juniper green

science fiction, new weird, old weird, very weird - and everything else


Soulless - T. Baggins Now, this was everything a good, old-fashioned vampire novel should be: gothic, dark, brutal, bloody, and sexy.

Baggins' writing is visceral and evocative, without ever venturing into purple. She gives us brilliant characters: I fell in love with Nicholas from first sight. He makes a bargain with the devil (so to speak), and yet never loses his snark, his wit, his defiance. Ban is the perfect gothic vampire, torn between his desires, his devotion to his master Sebastian, and his more human side. I loved how the author made both men prime examples for strength and endurance. For perseverance.
Sebastian is evil in pure form, a villain who's actually frightening inside and out. Even the supporting characters turned out to be real gems, from Martha to Grandma Robinson to Dr. Flowers, the van Helsing of this tale.

It was pure pleasure to read Nicholas and Ban's back and forth. Baggins not only wrote some of the best dialogue I've read in a while, but also some very erotic sex. Yes, it could have been a bit bloodier. Nicholas' surprisingly kinky mind already supplied the right idea:

Transfixed, Nicholas had a sudden vision of himself: stripped to the waist, flesh cut in dozens of places, rivulets of blood decorating his cheeks, biceps, nipples. Offering himself as a feast, an unfolding banquet for all Ban's senses....

Unfortunately, we never see anything like this. But what I got was more than able to make up for it: a sweet awkwardness and a lush eroticism that doesn't need to be blatantly explicit to be hot as hell. (In other words: None of the cheap porn hyperbole that seems so common for m/m romance nowadays, and that's the exact opposite of “erotic”.)

There were some editing issues: a few anachronisms, „hair“ where it should've been „hand“, present tense where past tense was required, people calling Ban „Ban“ when he still went by his birthname „Hob“... The pacing was a bit uneven too. There's a long sequence in the middle where everything comes to a stop so that Ban can tell about his past. It was a fascinating tale, yes, but the inclusion felt rather heavy-handed.
And then there was the end. Frankly, I would have been happier without the last chapter. But it wasn't as bad as I expected it to be. I'd already spoilered myself – as per usual – and thought I'd be enraged; but in fact I think Baggins handled the thing with an asexual woman and a gay man having children quite well.

Usually I would have retracted a star for the proofreading and pacing issues. But I can't bring myself to: Just like Nicholas was starved for touch, I was starving for a good vampire story. And even more so for well-written m/m with grown-up men (okay, and vampires) having intelligent conversations, and actually erotic sex. It's unbelievable how rare these things are. So, in the m/m world, this is a real treasure.

As I gather, S.A. Reid / T. Baggins has already left the lands of m/m and vanished in a poof of fairy dust? If this is true, it's a real shame le sigh

Power Exchange

Power Exchange - A.J.  Rose I should stay true to my word and quit with m/m. Bitching my way through book after book won't make anyone happy.
(Whom am I kidding? Of course I won't.)

Don't get me wrong: This is a good read for anyone new to BDSM. Yes, there is a certain BDSM 101 feel to it, especially in the beginning – but the explanations are well done and worked organically into the investigation and Gavin's sexual self-awakening. The BDSM scenes are emotional and ring true, Ben and Gavin make a good couple, and I could believe in their attraction and developing D/s relationship. I'm no newbie, but it even helped me to gain a better insight in the submissive's POV. While I get S&M and the joys of pain, while I mostly get Dominance (I think), submission remains more of a mystery to me. The author did a good job at showing Gavin's needs. In that regard, the book deserves all the praise.


The murder mystery didn't work for me. Gavin's much too busy coming to terms with being gay and submissive to actually recognize a killer who's advertising himself with big, flashy neon-signs. Now, stories where the investigator is too caught up fucking to really investigate can be entertaining (*cough* [b:Mind Fuck|2112823|Mind Fuck (The Administration, #1)|Manna Francis||2118233] *cough*). More often they're just annoying. The investigation in Power Exchange isn't all that bad, but I could never believe in Gavin as a competent cop.

Also, I didn't like how the author handled the situation with Victoria, Gavin's wife. Granted, we see the whole story through Gavin's POV, so we just get his side of the story. But I got the impression that the author was trying very hard to sell Victoria as the bitchy, cheating wife from hell. And that's a trope just all too common in m/m romance. I'm so fucking tired of it. To make matters worse, Gavin handles the whole situation with the maturity of a 5-year-old who got his ice-cream stolen. Instead of trying to sort things out with the people involved, and, I don't know, actually talk to his wife for a change, he goes whining to his boss. And keeps on blaming bad, bad Victoria. Way to go, boy! (Really, Victoria's much better off without him. Gavin's not exactly what I meant when I asked for a "competent, mature sub".) To give the author some credit: The story is partly about Gavin finally developing a backbone and standing up for himself. I just wish his own contribution to his failed marriage had been acknowledged, and Victoria had been treated like a human being, not like a necessary causality who doesn't matter anyway.

So, my biggest problem was I had no respect for Gavin as a cop, and I could find no respect for Gavin as a person – and Ben was just a tiny bit too perfect to be true.
Also, the writing is serviceable at best, sometimes straining the limits of 1st person POV beyond believability.

While the BDSM is emotional, and there's actual communication and negotiation (!!), the sex is also the typical, boring, m/m hyperbole: Fists fisting everywhere but where fists are supposed to be fisting, mouths letting go of cocks with an audible sound, dicks dribbling pre-come everywhere and spurting "thick ropes of come" (really now?), and men always coming together or almost together. Blah-di-blah. And the scenes are so frigging long! (And Ben and Gavin are both not into edge play. What a shame! *disappointed pout*)

Anyway, I'm told book #2 is better, and addresses some of the issues I mentioned above. I might give it a chance after all. Till then, I'll withhold my rating.

The Affair of the Porcelain Dog

The Affair of the Porcelain Dog - Jess Faraday More like 3.5, but I'll go with four – for a first novel, The Affair of the Porcelain Dog is really solid.

An atmospheric mystery set in Victorian London, giving a clear nod to Arthur Conan Doyle, but with enough own character development to be more than a mere pastiche. I enjoyed following 1st-person-narrator Ira Adler, former rent boy and current plaything of a criminal mastermind, running around the more sordid parts of historical London, and watch his personal growth.
No romance, no sex, although it's marketed as m/m romance – when in fact it's a well written mystery, not more, not less.

Lies and Consequences

Lies and Consequences - Kaje Harper There's no doubt that Kaje Harper can write and has a knack for creating interesting, believable characters. It already shows in this early novel of hers (which is free to boot). It's not her fault if a lot of her protagonists and plots end up a bit too sweet for my taste. Not in this case, though. Lies and Consequences is pretty decent romantic suspense with a bit of action. So, okay, it's a tiiiiny bit – well, a lot actually – over the top, piling unlikely coincidence upon unlikely coincidence and drama llama upon drama llama, building a neat drama llama pyramid... but it was exactly what I wanted right now.
Just the sex was a bit generic and not very erotic for me. And they use condoms when both have already tested negative on STD, but keep on kissing after rimming? That's some interesting hygiene priorities.

City of Soldiers

City of Soldiers - Sam Burke City of Soldiers is a quietly told, very atmospheric story about veterans in Philadelphia and their various relationships, from brotherhood to ersatz-family to friendship and love. Although it's marketed as m/m romance, I wouldn't really call it that. The story focuses on four men, Sean, asexual Roman, Kristian, and cop Brackett, and something that might become a relationship, maybe even love, between more than just two men. Not everything is resolved in the end, and that's okay. Life doesn't surprisingly shower you with rainbows and roses when you find someone to love; you have to make compromises. Sometimes these compromises will lead to something lasting and good, sometimes they won't. That's all there is to it. I appreciated this touch of realism.

There's also a murder-mystery and an element of magical realism. Frankly, I could've done without both. The murder-mystery wasn't exactly a gripping who-done-it, because the who was pretty obvious – it was more the why which wasn't answered and the question how everything will play out that kept me interested in this plot-line. And in a story so painfully realistic in any other regard, the magic water of Delphi felt oddly displaced.

But neither of these points did take away from my enjoyment, the good stuff was simply too good for that.
Where City of Soldiers really shines is in its sense of place and sense of characters. Sam Burke paints a vivid picture of Philadelphia above and underground, the world of tunnels and sewers where a lot of the homeless veterans live. Her characters, especially Sean and Roman, are believable, well-rounded protagonists, hurt, but holding on and struggling for life, for love. Burke writes a realistic asexual character as well, without ever getting into „asexuality 101“ territory or trying to fix him, something else I really appreciated.

And then there's the kink. There's little to no sex in the book, but City of Soldiers offers few, but incredibly lovely bondage scenes. Non-sexual, but full of intimacy. Others might call it „light kink“ or „mild BDSM“ - I found it to be very realistic, tastefully understated, and oh so very erotic. Maybe the intimacy builds a bit fast – the guys hardly know each other, and activities like that need some level of trust – but maybe that are just my own trust issues speaking. It was beautiful, plain and simple.
Also noteworthy: It's one of the very, very rare occasions where I didn't mind a growled „mine“. Actually, I thought it was cute and fit the situation.

Well played, Sam Burke – definitely not my last book by this author. **off to check out sendal on ao3**
Just one question: What happened to Jason?

‘I Find That Offensive!’

‘I Find That Offensive!’ - Claire Fox Today's zeitgeist is the pathologised individual. You are living in an era where the 'form of personality' that is valued and privileged is the vulnerable victim, where weakness is treated sympathetically and strength is demonised as arrogance or bullying, where anything smacking of the stiff upper lip is seen as a relic from a cruel, insensitive era. Today, emotional literacy is de rigueur.

Claire Fox writes an outraged pamphlet against outrage culture. Polemic, ranty, but not without worthwhile analysis.
The book's structured in three parts: Part #1 outlines the situation, part #2 tries to identify reasons for a mollycoddled youth, part #3 consists of letters to said generation of youngsters.

While Germany's educational system is very, very different from the ones in the US or the UK, a lot of what Fox writes sounds quite familiar and I can relate to many of her points. I'm 34 and I teach semiotics and feminist and gender aware linguistics. You may draw your own conclusions from there. About ten years ago, in my activist heydays, I roamed the streets, chanting „I'm not a victim“. In our work with survivors of domestic abuse, we try to teach them that they are exactly that – survivors, not victims, people strong enough to reclaim responsibility for their life, to change it for the better. And then, in my day-job, on social media, and everyday discussions, there's what Fox and others call offence generation or 'Generation Snowflake', seemingly claiming victim status as a part of their identity.
While I don't want to dismiss peoples' very real pains and bad experiences, I do see “This offends me” and “I feel hurt” becoming the go-to means to silence every reasonable discussion, to silence any critique or simply disagreeing opinions.
I'm not exactly innocent in that regard, especially not when it comes to discussions about the current refugee situation in Europe; discussions that are difficult, often heated, and, at least for me, emotionally draining.

So, yes, I think Fox has some valid points. Most importantly, she's not blaming the “younger generation”, but, as pointed out above, tries to identify reasons for young adults' apparent inability to stand criticism and the tendency to feel offended about divergent opinions, reasons she sees in the parent generation, the educational system itself, and the prominence of “Student Voice”.

Today's overly subjective youth are instead reduced to the status of objects, acted upon by an overabundance of official bodies. However, a lack of awareness of this passivity can mean that young people themselves are flattered at such third-party interests. They seem to enjoy being mollycoddled, gaining an artificial sense of empowerment from their various victim roles as well as feeling legitimised as objects of institutional concern and interventions.

Again, I recognised a lot. But I can't agree with everything Fox says in part #2.
For one, I don't really think what she describes is just a problem of a younger generation (a generation I might still be part of, if only at the very tail-end of it). I see the same overawareness of all things PC happening with much older people – at least here. But that might be the difference between Germany and the UK and especially the US, where “free speech” is defined quite differently.
Also, in contrast to Fox I think that words can hurt and do severe damage. I fear that outright dismissing this notion or ridiculing the concept of emotional abuse, like Fox seems to do, is not going to help the discussion in any meaningful way. Of course you have to differentiate if two children fight on the playground and one tells the other “I don't like you, you stink” - or if there's an abusive relationship where one partner constantly tells the other how worthless they are. Or if parents keep telling their child that their lives would be so much better if said child had never been borne. Of course that's one hell of a difference.
But it's this nuance that I miss in Fox's rant. And it's a pity, because neglecting nuances makes it all too easy to dismiss her points, her very important, very valid points, in return.

What's more, I fear she'll end up preaching to the choir here. Which is also a pity, because I think her conclusion in the third part, addressing 'Generation Snowflake' and 'Anti-Snowflakers' alike (stupid terms, by the way), are well worth considering.

(As a sidenote, I don't get her problem with adult colouring books. But to each their own, I guess.)


Hearthkeeper - Cordelia Kingsbridge Hearthkeeper or everybody wants to fuck Julian Sharpe.

Like all of Kingsbridge's stories I've read so far, this required an awful lot of suspension of disbelieve. The plot didn't make any sense whatsoever, which wasn't really made up for by the frequent D/s sex scenes that got repetitive after a while. Pacing was much better than in her longer works, though, and just like always she developed some intriguing characters. Jules started of as a delightfully unlikeable protagonist and developed into much more after a while. Keaton was delectable and Jules' husband Henry a real puppy - maybe a bit too good to be true. I really liked the ending, too.

All in all, mindless, trashy fun.

Flight from Neveryon

Flight from Neveryon - Samuel R. Delany **Rambling ahead**

Reading Delany is a humbling experience.
Delany started to write the Nevèryon series when he was a couple of years younger than I am now – but yet so much more experienced, so much wiser, with so much more insight and compassion.

Reading the Nevèryon series is also an intensely personal experience. This is what I took out of it; it may vary vastly from what you see in it. Or from what the author intended.

Like a lot of good book, this series makes me realize my own mistakes and shortcomings. I already try not to police and go all judgmental on people, but let's face it: it happens. Sometimes I end up all too entangled in my self-righteousness. Sometimes I say incredible stupid things. Just the same day I made one of these incredible stupid, policing, judgmental remarks, I read The Tale of Fog and Granite - and ended up putting my foot into my mouth, feeling like the most stupid, most ignorant person on earth.
I've learned my lesson: my morals, my sensibilities, and my experiences should by no means be a basis to judge other people's (erotic) desires, needs, and fantasies.

Common sense, really – but I had to read this to finally, fully understand it.

I mean, I experience it from the other side as well: When your sexual desires, needs, and/or fantasies aren't exactly of the mainstream and vanilla variation, you become acutely aware of culturally inflicted taboos, of what makes people feel uncomfortable. Or hurt. I've long ago stopped apologizing for or justifying my desire (resp. the lack thereof) and my fantasies. But I do know that some of them are potentially hurtful to others.
There's one thing, however, erotic fantasies are not, and don't have to be: political correct.

It's not about ignoring other people's discomfort or objections, not at all. It's about compassion. About realizing and acknowledging that human desires are complex and complicated.

Ah, yeah, there's a certain kind of irony in asexual me droning on about sexual desire...

Aaaaanyway, that's what I took out of The Tale of Fog and Granite and The Mummer's Tale, adding to what I already took out of other Delany-novels - while in fact the stories are about something entirely different: about the multilayer nature and ultimate impossibility of truth.
It also fucked with my memory, because I think I remember certain parts from #1 differently. Which is, of course, the whole point here.

And I haven't even started talking about The Tale of Plagues and Carnivals.
This story is fascinating on a completely different level, being, as Wikipedia informs me, the first novel-length fictional treatment of AIDS to appear from a major U.S. publisher. And the blending together of a fictional plague hitting Nevèryon, AIDS hitting New York, and a meta-fictional (parafictional) commentary on writing a fantasy-novel in the time of crisis, is worth reading in its own right. But other people here have already talked about it in great length, I don't have anything to add. Read here:
or here:
The intensity she quotes Delany talking about? That he achieves.

So, all this rambling and then just 3 stars?

First of, just like the first two Nevèryon stories, this book is special to me. The series will probably end up on my list of Most Important Things I've Read In My Life.

But that doesn't change the fact that it's all so goddamn heavy-handed.
I complain about Delany's lack of subtlety and his sledgehammer approach to getting his points across in about every review I write about his books. This time, I couldn't take it any longer.
Piling one tired literary device on top of another does not very enjoyable literature make. (Of course these literary devices weren't as tired back then as they are now.)

The series reads like trudging through wet cement, or quicksand, while someone hits you on the head with a hammer all the time, and goes on telling you: „See, this is how I got Foucault into my story. This is how I dealt with Freud. This is how I subverted the tale of Adam and Eve and gender roles. And so that you can't fail to notice what I'm trying to tell you, I've put all those smart-ass epigraphs in front of the stories. And then my stories will tell you the exactly same thing again.“
It's all so glaringly obvious. This time, it got too much. This time, I had enough of trudging, enough of being hit on the head, enough of the author telling me in BIG, BOLD LETTERS what he did and how he did it.

Well, it's not like Delany – erm, K. Leslie Steiner didn't warn me in the foreword to Tales of Nevèryon. And the constant meta-critique (para-critique?) running through the books makes it difficult for me, the reader, to criticize them.
Nevertheless, my patience has reached its breaking point here. It will reassemble itself again when I go on.

The Thorn of Emberlain

The Thorn of Emberlain - Scott Lynch September? Really now?
Didn't it say "July" just a few days ago? And before that, didn't it say... Ah, my. It's all about the antici-

pation, I guess.

The Stars My Destination

The Stars My Destination - Alfred Bester „You leave me die, Vorga... Vorga-T:1339. No. I get out of here, me. I follow you, Vorga. I find you, Vorga. I pay you back, me. I rot you. I kill you, Vorga. I kill you filthy.“


Alfred Bester takes The Count of Monte Cristo, transfers it into space, condenses the story to 250 pages, and turns it into a high-octane Sci-fi Noir.

Instead of Edmond Dantes he gives us Gully Foyle. After 170 days dying in space, the spaceship Vorga passes him by, leaving him to rot. Gully swears vengeance, survives, and sets out to destroy Vorga.

I don't like revenge stories. Revenge's stupid, short-sighted and contra-productive. And while Dantes was compelling and inspiring sympathy, even empathy, Gully Foyle is nothing of that kind. He's the proverbial tiger, in appearance and behaviour; the primeval, primitive single-mindedness of a predator – ready to pounce, to destroy, and to devour. He's a rapist, a murderer, someone who shakes babies: a brute. There's no redeeming factor here. None. Yes, Gully's up against people who are worse, but his deeds are inexcusable nonetheless. Considering this, I found it distressingly easy to root for him. When I should have been disgusted, I was intrigued. Gully Foyle sets out as the ultimate Id, the primitive in us. A tall, dark, brooding menace, smiling in the night.
There's this part in me that wants to meet a tiger. That wants to battle with brute force. Gully Foyle is perfect fodder for this part.

After writing some short stories, Bester joined DC Comics and worked on some of their superheroes like Batman and Superman. This training shows. He paints The Stars My Destination in bright primal colours, with characters who're at the same time larger and flatter than life, conning and deceiving during an interstellar war that might be the war to end it all. The dialogue is on the point, Bester writes some magnificent one-liners, and invents a strangely compelling gutter tongue – see the quote above. He does interesting things with fonts, too, creating a look and feel that has more in common with 1970's delirium than with 1950's Golden Age.

Yes, the book is dated. It's from 1956, after all. The science doesn't hold up, and the racial politics are cringe-worthy. But Bester writes with such imagination that his story still seems fresh today.

Above I called The Stars My Destination Sci-Fi Noir. It's a direct predecessor of Cyberpunk, with proto-cyborgs – and just like Cyberpunk, Bester plays with Noir tropes. Like the otherwordly beautiful women, who all fall for our charming rapist brute, for no apparent reason whatsoever. You either like this or you don't, I guess. I happen to like these particular tropes.

So, do I agree with the many, who apparently consider this book to be the greatest single SF novel (is it just me, or does this endorsement sound like kind of a backhanded compliment?)? Nah, not really. But it is friggin' good.

"Pigs, you! All right, God damn you! I challenge you, me. Die or live and be great. Blow yourself to Christ or come and find me, Gully Foyle, and I make you men. I make you great. I give you the stars."

Gravity's Rainbow

Gravity's Rainbow - Thomas Pynchon There once was a man with erections
That helped him with rocket detections.
Whenever they fell
His penis would swell
Leading to screwball secret spy actions.

So, that was that. My first Pynchon.
Story-wise, I didn't find it „incomprehensible“ or even „hard to get“. I probably didn't understand all the references, and there might be some overlying metaphor or level of meaning I completely missed; but the story itself, about Slothrop & da bomb & all accompanying subplots, wasn't all that hard to follow. Okay, speaking German and knowing a lot about German history, especially WWII history, might have made things a bit easier. (If just Pynchon could've found anyone to correct his German grammar and spelling...)

That leaves me with the difficulty of rating this beast.
The craftsmanship here is astonishing. The prose... well, I'd have to invent new adjectives, because all I know in the English language don't really cover the brilliance. I enjoyed reading GR, for the most part. At times Pynchon's trying too hard to be provocative and transgressive, which reads as immature as it's boring. And the 4th part goes down reading like the Id-fic of a 4-year-old. Which may be the point, idk.
However, the book doesn't really pass the test of time. The Zeitgeist of the late 1960s/early 1970s is strong in this one. Whatever significance GR might have had back then seems a bit lost now. And from a book gathering all the praise and all the hatred, I'd expect a bit more: more significance, more timelessness, more of a challenge.
Now, does that equal a 3 or a 4 star rating?

Catch 22 (SZ-Bibliothek, #73)

Catch 22 (SZ-Bibliothek, #73) - Joseph Heller Catch-22 is THE novel about War - and rightly so.
Grotesque, absurd, sometimes hilarious, sometimes annoyingly repetitive, sometimes heart-wrenching.

It's a caricature on warfare, on the bureaucracy of war, a screwball-comedy with the terrors shining through.
And although his protagonists are conceptionalised stereotypes, Heller made me feel for them, creating a surprising emotional impact - no, I don't read to be emotionally invested in characters or for emotional impact in general. But I believe that good authors manage to keep you interested in their characters and letting you see the bigger picture at the same time. Heller manages.

Infinite Jest

Infinite Jest - David Foster Wallace The prime example for BWPBS (badly written, pretentious bullshit).
Life's too short for books like this.

The Poem-Skull

The Poem-Skull - J.M. Hushour Stay in touch with the Youniverse!

While Carl Filer puts the machine into the ghost, Shiv Tickle meets the Poem-Skull and poetry might be the only superpower left to save the world.

What follows is a train-wreck in crazy-town, set in a city that goes a bit Jack Womack-y at the seams, while the author makes love to/rapes the English language, violating everything I've ever learned about English grammar and sometimes spelling, too* (and WTF is wrong with people's Weltanschaaung [sic] anyway? Did I miss something? A lot, probably.), in pop-culture-referencing density, bashing millennials** left and right, taking them by the thumbs and taking no prisoners, 'cause life's a bitch, baby, and Hushour is her mean, evil, poem-wielding son.
When the audience starts throwing fresh babies on the foul vegetable on stage, you realize that nothing really makes sense here, not in any known meaning of the word, until it does - but by then Hushour already has you enthralled in all the bony weirdness, and merrily you roll along, to everyone's peril, until it's too late and the last page is read.

Oh, yeah, and there are a lot of poems, too.***

*Nah, that was a lie. I don't know shit about English grammar. Or spelling.

**I still don't know if I belong to that generation or if I might be just this tiny bit too old. I suppose I'm too old.

***I admire what Hushour set out to do here: kindle readers' interest in poetry.
An effort that was, alas, completely lost on me. I feel with the story's characters here, poetry leaves me cold and puzzled - with the notable exception of German expressionism: Their musings about a war gone and a war to come, apocalyptic cities, chaos and desolation strike a chord with me. But in general poetry doesn't speak to me. Much less even when it's speaking in foreign tongues. A lot of nuance gets lots in translation, also if said translation is just happening in my head. Add the fact that I believe poetry isn't meant to be read but to be listened to - and I'm sorry, so so very sorry (I'm not), but a great deal of this book just went right over my head. I'm a moron when it comes to poetry, and I will stay a moron, absolutely unable to appreciate any beauty other people might find in poetic works. Oh, I can analyse it, talk about verse form, metre, trochees, iambs, broken-climbing-compound- and Schüttel- rhymes, rich, royal and poor rhymes, metaphors, and possible interpretations without end, and quite accurately to boot.
But I'll never ever be able to enjoy it.
That's not to say that I don't appreciate people writing poetry. I have great respect for poets. After all poetry is, as we know art's supposed to be, quite useless.

And boy, this book made me want to read [b:Gravity's Rainbow|415|Gravity's Rainbow|Thomas Pynchon||866393]. Like right fucking now.

Die Mitte der Welt

Die Mitte der Welt - Andreas Steinhöfel Oh, it has been made into a film:

Perhaps I should actually read it, finally.

Der Entzauberte Regenbogen

Der Entzauberte Regenbogen - Richard Dawkins, Sebastian Vogel Things don't stop to be beautiful just because you can explain them.
Life doesn't lose its wonders if you try to exchange faith for knowledge.
And science is pretty freakin' awsome.
It's Dawkin's love letter to science. Not a very well written love letter, unfortunately, but his enthusiasm shines through. I share this enthusiasm and I enjoyed learning more about a little bit of everything.

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