This is my third read of this book, which is kinda surprising given I loathed it the first time. I’m not even sure why anymore. I love Phryne, her selThis is my third read of this book, which is kinda surprising given I loathed it the first time. I’m not even sure why anymore. I love Phryne, her self-assurance and her kindness and the fact that Greenwood never gives in to the urge to soften her edges and make her conventional — not as a woman, not as a detective. This first book introduces the reader to Phryne and the beginnings of her found family, while also tackling pretty serious issues like back street abortions and the sexual assault that often accompanied them.
Okay, part of the background is directly from Sayers — the arsenical poisoning plot — but it’s what Greenwood does with it. It’s Phryne’s sexuality and femininity, her strength and poise… It’s fun, and I suspect this won’t be the last time I revisit this series. And, o, what joy! So many more books ahead in this reread, and those only for the second time ever. I look forward to the journey… but if you didn’t find Phryne enchanting in this book, you won’t enjoy the others. She remains the same sort of figure — perhaps a little too perfect for some tastes, a little too ready for anything.
It’s okay; I’ll forgive you if you don’t love her too. She might be a bit of an acquired taste, after all. It took me some time.
I was feeling a bit stressed, so it felt like the perfect time to revisit The Talisman Ring (and maybe also The Grand Sophy, if I get the chance). HeyI was feeling a bit stressed, so it felt like the perfect time to revisit The Talisman Ring (and maybe also The Grand Sophy, if I get the chance). Heyer’s books are the perfect light reading to my mind: relatable characters, witty dialogue, entertaining set-ups… In this one, two cousins are supposed to get married, despite being completely unsuited; hijinks (and a few more cousins joining in) ensue.
The joy is really in the exuberance of the two ‘heroic’ characters, as I think of them, Eustacie and Ludovic, coming up against the two ‘sensible’ (ish) characters, Tristram and Sarah. They all end up in absurdly dramatic situations, of course, and it quickly becomes obvious that Eustacie is much more suited to Ludovic than to Tristram. And in the background, unnoticed by Eustacie, Tristram and Sarah begin to have a greater regard for each other — while sniping at each other, of course. (Though less so than in, say, Faro’s Daughter, where the relationship was so adversarial and the male lead so supercilious, it was hard to enjoy.)
I make no claims for this book’s depth; I just enjoy the characterisations, the dialogue, the wit. It’s vastly fun. Though, Heyer being the person she was, the historical details and such are probably very much in the right places.
I was dying for this book ever since I finished Voyage of the Basilisk, and I made sure to get hold of it the very first chance I got, and reread the I was dying for this book ever since I finished Voyage of the Basilisk, and I made sure to get hold of it the very first chance I got, and reread the other books in preparation. I’ve loved this series more and more with each book, and this one is no exception: there’s so much awesome stuff — more biology, more anthropology, more archaeology, more Isabella, and of course, more politics. It’s lovely to follow Isabella and Tom and see them finally getting the recognition they deserve, even if they still have bullshit to navigate as well.
For those following the series, this is so satisfying: we get the solutions to various riddles about dragons, and we also get developments in Isabella’s personal life. If you’ve been wanting to know how she becomes Lady Trent, or who her second husband is — well, here you finally find out.
The only disappointments are not seeing much of Natalie or Jake, in my view. I love the way Isabella supports and promotes other women, and I want more of it, and Natalie was such a big part of how that got started. And she’s asexual and an engineer and just… gimme more! Gimme more of all of them. But I do adore how much we get of Tom Wilker and how much he’s developed: how he’s come to trust Isabella and support her, and how he’s not going anywhere without her as his partner. I really, really love that aspect; the way they stick together, and use their respective strengths for the other’s benefit.
And if you were wondering, yes: we see more of Suhail. Not surprisingly, perhaps, since this book is set in Akhia, and Suhail was Akhian — that detail was, of course, no coincidence. And Suhail gets his Howard Carter-esque “wonderful things” moment, which is also a delight....more
Again? Yes, again. Technically, my wife was supposed to reread it too, but I don’t think she get round to it… Still, I reread it, and I’m very happy IAgain? Yes, again. Technically, my wife was supposed to reread it too, but I don’t think she get round to it… Still, I reread it, and I’m very happy I did, because it really doesn’t lose anything with multiple reads. If anything, it’s easier to get into, easier to remember who is who and what motivates them, and especially easier to get along with the invented language and be attuned to the way formality works.
I don’t think there’s anything new I’ve got to say about this, so I’ll just appreciate all over again the cleverness of the language and world-building; the fact that this feels like a lived in world with history and a future, with science and innovation and politics all moving under the surface. It’s also such a human (ironically, I suppose) approach, because there’s so many people with feelings and conflicting loyalties and differing views of how Maia should rule.
And the thing I appreciate most of all is the way that Maia is a good person, but it takes effort: he has to remind himself that baiting Setheris, even now he can, is a poisonous pleasure — that revenge isn’t something an ethical ruler can indulge in. He struggles with the burden he’s taken up, but he never honestly considers giving it to someone else, at least not someone unprepared. He tries to be polite, he tries to make even the smallest person in the court feel wanted — in fact, does better with those people than the people who have an inflated sense of their own importance.
I just love the way Maia gathers affection and loyalty by being himself and not compromising, and the way he’s so tired and strained but he makes himself keep learning and keep trying.
This was a reread for me, so I knew exactly what I was in for — a long book, with digressions and ramblings. A book that echoes, pastiches, draws on tThis was a reread for me, so I knew exactly what I was in for — a long book, with digressions and ramblings. A book that echoes, pastiches, draws on the tradition of an older sort of novel, establishing a narrative of literature and scholarship around itself with its footnotes and references. A book of magic, and fallible people, and old enchantment. It’s a novel other people have found badly paced, slow, boring, full of unlikeable characters, unbearable, etc.
Obviously, because this was a reread, I didn’t find the pacing terrible or the characters so unlikeable as to ruin it; in fact, now I’ve finished it, I could almost be tempted to begin again right now. I love this book even more than I did the first time I read it. Clarke creates a wonderfully rich world, full of people who act like people — self-interested; lazy; careless; fearful; brave; heroic; clever… It strikes me that it’s easier to list dozens of ways you can be less than ideal than it is to come up with dozens of ways to be ideal, so perhaps there’s some truth in saying that this book is heavy on the less-than-ideal characters. Which is fine, by my lights, because so is life. If you spend time in the world, you see all the major characters doing things both good and bad, making sins of commission and omission, quarrelling and loving.
I find it an incredibly rich world, and I was sorry to be finished. I want to know what Strange and Norrell study, what Childermass does, whether Arabella ever sees Strange again, what the new King is like… I love the way it uses some of our legends and stories about magic and fairies, but adds to them and draws them together. I loved that it was a really solid read, something I could lose myself in. I love reading all the time, but I especially love it when a book opens a new world to me instead of just letting me observe that world, and that’s how I feel about Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell. I could feel while reading as though if I turned and looked at a mirror, it might be a door leading to who-knows-where — and while under Clarke’s spell, I’d take that door in a heartbeat.
When I finished The Goblin Emperor, I was sad there wasn’t more of it. Is there higher praise?
The things other people have critiqued do make sense: thWhen I finished The Goblin Emperor, I was sad there wasn’t more of it. Is there higher praise?
The things other people have critiqued do make sense: the fact that is very much character-driven rather than plot driven; the plethora of names and titles to get used to; the language stuff which may superficially appear just gimmicky and faux-archaic; the fact that Maia is often reacting rather than being proactive. Me, though, I loved it, for all of those things and more. For example, the thee/thou stuff was annoying me until someone pointed out to look closer: normally people who use thee/thou don’t get that it’s an informal form of address (presumably at least partly because of the ubiquity of the Lord’s Prayer, which uses that address for God) and so for someone who is familiar with Old and Middle English and French like me, it becomes very annoying to have people addressing their king as if he were their equal or inferior. Here, however, the pronouns are all intentional. If a character uses the first person plural, most often they are actually being formal; if they then drop into using ‘I’, then they are speaking as a private person, among friends. It’s worth watching what Addison does with pronouns, because when they change, you know something’s up. In a way, the conflict between I/we is a central part of Maia’s character and his relationships.
When it comes to the invented language, it’s a little more difficult. You end up with various forms of address depending on marital status and rank, and there are suffixes which alter names according to number and gender. This is something we’re just not used to dealing with in English these days, and it can make it very difficult to keep track of a character as they switch spheres and are referred to in different ways. There is actually a helpful section in the back, which is probably easier to refer to if you’re reading it in dead tree, which explains all of these things if it’s something you’re interested in. For me, I liked puzzling it out, and context often helped.
(From this point in the review, there are some minor spoilers!)
But all that could be there and interesting and it wouldn’t have made me care about the book like the central character did. People are right to talk about the massive contrast with “grimdark” fantasy; Maia is pretty unambiguously good, and though he may sometimes feel angry, or vengeful, he tries to be fair and not to use his newfound rank to punish those who have done him wrong. He has plenty of opportunity, he has the right, but he holds himself back. He cares about his social inferiors and servants, and though he was never trained to be emperor, never expected to be emperor, he gives himself to the role without reserve. I loved him and the characters around him, loved the moments when he pushed the boundary by apologising to them or showing concern, and the moments in return where they took a more personal interest in him. I wanted to see more of his closest guards, especially Cala, but the public/private formal/informal boundaries prevent that; we just get glimpses. I loved the moment where Cala buttons up Maia’s sleeve for him to hide the marks of abuse, the way Beshelar reacts.
I enjoyed that Addison evaded some things that would’ve spoilt my enjoyment. For example, Maia gets a crush on an opera singer, and yet there’s no seduction, no abuse of his power over her or vice versa. When she offers to have a ‘closer relationship’ with him, in a personal sense you want Maia to say yes, because it may make him happy — but because of the situation, you want Maia to remain the person he is, reluctant to abuse his role, and it’s a relief when he does. Addison shows Maia struggling with the role, but never betraying it or himself. I love that, I love that we’re not expected to forgive him a betrayal of his self because shiny happy love or something.
In terms of female characters, it’s interesting, because it’s set in a proto-medieval type world (though the religion implied at is somewhat Buddhist, with meditation taking a key role for Maia) and women are marginalised, but they’re not happy with it, and nor are all the men around them. There are educated women, women who pursue their skills and interests, women who are not afraid to defend their rights, their children, and in Maia’s fiancée’s case, her husband! Even one of Maia’s guards is, in the end, a woman. While I think the proto-medieval-Europe thing can be overdone, and there are shades of it here, Addison goes further than others in showing that world changing. For example, Guy Gavriel Kay’s A Song for Arbonne is ostensibly set in the world where women are given freedoms, educated, political, etc, and yet not one of them chooses to take an unambiguously unfeminine role — we don’t see female warriors, there remains a definite line between the roles of the sexes. Addison blurs that, shows it in the process of blurring, which I enjoyed very much.
When I say that I’m sad there isn’t more of this, it’s not because the story is incomplete. Of course, Maia’s life goes on afterwards, but I don’t want more because I need to know what happens next, or because there’s anything unsatisfying about it. I want more because I love the world, love engaging with Addison’s characters and figuring out her world, and I think there’s plenty more there for her to play with if she chooses. This is a book I’m sure I’m going to reread — I could almost just start it again right now, which is very rare for me. There are few fiction books I engage with on this level of looking for language, history, figuring out customs and conventions. It’s not on the same level as Tolkien, who spent a lifetime refining his world, but there is a complexity here which I really love.
For a book that I originally gave three stars, and found somewhat... disappointing, it probably seems weird that I've come back to it for a second timFor a book that I originally gave three stars, and found somewhat... disappointing, it probably seems weird that I've come back to it for a second time. But actually, I've grown very fond of it. I love the fact that it isn't just a generic medieval Europe, but something that has some of those aspects while having rules, rituals, histories and roles of its own. And yet at the same time, it's still rooted in the earth: in the common elements, in water and milk and honey, in the straightforward clear sight of a beekeeper called to higher things.
Mirasol makes a great character: neither so knowledgeable about the world she lives in that worldbuilding ends up being 'as you know, Bob', but not so ignorant that she's completely at sea. We come into the story when she's starting to find some purchase, starting to figure out what she needs to do, but even by the end of the story, she's not all-powerful, so special she can fix everything. I like that a lot: the down-to-earthness of her; the fact that she turns to books for the knowledge she needs and just reads desperately, almost indiscriminately; the fact that she is so overwhelmed, unready and untrained, and yet does what she has to do.
I also like the sense of strain and work that comes through. It's not effortless for Mirasol and the Master to save their land; it comes slowly, in fits and starts, as they adjust to each other and to the circumstances. The last section is one long hard slog for Mirasol, and she isn't even sure she's doing the right thing, only that she knows she has to do something.
I think I can still understand why people find it disappointing or unsatisfying -- there's so much unsaid about the world, so much more that could be done with it, and Mirasol's story is only beginning here. And yet Chalice is whole in and of itself, a standalone fantasy story in a world that feels bigger than the story, which is exactly the kind of thing I like.
Despite the fantasy setting, it's not really something to read for the sense of magic. One comparison that comes to mind now is Lifelode (Jo Walton) -- the importance of the domestic in that. ...more
It was lovely to reread Sabriel. I think I read it quite a few times when I was younger, but luckily, Garth Nix seems to have lost none of his charm fIt was lovely to reread Sabriel. I think I read it quite a few times when I was younger, but luckily, Garth Nix seems to have lost none of his charm for me. It helps that he has a female protagonist who isn't perfect, who ends up with a near-broken nose, battered to bits, and still finds love -- but that love isn't the most important thing: the important thing, the thing Sabriel really has to accept, is the passing on of her father's duties to her, and her own entry into adulthood.
I enjoy the fact that no detail is wasted, too. The story could open with Sabriel crossing into the Old Kingdom: not much terribly important happens before that, just scene setting. But then it turns out to be important because the story cycles back to that location, because the previous Abhorsen knew it would from the Clayr -- and we get to see life on that side of the border, we see the people Sabriel's been raised with and how that interacts with what she has to become. And we see people that later will prove important: those innocent schoolgirls who are Charter Mages, who ultimately give up their life to help Sabriel, because that's the person she has to become, the person who accepts those lives as part of the cost of what she must do. They have a kind of strength that serves Sabriel well, both because she's been raised among them and because they then help her, even though she ends up so alien to them. And I like the little details, like the dying schoolgirl's touch to Sabriel's ankle which is ultimately what gives her the strength to fight on, or Horyse's vision of what's going to happen to him.
The nice thing about the UK ebook of this is that it contains some commentary from Garth Nix on the process of writing the story. It was interesting to have him point things out, like the focus on clothing, armour, weaponry, that adds the touch of realism -- I hadn't thought about that before. It can be a liiiittle jarring to read those at the end of chapters like that, but I'm glad that extra content was included anyway.
I think of the three books, this is actually my favourite. Lirael has its attractions too, but I'm most attached to Sabriel's character and the vitality of her romance with Touchstone -- I always thought that bite/kiss to keep them both in Life when her father rang Astarael was the most wonderful thing ever, and I still found that scene pretty powerful....more
Halfway through rereading this, I stalled for a moment, thinking about the ending. See, the book starts out seeming pretty fun, despite the dark threaHalfway through rereading this, I stalled for a moment, thinking about the ending. See, the book starts out seeming pretty fun, despite the dark threats in the background: there's plainly loving pastiche of Dorothy L. Sayers going on, and Lucy Kahn's narration is lively and silly. All of that disguises, for a while, how serious the themes turn -- and when they do, when the bottom of Carmichael's life drops out, you'll feel it too. I quoted Dar Williams' song Buzzer when I first reviewed this, and it still applies: I get it now/I'm the face, I'm the cause of war/We don't have to blame white-coated men anymore (it's an amazing song, about Stanley Milgram's obedience to authority experiments).
All in all, it's just so well done. The pastiche works, and so does every aspect of the alternate history. The details are tweaked, and it all feels so plausible. I love the image of Churchill's defiance of the events that create the background of and overshadow this book. For something that seems light at times, a pastiche, it turns out to be so horrifying -- and not in the sense of gore and monsters, in the sense of how people can be so completely plausibly awful.
Personally, I love how Walton handles the minorities here, too: their individual voices, their differing hopes and fears, their differing ways of living in a world that's trying to push them and their kind out. I mean, it's obvious I'm already a fan, here, but I just think she gets so much right....more
I've reviewed this before, at great length. Rereading it was interesting, though, both because Jo Walton shares a lot of my thoughts on rereading (seeI've reviewed this before, at great length. Rereading it was interesting, though, both because Jo Walton shares a lot of my thoughts on rereading (see her book What Makes This Book So Great, which is a collection of essays), and because it's not the kind of book that is changed by knowing the ending, because it's not a book with a climactic scene, really. There is one, but ultimately that's not as important as the whole process of the book: Mori learning to live without her sister, learning to grow and find her place. I said in my original review that it's set after the real climax of the story, and that still seems fair to say. We don't even learn about exactly what the big events were, because what's interesting about Among Others is watching Mori live with it.
I still feel quite personally close to this book. Mori's general style reminds me of myself at the same age, though I was a 2000 version rather than a 1970s, so my journal was online and I had a bit of an audience, but the similarities are still there. This time I noticed the differences more -- Mori's physical disability, the fact that she was at a boarding school, the fact that she had a twin and I never did, etc -- but I still felt that kinship with her, her imagination, love of books and her Welshness. Definitely not least because I still inhale books like Mori, and have a self-professed love affair with libraries. They don't seem to make the interlibrary loan system as apparent these days, but it's worth chasing up a little, because it might just surprise you.
Anyway, in many ways it isn't just the big things I identify with Mori on. It's little details. It's when she talks about not giving anything away, because it can be used against her. When she befriends other misfits. When books are more interesting to her than the things people are doing around her. Little mistakes that she makes because she reads more than she interacts with people, like thinking "Jr" is a name in itself and pronounced "Jirr" (don't get my mother started on this subject, please). It's the exact same reaction to people claiming something is a "successor to Tolkien" or "as good as Tolkien"!
All in all, I loved rereading this. It made me smile, sometimes laugh; sometimes it made me shake my head at teens and Mori and myself at that age (and even, really, myself now). One of the best moments was coming to one of Mori's entries about riding the train into Wales, rereading a book, as I was riding a train into Wales rereading Among Others. Delightfully meta.
And I still think What Makes This Book So Great makes a very good companion read to get into all sorts of classic fantasy and SF....more
Oh, wow. The Universe Versus Alex Woods starts off seeming like it's gonna be a quirky sort of book: the narration is matter of fact where it possiblyOh, wow. The Universe Versus Alex Woods starts off seeming like it's gonna be a quirky sort of book: the narration is matter of fact where it possibly shouldn't be, and the situation Alex is in on the opening pages is an interesting one. Unfortunately for everyone who picked it up on the basis of that, it's not really the kind of book it turned out to be. I don't know that I'd call it funny -- it's not laugh out loud funny, anyway; more "wry smiles" funny -- and I don't know that I'd call it heartbreaking, either. It made me cry, but the simplicity of the narrative voice kept it from being maudlin, from dwelling too much on any of the important details, which is what for me made them strike all the more forcefully.
It is the story of an unlikely friendship, that's definitely true, and it's a beautiful story from my point of view. It's fairly apparent from the first chapter, to me, what exactly is going on here: what matters is how we get there, and how much less funny/quirky it seems by the end, and how much more sad and true and beautiful. But if you don't want to know, don't read any further in this review.
What was apparent to me from the beginning is that this is a book about an assisted suicide. It didn't even need to be stated clearly: trying to get back into the country at Dover, the urn of ashes, somehow it all just clicked for me. Possibly because this is an issue that I've thought about at great length, forwards and backwards. Because if I were Alex Woods, I'd do exactly the same things, in exactly that order, and I would feel exactly as right about it.
The friendship between the two is the fun and quirky part; the fact that, when Mr. Peterson becomes ill, Alex chooses to take care of him, and then to make sure that he is also allowed to die when he's ready, and the understanding between the two... This is an idealised version of how this might happen, and the fact that Alex narrates means that we don't pull up and see this from another character's point of view -- how they might worry about Alex's reactions, how he might feel -- and that might make some people feel that this is a book somehow advocating for euthanasia. Which I think it is, but only in the sense that it makes it clear that to be allowed a choice about how and when we die makes it a lot easier to die -- and that for some people 'how' and 'when' might be very clearly defined, as they are for Mr. Peterson. But I don't think it advocates euthanasia as the only way. It just emphasises choice, and how very comforting it is to many people to know that they have control over even that last inevitability. It even emphasises choice in smaller matters, like what drugs you take.
If you don't understand why someone would want assisted suicide, this might help. If you don't understand why someone would want to help someone commit suicide, I think this would definitely help. And if you already understand both of those things, then it's still something that articulates all this very clearly, and might just give you words or clarity for yourself in the future.
I am definitely, definitely keeping this book. I will probably lend it to people, and I hope I never need to read it again myself, but I can imagine times when I might want to....more
Over a year ago now, Lord Peter pretty much saved my life. I was hysterical and still half under anaesthesia; the nurses were unsympathetic; I have anOver a year ago now, Lord Peter pretty much saved my life. I was hysterical and still half under anaesthesia; the nurses were unsympathetic; I have an anxiety disorder as it is, let alone when I'm in a great deal of pain with insufficient morphine. My blood oxygen levels were catastrophic, even with pure oxygen. My mother forced her way onto the ward and held my hand. When they made her go, my blood oxygenation was up a little, but not much; she didn't let them send her away until she'd put her Kindle by my pillow, playing Edward Petherbridge reading Dorothy L. Sayers. Under that influence, I lay still and quiet, and listened, and breathed.
Not coincidentally, Edward Petherbridge slightly overshadows Ian Carmichael in my affections, and I don't think I'll ever be able to read Gaudy Night without sympathising wholly with Harriet's realisation of her own feelings. I could find no fault with it this time, neither in the slow build or anything else. I don't think I'll ever be rational about Lord Peter again, and I was already a fair way to in love with the character.
He can be ridiculous, but he's so good; sometimes, in the other books, I think I resented Harriet a little for her treatment of him. But she's in an awful position too, and Gaudy Night makes that clear -- and my goodness, the scenes where she starts to finally realise her physical (animal?) attraction to him are a little breathtaking. Peter's too perfect, of course, especially in Gaudy Night -- but in a perfect way I find impossible to fault!
Sayers' Oxford is a lovely thing, too. Once upon a time, I went to Cambridge to look round and simply felt choked by it all, but I think that when I visit Oxford, I'll be ready and willing to love it through Sayers' eyes. It's a powerfully nostalgic version of university life, especially for someone currently struggling to get any help with a PhD proposal -- oh for Shrewsbury College and the community there!...more
The film cannot come out soon enough. I need more Cap in my life. I have a wishlist of things I would like to see directly translated from book to movThe film cannot come out soon enough. I need more Cap in my life. I have a wishlist of things I would like to see directly translated from book to movie -- though many things will have to be changed, of course, to fit with MCU canon, there should be room for stuff like the "who the hell is Bucky?" moment. I'm looking forward to Falcon, who I haven't seen before reading this TPB.
I also have a list of things I don't want to happen, like that ending where Bucky just disappears leaving Steve believing he might be dead. Aaaah.
So in short, Brubaker is an amazing writer for Captain America -- there are some moments where he just nails everything Steve is. The art's good, too, and it all comes together really well in terms of pacing.
I don't really get people who don't like Steve. I mean, I can see plenty of reasons not to like the character, but the nobility and drive of him... It gets me right in all my feels....more
There are many faults with On Basilisk Station. I'm not going to deny that. The bit where a tense action scene was interrupted for eight pages of backThere are many faults with On Basilisk Station. I'm not going to deny that. The bit where a tense action scene was interrupted for eight pages of background on the ins and outs of space travel was a particularly egregious one, and David Weber is quite frankly, to judge on this, not that good a writer at all. I also understand people who think Honor is a bit of a "Mary Sue", a bit too perfect. I understand, but I don't agree -- at least not at this stage in the series, though I've read analyses which suggests it definitely gets that way.
But for me I was mesmerised. Hard SF with a strong, non-sexualised female lead, absolutely no romantic plot, platonic relationships with multiple male characters... A female lead who is resourceful, determined, and quite frankly does her superiors' jobs better than they were doing them themselves. She isn't faultless. She isn't even pretty. There's nothing about her which implies Weber thought sex appeal would be important, and good god that should not be so refreshing in SF.
I think Weber's worldbuilding really shines: he's clearly thought through all the political situations and the exact details of the technology involved, too. Granted, he doesn't deploy this with the greatest of subtlety -- holy infodump, Batman! -- but the planning is all there.
To top all that off, I got very involved with the characters, my heart was in my mouth during the action scenes (bar the bit with the eight page digression) and I was willing to overlook all its flaws because of that. It gets four stars not for being a brilliant piece of writing, but for taking a firm grip on my heart....more
I'd never heard of Frances Hardinge before, and I have no idea how I came across this on the Kindle store, but I'm so very glad I did. It's an enchantI'd never heard of Frances Hardinge before, and I have no idea how I came across this on the Kindle store, but I'm so very glad I did. It's an enchantment of a book -- I think I said something similar, recently, about Erin Morgenstern's The Night Circus, and I can see the similarities there: the long games being played in both plots, the dazzling strangeness of the worldbuilding, the magic of it all. But at the same time, they're very different stories: it's just something about the flavour that's similar.
A Face Like Glass is marketed as YA, but I don't think you should see that as a discouragement. It's not one of those YA books that slots neatly into the ranks of the YA books that've come before: it's something wild and entirely itself. The same goes for the fact that I've tagged it as dystopia -- it doesn't follow the current dystopia tropes either. It felt like a breath of fresh air for me.
I got hooked on it from Amazon's preview, which is worth a look: it's a slowish start compared to the pace the book gets to near the end, but if you're intrigued by it, you're in for a wonderful ride. I loved every scrap of it, to the extent where I'm almost afraid to look for Frances Hardinge's other books in case they aren't as good. I love Neverfell and I love the bizarre details of the world and all the weird concepts like people being unable to perform expressions without learning them and...
Basically, it's a heck of a ride. Best impulse buy of my year, up to and including my big plush Moomin. Possibly excluding only the ticket I bought to the screening of Avengers Assemble that got me hooked....more
One of my favourites of the Peter Wimsey books, though I have to say that this time I felt that there was something a bit off about the pacing. It felOne of my favourites of the Peter Wimsey books, though I have to say that this time I felt that there was something a bit off about the pacing. It felt a little slow in places, and because the 'murdered' man so patently obviously "deserved" it (i.e. is not a sympathetic sort of character: I'm not a fan of the death penalty or revenge killings or anything like that, but you do feel that he "got what was coming to him") it's difficult to feel any urgency about the investigation, especially because you feel -- as Peter does -- that it'd really be best if it could all just be left alone.
Still, the book really got to me in the sense of the Thodays plight, and basically all the upheaval that one bad man caused, over the years, in a small village. And there's the way that when you realise how Deacon died, you do feel pity for him, even though he was a bad man, because it just seems so awful.
No Harriet in this book, and as far as I remember, not even a mention thereof. There is a good helping of Bunter, though....more
I found Tigana annoying me so much this time around. Kay's overly ornate way of writing, the way he makes even the simplest of events sound So Deeply I found Tigana annoying me so much this time around. Kay's overly ornate way of writing, the way he makes even the simplest of events sound So Deeply Important by the formal way he's writing... But it all came together for me again when I sat down and just read. I fell in awkward, torn love with Alessan, with Brandin, with Catriana, with Dianora, with Baerd. I loved the way people came together, willingly and unwillingly, against the other halves of their hearts. I love how people became whole again, or didn't, and found healing and/or revenge, or...
It's a complex plot, full of complex people, and I love it so much. I'm rereading all of GGK's work in chronological order, to watch his development as a novelist (and for the sheer love of his work, of course), and up to now this has always been my favourite. Right now, I'm not sure where it ranks exactly -- but oh, I do love it.
Reading Kay's afterword and seeing what his influences were is also pretty fascinating. It doesn't surprise me, in retrospect, that Brian Friel's Translations influenced him, even though it seems like a leap from a literary play about language to a fantasy novel that is, on the surface, about the fight against tyranny (but then, those two don't seem so very far apart if you think in Colonial terms)....more
Reread for my dissertation -- and all the more bittersweet this time because I knew how everything would play out. It's beautifully written, and it prReread for my dissertation -- and all the more bittersweet this time because I knew how everything would play out. It's beautifully written, and it pretty much exemplifies Rosemary Sutcliff's usual shtick about male friendships (and a sepulchral voice that sounds like my dissertation supervisor whispers the words "homosocial bonds"...), to the point where there is actually an explicitly gay couple in the story, and Arthur and Bedwyr's relationship is deep and intense -- perhaps not sexual, but the subtext is there.
Sutcliff handles Guinevere well, too, and I have a lot of love for her version of Gwalchmai, too. But of course for my dissertation I was looking at Cei: a big, larger than life figure who drinks and womanises and is always, always faithful to Arthur, like a big faithful hound. Some of his role from the Cymric stories seems to go to Bedwyr, complete with the betrayal part (in 'Culhwch and Olwen', Cei and Arthur fall out, and that event is referenced in some of the other Cymric material).
Interesting that I'd say this is the closest to a Celtic Cei I've read anywhere outside the Cymric stories, but nonetheless Sutcliff didn't find him interesting enough to do more than reference him as a faithful hound type character without much depth whenever she needed him.
The end is a tragedy, as it should be, with all the dignity Arthur deserves. I cried....more
"Note: you have also reviewed the following editions of this book:
Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (Paperback) (isbn ) Sir Gawain and the Green Knight"Note: you have also reviewed the following editions of this book:
Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (Paperback) (isbn ) Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (Paperback) (isbn 0140440925) Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (Paperback) (isbn 0140424539) Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (isbn 0719055172) Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (isbn 0571223281) Sir Gawain & the Green Knight (Paperback) (isbn 0030088801) Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (Paperback) (isbn 1146360738)"
Oops.
Anyway, I reread Simon Armitage's translation in honour of getting a signed copy (I was going to go to his talk about his new book in Leeds, but I ended up being in Cardiff due to my grandfather's death, so we phoned up and Waterstones arranged for him to sign a copy of Sir Gawain for me, which isn't as good as getting to speak to him but is still pretty good).
For my money, though Simon Armitage's translation isn't the most accurate academic translation, it captures something that even Tolkien doesn't manage to grasp, despite the care he took translating the poem, and that I haven't seen anywhere else. I remember doing a course on this poem (in the Middle English), and we talked about the poem being playful, and in part mocking the court and Gawain (but with affection). I feel like Simon Armitage's translation brings out that aspect very well, without losing the sense of nobility and chivalry that the poem is so rightly known for.
It also barrels along at a tremendous pace, and reads a lot more like popular literature than Tolkien or Brian Stone's translations. You might not think that a good thing, of course, but I think it suits the story....more
I can't remember exactly when I reread this -- July, I think. Not sure why I didn't review it again at the time. Anyway, I think for the sheer absorbiI can't remember exactly when I reread this -- July, I think. Not sure why I didn't review it again at the time. Anyway, I think for the sheer absorbingness of Jemisin's writing this would get five stars every time from me, even if reading it again I decided that I preferred the first book. The fact that she has a disabled main character, and takes a lot of care to make that realistic, really endeared this book to me the first time. I think there are a few cracks where it's not quite believable that she could really be blind and yet accept magical sight so easily, but for the most part, it worked for me.
The story itself... I agree with a review I read recently that mentioned that the writer was disappointed that Oree actually turned out to be super special in herself, like Yeine, when to begin with they appear like 'ordinary people' (what's an ordinary person?) caught up in events too big for them. It builds on what happened in the first book, while being a separate story, so in that way it fits perfectly, but -- I do wish there were more 'ordinary' fantasy protagonists who don't turn out to have the souls of dead goddesses in them, or to be princes, or the one who will bring balance to the Force.
Anyway, this book confirmed my massive love for Jemisin all over again. And the ending stomped on my heart a little. I love her narrators, too, and the little twists of why they're telling their stories -- it's a detail people don't always think to put in: why are we being told this story? Who is the audience? And I love that in the third book of the trilogy, narrated by Sieh, he says that he's not going to use those narrative tricks. There's a lovely self-awareness about that aspect of Jemisin's writing....more
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