If we meet beings from another galaxy, why do we assume that they will like us, be friendly, or care on which part of our body our eyeballs reside. They may not even notice us. Perhaps they did a long time ago and moved on. Nothing to see. I’ve met people of my own species that talking to for 5 seconds in line at the grocery store was more than enough to satisfy my curiosity.
Or what if the book “Men are From Mars and Women are From Venus” is literally true. Men and women were originally entirely different species who accidentally discovered that we could co-mingle. It is lost knowledge that we knew eons ago, but forgot. Like how to build a pyramid, make stained glass, or poach an egg without the bottom sticking to the pan.
What’s got me going with all this is that I am recuperating from another reading binge. These darn Kindles are dangerous. If you are reading a book you like that is part of a series you are hooked. At the end of the book they tempt you with the next book. All you have to do is push a button and you instantly have a whole ‘nother day or 2 of reading. I stayed up until 2:00 am last night finishing the last book of the 4 books in the run.
The culprits that kept me off the grid this week is a 4 book series – The Entire and the Rose, written by Kay Kenyon It’s a combo of Scifi, Fantasy, Inter-Galactic Soap Opera with wildly different species and races. However, some are conveniently similar enough in some respects to have sex on occasion. Yeah buddy! Throw in a little murder, time travel, and at will gender changing and it gets really interesting.
All of Kenyon’s varied beings manage to communicate at some level, even across universes and time. I’m impressed, considering the fact that I can’t seem to figure out how to talk to my next door neighbor. Her main character reminds me of a cross between Captain Kirk and Conan the Barbarian.
The author does an amazing job of creating alternate worlds, creatures and customs. The reviews on Amazon are pretty funny. It seems people either love the series or hated it. No in betweeners. Even the ones that hated the books read them all though. Why someone would do that I don’t know. I’ll throw a book away if I get half way through it and decide that I think it’s rubbish.
A small problem after a solid week of reading these books is I am left with a sort of imagination desolation. It’s on the order of “well damn! She’s thought of every wild and crazy scenario that could possibly be thunk.” Where does one go from here? I’m left with writing a semi-nonfiction book titled “The Merits of Wallpaper.” It will have blockbuster chapters like “Cauliflower Through the Ages” and “The Pros and Cons of Ventilator shafts,” interspersed with witty little poems such as “Ode to the Potato Peeler.”
It’s probably evident at this point why I claim to need a recuperation period after a week-long reading orgy.