2019/34: Witchmark -- C L Polk

None of the other physicians in Mental Recovery had seen the war. They didn’t know how the “hopelessly outgunned” Laneeri had fought back with surprise, silence, and savagery. The men here needed me. After everything I had been forced to do in Laneer, I could never abandon them. [loc. 259]

Dr Miles Singer went to war as a doctor, and now he's home in Aeland. The war isn't over for him, though, nor for his patients in the Mental Recovery ward: veterans who are plagued with terrifying dreams of another presence dwelling within them. Thus far Miles hasn't experienced such nightmares. He's convinced that if he can unravel their origin, he might be able to explain why so many veterans commit murder when they return to their families.

Then a handsome stranger arrives at the hospital, with a dying man, Nick Elliot, who begs Miles to help him. He says the soldiers deserve the truth. But what truth? And how does he know that Dr Singer is 'Sir Christopher'? His companion, Tristan Hunter, offers his assistance in discovering the truth behind Elliot's death. Was it connected with his investigative journalism? Or was it because he was a witch -- like Miles?

In this society -- strongly reminiscent of our own Edwardian age, though with different technology and functional magic -- witches of the lower classes invariably go mad, and are committed to asylums. That Miles has not been thus incarcerated is an additional sign that he's of the nobility, the Storm-Singers who preserve Aeland from disaster. He's estranged from his family, because they would have used him as little more than a magical battery. Instead, he surreptitiously uses his powers to heal.

Miles can detect something odd, some form of illusion, concealing Tristan's true nature. He's immensely attracted to Tristan and believes it mutual: but when he discovers who Tristan really is, he despairs.

I very much enjoyed this novel, the first in a series: it's well-paced, with intriguing characters and a fascinating setting. The moral issues faced by Miles, Tristan and Miles' sister Grace are by no means simplistic, and there is an underlying darkness to the plot that casts a shadow over both Aeland and its conquered enemy, Laneer. And Miles, the first-person narrator, is a very likeable character: a decent man striving to do right, horrified by the atrocities around him.

I did, though, find some aspects of the novel's final chapters unsatisfactory. The romantic development seemed to come out of nowhere, and in the wider picture everyone seems to have been left on the brink of disaster. I'm sure that this will all be resolved in the next volume (which I have preordered), but it felt unfinished, inconclusive, rushed.

Also very interesting to read this immediately after The Apple-Tree Throne: there are thematic and environmental similarities, and Miles -- though of aristocratic origins -- would, I think, like Ben a lot.

2019/33: The Apple-Tree Throne -- Premee Mohammed

I have been defeated enough. And I am still fighting a war on more fronts than I ever have. [loc. 390]

Lieutenant Benjamin Braddock has come home to the Greater Republic of Britannia, home from the war with a bad case of survivors' guilt and a leg that doesn't work properly. He is a haunted man: figuratively, by dreams and memories of the war and the camaraderie of soldiers; and literally, by the ghost of his dishonoured commander, Major-General Theodore Wickersley. Wickersley's family seem to want Ben to take the place of their dead son: Clark and his wife Victoria (Vic), Ben's only friends, worry about Ben's state of mind.

Ben does not tell anybody about the ghost.

There is enough alternate-history backstory here for a whole series of novels. Though Ben's world is reminiscent of Britain in the Edwardian era, there are technologies that didn't exist in our world: 'radio-viz', which broadcast (in crystal-clear black and white) the execution of Wickersley by Captain Eleutherios; aqua-ponds, which provide energy; ornithopters, which might have made a difference to the war except that the enemy used glass-stringed kites to bring them down. The British monarchy has been abolished, and the nations are referenced by unfamiliar names -- Neo-Gall, Prushya, Gundisalvus’ Land. The class structure, however, is (for the most part) blithely intact. Wickersley's family are aristocrats, basking in their privilege and assuming that Ben is theirs to control: Ben, who grew up more or less on the streets, is not prepared to play their games.

And Ben has no Latin, so can't decipher the inscription in Wickersley's pocket-watch: Cotidie damnatur qui semper timet. The reader, though, knows or can Google it: The man who is constantly in fear is every day condemned. An interesting epigram for a man rumoured to have died a coward's death: an interesting insight into Wickersley, that might comfort Ben if he understood it.

The Apple-Tree Throne is a poetic, melancholy tale. Ben's first-person, present-tense narrative conceals as much as it reveals, but never with the sense that something is deliberately omitted to maintain the story. I can't discuss the ending without spoiling it -- and this is definitely a story that needs to be read 'cold' -- but my reaction was "Oh! Yes, of course." Which is to say: there's a twist, but it is so carefully foreshadowed that it is wholly satisfying.

Interestingly, this world also has an alternative rhyme for counting magpies (or crows, I suppose): "One for trouble, two for tears... Three for courage, four for fears. Five for a journey, six for a home, seven for a ha’nt doomed ever to roam." [loc. 462] I wonder if this is reflected in the structure of The Apple-Tree Throne...

2019/32: Sing for the Coming of the Longest Night -- Katherine Fabian and Iona Datt Sharma

"... we'd like to report a disappearance. He's a consulting magician. What does that mean? Oh, he escaped from fairyland when he was five and he does things for anyone who pays him. What relation is he? Hard to say but we're both fucking him. That's gonna go, oh, brilliantly." [loc. 135]

A queer poly romantic fantasy set in London, featuring climate change, a Christmas pop hit, a magical snowglobe, and the 'fake wedding' trope. This novella delighted me so much that I read it again immediately.

Layla is happily married to Katrina: they have children: she is attending a Nativity play when -- during the Three Kings macarena -- someone knocks on the window of the school hall. It's Nat, blue-haired and gender-queer, come to tell Layla that their mutual lover Meraud has disappeared.

Nat is Jewish, makes a living as a composer, and can do some magic: Layla is Hindi, works as a pathologist and grew up with Meraud, and is not a magic user. Nat and Layla do not get along. But they have to work together in order to locate and retrieve Meraud, who is a powerful magician, can't follow a story with beginning-middle-end, and whose 'in case of emergency' number turns out to be the Thames Water helpline.
Meraud is ... not given to commitment (a corpse is reported that might be his: but no, the dead man wears a wedding ring), which is why neither Layla nor Nat has realised that he's missing for nearly two weeks. And why both of them, as well as trying to bring him back from wherever he's gone, have to start thinking seriously about his role in their lives.

Layla and Nat both have rounded characters and rounded lives: I especially liked Nat's friends Ari and Kay, and Layla's marriage is vividly sketched in a few key scenes. By comparison, Meraud is something of a cipher. Never wholly knowable, thinks Layla. But his personality is present, in the actions and reactions of those who knew him, in Layla and Nat's very different memories of him, and in the marginalia of his books. (Against 'those born in the Elflands', he's written "I am not THAT kind of fairy".)

I would love to read more about the three of them and their relationships. And I am fascinated by the system of magic depicted here: found objects, rule of three, symbolism and resonance, and the 'place over the water', which can be reached with 'a small boat, a scrap of red, a surfeit of foolishness, a fool's luck' [loc. 156].

Two authors to add to my watch-list ...

2019/31: League of Dragons -- Naomi Novik

Yu Li broke [the silence] herself, saying in Chinese, "This is a very handsome map, but those men are not over there," while leaning forward to make several alterations to the disposition of figures with the talons of her foreleg, nudging some here and there in small increments until she was satisfied with their arrangement. She straightened up from the table and blinked around at the company, who wore a general expression of disquiet: a dragon did not generally appear in a dining room, and even Laurence had to admit of a vague sense of something decidedly out of place, as though a caricature from the Gazette had abruptly come to life. [p. 317]

In which Temeraire and Laurence go home.

The grand finale to the series, which does not quite tie up every plot-thread, but achieves resolution for the major arcs: Laurence's happiness, the rights of dragons, the threat of Napoleon's empire-building, and the various agendas and motivations of the humans and dragons of different nations. There are, again, strong female characters with agency (I was pleased to encounter Jane Roland again, as well as Perscitia and Iskierka and Anahuarque) and multiple reversals. Persons who have seemed trustworthy are not: some characters who have been tangential to the main arcs become more significant.

Temeraire is still a delight, and a formidable strategist, though prone to acting on impulse when his protective instincts are engaged. Tharkay is also a delight, especially at the end of the novel. Why yes, there is a happy ending. Indeed, there are several. Diplomacy, subterfuge, legitimisation and surprising alliances! Kind hearts! Coronets! ... It's hard to write about this novel without major spoilers: suffice to say that it was, for me, a satisfactory resolution to the series overall, and a well-paced novel in its own right.

2019/30: Blood of Tyrants -- Naomi Novik

... when Laurence put his hands to it, he found he knew how to climb up, and his body remembered the seat in the elbow's crook as though he were going blindfold up into the rigging. Laurence sat still a moment with the book open upon his lap, struggling with a kind of horror between bone-deep familiarity and endless strangeness. [p. 168]

In which Temeraire and Laurence go to Japan, and then head west.

Laurence is washed up on a beach, with an extraordinarily precise form of amnesia: while he soon remembers his name, he has forgotten everything that has happened since he was captain of His Majesty's Ship Reliant, in 1804. It is now 1812.

Laurence's amnesia, and his reunion with the dragon he doesn't remember at all, is fascinating reading, but I'm not sure it contributes much to the plot. Amnesiac or not, Laurence would encounter the same people, run the same risks -- this is during the period when foreigners were forbidden to tread Japanese soil except at the trading port at Nagasaki -- and have to cross the same terrain. But of course Temeraire is distraught, first by the absence and presumed death of his captain, and then by the reappearance of his favourite human, who is behaving like a stranger. And nobody will tell Laurence much about the eight years he's forgotten, for fear of oversetting the fragile balance of his mind.

Anyway: there is not a moment to be lost. A vital mission to China -- where some bad things have happened -- and then west to Russia, where Napoleon is marching on Moscow ... Laurence has acquired yet another companion, Junichiro, who has sacrificed his own honour for that of his master, Kaneko, who first rescued Laurence. Junichiro seems to be no more than a miserable teenager for much of the book, yet does have his own agenda, as is revealed towards the end of the book.

There is a lot here that is unremittingly grim: the opium plots, rebellion, Russian treatment of dragons, and of course the relentless march of Napoleon's army. True, there are sparks of brightness (not least the moment when Laurence regains his memory: or the moment, before that, when he realises how much he cares for Temeraire) but on the whole it is far from joyous. Also, there are at least two scenes where a dragon is severely wounded (Immortalis, for instance), but apparently recovers almost instantly. Continuity issues or lack of clarity on the passage of time?

This novel ends on a cliffhanger. But the end is nigh ...

2019/29: Crucible of Gold -- Naomi Novik

"... untrained intermediaries! A violently quarrelsome dragon, a governess, and a fifteen-year-old girl! And I must credential them — I hope no-one in England may hear of it." [p. 210]

In which Temeraire and Laurence go to South America.

The novel opens with the arrival of Hammond in the pleasant valley where Laurence and Temeraire have settled. Hammond brings news: Laurence has been reinstated, and please would he and Temeraire go to Brazil, which is under attack by the Tswana, and broker a peace?

Laurence accepts, not without misgivings: he has come to enjoy 'peace and honest labour, without the clinging stink of murder and treachery'. The company take ship, heading east across the Pacific on the Allegiance with Captain Riley, an old friend of Laurence's. After considerable setbacks (and the welcome appearance of the perfidious French) they reach the west coast of South America, and the Incan Empire.

This is an Incan Empire in which Pizarro was, to say the least, unsuccessful: however, in an echo of our own history, the population has been decimated by European sicknesses. The dragons, immune, are extremely protective of their human charges, and keen to acquire more. And the Sapa Inca, ruler of the Empire, is clever and ambitious, and has a counsel of draconic advisors and a vast treasury. And Laurence and company haven't even reached Brazil yet ...

There's also a strong flavour of O'Brian here, possibly because the first third of the novel takes place primarily at sea or on small islands. I was reminded of The Nutmeg of Consolation, and also Desolation Island (note to self: reread O'Brian some time). I think I prefer my travelogues with a nautical aspect.

This is perhaps the most feminist of the sequence: certainly the one where the female characters (not just the humans) have most effect. Iskierka is a delight (though sometimes thoughtless): Mrs Pemberton, Emily and Lesotho all have major roles in the story. And Laurence is thinking more about ownership, slavery and protection: there is a pleasing exchange between Laurence and Temeraire in which the former realises that yes, for practical purposes he does belong to Temeraire rather than vice versa. Meanwhile, Temeraire is considering whether he could 'look after' more men than he could carry at one time.

I enjoyed this one immensely. Onwards!

2019/28: Tongue of Serpents -- Naomi Novik

Whatever they might think of Temeraire's personal habits of free-thinking, these they generally credited, Laurence knew, to his own account: when, he was dryly amused to think, the reverse was by far the truth of the matter. [p. 122]

In which Temeraire and Laurence go to Australia.

After a deeply unpleasant voyage, and a brief stopover in Van Diemen's Land (where the deposed governor of the New South Wales colony, one Captain Bligh, fails to impress with his suggestion that Temeraire could help him recover his place), Laurence and his crew have the task of setting up a new covert or breeding-ground near Sydney. For this purpose they have brought three dragon eggs with them. Laurence is unimpressed by a great many things, including but not limited to the misery of the colony; the mutineers who've displaced Bligh; and the presence of Rankin, last seen being vile in Temeraire, who is to be given one of the eggs.

It is with relief that the crew -- with the eggs, for safety -- embark on an expedition to set up a cattle-drive road through the Blue Mountains. Except that is not their only goal: Tharkay is keen to discover how Chinese goods are being smuggled into Sydney. But then one of the eggs is stolen, and despite the perils of the unexplored continent (men disappearing, venomous vermin, et cetera) they must pursue and rescue it.

On the journey the remaining egg hatches; they encounter bunyips and natives; and when they finally reach the egg's destination, they are astonished to find ... well. It is, I can guarantee, quite divergent from our own history (and in many ways rather delightful, whatever Laurence and company might think of it).

There's a strong sense of the wider world despite Laurence and Temeraire being exiled to this remote corner of it. Letters from Jane and Perscitia describe the situation back in Europe: a chance-met American trader reveals the onslaught of the Tswana, as well as a few tantalising glimpses of how differently America has developed in a world with dragons: and the Chinese are much less isolationist.

But this is far from my favourite in the series: I started reading it when I was unwell, and that may have affected my opinion, but it didn't feel as much fun as previous volumes. Although the travelogue aspects are interesting, and the natural hazards of the journey provide some obstacles, there's little that is new in Temeraire's relationship with Laurence. Until the end, which feels like a false dawn: the series could easily stop there, albeit with a great many untidy threads.

Still: being unwell meant lounging around reading, o woe!

2019/27: A Gentleman Never Keeps Score -- Cat Sebastian

Someone helpless needed aid, and he went out of his blasted way to assist them. ... [his brother] needed a commission, and Hartley went to bed with the only rich man he knew. It wasn’t self-sacrifice—that was for noble-minded decent sorts. Hartley didn’t even like people, much less want to sacrifice his comfort for them. [loc 705]

Hartley Sedgwick used to be a pillar of fashionable Regency London: then his godfather died and bequeathed him a mansion, and his godfather's son made it known that Hartley preferred men to women. Hartley is now the best-dressed recluse in Town.

Sam Fox is black and working-class: formerly a boxer, he now runs a successful pub. His friend and would-be sister-in-law, Kate (also black) is keen to recover a lewd painting of her, done when she was badly in need of money. The artist? Hartley Sedgwick's deceased godfather.

So naturally Sam sets out to steal back the painting ...

There was a lot to enjoy in this book: Hartley's desperate pride, sarcasm and spiky personality, Sam's good sense and gentleness, Kate's independence. Cat Sebastian's depiction of black working-class life in Regency London is excellent, though not the focus of the novel: so good, though, to read about men and women of colour who are neither slaves nor servants.

The romance was sweet, though it all seemed to happen rather easily despite Hartley's defensive vulnerability and Sam's justifiable distrust of 'gentry'.

I had one nitpick (pound coins in 1817? nope!) and one big problem with this novel. The big problem is that the villain shares a name with someone I know, and I couldn't help but think of him each time the name was mentioned ...

2019/26: Europe at Dawn -- Dave Hutchinson

Obviously, the world and everything in it had been stupid since the dawn of time. It was just that, every now and again, there seemed to be a surge in stupid and there was nothing anyone could do about it except hang on and hope things would get better soon. [loc. 7179]

I really should have reread the first three volumes (Europe in Autumn, Europe at Midnight and Europe in Winter): but I found that somehow the first two had vanished from my Kindle and my content, and I foolishly decided to forge ahead.

There are two major new characters in this, the fourth volume (or is it) of Hutchinson's near-future European intrigue. Alice is a junior cultural attache at the Scottish Embassy in Tallin, Estonia. Her husband is horrifically controlling, and she lives in a state of permanent confusion vis-a-vis the activities of her colleagues. Benno, by contrast, is a refugee from a country he can't remember (perhaps somewhere in North Africa?) who lives in a shipping-container town on a small Greek island. Alice is offered a stolen, bejewelled skull: Benno finds a corpse with a gun and a cellphone. These are the points at which their lives are irrevocably changed.

Alice and Benno's respective turning-points seem to happen early in the overall chronology of the series: the Community has not yet revealed itself, and Rudi is still young and relatively unscarred. But Europe at Dawn skips around in time: that jewelled skull shows up again (or is it before?), the Community becomes international news, and characters come and go, sometimes not subject to the same chronology as their peers.

There are a number of splendidly effective female characters: I'd have liked to see more of Meg, the officer in command at Heathrow Airport -- which, with a section of Bath Road, was transposed into the Community in the previous volume. (Oh how wonderful it would have been if Bath Road had been transposed whilst replete with SF fans at an Eastercon, or geeks at Nine Worlds!) And Victoria surely deserves a book to herself. But Alice is great, and I am with Rudi in feeling that what happens to her is tragic.

Benno's story, which doesn't have the same sense of beginning-middle-end to it, allows Hutchinson to rage at the plight of refugees. All he wants to do is go north ... but in this fragmented Europe, where every town or village (or island) can and may declare independence, 'north' is a moveable feast.

One day I will reread the whole series, and perhaps be less confused by Europe at Dawn -- which does seem to interlock with the previous books, rather than following on from them. But there's room for more story, given the surprising revelations at the climax of this volume. And my lack of context did not prevent my being highly amused, intrigued and moved by the book.

I hope Mr Hutchinson will not be upset if I get a t-shirt with 'Spirit of Schengen' on it.

2019/25: Venetia -- Georgette Heyer

"You mean to warn me that he may continue to have mistresses, and orgies, and – and so-on, don’t you, sir?"
"Particularly so-on!" interpolated Damerel.
"Well, how should I know all the shocking things you do? ..."
"You’d know about my orgies!" objected Damerel. [p. 325]

Probably a reread, though I don't remember anything about it: I did read pretty much all Heyer's romances some time around 1995. Venetia is not one of my top five, but it has a certain charm, and a hero more likeable than most Regency beaus.

Venetia Lanyon has been managing her reclusive father's household since the death of her mother when she was a small girl. Now twenty-five, she has never been further than Harrogate, and enjoys the company of her bookish younger brother Aubrey whilst anxiously awaiting the return of their elder brother, Conway, an officer in Wellington's army. Her suitors, commonplace Edward Yardley and would-be Byronic hero Oswald Denny, are persistent and thick-skinned: Venetia has no inclination towards either of them.

Then a notorious rake returns to the neighbourhood. Lord Damerel is infamous for having eloped with a married woman, broken his parents' hearts, dissipating his fortune, and 'devoted himself to the pursuit of all the more extravagant forms of diversion'. Indeed, Venetia's initial encounter with Damerel is not at all refined.

But the two become friends, and Damerel also takes Aubrey under his wing, to the dismay of the Lanyons' neighbours and well-wishers. But do they know the real Damerel? And does Venetia?

Venetia, in my opinion, has been treated shockingly by her family: gaslighting would be an anachronistic metaphor but she has certainly been lied to over an extended period of time. She handles a major revelation with grace and humour, and though she's misled by Damerel's heroic attempts to pretend disinterest, she eventually realises the truth and takes control of her future.

Seldom sentimental and often very funny: I find Heyer's novels pleasant recreations, especially when the real world is either metaphorically or actually gloomy.

2019/24: The Price of Meat -- K J Charles

To find oneself in such proximity to a weapon of murder must have blighted the nerves of any woman of sensibility; Johanna, who sadly lacked proper feeling, whispered an expletive and made a silent vow to see her villainous master hang. [loc. 47]

A novella, which I bought at publication and have unaccountably not got around to reading until now. I must say it cheered me up remarkably. Set in an alternate 19th century where Britain is ruled by Victor II, this is horror rather than romance, though there are two queer couples (M/M and F/F) who feature prominently.

Arabella Wilmot has been confined to an asylum by her greedy parents, who crave the generous bequest that will be theirs if Arabella dies before her 21st birthday. Fortunately, her lover Johanna Oakley is determined to save her: and when opportunity knocks -- in the form of another asylum inmate who tells her an incoherent tale of mass-murder and corruption -- Johanna is quick to seize it. She approaches Colonel Elias Jeffery, investigating magistrate, who is keen to discover what lies behind the disappearance of more than sixty men (though not a proportional number of women) in the last six months. The answers seem to lie in the Liberty of Alsatia, where the long arm of the law can't reach.

And then Jeffery receives a note from Johanna, who has taken a post as shop boy, 'needless to say in masculine attire', to investigate a barber's shop on the edge of Alsatia. In exchange for Jeffery's promise to help Arabella, Johanna proposes to 'observe, record and investigate'. Will her cast-iron sensibilities be a match for what she discovers within the Liberty?

This was a delightful read, despite the sheer nastiness of the premise. Johanna is a splendid heroine -- resourceful, brave and intelligent -- and Arabella is far from spineless: Jeffery is competent and honorable; and Ingestrie not only demonstrates considerable bravery and inventiveness, but also has some of the best lines in the novella.

I would be delighted to read more fiction set in this variant on the City of Dreadful Night. The horror is wholly human, and so are the characters: I'd love to know what happens to them after the end of The Price of Meat.

2019/23: Victory of Eagles -- Naomi Novik

Temeraire was not sorry to have killed the soldiers, it was just as well they had, since otherwise they would have had to fight them again... But he was sorry they were dead, and it made one rather sad to look at them.[loc. 1235]

In which Temeraire and Laurence stay in Britain.

After the harrowing finale to Empire of Ivory, Victory of Eagles begins with Temeraire's narrative. Britain is threatened with invasion, but Temeraire has been separated from Laurence and confined to the breeding grounds in a remote Welsh valley. He is lonely, and anxious about Laurence's safety: but his nature, and his determination to improve the lot of himself and his fellow dragons, do not permit him to resign himself to torpor.

Laurence, meanwhile, is not having an altogether pleasant time. Many abhor him: others celebrate his actions. He himself is numb with misery and guilt, and desperate to make his treasonable actions worthwhile. If Napoleon does invade, Laurence will fight to his last breath. Indeed, he might welcome the opportunity to die for his country.

And there's a rumour of 'some bright militia-officer' who has beaten the French infantry not once but twice. Laurence falls in with the courier carrying a colonel's commission to this exemplary soldier, and is surprised by the new colonel's identity.

I vastly enjoyed this book, though it's an emotional roller-coaster. Novik doesn't let us dangle on any one cliffhanger for long, but there is still considerable suspense. Temeraire's viewpoint narrative is a delight: a blend of indignation, pride and deeply-felt (though not much examined) emotion. He is forced to act independently, and take responsibility for others. Some excellent new characters too, including the mathematically-inclined Perscitia, who does not want to fight (hence her banishment to the breeding-grounds) but whose intelligence is a great asset to the militia. She's a great contrast to the fiery (ha!) and impulsive Iskierka, whose craving for treasure not only lumbers her captain Granby with tawdry frippery but also endangers them both.

It's interesting to see Laurence encounter a number of people from his past (Tharkay, his brother and mother, his former fiancee Edith, Jane Roland) and demonstrate how he's changed, and been changed, over the course of the series so far. He does, of course, feel guilty about his effect on each of those individuals: but it's worth noting that nearly all of them are warm and positive towards him. That doesn't help Laurence resolve his trilemma -- duty, honour or justice? -- but does perhaps offer some solace. Tharkay remains one of my favourite characters, especially for his plain-speaking: that seems to get through to Laurence when nothing else does. Temeraire has been shielded from the worst effects of Laurence's crimes, and anyway his moral compass is skewed by his unswerving loyalty to Laurence. Which is not to say that he doesn't continue to surprise Laurence in this volume ...

The military stuff -- right up to the Battle of Shoeburyness, which is set somewhere off one of the beaches I used to visit as a child -- is credible and interesting and distinctly different from our own history. Dragons speed things up, whether troop movements or naval battles or Laurence's process of grief and guilt.

I decided to take a break from this series after this novel, as it seemed a suitable stopping-point and the next book cost more than I prefer to spend on an e-book. This resolution did not last long, though ...

2019/22: Empire of Ivory -- Naomi Novik

...we are very tired and have come to London only because our friends are sick and have been left to starve and die in the cold, because the Admiralty will do nothing to make them more comfortable. [loc. 1000]

In which Temeraire and Laurence go to Africa, and then to the darkest point of the series. I think this might be the best-constructed of the novels, and the most affecting, though it is hard to like wholeheartedly as it's so dark.

Temeraire and Laurence, returning from Prussia, find that a plague has afflicted all the British dragons: many have died, and the rest are crippled by a consumptive illness.

Due to the death of the previous 'flag-dragon', Jane Roland, with whom Laurence has an understanding, has been made Admiral. giving further opportunity for Laurence to reexamine his ingrained sexism. She sends Laurence, Temeraire and the rest of Temeraire's formation to Capetown in the hope of locating a cure for the plague: but that cure is in the possession of the Tswana, a confederation of clans who regard dragons as reincarnations of their ancestors, and who are deeply enraged by the slave trade.

There is a great deal happening in this novel, and Novik carries it off splendidly. There is (relatively) light relief in the pregnancy of Catherine Harcourt, another dragon-captain -- further attitude-adjustment for Laurence, who is appalled to realise that Jane has been practicing contraception. ("‘I damned well hope you have been taking precautions? But I am sure Roland knows her business,’ Warren added, without waiting for reply. Just as well, for Laurence had never been asked a question he would have less liked to answer. It had abruptly and appallingly illuminated certain curious habits of Jane’s, which he had never thought to question, and explained her regular consultations of the calendar." [loc. 2596].

There is ample opportunity for Temeraire to display independence, loyalty, possessiveness and affection. And there are vivid depictions of the horrors of genocide, slavery and disease.

Once again Laurence is forced to make momentous decisions: and whether he has changed over the course of the novels, or whether Temeraire's influence on him has increased, or whether this dilemma is so stark as to permit only one 'right' course of action, is a question I'm still pondering. (I'm inclined to say 'all of the above'.)

The climax of the novel, which I shan't discuss in detail, is truly shocking, and I am so very glad that I had the next volume lined up, because Empire of Ivory ends on an appalling, and very dark, cliffhanger.

2019/21: Black Powder War -- Naomi Novik

[Laurence] would have willingly accepted anything short of treason or dishonor to avoid being parted from Temeraire. [loc. 211]

In which Laurence and Temeraire take the Silk Road from China to Istambul, and then travel onwards to Prussia.

They are accompanied by the mysterious Tharkay, half-British and half-Asian (and half-trustworthy, it seems to Laurence): it is he who brings their latest set of orders, which involve collecting three dragon eggs from the Sultan in Istanbul. En route they encounter feral dragons, and discover that there is a 'native' dragon language. Temeraire takes this as yet further evidence that dragons should not be treated as mere animals. He is determined to return to Britain to educate his peers, and the Admiralty -- and vastly disappointed in Laurence for urging caution and tact.

Things do not go according to plan in Istambul (Novik achieves awful poignancy here) and the party are forced to flee, leaving behind the never-really-resolved issue of what happened to confound the deal. (I don't think it needed resolution, to be honest, but I was aware that no resolution was offered.) And Temeraire also has to face an implacable enemy.

North to Prussia, and an extended sequence of aerial and land battles: Laurence also has an opportunity to do great good, but cannot honourably take that opportunity. This is especially vexing in the light of subsequent novels.

Apart from the interlude in Istambul -- which I enjoyed greatly, and found very moving at its climax -- this volume feels, in hindsight, as though it's primarily travelogue and military campaign. I think I'm doing it a disservice, because several delightful characters are introduced herein, and there are many lovely details (some dragons are observant Muslims, for instance): but it didn't engage me as much as the previous volume.