I’ve picked back up on the Kushiel series by Jacqueline Carey. Kushiel’s Chosen this time. Dart was a Lot to process, so it’s been years between. This one is no different, and I’m barely into it.
I’m not a Game of Thrones person. I don’t like all the political machinations and wars. But I love spies and rogues. I listen to books, and I’m bad at names. So that makes it even harder for me to keep track of who is who. I don’t try to follow by name, but rather by her interactions and reflections. Then I catch up when she talks to the boys about it.
That’s not why I read these. Not why I read anything. I like Characters. I’m a people watcher, even in life. And I identify So Much with Phèdre. Her desires and frustrations. Her being set aswirl in politicking whether she will or no.
And her assignations. So much so. Her choosing because the person intrigued her. Or choosing someone outside all the machinations. Or choosing to just drown herself in the painful pleasure over and over. Not to mention the descriptiveness of the scenes.
I have done some of these things. I want to do some of the others. Some are intoxicatingly impossible (for me at least). Being who,what, where, and when I am, I don’t play hard terribly often. Reading Chosen is stirring deep yearnings. Heading towards the next big event, plans spin in my head to work out scenes. Plans to go to more events next year.
I am wary to negotiate for the nearest one in the yearning throes of Chosen. Wary I’ll ask for more than I can manage, physically and emotionally. But all my regular partners know me well and read me even better. I dream of more than I can handle, but I know very well that I, and they, can call a scene if slip that boundary. I want to be beaten into a puddle of goo at least once if not twice, though. That, I believe, I can manage.
