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Dec. 31st, 2007 05:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
3pipeproblemAll right, so I've made it through most of the fandoms I'm interested in (I was less successful in leaving feedback, but it's really hard to write sincere, detailed praise when you're sitting in a grocery store). So, here are my recs. It should go without saying that these reflect my personal preferences and little else, and there's a ton of wonderful stuff in the archive I still have yet to read.
ETA: Yeah, duh. The archive in question would be![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
yuletide.
Boston Legal
Pause(s) de Deux-Two? (I'm not good with the counting) years' worth of balcony scenes, month by month. This has the blend of humor, genuine emotion, and manic hilarity that makes Boston Legallike crack so wonderful. The portrayal of Denny and Alan's relationship, in all its various aspects, is dead on, and there are even cameos by various beloved supporting characters.
"Guess where I'm calling from." Denny tossed out the challenge cheerily.
Shell games offered better odds than that, so Alan demurred. "I give. Where?"
"The Truman Balcony."
Alan chuckled and imagined Denny settling his bottom into a chair that should have been Thomas Dewey's and breaking wind with gusto. "Before you leave, you must urinate off of it for me. Go for distance. On to the rose garden if you can. It's long been a fantasy of mine."
Special Topics in Calamity Physics
A Summer Without Books-Blue's roadtrip with Zach. Oddly enough, I think I most enjoyed this for the ways in which it differs from the book. Blue in this story--deprived of her books and her father's advice--is trying to figure out how to approach the world. Zach's characterization is particularly good--he's kind but not an insufferable do-gooder, and often connects with Blue in spite of the things he says rather than because of them.
She drew Zach when he slept, the pencil in her hand slipping across the paper in the dark so that the next morning when the sun came up, none of the lines connected. But somehow, even still, there was the shape of his nose and the shadow of his unshaven jaw and the curl of his fingers around the worn hotel blanket.
When she woke up, he was looking at it. Standing there in his boxers, a tiny box of orange juice in one hand and her drawing pad in the other. She didn't move so he wouldn't know she was awake. He wasn't exactly crying, but his bony shoulders were shaking so that the birthmark above his right shoulder bounced up and down.
She didn't tell him she'd seen.
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay
Thaw-Written for meeeeee but absolutely worthy of a rec in its own right (the same goes for all my other gift fics). A look at the years after Joe's stint at Kelvinator and before his return to New York. It's everything I could have asked for: gorgeous, subtle, sparse and lyrical at once. The author's use of language almost rivals Chabon's, and Joe is portrayed perfectly, down to the most minute of details. The fact that someone managed to write this in thirty-six hours blows my mind.
The first superhero he had drawn for Sammy had been the golem. A tall stocky golem in a cloak with Hebrew letters on his forehead -- aleph mem tav, "truth," the name of God which along with inconceivably arcane meditations and prayers had granted the golem life. And Sheldon Anapol had laughed.
Josef had been in America only a few weeks, and already that laugh had stung. The heroes of his imagination held no currency here. He would need to find a way to speak in an American voice.
But this was ancient history. As Sammy would say, "water under the bridge." (To this day, that phrase made him uncomfortable; it reminded him of his near-drowning in the Moldau, the sinking certainty that he would never be free.) In Anapol's ridiculous office, his lonely bed poorly-concealed by a blanket draped over a clothesline, Josef had exiled the golem from his mind, and it had not lurched into his consciousness since.
The Practice
At the Bar-Another one written pour moi. This is just the scene I wanted to see: Alan and Ellenor bumping into one another at (where else?) a bar. It's a lovely coda to their relationship, and the author does a nice job of subtly showing the affection that still exists between them.
Not a bit. You should know me well enough to know that all my crimes would go far beyond those sentencing guidelines. So, how are you, Ellenor? Retirement becomes you. You look magnificent." She did. He reached to brush a strand of hair back behind her ear. "You may end up being one of my greatest deathbed regrets, and I don't mean our all-too-brief professional association."
"You expect to have a deathbed?" Ellenor inquired wryly, as she again tip-toed around the elephant in the living room.
"Not my own, but possibly her husband's."
Pretty in Pink
Two Conversations in One Day is Still Probably Too Many-Excellent first-person Duckie voice (and this is speaking as someone who, as a rule, finds Duckie unbearable), from the digressions to the grandstanding to the self-deprecating insights. At its very best, it reads like a somewhat scatterbrained but fundamentally decent kid doing his best Philip Marlowe. The treatment of Steff is wonderful as well--he's still an asshole, but he's allowed a few moments of humanity in this story.
"So," he says, cocking an eyebrow like a pistol, lazily, as if about to propose a casual game of Russian roulette. One where I go first and get six tries.
"What?" I snap. "Why did you follow me? Your day get so boring that you decided you needed to keep tormenting me? Ruining your best friend's life wasn't enough? Letting him ruin Andie's life? You just figure, hey, while I'm out and about destroying people, might as well throw Duckie into the mix? Round it out a bit, restore the odds? Or do you just enjoy this, the way some people enjoy pulling the wings off dragonflies? Or the way Jean-Claude Van Damme enjoys being in theatrically released movies?"
Profit
Coffee-The final fic written all for me (I was a lucky gal this year), this is a fantastic glimpse into Gail's thoughts. It manages to preserve the ironic humor that I love so much about the show, and I love the contrast between the activities of Gail's "colleagues" and the things she's doing on Profit's behalf.
She walked down the hallway with her stolen report and it felt like everyone was looking at her, but they weren't. Arty from Accounting smiled shyly at her and she smiled back. She wondered if Arty ever hit someone over the head and then drove them to a dockyard to be shipped to China in a crate inside a metal box. She doubted it.
I have seen your claws and sharp teeth-A short look at Jim and Bobbi's relationship that packs one hell of a wallop. Just read it.
Jimmy was fourteen years old when he asked Bobbi, "What's it like to make love?"
If he'd known his father wasn't yet passed out in his recliner and could hear the question, he'd never have asked.
Something Wicked This Way Comes
Rumpus, Hubbub, Hullaballoo-Jim Nightshade and Will Halloway through the years. The language is just as lush and evocative as Bradbury's, and the fates the author imagines for the boys (and their friendship) ring true.
Jim tries to give his lunch away to Clarence Fossett, and gets a punch in the nose instead. "I don't need your charity either," shouts Clarence, and stalks out of the schoolyard. Jim nurses his bloody nostril with a handkerchief, that his mother will wash out in the evening, and exclaim over how bad boys give their mother palpitations; and when Jim is sent inside to clean up he discovers that Will's got a black eye.
"Oh," says Jim, just as Will is saying, "Oh."
Their teacher looks them both over, clucking her tongue. Will's eye is puffy, purpling impressively. His blond eyelashes, always invisible against his pale skin, stand out like reverse shadows atop the bruise.
The Once and Future King
The Mantle and the Maid-I haven't read OAFK since freshman year in HS, but the author's attention to detail--the story opens with descriptions of the coats of arms of jousting knights--sucked me right back into the world of the book. The fic's told from Kay's perspective, but offers interesting insights into all the characters.
Kay escorted the boy through the dining hall, to King Arthur's seat (he'd insisted that no one call it a throne). "My lord," he said in a voice practiced to resound through the hall, "this lad bears a remarkable gift from the North -- a mantle cunningly woven by fairies! He brings this gift with but one boon to ask: that it be given to the lady whose form it best fits."
Arthur leaned toward the boy with an interested smile. "May I see this miraculous gown?"
The boy nodded, unrolling the plain cotton in which it had been wrapped. As soon as the mantle's fabric became visible, a whisper washed through the banquet hall -- gasps from the men, and sighs of longing from the women. It seemed a bliaut of ordinary cut, but the fabric had been so cunningly embroidered that its vines and starbursts seemed to move of their own accord, weaving over the cloth in a sensuous dance. Its color, too, seemed as changeable as the seasons, seeming gray, then violet, then emerald green. Arthur's eyes never left the marvelous cloth, but he spoke in the lilting formula of high speech, "This boon I grant thee!" The banquet hall burst into applause.
ETA: Yeah, duh. The archive in question would be
yuletide.Boston Legal
Pause(s) de Deux-Two? (I'm not good with the counting) years' worth of balcony scenes, month by month. This has the blend of humor, genuine emotion, and manic hilarity that makes Boston Legal
"Guess where I'm calling from." Denny tossed out the challenge cheerily.
Shell games offered better odds than that, so Alan demurred. "I give. Where?"
"The Truman Balcony."
Alan chuckled and imagined Denny settling his bottom into a chair that should have been Thomas Dewey's and breaking wind with gusto. "Before you leave, you must urinate off of it for me. Go for distance. On to the rose garden if you can. It's long been a fantasy of mine."
Special Topics in Calamity Physics
A Summer Without Books-Blue's roadtrip with Zach. Oddly enough, I think I most enjoyed this for the ways in which it differs from the book. Blue in this story--deprived of her books and her father's advice--is trying to figure out how to approach the world. Zach's characterization is particularly good--he's kind but not an insufferable do-gooder, and often connects with Blue in spite of the things he says rather than because of them.
She drew Zach when he slept, the pencil in her hand slipping across the paper in the dark so that the next morning when the sun came up, none of the lines connected. But somehow, even still, there was the shape of his nose and the shadow of his unshaven jaw and the curl of his fingers around the worn hotel blanket.
When she woke up, he was looking at it. Standing there in his boxers, a tiny box of orange juice in one hand and her drawing pad in the other. She didn't move so he wouldn't know she was awake. He wasn't exactly crying, but his bony shoulders were shaking so that the birthmark above his right shoulder bounced up and down.
She didn't tell him she'd seen.
The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay
Thaw-Written for meeeeee but absolutely worthy of a rec in its own right (the same goes for all my other gift fics). A look at the years after Joe's stint at Kelvinator and before his return to New York. It's everything I could have asked for: gorgeous, subtle, sparse and lyrical at once. The author's use of language almost rivals Chabon's, and Joe is portrayed perfectly, down to the most minute of details. The fact that someone managed to write this in thirty-six hours blows my mind.
The first superhero he had drawn for Sammy had been the golem. A tall stocky golem in a cloak with Hebrew letters on his forehead -- aleph mem tav, "truth," the name of God which along with inconceivably arcane meditations and prayers had granted the golem life. And Sheldon Anapol had laughed.
Josef had been in America only a few weeks, and already that laugh had stung. The heroes of his imagination held no currency here. He would need to find a way to speak in an American voice.
But this was ancient history. As Sammy would say, "water under the bridge." (To this day, that phrase made him uncomfortable; it reminded him of his near-drowning in the Moldau, the sinking certainty that he would never be free.) In Anapol's ridiculous office, his lonely bed poorly-concealed by a blanket draped over a clothesline, Josef had exiled the golem from his mind, and it had not lurched into his consciousness since.
The Practice
At the Bar-Another one written pour moi. This is just the scene I wanted to see: Alan and Ellenor bumping into one another at (where else?) a bar. It's a lovely coda to their relationship, and the author does a nice job of subtly showing the affection that still exists between them.
Not a bit. You should know me well enough to know that all my crimes would go far beyond those sentencing guidelines. So, how are you, Ellenor? Retirement becomes you. You look magnificent." She did. He reached to brush a strand of hair back behind her ear. "You may end up being one of my greatest deathbed regrets, and I don't mean our all-too-brief professional association."
"You expect to have a deathbed?" Ellenor inquired wryly, as she again tip-toed around the elephant in the living room.
"Not my own, but possibly her husband's."
Pretty in Pink
Two Conversations in One Day is Still Probably Too Many-Excellent first-person Duckie voice (and this is speaking as someone who, as a rule, finds Duckie unbearable), from the digressions to the grandstanding to the self-deprecating insights. At its very best, it reads like a somewhat scatterbrained but fundamentally decent kid doing his best Philip Marlowe. The treatment of Steff is wonderful as well--he's still an asshole, but he's allowed a few moments of humanity in this story.
"So," he says, cocking an eyebrow like a pistol, lazily, as if about to propose a casual game of Russian roulette. One where I go first and get six tries.
"What?" I snap. "Why did you follow me? Your day get so boring that you decided you needed to keep tormenting me? Ruining your best friend's life wasn't enough? Letting him ruin Andie's life? You just figure, hey, while I'm out and about destroying people, might as well throw Duckie into the mix? Round it out a bit, restore the odds? Or do you just enjoy this, the way some people enjoy pulling the wings off dragonflies? Or the way Jean-Claude Van Damme enjoys being in theatrically released movies?"
Profit
Coffee-The final fic written all for me (I was a lucky gal this year), this is a fantastic glimpse into Gail's thoughts. It manages to preserve the ironic humor that I love so much about the show, and I love the contrast between the activities of Gail's "colleagues" and the things she's doing on Profit's behalf.
She walked down the hallway with her stolen report and it felt like everyone was looking at her, but they weren't. Arty from Accounting smiled shyly at her and she smiled back. She wondered if Arty ever hit someone over the head and then drove them to a dockyard to be shipped to China in a crate inside a metal box. She doubted it.
I have seen your claws and sharp teeth-A short look at Jim and Bobbi's relationship that packs one hell of a wallop. Just read it.
Jimmy was fourteen years old when he asked Bobbi, "What's it like to make love?"
If he'd known his father wasn't yet passed out in his recliner and could hear the question, he'd never have asked.
Something Wicked This Way Comes
Rumpus, Hubbub, Hullaballoo-Jim Nightshade and Will Halloway through the years. The language is just as lush and evocative as Bradbury's, and the fates the author imagines for the boys (and their friendship) ring true.
Jim tries to give his lunch away to Clarence Fossett, and gets a punch in the nose instead. "I don't need your charity either," shouts Clarence, and stalks out of the schoolyard. Jim nurses his bloody nostril with a handkerchief, that his mother will wash out in the evening, and exclaim over how bad boys give their mother palpitations; and when Jim is sent inside to clean up he discovers that Will's got a black eye.
"Oh," says Jim, just as Will is saying, "Oh."
Their teacher looks them both over, clucking her tongue. Will's eye is puffy, purpling impressively. His blond eyelashes, always invisible against his pale skin, stand out like reverse shadows atop the bruise.
The Once and Future King
The Mantle and the Maid-I haven't read OAFK since freshman year in HS, but the author's attention to detail--the story opens with descriptions of the coats of arms of jousting knights--sucked me right back into the world of the book. The fic's told from Kay's perspective, but offers interesting insights into all the characters.
Kay escorted the boy through the dining hall, to King Arthur's seat (he'd insisted that no one call it a throne). "My lord," he said in a voice practiced to resound through the hall, "this lad bears a remarkable gift from the North -- a mantle cunningly woven by fairies! He brings this gift with but one boon to ask: that it be given to the lady whose form it best fits."
Arthur leaned toward the boy with an interested smile. "May I see this miraculous gown?"
The boy nodded, unrolling the plain cotton in which it had been wrapped. As soon as the mantle's fabric became visible, a whisper washed through the banquet hall -- gasps from the men, and sighs of longing from the women. It seemed a bliaut of ordinary cut, but the fabric had been so cunningly embroidered that its vines and starbursts seemed to move of their own accord, weaving over the cloth in a sensuous dance. Its color, too, seemed as changeable as the seasons, seeming gray, then violet, then emerald green. Arthur's eyes never left the marvelous cloth, but he spoke in the lilting formula of high speech, "This boon I grant thee!" The banquet hall burst into applause.
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no subject
Date: 2007-12-31 11:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-01 11:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-01 08:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-01 11:01 pm (UTC)As for the fic, isn't it great? It treads that fine line between gay and totally gay.
By the way, I still want you to write me fic about Alan and Denny playing video games, especially since it's now canon.no subject
Date: 2008-01-02 12:28 am (UTC)I love that fic. There were a few moments where I was like what, that would never... but then it all worked itself out, so I was glad.
Denny should start doing topics like balcony scenes. That would be a trip.
HA. No problem. I've got to watch my dad for a bit now, but I'll be back soon. So, if you see me on AIM? Remind me, and I'll write. :) I think I might have 2 episodes of BL on the tivo. It's been awhile, as usual. When you poke me? Tell me which gaming system they use. And, they play Grand Theft Auto, yes?no subject
Date: 2008-01-05 07:55 pm (UTC)I should probably just call you, but where's the fun in that?
no subject
Date: 2008-01-05 08:05 pm (UTC)If you'd called, I wouldn't have been able to use my nifty Mr. Bennet icon in your honor!
no subject
Date: 2008-01-05 08:34 pm (UTC)I'll pick you up at 3
no subject
Date: 2008-01-12 02:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-12 02:34 am (UTC)