In the third book of the series, Bartimaeus, Nathaniel, and Kitty must test the limits of this world, question the deepest parts of themselves — and trust one another if they hope to survive.
Thoughts :
Ptolemy’s Gate is an excellent conclusion to this splendid trilogy. It is the best in the series with the strongest characters development -Nathaniel’s arc is especially satisfying, the most explored human-magical being relationship, the finest plot and very neat, smartly wrapped up ending. In addition to the most terrific feature in the series which is Bartimaeus and his humorous wit of course, Stroud inserted Bartimaeus’ backstory with the wonderful ancient Egyptian magician, Ptolemy, which has become the prominent highlight in the entire trilogy for me. Jonathan Stroud, very skillfully also resolved the most problematic element in his world: the irritating stereotypes of human magicians by simply cutting back their scenes, replacing them with Kitty Jones’ strong characterization and her unique, particular circumstances. He was still terrible with the execution of final battle, mind you, and the funny way he never gave readers the explanation to the supposed historical “pattern” of the out-of-the-blue epidemic resilient DNA in commoners somehow had become not that significant- at least to me, because of that great, marvelous ending.
All in all, it was very fitting conclusion with extraordinary clean slate -which might or might not felt good to other people but it was to me- to a fantasy series that I seldom comes across and I will definitely miss Bartimaeus and his endearing snide comments a lot.
Notes :
“The object that was pinning me haplessly to the ground, like a butterfly on a collector’s tray, was of twentieth-century origin and of very specific function. Oh, all right, it was a public lavatory.”
“A dozen more questions occurred to me. Not to mention twenty-two possible solutions to each one, sixteen resulting hypotheses and counter-theorems, eight abstract speculations, a quadrilateral equation, two axioms, and a limerick. That’s raw intelligence for you.”
“The mercenary finished his coffee in a single gulp, It must have been piping hot, too. Boy, he was tough.”
“It is a mistake to be too concerned with names and titles, my dear Rekhyt. Such things are never more than rough approximations; matters of convenience. The people speak this out of ignorance. It’s when they understand your nature and are still abusive that you will have to worry.”
“Much has happened since last we met, Bartimaeus,” he went on. “Do you remember how we parted?” “No.” I did. “You set light to me, old friend. Struck a match and left me burning in a copse.” The crow shifted uneasily beneath the cleaver.”That’s a gesture of endearment in some cultures. Some hug, some kiss, some set each other on fire in small patches of woodland…”
“We communicated with pithy, rather monosyllabic thoughts: viz. Run, Jump, Where? Left, Up, Duck, ect. (This latter was an observation I made on the edge of a lake. Nathaniel unfortunately took it as a command, which resulted in our temporary immersion.) We didn’t ever quite say Ug, but it was a close-run thing.”
This revised edition (1972) provides a prose rendering of The Epic of Gilgamesh, the cycle of poems preserved on clay tablets surviving from ancient Mesopotamia of the third millennium B.C. One of the best and most important pieces of epic poetry from human history, predating even Homer’s Iliad by roughly 1,500 years, the Gilgamesh epic tells of the various adventures of that hero-king, including his quest for immortality, and an account of a great flood similar in many details to the Old Testament’s story of Noah. The translator also provides an interesting and useful introduction explaining much about the historical context of the poem and the archeological discovery of the tablets.
Thoughts :
In four thousand years, civilizations have risen and fallen, wars fought with different technology, decades of plagues, all sorts of natural disasters and geological back and forth, transformation, empires over empires, the battering ram of religions and ideologies, the dark ages, all the knowledge and the art that, were burned, destroyed, buried, lost; The Epic of Gilgamesh had survived so today one who lived an utterly disparate age could catch a glimpse through a miraculous time travel window or might even saw the preserved physical tablet itself.
Reading this ancient epic, perhaps almost every element, theme, psychological, social, emotional pattern and motivation of the heroes, the gods, the people could be found as echoes in many mythologies, revered texts, myths, folklores, literatures and stories even in cultures, traditions, belief systems, that one who never read The Epic of Gilgamesh unknowingly knew a part of it; thus it is fascinating to wonder if this stuff of legend was made up? what does that say about us, that at the root of everything, even after eons and the death and birth of so many things, we keep and still telling ourselves the same story and dream, and believe the same questions and desires and fears; or if it wasn’t, what does that say, either? that it still lives and permeates deeply into the heart of humanity, perhaps it is why The Epic of Gilgamesh somehow beats the unimaginable odds of surviving extinction.
Notes:
Go to Uruk, find Gilgamesh, extol the strength of this wild man. Ask him to give you a harlot, a wanton from the temple of love; return with her, and let her woman’s power overpower this man. When next he comes down to drink at the wells she will be there, stripped naked; and when he sees her beckoning he will embrace her, and then the wild beasts will reject him. (Note: It’s like animals are pure, and you can’t own them, and so to make a creature into a man in order to use them, exploit them, you have to corrupt them, and only when they lost their innocence, they belong to you)
Now, woman, make your breasts bare, have no shame, do not delay but welcome his love. Let him see you naked, let him possess your body. When he comes near uncover yourself and lie with him; teach him, the savage man, your woman’s art, for when he murmurs love to you the wildâ beasts that shared his life in the hills will reject him.’ (Note: I wonder if this was so deeply rooted or it was copied down thousands times through generation, this idea of woman and her ‘art’, the dual contradictory value of sexual submission and powerful manipulation, between the slavish agent weaponized by men and the devilish goddess that brought men down)
and he still demands to be first with the bride, the king to be first and the husband to follow, for that was ordained by the gods from his birth, from the time the umbilical cord was cut. (Note: Was this revolting justified superiority a made-up concept of lust and greed, handed down monarchical generations to generations inherited learning and copied influences or rooted as basic instincts of a man?)
When Enkidu was thrown he said to Gilgamesh, âThere is not another like you in the world. Ninsun, who is as strong as a wild ox in the byre, she was the mother who bore you, and now you are raised above all men, and Enlil has given you the kingship, for your strength surpasses the strength of men.â So Enkidu and Gilgamesh embraced and their friendship was sealed. (Note: Then what? Enkidu comes to challenge the arrogant king and his terrible rules but then they grappled, he lost and they become bestfriend? How about the people and the offenses? Oh I got it, he falls in love with him, enemy to lover trope thing, Lol)
‘The meaning of the dream is this. The father of the gods has given you kingship, such is your destiny, everlasting life is not your destiny. Because of this do not be sad at heart, do not be grieved or oppressed. He has given you power to bind and to loose, to be the darkness and the light of mankind. He has given you unexampled supremacy over the people, victory in battle from which no fugitive returns, in forays and assaults from which there is no going back. But do not abuse this power, deal justly with your servants in the palace, deal jusdy before Shamash.’
âGilgamesh, you are strong, but what i s the Country of the Living to you? ‘O Shamash, hear me, hear me, Shamash, let my voice be heard. Here in the city man dies oppressed at heart, man perishes with despair in his heart. I have looked over the wall and I see the bodies floating on the river, and that will be my lot also. Indeed I know it is so, for whoever is tallest among men cannot reach the heavens, and the greatest cannot encompass the earth. Therefore I would enter that country: because I have not established my name stamped on brick as my destiny decreed, I will go to the country where the cedar is cut. 1 will set up my name where the names of famous men are written; and where no man’s name is written I will raise a monument to the gods.’ The tears, ran down his face and he said, âAlas, it is a long journey that I must take to the Land of Humbaba. If this enterprise is not to be accomplished, why did you move me, Shamash, with the restless desire to perform it? (Note: So sad. The arrogance, the desire for glory stems from fear of death and mortality, the inescapable nature because men and especially heroes are owned by gods that made them in their likeliness and therefore they are doomed)
Then Enkidu, the faithful companion, pleaded, answering him, âO my lord, you do not know this monster and that is the reason you are not afraid. I who know him, I am terrified. His teeth are dragon’s fangs, his countenance is like a lion, his charge i s the rushing of the flood, with his look he crushes alike the trees of the forest and reeds in the swamp. O my Lord, you may go on if you choose into thus land, but I will go back to the city. I will tell the lady your mother all your glorious’ deeds till she shouts for joy: and then I will tell the death that followed till she weeps for bitterness.’ (Note: LOL)
She said, âMy father, Gilgamesh has heaped insults on me, he has told over all my abominable behaviour, my foul and hideous acts.’ Anu opened his mouth and said, âAre you a father of gods? Did not you quarrel with Gilgamesh the king, so now he has related your abominable behaviour, your foul and hideous acts.’ (Note: When Gilgamesh made use of his manhood and spoiled love of his god and murdered a forest guardian for no reason but glory and immortal name, he was a conqueror of dreadful blaze, but when Ishtar made use of her womanhood to get what she wanted, she’s oc not called a conqueror of men but an abominable slut)
âThere is no permanence. Do we build a house to stand for ever, do we seal a contract to hold for all time? Do brothers divide an inheritance to keep for ever, does the flood-time of rivers endure? It is only the nymph of the dragon-fly who sheds her larva and sees the sun in his glory. From the days of old there is no permanence. The sleeping and the dead, how alike they are, they are like a painted death. What is there between the master and the servant when both have fulfilled their doom?
As the mate of the Beast Lord, Curran, former mercenary Kate Daniels has more responsibilities than it seems possible to juggle. Not only is she still struggling to keep her investigative business afloat, she must now deal with the affairs of the pack, including preparing her people for attack from Roland, a cruel ancient being with god-like powers. Since Kate’s connection to Roland has come out into the open, no one is safe—especially those closest to Kate.
As Roland’s long shadow looms ever nearer, Kate is called to attend the Conclave, a gathering of the leaders from the various supernatural factions in Atlanta. When one of the Masters of the Dead is found murdered there, apparently at the hands of a shapeshifter, Kate is given only twenty-four hours to hunt down the killer. And this time, if she fails, she’ll find herself embroiled in a war which could destroy everything she holds dear.
Thoughts and Excerpts:
Still fun as always, splendid fighting scenes, but pace is a little dragging and a bit repetitive. The play with the mole is bad, their character and terrible lack of subtlety doesn’t befit the fact nobody figuring their identity out. Can’t the writer pick someone less obvious to make that plot works? It’s contradictory and makes no sense. Hugh is still boring and his obsession with Kate is cringy as shit, Roland though is DAMN, very intriguing.
“Quick, Derek, it’s your chance to shine,” Ascanio said. Derek gave him a withering look. “Desandra is a mother, Robert is married, Kate’s affianced, and I’m an old soul. You’re the closest thing to a virgin we’ve got. Get on with growing some flowing locks.”
“What the hell is this?” Desandra asked “This is Cuddles. She’s a mammoth donkey.” Derek grinned, leaning on the fence. “Do you have any self-respect left?” “Nope.”
“All that was missing was a neon sign that read EVIL AND CONFLICTED ABOUT IT with a flashing arrow pointing at his head.”
“I love you,” I told him. There. Nice and simple. “I knew you would find me.” He smiled at me. “I would never stop looking.”
“Landon slid back into the driver’s seat and pointed at my saber. “Put it away.” ““Say the magic word.” “Please,” Landon squeezed out. I slid the blade back into the sheath and petted it. “It’s okay, Sarrat. If he insults you, I’ll cut his head off and you can drink his blood.”
A distinguished, marvelously told and glorious jewel among mythological fantasy genre.
Circe is the daughter of Helios, the sun god, and Perse, a beautiful naiad. Yet from the moment of her birth, she is an outsider in her father’s halls, where the laughter of gossiping gods resounds. Named after a hawk for her yellow eyes and strange voice, she is mocked by her siblings – until her beloved brother Aeëtes is born. Yet after her sister Pasiphae marries King Midas of Crete, Aeëtes is whisked away to rule his own island.
Long story short, she is then banished to an island, Aiaia. This is her story in that island, her relationship with mortals and gods, her love and loss, her power and magic, her struggle as an outcast in the world of men who overcomes scorn and banishment to transform herself into a formidable witch.
Notes :
Humbling women seems to me a chief pastime of poets. As if there can be no story unless we crawl and weep.
I would say, some people are like constellations that only touch the earth for a season.
But in a solitary life, there are rare moments when another soul dips near yours, as stars once a year brush the earth. Such a constellation was he to me.
He showed me his scars, and in return he let me pretend that I had none.
Only that: we are here. This is what it means to swim in the tide, to walk the earth and feel it touch your feet. This is what it means to be alive.
He liked the way the obsidian reflected his light, the way its slick surfaces caught fire as he passed. Of course, he did not consider how black it would be when he was gone. My father has never been able to imagine the world without himself in it.
“You have always been the worst of my children,” he said. “Be sure to not dishonor me.” “I have a better idea. I will do as I please, and when you count your children, leave me out.”
That is one thing gods and mortals share. When we are young, we think ourselves the first to have each feeling in the world.
That is what exile meant: no one was coming, no one ever would. There was fear in that knowledge, but after my long night of terrors it felt small and inconsequential. The worst of my cowardice had been sweated out. In its place was a giddy spark. I will not be like a bird bred in a cage, I thought, too dull to fly even when the door stands open. I stepped into those woods and my“I understood something then. My sister might be twice the goddess I was, but I was twice the witch. Her crumbling trash could not help me.” life began.
Yet because I knew nothing, nothing was beneath me.
He was another knife I could feel it. A different sort, but a knife still. I did not care. I thought: give me the blade. Some things are worth spilling blood for.
Witches are not so delicate.
It was my first lesson. Beneath the smooth, familiar face of things is another that waits to tear the world in two.
But of course I could not die. I would live on, through each scalding moment to the next. This is the grief that makes our kind choose to be stones and trees rather than flesh.
How many of us would be granted pardon if our true hearts were known?
When he was gone, would I be like Achilles, wailing over his lost lover Patroclus? I tried to picture myself running up and down the beaches, tearing at my hair, cradling some scrap of old tunic he had left behind. Crying out for the loss of half my soul. I could not see it. That knowledge brought its own sort of pain.
I have walked in the blackest deeps. You cannot guess what spells I have cast, what poisons I have gathered to protect myself against you, how your power may rebound upon your head. Who knows what is in me? Will you find out?
The grudges of gods are as deathless as their flesh.
They do not care if you are good. They barely care if you are wicked. The only thing that makes them listen is power.
Little by little I began to listen better: to the sap moving in the plants, to the blood in my veins. I learned to understand my own intention, to prune and to add, to feel where the power gathered and speak the right words to draw it to its height. That was the moment I lived for, when it all came clear at last and the spell could sing with its pure note, for me and me alone.
Her only love was reason. And that has never been the same as wisdom.
I understood something then. My sister might be twice the goddess I was, but I was twice the witch. Her crumbling trash could not help me.
The particular charm of Greek mythology that never ebbed away. After enduring the Trojan War, Odysseus begins the treacherous journey home to Ithaca. On the way, he faces ravenous monsters and vengeful gods. But the real battle awaits, as his kingdom is under siege by unruly suitors vying for his wife’s hand—and his son’s head. To reclaim his throne and save his family, Odysseus must rely on his wits…and help from the unpredictable gods.
Thought on Odyssey :
In Odyssey, I was even more enraptured in just how much entangled every single aspect in the life of mortals from mundane activities to their customs, from ideals to their self-worth and dreams, their pride and greed, fear and morality, their grief and their relationship with each other, with the whims, the fickle mind, the power and the emotional morality of gods.
This epic read easier than the Iliad, probably because the cast of characters were fewer and the plot was more controlled. In a way, I love Iliad more, but the Odyssey was more enjoyable with the fun adventures and the range of mythological creatures, monsters and stuff. Odysseus was kind of a dick though, I mean his cunning wit was sterling, but he’s also a pathological liar and so full of himself. That ending with the maids and his father really disgusted me. At least gods had credible excuses for pompous superiority, what’s his?
Notes:
Athena and Zeus were angry because the Achaeans dared to eat their sheep and stuff in their return journey from the war, so Athena riled them up to fight between themselves and Zeus sent them a mighty thunder bolt to wreck and drown the insolent mortals, never mind that they were heroes who had fought and won the Trojan War for them. Then, because gods were fickle-minded as hell, Athena then urged her father to help Odysseus who had survived the waves to return home. The hero was supposedly held captive by Calypso, a beautiful but still merely a nymph, in her cave with no way to get back to Ithaca, him being a King and renowned for his superior intellect and prowess, tricked the Trojans, won a war and all, but a ship of course was beyond him! Anyway, Zeus saying Godspeed to his daughter sent her away to her Odysseus mission.
Meanwhile, back at home, Odysseus’s wife, Penelope was beset by suitors who somehow thought they had a right to her person simply because the queen was incredibly beautiful and skillfully gifted by the gods, so she naturally owed one of them a marriage. Telemachus, the prince, was grieving his father whom he believed to be dead and as he was only one man, helpless he was to shoo away all the suitors who shamelessly gorging themselves on their cattle and stuff, loitering and partying all day at his house.
Finally Athena, disguising herself as his father’s old friend, found the heartbroken prince and urging him to go on a sea voyage to get news about his father who was still alive. Telemachus, getting no help from the people who apparently didn’t care about their king anymore, agreed after some indecision to it. Also, the suitors didn’t budge to his half-threat, half-tantrum to leave, they insisted that the queen had been leading them on by kept stalling and not making any decision on them, even though each of them was so worthy, they could had other beautiful woman. But the insolent Queen persisted on waiting for her husband, forcing the men to rob her fortune while she was squandering her gift of beauty by not marrying them. It was their right, damn it! As a queen, Penelope seemingly had not a dot of power too, she could do nothing, but be shooed away by her son to her room to pray to gods and cry with her maidservants pitifully until blissfully sleep came.
Telemachus, helped by the disguised goddess find a ship and a crew. They went first to Pylos to find King Nestor for news about Odysseus. They arrived safely and Nestor told the tale of the Achaeans’ fatal homeward run from Troy and how they separated and he survived with no knowledge of Odysseus. The prince stayed and Nestor told stories of Menelaus and Aegisthus, they ate, drank wine and sacrificed thighbones to the gods.
Athena, after urging the prince to keep going, she then, revealed herself as immortal by flying away as an eagle. Everyone was shocked and rushed to make a big offering for the goddess of course. After that, the prince went with Nestor’s son to Sparta, Menelaus’ home next with chariot and not their ship for some reason.
They arrived at Lacedaemon, home of the king and queen of Sparta who was celebrating double wedding for their children. The guests were welcomed very warmly as anywhere else, hospitality appeared to be the culture of Greek people, many who traveled far away from home. They talked, Menelaus told the story of his survival and reminiscence about the Trojan War. Everyone cried for the deaths of noble warriors and Helen, the queen called herself a shameless whore for running away with a Priam’s prince half-driven by the madness sent by Aphrodite, nevertheless. Back at Ithaca, Penelope visited by Athena. She also heard about a ploy by the suitors to ambush her son when he came back from his journey.
Far away, in a cave, Odysseus, pined for his family and homeland, crying by the cliff everyday and forced to sleep with the beautiful goddess, Calypso each night. The nymph got a visit and received a summon from Zeus by the messenger, Hermes to release Odysseus from her seduction, spells and such. Calypso threw some sarcastic remarks but obeyed. Odysseus was suspicious of the goddess’ trick. She finagled convinced her that she meant no harm and assisted Odysseus building a raft. He told her, he meant no offend, but he loved his family, and then at night before the journey, they made love, naturally.
On the eighteenth day of his sail, Poseidon, the sea god, who as big as asshole as his father, Zeus, saw Odysseus. He set all the winds from East, South, West and North and the ocean to ram the warrior’s raft. Odysseus cursed his wretched fate and wished he was dead in the war, at least then he would be given a hero’s funeral. He almost perished but was saved by the goddess Ino and Athena.
Odysseus reached Phaeacian, an almost isolated island and met the princess there. In King Alcinous and her queen, Arete’s kingdom, he then told the story of his disastrous voyage after the war in which he was the sole survivor. He recounted tales of misfortune and adversity on the sea, in which he and his men faced danger and death from mighty storm sent by Zeus, locust eater, cyclop, giants, the witch Circe, the sirens, Syclla and Charybdis and the journey down into the house of death to his lost of all his ship mates, and ended up in Calypso’s cave.
After that, Alcinous sent a convoy to escort Odysseus home. Finally, he was back in his land, Ithaca. Athena helped him designing a plan to defeat the suitors. Odysseus disguised his person as a beggar to check the situation in his land and then went around measuring the loyalty of his friends, son, wife and every servants in his house by test and made-up stories. With the help of his son, loyal servants and Athena, Odysseus defeated his foes and reunited with his devoted wife, Penelope.
More thoughts:
Why is the princess of Phaeacian need to wash clothes herself? She got servants!
What is washing linen got to do with marriage and proposal??
Why is Odysseus suddenly naked??
Finally a Queen that’s actually a Queen, not some powerless ornament
Odysseus is surpassingly humble, doesn’t brag about being Trojan War hero and stuff. Modest or cunning?
One thing you can say, men cry as hard as women when moved by emotions
Why can’t these men wash their own bodies themselves?
Odysseus is so superior, he feels the need to put every single person in his life to his obnoxious test. What? he thought he’s a god too himself or something?
Okay, let’s slaughter everyone, why not?
Oh, so the maids whom has no power whatsoever or probably just being stupid servants did worse crimes by sleeping or probably raped by those men, who knows, but still, they deserve much more awful death, right? Very judicious, Odysseus. Hey, let’s abuse and degrade them mentally and verbally first before we hanged them, shall we?
Making up a stupid, unnecessary false story to your grieving, depressed father in which you told him that his son is dead, is a sure, fantastic way to test his loyalty, huh? Hey, the old man just almost died of heartbreak from already thinking you’re dead, but one can’t really be certain, right?
STEVIE REID'S LOG 