Release Me

I finished The Golden Compass last night and it proved apt. As noted tirelessly before, the genres of science fiction and fantasy do little but irk me, even from under the gown of it being so philosophical, man.

My experience with Philip Pullman began two years ago when I bought the New Yorker Holiday fiction issue and was drawn to this iconoclast who incredibly penned his anti-clerical tales of hedonism and sub-atomic particles for children? Fast forward to the present and if it weren't for the impending release of the first film installment of the His Dark Materials trilogy I likely wouldn't have gambled. As it is, I did. My recent drought has to be considered pivotal to this decision as was the tardy delivery of the Economic History of the Reich.

That said, the brief holiday has spotted me not only the chance to read the text in multi hour blocks but a chance to reach out to the suburban wares of the local Half Price outpost. I bought Wizard of the Crow among other things and I have forestalled all other wagers to try to finish this by our departure. I would really like to read read the Dylan Thomas play but Ngugi Wa Thong'O will have primacy for the time being.