly interval in which they become either male of female at random, and in that phase are sexually active. But mostly, the book makes much of their usual asexuality, and tries to convince us that this make a big difference to the way their society works. But notice that I didn't need to mention this when outlining the story, and I'm not really convinced that her thesis is correct. I am politcically-philosophically motivated in saying that, though: my thesis is that a great many features of human society are generic, and would be present in any intelligent civilisation. The main different LeGuin presents on Gethen is the absence of large-scale war; but the book provides no explanation for that; indeed, the characters wonder at it. And there seems no strong reason why neuterness would matter - obvs, you could make some up; but equally you could make up climate-related ones too.

I think the virtue of the neuterness is more that it makes you think a little about how it might affect the world. One nice aspect, in that no-one knows which sex they'll morph into, is that the general populace has an interest in making the world good for mothers-tending-children. E was underwhelmed by the gender aspects, perhaps reasonably: her generation has grown up with both-sexes-are-equal type stuff, and indeed with the idea that people get to choose their gender, and while we're clearly not quite there yet the... excitement has perhaps faded somewhat.

Quibbles: I think that, biologically, moving from N to M or F in a few days and back once a month is a bit too frequent; perhaps once a year might have been a better cadence. The naughty East Germans have, apparently, found drugs that allow you to choose M or F roles rather than leaving it to chance, and I can't help but feel this would be rather popular, and would have spread widely and become universal by now. The lack of adoption of tech, leaving us in a cute mediaeival-type world, is useful for the story and yet doesn't seem all that likely: there are, after all, at least two feuding nations: would they really not accept the help that using tech would give, in the struggle? Oh, and the Handdara: an organisation of LeGuin's idealised monks-without-religion: they have no creed, they live simply in Fastnesses, and so on. They have developed Foretelling, which is the ability to answer any question, in order to demonstrate that knowing the right answer to the wrong question is useless. Predictably, their answers are evasive and corn-dolly-like unhelpful: the answer to "when will I die" is not a helpful date, but "on a Thursday" for example; so, they are cheating. The book treats their ability as real, and perhaps it is necessary to give them their mystique, and yet this too seems to me to be cheating.

St Gervais Les Bains 2026

Being an accout of my trip down to the Chamonix valley, what I did there with E, and my getting back.

This text is directly cut from my diary, with light edits, and so includes tedia you care nothing for, like my dahlias. But I care. It is currently incomplete, I need to finish formatting, GPS traces, inserting pictures and so on. One day there will be, at the end, a section on practical information, lessons learned, and so on.

Structure: I drove down, starting on Wednesday the 13th of May, arriving on Sunday the 17th; we had an appartment until Saturday the 30th; E flew back, I drove back, returning late on Tuesday the 2nd of June. There are 855 pix of this glorious event, many of them of various cathedrals along the way. Or sub-select: outward, there, return.

You may think that the last two weeks of May are an odd time to go to Chamonix; but it was "carefully" planned so that we could use the hut winter rooms.

My lead picture is E, abbing off the "two abseils" bit of the Cosmiques Arete.

Now read on...

Monday 11th May: E off early to London; I am awake, and hear her go off, but decide to lounge in bed. Eve: outing with the men at 5, coxing the ladies at 6:30; I remain dissatisfied with their catches but today that wasn’t their focus. By a spare Petzl from Outside; E can’t find hers, though we’ll probably also borrow D’s. Finally book channel crossing: via tunnel, because more frequent as well as faster. They are every half hour, rather than 1.5+ hours for ferries. Find OAV cards. Plant out some dahlias at the back, having heavily manured the bed.

Tuesday 12th: the eve of departure. I have done “most” of my packing, just that awkward last 10% to go, how hard can that be? The train is 10:46, so to Folkestone 9:46, so leave 7:30 so get up 6:30 I suppose, that should be doable, I was awake before 7 today, since I’m sleeping with the curtains open. The garden is in order, I watered it, it has rained a little, I shall leave a note for M.

Weds 13th: up 6:20 last fiddles (I remembered to put my wedding ring on now I'm not bouldering) b’fast, heating off, off 7:15. 10:15: on Shuttle, whew. Departure is 10:46 (oh, except it isn't we’re off at 10:21) check-in nominally closed 9:46 I was 10 mins late due to traffic around Dartford but no problem. The delay stressed me a bit even though I know I could get the next or one after, since even a cheapo ticket allows +1 hour. All pretty quiet at this season.

Managed to get onto coast road. Stop at Cap Blanc Nez [GPS], preceded by memorial to Hubert Latham, pioneering aviator. Also touching memorial to Kevin the biker. It is very windy. The countryside is lovely: rolling hills, little villages, fields of grain rippling in the wind. The coastal walk is appealing, though the family of four biking was struggling up the hill.

1:30: at Wissant [GPS], sitting in the sun outside a cafe (terrasse des filles) sheltered from the wind with an allongé. Lovely. In the distance giant cargo ships; beyond, the White cliffs. Peace. Inshore, wind surfers and kiters are just visible over the seawall; the sea roars.

I then stay on the coast road for a while before finally admitting it is too slow and accept Gmaps toll alternative. Which is a lot less effort. And so, Rouen. I haven't thought through exactly how to get to my room, or even quite where it is. Park in uground Palais de Justice, will discover cost tomorrow. Walk 5 mins to room, no-one there, contact via Booking, and a somewhat shambling guy turns up, but speaking good Eng, and lets me in (the room was E31, which must represent about the lowest cut-to-the-bone price possible with clean appt and clean sheets).

And then a surreal wander through Rouen. Charming place, full of interest, from old stone to ruelles to half timbered houses; all quite alive. Fantastic cathedral frontage (but the beauty is the detail that Monet lost). But it took me ages to find and navigate ped access to parking. Now, cafe, in l’Espiguette. Either the concept of allongé hasn't reached Rouen yet or my pronunciation is worse than I feared.

Thurs 14th: alarm 7:30 (really 6:30…) up just before 8, out :15, to Cath want cafe but; go in, service, listen 20 mins, sitting far back and enjoying the view with hymns. Cafe nearby, then back to room, clear and leave. To Abbatial: front has been scrubbed but rear is lovely esp on a now sunny green morning. Then to cat cafe! Well time for a cafe anyway and cats a bonus. Mlle is so suited as proprietor of same: cute girl in tune with her cats. Good.

Then to Cath and admire again. The front is spectacular; multi layered; you have to move to appreciate it a picture doesn't do it. But I take one anyway. Then hailstorm and back to car. Route: follow bends of Seine for a bit for fun, past chalky cliffs.

6 pm: cafe in Chartres [GPS] watching the rain on the porch, and trying not to beat myself up too much about damaging the car. For stupid reasons (Gmaps and my hotel disagreeing about route, the GPS losing lock or me being confused) I failed to think and attempted to drive down a narrow road partly blocked by scaffolding; this did not end well. Circle round again and this time go the right way unconfused; checkin. Room is good as is Hostellerie. But farewell to a quiet afternoon peacefully soaking in the glories of Chartres. I do visit but don't find peace. Instead, a green walk along the river a few kms (that I wanted to do anyway) to Supermarche to try to buy gaffer tape but… it is Ascension Day and the Fr take that seriously. So walk back. A local has juice and cheese so likely that will be supper.

I’ve felt like this when I have done stupid things before. I think realising that helps. I know I will keep going over “but I should have thought; if only I had…” in the night. Ah well. I have tried to sublime it into a sensible resolution: be more cautious: and will try to apply that to this holiday as penance.

Anyway: look round the Cathedral again; the choir screen stonework is its interior glory though some of the glass is decent too. Realise I’m poor at following the life of Christ scenes.

And so back. Shower. Lie on bed and read (Lewis) / phone, and have some bread-n-cheese. This room is functionally no better than last night but much nicer. Party because of the unseen at the moment but present in my mind surroundings.

Friday 15th: up 7 b’fast in sunny room. I actually slept pretty well, just a bit of 5:30 angst. Then discover little terrace overlooking the town. This is a good place to stay.

Go up and look around some more, walk all the way round, admire glass, take more pix even though I did last time… then back to Hostellerie, and drive off to that Supermarche now open and get tape and repair - or rather patch - car. Feel better. Later get reply from CRG recommending body shop, so perhaps there is hope. Feel better. Sit by l’Eure a bit then off to Orleans.

Route is up then flat, wide fields, fairly dull, saved by nice avenues of shade trees.

Orleans: park by river visit Cath [GPS] admire it as esp towers and inside the somewhat weird modern glass. Sit outside cafe and gaze, finally realising time is flowing.

But meh: go to Meung anyway, have a cafe near church and chateau, then walk to river [GPS] and find statue to Jehan.

Finally to Blois [GPS], the remembered old bridge over the wide river. To Best Western Chateau, decent, nice room in the eves. Catch up phone and shower while it rains then walk around to river and back, I am jealous of their orange iris in formal garden. Buy more goat’s cheese and that with y’days bread is supper. Fuel: half tank and 450 miles.

Sat 16th: I am realising that my lack of driving may catch up on me. So alarm 6:45 allowing one snooze then b’fast 7 and after 3x coffee off 8. Early mist gone farewell nice Blois. Along Loire lovely (see a pine marten cross road I’m pretty sure) only regret is no time to keep stopping; come back on bike sometime? Saumur 10:30 thriving huge “castley” chateau; Blindés is not as I thought chief attraction. Spend about 2:30 there, not rushed, pic of most of the early stuff. Glad I went shame it is so far “over” it is 5h to Autun.

2:50: break in Loché-s-Indrois by little weir. Finish cheese bread still going.

3:30: passing through Levroux and my eye is caught; there's a cute maison du Bois; and a sturdy respectable church.

4:40: Chateauneuf-s-Cher. Pretty little rivers, tiny little cafe that looks shut but isn't; follow two locals in. Cafe avec biscuit €1.30: is this a charity? Book hotel (appt) Autun, exchange messages E.

7:30: Autun [GPS]. More narrow streets! But no scaffolding. My appt is indeed what it says: a full appt, including sitting room and kitchen and study, all scrupulously clean with high ceilings. This is an old place, built as cloister, currently mostly assisted living but presumably renting out a few spare rooms. Walk up to Cath which says it opens late Sunday I hope not. Walk around town and look over countryside slowly.

Sunday 17th: up 7. The day is grey the birds sing. B’fast: quite small but what I want. So far I am alone. Slowly sun emerges. There is a lovely winding multi-level garden off the terrace that I explore. Quiet, beautiful. The appt and the whole building is uplifting. And to think, I almost wimped out and booked an Ibis, a reminder to me that risk does have rewards, too. This could be a Romance garden.

Visit Cath (sign says no visit Sunday morning but Frog slips in so I do), quietly, though Mme and her infant aren't. But capital is… in the treasury? Have fun looking. Off. Refill by lac: was 3/16 left, 775 miles. +56L.

1:20: Bourg [GPS]. Disappointing I say; perhaps Sunday is not it's busiest. But children from Cath in finest Sunday suit is good to see. The cafe I have found is heavily immigrant, by which I suppose I mean darkish skin and heavy beards. But all happy. Cath unexciting but get p’card for Ma. Gmaps is offering me 1:30 off for tolls so I think I will take it. Just when I write a place off: gorgeous tiny courtyard with tree in sun.

4: StG. Pickup keys. 970 miles. Cafe. M video calls, she's back home. To appt via Supermarket, some confusion but make it, work barrier, find right building and floor… and I’m in. Hurrah. Not large but fine and two bedrooms and balcony with lovely mountain views, currently snowy. We are, I realise, in St G not le Fayet St G. I wonder which I prefer? Pick up E from Sallanches 20 mins away. Sit, make coffee, then walk 5 mins to town and eat at the second place we find, Lulu’s. Classy food, E has risotto I have buratta. And so home, more balcony and bed.

Monday 18th: a fairly quiet day. Up 7 b’fast coffee E up 8. 9 ish to Chamonix - about 25 mins - park underground and walk into town. We don't have much to do: look around shops; cafe at the elegant Josephine; inquire of the Maison du Montage. They aren't encouraging… new snow, perhaps we should take snowshoes? Hmm I think not. Well we we shall see. Up to le Tour to recce [GPS]: there is a large empty car park and a faint track up and as expected a closed cable car. Drive home, on and off rain continues. To supermarket for… porridge, cereal bars and stuff, after E carefully makes a list [GPS]. Pack, slowly, I winnow gear down. E cooks the fresh pasta and some white asparagus which needs peeling.

Tuesday 19th: 8:50 at le Tour carpark; we are the only car (for 2019, see France 2019: Albert Premier (Aiguille du Tour; Tete Blanche, Petite Fourche)). Bright sunny day, time to trog up for four hours or so [GPS]. And off we go. We feel slow but actually managed 300m/h until the snow at 2100m then slow down; 5h to the hut, stepping up through deep snow is hard work; we alternate trail breaking.

As we arrive the cloud comes in somewhat and it snows. The winter hut is a salle downstairs, and dortoirs upstairs. Cold, so we get the wood fire going and melt water.

Slowly, we can no longer see our breath. Late lunch: E cooks up some pasta that has been left using gas someone left. 4:30: E off for a nap while I manage the fire and water. Afternoon: read, look out.

Dinner: E suggests bread and cheese, which sort-of should have been lunch but we wanted something warm then. And saussison. I go to bed just before 8, E later. It is colder upstairs but we have s’bags (because woman in Maison du Montage thought wrongly there might not be blankets; my new s2s, and E has my Purple rab) and blankets. Sleep well.

Wednesday 20th: up 6 start fire make porridge and tea. Outside it is snowing, which then stops, but we're in cloud. Hmm. We talk: maybe we'll make a tentative, and see how it goes, but we're expecting failure. 8: still cloudy. I am reading A Passage To India; E, Lolly Willows. 9: somewhat better, head off [GPS]. It is hard going in soft snow but at least we get the initial path from the hut right, aided by a few cairns. Wx gradually clears to sun, as it is supposed to. Snow going remains difficult and we are slow.

Get to top of Signal Reilly and decide on the Col Pissoir branch, I have failed to read the other Rock fax routes properly. We continue to 50m of the col but progress becomes harder and we're 5h in. Ah well: retreat by mutual agreement. Wx is closing in a bit too. Down, strangely enough, is much easier and we do several hours ascent in 20 mins.

And so back, around 2. To our astonishment the winter hut is full! Well, no free tables. There are some army folk; and some others with raquettes or skis. We weren't sure about staying the night or descending but now our private paradise is invaded, we’ll descend. Start down 3 [GPS], fighting snow even on desc, and get down in just over 2h, navigating the somewhat icky scrambling sections. Car, and head off home for welcome yoghurt and shower. Sun pours in. Soir: to town for crepes but it is shut today, so pizza. Which is too big but otherwise good.

Thursday 21st: up 8; E soon after. Realise my skylight makes the day look grey from my bed: actually it's bright sun and blue skies. And in a fit of conversation, say that to E instead of just thinking it. Perhaps I should do that more. Sadly balcony doesn't get sun in the morning; E bravely sits out anyway. After, stroll to town.

The fancy cafe doesn't have outside tables so pick the one opposite, by the church. Realise StG is rather lovely to just be in. Two coffees a juice and we alternate looking around the church (typical Romanesque onion dome; i.e. not ornamented except the altar) then it is getting on for noon and Mme has set all the tables for lunch and starts clearing our empties; we can take a hint and pay.

Get bread and then nice cheese from cheese man in marché and back for lunch. Pm: 2: off to Les Galliands for sport and have a nice time doing 3 easy pieces [GPS]. Alas I fail to take any landscape-orientated pix but have faked one.

Back. E goes to shop, I shower. E gets some biere (rouge) on request. Sadly - and yet a quiet evening in will be pleasant - the travelling Lyon opera is booked out; but we were prepared to do our cultural duty.

Friday 22nd: up 7:45. We had kinda intended to leave at 9 for Les G again, but I am feeling lazy and E isn't otherwise so instead we’ll wash clothes and head off to boulder at Les Bossons which should be shaded around 10:30 [GPS]. Plan for tomorrow is Montenvers train and Couvercle, which should be open.

E is still feeling her calves and me my quads; perhaps I like her should have used a second stick on descent.

Do the Bossons boulders: quiet and peaceful in the woods also cool and shaded. We find the boulders and do some (easy) climbs but as we go on our identification becomes less clear. We get up to boulder 10. Most of the markings have weathered off; a few traces remain. Then to Chamonix to see Montenvers terminal, it is shut but promises to be open tomorrow. Walk to town and have nice proper lunch in the Isabella: entree and salmon for me; Magret de canard for E. And then a coffee; finishing after three.

Thence to le Fayet thermes crags, rather a nice environment [GPS]; some old world elegance remains. Sit in shade for a bit as the sun is hot; then do the shaded 4c at the R of the RHS crag, and the somewhat less shaded 4a/5a at the R of the LHS. Which also turns out to be more than 30m so you do need to split the pitch. And ab off from the top. But we manage. Back 6:30 I go post p’card to Ma and buy bread. Video call M. Dinner is soup and bread and cheese. Book Cosmiques for Sunday - Saturday is full - and Couvercle for Wednesday and Thursday - Saturday is also full. Set alarm for 1:30 am to watch Starship flight 12: woo!

Saturday 23rd: up earlier so we can get to start of via ferrata by 9, via the cute auto Ascenseur [GPS]. There is a largeish group about to start, so we gear up, then some of them go wobbly so we go ahead. After a first easy bridge section we let two lean mean speedy types through and are then relaxed. It swiftly gets decently difficult: there are lots of rungs but there are overhanging sections. We take about 45 mins for S1 then have a rest, and look out of the passarelle. It's a lovely green gorge with plunging cataract, we rest our arms, the other group go through. And then we do the next section, which is more strenuous and leave at echappoir #2 with our arms wringing. Fun! Walk up to top; I straight to town for cafe and E via shower; sit by church again. Then move over rue to Patisserie Fattier for fruit tarts. And then a peaceful afternoon mostly at home though we do venture out to look at the local gear shop - well supplied - and buy bread cheese etc for tomorrow. Oh, and remember to book telepherique.

Sunday 24th: up 6:30 out 7:30 Cham 8 parking Grepon (for 2019, see France 2019: Cosmiques). There are cabins going already - we thought 8:30 was the earliest but no - so to nearby cafe. To reassure, there's a departure board of cabins, they are loading #17 now and we are #20. Cool, blue skies. Slightly rushed departure from cafe when #20 is signed but get on in plenty of time. Up, dramatically to Plan d’Aiguille then even more dramatically to the top [GPS]. Pause on bridge to admire views: it is gorgeous in this fine wx. Gear up there: warmer than the ice tunnel. Then to exit, crampons+rope, and out. There's a lot of people but we're at the tail of the rush. People heading up Trois Monts.There's a good trace but we - esp E - go slowly and cautiously. And so to col, easily from there, admiring views and lots of parties on the rock. And skiers, and parapents. To hut, maybe less than an hour, and snow slope up easy. Inside, too early to register says Mme so blister plaster my blister, can up, little food, loo, dump excess kit and off 11:20 for the Torino hut [GPS].

We have a good trip but it is longer than I carelessly expected: 3h, not “about 2h”. That means we can't lounge around too long because we need to be back for dinner at 6:30. Lots of views of people climbing the rock routes as we pass. Torino remains like the bar in an Italian village. And so head back, making it just in time, at least formally, though as we're at the back of the service queue we could have been later… Talk with Fr in Eng, perhaps more E than me. Dinner extends to 8:30 and we're both pretty tired so to bed after, with a brief time out on the terrasse but it's cold out. E’s eyes are troubling her: they hurt, and they seem to have more red capillaries on the outside than is right. Make her “side pieces” for her sunglasses like mine have. Discuss that her glasses may not be super-uv-protecting.

Monday 25th: E has booked us 7 am b’fast with the intent of us getting off by 8. We make 8:10. She has decided she is good for Cosmiques which is good; it would have been disappointing not; though I am nervous of the route finding mostly. She doesn't want much b’fast though: possibly feeling the altitude. As it turns out, the route is fine [GPS]. And we have several parties around to keep us on track; and indeed there are footsteps since it is still quite snowy. First descend; then up to old obs where we gear up and take in coils to about 20m. Then there's a snow slope then more, then a diagonal abs for ~20m, then nominally two more 20 m but actually with a 60m rope we run them together. At that point we're “quite close”: I can see the Midi terrasse and it's not far off. But we have the notorious “wall with front point holes” to do, which is fun, but well within me; we're not pitching any of this. Then we’re at the famous chimney, I think, but everyone is going round the N side (to the L) so we do too and it's fine. And a bit more and we’re up the ladder onto the terrasse. 3:30 a good time for us. Bravo from some tourists is pleasing. Dekit, relax, look round, gaze up the Tacul face in awe at the little dots heading up. And so to cafe, for an hour or so, and then descend and home and showers and more rest. Soir: out for citron pressé and boules de glace, buy some juice, and to Brasserie for salmon ceviche, and tartiflette for me.

Tuesday 26th: up late around 9 and E a little later; quiet morning reading+phone. Outside they are strimming the grass and replacing boring modern street lights with retro looking ones. Lunchtime in town for cafe [GPS], and watch municipal folk doing stuff to flower beds in the hot sun. Buy food, back for lunch, E cooks sphag and we have cheese; relax pm until 5; take escalator down (realise it is water powered) to practice abbing-with-prussic [GPS], and also prussicing (hard, and would need lots of practice, and I don't want to knock my nice slings about). Back, video call with M. Quiet evening; pack. Book nice villa appt Autun for Sunday night, and le Shuttle for Tuesday night.

Wednesday 27th: slept with window open o’night good. Up 6:30 b’fast with E on balcony. Another nice day predicted to continue. Off 7:30 to Cham free parking just by Montenvers station (for 2019, see France 2019: Couvercle and Pointe Isabella). Get tickets - Mme informs us it is view only, the grotto de glace is fermé, and we solemnly agree - I go get some more notes, and then we're off! Fairly quick, 20 mins. E has carelessly forgotten her water bottle so buys 500ml for an outrageous €4, meh. And we're off [GPS]. There is of course a trail of people. The poor old glacier continues to retreat, we pass the 1820 level sign, then the 2018, then 2020 (we were here in 2019) and still down. We can get down via grot-d-g steps not nasty moraine. And then… well, off we go, somewhat unclear, follow our noses and people and hope. The glacier is cut by largeish streams and one has to get on the right side of them. Some parties have stopped to play at crampons; we put ours on and pass a slightly dodgy section above a rushy river. At about 2h we’ve got high enough, decrampon, and turn up the moraine to the ladders. 3h start ladders, which are long but less scary this time; we take them slowly. After that, there are two path junctions to Charpoa, then around to the apparently impregnable rock face split by a giant crack and more ladders, and up, and then at last we can see the hut, just a traverse away. 5:48, was 6h last time. Sign in, sit down, notice hut has been renovated. Go in swimming pool! Have cafe/hot choc, and rhubarb tart, then outside for bread+cheese. It is almost warm: there are some nuages. 5:30: go recce start for tomorrow [GPS]. And: it is further down and back than you expect. But there's a cairn and yellow pole trail start, and signs warning re Charpoa path demontage. Decent veg dinner and soon after to bed.

Thurs 28th: b’fast 4:30 as compromise between 4 and 5; off 5:30 when light enough not to need head torches. Down as recce, then via rope onto snow and so on up [GPS]. Behind Mont B goes rosy then comes into sun, but happily we’re still in shadow. There are two skiers ahead of us, and some others of unknown purpose, but we're not obviously dropping back. On! Over some icky snow slopes of ~6’ snow on top of smooth rock. Fine now but feel avalanche-y later. Snow now is hard: crampons bite but don't sink in. After quite some time to base of real route, the snow slope to crest. Up this, and then start feeling it is all a bit steep, even me, but esp E. Now in sun. Gear in the “scrambling” section but more steep snow and call a halt at 3550. Ah well. This turns out to be wise as our descent is slow: I lower E down the steep sections taking advantage of tat, but there's a lot. But eventually we get back to the crest, and by then snow has softened and we get back onto safer ground. It is now simply a matter of getting down - oh, and by now the skiers, having submitted, have whizzed off for their lovely descent - and we set off into softening snow, and slowed by taking a detour to avoid the slabs. Get quite weary and dry, but eventually back to hut at 5, whew. Pool again, having washed feet. Sit. Rest. Dinner again good: egg, rice, spinach; bed soon after, I am v tired.

Friday 29th: leisurely b’fast at 7, then sit outside admiring the glorious view: up to Pt Isa, across to Dent du Geant, over Mer to the basin we walked over, up to Mt Blanc. After the slightly scary descent y’day I am counting the things to get down before we're safe: mostly the ladders. E drags us off 8:30, since we want to avoid the sun [GPS]. We get to the top of the ladders before leaving the shade, and the ladders themselves surprisingly quick: 17 mins, but it's a loong way. Then the rope down dust, then down the icky soily moraine, then pick our way over the rocky moraine, to the thin central strip of ice. That's easy walking but doesn't last long; above Ecole de Glace, more mank, cross the river, more easy ice, more moraine and then finally onto the stairs, then ladders, then path, then Montenvers, sit, relax. Just over 5h: it really is a long way to or from Couvercle. E swears never to go again; I don't. Sit over cafe, then train and we’re in Cham at 3.

Saturday 30th: up 6 to take E to airport. She has an implausible amount of carry on luggage but says it usually works. My tonsils, that got very dry towards the end of Pt Isa day, are made incautious swallowing unpleasant, are still slightly sore. It's cool out on the balcony for our last b’fast together. Drive fine, kiss-n-drop nearly fine except for mysteriously absent place to stop; terror on way back as no internet (GiffGaff in Swiss) forces me to use carnav, and it wants to go through Geneva. But it is fine. Nearly stop but decide not. Back, wander to town for long leisurely coffees but read mail: ah: checkout is today not tomorrow. Oops. Make that a brief but not rushed cafe. Back, pack, clean, brief sit on balcon to relax, last shower to wash off sweat, up town to drop keys and we're done about 11:30. Decide I still want Annecy waterfront, but will settle for soir not morn, so aim to get there around… 6? Will go via Megeve. But first, to Les Contamines Montjoie, where M and I camped on TMB… 39 years ago [GPS]. Cafe. Then a little further to the roadhead [GPS]. There are many paths and possibilities and I feel guilty for ignoring them until I recall my left heel, which needs rest.

So start the long journey back (1300 miles, tank 7/16_. Through Megeve, to Lac d’Annecy SW end, where the folks bathed and sunbathe and sail. Peaceful lap of waves, even with a distant powerboat. Sit behind closed hotel and read for a bit and polish off old food. Then to “proper” bit for cafe, then sit, and little swim [GPS]. Lovely! Not cold. Distant limestone cliffs over the lac. On, some traffic delays, don't stop Annecy - well I’ve had my lake - through nice hills to Nantua where I wished I'd stopped last year and now can, at the head of the lac. Still evening with sun down lake, beautiful. Stroll [GPS]. Monument to deportation.

Sun 31st: the last of May. B’fast 7 overlooking lac. L’Embarcadere is clean fresh and modern, and good for an o’night stay but is also an image of anomie. Walk. Nantua lakefront is lovely, the town behind fading. Drive a little, to Ain, and take side road down to river above which towers the bridge I crossed on; below is another world. Drive along slowly. Sparse: fisher folk, two scullers, a jogger and dog. Park in little field; people have been camping; drone. Blue skies are over. Back en route. Stop Ceyzeriat for cafe; seems alive; what once was. Listened to S+G “America”, a good melancholy road song; the GL “If you could read my mind” and wallow in emotion. But it's not like that. Chalon unsympa [GPS]. Canal du Centre diversion at Ecuisses [GPS]. To Autun about 3, to Cath, look, to tresor, find the glorious Magi stone, and more [GPS]. To Villas Medicci, room 208, sadly not as wonderful as ?107? was. But, fine. Make coffee. Go sit in garden. Heat is gone, breeze is balmy, bees are loud.

Monday 1st June: up for b’fast 7 but no one there; sit in courtyard by fountain and read for a bit. Same simple as before (cafe, juice, 2 rolls, one croissant, butter, honey) which is all I need. After, clear room and sit in garden. 10:30: Canal du Nivernais. Lovely, but the bar by the bridge is shut. A route to cycle. Fuel Nevers: was at ⅛. 1577 miles. Nevers is distinctly sympa to my tastes. I enjoy strolling by the river and up into town and around the Cath, and am not even put out when I find it closed, firstly for lunch, and secondly 1-3 Juin for travaux [GPS]. To the main square for cafe. EDF nuke is steaming impressively. To Briare: wonderful mosaic’d church. Then back to pont canal, where I get a San Pell limonade. Then walk over it [GPS]. Wow! A km long. V impressive. And there's a lovely little gite, once the eclusier’s cottage. But, it is early. Drone.

Then where? Not sure but Dreux is in the right direction, and may be by the Loire. Head off, bravely passing Orleans, but seeing a Nook. End up passing Chartres too, perhaps for the best though it is nice, and managed en car to find Dreux interesting, so we'll go, to a cheapo B+B hotel. So that's 2:30 solid driving, first for a while. Dreux does turn out to be ok, not spectacular, but ok, even if the Royal Chapel is shut le soir and, you guessed, le Mardi. Never mind; eat dinner (baguette and hummus and juice from supermarche) on wall overlooking town [GPS]. Then check on car (ok, free 7pm to 9am) and to le Beffroi etc. Drone, as an experiment.

Tuesday 2nd: last day dawn's rain: I haven't seen that for some time. B’fast early. Off in rain that turns torrential along the Eure, nice. Evreux. Cath: grey and gloomy and obsessed with numbering it's doors. Old glass. So many symbols that must have meaning once. Has a somewhat Ely-like central octagon lantern, but in stone. Rouen: Cath, again. Still good. Cat cafe: also still good [GPS]. 3h to Calais, I need to be there for 7. To le Treport plage. It's rather Gt Yarmouth but hilly - white cliffs, there's a funicular - sunny, windy and stony. Cafe chez Yunus [GPS]. To Wissant which is nicer. But also windy. Big jumps from kite surfers. Cafe. And then… at last… time for the tunnel via one last bit of coast. Hello aviator statue, sweeping poppy lined roads, distant sea. Fr passport fine; UK is dreadfully slow. But my early train is delayed so it doesn't matter. Home, 10. Navigate new gate. Fuel: ½; total miles for trip 2100.

Notes

Lessons learnt

* in the early season, be prepared to have and use raquettes. There appear to be a variety of these.

* there can be a lot of snow in the last two weeks of May.

Book review: Once Upon a Time in the North

By Philip "Dark" Pullman. Given to me, or acquired by me, at Mother's at Christmas. Lightweight, but fun. An offshoot, providing Lee Scoresby and Iorek Byrnison's backstory. Finished in Rouen.

Lee is the laconic hero, better with guns and thinking than you'd guess from his exterior. Iorek and he do a thing people never do in books but it is excellent: IB says his name, and LS subtly mispronounces it, as you'd expect, instead of just getting an unfamiliar name right.

I could do without the capitalism-is-evil schtick, but then again PS's theology in HDM was pretty ropey if you looked closely, which you weren't supposed to.

Getting a ton of polar bear into a balloon seems implausible.

Book review: The Grain Kings

Another one from childhood, along with Pavane. I still remember the cover. I also recall not really understanding it as a child - well, a teenager - and I don't really think I understand it now, even with the weight of experience heavy on my shoulders.

This review gives it three stars, and provides a handy summary of the stories, together with reactions to them that I largely agree with. Or this one.

Unlike Pavane, there's no linking these stories together, and that is a lack. Perhaps they are better regarded as pictures; perhaps this one star review that concludes "I really didn't enjoy reading this, but it has stayed with me and I think back on the stories a lot. I am enjoying thinking back on them far more than I enjoyed them at the time" is the best.

Book review: Perspectives

I enjoyed this; I would consider it as lightweight easy-reading fluff, slightly redeemed by name-dropping Italian painters in a way that made me more interested in seeing their works. Or as the first of the blurbs on the cover truthfully says, "a racy and enjoyable detective story". But I wouldn't call it "funny".

It is written as a succession of letters amongst the various persona; this keeps things moving, and breaks things up into easy-to-read chunks; and indeed it is very readable. But after a while it becomes a little wearing; one longs for some variety.

It looks like from this that the Pontormo frescos, and their controversial nature, were a real thing. But I'm not sure that is terribly important. It was fun reading, but I realise that it hasn't really helped my understanding of any of the painting, or of the history, since I don't know which bits are faked and which not.

Now for the downsides. On the surface, the language is relentlessly modern, which detracts from any immersion into the world; and all the characters write in much the same voice; compare to say Patrick O'Brien who provides convincing conversations. This surface of language extends to ideas; for example Our Investigator starts talking about means, motive and opportunity as though it were an Agatha Chistie.

The Wild Ride of Michelangelo is not believeable; neither that an old man could do such a thing, nor that he would find his long-disused secret entrance, nor that he could do all this unobserved. Using post-horses at the very least would have left a trail of notice in his wake. Nor do I believe that someone like him would have shaken off all his servants. Come to that, that he was the killer isn't very believable either. So rather than - as Our Ag so often manages - to have the final unmasking be a satisfying conclusion, it is more like "ho hum, I suppose the book is over then, that will have to do as an ending". Also disappointing is the Klew of the Repainted Fresco. I kinda wanted it to be someone hiding something in the wall, or something of that nature. It was distinctly unsubtle how often the book hammered home that the repainting needed to be explained. OTOH, killing with a chisel is odd - especially in a city where every gentleman and many others carry daggers - so the complete lack of interest in "why use that as a murder weapon" grates. Of course the answer is that Our Author knows it isn't an interesting clue, but Our Investigators shouldn't know it.

Also... on reflection, this is a poor detective story for the additional reason that instead of a number of interesting possible candidates, with clues to eliminate them, we're really presented with no plausible candidates (the rebellious apprentices quickly fizzle out).

The sub-plot - which isn't really sub; it is more a co-plot - about the Naughty Picture is, at the end, seen to be entirely separable from the main plot; and this I think is a weakness; in a better book they would have been inseparably connected in some way. And in the end, the title is irrelevant too. It is a word related to painting, yes. And a sequence of letters gives us different perspectives, yes. But I expected more; and the out-of-place interpolations about perspective in the book make it feel like the author realised this too and needed to stuff something in.

And lastly: the wrapper for all this is Our Author finding a collection of old letters; but it seems entirely implausible that all the letters described would end up in one collection.

Note: Mfd reviewed this too, as a .doc. It is interesting to compare our two; he is more positive.

Book review: Against Gravity

Gazza Gibbo again, and yes I know I should have known better. I lasted for 250 pages, about half way through, before giving up. Before I actually say anything about the book, here is a curiously apposite quote from Lewis, in the Allegory of Love:

The De Nuptiis, as is well known, became a text-book in the Middle Ages. Its encyclopaedic character made it invaluable for men who aimed at a universality in knowledge without being able, or perhaps willing, to return to the higher authorities. The fantastical 'babu' ornaments of the style were admired. The mixture of fable with grammatical or scientific doctrine was a damnosa hereditas which it bequeathed to the following centuries; Martianus, I take it, must bear the chief responsibility for Hawes' Tower of Doctrine and Spenser's House of Alma. He established a disastrous precedent for endlessness and form-lessness in literary work. Yet I cannot persuade myself that the Middle Ages were entirely unhappy in their choice of a master. Martianus may have been a bad fairy; but I think he had the fairy blood in him. His building is a palace without design; the passages are tortuous, the rooms disfigured with senseless gilding, ill-ventilated, and horribly crowded with knick-knacks. But the knick-knacks are very curious, very strange; and who will say at what point strangeness begins to turn into beauty? I must confess, too, that I am sufficiently of the author's kidney to enjoy the faint smell of the secular dust that lies upon them. At every moment we are reminded of something in the far past or something still to come. What is at hand may be dull; but we never lose faith in the richness of the collection as a whole. Anything may come next. We are 'pleased, like travellers, with seeing more', and we are not always disappointed. Among all these figurative woods and streams, these wheeling poles and pedantic rituals, these solemn processions and councils of the gods-gods that seem no bigger than marionettes, but stiff with gold and carved with Chinese curiosity-among all these, some at any rate suffer us to forget their doctrinal purpose, and breathe the air of wonderland.

Against Gravity is a bit like that, but without the touch of faerie or curiosity.

I gave it two stars on Goodreads, in a generous mood, perhaps for old times sake.

We meet Our Hero in Edinburgh, a refugee from a collapsed America, in a noire-ish atmosphere so typical of cyberpunkiness. He has perhaps-out-of-control enhancements growing within his body that have killed some of his friends, in a manner that will surprise or interest no-one. These were acquired during a formative period in some implausible USAnian prison complex in Venezuela of which we get flashbacks; meanwhile up in the sky is a cylindrical habitat which has apparently been taken over by nano-super-intelligences intent on building a wormhole to the Omega Point in the far future. Various characters are interested in Our Hero, who may or may not be hallucinating some of them; and of course there's a giant evil megacorp, whose boss is like so mega-smart he got the Nobel Prize at age 21, FFS, that's less plausible than a wormhole to the future.

Various "adventures" happen but don't greatly advance the plot, and I don't buy scifi to read about people having fights in hotel rooms and falling from the windows, yawn. I think that if there's a story in there it badly needed excavation from the heap of refuse that had fallen onto it, to reveal the bones, if they exist.

100 Must-Read Science Fiction Novels

I stumbed across the 100 Must-Read Science Fiction Novels (arch) and thought it would be fun to se how I compare. My own list is here. Links are to any that I've reviewed, which number... 17. Crass omissions from their list: Hobbit, LoTR, Crowley: the Deep, Engine Summer, Beasts; Icehenge; White Queen; Jack Vance; Aldiss, and more.

1. Dune by Frank Herbert

2. Foundation by Isaac Asimov

3. Frankenstein by Mary Shelley - only technically scifi

4. 1984 by George Orwell - ditto

5. War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells - way too high

6. Brave New World by Aldous Huxley - read as a teenager

7. Neuromancer by William Gibson

8. The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin - read years ago; I haven't felt the urge to re-read it; perhaps I should; but Earthsea is her best

9. Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? by Philip K. Dick - again, read years ago

10. The Martian Chronicles by Ray Bradbury - and again; elegaic, but I dount they rank this high

11. The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood - never read

12. Hyperion by Dan Simmons - quite enjoyed this but this is too high

13. Snow Crash by Neal Stephenson - decent

14. The Three-Body Problem by Liu Cixin - tosh

15. The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet by Becky Chambers - never read

16. Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut - years ago, seems high though

17. Kindred by Octavia E. Butler - never read

18. 2001: A Space Odyssey by Arthur C. Clarke - its OK

19. A Canticle for Leibowitz by Walter M. Miller Jr. - decent

20. I, Robot by Isaac Asimov - too high

21. Contact by Carl Sagan - never read

22. Journey to the Centre of the Earth by H.G. Wells - I think I read this as a teenager; I think it is likely tosh but don't really remember

23. Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes - I think I read this as a short story or novella

24. The Fall of Hyperion by Dan Simmons - can't remember

25. The Dispossessed by Ursula K. Le Guin - again, this is the wrong one. Her politics isn't really great; her adventures were better

26. Annihilation by Jeff VanderMeer - never read

27. World War Z by Max Brooks - never read

28. Perdido Street Station by China Miéville - never read

29. Starship Troopers by Robert A. Heinlein - should be higher

30. Solaris by Stanisław Lem - read as a teenager, I recall this as boring and pointless

31. Children of Time by Adrian Tchaikovsky - never read

32. The Moon is a Harsh Mistress by Robert A. Heinlein - I'd put this higher

33. The Forever War by Joe Haldeman - and this

34. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams - not really scifi

35. Ringworld by Larry Niven - terrible

36. Binti by Nnedi Okorafor - never read

37. Blindsight by Peter Watts - meh

38. The Time Machine by H.G. Wells - I recall the film

39. Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury - as-a-teenager; decent

40. Anathem by Neal Stephenson - too low

41. Old Man’s War by John Scalzi - never read

42. The Power by Naomi Alderman - never read

43. City by Clifford D. Simak - never read

44. The Andromeda Strain by Michael Crichton - as-a-teenager; can't recall

45. Shards of Honour by Lois McMaster Bujold - never read

46. Gateway by Frederik Pohl - as-a-teenager; decent

47. The Road by Cormac McCarthy - never read

48. Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood - never read

49. Embassytown by China Miéville - I think I read this after M gave it to me for Christmas years back. It was OK, but didn't inspire me to read others-by

50. Parable of the Sower by Octavia E. Butler - never read

51. The Man in the High Castle by Philip K. Dick - as-a-teenager; decent, should be higher

52. Altered Carbon by Richard K. Morgan - read, quite liked; see-also Broken Angels

53. Spin by Robert Charles Wilson - never read

54. The Calculating Stars by Mary Robinette Kowal - never read

55. Revelation Space by Alastair Reynolds - yup, liked this

56. The Book of the New Sun by Gene Wolfe - should be much higher

57. Light by M. John Harrison - no

58. Wool by Hugh Howey - never read

59. Ancillary Justice by Ann Leckie - higher

60. The Diamond Age by Neal Stephenson - decent

61. Seveneves by Neal Stephenson - terrible; DNF

62. Lucifer’s Hammer by Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle - never read

63. Red Rising by Pierce Brown - never read

64. The Sparrow by Mary Doria Russell - never read

65. Under the Skin by Michel Faber - never read

66. A Fire Upon the Deep by Vernor Vinge - higher

67. Morning Star by Pierce Brown - never read

68. The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins - I think I read 1 and 2 when D did, on the holiday to Spain

69. Battle Royale by Koushun Takami - never read

70. Sea of Rust by C. Robert Cargill - never read

71. The Chrysalids by John Wyndham - read-as-a-teenager; can't recall

72. Earth Abides by George R. Stewart - read years ago, not that wonderful

73. Metro 2033 by Dmitry Glukhovsky - never read

74. The First Fifteen Lives of Harry August by Claire North - never read

75. Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel - never read

76. Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell - never read

77. Eon by Greg Bear - meh

78. Diaspora by Greg Egan - never read

79. The Postman by David Brin - never read

80. We by Yevgeny Zamyatin - never read

81. The Windup Girl by Paolo Bacigalupi - quite liked

82. The Drowned World by J.G. Ballard - read-as-a-teenager; should read again I think

83. The Kraken Wakes by John Wyndham - ditto

84. Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro - never read

85. Roadside Picnic by Arkady and Boris Strugatsky - meh

86. The Night Side of the Sun by David Wingrove - never read

87. Pavane by Keith Roberts - higher

88. The Water Knife by Paolo Bacigalupi - never read

89. The Space Between Worlds by Micaiah Johnson - never read

90. To Say Nothing of the Dog by Connie Willis - never read

91. Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card

92. A Scanner Darkly by Philip K. Dick - read-as-a-teenager; can't recall

93. Dark Matter by Blake Crouch - never read

94. Leviathan Wakes by James S.A. Corey - kinda generic potboilerish, if I recall correctly

95. The Library at Mount Char by Scott Hawkins - never read

96. Recursion by Blake Crouch - never read

97. The Rapture of the Nerds by Cory Doctorow and Charles Stross - never read

98. The 5th Wave by Rick Yancey - never read

99. Life as We Knew It by Susan Beth Pfeffer - never read

100. The Broken Earth Trilogy by N.K. Jemisin - never read

Book review: Travel Light

By Naomi Mitchison. We have owned this - or perhaps M has owned this - for time out of mind; and it is possible I've read it before; it is eerily familiar in parts. It is... whimsy; a jeu d'esprit; or so I say. Perhaps I missed anything deeper.

Halla as a baby is rescued from the court by her nurse-turned-bear, stays with the bears for a while, then as winter and hibernation approaches is transferred to the dragons, with whom she grows up. Slowly - later on, towards the end, it is revealed that the stoary has taken many generations and perhaps hundreds of years - men grow stronger and dragons more precarious; her protector is killed, and following a chat with the All-Father she heads off towards Midgard-aka-Byzantium, travelling light, forsaking the golden ornaments that her dragon-self loves. In Byzantium her ability to talk to animals allows her to predict the chariot races, earning money for her friends and an audience with the Emperor, and eventually the replacement of an Evil Governor that her friends had come to petition for. Returning, the result is less rosy than hoped, and she ends up heading north to Holmgard, where she abandons the world of men for the Valkyries.

So, a nice story nicely told of higher than usual literary quality. There are digs at heroes and their antics along the way, and men as a sex don't get a good book. Is there a point? Not a clearly defined one and perhaps it is all the better for that; the point is the look-n-feel.

Pembroke 2026

With the 4C's to Pembroke for the spring trip. I drove to Ma's on Thursday night; dinner with her and RN. Pix for the trip.

Friday 3rd: drive from Ma's starting early, but it quickly becomes clear there's no need to hurry: the weather isn't great; stop at carious along the way. Walk around Boshersston (GPS) enjoying the quiet and peace, at least in the sheltered bits; we're at the tail-end of storm Dave and it is windy on top. Later in the afternoon to Saddle Head with the others (GPS) for some lightweight stuff. Evening: cook pasta, and to bed fairly early, in the car as an experiment.

Saturday 4th: the car experiment worked well. Quite warm enough, there's room enough to lay out easily, with kit on the other side; only slight downside is not quite enough room to sit up. Today Dave is windy and rain is forecast - though I think didn't happen - to the others decide on the Overhang Climbing Centre in Carmarthen. In a somewhat contrary spirit, I just decide on a nice walk to Lily ponds and windy headlands, just mooching along and enjoying cafes along the way. Slightly disturbed to discover taht Ma Weston's is now a Bistro, and not open at that. Soir: dinner at a pub that Tom found.

Sunday 5th: to Newton head (Saddle head deemed to swell-y) for the morning, then over to Becks Bay / Rusty Slab to meet Keith, where I did my sole VS of the trip when he backed off it. Overall the weather, and partners, meant I didn't get to push myself. Soir: to Mehfil's Tandoori in Pembroke.

Monday 6th: to Giltar Slabs, where we'd been last year. Still good. I failed on the VS right in the left hand (looking in) corner, but only because there was no gear on it, which I wasn't expecting. I'd like to go back again and have another go, possibly abbing down it to see where the gear starts.

And so home, painlessly; back around 11 I think.

Book review: The Twilight of Briareus

By Richard Cowper, aka John Middleton Murry. I like this one; it is from my childhood. Wiki will tell you about it; and also that there is no star or constellation called Briareus.

The tone is "subtle, lyrical and moving" which is kinda fair I think; there's a sort of eerie tone not dissimilar to some of the faerie parts of Pavane. The story, read through from the start without foreknowledge, mostly works. Here's an enthusiastic Goodreads review with which I largely agree; or this one.

Reading it again but with foreknowledge, and as an adult, the gaps and oddities are more obvious. Quite what the "newcomers" want of us, quite what they are offering that is worth a risk of extinction, really isn't clear. Quite how our bodies have decided to shutdown reproduction, quite how our old brains have recognised something that our new brains have not, ditto. But never mind; one can still glide over these improbabilities. The ending jars; Calvin kills himself for no obvious reason, other than to fulfil some unclearly expressed prophecy; I don't like prophecy.

A consequence of the supernova is a shutdown of the gulf stream, leading to England becoming snowbound. That's a nice part of the story - it gives him a ready isolated environment for his characters - and isn't particularly implausible.

Book review: The Neutral Stars

By Morgan and Kippax, authors of "Seed of Stars". This one is #3 (SoS was #2) and the theme of Earth-space-colonies-menaced-by-aliens continues, as does the theme of harmful mutation. The book itself is a bit disjointed, and I think doesn't work as well as SoS; to say why requires spoilers, which I'll provide, since the chances of you finding this slim tome, let alone reading it, are negligible. Goodreads isn't impressed.

The action centers around <planet>, which has been colonised and run as a great success by the mighty, and thus inevitably in this sort of book evil or at best amoral <corporation>. A fish biologist, of all people, sent out to investigate, realises that the wonderful harvests of ever-increasing salmon have been accompanied by a strong and - utterly implausibly - unnoticed dimunition in lifespace of the millions of human colonists. How they are supposed to have not noticed is beyond me, never mind, the response is that the <corporation> realises that the <bureaucrats> will order the colony abandoned. So, in order to avoid embarrassment they decide to nuke the colony and wipe out the survivors, and trust that everyone will assume it is the naughty aliens.

Meanwhile, a second plot - which doesn't get resolved in the book - has people looking for a Warp Drive, since the aliens clearly have one. Although why they don't just look for a faster FTL drive I'm not sure, since they already have one FTL drive.

In the end - which is pretty slow of them, I guessed much earlier - everyone guesses that it wasn't the naughty aliens, since last time they just used a <space ray> that turned the entire planet to slag, so why would they descend to nukes this time? And anyway one of the nukes didn't go off, and was labelled "I am a human nuke" as a clue.

In the end - and I give the book some credit, it isn't clear in advance how it was going to end, with the <corporation> evil but triumphant, or destroyed, or what - the <corporation>'s bosses daughter kills the <evil CEO> and life continues much as before. Except for the dead folk, obvs.

Side note: although the mighty Venturer Twelve and friends are nominally there to protect Earth and the colonies, it becomes clear - more in #2 than here, though here by default - that they are actually fuck all use; the only aliens they meet are so powerful that the Earth ships and weapons are useless.

Book review: Tales of Pirx the Pilot

Tales of Pirx the Pilot (Polish: Opowieści o pilocie Pirxie) is a science fiction stories collection by Polish author Stanisław Lem, about a spaceship pilot named Pirx, says wiki.

They are... of a type. Kinda soviet-ish; but also of the naive scifi era. When spaceships were sent out "on patrol" - why would you do that? When space had sectors. And when displays were cathode ray.

They also feel a bit tame. As though Lem wasn't really sure what he was allowed to do with the new medium, and felt obliged to not stray to far from classical ideas. The prose is often of decent quality rather than pulp rubbish, but the ideas perhaps less so.

For example the last one is something of a ghost story, transmogrified: assigned to an old refurbed ship, Pirx discovers the reactor being maintained by an old robot who is revealed to have survived the crash years ago that killed all the previous crew, slowly. For no obvious reason it starts tapping out in morse code transcripts of the crash. This unnerves Pirx who ends up rather thoughtlessly recommending scrapping the robot, thereby removing the unsettling from his life and settling for the known.

This Goodreads review is a little harsh - I would be kinder - but is substantially correct.