Author: katenepveu

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Walton, Jo: (202-203) Ha’Penny; Half a Crown

Ha’Penny and Half a Crown are the concluding books in Jo Walton’s Small Change (or Still Life with Fascists) series, which began with Farthing.

Farthing was not written with sequels in mind, but I can’t remember if Ha’Penny was planned as a single sequel or the middle book in a trilogy. Regardless, reading it now after the publication of the complete trilogy, I couldn’t help but find it an example of middle-book syndrome; that is, I expected ultimate resolutions to wait until the last book. For me, this was exacerbated by its being set only a couple of weeks after Farthing. Inspector Carmichael, who investigated the country house mystery of Farthing, is now confronted with the explosion of a bomb at the home of a London actress. In the other narrative thread, Viola Lark finds herself trapped in a plot to kill Hitler and the British Prime Minister.

Though I had the aforementioned middle-book problem in reading this, I recognize that it contains as much of an arc as possible. I was also impressed by the way my sympathies repeatedly shifted as things kept getting more complicated. And on an aesthetic level, I appreciated the unreliability of Viola’s narration; it can’t be easy to do first-person narration of someone who thinks she’s much saner than she actually is.

Half a Crown is set in 1960 and again juxtaposes Carmichael’s third-person narration with the retrospective first-person narration of a woman, this time his teenaged ward Elvira. She is by far the least aware of the series’ narrators at the start, and part of the book is how she progresses from thinking that a fascist rally—complete with tied-together Jews to throw things at—is “jolly fun.”

Elvira is just one example of what seems to me is the central concern of the book, people’s individual breaking points: what they will or will not betray and how far they can be pushed or will go themselves. And because politics is composed of people, this drives the plot through to the series’ end.

As the concluding volume in a trilogy, it’s hard for my opinion of Half a Crown not to depend heavily on my opinion of that conclusion. And I have very mixed feelings about the ending, which strikes me as a peculiar mix of deep cynicism and optimistic deus ex machina. Which in one sense is not entirely fair, as the d.e.m. bits have, in retrospect, been set up as much as possible given the limitations of narrative structure; and yet I can’t seem to shake the feeling of abruptness that I got on the first reading.

Unfortunately I can’t be more specific without spoiling the whole thing, which I’m not willing to do. It’s one of my personal truisms of narrative art that questions are easy and answers are hard; that is, a work that sets up fascinating mysteries or difficult problems is almost certainly going to do better at that part than at revealing the answer or fixing the problem. (Dan Simmons, I’m looking at you.) In other words, Farthing may remain the book in the trilogy that people like best, or at least find most satisfying. But if you appreciated Farthing, I think it’s worth reading the rest of the series.

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Banks, Iain M.: (05) Inversions

Inversions is Iain M. Banks’ stealth Culture novel. It’s told from the point of view of two people who don’t know the Culture exists, but from their reports, the Culture’s role is quite clear to the familiar reader. (The unfamiliar reader who nevertheless is reading through an SF lens will understand it just fine, though a few of the details might be hazy.)

After I finished this, I realized that I’d spent so much time decoding the stealth Culture references that I wasn’t actually sure what I thought it it as a book. And, you know, I’m still not sure. For some reason it’s hard for me to get past “this is what was going on from the point of view of someone who knows about the Culture” to any other assessment of the book.

I can say that the book’s two strands do connect up in a satisfying way, in both their obvious and stealth-Culture natures. I didn’t feel there was anything obviously excessive or indulgent, as is the case in some other Culture books. I have a quibble or two with some of the characterization, but that may be a matter of the limitations of the point-of-view characters. But, on the whole, I don’t seem to have much of an emotional reaction to it beyond appreciation for its craft.

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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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