hotogisu

[incandescens]

So. Went to see Return of the King again, this time with parents and sister. Spent happy hour afterwards dissecting problems of film, parts we hoped to see in expanded version, wish that certain character had been allowed accurate-to-book death scene, etcetera. Great fun for all concerned.

Supper was (some of the) cold remains of the goose, together with remains of goose stuffing and potato fried up together in goose fat with onions. Probably drastically unhealthy, but so very tasty. Followed by trifle with highly alcoholic loganberries. (My mother believes that (a) Boxing Day requires trifle, (b) that loganberries are improved by soaking in cheap brandy for most of the year before being added to trifle, together with most of said cheap brandy. I cannot argue with either of these points.)

So, um, yes. A very lazy day.

Also spent some time reading Pillow Book of Sei Shonagon. About a third of the book is explanatory notes, which is a good thing, because I need them. However, I now know that a hotogisu is a cuckoo. A new word every day.

---

SJ realizes immediately that words like "squamous" and "multibrachiate," not to mention phrases like "indescribably horrible," work much better in the written form than in dialog.

Comments

[(Anonymous)]

Better double-check that. Cuckoos are hototogisu, two to's. (Googling hotogisu yields webpages about toad lilies, which is /my/ new word for the day.) The effects of eating alcohol-pickled loganberries, clearly: single vision.
-mjj

[incandescens]

(checks) Blast, you're right. I blame the loganberries.

[kickinpants.livejournal.com]

There's one passage in that book where she's hissing something like, "Oh why must beautiful snow fall on poor people's homes. Such a waste." Court lady, I know, but still. I had no idea that even unsullied snow belonged to the wealthy. "You," she sniffs "May have all the yellowed though."

If I remember correctly, she also has a wonderful rant about next-morning etiquette, and what a man should not do. True gentlemen do not zip up and run off, and by golly, she's right.

[incandescens]

If I remember correctly, she also has a wonderful rant about next-morning etiquette, and what a man should not do. True gentlemen do not zip up and run off, and by golly, she's right.

I think I may have just been reading that bit. A true gentleman implies in every way that he'd like to stay behind, and does not run around the place looking for his fan and papers and putting his hat on. Absolutely true.

And he sends an appropriate poem afterwards.

[marith.livejournal.com]

I remember that bit too. She's wonderfully snarky. And the culture is so alien and gorgeous it doesn't surprise me that authors have been borrowing from it ever since.

There's a biography of Murasaki on my shelf which promises to say more about both of them. Hm, maybe I'll read that next.