2023/007: Hell Bent — Leigh Bardugo

Her life had been built on lies and stolen chances, a series of tricks, and evasions, and sleight of hand. She already knew the language of demons. She’d been speaking it her whole life. [loc. 7235]

I liked Ninth House so much that I preordered this sequel as soon as it was listed. My expectations were high: unrealistically so, perhaps, for this was something of a disappointment. Perhaps it's 'unexpected trilogy' syndrome, or rather 'unexpected middle book of trilogy'. The world-building is as dark and as fascinating as in Ninth House (which I reread immediately before reading this) but the plot feels less coherent, more a rollercoaster of triumph-defeat-triumph-defeat, and I didn't feel the characters were as fully realised in Hell Bent as in the earlier volume. I was hoping to get more insight into Dawes, and I didn't find Mercy's role in this novel especially credible.

There are a lot of new elements (including a vampire, and salt spirits, and a cat with a history, and a serial killer) and also a couple of elements that really shouldn't be new -- that is, they should have been mentioned, at least, in Ninth House, given how much they matter to Alex.

Pleased to see that an imprisoned demon is familiar with the works of Diana Wynne Jones ...

Fulfils the ‘title starts with H’ rubric of the 52 books in 2023 challenge.

2023/006: The Secret Pilgrim — John Le Carré

I lived the wrong life, that’s all. You don’t know till it’s too late, though, do you, sometimes? You think you’re one person, you turn out to be another, same as opera. [p. 384]

Not so much a novel as a set of short stories, framed as the reminiscences of Ned, a former spy now in charge of the Service's training academy: he's invited his old colleague, the legendary George Smiley, to address the new intake, and Smiley's after-dinner speech -- about how the world has changed but also stayed the same, about the many reasons that lead people to choose a career in the intelligence services, about the difficulty of distinguishing the truth -- sparks Ned's memories.

There are recurring themes here, including the sense of purpose felt by a good intelligence agent, the fallout of betrayal, and the ways in which people can survive the most appalling experiences if they have a single fixed point of goodness. The trope of the womanising spy also appears: Ned, it turns out, is immensely attractive to women (and at least one man), despite his comfortable, if not happy, marriage. We get to see events from other Le Carré novels, including the unmasking of Bill Haydon, and several familiar characters appear in one or more of Ned's stories.

I'm a great admirer of Le Carré's prose, and the layered deceptions and truths of his plots. In these episodes there's less room for him to expand on each situation, but Ned's account of his career, from youthful idealism to mid-life angst to greater self-knowledge, is a splendid character study.

Fulfils the ‘about secrets’ rubric of the 52 books in 2023 challenge.

2023/005: Beowulf for Cretins: A Love Story — Ann McMan

She wasn’t sure how news of her getting caught, half-naked, in a clinch with the new president — by the president’s mother — would go over with the dean. [loc. 2915]

Lesbian romance that hits all the beats and many of the tropes of traditional romance novels: surprise new boss, unfounded jealousy, awesome best friend, moments of doubt ... There's an additional layer of doubt, as Grace, our viewpoint character, is exclusively attracted to women (and, as the novel opens, is recovering from a bad break-up) while recently-widowed Abbie has been married to a man.

This was a light read, but an enjoyable one. Grace is an interesting lead: she's attempting to write a Great American Novel based on the theft of an abstract painting, Woman-Ochre (the retrieval of the painting dates the action of the novel to 2017) and, as a teacher of literature at a small New England college, has some excellent asides about Beowulf (I agree 100% about the failings of the 2007 film). There is also an intriguing backstory involving nuns. Abbie is more opaque, as we're seeing her from Grace's perspective, and Grace is unaware of some salient facts -- facts that, in true romance fashion, could easily have been communicated earlier in the novel, thus avoiding a lot of anguish and some hilarious shenanigans. Still, Abbie is a good romantic interest, and there are happy endings all round. Also includes a cute dog (named Grendel), an envious colleague, a Trump-voting relative, and a student with a crush. Great fun!

Fulfils the ‘has a Dedication’ rubric of the 52 books in 2023 challenge.

2023/004: Motherthing — Ainslie Hogarth

It’s going to be okay. Because there’s logic to a ghost, rules and methods for getting rid of one, unlike depression, for which there is nothing but stubborn despair. [loc. 2342]

Abby and her husband Ralph are both children of dysfunctional mothers, and have been living with Ralph's mother Laura. Now Laura has committed suicide in the basement, but she's not gone: she seems to be haunting the house, or perhaps haunting Ralph (who has his own mental health issues). Abby, scrubbing the blood out of the carpets, is determined to have a new start. She's very attached to one of the elderly patients she cares for, Mrs Bondy, a non-verbal woman who is at once a sweet mother-figure and Abby's 'baby'. Abby wants to start a family, to be the kind of mother that neither she nor Ralph ever had. But Laura's ghost, according to a (probably fraudulent) medium, would rather see Ralph dead than happy with Abby. And Mrs Bondy's daughter is planning to remove her from the care home where Abby works.

Motherthing is described as a blend of domestic horror and dark humour, but I found the humour scatalogical and the 'horror' too psychological. I did learn about the psychiatric industry around 'borderline parents' -- that is, parents with Borderline Personality Disorder -- and the notion of BPD fleas: 'the little bugs of dysfunction that mothers like ours leave crawling all over and inside you. “If you know you’ve got them and you know what they are, you won’t give them to anyone else.” [loc. 1176] Abby is a marvellously-written character whom I disliked intensely, which sums up my reaction to the whole novel: splendid prose, but I didn't care for the plot or the characters.

Fulfils the ‘first word is the’ rubric of the 52 books in 2023 challenge.

2023/003: Iron Widow — Xiran Jay Zhao

What is it about gender that matters so much to the system, anyway? Isn’t piloting entirely a mental thing? So why is it always the girls that have to be sacrificed for power? [loc. 187]

Very loosely based on the historical figure Empress Wu, the only female sovereign in the history of China, Iron Widow tells the story of Wu Zetian as she wreaks vengeance on the individuals and institutions which she holds responsible for the death of her sister and for the oppression of thousands of women, including herself. In a setup reminiscent of Pacific Rim (and many, many manga / anime works in Chinese and Japanese culture, with which I'm unfamiliar), linked pairs pilot Chrysalises -- giant robots -- to fight the fearsome Hundun invaders. Each Chrysalis is piloted by a boy and a girl (I'm using these terms deliberately: this is very much a YA novel) and the boy, of course, is the dominant one. The girl, the concubine, often doesn't survive battle. 'The important thing was that her family would receive a nice compensation.' And so there is a constant demand for more concubines -- like Zetian's sister, whose death she is determined to avenge.

The opening chapter put me off for a while, as it's from the perspective of a male pilot, off to fight the Hundun and justifying to himself the death of his concubine-pilot. While that sets the scene for the novel, it doesn't set the tone or the mood. Once Zetian takes over the narrative, her rage and pain and power carry the story forward. She becomes a concubine and is paired with the pilot who she holds responsible for her sister's death. This does not end well for him. Zetian, it turns out, is unusually powerful (she has immense qi), and a valuable asset. Instead of being punished for the pilot's death, she's paired with a murderer plucked from death row to fight the Hundun. Li Shimin is immensely powerful, but he's an alcoholic (thanks to his trainers) and not entirely safe to be around. From him, though, Zetian learns enough about her world to begin to topple the status quo.

Zetian is not always -- not often -- a likeable character, though she's easy to relate to. She's crippled by her bound feet; she is regarded as a commodity by her family; her only friend from home turns out to be the son of a powerful oligarch. But Zetian has nothing to lose, and she's not afraid to take risks.

This was splendidly visual, emotionally melodramatic, and surprisingly brutal. There are on-page murders, sexual assaults, torture scenes, humiliations: there are discussions of suicide, plenty of gaslighting, and endemic misogyny. I'd have liked Zetian to have some positive relationships with other female characters, but given the way her female relatives have treated her it's understandable that she's resistant. Her growing connection with Li Shimin is fascinating, as is her view on bringing a third person into their relationship: a triangle, she says, is the strongest shape.

There's something of a cliffhanger at the end, to do with the gods (whose Heavenly Court, in orbit, can be seen every few months) and the Hundun: I am looking forward to a resolution in Heavenly Tyrant, due in August 2023.

Fulfils the ‘enemies to lovers’ rubric of the 52 books in 2023 challenge.

2023/002: Remarkably Bright Creatures — Shelby Van Pelt

“Marcellus is your friend.”
“Yes, I suppose he is.”
“When you went up there to save him, you weren’t afraid of him at all.”
Tova clicks her tongue. “Certainly not! He’s gentle.” [loc. 2575]

Tova is seventy, and works as a cleaner at Sowell Bay Aquarium. Thirty years ago, her son Erik disappeared without trace. More recently her husband died, and Tova is very aware that she's alone, with no family to care for her when old age makes life more difficult. She does have friends: a group of women who call themselves the Knit-Wits, and Ethan, the owner of the local store. And Marcellus, of course. Marcellus is a giant Pacific octopus who lives at the aquarium, and who bonded with Tova after she rescued him during one of his out-of-tank excursions.

One night, Tova has a fall, and is unable to work for a while. Fortuitously, young drifter Cameron Cassmore has just come to town: Ethan, who's befriended him, helps him apply for the temporary role of cleaner, and he and Tova get to know one another. Cameron is not a likeable character at the outset -- a man of poor decisions and rich in self-justification, if nothing else, he's come to Sowell Bay to find his biological father, from whom he hopes to extract some financial support. But Ethan and Tova, between them, are stabilising influences, and soon Cameron becomes more likeable, more altruistic and less mercenary, saving money to repay a loan from his aunt, getting acquainted with Marcellus, relaxing into this new life.

Marcellus is the most intriguing of the three narrative voices. He's capable of reading the plaque by his tank, and he knows he is nearing the end of his life-span. He's established just how long he can be out of his tank (18 minutes) before he experiences The Consequences. And he has some other intriguing (and scientifically attested) talents, including the ability to recognise humans by gait, and to make fine distinctions between objects. He understands Tova when she speaks to him, and he understands her grief for her lost son. And when connections are needed, Marcellus makes them. His friendship with Tova is an absolute delight. (I note that Shelby van Pelt has also written short SFF, and wonder if that mindset helped her create Marcellus' vivid character.)

In some respects the story is predictable: but that does not make it any less cheering. Remarkably Bright Creatures is a story about resistance to change, about ageing, and about connections, with happy endings all round -- even for Marcellus. It's full of hope and devoid of cruelty, and I need more of that.

Fulfils the ‘has an epilogue’ rubric of the 52 books in 2023 challenge.

2023/001: Unraveller — Frances Hardinge

In the Shallow Wilds, you kept your doors shut after dark, to stop strangeness getting in. In the Deep Wilds, you offered the strangeness shelter and dinner, to stop it getting annoyed. [loc. 3634]

In Raddith, spidery creatures known as the Little Brothers bestow 'curse-eggs' upon those who feel wronged, granting the ability to curse those who've wronged them. Kellen has the unusual gift of unravelling curses. With his friend Nettle -- who was once cursed herself, and still exhibits lingering side-effects -- Kellen makes a living by ridding people of their curses: but there are rumours that some of the cursers (imprisoned, for life, in the Red Hospital) have broken free and are coming after Kellen.

Unraveller is a thoughtful and sometimes challenging exploration of the ways in which righteous anger can crystallise into hatred, which 'eats you up and makes everything worse'. To be cursed is to be objectified: to be someone to whom things happen, rather than someone with any agency. Those who house curse-eggs have been given the power to 'hold ... persecutors to account': but does that gift have to be acted on? ('just because somebody feels wronged, that doesn’t mean they are'.)

Though this is marketed / labelled as 'young adult', and has teenaged protagonists, it's layered and twisty enough to satisfy more jaded readers. There are some fascinating secondary characters: I was especially fond of Gall, who has made a pact with a fearsome marsh horse ('eating from a nosebag with a disturbingly loud crunching noise. The ground around the horse was scattered with small feathers') and whose moral alignment is only gradually revealed. The story of Nettle's brothers, its roots familiar from folktales, was incredibly poignant: some things can't be healed.

I did feel the pacing was uneven, and some secondary characters weren't sufficiently fleshed out to bear the weight of their eventual plot-relevance. Also, I didn't especially take to Kellen. But Hardinge's prose, and the strangeness of Raddith -- its marshes, its isolated villages and its cities -- kept me enjoying and engaged with this novel.

Fulfils the ‘Published by Macmillan’ rubric of the 52 books in 2023 challenge.