Review: Wild Country

Wild Country by Anne Bishop
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Anne Bishop is a master when it comes to creating a universe a reader can disappear into for days. I'm a long time fan, so I know how to ride this rodeo: even though I got my copy of Wild Country the day it released (Tuesday 3/5/19) I set it aside until the weekend. I can report that the resulting anticipation did not make my week move any faster.

Cynics could say it's a dangerous game, building the sheer want to read a book you've been waiting for since the last installment (a year before) by looking at it every day on the table and not touching. I had zero worries about over-anticipation for this one, judging by the previous Others books, and rightly so. I started Wild Country on Saturday at noon and finished it before bed, because I couldn't put it down. Yet again, Anne Bishop got me completely lost in Thaisia and the often uncomfortable, sometimes funny, sometimes downright terrifying interactions between humans and Others.

Wild Country occurs during the same time frame as Etched in Bone, the last Courtyard book. As there is a detailed backstory prior to this book, I highly recommend reading the whole series. There are communications between the communities that will make sense to readers of the series, but Wild Country is its own story with its own array of personalities and could be read as a stand-alone, although to be fair the reader would miss out on many references.

The varied plot threads come together seamlessly over the course of the book as characters grow, sometimes toward their new fragile community, sometimes away, and the rest of the world (and other books' timelines) changes around them. I adore the sub-plot around the frontier saloon and its proprietor, because Tess is my favorite character in the Courtyard and I'm happy Bennett has their own lonely predator interested in learning how to interact safely with town residents of all species.

The threat of violence and savagery is skillfully written: Bishop is an adept line-skater who strays close to horror on occasion but never crosses out of dark fantasy. She's also not afraid to take out a character when a dose of real life (in her universe) kicks in, so Wild Country engages the reader on every emotional level at some point or another.

The worst part about this book is waiting until next March for another story in this universe, because every time I jump into this series it's hard to come back out. If you like dangerous, dark fantasy set in a world five steps to the left of reality (absolutely recognizable yet totally different than the modern world) you need to get into these books. Wild Country is everything I wanted in a story of the Others: I recommend setting aside a chunk of time and snacks, because you're going to be in there a while.

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Reasons I Shouldn't Personally Hit The Snooze Button

Disclaimer: I am not judging your ability or inability to hit said snooze button.

1) It's not actually a button anymore. Seriously..it's a random space in the middle of a touch screen on a device I'm more likely to throw across the room when the stupid noise starts than fumble my ham-hands to the correct fingertip spot on the screen. There are many other button sized things I can do with my fingers first thing in the morning* without triggering cognitive spark in my brain: the snooze button takes actual effort. And yet I do it anyway, because fuck getting up on time. 

2) Yeah yeah, I KNOW it makes me groggy. If I didn't roll over and say "fuck everything" when I woke up, and heaved myself up to a semi-upright impression of any primate I might actually wake up eventually. I'm tired all the time lately, and some of that is likely my hour of hitting snooze, because I fall all the way back to sleep in those 9 minute intervals.

3) Dreaming is a grab bag of fun. Speaking of those 9 minute intervals: I dream heavily during my between-button-fumbles. Sometimes the dream is just put on pause when I have to shut my phone up, and I can drop right back into it. 

Do you have any idea how horrifying that can be? This morning I dreamt I was charged with house/babysitting for friends of mine after their baby is born. No, I don't know why the fuck anyone would go on vacation immediately after, or leave said newborn with ME of all people: it was a dream, it made no sense. And for some reason assassins were trying to get in and kill me (there are way too many windows/doors in that house, FYI). I'm betting it's the same ones who failed to kill me in real life by sending me a fancy new winter hat and forgetting the skin-contact toxins, so NEENER I can wear my hat all winter long and my face won't melt off.

Um. Anyway.

I spent an hour this morning jumping in and out of a weird bad-guys-chasing-me-fight-back-ow-hide-fight-back-ow-HAHAYOUDIEMOTHERFUCKER-hide cycle punctuated by pauses to say "goddammit, not yet" and smacking the top of my phone again.

I should probably mention the secret passages I discovered in my dream in case the current residents don't know about them, shouldn't I?

Disclaimer the second: This is not a post about productivity or being a "look what I did before you even got up today" person. OMG I'm jealous of all of you who are those people, and I only want to kill you for the first two minutes I'm trying to claw my way into consciousness every day, I promise.

*I heard that snicker, and I appreciate the thought, but I meant the shampoo container's cap, the toothpaste, the button to grind coffee beans...etc. etc. etc.

Of Course My Secret Admirers Are Weird

A long time ago in a suburb not so far away from where I live now, I had a weird secret admirer leave me a mystery: and that's when Russell Crowe showed up in my grandparents' mailbox.

It's now been nearly 20 years and I still don't know who did it. 

Last week I got home from my new in-the-office-more job (this transition is hard enough I'm not writing about it) to an Amazon envelope on my front step. I order from Amazon a lot, so I didn't think it especially odd to forget I had a package coming. Also, occasionally a couple people have things shipped to my house instead of their own (when you work from home full time, it's safer to ship here). 

But no, the package was addressed to me at my full name, with no return address, no packing slip, and no indicator of the sender at all. 

It's a winter hat. A toasty warm knit winter hat that I like but probably wouldn't have ordered for myself. NO IDEA who it came from: I mean, who uses my full name with middle initial?

I checked my own account just in case I drunk shopped or something...nope. I asked family and friends, stuck the question on Facebook, asked family and friends AGAIN. 

No joy. 

So I apparently have either the same or a new secret admirer terribly concerned about my frigid brainpan. The weather in Minnesota on my phone app says "Feels like -30", which should actually read "feels like you pissed of Mother Nature so badly she's slapping your face with a thousand ice needles every time you go outside to let the dog dance in the snow instead of peeing like he's supposed to." 

My secret admirer wants to prevent my ears from icing over and breaking off, so I've got that going for me.