#31: Louisa the Poisoner -- Tanith Lee

A novella rather than a novel, Louisa the Poisoner (77 pages including illustrations) was published in 1995. I hadn't even heard of it until recently ...

Louisa lived with her aunt in a cottage on the mire and for nineteen years knew no other life.

The (nameless) aunt, a nasty piece of work, raises Louisa to behave like a gentlewoman, even though her rings are made of bark and rushes and her cultured tones have been taught to her phonetically. One night, the aunt concocts an especially deathly poison: one drop ensures a painless death, two drops an agonising one; 'three drops and there's fire'.

Well! What can a poor girl do?

The aunt despatched (with a single drop: Louisa's not grudgeful), the girl sets out to seek her fortune. Finds her way to Maskullance Manor, home of a noble family who are variously intrigued or enraged by Louisa's beauty, humility and obvious breeding. Only the butler, Sheepshead, has a healthy suspicion of her, and questions the accidents which befall the members of the family at regular intervals.

Something protected him, something divine or demoniac. Louisa did not perfectly believe in such things, for in her world she had found no need of them, either for help or blame.

Eventually the inscrutable newcomer is hauled up before judge and jury. Witness for the defense: Sheepshead. Can Louisa's art win her freedom? And where will she go then?

Somewhat slight, but vintage Lee.

#30: The Wave Runners -- Kai Meyer

Jolly ran across the ocean, striding freely. Her bare feet only just dipped into the water.

It's 1706, in the tropical waters and jungly islands of the Caribbean. This is a world not only of bloodthirsty (though also some well-mannered) pirates and freebooters, but of the supernatural: and from that very first line, whereJolly's introduced as something rich and strange, the magic is present in every dimension of the tale.

It would be remiss of me to blurb this book as Pirates of the Caribbean meets China Miéville's The Scar, so I won't. But it is.

The Wave Runners, first in a trilogy, contains the ingredients for a classic fantasy adventure -- a dashing pirate captain, somewhat down on his luck; a Pirate Princess who looks just like a Mary-Sue but,cheeringly, picks her nose; a dreadlocked teenage stowaway blessed with good luck and a gift for fencing; a Mysterious Elder with one eye and two coal-black parrots, Hugh and Moe; a ship crewed by ghosts; a dog-headed man; an Oracle of questionable provenance; the imminent destruction of life as we know it; strong spirits; explosions; creepy-crawlies.

And that's without mention of the two protagonists, Jolly (named after the Jolly Roger, a namesake she's determined to live up to) andMunk. Jolly was bought in the Tortuga slave market and raised by pirates; Munk has lived his fourteen years quietly on a small island somewhere off the main seaways of the Caribbean. That quiet life, naturally, comes to an abrupt end when Jolly turns up, determined to wreak vengeance on those who've sunk the only home she's ever known.

Jolly's a polliwiggle -- hence the walking, running, on water, and a decided aversion to spending very long on land -- and her gift (magically bestowed only on children born just after the Port Royal earthquake of 1692) may yet be the salvation of all who dwell upon dry land. For the Ghost Trader (he of the single eye and Gothic parrots) tells of the MareTenebrosum , 'a sea that knows no bounds, where there is no land': freak storms and shipwrecks are signs of this world breaking through into our own, and now thepowers of the Mare Tenebrosum want to conquer land, and have conjured a Maelstrom through which to make their entrance ...

It would be easy to dismiss this as formulaic fantasy (take one setting, spice with supernatural, add Archetypal Characters at regular intervals, separate out one set of protagonists at end of book one ...) if it lacked the sheer enjoyment that carries the plot along, the pacey writing and confident characterisation, the eldritch nastiness of the Bad Things and the sordidness of the more human villains. The reader isn't kept entirely in the dark; secrets are revealed and discoveries made, and the complex plot is sturdy enough to admit small mysteries and at least one question that I'm amazed Jolly hasn't asked herself. There's a cliffhanger ending to keep us all waiting for the second book, due this summer, and the third.

A note on the language: I couldn't believe this was a translation! All too often I find a novel translated so clumsily that any sane publisher would surely reject the translation if it were submitted as an original work. Certainly not the case here! Though there was one translation that really niggled, perhaps because the rest was so fluent: 'cyclone'. Why not 'hurricane'? I thought (andWikipedia / BBC site confirm) that 'cyclone' was a local name (Indian Ocean, apparently also West Pacific) for hurricane, and the latter term is more familiarly used forbiiiig Caribbean storms. Also, according to Wikipedia, 'cyclone' did not come into use until 1845. But I am not going to nit-pick about anachronology when there is so much else going on!)

#29: The Man Who Invented Florida -- Randy Wayne White

The first of White's 'Doc Ford' books that I've read: I picked it up mostly because the plot revolves around the possible discovery of the Fountain of Youth in Mango, a small coastal town in Florida.

Ford is a marine biologist who thinks he might be on the verge of discovering a solution to turbidity, the murkiness of the once-clear Florida waters. Meanwhile, his Uncle Tucker claims to have discovered a well of healing water on his land. Apparently his gelding has regrown its testicles, and -- after Tuck smuggles a hefty dose of the water into a local rest home -- his Native American friend Joseph also experiences a new lease of life, one that takes him out of the rest home and back to his old haunts in the Everglades.

All would be simpler if three incomers (an environmental consultant, a surveyor and a TV personality) hadn't gone missing in the area. White gradually reveals their fate (and their unexpected resilience) in a masterful and amusing way. En route, there's the issue of who owns the land where the Fountain founts; whether the State will succeed in expanding the Everglades National Park; and whether the average tourist would be more appreciative of Fountain water if it were cherry-flavoured rather than sulphurous.

It was sunset, the pearly after-time, and the sky over Sanibel Island was wind-streaked with cantaloupe orange, purple swirls of cloud. Beyond the docks, mangroves settled charcoal black, blurring into smoky hedges as light drained from the bay. The lights of the marina bloomed on, and out of the closing darkness came the squawk of night herons hunting crabs on the mudflats and the mountain-stream sound of tidal current dragging past the pilings of Ford's house.

White has an excellent eye for landscape and detail: the mosquito-ridden swamps, the mazy creeks and islands, the suddenness of a squall on open water. He's also good on the historical aspects; the Calusa nation that may or may not have had its capital in Mango (there are Indian mounds on a lot of the islands), the early Hispanic explorations of the area, and Joseph's murky genetic background.

There's a deeper philosophical thread, too, about scams and self-promotion, Disney and the National Enquirer, ecology and environment and the power of the dollar.

The Man Who Invented Florida covers similar territory to Hiaasen's eco-thrillers, but it's different in tone: more reflective and less headlong, and rather more character-driven. Ford, Tuck, Ford's hippie friend Tomlinson and the rejuvenated Joseph Egret are all solid, three-dimensional and fascinating characters, and the backstory between Ford and his uncle, though only hinted, is dark enough to make me eager to read more in the series.

#28: Cat Confidential -- Vicky Halls

Subtitled 'The Book Your Cat Would Want You to Read', or in my case 'The Book Your Cat Would Want To Sit On When You're Trying to Read'.

A friend's been recommending this for ages -- she found it helped her understand Oscar's many problems. (Oscar, as in Wilde, is a rescue cat and has mellowed considerably from Psycho Kitty.) I finally caved and read it, and was amazed and amused; what's more, I did learn quite a bit from the book.

Cat Confidential is a series of case studies in feline psychology by 'cat counsellor' Vicky Halls, who provides therapy for cats with problems and their owners. The book is well-written and very readable, packed with weird and fascinating characters. And that's just the cat-owners ... One thing I did learn from this was that there are some very odd people out there (actually, I think I knew this already) and that I have a long way to go before I achieve the zen state of Crazy Cat-Lady.

I like the way Vicky Halls writes: suitably self-deprecating, as when she's describing the onslaught of a 'ferocious' kitten. It's a perfect illustration of hubris: 'oh, sweet little -- aaaargh!!!" Ruefully, she admits to having framed the bloodstained notebook page as a reminder not to underestimate her clients.

Halls doesn't regard cats as 'small people in fur coats', but she does convey the complexity of the feline psyche: fierce, solitary furry predators forced to be cuddly and affectionate objects of devotion. No wonder cats are screwed up, especially when their owners aren't entirely sane. And some of the cat-owners described in this book go to extreme lengths because of their cats. I have learnt what to do about cats that masturbate*, and how to prevent some truly revolting forms of attention-seeking behaviour. This is information I hope I shall never need.

More prosaically (am so grateful that my cats are relatively normal, and elderly too!) I've worked out why S&S wouldn't drink out of the water bowl next to their food (cats in the wild aren't used to finding food and drink in the same place: a bowl of water in the bedroom has fixed this problem) and why Sam's so much happier now there's an extra litter tray with newspaper. I am reassured to read that the average cat is more than a match for the average fox (though this has also been demonstrated to me lately by Shiva).

The author has an excellent website. And there are two other books, Cat Detective and Cat Counsellor.

*Tesco carrier bags. Actually, mine are already scared of these ...

#27: Scandal Takes a Holiday -- Lindsay Davis

A novel that has it all: Romans! Pirates! Heiresses! Murder! and Scandal!

Falco and family head to the seaside -- Ostia -- where 'Infamia', a gossip columnist, has gone missing. Falco, true to form, uncovers a number of other criminal activities: corruption, murder, ransoming and traffic in stolen goods. Though piracy has been thoroughly quashed a century before by Pompey, it's beginning to look as though some of the pirates didn't really notice ...

It depends on how you look at it. Let us land and beat up the locals: you are a pirate; I am a heroic warrior with expansionist pretensions on behalf of my city-state. Goes back at least to Athens ... Piracy was the fast alternative to diplomacy.

Or, to put it another way, pirates are a filthy rash that will always reappear.

Davis is entertaining on Roman history (I'm not sure whether to believe her potted history of the term 'columnist', but I'm pretty convinced by Pirates of the Mediterranean) and as deft with characterisation as ever. I think I'd have enjoyed this novel more if I'd kept up with the series: I flagged somewhere around Last Act in Palmyra, feeling that the later volumes didn't have the freshness or edge of the first few, and as a result I've probably missed a lot of the undercurrents in Falco's family politics. And I have no idea what Petro's up to.

Enjoyable, though, and inclines me to dig out a few of the older ones and submerge myself in gossipy sociable dangerous human Ancient Rome.

#26: 100 Great Short Short Science Fiction Stories -- Isaac Asimov (ed.)

I had fond memories of a couple of stories in this book, so was pleased to track down a copy. It's perfect for dipping into -- the longest stories are only three or four pages, and some are much shorter. (Contents listed here.)

Rereading, though, I find the editorial one-liners that introduce each story rather lame and occasionally irritating. (Karen Anderson's delightful 'Landscape with Sphinxes', one of the stories I remembered exceptionally well, is introduced simply 'And then there were none' - which doesn't seem to have much at all to do with the content.)

This anthology was published in 1978, but some of the stories date back to the 1950s, and before: real Golden Age stuff, with all that that implies: occasionally bland or clunky prose; extravagant and now discredited predictions for the future; reliance on a punning punchline; and a healthy dose of sexism. (Even when they aren't human, females are mysterious and unpredictable, and over-emotional, and flirtatious ...)

Asimov's introduction clearly stuck when I first read it:

In the short story, there can be no subplots; there is no time for philosophy; what description and character delineation there is must be accomplished with concision ...in the short short story, everything is eliminated but the point. The short short story reduces itself ot the point alone and presents that to you like a bare needle fired from a blowgun; a needle that can tickle or sting and leave its effect buried within you for a long time.

There are stories I wouldn't bother reading twice, because they rely (like a joke) on a punchline, and when you know it the story's purpose is complete. There are others that are masterful capsules of what-if; Stephen Goldin's 'Stubborn', in which a stubborn fellow gets what he deserves, for instance, or Frederik Pohl's 'The Deadly Mission of Phineas Snodgrass', an alt-history classic. And there are stories that are gems, so tightly packed that there might be a whole novel in there -- the aforementioned Karen Anderson story, for instance. (This is one reason I write short fiction from time to time -- to get the idea out and into some shape, rather than expanding and filling up my head.)

A good antidote to the current trend for long and wordy novels ...

#25: Shooting Elvis: Confessions of an Accidental Terrorist -- Robert Eversz

"I don't have any experience writing things down. I like to take photographs. That's how I see things." That's the opening line, and it's deceptive, like so much in this novel.

Mary Anne Baker, the narrator of Shooting Elvis, is an all-American girl: matching lipstick and nail-polish, blue-collar family, difficult relationship with her father, working as a photographer at a Baby Photo Studio, having an off-again-on-again relationship with Wrex who -- with his leather jacket, tattoos and piercings -- knows 'how to accessorise danger'.

Then Wrex asks her to drop off a parcel at LAX, and everything changes.

Mary Anne Baker, responsible for blowing up a major international airport, is no more. She's become Nina Zero, post-punk bohemian chick, one step ahead of the law and trying desperately to find out what the hell is going on, and what's so important about the heavy black suitcase she's acquired. (A stolen artwork is involved, though the piece in question is never named -- there are plenty of hints though.)

Nina falls in with Cass, an artist and scriptwriter, whose interest in her is not wholly altruistic. "If I bring you in I'll get first shot at the script, maybe get a chance to direct... It's what all the really interesting criminals are doing now. Television movies."

The novel's about role-playing, reinventing yourself, acting ("we think we can get Madonna to play you") and art. Nina's voice comes across very clearly despite that disclaimer at the beginning: bad grammar, Valley-girl idiom, honest and wry. And her reinvention isn't skin-deep: only once she's come to terms with who she was can she face up to who she is.

The novel was written in 1996: it seems like another era, a pre-9/11 world, where blowing up an airport is -- well, not quite a minor offense, but more akin to a Hollywood movie than a news report.