2025/064: The Incandescent — Emily Tesh

Demons were attracted to complexity and personhood. Laypeople assumed that this meant every magicians was on the brink of getting possessed all the tie, but really demons entering the mundane plane moved into complex and person-shaped spaces, like hermit crabs moving into shells. If you were unlucky enough to meet a magician with a demon looking out from behind their eyes, you could usually assume they'd invited it in. [loc. 225]

There are some books I read, and think about, and then review. There are others that I read, and think about, and then succumb to a reread before I review. The Incandescent is in the latter category, and I enjoyed it differently but just as much the second time through.

This is a dark academia novel, in the sense that it's set at a school for magic: but our protagonist is not a student, but Dr Walden (Saffy to her friends), 38 years old, Director of Magic at Chetwood School. Her career is her life, and she's constantly busy: teaching (the four students in her Upper Sixth Invocation group are important characters); negotiating with the demon in the staff room photocopier ('No representation without exsanguination!'); dealing with the Marshals, who police the school for stray demons; implementing a strict Personal Electronics Policy; filling out risk assessments for practical classes... 

Dr Walden is an alumna of the school herself, though she doesn't like to talk about the events of her final year: she is also a powerful magician. Everything goes pear-shaped when Nikki, one of her best students, summons something out of her league: and suddenly Dr Walden is fighting for her life, revisiting the catastrophe that happened when she was the star of the Upper Sixth, and revealing a dangerous secret to the abrasive (but attractive) Marshal Laura Kenning. 

The novel's plot is demon-heavy: none of your potions, herbalism et cetera, just invocation (demons), evocation (spells) and instantiation (alchemy). But the demons are as much characters as the humans, and more likeable than some. The school is vividly described (Tesh was a teacher, though possibly did not have to deal with a demonically-possessed photocopier) and the secondary characters -- from Walden's rather judgmental perspective -- well-observed. The magical system makes sense (though there was one element where I wondered how a magical oath might manifest; surely more efficiently than that?) and there's a strong sense of how this magical school fits into the real world: newsletters, legal responsibility and so on. 

But what I liked most was the journey from 'Dr Walden' (superiority complex, arrogance, cosplaying her grandmother, dry humour) to Saffy. I also liked the distinction between her two major adult relationships -- with Laura, and with Mark, a security advisor -- and how differently she thinks and feels about them. I loved the Phoenix, too, though I should not.

There's a point in the last third of the novel where everything changes, and it is truly shocking. Even on first read, I had to go back and reread a few pages to check whether what I thought had happened was what was on the page. It was. Splendidly done! The ending felt a little anticlimactic (but that's resolution for you) and there were a few loose strands that didn't seem resolved. (One character's employment, or rather who they're working for; another character being accepted in a new role...) But overall, an extremely enjoyable read with a relatable protagonist, a twisty plot and plenty of emotion.

Thanks to the publisher and Netgalley for the advance review copy, in exchange for this full honest review. UK Publication Date is 13th May 2025.

2025/063: The Tainted Cup — Robert Jackson Bennett

That’s the problem with the damned Empire these days . . . All these complacent bastards think the only thing that matters is which tiny beast is dancing in your blood, altering your brain, making you see and feel and think differently. The person an enhancement is paired with is just as important as what enhancement they get. And we get some say in what kind of person we are. We do not pop out of a mold. We change. We self-assemble. [p. 65]

I read and enthused about Robert Jackson Bennett's 'Divine Cities' trilogy, beginning with City of Stairs, though was a little disappointed by the trilogy's conclusion: that might be why I skipped the Founders trilogy (though I note I own the first volume). The Tainted Cup -- the first in yet another trilogy a new series (source), 'Shadows of the Leviathan' -- has been shortlisted for the Hugo Award for Best Novel of 2024, and was on offer, so I thought I'd give it a try.

In the Empire of Khanum, augmentations (temporary grafts, long-lasting suffusions) are used to shape living beings -- plants, animals and humans -- to imperial needs. Chief amongst those needs is the annual wet season, with its incursions of leviathans from the eastern ocean. The leviathans can be detected days or weeks before their arrival by the seaquakes which signal their movement out of the depths towards the continent. They are mountain-sized, unique, devastating. Walls are built to keep them out, and the Legion attempts to distract them with gunnery. (But every augmentation is sourced from the blood and bone of leviathans...)

The story opens with a death: or, rather, with the arrival of Dinias Kol, youthful apprentice to Iudex investigator Anagosa Dolabra, at the house where the death has occurred. An Imperial engineer has died in a peculiarly horrible fashion, burst apart by the explosive growth of vegetable matter from within his body. The household staff are not especially helpful, but Din, augmented to have perfect recall of every experience, returns to his master and recounts what he's seen and heard. Ana Dolabra -- eccentric, neurodivergent, constantly blindfolded ('best to keep the senses limited... too much stimulation drives a person mad') but able to read print with her fingertips -- deduces that the engineer was murdered, and that he may not be the only victim.

Din has some neurodivergence of his own (he's dyslexic, though has developed workarounds in order to keep this secret) but he can't comprehend Ana's leaps of intuition, or her rather brutal sense of humour. And this is their first murder case: until now, they've worked only on cases of pay fraud. Still, his stubborn determination pairs well with Ana's intense focus and gift for pattern recognition, and he discovers more about his own unique set of skills as well as learning to appreciate hers.

It's a pretty good murder mystery, obfucscated by the sheer biopunk weirdness of the setting: but what I liked most was the characterisation of the protagonists. Din's first-person narrative (like Doctor Watson's) gives us the chance to see Ana's brilliantly non-linear deductive process. I am looking forward to reading the second in the series (out now...).

A final thought: this is very much a society which thinks all the danger comes from outside, and has built up a framework to deal with an external threat while ignoring internal matters. This, from the author's afterword:

Regulations have their uses, but we cannot allow them to form the jar that will eventually be used to trap us and pickle us in our own brine. I wanted to write about civil servants and bold builders for that exact purpose. Keep up the fight! [p. 410]

2025/062: The Road to Roswell — Connie Willis

“Are you sure this here’s a good idea?” Joseph whispered to Francie. “In every dang Western I ever seen, people who pretend to get married end up really gettin’ hitched by the last reel.” [loc. 4613]

Tropetastic romantic comedy set in, and near, Roswell during a UFO festival. Francie is in Roswell to attempt to prevent her friend Serena marrying a UFO hunter, one of a series of unsuitable swains. She is abducted by ... well, by an alien, who she genders as male and soon nicknames Indy (for 'his' prowess with tentacles, reminiscent of Dr Jones' whip). They pick up a hitchhiker named Wade; then another UFO nut, a retiree who's a fan of Westerns, and an old lady who likes playing cards. Each, of course, has something to add to the plot, which mostly consists of driving around New Mexico and Nevada, learning to communicate with Indy, helping Indy search for a mysterious 'tsinibitai', and evading the FBI. Oh, and preventing an alien invasion.

I've enjoyed several of Willis's romcoms (though not in the last, er, twenty years, according to my blog) but this one felt rather shallow and even more improbable than my plot summary might suggest. Francie's fun, but superficial; Wade is obviously hiding something (which Francie never seems to consider is a possibility) and so is the elderly Western fan. And the elderly card-player. There is a romance which, despite apparently popping out of nowhere, was the obvious 'happy ending'. There are aliens, of varying types (but apparently at risk from rattlesnakes, despite biology). And somewhere under the romcom there's an interesting story about Monument Valley and aliens and language. Unfortunately, it's very well concealed.

I ended up returning this novel because of the plethora of unnecessary hyphenations -- 15 in the first chapter or so, including defi-nitely, uni-forms, be-cause, her-self... Publisher, do better! Author, please return to form!

2025/061: Checking Out — Meryem El Mehdati (translated by Julia Sanches)

I find it harder and harder to put my finger on what exactly incenses me: whether it’s the knowledge that no matter how long I live in this place, some people will never believe I’m from here, or the fact that I am not and never will be from there. [loc. 236]

This caught my eye because I'm familiar with the big Canarian supermarket chain HiperDino -- who are, I'm sure, nothing like Supersaurio, the big Canarian supermarket chain for which Meryem, the narrator of Checking Out, works. The daughter of Moroccan immigrants, she's started as an intern: as the novel opens, she's working in Compliance and wondering if her boss Yolanda actually wants to send her home in tears three days a week. She no longer has time to write fanfic, or read, or do much except survive the commute and daydream about people spelling her name correctly.

This is an excellent novel about gradually selling out and becoming a cog in the corporate machine; about the exhaustion that comes from constantly having to push back against sexism, racism, and classism; about being an outsider; about Canarian life. The translation seems smooth (I had to look up a few colloquialisms, but I'm glad they were left untranslated) and I found Meryem extremely relatable. (Especially the line 'I’ve learned that growing up is about pretending, day after day, hour after hour, that you don’t want to just go home and be on your own.' [loc. 1910].)

Things I learnt from this novel:

• guiri - 'a colloquial Spanish word often used in Spain to refer to uncouth foreign tourists'
• Harrylatino, a Spanish Harry Potter fanfic site
• 'It’s impossible to live in the Canary Islands and not feel like you’re in a developing nation instead of Europe. I mean, come on, H&M doesn’t even deliver here.'

And I have a better sense of what it's like to grow up in relative poverty in a major tourist resort. 

Thanks also to anyone who’s ever made fun of fanfiction. I’ve got a book. I don’t know about you. [afterword]

Thanks to the publisher and Netgalley for the advance review copy, in exchange for this full honest review. UK Publication Date is 8th May 2025.

2025/060: The Vengeance — Emma Newman

“Alas, mademoiselle, there are some problems that cannot be solved with violence.”
“Nah.” Morgane sheathed the knife. “Any problem involving a man can always be solved with violence. Violence or gold, to be fair.” [loc. 2374]

Morgane has grown up crewing on a 17th-century pirate ship, the Vengeance. It's a marvellous life and the ship's captain, Anna-Marie -- Morgane's mother -- is notorious for daring raids, especially on the ships of the Four Chains Trading Company. She's also famous for being the first captain to put in the Articles that women can be crew, with equal shares. And she's brought Morgane up to fight, to be brave, and to eschew shore life.

But Anna-Marie is killed, and Morgane heads for distant France (which she believes is an island) to track down her family and the Comte who ruined them. Of course, it is not that simple: Morgane is confronted with con-men, feral wolves and, worst of all, courtly etiquette. Only with the help of the sensible Lisette, initially engaged as her governess, does Morgane begin to solve the mystery of her birth and of the reasons her mother is called a monster.

Despite the piratical elements (left behind when Morgane set out for France), the cross-dressing (Morgane, of course, disguises herself as Lisette's brother) and the queer relationship (which seemed to come out of nowhere), I didn't engage with this novel. Most of the characters seemed shallow and one-note, and had a terrible habit of dying violent deaths just as they were about to reveal the Shocking Truth. Morgane did not show much in the way of common sense: yes, France is very different from Port Royal, but surely by observing the behaviour of others, and listening to those who are more familiar with the local customs, she might have avoided some of those inconvenient deaths? 

And the grammar is shaky: far too many paragraphs where the third-person pronoun is used for two different people. ('Anger at what she’d been told and anger that she’d been killed'; 'She was petite, looked to be about the same age as her'; 'So she had been duped, just as much as she had?'). Also, though Morgane's dialogue is not too horribly anachronistic, some of the surrounding prose really jolted me out of the historical period. 'She was given the chance to speak but shook her head, feeling like she’d forgotten how to do that. What even were words?' What, indeed...

If I had seen the cover properly, or even the series title, I would probably not have read this novel: it is the first in the '--- of Dumas' series, which is a massive spoiler considering that the presence of --- is only revealed very late (and rather abruptly) in the novel.

Thanks to the publisher and Netgalley for the advance review copy, in exchange for this full honest review. UK Publication Date is 6th May 2025.

2025/059: Agent Sonya: Mother, Lover, Soldier, Spy — Ben MacIntyre

Mrs Burton of Avenue Cottage drank tea with the neighbours, joined in their complaints about the shortages and agreed that the war must soon be over. ... Colonel Kuczynski of the Red Army, meanwhile, was running the largest network of spies in Britain: her sex, motherhood, pregnancy and apparently humdrum domestic life together formed the perfect camouflage. Men simply did not believe a housewife making breakfast from powdered egg, packing her children off to school and then cycling into the countryside could possibly be capable of important espionage. [loc. 4269]

Another of MacIntyre's entertaining biographies of 20th century spies, this is the story of Ursula Kuczynski, a German Jew and communist who spied for the Soviet Union before and during WW2, and was instrumental in the USSR's acquisition of 'the science of atomic weaponry'. Hers was a fascinating life: China in the 1930s, then Poland, Switzerland, and finally England. She was married twice, had three children by three different men, and was never exposed as a spy. In 1950, on the day before the trial of Klaus Fuchs (one of her major contacts), she returned to Berlin, where she began a second successful career as ... children's author Ruth Werner, who (writes MacIntyre) 'has been described, with only slight exaggeration, as East Germany’s Enid Blyton' [loc. 5535].

Why wasn't she exposed? Perhaps because she looked like a respectable housewife: perhaps because Roger Hollis, MI5, was 'either a traitor or a fool'. MacIntyre holds the latter view, describing him as 'a plodding, slightly droopy bureaucrat with the imaginative flair of an omelette' [loc. 4360] and 'really quite thick'. The only person who might have recognised 'Mrs Burton' for the spy she was seems to have been Milicent Bagot, apparently the inspiration for Le Carre's Connie Sachs. She campaigned to keep Ursula's brother interned, and was immensely suspicious of Ursula's husband Len. But Hollis saw only a housewife, devoted to her children.

MacIntyre manages to strike a balance between admiration for his subject's backbone, steely nerve and commitment to a cause, and the consequences of her actions. Her first husband was imprisoned in a Soviet gulag for years; her lover Richard Sorge was hanged by the Japanese; her children (especially her son Michael) were scarred and traumatised; and her work was pivotal in starting the Cold War. An astonishing woman, and a well-paced and thoroughly referenced biography.

2025/058: The Mask of Apollo — Mary Renault

... a show put up by some Etruscans from up north. ... their faces were quite bare; they were using them to act with. It is hard to describe how this display affected me. Some barbarian peoples are ashamed to show their bodies, while civilised men take pride in making theirs fit to be seen. But to strip one’s own face to the crowd, as if it were all happening to oneself instead of to Oedipus or Priam; one would need a front of brass to bear it. [loc. 1579]

I believe this is technically a reread: I certainly owned a copy of this novel in my early teens. But nothing felt at all familiar, and it's possible I found it too difficult back then.

The narrator is Nikeratos (Niko), an Athenian actor, and the time is around 350BCE. Niko is noticed by Dion, advisor to the tyrant Dionysios I of Syracuse. ('Tyrant' in the original sense: a ruler who holds power without any constitutional right.) After Dionysios' death, Niko becomes a witness to Dion and Plato's efforts to mould the dead king's son, Dionysios II, into the platonic ideal of a ruler. It does not end well.

I found the political plot less engaging than the theatrical scenes. Niko has an antique mask of Apollo, made of olive wood, which seems to speak to him and guide him. He is a successful actor (and sometimes also a courier for Dion and his allies): passionate about his craft, appalled by Plato's ideas about reforming the theatre ('the parts of base, or passionate, or unstable men should be related in narration' [loc. 2547]), and dedicated to Apollo, whose mask he wears and whose role he plays at three key moments in the novel. One is during the (or 'a') sack of Syracuse, which Renault describes with understated horror: 'It took them a good while to go through the temple. After a time, we heard the wails of the women left alive, being dragged off to Ortygia. The child screamed on one note until, I suppose, it died.' [loc. 4584] In that scene, Niko uses the theatre's special effects -- a sounding-board with particular qualities, the thunder machine -- to strike the fear of Apollo into the invaders.

Many of the plays Niko performs in, or mentions, have been lost to us. I was especially struck by the use of Aeschylus' The Myrmidons as a cultural marker: "Lovers meet at it, as if it were a shrine like that tomb in Thebes," muses Niko, realising that Dion and Plato had been lovers. Renault slyly slips in a reference to Hamlet: 'I dreamed I was beside some tomb or grave, holding a skull in my hand. It was clean, and I knew this was a play. Some flashes still come back to me; I was the son of a murdered king whose shade had cried me to avenge him...' [loc. 2146].

And the final page has Niko reflecting on how 'All tragedies deal with fated meetings; how else could there be a play? ... No one will ever make a tragedy – and that is as well, for one could not bear it – whose grief is that the principals never met." Renault has written that tragedy, and made it clear that Plato was wasted on Dionysios II, and Aristotle inadequate for the young Alexander (whom Niko meets). Someday soon I'll need to (re?)read the Alexander trilogy...

Renault's afterword, which sets out her sources and provides some context for the lost plays she mentions, also includes this comment: "No true parallel exists between this passage in Syracusan history and the affairs of any present-day state. Christianity and Islam have changed irrevocably the moral reflexes of the world." And yet it's easy to see partial parallels, of corruption and nepotism, fascism and oligarchy, dictatorship and tyranny.

2025/057: The Gentleman and his Vowsmith — Rebecca Ide

What is unethical is ... a society where we’ve turned magic into a cage and love into an impossibility, such that murder is an easier resort than words... [loc. 4733]

A delightfully Gothic country house murder mystery set in a Regency-flavoured queer-normative England, with magic, automata, dark family secrets and a legal mechanism for severing one's family ties and owning oneself. 

Nicholas Monterris, our viewpoint character, is 'gay as a spoon' [do not expect historically-accurate slang here] and has seldom left the draughty and probably-haunted decay of Monterris Court. He's aghast to discover that his father, the Duke of Vale, has arranged a marriage between Nic and Lady Leaf Serral, daughter of a wealthy family. Worse, the bride-to-be and her family have descended on Monterris Court, where all those in possession of Brilliance (magical ability) will be locked in while the marriage contract is vowsmithed. And worst of all, the master vowsmith engaged to make sure that contract is watertight and magically binding is Nic's ex -- Dashiell sa Vare, who left abruptly and without explanation nine years ago.

Monterris Court has all the trappings of a Gothic mansion: Nic's mother, gently mad and reclusive; the mysterious fate of Nic's uncle Francis; a grotto full of automaton parts, and the sigil tape on which automaton-instructions are magically encoded; secret passages, rumours of ghosts, crumbling stonework and moss and mould. Leaf, who is an avid reader of murder mysteries, wants to start a school for young women, and does not want to marry (or have sexual relations with) anybody, is a breath of fresh air for Nic. And soon enough there's a murder to solve... and then another... 

Meanwhile, Dash and Nic warily circle one another, failing to communicate. (Indeed, Dash's version of 'closure' seems to be anything but.) Who's the murderer? What really happened to Lord Francis? Why did the Duke not marry the man he loved? What is the Duchess writing so obsessively? And why is it so vital that Nic and Leaf's marriage be accomplished as soon as possible?

Despite the presence of books by Mrs Radcliffe and Laurence Sterne, it's not 'the Regency' -- for one thing, there's a king -- and the history of this alternate Britain is only lightly sketched. The magic seems to be syllabic, and can produce startlingly vivid effects. Nic, though immensely talented as a magic-user, has seldom left Monterris Court: instead, he's devoted his time to making mechanical frogs, and to reading. Leaf quickly becomes a friend (a much more pleasing development than the all-too-common 'obstacle to true queer love') and Dashiell and Nic manage to resolve the issue of Dash's sudden departure all those years ago. The epilogue ties everything up neatly, and the author's afterword explains the notion of 'sasine' ('a historical word meaning the conferring of possession of feudal property') and how it can be used to confer self-ownership -- something Leaf has requested nearly thirty times since her eighth birthday, and you can see her point. 

I enjoyed this immensely, and forgave the occasional typos. Nic and Leaf were delightful, the villains were suitably wicked, the victims were sympathetic enough that their fates were shocking. I'm fascinated by this world of Brilliance and sasine, and would love to read more about it.

2025/056: 24 Hours in Ancient Athens — Philip Matyszak

Long-distance runners exercise themselves to a point where the walls of reality become thin. He fondly recalls the time – on this same run – when a troop of centaurs emerged from the woods and trotted alongside him for part of the journey. Labras is still unsure whether this actually happened, but very much looks forward to it happening again. [p. 165]

Twenty-four interconnected short stories, each focussing on a scene from life in Athens in 416BC, just before the festival of Dionysia. It's a brief interlude of peace (after the Peace of Nicias five years previously) but Alcibiades is keen to invade Sicily. Meanwhile, the ordinary folk of the city -- hoplite and hetaira, slave and spy, fish-seller and fig-smuggler, vase painter and long-distance runner -- go about their business.

Matyszak is a witty and well-informed writer, drawing from classical texts and art as well as the archaeological record. I learnt some fascinating facts ('Figs are not really fruit at all, but a specialized environment called a syconium...The actual ‘fruits’ of a fig tree are the many tiny single-seeded fruit contained within the skin of the syconium...' Those who inform on fig-smugglers 'are called ‘sycophants’ (literally ‘fig-tellers’)' [pp.207-12]) and gained a greater understanding of the cultural ambience. 

I was particularly struck by the perspectives of various enslaved characters: 'Both girls have been slaves all their lives, and regard themselves as well above some of the freeborn poor whom they regularly see begging in the gutter. At least they are fed and clothed and have a warm bed to sleep in at night. [p. 27] and 'In Athens, a regular job with a single employer makes one barely a step above a slave. A slave looks to one man for food, housing and clothing. It is hardly different when one man instead supplies the money with which food, housing and clothing are purchased.' [p. 200]. 

And I enjoyed the ways in which the stories were connected to one another: the councillor who has to spend his lunch break with the appalling Critias, while in another chapter his wife meets her lover; the owner of a failing tavern employing a sorceress to cast a curse on his more successful rivals, whose son-in-law is the temple guard whose story opens the book...

This is the first book by Martyszak that I've read (thanks, Kindle Unlimited!) but it definitely won't be the last: readable, informative, well-researched and with credible and appealing characterisation.

2025/055: Gods and Robots: Machines, Myths and Ancient Dreams of Technology — Adrienne Mayor

Hephaestus’s marvels were envisioned by an ancient society not usually considered technologically advanced. Feats of biotechne were dreamed up by a culture that existed millennia before the advent of robots that win complex games, hold conversations, analyze massive mega-data, and infer human desires. But the big questions are as ancient as myth: Whose desires will AI robots reflect? From whom will they learn? [loc. 3576]

Intrigued by the mechanical marvels of The Hymn to Dionysus (which the author has said are based on the writings of Hero of Alexandria) I wanted to learn more about ancient machines. Gods and Robots is perhaps not the ideal book for this, but it was fascinating. Mayor (whose The First Fossil Hunters I found immensely readable) covers mythological and historical stories about immortality, mechanical humanoids, artifical limbs, and Daedalus's self-powered flight to Sicily from Crete. While the focus is on Greek texts, Mayor also mentions Indian, Sumerian and Etruscan myth. And she references modern concepts and culture, including Blade Runner, Karel Čapek, the uncanny valley effect and the current debate about the merits and pitfalls of AI.

The recipes for immortality were interesting (as was Mayor's explanation of the death of Jason's father Aeson by drinking bulls' blood, believed to confer immortality but lethal because of 'the relatively high coagulation factor of ox blood, an effect later affirmed by Aristotle' (loc. 780)) but I was really there for the moving statues and other mechanical marvels of the ancient world. Mayor includes images from vases, carved gems etc which show scenes of techne: Prometheus building a human from the skeleton outwards, or Athene constructing a horse. 

Mayor refutes the argument that Bronze Age humans couldn't conceive of automatons because their technology wasn't sufficient to make such things: firstly, one doesn't need to be able to make what one imagines (see under 'fiction') and secondly, the Greeks (and probably other cultures) did make automata, animated statues etc -- though perhaps not as marvellous as the ones they imagines the god Hephaestus making, as mentioned in the Iliad: “Fashioned of gold in the image of maidens, the servants moved quickly, bustling around their master like living women”. She explores accounts of bronze figures that moved and made sounds, and suggests ways in which these might have been made and powered (mercury, steam, water...) and Socrates' argument that such automata should be chained, to prevent them from escaping -- like human slaves.

I also learnt a lot about agalmatophilia 'statue lust': "another infamous case, reported by Athenaeus (second century AD), one Cleisophus of Selymbria locked himself in a temple on the island of Samos and tried to have intercourse with a voluptuous marble statue, reputedly carved by Ctesicles. Discouraged by the frigidity and resistance of the stone, Cleisophus “had sex with a small piece of meat instead” [loc. 1903]. Mayor describes the Pygmalion myth as 'an unsettling description of one of the first female android sex partners in Western history' rather than a romantic love story.

A fascinating read, thoroughly referenced and with plenty of illustrations: very readable.

2025/054: Saint Death's Herald — C S E Cooney

“Skinchangers do not eat flesh. ... What they eat is everything that makes a being itself. Their haecceity. Their thisness. Thisness is what they feed on.”[loc. 1052]

In Saint Death's Daughter, Lanie (short for Miscellaneous) Stones spent much of her time in the family mansion, avoiding anything and anyone that might trigger her allergic reaction to violence: when that was taken from her, she found a home above a school in Liriat Proper. In Saint Death's Herald, she leaves Liriat (and most of her found family) behind, determined to fulfill her promise to rescue Sari Scratch's son. Cracchen, possessed by the vengeful spirit of Lanie's great-grandfather Irradiant Radithor Stones (a.k.a. Grandpa Rad), is heading north: Lanie, accompanied only by the gyrgardi (were-falcon) Duantri and by Stripes (an animated tiger-skin rug of great valour), must follow.

Though there are brief interludes recounting the adventures of Lanie's nearest and dearest -- her niece Datu, Datu's father Mak, Duantri's partner Tanaliín -- on their pilgrimage, most of the story focusses on Lanie and her discovery of the wider world. She visits Leech and Witch Queen City, which turn out to be coloniser names for the Free Territories of Taquathura and its capital city Madinatam. She discovers the truth about the flying castles of the sky wizards of Skakmaht, and the chilling way in which they're powered. And though she's lonely and often in peril, her innate compassion and kindness extends even to the most implacable of foes.

Saint Death's Herald picks up where the previous volume of the hopefully-a-trilogy left off: it's definitely worth a quick reread of Daughter to refamiliarise oneself with names and events. There aren't as many footnotes in this volume, and the plot of the novel is at once darker and simpler. I missed Mak (of whom we catch glimpses) and Lir, but found Grandpa Rad's life story tantalising, and the skinchangers fascinating. And I love that, in this cosy-gruesome world, death is a balm, a release, a kindness.

Cooney's prose is an absolute joy. I'm occasionally reminded of Ysabeau Wilce, just for sheer rambunctiousness -- and it's a long time since I've had to look up the meanings of so many words while reading a novel (quop! tholobate! acroteria! anomural! phenocryst! and many many more) which is a pleasure in itself. Looking forward to the next volume...

Thanks to Netgalley and the publishers for my advance review copy! UK publication date is 22nd April 2025.

The poor, mangled bird of his soul. How it had hunched, sullen, glaring at her: wings torn, beak broken, one eye missing, feathers the color of void, smelling of rotten citrus. [loc. 5641]

2025/053: Saint Death's Daughter — C S E Cooney (reread)

“The real reason necromancers keep being born to the Stones line is not because the Stoneses are blessed of Saint Death. It is because the first necromancers of the Founding Era instigated a wrong long ago, and Saint Death wants to put to right. [loc. 6868]

My review from January 2024. Reread to prepare for my ARC of the second in the trilogy, Saint Death's Herald, of which the review is imminent. There was a lot in Saint Death's Daughter that I'd forgotten, and some of the novel resonated differently this time round. (The Blackbird Bride misgenders Lir!) Still splendidly complex, lexical, comic, tragic and inventive.

2025/052: Soldier of the Mist — Gene Wolfe (reread)

"Pindaros, look at the moon. What do you see?"
"It's very thin," he said. "And it's setting behind the sacred hill. What about it?"
"Do you see where some columns are still standing? The moon is tangled in them -- some are before her, but others are behind her."
"No, Latro, I don't see that..." [Chapter XVI]

My most recent reread was ten years ago (review here), and even then I was bemoaning the lack of an ebook version. Once again I am thankful to the Internet Archive...

The premise of the novel, set in Greece in 479BC, is simple: 'Latro', a soldier, is suffering amnesia due to a head injury, and has been advised to write down the events of each day before he sleeps. One unexpected side-effect of his injury (or his amnesia) is that he sees the gods and other supernatural beings. Latro learns that he has been cursed by the Great Goddess: he and his travelling companions -- including an African man named Seven Lions, a ten-year-old slave girl called Io, and the poet Pindar -- suffer many reversals and relocations. And Latro does not always remember (and is not always able) to write in his scroll, inserting lacunae into the story and leaving a snarl of loose ends.

This is one of the rare books that I enjoyed when I first read and have never fallen out of love with. Each time I read it, I notice more, or focus on a different strand of the story, or a different character. This time around, I noticed the dedication ("This book is dedicated with the greatest respect and affection to Herodotos of Halicarnassos'), and paid more attention to the non-mythological aspects of the book. Latro (which is a descriptor rather than a name: it means 'soldier') may not be able to form new memories or recall anything since childhood, but he is a precise observer, often seeing more than the other characters because he does not know what he expects to see.

Sometimes brutal (this was a time of war and chaos) and sometimes deeply unsettling: beautifully written, twisty, and infused with a deep understanding and appreciation of classical myth and culture.

2025/051: Every Valley — Charles King

His music was inseparable from a cause as well as a moral sensibility: helping indigent children and knowing the deep tangibility of hope. After the London premiere of the Messiah in 1743, Handel is supposed to have told a noble patron, “My Lord … I should be sorry if I only entertained [an audience]; I wished to make them better.” [loc. 4459]

The American edition's subtitle, 'The Desperate Lives and Troubled Times That Made Handel’s Messiah', gives an idea of King's broad approach. Instead of focussing only on Handel, King examines the circumstances surrounding the composition of Messiah, and the broader social context into which it was born. He shows us that the Enlightenment was as much 'a period of profound anxiety about improving the world' as a glorious revolution of political, social, intellectual and cultural life.

The book opens with Charles Jennens, whose lifelong depression inspired him to produce a libretto that focussed on hope and faith. King moves on to Handel and his early years, when he was the handsome and gifted toast of European musical society. Then there's Susannah Cibber, a singer with a scandalous history of her own -- her husband was not only abusive but insisted that she sleep with another man as a way of paying off his debts -- who sang the contralto role in the Dublin premiere of Messiah. Also featuring is Jonathan Swift, Dean of St Patrick's Cathedral in Dublin, who prohibited church musicians from participating in Handel's composition, but changed his mind when he learnt that proceeds from the performance would be used for worthy causes, such as paying off the debts of imprisoned paupers.

That philanthropic urge contrasts with the fact that 'the era’s art, wealth, and power all rested on a common source --enslavement -- an abstract word for wrecked families and shattered fortunes' [loc. 584]. Both Jennens and Handel were clients of the South Sea Company, which profitted from the transatlantic slave trade. As counterpoint, King explores the history of Thomas Coram, a philanthropic sea-captain who founded the Hospital for the Maintenance and Education of Exposed and Deserted Young Children, usually known as the Foundling Hospital. Coram's Hospital benefitted immensely from Messiah, receiving over £7,000 from performances. King also recounts the story of Ayuba Suleiman Diallo, a Muslim prince enslaved in Senegambia, sent to America, and finally freed. I'm not altogether clear on Diallo's connection with Handel, other than as an example of the rise of philanthropy and the abolition movement...

And of course King explores the life of Handel himself, from his glorious Baroque operas to the piety of his later years, when he was afflicted by failing eyesight and paralysis. King gives a good account of the process of composition, and the sensibility that underlaid it. His own experience of Messiah -- listening to 'the earliest recorded full performance... from 1927, with Sir Thomas Beecham conducting' in the first weeks of the Covid pandemic, and bursting into tears -- is a poignant introduction to a book about misery and hope.

...an illuminated pathway back to a moment when empire, faith, terror, and hope were wound together in one extraordinary life. [loc. 4672]

2025/050: This Immortal — Roger Zelazny (reread)

"What are they doing?" asked Myshtigo. It was the first time I had seen him genuinely surprised.
"Why, they're dismantling the Great Pyramid of Cheops ... they're kind of short on building materials hereabouts, the stuff from Old Cairo being radioactive..."
"They are desecrating a monument to the past glories of the human race!" Diane exclaimed.
"Nothing is cheaper than past glories," I observed.

I was craving Ancient Greece after The Hymn to Dionysus and thought there was more of it in this, Zelazny's SF novel rooted in Greek mythology. ... There isn't, but it was a quick and mostly enjoyable read (thanks, Internet Archive!), and very nostalgic. I don't have much to add to my review from (OMG) 25 years ago here, except that I now also find the characters' constant tobacco use weird and outdated.

2025/049: The Hymn to Dionysus — Natasha Pulley

I’d never prayed for anything to any god: I made sacrifices in the way I paid taxes. Gods are like queens. You pay what you owe and in return they don’t notice you. [loc. 992]

Phaidros is about thirty years old, a veteran of the Trojan War, and a Theban knight. He's mourning his commander Helios, whose twin sister Agave is the Queen of Thebes: he's haunted by memories, and convinced that he's been cursed -- by a lost prince, or by a blue-eyed boy who might have been a god. And then a star crashes down into the parade ground, and Phaidros sees footsteps in the molten glass of its crater.

This is a very different novel to the current plethora of myths retold. Some of the characters, and some of the plot, are familiar from Euripides' Bacchae: other aspects of the story are new, and often just as unsettling. The Hymn to Dionysus is also quite different from Natasha Pulley's previous novels, though there are echoes of those earlier works throughout: turns of phrase, golden pears, hair-combing, games with language -- Helios, like Odysseus, is 'polytropos', a complicated man^* -- and sparks of sheer fun, such as diplomacy pomegranates and surprise badgers.

Thebes is a city in crisis, drought-starved and heaving with unrest.  It's a military state, with a constant refrain of 'obedience is strength' and 'duty is honour'. In battle, the front lines are built out of pairs of sworn lovers like Helios and Phaidros, a commander and their ward: usually there's only a five-year age gap. (Nearly half the knights, it should be noted, are girls and women.) 'The best compliment you can pay someone here,' Phaidros explains, 'is to say, you’re a marvel; as in a clockwork marvel. It means you function the same no matter what’s happening.'

The marvels -- bronze statues animated by clockwork -- are one of the stranger aspects of the story. When the star crashes into the parade ground, things become even stranger. A kind of madness, expressed in song, has infected many of the knights. The people of Thebes talk about a curse incurred by the burning of Troy, and whisper that a lost prince will return and seek vengeance -- not Agave's missing son Pentheus, but the son of her dead sister Semele. And Phaidros, sent in search of Pentheus, seeks out a witch ... 

I have not mentioned Dionysus, whose 'function is to guard the border between the clockwork and the wild.' [loc. 2450] He's uncanny, vulnerable, ancient, amused: he is not, despite modern depictions, a god for good times.  Masks, marvels, mazes and madness...  

I am still in the process of reading, rereading and thinking about this novel. Do I love it as much as The Mars House? as The Kingdoms? Will I always notice the occasional typos, or wonder about the triplet slaves and the mechanical Furies, or wish a happy ending for a woman? (The original myth dooms Agave, but she may be Pulley's most rounded, relateable and likeable female character.) I can't yet say. But it is a glorious and uplifting read, and one that has lured me back towards the best, or my favourite, novels of Ancient Greece.

I was unsurprised that the author, in her Notes, mentioned 1177 BC: The Year Civilisation Collapsed, by Eric Cline...

... nothing is left but those scraps of tax records ... noted down on clay that baked in those fires. [loc. 6670]

^* See also 'Catharsis, Harpies, Harmatia, and More: Natasha Pulley on Her Favorite Greek Words'

2025/048: The Touch of the Sea — Steve Berman (editor)

I swim for the same reason that I sail, because I love the sea, not it loves me. Because it is dark, because it is salt, because it is deadly. Because it is bitter, and because it is my heart. [loc. 2892: 'Keep the Aspidochelone Floating', by Chaz Brenchley]

A selection of gay fantasy short stories by eleven authors, introduced by editor Steve Berman. I'm fairly sure I bought this because I'd just read something by one of those authors, but I cannot remember which or who. Here we find selkies and naiads, mermen, pirates, rig workers, fishermen... The two stories I liked most were 'Wave Boys' by Vincent Kovar (in which tribes of 'lost' boys meet, fight and part in a futuristic landless world where language has warped) and 'Keep the Aspidochelone Floating' by Chaz Brenchley (in which pirates of many genders discover a secluded island and live to regret it). I'm also intrigued by the worldbuilding in 'nathan Burgoine's 'Time and Tide': would like to read more in that world. A nice anthology to dip into.

Full list of contents here.

2025/047: The Cautious Traveller's Guide to the Wastelands — Sarah Brooks

The Company had always disliked anything they perceived as superstitious or backward, but until recently an uneasy truce had existed. The crew could keep their small rituals, their icons and gods, as long as they were discreet, as long as the passengers found them charming. But now, they have been told, it is time for a change. A new century is approaching – the passengers do not want mysticism, they want modernity. There is no place for these rituals any more, said the Company. [loc. 367]

Siberia, 1899: Valentin Rostov's famous guidebook, from which this novel takes its title, begins by warning the traveller not to attempt the journey between Moscow and Beijing on the Trans-Siberian Express 'unless you are certain of your own evenness of mind' [loc. 153]. The heavily-armoured train's previous journey through the Wastelands ended catastrophically with the deaths of three people -- though nobody who was on board can quite recall what happened. 

Passengers on this new voyage, all heading for the Great Exhibition in Moscow, include a woman travelling under a pseudonym, a young girl who was famously born on the train, and a disgraced naturalist who's determined to redeem himself. There are also aristocrats and peasants, snipers and scientists, the train's Captain (who grew up in Siberia before it became Wasteland) and the two representatives of the Trans-Siberia Company, who are known as the Crows. Once the train has passed through the heavily-guarded Wall and into the Wasteland, even looking out of the window might be dangerous. For the Wasteland has, for nearly a century, been turning against humanity. And if its creatures enter the train, everyone will die.

This is a beautifully-written novel that I think I may have read, too hastily, at the wrong time. (Or perhaps my 'evenness of mind' was inadequate.) I suspect a reread is in order, so that I can soak up the atmosphere: the fluid horror and beauty of the Wastelands, the themes of evolution and of human impact on the natural world, the hints of the effects of the transformation on the wider world. 

2025/046: Icarus — K. Ancrum

“If you’re such a good thief, then why haven’t you stolen me yet?” [loc. 3002]

This is a YA queer romance: it is not -- despite the title -- a straightforward retelling of the myth of Icarus, who flew too near the sun. Ancrum has transformed the elements of that myth into something quite new, a story about a motherless boy and his father, about art and vengeance, about theft and love and being different.

Icarus Gallagher's mother died when he was no more than two years old. Since then he's been raised by his artist father Angus, who has trained him to become a thief and a forger. Their target is rich Mr Black, and their modus operandi is to steal genuine artworks and replace them with immaculate forgeries. Icarus -- a gifted artist in his own right -- has grown up being careful not to attract attention, not to make friends or excel at school or mention that he's tired because he spends his nights breaking into a millionaire's house. At the opening of this novel, Icarus is nearly eighteen, and he's making plans to leave. He wants to start afresh, 'far from his crimes and his father and this house'.

But one night he senses that Mr Black's house isn't as empty as expected -- and then he meets Mr Black's son Helios, under house arrest without access to phone or internet or anything beyond the walls of the house, effectively imprisoned. Helios is immensely lonely, and makes a deal: he won't tell anyone about Icarus's crimes if Icarus comes to visit him. Icarus, against his father's rules and despite his own reservations, does. Together they unravel the complex history between their families, and Icarus discovers that he does have friends despite his best efforts. And Icarus pulls off the most audacious theft of all.

This is an emotionally intense novel that deals with some difficult and potentially triggering issues: physical disability, abusive parenting, addiction, queerness .... It's also a joyous celebration of art and love, and a story about prisoners, and about recognising and appreciating the love and friendship that are present in one's life. Icarus is also, often, very funny, despite the harrowing elements. I liked it immensely and am looking forward to reading more by Ancrum, whose work I'm surprised I haven't encountered before.

“We’ve already gallivanted through medical trauma, abuse, addiction, my weird joints, extracurricular genders, almost getting off from your touching my face, a dance recital, Roman baths in the middle of Michigan—” [loc. 2800]

2025/045: Full Dark House — Christopher Fowler

May was finding it increasingly hard to concentrate on Bryant’s theories when, just a short distance from London, the bodies of so many innocent civilians were being dragged from the smoking ruins of a town. Their case seemed absurd and almost pointless by comparison. [p. 217]

First in the Bryant and May series, read for book club. It begins in contemporary London, when ageing detective John May investigates the death of his longtime colleague Arthur Bryant in an explosion. He finds himself remembering their very first case together, in wartime London, with the perils of the Blitz complicating a series of murders at the Palace Theatre. The crimes coincide with the opening of a scandalous new production of Offenbach's 'Orpheus in the Underworld' -- and the plot of that operetta may hold clues to the pattern of the crimes. Bryant's knowledge of classical mythology allows him to offer arcane interpretations of the murders, while May, more down-to-earth and empathetic, is better at talking to the performers and the theatre's staff. Meanwhile modern-day May is bemoaning modernity and the loss of the rationality he valued. He's also trying to unravel a set of clues which lead to a curiously bland (and predictable) solution.

The first victim (a dancer, dead in a lift with her feet cut off) is named Tanya, which did not endear me to this novel. Nor did the frequent changes of viewpoint (sometimes in a single paragraph) or the author's tendency to provide historical context which wouldn't have been known to the characters. ("Last month, the corner of Leicester Square had been bombed flat, and holes had been blown in the District Line railway tunnel at Blackfriars; right now the bureau would be busy suppressing the truth, retouching photographs, stemming negative information, tucking away all morale-damaging reports until after the war." [p. 130]) It's as though he needs to keep reminding us that the events of the novel take place in two different times.

All of which sounds very negative, but I think I just wasn't in the mood for Fowler's voice. Possibly I was expecting something more supernatural, something in the vein of the Rivers of London novels. Full Dark House is the first in a long and popular series, so it's possible I would get on better with later volumes. I did enjoy Bryant's bookish, classics-inflected utterances ("You’re part of the maieutic process... Socratic midwifery... You know, the easing out of ideas." [p. 280]) especially in contrast to May's mundanity and his tendency to stare at or flirt with every female character. But the sense of a budding friendship between two very different men is well done.

2025/044: Lost Souls Meet Under a Full Moon — Mizuki Tsujimura, translated by Yuki Tejima

"She had a hard time deciding if she should see you too. If she saw you, you would know she was dead. But she said yes... even though she wants to live inside you for ever, even though she wants you to never forget her. She knows that once you see her, you'll forget about her and move on..." [loc. 1732]

Lost Souls Meet Under a Full Moon, first published as Tsunago ('Go-Between') in Japanese in 2010, could be mistaken for another vaguely magical feelgood novel. The premise is that the Go-Between -- a young man, orphaned, named Ayumi -- can set up a meeting between a living person and a dead person. There are, of course, rules: the dead person must agree to the meeting, and neither party can ever arrange another meeting. The meetings take place at a five-star hotel, from sunset to sunrise on the night of the full moon. ('The more intense the moonlight, the longer they can meet' -- but still, sunset to sunrise...) 

The first four chapters, or stories, recount four such meetings. Twenty-something office worker Manami Hirase wants to meet Saori Mizushiro, a recently-deceased celebrity whose off-the-cuff comment helped her with her self-confidence; hard-boiled businessman Yasuhiko Hatade has been given the go-between's contact details by his now-dead mother, and pretends he just wants to ask her about her will; schoolgirl Misa Arashi is desperate to see her dead friend Natsu Misono, for whose death she blames herself; Koichi Tsuchiya mourns the only woman he ever loved, Kirari Himukai, but doesn't know whether she is dead or alive.

Each of the stories goes somewhere unexpected, imparting lessons about expectations, about grief, about guilt. (And yes, they do all get to talk to the dead.) But it's only with the fifth chapter of the book, in which we replay these encounters from Ayumi's viewpoint, that the stories become part of a larger narrative: the story of how Ayumi became an orphan and then a go-between, of the history behind that gift (or is it a curse?), and of Ayumi's relationship with his beloved grandmother. It's a story about family and about loss, about expectations and unspoken assumptions, and about how we deal with grief. Is it selfish to want to speak to the dead? Must we let go of those we loved? Can we forgive them, or ourselves?

The translation was mostly smooth, though there were a couple of points where an explanation of a Japanese term felt laboured: I assume that the nonchronological flow of the stories was the author's own. This was a sweet and thoughtful novel, and I think it would be an interesting book club choice: plenty of material for discussion!

Thanks to Netgalley and the publisher for the advance review copy! UK publication date is 3rd April 2025.

2025/043: And the Ocean Was Our Sky — Patrick Ness, Rovina Cai

"We fight so that we may stop being devils!"
And at this, I could hold back my anger and confusion no longer, even if it killed me. "But what if it's the fighting that makes us so?"
... "And there at last, my dear Third Apprentice," she said, "is the adult question." [p. 102]

This short, gorgeously illustrated novel is a physical and allegorical inversion of Moby Dick. Captain Alexandra leads her crew against the ships of men, determined to avenge the insult inflicted on her years before. The harpoon embedded in her head means she can no longer echo-locate, but has to rely on her crew, including our narrator ('Call me Bathsheba') to direct her. The whales' Above is the men's Below: they dive towards the Abyss -- the border where sea meets air -- to capture men's ships, and to breathe. For all their fearsomeness, they are still mammals, and they need air: but they have developed 'breather bubbles' to minimise these necessary trips to the Abyss. And when a single survivor, with a message for Captain Alexandra from the whale-slaughtering Toby Wick, is discovered on a wrecked ship, he can be kept alive with a breather bubble, to tell the whales what he knows.

Captain Alexandra's obsessive search for the white-hulled ship of Toby Wick is as driven as that of Melville's Ahab, but the ages-long confict between species is a more solid grounding for her emotions, and those of her crew. Bathsheba has seen her own mother butchered by men: she has every reason to continue hating them. Her own grandmother has prophesied that she will hunt, and she is immensely loyal to her Captain and her crew. But Demetrius, the shipwreck survivor, imprisoned in the whales' ship and without hope of reaching land again, makes Bathsheba question the prophecies and the nature of evil.

This may be aimed at a younger audience, but it isn't soft or sentimental. It's a story about war, and hatred, and justifying evil, and about how devils are made. Ness's prose is vivid and unflinching. Rovinda Cai's illustrations (see some here) begin in monochrome, shadowy and sleek, but towards the climax of the novel there is colour, and that colour is red. I was fascinated by the evocation of whale society (cities in the deep, coral engravings, harpoons, heating crabs, scars adorned with jewels), and the war between whales and men, depicted as a more equal conflict than the historical whaling industry, felt queasily satisfying. Such a beautiful book in many ways, with a sense of hope despite the horrors it reveals.

2025/042: The Tomb of Dragons — Katherine Addison

A Witness for the Dead, said the dragon. How ... appropriate. Will you witness for us? We need a witness, and we assure you we are dead. [loc. 1307]

At the end of The Grief of Stones, Thara Celehar lost his Calling, but was promised 'an assignment that is uniquely suited to your abilities'. Unfortunately, that seems to involve a lot of paperwork and bureaucracy. His days are not without incident, though. Though his apprentice, the excellent and determined Velhiro Tomasaran, is answering the few witnessing requests that come in, there are other matters that demand his attention; a murder at the Vermillion Opera, demesne of Celehar's friend Iäna Pel-Thenhior; an escaped political prisoner; and a group of miners are keen to have someone talk to the unseen horror that lurks in the depths of a mountain.

This is as much a novel about friendship and support as it's about paperwork, mines or murders. Celehar has always battled feelings of inadequacy and self-worth (he doesn't even think he deserves a decent coat, let alone a better stipend from the city treasury) and he doesn't seem to recognise friendship when it's offered. But it is offered, and reciprocated, and sometimes Celehar even manages to trust those friends: Tomasaran, Pel-Thenhior (who has, to be fair, shown signs that could be interpreted as something more than friendship), Azhanharad the subpraeceptor, and even some individuals in the distant capital.

Given the publisher's blurb ('deftly wrapping up The Cemeteries of Amalo trilogy') I'd expected more of a conclusion here. The finale of this novel feels more like the beginning of a new phase than an ending to Celehar's story -- or the stories of his friends. Yes, he's grown and changed across the course of these three books, and his personal relationships are in considerably better shape than they were at the start of The Witness for the Dead; yes, he's overcome the lingering grief of events that happened well before even The Goblin Emperor. But there is so much more possibility in his life now -- perhaps even romantically -- and I'd love to see what happens next.

In preparation for this long-awaited novel, I reread The Witness for the Dead and The Grief of Stones, the first two books in the trilogy... I found I liked Stones rather better this time around, as more happens to Celehar in it.

Thanks to Netgalley and the publisher for my advance review copy! UK publication date, at least for Kindle, is 13th March 2025.

2025/041: Doppelganger: A Trip Into the Mirror World — Naomi Klein

We must attempt, with great urgency, to imagine a world that does not require Shadow Lands, that is not predicated on sacrificial people and sacrificial ecologies and sacrificial continents. More than imagine it, we must begin, at once, to build it. [loc. 6058]

Activist and writer Naomi Klein (author of No Logo, Shock Doctrine and other impactful works) realised that she was being conflated with Naomi Wolf (author of The Beauty Myth, but more recently anti-vax and conspiracy-minded). The two, at least from Klein's perspective, could not be more different, yet Wolf -- 'Other Naomi' -- has been cast as her doppelganger. Klein writes about how Wolf, her reputation in tatters after introducing factual inaccuracies into her book about LGBTQIA+ history, reinvented herself -- and how Wolf could pivot so easily from left-wing to right-wing, from the real world to the Mirror World of conspiracies and bad faith arguments.

This is very much a lockdown book. It was released in 2023 and the initial focus is on the pandemic, on Wolf's comparison of lockdown to the Holocaust, on the spreading of misinformation and anti-vaccination arguments. Klein argues that major issues, such as wealth inequality and scepticism abut the health industry, easily mutate into their Mirror World counterparts: QAnon's 'New World Order', anti-vax warnings about microchips. And she discusses how modern issues mirror Nazi Germany, and how the Holocaust required not only an othering, a racial profiling, of its victims but also a history of colonial genocide. "The flip side of the post–World War II cries of “Never again” was an unspoken “Never before.” The insistence on lifting the Holocaust out of history, the failure to recognize these patterns, and the refusal to see where the Nazis fit inside the arc of colonial genocides have all come at a high cost." [loc. 5150]

It took me a long time to read this book. It's far from my usual subject matter, and I found it relentless and horrific. Klein's writing is powerful, and what she's writing about is of immense importance: but it's hard to find hope, despite her stirring call to action.

2025/040: Pagans — James Alastair Henry

'...dozens of conspiracy theories here, all stirred up together. And I don’t mean “The Pan-Africans never went to the moon” stuff, there’s mad stuff: wifi summoning dark elves, the Wall being a big hologram put up by the Norse, the High Table tracking agitators by putting microchips in their honeycakes—’
‘I happen to believe in that one,’ said Aedith, her face solemn. [loc. 2270]

The setting is modern London -- but London the capital of the Kingdom of England, in a Britain that is classed (in the Pan-African Collective Intelligence Services Factsheet) as a 'developing nation'. This is a world where the Norman Conquest never happened; where there's more of an East/West than a North/South divide in Britain; where Celts, Saxons and the Norse maintain an uneasy peace, with a Unification Summit about every five years; and where there are vapes, phone games, disaffected youths making music out of right-wing rhetoric, and warpaint for sale in the supermarket.

Pagans begins when a prominent Celtic negotiator is found gruesomely murdered, on the eve of the latest Unification Summit, by a Nigerian couple on honeymoon. (They've eschewed 'native guides' to wander into the primeval woodland of Epping Forest, where they discover a tattooed Celt leaning against a tree, then realise that that's real blood.) Aedith Mercia, daughter of Earl-Elector Lod Mercia, is a Detective Captain at the Woden's Cross Station. When the victim is identified, she has to work with Detective Inspector Drustan, a Celt who is more than he initially seems, to establish a motive and avert a diplomatic crisis. And she'll have to step on a lot of toes to do it.

The worldbuilding is superb. The Pan-African Unified States, the Mughals and the European Islamic Caliphate are this world's superpowers; the Nordic Economic Union, the Tsarist Conglomerate, the Han and the North American First Nations are also mentioned. Britain, meanwhile, gets Mughal students on their gap year building playgrounds, and the poor wear castoffs donated by Pan-Africans 'to help starving whites through the long cold winters'. Britain was never a colonial power, but a quarter of the Metropolitan Police Force (including Aedith's sergeant, an avid player of 'the game where you walk around collecting sacred creatures') is of African descent. While religion doesn't play a major role in Aedith's life, Drustan's faith is important to him -- and there seems to be a murderer hunting down followers of an obscure monotheist cult known as the Fishers.

I enjoyed this a great deal: it reminded me in some respects of Cahokia Jazz, though here the alternate history encompasses the whole world. (Maps here -- the versions in the Kindle edition are rather small...) The police-procedural aspect is soundly constructed, the characterisation is great, and the style is immensely readable. I'm looking forward to the next in what I hope will be a long series.

2025/039: When the Earth Was Green: Plants, Animals and Evolution's Greatest Romance — Riley Black

Animals never would have crawled out of ancient bogs without scaly trees and other plants that altered the terrestrial realm first, thick and otherworldly forests where crunchy insects would eventually entice our fishy ancestors to belly flop onto shore. [loc. 160]

I greatly enjoyed The Last Days of the Dinosaurs, but wasn't sure that a book about the prehistory of plants would appeal as much. I was wrong: it's rivetting. Black examines the ways in which plants have not only transformed the planet, but shaped the evolution of every living creature. Each of the fifteen vignettes explores some aspect of interaction between plants, animals and the abiotic environment, described so vividly (and often poetically) that it's sometimes hard to remember it's all extrapolated from the patchy fossil record.

There are plenty of charismatic megafauna here (I was especially charmed by the chapter about sabre-toothed Machairodus enjoying catnip, which evolved a chemical defence against mosquitos that turned out to get cats high) as well as gargantuan dragonflies (able to grow to immense sizes due to the high oxygen content of the atmosphere, provided by plants) and a mosquito trapped in amber, formed from resin produced after a tree had been used as a dinosaur's scratching post. 

Black provides appendices detailing the paleontology behind her scenarios: she also discusses social and ethical issues, such as the trade in amber from Myanmar funding genocidal conflict. And in her conclusion, she draws parallels between the complex exuberance of nature and the shifting, evolving queer community. A splendidly readable and accessible account of a vast span of life, well-researched and gorgeously written.

2025/038: Small Bomb at Dimperley — Lissa Evans

...you couldn’t give half the population a gun and send them away for five years and then expect their slippers still to fit when they came home. [loc. 1456]

Set in 1945, this novel centres on Dimperley Manor, the gently crumbling ancestral seat of the Vere-Thissett family. Felix, the dashing RAF squadron leader, has been declared dead; his wife and two teenage daughters have returned from California, where they've spent the war. His younger brother Valentine, who's dyslexic, returns from his own wartime service to find that he's now Sir Valentine, who has to deal with a damaged hand, death duties, and elderly relatives lamenting the fall of civilisation. ("...the appalling, inexplicable events of July, when the populace had flung aside Mr Churchill and filled Parliament with baying reds, there was no knowing how far or how quickly the descent would continue, how soon before the tumbrils came clattering through the lodge gates...") He also encounters the quietly efficient Zena Baxter, who was evacuated to Dimperley when it was requisitioned as a maternity hospital during the war, and has stayed on -- with her little girl, Allison -- to type up the family history being written by Uncle Alaric.

I didn't like this novel as much as Evans' other novels, but it was a calm and cheerful read. Valentine's nieces, with their weird American notions -- deodorant! talking to boys! showers! -- are a delight, as is Valentine's childhood friend Deedee, who spent the war ferrying aircraft and now faces penury and boredom. The romance is gentle and credible, the twist in Zena's story all too believable, and the underlying theme of social class never too laboured. (Pun intended.)

2025/037: The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks — Rebecca Skloot

Black scientists and technicians, many of them women, used cells from a black woman to help save the lives of millions of Americans, most of them white. And they did so on the same campus – and at the very same time – that state officials were conducting the infamous Tuskegee syphilis studies. [p. 97]

I've owned this book for a decade, and I wish I had read it sooner. It's the story of a Black woman in 1950s America, who died of cervical cancer, and whose cells (or rather whose cancer's cells) were taken and used for research. It's not clear what level of consent, if any, she gave for this. The HeLa cells grew very rapidly and, unlike other cultured cells, did not die: this made them ideal for experimental purposes. The polio vaccine was developed using HeLa cells, and HeLa cells have been sent into space, subjected to radiation, and used for medical and pharmaceutical research.

Lacks' family knew nothing of this until the mid-Seventies.

Skloot worked with the Lacks family, especially Henrietta's daughter Deborah, to explore how Henrietta Lacks' cells had achieved this semi-life of their own. It's a damning depiction of bioethical mispractice, as well as a story of systemic racism. Skloot treats the Lacks family with sympathy and sensitivity, and helps them to understand the science of the HeLa strain. They're mostly only educated to a basic level, and they are very religious. (One of the family theorises that HeLa cells are the 'spiritual body' of Henrietta Lacks.) And they are angry: "...if our mother cells done so much for medicine, how come her family can’t afford to see no doctors?" [p. 10]

This was immensely readable, with clear explanations of the science and vignettes of Lacks family life. I was a little uncomfortable about the repeated reference to 'Henrietta's cells': they were cancer cells, and their DNA is not the same as hers. But this is a world where a dead woman's cells have birthed a billion-dollar industry, and I think it's important to remember where those cells came from.

[The Marvel character Hela:] part dead and part alive, with “immeasurable” intelligence, “superhuman” strength, “godlike” stamina and durability, and five hundred pounds of solid muscle. She’s responsible for plagues, sickness, and catastrophes; she’s immune to fire, radiation, toxins, corrosives, disease, and aging. She can also levitate and control people’s minds...When Deborah found pages describing Hela the Marvel character, she thought they were describing her mother, since each of Hela’s traits in some way matched what Deborah had heard about her mother’s cells. But it turned out the sci-fi Hela was inspired by the ancient Norse goddess of death, who lives trapped in a land between hell and the living. Deborah figured that goddess was based on her mother too. [p. 254]

2025/036: Daughter of Fire — Sofia Robleda

Father’s story gods had names like Hephaestus and Hera. Mother’s were Auilix and Xbalanque. [loc. 59]

Catalina de Cerrato is 'the only legitimate mixed-blood child in town'. She grows up in Guatemala, a generation after the Spanish Conquest: her Spanish father is the Governor, her Mayan mother was executed for heresy. Catalina is a strong-willed young woman, and she's determined to honour her vow to her mother -- to preserve the Popul Vuh, a sacred text which recounts the history of the K'iche' people. In an uneasy alliance with the handsome Juan de Rojas, a Mayan descended from kings, and with her own cousin Cristóbal -- and the use of psychedelics -- Catalina transcribes the ancient legends. But her father is strict (though fair) and it's hard for Catalina to reconcile the two halves of her heritage: the Mayan myths which live vividly in her mind, and the Spanish genocide still celebrated by the older generation.

I found the historical elements of the novel more convincing than the romance, and I wasn't comfortable with the catalogue of disasters that befell Catalina. Well-written, and with vivid descriptions, Daughter of Fire includes a bibliography, and an afterword explaining the historical context. Catalina's father is not very nice to his children, but "by implementing the New Laws almost single-handedly, Don Alonso López de Cerrato achieved one of the most extraordinary feats of administration in the New World. Yet, he has been largely forgotten by history."

2025/035: Rocannon's World — Ursula Le Guin

...there were no words. Yet it asked him what he wished. “I do not know,” the man said aloud in terror, but his set will answered silently for him: I will go south and find my enemy and destroy him. [loc. 1632]

Le Guin's first published novel (1966), and not nearly as distinctive or profound as her later work: it's more readable than a lot of mid-Sixties planetary romance, though, and there are traces of themes that would appear in her later novels, such as sacrifice and colonialism.

Rocannon is a 'middle-aged' (43!) ethnologist, who -- in the opening chapter, a variant of Le Guin's short story 'Semley's Necklace' -- encounters a beautiful alien woman who has been brought by dwarven Clayfolk to retrieve an heirloom from a museum. Semley's story ends when she returns to her world and discovers that her husband is dead and her daughter an old woman: though the journey took 'one night' for her, decades have passed. It's as though she's been taken to Fairyland, and Rocannon's subsequent journey to her world has many of the trappings of a fantasy novel: a quest with a varied group of companions, a gift that is also a curse, the realisation that one can't go home again.

The main narrative begins some years later, after Rocannon has travelled to Fomalhaut II (Semley's planet) to do a survey: a stealth attack has destroyed Rocannon's spaceship and killed the rest of his team. He is stranded, and he needs to get a message to the League of All Worlds to report the ship's destruction and the presence of the lightly-sketched Enemy. He travels south, accompanied by Semley's grandson Mogien, a couple of servants, and an elven Fiia given to prophesy: his technology is mistaken for magic, and he himself for the mythological 'Wanderer': he encounters monstrous winged creatures, rough piratical types, intelligent rodents and an unseen entity who bestows a double-edged gift. And then, when his mission is accomplished, the novel concludes in less than a page. Yes, it's a short novel (originally half an Ace Double), but the pacing is ... uneven.

I did enjoy reading this, despite Rocannon's single-note character. I liked the way that the world is shaped by Rocannon's own decision to put the planet in a kind of quarantine. "...after I met Lady Semley, I went to my people and said, what are we doing on this world we don’t know anything about? Why are we taking their money and pushing them about? What right have we?" [loc. 469] And I liked the occasional phrase that rang true, that reminded me of Le Guin's later work:  "this world to which he had come a stranger across the gulfs of night" [loc. 843]

This was technically a reread, though very little felt at all familiar: I bought Rocannon's World for my father one Christmas in the ?1980s, and very likely devoured it pre-gifting. I inherited that paperback, too, and kept it until 2007. This time round I bought the compendium Worlds of Exile and Illusion, which contains Le Guin's first three novels: I'll get around to Planet of Exile and City of Illusions at some point...

2025/034: The Orb of Cairado — Katherine Addison

...one of Ulcetha's main tasks was writing fake provenances for the fake elven artefacts that came into Salathgarad's hands... It was a terrible use of second-class honors in history, but Ulcetha gritted his teeth and did it anyway because he was paid extremely well. He even came to find the work perversely interesting. [p. 8]

The events of The Goblin Emperor are triggered by the crash of an airship, which kills the emperor and all but one of his heirs. The Orb of Caraido tells the story of disgraced scholar Ulcetha Zhorvena, for whom the airship crash was a very personal tragedy: his best friend Mara was the pilot of the airship. From Mara, Ulcetha inherits a puzzle with a very academic twist that leads him back into the Department of History, from which he was expelled after being framed for the theft of the priceless Orish Veltavan. Working with historian Osmer Trenevar, Ulcetha discovers a murder, a secret love affair, and the possibility of clearing his name.

The Orb of Cairado is only about a hundred pages long, but there's a lot of plot in those pages. Ulcetha -- who likes trashy adventure novels, a taste which saves his life -- is vividly characterised, and he comes to look at his world and himself quite differently by the end of the story. I liked the backstabbing and politicking of the University, and Ulcetha's technique for gaining access to family archives: I'd happily read a whole novel about him, and it felt as though I had. The Goblin Emperor is a dense novel (I just checked the page count and was surprised to find it was under 500 pages!): The Orb of Cairado, though it has a simpler structure, is just as tightly woven. I find the Osreth books fascinating, not least because the author seldom explains much about anything. There is a weight of worldbuilding lurking beneath the surface.

2025/033: Yule Island — Johana Gustawsson

I thought, or rather I hoped, there was a man in this horrifying equation. A man who manipulated [her], perverted her, preying on her weaknesses to turn her into a monster. But the missing part of that equation was a woman... [p. 219]

Set on Storholmen, an island in the Stockholm archipelago, this is a chilly and twisty crime novel by an author who, despite her name, is French: indeed, she's known as the Queen of French Noir.

Emma Lindahl is employed to appraise the art and antiques collection of the Gussman family, whose manor house dominates Storholmen. Nine years ago, Emma's sister Sofia died on the island, her body found hanging from a tree with a pair of scissors hanging around her neck in a manner suggestive of Viking ritual. Emma does not advertise this connection, but she's keen to discover what really happened. When another young woman is murdered nearby, she encounters Detective Inspector Karl Rosén, who investigated Sofia's death and who's mourning the disappearance of his wife. The third viewpoint character is a woman named Viktoria, a housekeeper at the manor house: she's worried about her daughter Josephine, and especially Josephine's friendship with Thor, the teenaged son of her employers.

Two major twists, both of which were built on solid foundations and were credible within the story: both of which had me gaping and paging back to see how, where... The relationships between Karl, Emma, Anneli (who runs a cafe on the island), Freyja (Karl's wife) and others occasionally felt shallow, but there were also moments of great emotional complexity. Very atmospheric, and good at explaining (sometimes overexplaining) Swedish idiom, culture etc. In particular, Swedish expostulations are followed by their translation. "För helvete. For God's sake."

I did not predict the outcome, even after the twists and their sub-twists: the Viking element was neither super-intrusive nor horribly anachronistic. A shame, though, that the victims were almost all young women. And I'm not wholly convinced by the motivation behind the 'sacrifices'.

2025/032: Nowhere Else — Felicia Davin

“You know people who can travel across the universe in the blink of an eye and all you want from them is to feed your cats.” [loc. 1752]

The conclusion to the Nowhere trilogy (which began with Edge of Nowhere and continued with Out of Nowhere), this novel focuses on the scientist who caused the rift into the Nowhere: Dr Solomon Lange. He came back out of the breach greatly changed, having acquired an ability to move things with his mind and a conviction that the Nowhere provided an escape from 'the misery of embodiment'. Lange doesn't like anyone else on QSF17, except for (a) his cats and (b) possibly engineer Jake McCreery. He can hear and see the breach, which nobody else can, and he's probably the only person who can close it: but he needs a break, some time to recover from his ordeal in the Nowhere. Lange and McCreery take a trip back to Earth, to a Canadian an Alaskan shack in the wilderness: the landing pod is damaged, and he and McCreery (plus Lange's three cats) are stranded. They come to know and understand one another rather better than before.

It was initially hard to warm to either of the leads. Lange is the epitome of arrogant, asocial scientist: McCreery is preternaturally imperturbable, easy-going, and kind. In fact, the two have quite a lot in common, including a reluctance to form romantic relationships. Their time in Alaska brings them closer together, but it can't last forever. The breach is still threatening the fabric of the universe, and QSF17 -- a hollowed-out asteroid in lunar orbit -- may also be harbouring an alien intruder. Turns out it's a lot easier to save the universe if you're not working alone.

I found Lange's background, and his scientific approach to his lack of meaningful relationships, rather moving, and I liked the unexpected connection between Lange and Kit. The Lange/McCreery relationship was satisfying (as was Lange's obvious affection for his cats): however, I didn't feel that the SFnal elements of the broader plot were explored as fully as I'd have liked. A very enjoyable read, though.

2025/031: Out of Nowhere — Felicia Davin

Caleb didn’t want anything to do with that. His double wreaking havoc on a stranger’s reputation wasn’t his problem. The whole fucking multiverse was falling apart, and more importantly, so was he. [loc. 2434]

Sequel to Edge of Nowhere, which I enjoyed enough to immediately buy the rest of the trilogy: Out of Nowhere avoids middle-volume syndrome by picking up the story with different characters and with a different mode. This is more romance-with-SFnal-elements than SF-with-romantic elements, and it's also a tale of the multiverse, complete with exact doubles, different histories, and an ambitious heist.

Caleb took a job at QSF17 (a secret research lab hidden in a captured asteroid) to rescue his childhood best friend Aidan, who's a runner -- someone able to teleport and to take things with them -- and who was abducted by representatives of Quint Services. The rescue was accomplished (see Edge of Nowhere), but Aidan is no longer able to teleport. While Aidan recovers (and broods about being in unrequited love with his straight childhood best friend) Caleb encounters his own double, realises that the multiverse is a thing, and comes up with a scheme to make Quint pay by having his double confess to Quint's crimes.

What could possibly go wrong?

Actually, most of the things that I thought might go wrong didn't: instead Davin presents a delightful, and surprisingly successful, heist, complete with a celebrity spiritualist (last seen taking delivery of a vomitous dog), a new serum, and a life-saving drug. Also identity porn, activism, fake dating, and a trillionaire getting his just deserts. There are some dark moments (and quite a few points where I wanted to yell 'just talk to him!') but the finale was very satisfactory.

2025/030: The Runaways — Elizabeth Goudge

They had the charming surname of Linnet, and it was a pity it did not suit them. [p. 19]

First published in 1964 as Linnets and Valerians, those being the surnames of two entwined families: reissued as the winner of Hesperus Press's 'Uncover a Children's Classic Competition'. Four children, sent to stay with their autocratic grandmother while their father is soldiering in Egypt, flee her draconian rules. They find an unattended pony and trap outside a pub, plunder the bags of shopping therein, and climb in -- only to find that the pony knows its way home. Arriving after dark at a house they've never visited, they are greeted by an elderly gentleman who gives them beds for the night. He turns out to be their Uncle Ambrose, and sends a note to their grandmother to let her know where they are: she's quite happy for him to take charge of and educate them.

And life with Uncle Ambrose is quite idyllic. His employee Ezra (who had to walk all the way back from the pub on his wooden leg) takes to the children; Uncle Ambrose's reclusive neighbour Lady Alicia regards them as 'inevitable as the sun and rain' and her servant Moses Glory Glory Alleluja befriends them -- as do the bees. Not everyone in the village is wholesome, though. Emma Cobley, who runs the village shop, possibly sets her possibly-monstrous cat Frederick on them. (‘A sweet cat. A dear, pretty, loving, gentle cat,’ she insists, though Timothy, the younger boy, is still smarting from the scratches of a tiger-sized beast.) And there's a man known as 'Daft Davie' living in a cave under the tor (this is Devon) and a spell-book full of nastiness and a missing child and a lost husband and a publican who's up to no good...

I wish I'd read this as a child: I'd have loved it. It's very traditionally English, and feels Edwardian. Each child has a different and decided character: Robert who has all the ideas, Nan who deals with the aftermath of those ideas, Timothy who is frail but determined, and Betsy whose curiosity is matched by her kindness. There's a definite threat, which has blighted the village: there are adults behaving like adults, several unexpected reunions, and happy endings for all. And the writing is delightful, never too scary but sometimes quite dark, and peppered with mythological references.

Poor Frederick, though...

Bought in 2014, only just read!

2025/029: The Cosmic Serpent: DNA and the Origins of Knowledge — Jeremy Narby

I was now of the opinion that DNA was at the origin of shamanic knowledge. By “shamanism,” I understood a series of defocalization techniques: controlled dreams, prolonged fasting, isolation in wilderness, ingestion of hallucinogenic plants, hypnosis based on a repetitive drumbeat, near-death experience, or a combination of the above. [loc. 1410]

Narby's hypothesis is that shamanic ritual, and in particular the use of botanical hallucinogens ('plant-teachers'), allows indigenous peoples to access botanical and medical knowledge imparted at the molecular level via DNA. He's a hands-on experimenter, and his own experiences of ayahuasca -- a complex preparation, which shamans claim was taught to them by the plants -- inspired his theory that hallucinations and visions of entwined snakes, vines etc actually represent DNA. He theorises that the rituals and preparations allow humans to perceive the weak, colourful photons emitted by DNA.

I am not at all sure what I think about Narby's theories, but I am willing to accept that there are ways of understanding the world that do not conform to the scientific method. Narby writes "The problem is not having presuppositions, but failing to make them explicit. If biology said about the intentionality that nature seems to manifest at all levels, 'we see it sometimes, but cannot discuss it without ceasing to do science according to our own criteria,' things would at least be clear. But biology tends to project its presuppositions onto the reality it observes, claiming that nature itself is devoid of intention." [loc. 1818] Some of the studies he cites, and some of the arguments he makes, seem credible: at other points, such as his discussion of the role of 'wise serpents' in mythology, I was less convinced.

The book itself could have done with better proofreading and better conversion to ebook format: I was especially vexed by the rendering of large numbers, which did not superscript the powers. 'there is 1 chance in 20 multiplied by itself 200 times for a single specific protein to emerge fortuitously. This figure, which can be written 20200, and which is roughly equivalent to 10260, is enormously greater than the number of atoms in the observable universe (estimated at 1080)' [loc. 1023] ... Or 20²⁰⁰, 10²⁶⁰, 10⁸⁰...

An interesting read and an intriguing theory, but perhaps not as engaging (or convincing) as the author intended -- and more about his personal experience and beliefs than about the science of hallucinogens and the visions they create. Kudos to Narby for openmindedness and rejection of colonial mindsets.

an interesting interview with Narby, including accounts of some researchers asking ayahuasca specific questions.