At the dinner-party we attended earlier this evening there was some talk of cruises, and specifically Alaskan ones. We all agreed that a cruise of the Inside Passage would be fabulous.

On the way home, singing Christmas carols with Fuzzy, I thought about the collection of books I have that involve cruise ships. Most, of course, are related to the Titanic:
- Something’s Alive on the Titanic, by Robert J. Serling
- Ghosts I Have Been, by Richard Peck
- Her Name: Titanic, by Charles R. Pellegrino
- Futility, or The Wreck of the Titan, by Morgan Robertson
- Raise the Titanic, by Clive Cussler

If it seems like I have an unhealthy obsession with that ship…I have no answer. I don’t really. I’m fascinated by all cruise ships because they are self-contained microcosms - floating cities, with all the services one might need - and both connected and disconnected from reality at once.

I don’t think I’d want to work on such a ship, though I do love reading about them (they’re the perfect setting for mysteries), but that Alaskan cruise is calling my name ever louder.

Sometimes, even if a book is good, you have to put it aside for a while, because it just doesn’t fit the right mood. I’m in the middle of reading Of Song and Water, and it’s a beautiful book, with vivid descriptions and haunting characters. Sort of a blues riff in textual form, all about jazz and shipping, prohibition and personality conflicts. It’s lovely to look at, I like the texture of the paper, and the words are well chosen.

But it’s also sad, and as much as I appreciate the quality of the book and am interested to know what happens to the characters, I need to put it aside for a while.

Of Song and Water was written by Joseph Coulson