[LMB] Sharing Knife--Affinities

[Marty L. Adkins]

[I've written the subject line with a dash rather than a colon, to 
avoid raising expectations of another book.  Of course, if Lois were 
to feel so inclined, she should feel fully free to use that as a 
title *at any time*.  Iow, W, L, W!]

While it is a truth universally acknowledged that I've been a 
vehement, vociferous, rabid [see the ears?] Bujold fan for lo, these 
twelve-plus years and more, it is rarely known that in all that time 
I haven't actually read the books that many times.  I've read all the 
Vorkosigan books maybe 3-4 times, _Chalion_ twice, and _Paladin_ and 
_Hunt_ once each.  It hasn't really been necessary to read them more 
than that.  They made such vivid, visceral impressions, it's as is 
I'm still having an ongoing conversation with them, like yeast 
bubbling and working away, in the back of my mind.

Yet, here's a thing.  I've read the Sharing Knife books as much as 
the others in 12+ years.  This year alone, I've read book 3 at least 
three or four times.  I've been trying to figure out why, and I think 
Lois writes truer than even she knows sometimes; it all comes down to 
*affinities*.

These books are sheer comfort to slip into, like slithering around on 
satin sheets, snuggling into bed under warm coverings on a cold 
night, savoring chocolate, or getting intoxicated breathing wisteria.

That they're set in my own country certainly gives a geographical 
affinity, but that in itself is insufficient.  There are admittedly 
affinities of topography and climate.  [Of course, my own state, 
Georgia, is more diverse than most.  From friendly foothills {aka, 
"mountains"} in the north, to piedmont, flatlands, swamplands, and 
beaches, we have a wide variety of climates right handy, so to 
say.]  I've driven extensively through Ohio and Pennsylvania, en 
route to some of the best times of my life [OVFF and Confluence], 
which adds a certain luster to the scenery.  These last few years, 
we've begun to take walks several times a week at the nearby nature 
preserve.  I'd be able to see what Lois is writing about, often the 
same day as reading it:  cardinals, bluejays, robins, lizards, 
turtles in the sun, various ducks, thuggish geese, cattails, 
dogwoods, redbuds, blue herons.  Still no water lilies [although the 
fire lilies were exquisite last year], but that's enough to be going 
on with, surely.  I've shared delightful snippets of physical 
description with ze spouse.  Lois turns a phrase the way Chihuly 
blows glass: liquid, creative fire.

We southerners like folks from the midwest, because they almost talk 
right, close enough to be real comfortable.  It does make it hard for 
me to appreciate all Lois' linguistic efforts properly, however; 
familiarity blurs details so.

Culturally, I can identify with both Farmers and Lake-Walkers [minor 
pet peeve: if reviewers, et. al. are going to capitalize one culture, 
they should capitalize the other].  My great-grandparents were 
sharecroppers, & I had a great-uncle and -aunt who didn't get indoor 
plumbing until I was seven.  They made their own butter [I still have 
a butter mold].  My grandma plowed her own garden up until the year 
she came to town for cataract surgery and stayed for a stroke [they 
took her off her blood-thinners].  I've gotten up at dawn to pick 
field peas and shelled butterbeans until all fingernails were 
green.  I've also been far too tightly owned by some things and 
completely baffled at the things some other folks are owned by [none 
of them written by Lois].  It could almost be said I travel 
Lake-Walker-lightly through the world [except for all the books and 
music--more like, I Marley merrily.  ;)].

The romance tropes are comfortably familiar, too; I've always said I 
owed that high verbal score on the SAT to having started reading 
Harlequins in the 5th grade, back when they were written with big 
words, plot, and character development.  Given how many of the best 
authors [hello, Jane and Georgette!] have heroines between 17 and 20, 
and heroes of 35-40 and higher, the age difference never bothered me.

Having never procreated, I never joined the adult conspiracy.  Inside 
my head, I'm still somewhere between 18 and 23, so coming-of-age 
stories still resonate, even when one is coming-of-age at 56 [hi, Dag!].

These books have everything, the very stuff of life itself:  wit, 
wisdom, bafflement, betrayal, puzzlement, poignancy, goodwill, malice 
[both kinds!], with hearty guffaws and primo snark.  I want my life 
written this intelligently by an author this insightful.

Colossal kudzu kudos, Lois; brava!

Also, Write, Lois, Write!

Jerrie