LINKDING

<blockquote>Chaeeunshinji was seventeen, and I was thirteen. Just going by years alone, she was way older than me, but that kind of comparison didn’t really mean much: the planet where Chaeeunshinji was from and the one where I came from each had slightly different rotational and sidereal periods, so that the relative lengths of days and years on those worlds worked out to be just different enough to be confusing. “Well, technically I’m in my late teens, but you’re just a little kid, so officially I’m your big sister.” “But who would go by that? If you count by wake-sleep cycles, I’ve lived longer than you!”</blockquote>

<blockquote>The bear wife took the cub to mommy and me yoga. She didn’t look much like a bear without her fur, but somehow the other mothers seemed to sense it; when she came in carrying the cub they shifted away, drifting on their yoga mats closer to the windows, to each other. She was left alone in the middle like a stone dropped into a lake, each woman a wave rippling outward. In tree pose she was a lightning-struck pine at the center of a clearing.</blockquote>

<blockquote>When Vivian and her daughter witness the family matriarch die without leaving a corpse, Vivian can no longer ignore the family “gift” or the choice that lies before her.</blockquote>

<blockquote>He is not a remarkable student, Neconnu. Some among more senior Masters—those not required to take on teaching duties—did not even recognize his name when they found it entered into the lists for examination. But this is not as unusual as one might think; magi are not known for their humility. Already this year three candidates have overreached themselves, and been sent away. Odds are high that Neconnu will be the fourth. But he must have his chance. The Obsidian Master asks the question that pulses behind every serene expression. “What act will you perform, to prove your right to the degree of vīs faciendī?” Harrik Neconnu says, “I am going to return the dead to life.”</blockquote>

<blockquote>My name is Tetley Abednego and I am the most hated girl in Garbagetown. I am nineteen years old. I live alone in Candle Hole, where I was born, and have no friends except for a deformed gannet bird I’ve named Grape Crush and a motherless elephant seal cub I’ve named Big Bargains, and also the hibiscus flower that has recently decided to grow out of my roof, but I haven’t named it anything yet. I love encyclopedias, a cassette I found when I was eight that says Madeline Brix’s Superboss Mixtape ’97 on it in very nice handwriting, plays by Mr. Shakespeare or Mr. Webster or Mr. Beckett, lipstick, Garbagetown, and my twin brother Maruchan. Maruchan is the only thing that loves me back, but he’s my twin, so it doesn’t really count. We couldn’t stop loving each other any more than the sea could stop being so greedy and give us back China or drive time radio or polar bears. But he doesn’t visit anymore.</blockquote>

<blockquote>Aimee’s big trick is that she makes 26 monkeys vanish on stage.</blockquote> ➤ love the ending, reveals just enough to be satisfying while still leaving things mysterious

<blockquote>Apá always said I could come home. He never had to say the words if it doesn’t work out, but I heard them clear enough the day I left to live amongst the Fair Folk.</blockquote>

<blockquote>The night is humid and warm, sticks to our skin like a wet T-shirt. Luz pokes the fire with a piece of scrap metal she found lying by Gunner’s feet. It sends a swarm of sparks flying into the air. Taking that as an invitation, others come flocking to our little circle. No matter the temperature, the kids gravitate towards the fire at night, so I always try to have one going near sundown. “Give us a poem, Daddy?” the new kid says, one of Luz’s strays. His name is Roy. He’s probably a little older than Luz. Maybe in his twenties. I think of asking for something in return—the kids need to learn the rules of this world, and better I teach them in my way than someone else in theirs—but I hold back. Just this once, I feel like giving one away.</blockquote>

<blockquote>He says, “But I’m dying,” like it’s the answer to everything, like he thinks I’ll disagree. He says it like I’ve forgotten, but how could I forget sitting in that paper-strewn office a week ago, watching dust layer up with sunbeams while a doctor dressed in immaculate professionalism emphasised the words six months to live?</blockquote> ➤ short but does a lot with the space it has!

<blockquote>“Funny you should say that,” I said. “I’m interested in paint.” “Painting.” “Paint,” I said. “I dabble a bit in alchemy, and I reckon it might be possible to make synthetic blue. Instead of having to grind up ruinously expensive lapis lazulae in a pestle and mortar.” She didn’t say anything, so I went on: “There’s definitely a demand for it. A genuine deep royal blue at a fraction of the price. A man could make a nice little bit of money that way.” “I’ve never used blue.” “Too expensive?” She nodded. “That’s why I started doing portraits, you don’t have to have any sky.”</blockquote>

<blockquote>No one will sleep until the Princess learns the Stranger’s name. Liù the slave girl, who has loved the Stranger since before his exile, when he was a Prince, when he smiled at her—Liù alone knows who he really is. So it is Liù who is dragged to the Princess’s garden by night, bound, ankles twisting as she stumbles through the peonies.</blockquote> ➤ Not sure I quite follow the ending but it works anyway

<blockquote>A young food taster to the Traitor King must make a difficult choice in this story of pastries, magic, and revenge.</blockquote>

<blockquote>The mudroom got darn hot in the summer, but he couldn’t risk doing magic inside the house. It got into the air conditioning and caused all kinds of trouble. Some magics he’d chance, but the Lord knew he didn’t want anything interfering with Edna’s health.</blockquote>

<blockquote>Can dreams come true? They can if you win the lottery, which promises to provide what your heart desires. For a humble shopkeeper in Yiwu, it’s a living, selling lottery tickets. Until a winning ticket opens up mysteries he’d never imagined.</blockquote>

<blockquote>It is exam week, and Donny is 14 years 10 months 15 days 10 hours 16 minutes old. He is bored and hungry and his scalp itches and he hates school more than he’s ever hated anything before in his life. He hates exams in particular, and he hates his math exam most of all.</blockquote> ➤ cyborg teenager

<blockquote>For the first couple of months, Nyle would get up every day before sunrise and run the spinal corridor. It’s recommended for all observation personnel to get plenty of exercise. Helps with the linkup, apparently. After a while, though, it was every other day, then only the ones that start with T. Now it’s just Sundays, and he has to stop three times to catch his breath. Nyle’s never had a problem with linkup anyway. Back at the academy, they told him his brain has a certain pliability. It doesn’t push back. Neither did Nyle, either. Not when it mattered.</blockquote> ➤ not a happy ending

<blockquote>Marie kept on chattering. “...and the suitors can start watching you dance for the unicorns next month. Philippe is first in line to try, right? He would make a good king.” “Mother danced for nine men before Father.” Zéphine mashed the custard with her spoon. “I wouldn’t like that.” Marie’s dark eyebrows drew together. “Nine men, all dead....” I would only like to summon a unicorn, thought Zéphine. The men can look after themselves. But she knew that no unicorn would ever come for her.</blockquote>

<blockquote>Vivian’s late grandmother was a witch—which is just a way of saying she was a woman of unusual insight. Vivian, in contrast, had a mind like a hi-tech blender. She was sharp and purposeful, but she did not understand magic. This used to be a problem. Magic ran in the family. Even her mother’s second cousin, who was adopted, did small spells on the side. She sold these from a stall in Kota Bharu. Her main wares were various types of fruit fried in batter, but if you bought five pisang or cempedak goreng, she threw in a jampi for free. These embarrassing relatives became less of a problem after Vivian left Malaysia. In the modern Western country where she lived, the public toilets were clean, the newspapers were allowed to be as rude to the government as they liked, and nobody believed in magic except people in whom nobody believed. Even with a cooking appliance mind, Vivian understood that magic requires belief to thrive.</blockquote>

<blockquote>The Marquis of A— reluctantly acquired a fiancée in the spring after an exchange of brief but formal letters. Miss B— had come highly recommended by his awful uncle, who described her as a charming woman on the brink of spinster-dom. She was rich due to her merchant father but without title due, again, to her merchant father. The Marquis had a title worth only its connections and prominence but little else due to the debt attached to it. He suspected Miss B— would like to be a marquise. He, himself, could happily continue to go into further debt for the room his mistress, Arla, kept in town overlooking the White Hill Beast.</blockquote> ➤ this did not go how I expected it to go and it's great

<blockquote>Amir Tarabi is scrubbing himself down in the misting rooms the first time he meets Mani Rizk. The mister in Beirut-4 is being upgraded, the zone’s residents using Beirut-3’s misting rooms on rotation, so it is especially crowded that day. Amir avoids making eye contact with the bathers in adjacent patches with rigorous politeness. At sixteen, he’s already spent a hundred personal growth hours thinking about civic decency, appreciates the role of uninterrupted private rituals in fostering social cohesion—</blockquote>

<blockquote>Sarge paces, her tight black braid swinging every time she rotates. She returns to her speech, and Tone wonders just how many times she’s given it, how many generations have passed on Earth while she’s flitted back and forth trading with alien worlds. “The time dilation means that more than a century has already passed. Another and change by the time your tour is up and we drop you back home. Those of you who survive the next year of ship-time will be returned to a new world, a world devoid of everything familiar. Many will turn right around and sign up for another jaunt. When you do, I will shake your hand and welcome you aboard. Hell, I’ll pour you a drink.” Sarge stops and faces them. “Until then, you are mine. The Earth you know is gone. Everyone you loved is dead. I am your mother, your father. The people to your left and right are your siblings. This is your family from now on. Let that sink in.”</blockquote>

<blockquote>“Which way did my mother go?” Rhy-lee asked her father one day. “North,” he said, and pointed without looking. Young as she was, she could see the small collapse that happened inside him when he heard the question, knowing that one day she, too, would leave him. ‘Distant heart’, her name meant. Her grandmother and aunts made sure that Rhy-lee and her father could hear when they said that her name was well chosen.</blockquote>

<blockquote>You maintain a menu of a half dozen Experiences on your digital blackboard, but Vision Quest is the one the Tourists choose the most. That certainly makes your workday easy. All a Vision Quest requires is a dash of mystical shaman, a spirit animal (wolf usually, but birds of prey are on the upswing this year), and the approximation of a peyote experience. Tourists always come out of the Experience feeling spiritually transformed. (You’ve never actually tried peyote, but you did smoke your share of weed during that one year at Arizona State, and who’s going to call you on the difference?)  It’s all 101 stuff, really, these Quests. But no other Indian working at Sedona Sweats can do it better. Your sales numbers are tops. Your wife Theresa doesn’t approve of the gig. Oh, she likes you working, especially after that dismal stretch of unemployment the year before last when she almost left you, but she thinks the job itself is demeaning.</blockquote>

<blockquote>Ann Crothers looked at the clock and frowned and turned the fire lower under the bacon. She had already poured his coffee; he liked it cooled to a certain degree; but if he did not get up soon it would be too cool and the bacon too crisp and he would be angry and sulk the rest of the day. She had better call him.</blockquote> ➤ originally published in the 50's.

<blockquote>Ahmed is a doctor working in a far flung outpost of humanity. His way was paid for by the leaders of his faith and his atheism is a guarded secret. His encounters with the “kite people” will cause him to doubt his whole worldview however when the aliens start dying and escalating tensions between religious extremists threatens to destroy the colony’s peace. “When Stars Are Scattered” is a moving story about alien contact, religious intolerance, and the redemptive power of the divine channeled through the spirit. Whether that spirit is human or alien.</blockquote>

➤ this is a free audiobook download that I have saved to my computer, hence why this bookmark isn't actually a link. A time-travel romance in which a Roman soldier ends up in the regency period and meets a bluestocking. 40 min long, I'm guessing on the wordcount.

➤ kinda sorta a Tam Lin story

<blockquote>“For God’s sake, whatever you do, do-not-marry-that-woman!” “Who the fuck are you?” “I am your future self. You remember that idea you had for a time machine? Well, it worked, it’s going to work – gotta get my tenses right – and I’m here to tell you… to tell me, not to marry that woman.”</blockquote>

<blockquote>In the beginning, the story goes like this: a fisherman brings home a selkie wife. He spies the maidens bathing in the salt-cove by the sea, their great, glistening seal skins heaped on a stone. When the sun begins to slip from the sky, the sisters slide into their coats, transforming from lovely women into sleek, dark seals who dive into the water and away: all, of course, except the youngest and loveliest, who runs from one place to another, naked and distressed, unable to return to her skin and the sea.</blockquote>

<blockquote>Come-from-aways think it’s the tides that brings the wreckage in, but any local child will tell you the truth of the matter. You can have fifty fine days in a row and the beaches will be clean and empty, except for the usual haul of rockweed, driftwood, and old plastic bottles. Fifty fine days, and then there’ll come a thick, foggy night of the sort we do so well around here, and the next morning there it’ll be—a rocket engine from an alien spaceship, or a cracked satellite dish as big as a bus, half-buried in the sand down on Bartlett’s Beach.</blockquote>