The world is not different (furs,claws an feathers aside) from the all-human world. The vision of Jon-Tom shifts when he discover his talen as Spellsinger (he can invoke things playing some kind of guitar and singing Earth songs) Mudge, the scoundrel otter, is put in charge of helping him to adjust to this world with talking animals, lizard transportation, everyday magic, proud birds, thieves logias, and medieval violence. what a bad trip.īut wait, Jon-Tom is not a wizard, not a engineer, and don't want to be there to help some crazy turtle with a indentured bat assistant to avoid a.
So, when Clothahump searches the universe between clouds of cof open minded concoctions looking for a powerful magical engineer, Jonathan-Thomas Meriweather -who until then was trying to relax about his thesis smoking pot- ends in a forest in front of a giant otter dressed as Disney's Robin Hood reject.
I think we all know that wise turtles have a unique sense of humor and the concept of a suitable hero. Maybe if I work real hard, he told himself, I can manage to overcome that. And if I can't help thinking about power and mastery, well hell, I'm only human. So, when Clothahump searches the universe between clouds of cof open minded concoctions looking for a powerful magical engineer, Jonathan-Thomas Meriweather -w Narnia meet Ted's Excellent Adventure. I have never tried to re-read the series, because I fear Spellsinger isn't actually objectively particularly amazing, but I still have an overstrong affection for the song Sloop John B, and call the tiny moving dots in the side of one's field of vision 'gneechees'. The hope that I too could be a speshul snowflake kept me from crying more than once a week (maybe twice. What could have been more apt for me than a story about a fish-out-of-water human with hidden magic talents, transported to a strange and hostile land. I lived for each week's Spellsinger volume.
If I was prepared to turn myself into a sweat-dripping, overheated mess (and I was) I could cycle into the tiny local public library (where I BEGGED to be allowed to join, against all the residency rules: thank you, kind librarian), and I read my way through their entire fiction section (it was one wall). Well, thank fuck for Alan Dean Foster's Spellsinger series. Also without eating anything, because staff meals were in the kitchen, which was (triple duh) closed for the day, because the whole lodge was closed for the day, and this had not occurred to me, literally, until Christmas morning. That was the first Christmas Day I spent without seeing another human being. I was the only staff member living on site, no one hung out together, the lodge was a billion miles from civilisation (duh) and I only had a pushbike, all the male staff were married, and the locals were hostile (again, duh!). Ah, rich people.īefore I arrived I dreamed of long summer evenings, hanging out with the other staff, swimming in the river, finding a cute local summer boyfriend, and having a great growth experience. This is one of the numerous downsides to having incredibly shitty parenting no one to tell you, when you are young and dumb, that it is illegal for employers to pay less than minimum wage, that legally the lodge was allowed to charge me 9% of my gross wage for room and board and not a cent more, and that I was about to be exploited all to hell. This is one of the numerous downsides to having incredibly shitty parenting no one to tell you, when you are young and dumb, that it is illegal for employers to pay less than minimum wage, that legally the lodge was allowed to charge me 9% of When I was young and dumb-even dumber than I am now-I spent a summer as a live-in staff member at a prestigious, World's-Top-Hideaways-list-making New Zealand luxury lodge, waiting tables and working housekeeping. When I was young and dumb-even dumber than I am now-I spent a summer as a live-in staff member at a prestigious, World's-Top-Hideaways-list-making New Zealand luxury lodge, waiting tables and working housekeeping.
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