Author: katenepveu

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Cooper, Susan: (05) Silver on the Tree

What an extremely peculiar book Susan Cooper’s Silver on the Tree is.

It has some very wonderful and haunting episodes, both scary and moving. And yet many of those are embedded in a long section with a peculiarly metafictional bent that I can’t get a handle on, that doesn’t quite seem to fit, but that my thoughts always slide off of as though it were a dream.

Then, on one hand, it rests the penultimate development on mortal choice and judgment. On the other hand, it rests the ultimate development on plot tokens taken to the logical but idiotic conclusion.

And that doesn’t even mention the very ending, which sends many people I know into frothing rages. (Or the unanswered questions of why the Drews, or why the huge privileging of Great Britain in the fight against the Dark, or why the very odd treatment of women in the book . . . )

Color me baffled.

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Westlake, Donald E.: (01) The Hot Rock (re-read)

We interrupt this re-read of the Dark Is Rising series for the beginning of the Donald E. Westlake Memorial Dortmunder re-read, starting with the first book, The Hot Rock.

I described the plot of this one previously, so I’ll just note here how I was struck by the ways that it’s not like later Dortmunder novels: though they don’t shoot people, the characters carry and use guns (I don’t think the later novels even mention guns, which may be a consequence of tougher gun laws in New York City), and generally seem much more prone to solve problems through physical intimidation. (This may have something to do with the plot’s roots as a rejected Parker story.) Also, Stan Murch gets some social skills along the way.

Still an excellent book, but perhaps very slightly down the list of places to start because of these differences. (I started with Bank Shot, myself, and will see what I think of that when I get to it.)

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Cooper, Susan: (03-04) Greenwitch; The Grey King

Okay, so it won’t be 2011 before I finish re-reading Susan Cooper’s Dark Is Rising series, as I’ve just completed the third and fourth books, Greenwitch and The Grey King.

Greenwitch is much better than I’d remembered, tighter and more emotionally satisfying than The Dark Is Rising. It has good characterization of the Drews, Will, and even the representative of the Dark—not to mention the Greenwitch, who is creepily alien yet a figure to be sympathized with. And I appreciate the way it acknowledges that plot tokens aren’t everything, and indeed that such an attitude can be counter-productive.

It’s just too bad the new prophetic doggerel is so much worse than the first.

Speaking of plot tokens, The Grey King interests me because though it’s structured as a quest for a plot token, the quest is about the least important and interesting thing in the book. The energy and force of the book, for me, comes from the characterization, and particularly the horrible sick inevitability of the actions of one character who is influenced by the Dark. Very much not a comfortable book to read, for that reason, but powerful.

This book also has a conversation about the problem I had with The Dark Is Rising, between John Rowlands and Will:

“But I was only saying, be careful not to forget that there are people in this valley who can be hurt, even in the pursuit of good ends.”

 . . .

[Will] sighed. “I understand what you are saying,” he said sadly. “But you misjudge us, because you are a man yourself. For us, there is only the destiny. Like a job to be done. We are here simply to save the world from the Dark. . . . The charity and the mercy and the humanitarianism are for you, they are the only things by which men are able to exist together in peace. But in this hard case that we the Light are in, confronting the Dark, we can make no use of them. We are fighting a war. We are fighting for life or death—not for our life, remember, since we cannot die. For yours.”

I am not convinced that Will is right—he of all people ought to know that the lack of charity can be a weapon for the Dark, and this seems to me perilously close to the ends justifying the means—or that the text wants us to think Will is right. I’m going to have to withhold judgment until the last book, I think, but at least it’s a live issue in the text.

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Cooper, Susan: (02) The Dark Is Rising

Another Christmas season, another book in Susan Cooper’s Dark Is Rising series, this time the book the series is named after. (So, I should be finished the re-read in . . . 2011. No problem.)

What I remembered about this book is the wonderfully tangible atmosphere and sense of pervasive sadness, which I found present again here. What I’d forgotten is how cold and merciless the Light is in the book. I spent most of the late part of the book muttering, “Some pity? Mercy? Forgiveness? Or, heck, just remembering that you said, not that long ago, that you were wrong too?”

Chad, who re-read at the same time I did, has since gone on to the next book, Greenwitch, and reminds me that this tendency of the Light becomes an issue there, in which case this may be a purposeful establishing-of-context. I’ll be interested to see if the relevant characters gain insight as a result, or if the lesson is confined to the readers.

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Takaya, Natsuki: Fruits Basket, vols. 1-2

Natsuki Takaya’s Fruits Basket is one of the most well-loved shôjo manga series out there. I resisted reading it for years because the art sent me into sugar shock. But recently, a combination of deep discounts and greater familiarity with manga conventions led me to try it again. I read the first two volumes as collected in the first “Ultimate Edition,” a larger-size hardcover volume (cheaper, more durable, but could have used things like a re-paginated sound effects guide for the second volume).

Tohru is an orphan who ends up living with three members of the Sohma family, who are under a curse: they are possessed by vengeful spirits corresponding to the Chinese Zodiac, and when hugged by a member of the opposite sex, they turn into that animal. There’s much that’s, well, sweet and cute about this—Tohru is amazingly optimistic and self-sacrificing; the transformed Sohmas are intrinsically comic and look very cuddly; and many of the conflicts are played for laughs. Yet even in the first two volumes, the darker undercurrents are apparent: Tohru’s optimism hints at an underlying desparation; one instance of the curse leading to heartbreak is revealed; and extremely screwed-up family dynamics are suggested. Between my interest in the mystery of the curse, curiosity about Tohru’s mom, and sympathy for the characters, I’ll keep reading.

For examples of the art and how it works, see these two posts of Stephanie’s on visual flow.

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Beagle, Peter: Innkeeper’s Song, The

Peter Beagle’s The Innkeeper’s Song is one of my favorite books. It is a rare example of non-epistolary multiple first-person narration (I can’t think of another off the top of my head, but I’m sure someone will be along any minute to remind me), which is mostly why I like it so much. I’m a sucker for narrative voice, and all of these are great.

Tikat and Lukassa are engaged. When Lukassa falls in a river and drowns, she is raised from the dead by Lal, a student of a wizard who has been betrayed by his last student. Because Lukassa does not remember her life, she flees from Tikat and accompanies Lal to the inn of the title. There, they and others attempt to aid the wizard in his continuing struggle.

On this re-read, I do have a little quibble: one of the characters, early, denies knowledge of something that is revealed at the end of the book, which is inconsistent with the years-past retrospective of the rest of that character’s narration. (Most of the characters are explicitly telling their part of the tale to someone else years later, though I doubt this would work for one of them.) But except for that, I think the voices are wonderful, well-characterized both generally and in what they reveal and conceal.

This is also a good book for those who like their magic mysterious and atmospheric. It reminds me a bit of Robin McKinley, perhaps Spindle’s End, though slightly less abstract, and even more focused on illuminating character than the world. If that’s your kind of thing, do check it out.

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Banks, Iain M.: (03-03.5) Use of Weapons; “The State of the Art”

I returned to the re-read of the Culture books with the stories I skipped over in favor of Excession. First is Use of Weapons. I think it speaks to the quality of Banks’ craft here that I like this book so much, because if it weren’t executed so brilliantly, the subject matter would be very much not to my taste. This is the book that famously is told in two strands, one going forward and one backward, until they finish in twin revelations that would have next to no power if told in chronological order. I have a slight reservation about the mechanics of this format (book destroying spoilers, ROT13: vg ubcrf gur ernqre jvyy npprcg nf yvzvgrq-guveq cbvag bs ivrj jung’f ernyyl bzavfpvrag, sbe znkvzhz zvfyrnqvat pncnpvgl), but even that isn’t enough to keep me from admiring the book immensely.

In unfortunate contrast, “The State of the Art” is terrible. This is the Culture novella set on Earth, and it is roughly 99% long-winded political and philosophical discourse about human society, and 1% plot—or at least it feels that way. I only kept reading to see if anything was eventually going to happen—and then when it did, I wished I hadn’t bothered. The only thing interesting about this is that it’s set in 1977, thus demonstrating that the Culture is not an evolutionary product of Earth-humanity. There, now I’ve saved you from having to read it.

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Gabaldon, Diana: (202-202.5) Lord John and the Brotherhood of the Blade; “Lord John and the Haunted Soldier”

Quite a while ago, I read the first of Diana Gabaldon’s novels about Lord John Grey, Lord John and the Private Matter, and was sufficiently unimpressed that it took me quite a while to get around to reading the second, Lord John and the Brotherhood of the Blade. However, someone mentioned that the second was much better, and so I picked it up the other day when I was in the mood.

I am happy to report that it is, indeed, a considerable improvement on the first. The plot has actual personal stakes: someone is raking up the apparent suicide of Lord John’s father after he was implicated in a treasonous plot. It’s also less of a mystery and more of a thriller, at least judging by my own notes on the first one (another indication of how unimpressed I was is that I don’t remember a thing about it). I find this also an improvement, as the book feels less convoluted as a result. Gabaldon continues to write certain sexual situations in a register that doesn’t really work for me, but that’s about my only quibble with this book, which I quite enjoyed.

Enough so that I immediately read the novella that is a direct sequel, “Lord John and the Haunted Soldier” (published in  . . . the Hand of Devils). This examines one of the traumatic events of the prior book, without greatly spoiling the details of the ending (a neat trick doubtless helped by Gabaldon writing them out of order). I liked this one a great deal as well, for the portrait of Lord John and for the nicely chilling non-military subplot.

The Lord John novels aren’t dipped in quite as addictive a substance as the main Outlander series, but I like Lord John a lot and am glad to see him getting standalone stories worthy of him.

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Iwanaga, Ryoutarou: Pumpkin Scissors vol. 1

I picked up volume one of the manga Pumpkin Scissors, by Ryoutarou Iwanaga, on Pam’s recommendation. Pumpkin Scissors is the nickname of a military unit devoted to post-war relief and reconstruction (apparently we are to get an explanation of the name later).

Pam described it as “like what Fullmetal Alchemist would be, if the primary focus of the story was on Mustang’s unit,” and I think that’s pretty fair. As she says, the art style and tone are similar. So far, I found the stories within this volume to be a touch simplistic (especially compared to FMA), but I suspect that may be usual for establishing volumes.

I’m not sure if I’ll read more, but that’s only because we might try the anime, and I prefer to pick one medium and stick to it.

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Gaiman, Neil: Graveyard Book, The

Expectations are a funny thing. I had middling expectations for Neil Gaiman’s The Graveyard Book, and hadn’t rushed to read (or even buy) it when it first came out. But then I saw reviews from friends who all loved it, quite uniformly so, and I found my expectations being raised.

I suspect I’d have been happier if I’d kept my expectations as they were. The Graveyard Book is entertaining, certainly, and has the sure touch in the details that I’ve come to expect from Gaiman’s works. (After all, a story about a boy raised in a graveyard by ghosts (and one other) is entirely up his alley.) But perhaps because of the deliberately episodic nature, I was underwhelmed by what there was of a plot; and since that’s what the book closes on, it can’t help but color my overall opinion.

Comparisons may be odious, but I still liked Coraline better.

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