(no subject)

I was recently inspired to track down the little bit of Jacques Prevert that so charmed me in my French textbook in high school. I think we were made to memorize it, so I still have the first half of it up in my head, but I'd forgotten how it ended.

J'ai mis mon képi dans la cage
et je suis sorti avec l'oiseau sur la tête.
Alors
on ne salue plus
a demande le commandant.
Non
on ne salut plus
a répondu l'oiseau.
Ah bon
Excusez-moi je croyais qu'on saluait
a dit le commandant.
Vous êtes tout excusé tout le monde peux se tromper
a dit l'oiseau

I put my beret in the cage
And I went out with the bird on my head.
So,
We don't salute anymore
Asked the commandant.
No
We don't salute anymore
said the bird.
I see
Excuse me I thought we saluted
said the commandant.
You're quite excused, anyone can make a mistake
said the bird.

Mr. Simonelli

I treasure my Datlow/Windling (and later Datlow/Link/Grant) Year's Best Fantasy and Horror collections, because they tend to pick stories I like very much -- even though I'm not a horror fan (David Hartwell and Kathryn Cramer do a Year's Best Fantasy collection, but I don't like their picks nearly as much -- I might look into Jonathan Strahan's Year's Best SF and Fantasy...)

But it's rare that I actually read an anthology all the way through, so I picked up an older one and stumbled on Susanna Clarke's story "Mr. Simonelli, or The Fairy Widower" and found myself smitten. I liked Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, but Simonelli charmed me in a way Strange didn't. It is remarkable to see a writer like Clarke in full control of a narrator who is not so much unreliable as self-deluding... and who, despite that, can see through the Fairy Widower; a narrator who I never buy as a good person but who is nevertheless capable of great bravery.

A brief quote, which I am truncating for spoileriness:

"It is you who are not attending to me. You must advise us upon a play. Isabella wishes to be someone very beautiful who is vindicated in the last act, Marianne will not act unless she can say something in Italian, Jane cannot be made to understand anything about it so it will be best if she does not have to speak at all, Henrietta will do whatever I tell her, and, Oh! I long to be a bear! The dearest, wisest old talking bear! Who must dance -- like this! And you may be either a sailor or a coachman -- it does not matter which, as we have the hat for one and the boots for the other. Now tell me, Mr. Simonelli, what plays would suit us?"

I wish that every writer who tried to write historical fiction, whether mainstream or fantasy or steampunk or whatever else, had such a command of language.

The story was reprinted in Clarke's collection "The Ladies of Grace Adieu," which I will try to track down. I would have liked Jonathan Strange better if it was half as long, so I won't be surprised if her short stories suit me better.

How not to make fettuccine alfredo

1. Check clock. It is 9:00 and you have not yet eaten supper.

2. Fill your saucepan with water, add some salt, put it on the burner.

3. When water boils, add fettuccine. It does not fit in the pot because you don't actually have a pot larger than 3 quarts. Wait for the ends of the fettuccine to soften in the boiling water, then use a fork to squish down the tops of the fettuccine. Ponder whether to buy a new pasta pot, or to cook smaller pasta shapes from now on.

4. When all of your pasta is boiling, check your cookbook for a recipe for alfredo sauce. Begin to melt some butter in a pan.

5. Ask yourself, "Eggs? Am I really supposed to add eggs? Won't they scramble?"

6. Add eggs and cream to the pan anyway.

7. Whisk! Whisk like the wind!

8. Retrieve colander from under the sink. Check pasta for doneness (it's not done yet).

9. Check sauce. It has indeed begun to scramble. Turn off the heat and whisk madly.

10. As sauce becomes sauce again, ask yourself, "How will I know if the eggs are cooked adequately, or are they going to give me salmonella?"

11. Check pasta for doneness. Drain. Toss with sauce.

12. Eat with salt, black pepper, and deliciousness. The failure mode of fettuccine alfredo is still better than it deserves to be.