Pratchett, Terry: (15) Men At Arms

Several nights ago, I picked up Men at Arms, by Terry Pratchett, because I didn’t want to start reading The Paths of the Dead before bed (for fear that I would be up all night reading the whole thing. This turned out to be a good decision.). I’ve been done with the book for a while, but the last few nights, my time has been taken up with computer issues instead. (My new port replicator hates the USB card I wanted to put in it. Grr.)

Men at Arms is the second book in the Guards sub-series of the Discworld books, after Guards! Guards!. Most of the book is styled as a police procedural, as a series of unusual killings puzzles the Watch and sparks ethnic (dwarf-troll) tensions in the city. This part of the book is really enjoyable; I love the interactions between the new members of the Watch, particularly Detritus and Cuddy, and it’s always fun watching Vimes and Carrot policing. However, I think the book bungles the semi-MacGuffin by being about as subtle as a sledgehammer—not that the Discworld books are generally known for being subtle, but this is bad in a Real World political kind of way, which makes it even more strident. There are lovely moments in this book, and I really like it if I skip over those few pages here and there.

As an aside, I’ve been trying to see why I thought that the Patrician was considerably older than portrayed in Night Watch. Here’s one reason: he’s described as limping and hobbling during his end-of-book conversation with Carrot (which, by the way, is a great conversation). I know, you were all losing sleep over that one . . .

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Walton, Jo: (103) The Prize in the Game

John M. Ford once wrote that “Every book is three books, after all; the one the writer intended, the one the reader expected, and the one that casts its shadow when the first two meet by moonlight.” (“Rules of Engagement,” in From the End of the Twentieth Century.)

Using that metaphor, the first time I read Jo Walton’s The Prize in the Game, the cast shadow was even stranger than Deformed Rabbit (everyone’s favorite).

The reason, I realized, was that I had one of the stranger possible sets of expectations going into the book—including the fact that the book is dedicated to me. So I re-read it with a clearer head, and I’m happy to say that it’s very good. However, in hopes of avoiding messing up other people’s expectations, I’m not going to talk about my weird expectations here, because it’s too hard to use spoiler protection in this format. Instead, you can read my spoiler comments in a post to rec.arts.sf.written (Google link; may take a few hours to show up). What follows is a semi-objective review that ought to suit people who haven’t yet read the book.

Prize is set in the same world as Walton’s first two novels, The King’s Peace and The King’s Name. It tells the backstory of the Isarnagan (Irish-equivalent) characters appearing in those books, as well as that of some who hadn’t appeared on-stage before. It ought to be possible to read Prize first, but my general rule is to read things in publication order. In this case, I think Prize would end rather abruptly to someone who didn’t know the eventual fates of the characters (there will be a sequel to Prize, called Breaking the Ward). It would certainly be a very different experience, anyway—a good analogy is reading A Deepness in the Sky before A Fire Upon the Deep. If anyone tries it, please report back to us.

Prize is told from four alternating points of view. Conal is one of the King of Oriel’s nephews. Elenn and Emer are the daughters of Connat’s rulers; Elenn is one of the most beautiful women in the world, and Emer aspires to be a charioteer. Ferdia is the heir to Lagin, third of the five kingdoms of Tir Isarnagiri; he is also close friends with Darag, Conal’s cousin and rival.

As the book opens, Elenn, Emer, and Ferdia are all fostering at Oriel for a year. The plot is grounded in Irish myth, and stems from the contention over the heirship to Oriel, the ambitions of the King of Connat, and a deity’s curse—you know, standard stuff. I find myself unable to come up with a more useful summary that doesn’t spoil the book, for which I apologize. In a way, this is a compliment to the book, which is very effectively and efficiently constructed: the story flows very smoothly, with every event leading toward the climax, either directly or through foreshadowing (which is used frequently and, I thought, to quite good effect).

The characterization and world-building are also portrayed thoroughly and economically, which I think is a pretty good trick. I doubt there’s a wasted word in the novel, though I wouldn’t call it an obscure or difficult book; it simply rewards careful reading. (There are one or two things that I’m not entirely clear on, which will appear in the spoiler section at the end of this post. However, they aren’t central to the book.) Obviously, a lot of thought has gone into building the world, but the book never stops and says, for instance, “Here now is an explication of different kinds of trees and the knowledge associated with them.” Instead, the third-person viewpoints mention the information that would naturally cross the minds of those characters—thus combining two of my favorite things, depth of world-building and internally consistent narrative voice.

Thanks to the quality of the narration and the characterization, I certainly did not lack for emotional involvement with the characters. This was almost a problem; as Dennis Leary said in No Cure for Cancer, “From the beginning of time all the way up to U2—there has never been a happy Irish song,” and I rather suspect that applies to Irish myth, too. You’ve been warned. I found also it interesting to meet the younger versions of Conal, Emer, and Elenn, since I could see pretty easily how they became the people we first met in The King’s Peace, and to see Darag and Ferdia, who are mentioned in Peace and Name but do not appear.

In summary: this was an excellent book, and I’m glad that I eventually liked it. Go read it and let me know what you thought.

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Conan Doyle, Arthur: (06) The Return of Sherlock Holmes

The other short stories I read were those in The Return of Sherlock Holmes, which were collectively somewhat disappointing. Also, the Strand put frontspiece illustrations with these, frequently spoiling the entire story.

The first is “The Adventure of the Empty House,” in which Holmes is revealed to be Not Dead after all. This one has a mystery that is unfortunately no mystery at all from a modern perspective; it actually took me a minute to realize why the killing was perplexing to the characters. The other stories of note are “The Adventure of the Priory School,” in which Holmes does something extremely out of character regarding money; “The Adventure of Black Peter,” in which Holmes, harpoon in hand, tries to transfix a dead pig in a single blow; “The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton,” in which Holmes and Watson go a-burgling; and “The Adventure of the Abbey Grange,” which is the first time I remember Holmes telling Watson that the game is afoot. Many of the other stories are unremarkable, either predictable or somewhat repetitive.

Two other things I noticed. First, Lestrade hardly appears, and the police officer role is largely filled by young Hopkins; cynically, I think that’s because Lestrade’s been around long enough that Holmes can’t show him up as easily. Second, Watson (or Doyle, really) takes an inconsistent approach to confidential or embarrassing client information: sometimes making a big deal about changing names, sometimes ignoring the problem completely, sometimes writing stories that, if they were really true, couldn’t be written no matter how many details were obscured. This happens in the occasional Wolfe story, as well, and it always ruins whatever suspension of disbelief I’ve managed to build up. These stories worked well enough as bedtime distractions, but they are definitely not the best of the lot.

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Macdonald, James D., and Debra Doyle: (03) “Sleeping Kings”

In the past few weeks, I also read a bunch of short stories, standard fare for weeks with insufficient time. One of those was the most recent Peter Crossman story, “Sleeping Kings” by Debra Doyle and James Macdonald, which is in Crusade of Fire, edited by Katherine Kurtz. (There’s another Kurtz Templar anthology out there, but I’ve yet to lay eyes on it.) I didn’t like this as much as the prior Crossman stories, primarily because the villain was rather unimpressive. However, Macdonald is working on another Crossman novel, which is excellent news.

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Howe, Deborah and James: Bunnicula

Christmas day actually turned out to be a little quieter than I thought, so I needed another book to read at bedtime. I used to love Bunnicula, by Deborah and James Howe, and hadn’t read it for years, so when I saw it in Chad’s parents’ basement, I grabbed it. I was pleased to discover that this tale of a vampire bunny held up really well. The concept is just brilliant, and while this dog’s narration isn’t as low-key as that of A Night in the Lonesome October, it’s still pretty funny. Recommended for fairly youngish readers and up. (There are a couple of sequels, which I don’t recall at all, but Chad’s father tells me they didn’t suck.)

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Pratchett, Terry: (08) Guards! Guards!

I brought Terry Pratchett’s Guards! Guards! with me over Christmas because I knew family holidays tend to be somewhat hectic, and re-reading in those circumstances works better than reading. Besides, I’d been meaning to re-read the Watch books after reading Night Watch.

Guards! Guards! is the first book about the Watch of Ankh-Morpork, which was once a police force but, at the start of the book, is down to a few ineffective misfits. Then a new recruit arrives, and someone puts the city under threat by summoning a dragon, and the Watch begins to change . . .

I can now report that while we don’t meet Vetinari’s aunt in the first Watch book, she does get mentioned; Vetinari lacks a daughter whose hand he could offer in marriage as a reward for dragon-slaying, and wonders if an aunt is an acceptable substitute . . . No indication of Vetinari’s age that I saw, which was the other thing I was wondering about.

It’s interesting to see how far Vimes has come, as a character, and also how far he fell from his past-rookie-self of Night Watch. The Patrician’s deliberate weakening of the Watch, prior to Guards! Guards!, also appear in a different light in that context; it will be interesting to re-read the expansion of the Watch and the dynamics of the Patrician’s interactions with Vimes and Carrot. Also, this is just a fun book; not the best Discworld book, but solid and entertaining.

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