I'm keeping a mental list of things about this broken ankle that don't match up with broken bones in fiction. I already
wrote about the sound of my ankle breaking, but here are a couple others:
1. if your crutches are adjusted properly and you're using them properly, they will not make your armpits hurt. They won't even
touch your armpits. On the other hand, they will give you calluses on the heels of your palms.
2. maybe this is because of the surgery, or maybe it's because I'm a wuss, but it's been a month, and I still have no fucking stamina. Taking a bath exhausts me. I can hobble the length of the block, but then I have to lie down and pant. I'm still sleeping ridiculous amounts, and I have neither any ambition, nor the concentration to do anything about it if I did. I actually accomplished some work today (a second draft on an essay owed to a lovely person who knows who s/he is), and I'm hoping to be able to tackle
The Tempering of Men (a.k.a. the sequel to
A Companion to Wolves) this week, even if I can only manage it two pages at a time.
3. On the other hand, the itching? That part's true.
I am wildly grateful that I started this quilting project just before I broke my ankle, and equally wildly grateful to the kind and awesome ladies at the local quilt shop, who ironed and pin-basted it for me, because quilting around Kliban cats is pretty much the ideal activity for me right now, interspersed with playing
Diablo II (again) and rereading Golden Age mysteries. I started with John Dickson Carr and have moved onto Ellery Queen.
(As a side note, I'm currently rereading
The Siamese Twin Mystery, which inspired me to find wikipedia's entry on
conjoined twins. I was particularly fascinated by
Lakshmi Tatma, who was born in 2005 with four arms and four legs--conjoined to a parasitic headless twin (
x-ray, if you're having trouble visualizing)--and was worshipped in her native village as an incarnation of the goddess Lakshmi. The surgery to separate her from her parasitic twin when she was two was successful and quite complicated (follow the links from the wikipedia article if you're interested), and she survived. I hope she's still doing well.)
And somebody commented with some questions about the Doctrine of Labyrinths, which I am happy to answer:
Q: I'd like to know more about the obligation de sang - is it a baby step toward the obligation d'ame, or something distinct?A: The obligation de sang is cast on wizards; the obligation d'âme is cast on annemer. They have similar effects, but, no, they're not the same thing.
Q: And I'd like to know more about Cardenio - how he and Mildmay became friends, particularly, and whether my reading of him as (1) clearly in love with Mildmay and (b) asexual is correct.A: I don't know how Mildmay met Cardenio. The friendship emerged in my head full-grown, as it were, with no backstory.
Cardenio definitely has a crush on Mildmay--"love" is a tricky word, and I hesitate to use it--and I don't know about his sexuality. He is very shy and very reserved, and he hasn't told me.
Q: My sense is that Mildmay mostly disappeared for the bulk of Corambis - that the last book, more than any of the others, was weighted heavily toward Felix, and his growth as a character - specifically, for himself and for his brother. Were you trying to get Felix to the place Mildmay already was (or at least seemed to be), where he could see his brother as a person? Or am I misreading?A: I wouldn't say that Mildmay disappeared--he is, after all, still a narrator, and his character arc in
Corambis is important--but I will say that I conceived of
The Mirador as Mildmay's katabasis and
Corambis as Felix's. Katabasis is the descent to the underworld and return which Joseph Campbell describes as part of the Hero's Journey--I'm not entirely sold on Campbell, but with the particular psychology of my two particular narrators, they both had to go through their own personal metaphorical hells in order to come to terms with their pasts and their damage and emerge on the other side as functional, compassionate adults. (Which is also not to say that I think either of them is "fixed" or "healed"--they still have to live with their scars, both physical and emotional, and there are going to be bad days and backsliding--but I think by the end of the series they are
better, both in the sense of psychologically healthier and in the sense of being able and willing to care about each other (and by extension, other people like Kay and Corbie) than they were at the beginning.)
At least, that's what I was trying for.
So, yes, to use a semi-accurate shorthand, Mildmay "grew up" in
The Mirador and therefore there was less that needed to happen to him in
Corambis, in terms of his psychomachia, than there was for Felix.