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.