The Pride of Chanur – C. J. Cherryh (reread)

Cover of The Pride of Chanur


The Pride of Chanur
C. J. Cherryh
224 pages
published in 1981

I’ve read and reviewed The Pride of Chanur before, way back in 2001. That’s only three sentences long though, so high time for a reread and a proper review, especially as I’m trying to read more women sf writers this year, having discovered how unbalanced my reading was. Rereading old favourites like this one seemed a good way to start. Even if it did make me dream of kissing a Kif at Kefh.

The Pride of Chanur is a trade ship run by Hani –a race of bipedal intelligent lions– of the Chanur house/clan, captained by Pyanfar Chanur. She’s doing the rounds of her ship, currently docked at Meetpoint, the big interspecies trading station run by the stsho, when something speeds past her into the ship. At first thinking it some kind of animal escaped from another ship, it turns out to be sapient, but “naked-hided, blunth-toothed and blunt-fingered” unlike any species she knows, something that after careful questioning calls itself human and turns out to have escaped Kif custody, the Kif being a particularly nasty race of black robed, grey skinned, long snouted pirates and thiefs. She refuses to hand it –him– over to them and the result is she and her ship have to flee Meetpoint, one step ahead of the murderous Kif, who in the process blow up and murder another Hani ship…

Now read on at the bookblog…

Half of Holland not getting any tonight

One of the local free newspapers carried a thinly disguised press release from a digital tv channel that shall remain nameless about a survey done on how much people are getting it on in perverted, libertine Holland. The answer turned out to be not so much: a quarter of the interviewees turned out to have sex never or hardly ever, with another quarter only having sex a few times each month. This despite eighteen percent admitting to having had affairs and another twentyseven wanting to have affairs — somebody has way more fun than they should.

Inarticulate spaces

At Making Light, Abi talks about learning Dutch and, as with learning any language, finding new concepts absent in her mother tongue:

But equally strange are the vocabulary items that teach me some concept which has been lurking all my life in the inarticulate space between the English words I know. One such word is anderhalf. Literally, it means “another half”, but it is actually “one and a half”.

These “inarticulate spaces” are what most often trips me up when trying to write an English post about something I’ve only got Dutch sources of. Frex, why doesn’t English have an expression as simple as “er vraagtekens bij zetten“, putting question marks to some explenation offered to you? Or even as simple a concept as “bestuur“, a nebolous group of people who administrate an organisation and where it doesn’t matter who they are exactly? Or something generic like “gemeente“, not quite translateable with city council or municipality or “wijk“, which is not quite a neighbourhood and might be the same as a borough, though I’ve mostly seen that used for New York rather than as a generic term.

And why oh why is it so difficult to get an English translation of hottentottententoonstellingstentjetoegangspashoudercontroleur?

QotD: Steve Coogan on life

You can’t treat your whole life as a Radio Four panel quiz.

From the surprisingly good The Trip, with over the hill Steve Coogan and never quite as good as he thinks he is Rob Brydon playing themselves, or at least the BBC Two version of themselves. Understated, artfully underlighted and balancing on the edge between pathos and parody, you never quite know if it’s “real” or just acted.

The Tory party at its worst

Ann Widdecombe is the picture of elegance dancing on Strictly

No, not lord Young telling the unemployed they “never had it as good”, Ann Widdecombe making a fool of herself on Strictly Come Dancing. It may be a small thing in the scheme of things, but it show the essential pettiness and nastiness disguised as humour of much of the Tory party.

As you know, Strictly Come Dancing is a lighthearted entertainment show and dance competition featuring a dozen or so celebrities who’ve never had dancing lessons and their professional partners. Some of the celebs find out that they’re actually good at show dancing, some find out they’re crap and weeks of training doesn’t change that much, while most muddle through for shorter or longer periods. Widdecombe is of the second category, hopeless and with no chance of improving. There’s no shame in being a bad dancer, but what Widdecombe does goes against the spirit of the show: she doesn’t even attempt to try and dance to the best of her abilities, but flat out refuses to do anything she deems indecent. Though how shaking your hips is indecent while being dragged over the dance floor legs akimbo with your bum sticking out isn’t, I’ll never know.

Widdecombe than is even worse than John Sargent, who did try his best to dance when was in the programme, but treated it as an extended joke once it became clear he had the audience on his side and would never be voted off, no matter how dismal the judges scored him. He at least withdrew once the joke had stopped being funny. I can’t see Widdecombe doing that: she has a much too huge ego. As a result, each week better and more deserving dancers are voted off. It’s typical Tory to abuse priviledge this way, to disguise ego as principle.