Author: katenepveu

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Brust, Steven: (109) Issola (re-read)

I re-read Issola, by Steven Brust (prior booklog entry), one night when I had a headache and couldn’t deal with anything new. I picked this up in particular because it has a fair bit of information about Morrolan, which I wanted to consider in light of The Lord of Castle Black.

The only thing I have to say about this book that I haven’t said before is that it is quite literally a novel of manners, and I feel very slow for not having noticed this earlier. (And I do intend to go back to the Fantasy of Manners list (collection of LiveJournal posts on the topic), but clearing the gigantic backlog here seemed to be more important.)

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Wells, Martha: Element of Fire, The (re-read)

Another re-read: Martha Wells’ The Element of Fire, in honor of finally finding an affordable used copy—when paperbacks are going for $50 and up, you know something is hard to find.

[ Ignore this if your name is not Nielsen Hayden. Patrick, I think I did e-mail you after Boskone about looking into reprinting this, but you’ve been busy, so, there, I’ve said it again. ]

This is such a great book. I briefly described the setup in the prior booklog entry, and mentioned that it opens with a bang with a rescue from an evil sorcerer’s house; I now discover that the first chapter is online, so you can go read it. Here’s a taste:

There was some soft cursing below as a dark lantern, its front covered by a metal slide to keep the light dimmed, was lit and passed upward. Thomas waited impatiently, feeling the darkness press in on him like a solid wall. He would’ve preferred the presence of another sorcerer besides Braun, the rest of the Queen’s Guard, and a conscripted city troop to quell any possibility of riot when the restive River Quarter neighborhood discovered it had a mad foreign sorcerer in its midst. But orders were orders, and if Queen’s Guards or their captain were killed while entering Grandier’s house secretly, then at least civil unrest was prevented. An inspired intrigue, Thomas had to admit, even if he was the one it was meant to eliminate.

As he reached down to take the shuttered lamp from Gideon something moved in the corner of his eye. Thomas dropped the lamp onto the table and studied the darkness, trying to decide if the hesitant motion was actually there or in his imagination.

The flicker of light escaping from the edges of the lamp’s iron cover touched the room with moving shadows. With the toe of his boot Thomas knocked the lantern slide up.

The wan candlelight was reflected from a dozen points around the unoccupied room, from lacquered cabinets, the gilt leather of a chair, the metallic threads in brocaded satin hangings.

Then the wooden cherub supporting the righthand corner of the table Thomas was standing on turned its head.

The action moves briskly throughout the book, tightly focused in both space (the castle and surrounding city) and time (just a few days). More, it’s strongly character-driven action—and what great characters they are. Here’s one of our dashing protagonists, the Captain of the Queen’s Guard, discussing the Dowager Queen:

“Don’t take me for a fool, Captain.”

“I don’t know what else to take you for.”

“You can take me for a man who did not acquire my power in a Queen’s bed.”

“Yes,” Thomas agreed. “In her bed, on the daybed in the anteroom, on a couch in the west solar of the Summer Palace, and other locations too numerous to mention, and if you had the slightest understanding of Ravenna at all, you would know that it never made one damn bit of difference as to whether she took my advice or not.”

I mentioned most of the things I like about this book in the last entry, but something I missed is an element of the worldbuilding, namely the interesting interaction between landlaw and courtlaw that informs the politics of the novel. Also, a re-read demonstrates how well an important plot twist is set up.

This sounds a little scattered, but I’m trying to avoid just re-typing the last entry. The important thing is that this book rocks, and everyone should (try to find a copy and) read it.

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Moore, Alan: League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, The, vol. 1 (re-read)

I re-read Alan Moore’s The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (prior booklog entry) because of all the reviews trashing the movie version. In tallying up the ways the movie differs, I was reminded of what I did like about the book—pretty much everything they changed, apparently. In particular, I thought the best thing about the plot was the way that Mina Murray held the League together with noting more than the application of her iron will—over, inter alia, an ex-opium-addicted Alan Quatermain, a sociopathic Invisible Man, Dr. Jekyll and (most impressively) Mr. Hyde. (Captain Nemo is, oddly, one of the saner members of the League.) The rest of the plot was not, in my opinion, a great strength of the novel, which I suppose was one thing that did transfer to screen. Anyway, I’ll look for the collection of the second volume, but I’m not holding my breath for it.

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Jones, Diana Wynne: Deep Secret

After the Bryson, I re-read Diana Wynne Jones’s Deep Secret, partly in preparation for the new book in that world (The Merlin Conspiracy), and partly because I just really like it. I have had decidedly mixed reactions to Jones’s works overall (e.g., Howl’s Moving Castle), which may make me an anomaly, as I know many people who seems to like basically everything by Jones. Deep Secret is one I had a positive reaction to: it’s great fun, solidly done, and manages some very tricky tone shifts with remarkable aplomb.

Deep Secret is a multiverse book, in which worlds are arranged in the sign of infinity. Worlds to Ayewards have more magic; worlds to Naywards have less; and Magids are charged with keeping worlds from drifting too far from their place, smoothing the workings of the worlds, and gradually releasing the Deep Secrets into common knowledge. One of Earth’s Magids passes away at the beginning of the story, and Rupert Venables, Earth’s newest Magid, must find a replacement. In the meantime, the Koryfonic Empire, a set of worlds to Ayewards and also Rupert’s responsibility, is rapidly going to hell in a handbasket, as the assassinated Emperor had very carefully and paranoidly hidden all of his heirs. Things come to a head at a science fiction convention to which Rupert has drawn his Magid candidates—resulting in glorious moments such as a centaur from the Koryfonic Empire being congratulated on his excellent costume by con members.

The book is told in multiple first person. Rupert begins the novel, of course, but we-the-readers get a big hint as to the next Magid when one of the candidates, Maree Mallory, gets her own narrative thread. The narrations are nicely balanced, clearly conveying the good and bad traits of the characters. Rupert, for instance, is something of a prat, and Maree is gloomy and defiantly odd—but they’re also strong, lively, and likeable people.

The book is also an affectionate look at cons, though I think some things must be features of British fandom (or else I’m going to a different sort of con). Though the oddities and occasional unpleasantness of fandom are present (I believe I was nearly trapped by Tansy-Ann Fisk’s cousin at Readercon, for instance), the book also captures the friendly, welcoming enthusiasm of fandom at its best. And, as a bonus, there’s a positively hysterical scene of Nick, Maree’s cousin, waking up, that I have heard is a lovingly-observed portrait of Neil Gaiman in the morning; it has to be read to be believed.

As this might suggest, the plot elements set in the con sometimes approach farce. The portions touching on the Koryfonic Empire and a trip into one of the Deep Secrets, however, have a distinctly more serious tone; the Deep Secret is a venture into the mythic that shouldn’t work when put with the con bits, but does somehow.

I really enjoy this book; it’s become one of my comfort books, in fact. So far I’m enjoying The Merlin Conspiracy as well, and we’ll see if it also attains the same status.

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Bryson, Bill: Short History of Nearly Everything, A

I read Bill Bryson’s A Short History of Nearly Everything at bedtime during the time when I was still trying to convince myself that I was going to re-read Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Like the rest of his books, it works very well for bedtime reading. Unlike the rest of his books, however, it’s neither about travel nor language. Instead, it’s an attempt to provide, well, a short history of nearly everything. Bryson says in the introduction,

 . . . So I grew up convinced that science was supremely dull, but suspecting that it needn’t be, and not really thinking about it at all if I could help it. This, too, became my position for a long time.

Then much later—about four or five years ago—I was on a long flight across the Pacific, staring idly out the window at moonlit ocean, when it occurred to me with a certain uncomfortable feeling that I didn’t know the first thing about the only planet I was ever going to live on. I had no idea, for example, why the oceans were salty but the Great Lakes weren’t. Didn’t have the faintest idea. I didn’t know if the oceans were growing more salty with time or less, and whether ocean salinity levels was something I should be concerned about or not. (I am very pleased to tell you that until the late 1970s scientists didn’t know the answers to these questions either. They just didn’t talk about it very audibly.)

And ocean salinity of course represented only the merest sliver of my ignorance. . . . I became gripped by a quiet, unwonted urge to know a little about these matters and to understand how people figured them out. That to me remained the greatest of all amazements—how scientists work things out. . . .

So I decided that I would devote a portion of my life—three years, as it now turns out—to reading books and journals and finding saintly, patient experts prepared to answer a lot of outstandingly dumb questions. The ideas was to see if it isn’t possible to understand and appreciate—marvel at, enjoy even—the wonder and accomplishments of science at a level that isn’t too technical or demanding, but isn’t entirely superficial either.

As you might guess from that introduction, the resulting book is a broad, layperson’s view of physics, astronomy, biology, geology, meteorology, chemistry, and probably a few I missed, told largely with a focus on the historical process of discovery.

There are two principal strengths of this book. The first is Bryson’s colorful descriptions of the people and events behind scientific progress. I must admit that I have a terrible memory for names, meaning that most of the anecdotes washed right over me, in one eye and out the other without sticking—but in an enjoyable manner, to be sure. However, one lesson did stick: no matter who gets credit for a discovery, someone else found it or thought of it first. Period. The passage Chad quotes at his booklog is just one good example of this apparently iron-clad rule.

The book also is also really good at sense-of-wonder, in the best SFnal sense. Bryson comes to science new, and he does an excellent job at conveying how cool all this is—on one hand, our knowledge of how things work, and the fact that they work at all, let alone work well enough that we can sit here and write and read books about it; and on the other, how much we still have left to learn.

There are a few mis-steps here and there; for instance, the book passes on the persistent “old glass flows” myth. But in the areas that I’m familiar with, the book generally seems to do a creditable job. And in the areas I wasn’t familiar with, there’s some really striking information; I found the section about Yellowstone particularly interesting. Anyway, I really enjoyed this book and recommend it.

(If you want more excerpts, part of the first chapter is at the New York Times’ website.)

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Rowling, J.K.: (05) Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

I said I was going to re-read Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, by (of course) J.K. Rowling, before reviewing it properly. And I was going to, honest. But it just sat there and I kept finding excuses to avoid it, and finally I had to admit that it wasn’t going to happen. (And then I got busy and took forever to finish this review. Does anyone really care, at this late date, what I thought of this book? I didn’t think so.)

I had a minor revelation as to why I was avoiding a re-read: Order of the Phoenix is the Teckla of the Harry Potter series.

I suppose I should explain for non-Brust readers. The Vlad Taltos series is told in First-Person Smartass; when the series opens in Jhereg, our narrator is an assassin-for-hire and minor Mafia boss. In Teckla, the third book in publication order, Vlad begins to have moral qualms about the assassin thing. Also, his marriage is falling apart in seriously messy fashion. And in reaction to all that, he is just so wrong, that it’s quite painful to read. However. It’s unquestionably a necessary book and an important turning point in the series. And the series, as a whole, rocks.

Order of the Phoenix is (hopefully) like that: painful but necessary. It’s not quite as painful as Teckla because it’s third person, not first, and further the third isn’t that tight. (This is something I’d noticed in prior books; I don’t get nearly as much sense of Harry’s personality from the narration as for Bujold’s characters, for instance. Chad’s suggested that this may be partly a genre thing, citing Will in Susan Cooper’s Dark Is Rising series as another example; I don’t know about that, but I offer it for your consideration.) However, our point-of-view character still spends most of the book mired in unhappiness and anger—and doing painfully stupid things as a result. Which makes it hard to read.

It’s also a remarkably claustrophobic book, considering its length. There are two distinct plot threads running through the book, one with Voldemort and one with the Ministry; these don’t really come together, but I think that’s acceptable as we’re in much more of a continuing story now, one that’s no longer confined to Hogwarts. However, because of the limitations of third-person POV and Harry’s own self-centeredness, we end up knowing very little about events outside Hogwarts once Harry gets to school. This claustrophobia also points out another way in which Harry is wrong: one of the strongest themes of the book is the consequences of insularity. In fact, from what we learn in this book, I think it’s reasonable to say that the overarching conflict in the series is tolerance and cooperation versus slavery and genocide. Worryingly, many of the secondary conflicts introduced in this book are not yet explicit, never mind resolved; Order of the Phoenix is a more complex book than it appears at first glance, but it also is leaving a lot for the last two books. (The fixed length and format of the series, but the complete lack of hints as to future plots, makes judging the pacing a tricky thing; it’s the old “well, looks like we’re ready for big things to really starting happening” problem. At least I’m confident that the number of books won’t increase, unlike some other Big Name Authors . . . )

I think the pacing of the book is generally better than Goblet of Fire, though I haven’t read that one recently. The pre-Hogwarts section of this one is, upon reflection, somewhat too long; there is a reason for it to be there, but I think it could have been shorter and still made the same point. Otherwise, though, we only see very little of the usual distraction of everyday Hogwarts life, which streamlines the plot but heightens the bleak atmosphere. A minor diversion is Harry’s relationship with Cho. Some people vehemently insist these few scenes are childish and unrealistic; this attitude frankly baffles me, as I thought they were absolutely spot-on depictions of adolescent awkwardness. Another subplot, involving Hagrid, I found considerably less successful, except perhaps on a thematic level (and even that I’m not sure of). As far as the main plots, they climax in a tense and furiously exciting few chapters that had me on the edge of my metaphorical seat. I was most impressed.

The ending (1) answers some questions while raising many others, and (2) makes me considerably worried for Harry. Another way this book is like Teckla is that it deliberately, systematically, and thoroughly knocks away the protagonist’s supports, leaving him bereft and isolated (and angry, don’t forget angry). The book also sets up new supports for Harry, particularly in its development of some secondary characters (go Neville! Ahem.), but it is an open question whether he will take them.

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix is hardly a perfect book, and considering that my one-word opinion was “bleak,” back in June when people were asking, I can’t exactly say I enjoyed it. But I have to admire the increasingly complex explorations of character, morality, and consequences, and I also have to admire Rowling for daring to take the series in this direction. And only a well-crafted book could have me so worried about the futures of its characters. I will be eagerly awaiting the next, however many years from now it comes out.

(If this sounds somewhat disjointed, it may be because I’m trying to talk around spoilers. If you want my spoiler thoughts, try my LiveJournal.)

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Brust, Steven: (203) The Paths of the Dead (re-read)

(These two entries are out of chronological order; I wanted to get them out in a timely fashion, so I will fill in other books as I get around to logging them.)

I re-read The Paths of the Dead, by Steven Brust (prior booklog entry), in preparation for reading the next book in the series, The Lord of Castle Black (see below). On a re-read, I find that it is still an immensely fun and smooth ride, and I’m more curious than ever if it would be a good place to start reading the Khaavren books for someone who’s only read the Vlad series to date. Anyone have empirical evidence to report on the last question?

I noted several other things about this book, but likely they are only of interest to someone who’s read it. Thus, I’ve posted them to rec.arts.sf.written (Google link) and spared you my blather here. It should be out in paperback now or very soon; go out and buy it now so that you can read The Lord of Castle Black when it comes out in a couple of weeks.

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Brust, Steven: (204) The Lord of Castle Black

Steven Brust’s The Lord of Castle Black is, I can now say, the second part of the longer work The Viscount of Adrilankha, rather than the second book in a trilogy. Why can I now say this? Because in the Preface, Paarfi (our historian narrator) informs us that “As for the entire question of splitting the book into several volumes, the author will not pretend to more knowledge than he has; if it is the custom of those who publish such works to make such mutilations, for whatever reason, then so be it. Nevertheless, it is a single work, and the suggestions that there may be some who possess only a part of it strikes the author as creating an intolerable situation for the reader.” (The reader, note.)

Paarfi, in his inimitable style, goes on to explain at length why he abhors the idea of writing a summary of the previous volume; however, since his publishers haven’t listened to him, well, here it is.

I’ve missed Paarfi.

I’ve also missed our friends, the protagonists of this series (I’ve spent enough time with them, over the four thick volumes to date, that I do think of them this way). When we left them at the end of Paths, Zerika had brought the Orb out of the Paths, but most of the characters were scattered. The titles of the two books comprising this volume summarize the general plot arc admirably: “In Which the Forces Are Brought Together That Lead Up to the Ninth (or Tenth) Battle of Dzur Mountain,” and “In Which the Ninth (or Tenth) Battle of Dzur Mountain Is Fought, With Some Discussion of Its Results.”

Battles of Dzur Mountain or no, the characters don’t get lost in the shuffle. As the title of this volume suggests, we see a considerable amount of Morrolan’s development in this volume, which seems largely consistent with what we know from the Vlad books (lest readers unfamiliar with the series think I’m accusing Brust of being prone to inconsistency—not in the least. It’s Paarfi (and Vlad, for that matter) whose accuracy is often open to question.). I shall particularly treasure the chapter where he goes to Dzur Mountain seeking tribute; that neither Morrolan nor Sethra would have told Paarfi the details of this, makes it no less amusing.

Speaking of titular characters, unexpected developments are afoot for Piro, the Viscount of Adrilankha, and his friends; I look forward to seeing how these play out in the final volume, Sethra Lavode (undergoing revisions as of July 17, 2003, according to the author’s no-permalinks web log). And there appear a number of characters from Khaavren books prior to Paths, or from the Vlad books, whose presences are certain to provoke much speculation. The four characters who began the series, Khaavren, Aerich, Tazendra, and Pel, are not neglected, as they all meet again for the first time in hundreds of years, with results that I shall leave it to you to read about. I must, however, note that I remain very fond of Tazendra and am always pleased when she gets a good moment; she has several in this volume.

[ Speaking of Khaavren, I am unable to resist quoting this bit of dialogue, which made me laugh out loud:

“They spoke of us.”

“Did they?” said Khaavren. “I am not startled. I ought to have noticed the back of my neck itching. My mother always said that if the back of your neck itches, someone is speaking ill of you.”

“Yes? I had not heard this. What if the back of your neck, rather than itching, hurts?”

“That means someone has stuck a knife into your neck.”

(I’ve elided the name of the second speaker; it’s probably not a spoiler, but I hesitated to say even as much about the plot as I have, so . . . ) ]

The story moves along smoothly, and even during the period where the forces are being brought together, it’s quite clear where everyone is and what everyone is doing; for someone as spatially disoriented as I, that’s saying something. And while we know that eventually the Empire is restored, we know so little else about Dragaeran history immediately after the Interregnum, that there’s plenty of suspense as to how we’re going to get there. There are hints dropped at the end of this volume that very different kinds of struggles may be at hand in volume three; I’m not sure what’s in store, but I’m very eager to find out.

One final note. The jacket copy (at Amazon) is so perfect that I must quote it:

Journeys! Intrigues! Sword fights! Young persons having adventures! Beloved older characters having adventures, too! Quests! Battles! Romance! Snappy dialogue! Extravagant food! And the missing heir to the Imperial Throne!

Yay, Brust.

The Lord of Castle Black will be published in August. Go buy it when it comes out.

[ Edited August 11, 2003, when published version arrived. ]

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White, James: (07-08) General Practice (omnibus of Code Blue—Emergency and The Genocidal Healer)

James White’s General Practice is a Sector General omnibus that collects the previous out-of-print Code Blue—Emergency and The Genocidal Healer. (Tor has now published the entire Sector General series: all the books after this omnibus were originally published by Tor, and all the books before are in the two prior collections, Beginning Operations and Alien Emergencies. They do good work.) To round off the one-word summaries, this is “benevolent”—no surprise, since that applies just as well to all the rest of the Sector General stories.

These are the first books to be told from the viewpoint of non-Earth-human characters. Indeed, they’re also the first books to not focus primarily or exclusively on Conway, who was made a Diagnostician at the end of the prior book. Code Blue—Emergency also features our first female protagonist, Cha Thrat, who goes to Sector General in part to escape institutional sexism on her home planet—only to run into Sector General’s unique institutional sexism regarding Educator tapes, an irony that appears to be lost on both the author and the male characters. (Not the least because it’s demonstrably wrong, though no-one seems to notice.)

The book does a better job than I expected of managing Cha Thrat’s point-of-view, avoiding blatant infodumping in her personal thoughts and letting her personality and cultural background unfold slowly. Like prior novels, it is structured in a somewhat episodic fashion; the overall arc is Cha Thrat exploring Sector General and finding her place. Satisfyingly done.

The Genocidal Healer is talky, philosophical, angsty, and possibly my favorite Sector General book. (I’d read it before, actually just before I started this log.) This is the story of Lioren, a Tarlan Surgeon-Captain who makes a terrible mistake out of ambition, pride, impatience, and arrogance, and opens the book demanding the death penalty for nearly wiping out an entire species. Instead, he’s sentenced to Sector General.

I think this is the first book where we’ve seen a serious mistake made—we’ve come close before, but out of well-intentioned inabilities to make Conway-sized deductive leaps. And much more than any prior book, this is about the internal journey of a character: Lioren is suffering under a crushing weight of guilt, and coming to terms with his actions takes a considerable amount of self-reflection and emotional growth. In another first for Sector General, this is also a very spiritual book (presented in a way that I, thoroughly secular creature though I am, did not find offensive). And there’s also a good medical puzzle to keep the suspense up.

Anyone who likes fabulous flights of imagination, thoroughly grounded in a respect for humanity in the broadest sense of the word, should really read the Sector General series. They are comfort books par excellence and I am greatly pleased to have finally read all of them.

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Wrede, Patricia C., and Caroline Stevermer: (01) Sorcery and Cecelia, or, the Enchanted Chocolate Pot

After The Gnome’s Engine came Sorcery and Cecelia, or, the Enchanted Chocolate Pot, by Patricia C. Wrede and Caroline Stevermer. This book was legendarily hard to find for quite a few years, and happily has now been reprinted in hardcover, with a sequel to come (details at a joint author webpage).

[ Interestingly, it’s been reprinted as a YA, right down to the listing of other books by the authors, which pointedly omits anything that wasn’t marketed as YA. Also, it’s got a new copyright date (2003), with a notice that it was originally printed in 1988 without the subtitle. I don’t see any differences in the text, so I’m a little baffled about giving it a new copyright date, but intellectual property law isn’t my field. ]

I’ve described this book before as “Freedom and Necessity without the Hegel.” I think that’s accurate if a touch flip, but I would be falling down on my book logging responsibilities if I left it at that.

First, this is an epistolary novel. Kate Talgarth has gone to London for the Season, and she corresponds with her cousin Cecelia Rushton, who is stuck at home in Essex. Second, it’s set in England in the 1800s, though about thirty years earlier than F&N; it’s also explicitly an alternate England, as the first letter makes clear; among Cecelia’s talk of parties and calling on the vicarage is this news:

Sir Hilary Bedrick has just been named to the Royal College of Wizards; the whole village is buzzing with the news. I suspect he was chosen because of that enormous library of musty old spellbooks at Bedrick Hall. He left yesterday for London, where he will be installed, but all of us expect great things when he returns. Except, of course, Aunt Elizabeth, who looks at me sideways and says darkly that magic is for heathens and cannibals, not for decent folk.

Yes indeed, we are in a Regency romance novel with magic (the same universe as Wrede’s Mairelon books). Kate goes to Sir Hilary’s investiture, goes through a little side door, and finds herself confronted with a perfectly horrible woman named Miranda, who thinks that Kate is actually someone named Thomas in disguise and tries to make her drink suspicious hot chocolate. Meanwhile, Cecy meets a new girl with an evil Stepmama who is, you guessed it, Miranda; and just what is Miranda’s relationship with Sir Hilary, anyway?

The plot of this is lovely and frothy, but it’s the narrators that really make it work. If The Gnome’s Engine was “genteel,” this is, quite simply, “charming.” For instance, Thomas seeks Kate out to thank her for springing Miranda’s trap. They naturally have further encounters, such as Thomas’s saving both her and, later, her cousin Oliver from being turned into trees:

“That’s part of the second reason I came here. You will agree you owe me some slight favor for rescuing you and your cod’s head of a cousin? I wish to make you an offer.”

I nodded as intelligently as I could and said, “Very well, I am very grateful to you for recovering dear, stupid Oliver. What sort of an offer?”

Thomas regarded me with an air of disbelief. “An offer of marriage, my dear half-wit. What other sort of offer did you expect?”

Cecy, I do think it is unfair. People in novels are fainting all the time, and I never can, no matter how badly I need to. Instead, I stared at him for what seemed like years, with the stupidest expression on my face, I’m sure, because I felt stupid. For I couldn’t imagine why he should say such an extraordinary thing. Finally I realized he was waiting for me to say something.

I said, “I can’t imagine why you should say such an extraordinary thing.”

Her cousin Cecelia is also excellent company, much inclined to saying things like “We simply must do something!” and then, well, doing it.

[ Aside: There is a conspicuous absence of parents in this, which I suppose is a point in favor of YA classification. Cecelia’s mother is dead, and she mentions her a few times; her father is immersed in his studies. Kate mentions her father just once, who appears to be dead; she doesn’t mention her mother at all that I can see. If I have the family tree right, Cecelia’s father had three sisters: Kate’s mother, Aunt Charlotte, and Aunt Elizabeth. What happened to Kate’s parents? ]

The only flaw in Sorcery and Cecelia is that I can’t re-read it too often. It’s quite short, and I’ve found if I try to read it too soon after the last time, everything’s too familiar and I can’t get into it. (Okay, another possible flaw: I’m not really clear how the Horrible Hollydean was involved.) It’s guaranteed to make me smile, which is why I’ve made the attempt. It’s amusing without being saccharine, light without being insubstantial, romantic without being sappy, and just plain fun. Highly recommended.

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