Author: katenepveu

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Egan, Doris: Complete Ivory, The (omnibus)

Doris Egan’s The Complete Ivory is an omnibus of three novels, The Gate of Ivory, Two-Bit Heroes, and Guilt-Edged Ivory. I’d read The Gate of Ivory on the plane coming back from New Year’s and liked it, but put off reading the rest because it was good travel reading, and I had a lot of that coming up.

The setup is that there are four planets in this sector (which was cut off from the rest of the galaxy some time before the story). On Ivory, and only on Ivory, magic works, for a few people. Our narrator, Theodora, was stranded there; she is telling fortunes in the marketplace to try and earn her passage back to her home planet, when Ran Cormallon shows up and offers her a job—telling real fortunes with a special deck of cards. Being Ivoran, Ran neglects to tell her a number of important details about the job, like what happened to his last card-reader . . .

The three books each tell a separate story, but together form a very loose arc showing the progress of Theodora & Ran’s relationship. I enjoyed these a lot; they’re one of the odd series that is science fiction but sometimes feels like fantasy, but the place that science and magic occupy in the complicated societies on Ivory has been worked out pretty carefully. The story moves along briskly, and I quite enjoy Theodora’s company.

[Theodora’s contraceptive implant has run out, and she’s just got her first menstrual period in years. While on a grueling hike with people much taller than she is.]

Why doesn’t anybody ever warn you about these things? I thought about all those marvelous stories I’d read back on Athena, the legends I’d fallen in love with—the heroes setting off to seek fortune and adventure. Knights and damosels rode forth to do battle at castles perilous, and the damosels never had this problem. And hobbits and tall elves strode swiftly over the earth, and the hobbits never had any trouble keeping up. Of course, hobbits were supposed to have great endurance.

If only I were a hobbit. A male hobbit.

I’d recommend these, particularly to Bujold readers, but more generally, to people who like their adventure with plenty of meat on the bones of the characters and the culture.

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Brust, Steven: (109) Issola

I’m not dead, I’m just . . . failing to rest, actually. Did I mention that exams suck? They suck enough that, after my second one, I really needed something with snappy dialogue to get me out of my funk. Put that way, the choice was easy: Steven Brust’s Issola.

I meant to re-read this slowly and savor the narration and dialogue, but the story sucked me right in, even though I know what happens. This is the second of the hard turns the Vlad Taltos series has taken (the first being Teckla), and so much interesting stuff is revealed, or hinted at, that one hardly knows where to start. The current medium makes it easier, though, as most of the really interesting stuff would be huge spoilers, which I try to avoid here; I’ll just sketch the opening hook.

Vlad Taltos, former assassin, witch, outcast, and king of First-Person Smartass Narration, is camping in the wilderness while on the run for his life; he is quite surprised to be woken in the middle of the night by—of all people—the exquisitely civilized and polite Lady Teldra, whose job, as far as we know at that point, is welcoming people to Morrolan e’Drien’s floating castle. Morrolan and Aliera e’Kieron have gone missing—which is a good trick for two highly skilled sorcerers in a land where sorcery is ubiquitous, not to mention for wielders of Great Weapons in a land where it’s moderately easy to get one’s hands on a weapon that will instantly suck out someone’s soul.

If you’ve read any of the Vlad books, that setup will (or did) have you drooling where you sit. If you haven’t, I hope you get a sense of why lots of people were bouncing in anticipation this summer—but I also hope you don’t run out and buy Issola, because it’s a rotten place to start the series. Run out and buy The Book of Jhereg instead; it’s an omnibus of the first three books in the series.

I enjoyed the heck out of this, and can’t wait to see where Brust goes with it. (I’ll have to, though, as he is currently working on the also-long-awaited Viscount of Adrilankha. Fine by me . . . ) There’s so much fun dialogue that it was hard to pick just one excerpt, but I really ought to be getting back to studying, so here’s an early passage. (The bits in italics are, of course, psionic communication between Vlad and his familiar, Loiosh.)

She [Teldra] laughed. You never know if an Issola is laughing to be polite. I resolved not to try to be funny around her.

“How long do you think that will last, Boss?“

We finished our coffee at about the same time and called for more, which was brought with a cheer and alacrity that showed the hostess had fallen under Teldra’s spell. No surprise there.

I said, “So Kiera told you how to find me, Sethra did the locating, and Morrolan let you go into his tower and use one of his Magical Mystical Powerful Transcendental Wizard windows to get here. What I’d like to know—”

“Not exactly,” said Teldra.

“Oh?”

“Morrolan didn’t exactly let me use his window.”

“Go on.”

“Morrolan . . . that is, I didn’t ask him.”

“You didn’t ask him.”

“I couldn’t. I didn’t—that is, I don’t know where he is.”

“I see. I begin to see. I think I begin to see.”

“Perhaps I should begin at the beginning.”

“Arbitrary. But still, not a bad choice.”

“Almost a minute, Boss. Good work.“

“Shut up, Loiosh.“

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Peters, Ellis: (04) St. Peter’s Fair

Ellis Peters’s fourth Brother Cadfael book, St. Peter’s Fair, goes back to the intrigues surrounding the 12th-century civil war between Empress Maud and King Stephen. I wonder if this is setting a pattern, with the even-numbered books being war-related? It’s a historical episode I know nothing about, though I have checked who ended up winning (basically, Maud’s son Henry II, if you’re curious).

The cover copy of the original U.S. hardcover calls this a “Medieval Novel of Suspense,” while the original paperbacks appear to label the series “Medieval Murder Mysteries.” (The most recent U.S. paperbacks appear to call them just “Chronicles of Brother Cadfael.”) I think the hardcovers are more accurate; the mystery component of these varies, at least in the puzzle-like, Agatha Christie or Sherlock Holmes sense that is my core association with “mystery novel.” In this one, the plot and the mystery unfold at about the same speed, and the climax is a, yes, suspenseful confrontation between the villain and an intended victim, not the revelation of whodunnit. That’s fine with me; it’s perfectly entertaining reading either way.

(While these are rapidly turning into popcorn books for me, I should really pace myself a bit more; there are a few things that might become irritating, taken in big lumps. After the first few pages, I can adjust to Peters’ writing style—she apparently thought a comma could and should do everything a semicolon does (is this a British thing?), but there are some hints of unpleasant class-based stuff that might not just be the 12th-century characters talking. I’m not sure, but if I spread those hints out, maybe they won’t ruin my enjoyment of the series. Interestingly, the religious component isn’t bothering me at all; it’s in the background, and while Cadfael certainly believes, I don’t feel that the books are trying to shove that belief down my throat as TRVTH. I do wonder if we’re ever going to see Cadfael actually make a mistake, though.)

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Peters, Ellis: (03) Monk’s Hood

Another nice lesuirely Ellis Peters mystery, Monk’s Hood, the third Brother Cadfael novel. The civil war has moved away from Shrewsbury, and during the year-end business, a guest of the abbey is poisoned with one of Cadfael’s potions. We get to see some people from Cadfael’s past during this one, and life in the monastery undergoes some changes, and I figured out who did it pretty early on, but I can’t say I was terribly bothered by that. I do envy Cadfael his serene Christmas, though.

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[2001] Yearly roundup

As it was an odd damn holiday, it was an odd damn year, too. However, I shall refrain from summing up anything other than this book log, since you can find dozens of such stories elsewhere. On the numbers front, a quick count shows seventy-six different things read listed in the index since the beginning of August; some of these are short stories or skimmed books, but other are multi-novel omnibuses, so take that as you will. (I take it as, “Geez, that is a lot.”) It turns out there are only ten books on both Chad’s book log and mine (eleven things, counting the Fellowship movie); I thought it would be more, probably because many of them are ones the other has read, just not within the relevant time frame. (However, my living quarters are much less cluttered than Chad’s, since I get a lot of things out of the library.)

A lot of my favorite authors haven’t been mentioned yet; I think the book log has been motivating me to re-read less, so people like Bujold and Brust, who put out books just before I started this, haven’t turned up yet. (It’s traditional for me to re-read Bujold during finals, when I’m particularly stressed, though, so just wait.) Overall, keeping this has been a good idea; it’s forced me out of my previous bad habit of finishing some books without really forming any impression of them, or thinking much about them. The time I spend on it varies, depending on how much I have to say about the book in question, but it’s not more burdensome than Usenet (well, perhaps a little more so, because I do tend to pay slightly more attention to my writing here). If any of my five readers have been contemplating keeping a book log of their own, I recommend it.

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Tolkien, J.R.R.: (01) The Fellowship of the Ring (re-watch of movie)

After the King has recently been re-released as a trade paperback, which is unsurprising because it’s an anthology of stories “in honor of J.R.R. Tolkien,” and everything Tolkien is being re-released because of the movie. I did manage to see Fellowship for the second time over vacation; I got even more out of this viewing, but not all of it good. I continued to appreciate the quality of the acting, the evident care that had gone into everything, and the references to the books (“A shortcut to what?” “Mushrooms!”); the second viewing allowed me to notice more of the details that underlie these virtues of the film (and see the scene that I’d missed when I ran to the bathroom the first time).

But while I still enjoyed it greatly, a few things bothered me more. One of them, Gandalf & Saruman’s confrontation, seemed basically a one-shot deal, and so may not affect the next installments. But, upon reflection, my dissatisfaction with Galadriel’s portrayal (which bothered me right away) extends to all of Lothlorien’s treatment. I think something subtle but important is lost by the movie’s change in tone—though I’m not sure how much this will affect whatever parts of the story that make it into the second and third movies. At any rate, I still loved the movie, am deeply impressed and relieved at the quality of the adaptation, and can’t wait to see the next one (and the one after that); but now that I’ve got a little objectivity back, it’s not quite as fabulous as I’d thought, is all.

(Oh, and I nearly forgot: did I really say that the Harry Potter movie turned Dumbledore into a Gandalf clone by sucking all the whimsy out of the role? Shame on me. Gandalf, as Ian McKellen’s brilliant performance reminded me, has more whimsy—and sense, and power, and strength—in his big toe than Dumbledore has in his whole body.)

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Greenberg, Martin (ed.): After the King

After finishing The Last Hero, I picked up After the King, edited by Martin Greenberg; it has a Pratchett short story, “Troll Bridge,” that also features Cohen the Barbarian, though it’s not clear to me if it’s supposed to be canonical Discworld. It’s a great story and works with some themes similar to The Last Hero‘s.

Since After the King has some other very fine stories, and since anthologies are good for short-attention-span environments like hospital and airport waiting rooms (to pick two examples completely not at random), I ended up reading most of the rest of it over vacation. (There are a few stories that I have no interest in reading, and accordingly have never read; I don’t really know why.) Far and away my favorite is Emma Bull’s “Silver or Gold,” a beautiful and wise fairy tale that’s possibly the best thing Bull’s published to date (high praise; she’s one of my favorite writers). My second favorite is Patricia McKillip’s “The Fellowship of the Dragon,” which makes me wonder if I’m not best off reading her in short story form; the only novel of hers I’ve liked so far is The Forgotten Beasts of Eld (which I loved), but I thought “The Lion and the Lark” was great (published in The Armless Maiden and The Year’s Best Fantasy and Horror, Ninth Edition). Other stories I particuarly enjoyed were Peter Beagle’s “The Naga,” Jane Yolen’s “Winter’s King,” and Mike Resnick’s “Revolt of the Sugar Plum Fairies.”

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Pratchett, Terry: (27) The Last Hero

What an odd damn holiday. It was the sort of thing the phrase “mixed bag” was invented to describe, or to put it another way, it was rather like the little girl: when it was good, it was very good, but when it was bad, it was awful. Which, for these purposes, boils down to: I didn’t have much time to read. (I also didn’t have net access, so this is going to be a long entry [ed.: split up for import into MT].)

I did read one of my Christmas presents, Terry Pratchett’s The Last Hero, beautifully and richly illustrated by Paul Kidby (not to be confused with Josh Kirby, the recently-deceased artist who did many of the UK Discworld covers). This is a much better story than the other recent Discworld book, The Amazing Maurice and his Educated Rodents, though I don’t think it’s because this one actually is about the end of the world (again). This time, the end is nigh because Cohen the Barbarian and the Silver Horde (a handful of very old, and therefore very skilled, heroes, last seen conquering the Agatean Empire), have decided that it’s time to return fire to the gods—with interest.

A mix of familiar characters from Ankh-Morpork are drafted to stop him, leading to such conversations as this one:

‘What is that on your badge, Captain Carrot?’

‘Mission motto, sir,’ said Carrot cheerfully. ‘Morituri Nolumus Mori. Rincewind suggested it.’

‘I imagine he did,’ said Lord Vetinari, observing the wizard coldly. ‘And would you care to give us a colloquial translation, Mr Rincewind?’

‘Err . . . ‘ Rincewind hestitated, but there really was no escape. ‘Er . . . roughly speaking, it means, “We who are about to die don’t want to,” sir.’

There are moving bits among the silliness, and a nice clean plot, too. The book is fairly short—160 lavishly-illustrated, coffee-table-sized pages—but just the right length for the story. What’s more, the detailed illustrations add another layer, one that could not adquately be conveyed by text alone; just the picture of Death with the kitten (link to postcard page [*]) is priceless, but the painting of the swamp dragons and the excerpts from Leonard’s notebooks are great, too (“Clothing of the Empty Void: Mk 1.0 Rincewind. Converted pearl Diving Helmet with Simple Pressure Gauge (if eyeholes turn red, head has exploded).”). This is great stuff, though probably not for those new to Discworld. (Try Small Gods for that.)

[*] If you go to “Originals,” you can see a few more pictures from the book. I didn’t link straight to that page because it, like much of the rest of the site, has annoying and unnecessary Java applets. (And I won’t link to the site’s front page because the navigation options from that end are truly terrible.)

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Westlake, Donald E.: (10) Bad News

One of the best ways to unwind is with one of Donald E. Westlake’s Dortmunder books. I finished a nice leisurely re-read of Bad News a few days ago, but haven’t had time to update this since.

I don’t have much to add to what Chad said about it, so I’ll just leave you with part of one of my favorite scenes from the book. It’s Thanksgiving dinner, and the gang is trying to figure out what scam they’ve stumbled into.

Dortmunder said to J.C., “I don’t think we got enough information yet.” To Kelp, he said, “There’s another partner, right?”

“That’s what he says,” Kelp said, and to Anne Marie, he said, “This stuff is really great, hon, we oughta eat like this every night.”

“We do, Andy,” Anne Marie said.

J.C. said, “So maybe the other partner is what’ll tell you.”

Dortmunder said to Anne Marie, “Great gravy, really great gravy, goes with the turkey like they were meant for each other.” Then he said to J.C., “We’ll find out tomorrow morning at eleven o’clock.”

“Speaking of which,” Tiny said, “that’s a very tight schedule, Kelp.”

“I didn’t want to give them a chance to booby-trap us.”

“Tight for us.”

Dortmunder said, “No, I think Andy’s right. We’re not trying to blow them up, just talk to them. Doesn’t take that much preparation.”

“Maybe,” Tiny said, and patted Anne Marie, to his right, on the arm—she flinched—and said, “This is a great meal, Anne Marie. Every bit of it. I’m gonna be around for seconds.”

“Good,” Anne Marie said, smiling at him and favoring her other arm.

Kelp said, “It would be nice if we had a car with a remote control. And a bomb, you know? Send it out there, see what happens. If nothing happens, then we go out there with the other car.”

J.C. said, “You’re going to have to give me the recipe for these creamed onions, Anne Marie. Isn’t she, Tiny?”

“Yes,” Tiny said, and turned to Kelp to say, “Hand grenade and duct tape.”

Kelp looked at him. “You’d be willing to do that?”

“I done it before,” Tiny said. “It always makes people switch over to Plan B, every time.”

“Okay, good,” Kelp said. “You got the grenade?”

“I know where to get it.”

Dortmunder said, “I think I should find us some guns, too.”

“Okay,” Kelp said. “And in the morning, I’ll go steal us a car.”

“You know,” Anne Marie said, “Thanksgiving dinner conversation in Lancaster, Kansas, wasn’t at all like this.” And she smiled happily around at her guests.

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Tolkien, J.R.R.: (01) The Fellowship of the Ring (movie)

In some ways, this is an anti-book log entry, because I deliberately did not re-read The Fellowship of the Ring before going to see the movie. I wanted to be able to see the movie on its own terms, at least as much as I could given its nature as an adaptation. I think this was the right decision; I knew in a general way what the sequence of events was, but since the book’s precise chronology wasn’t fresh in my mind, the narrative tension seemed to be enhanced. And while I couldn’t, and can’t, help but to compare the two, I didn’t realize that a lot of things were done differently until after the movie was over; much less distracting.

I loved the movie; I was bouncing up and down with joy for hours afterwards, and wanted to see the next two immediately—never mind this post-production stuff, just give me the raw footage. (I intend to see it again, and very soon; I think that I’ll be able to enjoy it on its own terms even more now that the questions of what’s been changed, how are the actors, etc., have been answered. Besides, I’m told I missed a few details—and it’s just so much fun.) I think, too, that it’s as good an adaptation of the book (ah, now we get into the book, justifying this entry into the book log) as one could have hoped for.

First, the actors are all excellent. Elijah Wood, Ian McKellen, and Viggo Mortensen are particularly wonderful realizations of the characters, but really, just about everybody fits beautifully. (The main exception, for me, was Liv Tyler as Arwen, but that may be because she was only on screen briefly, too briefly for me to sink into the character. Given my fears about Arwen Warrior Princess, I was pleased to not actually hate her, though, so overall I’m neutral on that.) Second, the look of the film is just astounding; the landscapes and buildings and scenery are all just as I’d imagined, or better (as I’m not so good on imagining landscapes). Third, much of the dialogue is lifted whole from the book and rendered wonderfully.

More generally, and perhaps more importantly, the good parts of the the movie enhance my vision of the book, both the parts I loved and even some of the things in the book that I liked less—presenting them in a way that turns them into assets (and perhaps even making them more akin to what Tolkien intended, but that class and time and nationality and gender got between his intention and my reading). The movie streamlines the oddly-paced opening; presents Sam in a much less annoying fashion, and integrates the hobbits’ comic relief extremely smoothly and deftly; deepens some of the characterizations with a few small additions and the great work of the actors; and modifies the breaking of the Fellowship just enough to give a different, and to me slightly more plausible, reading of some of the characters’ motivations. (I regret that the Council of Elrond had to be changed, as it’s one of my favorite parts of the book, but I can understand that it wouldn’t translate well onto the screen.)

Of the bits of the movie that I didn’t like—which are very few—they won’t ruin the book for me, as they were overly-literal renderings of a couple of scenes that I will simply continue to use my own imagination for when I next re-read. Another may be cast in a slightly different light by subsequent installments, so I shall defer judgment. The movie is, manifestly, not the book; but it is a wonderful complement to the book, and as good I as ever hoped.

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