Now I'm reading The Lark and the Wren by Mercedes Lackey. It's from 1992. I wonder if I'm allowed to use a photo of the cover. It's lurid. Sci-fi/fantasy lurid.
And . . . it's about what I'd expect from the cover. By no means genius. Amateurish? Sincere. And yet, so far, I am really enjoying it, warts and all. I look forward to reading it.
In the evenings I've been watching Being Human, the U.K. version, on Netflix. I was surprised by how much I liked the characters and how willing I was not to know all the rules of the world the series was building. I cut them some slack when I saw moments of wobbly narrative indecision.
But I watched the finale of season one last night, and I'm not sure I'll go back for season two. Not because of any one inconsistency, but because there were so many and not one of them was addressed. The ghost is a poltergeist only when they need a plot point. The werewolf always manages to have enough time to get someplace "safe" to transform, even when the story makes a point of throwing obstacles in his path. The vampire isn't "feeding" for moral reasons, but that choice only had physically observable consequences in the first couple of episodes. And so on.
Weak spots, y'know? Like someone just wrote anything because there was a deadline, or maybe there were too many cooks and things got sloppy.
So now I'm looking at Lark and Wren, and I'm really hoping that M. Lackey won't be as heavy-handed with her plotting as she can be with her prose. Because it's so disheartening to see characters I care about being abandoned by their creator.
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