“Pastworld” by Ian Beck
“Pastworld” by Ian Beck
If there’s one thing fantasy readers want – especially from steampunk tales – it’s sensory immersion. A flood of sights, sounds and smells that make us feel we’re living in another world. Ian Beck does that, in loving and exquisite detail. It is his greatest strength.
The rest of this review has been moved to Comfy Chair, where I get paid for it.
Drama with a capital ‘W’
Junk mail recently became interesting to me for the first time. Not only does it often contain entire magazines of baby-related items that I might just acquire (shiny!), but it’s now educational (“I should get me one of THOSE things”).
Fortunately, at least some of my enthusiasm has been moderated by Choice magazine, which is an independent body that reviews Australian products and rates them on safety, economy, etc. Since babies are small and easy to accidentally kill, this is a VERY useful resource for the underqualified parent (which, let’s face it, is all of us).
I found articles on nappies, cots, car seats, and strollers – excellent! The first three are clearly important, but I did pause at the thought of a stroller. I’ve never used a stroller before (even during countless hours of babysitting), and I hate walking pretty much anywhere. Bowing to the fact that CJ loves walking, that children apparently have to go outside sometime, and that everyone says strollers are super important, I accepted that this was a necessary purchase. But I wasn’t planning on spending a LOT on something to carry my baby when I already have arms.
This made the choice of stroller super easy: Choice’s “best buy” (ie the cheapest of the safe brands) was the Steelcraft Holiday stroller. This is it:
And so it was that I emitted a cry of delight while perusing a Big W sale catalogue. There in full colour was OUR stroller – and it was reduced from $98 to $78.
The following day was a Monday. Determined to catch a bargain with a hint of destiny about it, I made the herculean effort and showed up to the relevent Big W store to look at our stroller (because all the books say to check you can lift it, that the handles are a comfortable height, etc).
There was no sign of it (except for the Steelcraft Orion, which is cool but considerably heavier and more expensive). We rang for customer service repeatedly. Other than hearing the automatic page over the intercom (which was terribly exciting I’m sure), nothing happened. We figured maybe we were too quick off the mark – the sale didn’t start until the next Wednesday.
On Wednesday, CJ returned. The stroller was there, and he even spoke to a genuine 3-D staff member – who refused to open any of the boxes and let him actually look at the stroller. By this stage we’d arranged for CJ’s safety-conscious parents to come and try it out with us on the weekend.
We tried to find the stroller elsewhere, so we could look at it and therefore not waste any of CJ’s parents’ time. It turned out that Big W was the only store in Canberra who stocked it. I called them and tried to put one on hold for three days, but they refused. By this time I knew exactly why Big W was consistently cheaper than anyone else. because they sucked at customer service.
And so Saturday rolled around. I checked the magazine for the twelth time, and noticed I’d got the name wrong (using the name of another model also stocked by Big W). It didn’t seem like a major error.
And so it was that we showed up to Big W and realised that CJ hadn’t even seen the box of the correct stroller (he’d been looking at the Orion). No-one had. I immediately realised that I’d organised my in-laws to come and see a stroller that looked more and more like a myth.
We were mildly surprised when a staff member actually showed up in response to the customer service page. We were even more surprised when she fetched someone who was familiar with the nursery section. The nursery expert hadn’t heard of the stroller. I said it was in their magazine, on special. She said – as politely as was possible – that she’d go and get the magazine so I could “point it out”. We all knew what she meant: I was nuts.
At this point CJ’s parents showed up, and we explained to them that I’d apparently imagined the whole thing.
The nursery expert returned with two different sale magazines. They were definitely not the magazine I’d seen, but I leafed through them anyway. No Steelcraft Holiday stroller. So much for that.
The lady muttered something conciliatory and went away after mentioning two other stores that I might have confused with Big W. I’d obsessed over that magazine for ten days, and I didn’t know what to think. We poked half-heartedly at other nursery items, pretending there was some point in us being there.
Then – *pause for inspiring power chords* – the lady returned. With my magazine. With the picture of the stroller in it.
“No-one here has seen this catalogue,” she said, “but let me check the stockroom computer and see if we have some out the back.”
She did so, and said there were Steelcraft Holiday strollers in a back room – or so the computer said.
We waited, unconvinced the myth was about to appear. But it did. The lady re-emerged with a big smile and a pallet full of Steelcraft Holiday strollers. She and CJ and CJ’s Dad took one out and put the wheels on. It was a beautiful thing, and after establishing that it did indeed fold up, and was not too low or too heavy, we bought it.
Big W’s customer service seriously came through in the end. I can haz stroller!
(For those keeping score of how little CJ and I have spent on baby items, we are still at $0 – some friends of ours got together and paid for the stroller for us. Double win!)
Crazy Pregnant Lady
As of this morning, I have reached my pre-pregnancy weight. Four months to go (if she arrives on time, which only happens in 5% of cases, but oh well). I feel movement every day, but it’s not big enough to reach the outside of my belly yet.
I have good news on the nausea front: It turns out about 20% of my nausea was actually heartburn, which is easily and safely treated with gaviscon. Suddenly I’m much less sick, and the hope of getting off ondansetron/zofran is reignited once more (it’s not an especially plausible hope, but it’s there).
So how’s things on the crazy front?
I have an anxiety disorder (had it for years, and it’s severe enough I can’t do more than about twelve hours of non-writing work in a week), which is a pretty clear disadvantage from the starting gate – but it’s also one I’ve claimed as an advantage, since I’m used to my mind and body telling me things that aren’t true.
I’m very anxious about the nausea, particularly about throwing up without warning. As far as anxiety triggers go, this is about 70% rational. Things that have triggered vomit include walking across a room (due to feeling better), coughing, sipping water, having a shower, and cleaning my teeth. I’ve thrown up at every possible time of day, and not just in first trimester.
So yes, I’m anxious about the nausea. That makes rational sense.
I’m not anxious about Louisette. I was anxious about the effects of the medicine, but not any more. Apart from anything else, intense nausea is considered a good sign for baby health – it’s abundantly clear every hour that my body is doing its thing. Now I have daily movement as well.
I’m less functional than usual (maximum four hours of paid work a week) but I’m actually less anxious than usual. I think there’s something about the nausea that just dampens all my emotions – and I’m fine with that. It helps pass the time. Plus I’m so pleased that we were able to conceive.
I have found, ever since CJ and I began trying for a baby, that some of my obsessive-compulsive fidgets are much more pronounced. The OCD part of my anxiety is a very small part, and although it’s irritating for me personally, I don’t think it’s at the stage where everyone around me has to join in or I can’t function (which would be so annoying for me and for them).
If something does make me feel anxious, it also makes me nauseous – so I’m steering clear of books and TV that are the slightest bit scary or gross. That’s quite annoying, but certainly survivable.
Our finances aren’t great, but they’re okay. I’m a bit anxious about the social obligations of the baby shower, but I feel a lot better having taken certain friends aside and told them to buy me certain dull-but-vital baby items.
I’m not anxious about labor yet – I expect I’ll be fine until January, then anxious (more about getting naked than about pain – mine is a predominantly social anxiety disorder), and then labor itself will be similar to anyone else’s experience.
Here is the bassinet I’ve been lent, as modelled by the adorable one-year old punk (the mohawk was non-deliberate) who has long since grown out of it.
The castle playground
In Canberra there are a few truly awesome playgrounds that are spoken of by those who’ve grown up here with a happy sigh and a faraway gaze. This one may be my favourite. We call it the castle.
The rest of this entry is at weekend notes.
The things women do
I was in Indonesia, staying with an Indonesian friend and his Mum in their two-room house. There was a smell of slightly-charred meat in the air. I lay down on the bed for a nap.
“Here, have some of this,” my friend said, and sliced me off a piece of meat.
I looked down at the piece of meat on my plate, and couldn’t help noticing that the meat had been taken from my leg, which was still steaming gently with heat.
Something was definitely wrong, and I paused before eating. Now what was it that was bothering me?
My friend and his mother savoured a mouthful, and motioned for me to do the same.
NO! I suddenly realised. I’M NOT FOR EATING!!
The shock of it woke me up.
That was the day I realised I needed to stop going along with every single aspect of Indonesian culture. (My friends weren’t unreasonable; they were just different to me.)
Not everyone goes from middle-class Australia to stay in the home of relatively poor Indonesians, but we all adjust to different mini-cultures throughout our lives and throughout a day. One family walks around naked, even when they have guests; another family shrugs when their birds defecate on the couch. One school will turn a blind eye to certain weapons; another will put a child on detention for trying out a new swear word.
Women sometimes live their whole lives to please others, completely erasing their own personal culture in the process. Some men do, too, but it’s less common (due to socialising – women are taught to appear nice, men to appear confident).
On the first day of Year Eight, one of my friends called me “Lou” instead of Louise, and dissolved into giggles (“loo” in Australia means “toilet”). I protested at first, but several other people joined in. By the end of the day it was well established, and I’ve been introducing myself as “Lou” ever since. Why would I embrace a stupid nickname like that? I’m not even a passive person, but I still have that deep-seated urge to please other people at almost any extent.
Dear women of the world:
You get to choose what people call you (new people, anyway).
You can say no – even if someone gets mad at you.
Your children can wait while you take a shower/talk on the phone/finish cleaning the kitchen.
You are not for eating.
Fully preserved Victorian Kitchen
A British couple found an entire Victorian kitchen in their basement the other day. It probably dates from the 1830s, although it was used briefly as a shelter during World War 2.
It includes jelly moulds, a spit for roasting pigs, and an antique fire extinguisher. Also, bells for the servants.
For those who want a steam engine in your Steampunk Sunday, here’s a steam-powered bicycle. All I know about the source is that the maker is Finnish:
Do independent authors sell?
Generally, no.
For one thing, bookshops will refuse to stock them. This is not because bookshops are mean and cynical; it’s because there are insane numbers of self-published books out there, and many of them are self-published because authors were either not good enough or not marketable enough for major publishers.
If you owned a bookshop (one of the ones that hasn’t already financially collapsed), wouldn’t you want to pick the best written, best edited, most marketable books?
On the other hand, here is an article about some independent books that mostly did quite well. This presumably involved a LOT of promotion work over time by the authors.
For those who want comparison numbers, the average book published by a large Australian company gets an advance of $3000-$5000 for children or young adult books, or $5000-$10,000 for other novels. Unless the book is a success (sadly, that just doesn’t happen often – a “success” would be selling over a thousand books), this is the only money the author gets.
But it’s almost guaranteed to be more than a self-published or POD author gets. So be wise with your work.
A little bit post-apocalyptic, a little bit rock and roll
The perfect place to be when disaster strikes is just close enough to feel a thrill, but far enough away to be in absolutely no danger. I’m in precisely that place today. Also, no-one has actually been hurt.
The North side of my little city is ablaze with toxic fumes and chemical explosions. Apparently flames are shooting 200 feet in the air. Buses, schools, and childcare centres have been shut down, and residents advised to stay inside with the doors and windows closed (which reminds me slightly of a “duck and cover” propaganda video from the Cold War, but oh well). It’s still burning.
I live way down on the South side. Outside, the sky is blue. Having offered my home as a toxin-free shelter for a couple of Northside friends, my job here is done.
Not much happens in Canberra. We find our thrills where we can.
Blossoms
In late August, Canberra turns to a fuzzily blossom-filled town in pink and white. It’s a great time of year.
*resisting the urge to tag this “cthulhu pics”*
Crouching broccoli, hidden zucchini
Due to a combination of skipping one zofran pill and eating some steamed broccoli and zucchini-containing lasagna, I was hideously ill this time last week. I was so sick it kept me awake (I moved a chair into the bathroom), and then was feeling marginally better in the morning so I had a few sips of water – then lost them. For the rest of the day I had basically nothing. Yurk.
But I improved day by day and yesterday was simply fabulous. I cleaned the bathroom, hung out washing, brought in washing, emptied out a bookshelf so it could be moved from one room to another, and went to a baby shop for – believe it or not – the first time.
Of course the baby shop was a thrill. I carefully psyched myself up to avoid buying anything, even though the shop was having a sale. We’re big fans of Choice magazine Australia, which does a lot of product testing (often focusing on safety, which is want you want in baby stuff), so there were specific brands I was looking for. None of them were there, but I did see pretty things, like these cots:
A lady at the shop seemed very knowledgeable and told me that, because of the time taken to test brands, Choice-recommended products are often unavailable soon after the time the tests are printed. So I put an equivalent brand on hold and went home.
Then I turned to Mama Google for further advice.
I immediately found the precise cot I was looking for, and for less than the price quoted by Choice. But I like the lighter-coloured wood (that the lady in the shop told me was almost impossible to get), and curved ends. So I surfed here and I surfed there, and I discovered that another one of Choice’s top four happened to have a curved top and to be available in light-coloured wood – and for a similar price to my first option (which was my first option of the four because it was drastically cheaper). I discovered the only existing one in Canberra, and further negotiated the price over the phone (to the tune of a $200 mattress free).
I totally win.
Now, concerned citizens may be thinking, “But why is Louise shopping for new things, when she has sworn on a pile of catalogues not to buy a single baby item?”
The answer is simple: parents.
Also, I have a baby shower coming up. I have spent literally hours scouring magazines and online stock lists figuring out want we want, what we need, and what we’d really like – and often where is the best place to buy them (many of our friends are single and childless, and have literally asked me, “What do I buy you?” I’m so lucky in my friends and in the straightforward nature of Aussie friendships.)
One of my super powers is getting the maximum benefit out of present-generating events (such as Christmas). For example, I’ve found the perfect stroller on sale and will pay for it, then let people know that if they give me cash, that cash is going towards the stroller. If there is change, I will secretly spend it on boring things like safety gates (that no-one will want to buy). Also, I’ve asked that people don’t buy me clothes, books, or toys – because I already know I’m getting huge amounts of those items secondhand. See? Cunning. Cunning like a slightly tactless and grasping fox.
Presents are AWESOME. Not only do I feel like I’m achieving some progress financially (a happy illusion), but I also get shiny things. Shiny things are the best distraction for the four months of nausea still lurking in my immediate future. In some ways, shiny things are more exciting than a new baby.
Don’t get me wrong, a baby is the point of the exercise (and entirely worth it). But right now the baby is a long, long way away – and presents are happening week by week. Also, a baby is a complicated and messy blessing (phrases like “Your life is over” and “You’ll never sleep again” are especially difficult when I’m already in physical difficulty) – whereas presents are a very simple and straightforward blessing. They’re pretty much guaranteed not to throw up on you.
So I’ll say it loud and proud: until the baby actually emerges, presents are the best thing about pregnancy.
But in the meantime, here’s Louisette sucking her thumb:
I wish she was already here. She’ll be even cuter in colour, 3D, and surround sound.
Felicity Banks 