2022/112: Angelika Frankenstein Makes her Match — Sally Thorne

"Are you ever afraid that they cannot survive the things we have done to them in the name of science, and love?" [loc. 2494]

Angelika Frankenstein is quite as brilliant as her more famous brother Victor, but he's engaged to be married, while Angelika's suitors are generally discouraged by her intelligence, or perhaps by her habit of quizzing them from a prepared list of questions. At 24, she's almost given up on the notion of meeting a man she can love, so she takes matters into her own hands. Literally. Angelika Frankenstein Makes Her Match opens -- after a prologue from the viewpoint of the neglected family seat, Blackthorne Manor -- in the local morgue, where Victor and Angelika are selecting body parts for the men they wish to make. Victor's aim is scientific one-upmanship, but he jokes (rather creepily) with his sister about penis sizes, and demands for his own creation the hands of the handsome cadaver she's selected. Back to the laboratory they go; it is a dark and stormy night; their experiments are successful; Victor's resurrectee takes one look at Angelika and flees screaming into the night; and Angelika's creation ... well, at least one part of him is attracted to her, as evidenced by his instant erection.

Angelika tends her new companion, and attempts to unravel the secrets of his past: he has no recollection of anything before waking in the laboratory to see Angelika leaning over him. He seems, at heart, a gentleman, but he insists that he doesn't and can't love her. Angelika names him Will, because of his strength of character and stoicism in the face of constant pain. She is guiltily aware that the hands once belonging to this body are attached to her brother's nameless creation, who's terrorising the neighbourhood. Angelika's investigations into Will’s past lead her to the local Military Academy, site of a recent tragedy: there she meets handsome and charming Commander Keatings, who makes no secret of his romantic interest in her. Yet it's Will who stars in her fantasies ...

If I'd read this novel with rose-tinted glasses, I'd have liked it a lot more. It's written in a light-hearted and humorous style, and the characters are, at heart, kind, pleasant and well-meaning -- though Angelika in particular is oblivious to the oppression that surrounds and supports her privileged life. But, but, this is a novel about issues of consent: about a man being resurrected to suffer agonising pain, unwanted desire (Angelika's chosen 'second-largest' penis being incompatible with Will's brain and having a will, haha, of its own), dismissal of his religious faith, and the expectation that sooner or later he will succumb to the charms of the woman who's forced all this on him, and who continues to lie to him in the name of 'love'. This to me is a scenario of horror, not of humour.

With my rose-tinted spectacles on, there’s plenty to admire here. Angelika is an intriguing heroine, intelligent and self-aware and in charge of her own sexuality, and confident enough not to care what the villagers think of her wearing trousers: she's sheltered and privileged, but does strive to be better when she realises the extent of the deprivation in the local community. Her friendship with Lizzie is charmingly intimate, and Lizzie herself -- a playwright, of Russian and Spanish heritage -- is a fascinating character. (I'd love to read the story of how she and Victor met and fell in love.) Victor, while not as arrogant as his literary inspiration, is somewhat misogynistic, and he's only too ready to 'promote' Lizzie to Angelika's role of lab assistant without any consultation. His creation, eventually named Adam, turns out to be quite a nice fellow, and there is an amiable pig named Belladonna.

But I'm still disturbed by Will's torment, and by Angelika's overweening selfishness in playing Pygmalion and assembling a sentient being, to her own specification and for her own use, from assorted spare parts.

Thanks to the publisher and Netgalley for the advance review copy, in exchange for this full honest review. UK publication date (15 SEP 2022). Thanks, too, to the anon reviewer who used the term 'dick'n'mix'.

2022/111: Stone Blind — Natalie Haynes

Medusa is dead, I am dead. But I'm still the best narrator for this part of the story, because I was there for all of it, and because I am not a lying deceitful hateful vicious murderer. [loc. 2567]

This novel is subtitled 'Medusa's Story', but at first it seems like a complex interweaving of the stories of wronged women from Greek mythology: Zeus' first wife Metis; Andromeda, staked out as a sacrifice to Poseidon; Danaë imprisoned in the dark; Hera and Amphitrite, wronged wives. (Hera, 'a goddess with an almost limitless supply of spite, could barely keep up with the number of women, goddesses, nymphs and mewling infants she needed to persecute'. [loc. 77]) Yet it all circles back to Medusa's story, and the implacable hatred of Athene -- 'vengeful and cruel, always blaming women for what men do to them' [loc. 1209] -- whose curse transforms Medusa after Poseidon rapes her in Athene's temple. Does Athene make Medusa into a monster, though? Is Medusa truly the hideous, unlovable horror sought by Perseus? The great hero is an unlikeable and incompetent teenager in this account, constantly whining to Athene and Hermes about the appalling hardships of his quest for a Gorgon's head. Athene does not have much time for him, and in this one thing I am wholly in agreement with her.

It's not all grim. The love between mortal Medusa and her immortal Gorgon sisters, Euryale and Sthenno, is deep and heartfelt: it's the opposite of monstrosity, the epithet levelled at the Gorgons by both Poseidon and Perseus. Hermes, one of the few male characters who behaves decently in the pages of Stone Blind, asks of Perseus 'who are you to decide who is a monster?'. And Medusa tells Poseidon that beauty is more than skin-deep: she sees it in the loving care of her sisters, and she submits to Poseidon to save a (more) mortal girl.

Haynes plays with voices here: it's not only Medusa's story, but a multitude of voices making a mosaic of misogyny, abuse, privilege and trickery. There are chapters told from choruses of entities: a bickering slither of snakes, an olive grove, the Hespereides. There are so many wronged women, their voices distinct but their experiences alike. I'd love to hear this read aloud, as a dramatic performance... One voice is absent: Medusa's mother Ceto, who dwells in the depths of the ocean. But Haynes weaves her into the story, in a way that is both tragic and elegant.

So many connections I hadn't recognised: so many commonalities of experience. Stone Blind isn't always an easy read, but it is a rewarding one: I am reminded that I have several of Haynes' other mythology-based novels, and am encouraged to read them sooner rather than later.

Thanks to the publisher and Netgalley for the advance review copy. UK publication date is 15 SEP 2022, and there's a virtual launch at the British Library.

2022/110: The Psychopath Test: A Journey Through the Madness Industry — Jon Ronson

It is an awful lot harder... to convince people you’re sane than it is to convince them you’re crazy. [p. 43]

A series of comically improbable events lead Ronson, via DSM-IV (the fourth edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, from which pretty much anybody can pick a Mental Disorder that fits them), to the Hare Psychopathy Checklist, a 20-item questionnaire for diagnosing psychopathy. Investigating the 'industry' of psychiatry and its treatment, he encounters Bob Hare (of the eponymous Checklist); a prisoner at Broadmoor who claims he pretended to be a psychopath to evade a custodial sentence, and now can't convince his doctors that he's sane; a conspiracy theorist who tries to convince survivors of the 7/7 attacks in London that there were no bombs; a corporate executive who specialises in mass redundancies; a doctor who prescribed massive doses of LSD for inmates of a psychiatric ward ... Some of these men (I think all his subjects are male) can definitely be classified as psychopaths, while others may be simply eccentric. And while Ronson interviews his subjects, and muses on his own anxiety (he says at one point that anxiety is effectively the opposite of psychopathy), he's also interrogating the whole idea of 'madness' -- mental disorder, mental illness and the extremes of human nature -- and whether deviation from some imagined 'normal' is something that needs to be treated as a disorder. On the one hand, some people diagnosed as psychopaths are extremely dangerous to other humans, emotionally or physically or socially: on the other hand, the vast increase in prescriptions of psychiatric drugs seems a disproportionate response to behaviours that would generally be regarded as more or less normal. ('Normal.')

This was an entertaining read (Ronson is an extremely funny writer) but unnerving in places. It's a truism that the rich and privileged will get away with behaviour that would land a poorer person, one without connections, in prison or in a secure unit. Unfortunately, it's all too easy to apply labels like 'psychopath' to the movers and shakers of the world -- politicians, business tycoons, media personalities. Their achievements symbolise success, and their confidence and self-assurance are seen as goals to strive for. And meanwhile, the rest of us struggle towards 'normality', with no very clear idea of what it might look like, while the 'madness industry' regularly expands its definitions of disorder to maximise profit and power.

Fulfils the 'Humo[u]r' category of the 2022 Nonfiction Reading Challenge.

2022/109: The Atlas Paradox — Olivie Blake

How else could one possibly face the prospect of being one-sixth of a dystopian nuclear code if not to simply laugh and go back to sleep? [loc. 1567]

Second in the trilogy that began with The Atlas Six, an intriguing addition to the dark academia shelf. In that first volume, six gifted magic-users were recruited by Atlas Blakely, Caretaker of the Alexandrian Society. By the end of the novel, one of the six had been removed ...

This review will contain some spoilers for The Atlas Six, though hopefully nothing major for The Atlas Paradox. Persons not wishing to be spoilt for the first novel in the trilogy should stop reading NOW.

At the end of The Atlas Six, Libby had been abducted by her mysterious ex, Ezra, who was subsequently revealed to be in cahoots with Atlas Blakely and perhaps also about to change his allegiance. None of the remaining five could locate Libby at all: her absence, on the other hand, made it less urgent for one of them to be sacrificed so that the others could be initiated. And Atlas was adamant that anything taken from the Archive would be returned. Willingly or otherwise.

The Atlas Paradox depicts the gradual unravelling of the remaining students in Libby's absence, how each of them deals with her absence, and who among them is truly determined to find her again. There are also some new viewpoint characters (I was especially charmed by Gideon, though I'd have also liked more Max: there's another new character, though, whose arc I found extremely unsatisfactory, though necessary for the larger story) and some further insights into Atlas's agenda. Each of the five remaining students has a distinctive voice, a different goal and a closely-observed set of interactions with the others: perhaps Reina is the most intriguing, with the theory she develops based on the books that the archive won't let her request. Which makes others wonder what they aren't being allowed to see, in the archive and otherwise: and, of course, whether they are students or objects of study. The five's shifting allegiances, and the different ways in which they pair up, are complemented by Little Chmura's excellent artwork.

The plot is both complex and subtle, and it's by no means clear which (if any) of the narrators, or their perceptions, is reliable. There is a lot going on -- plot threads about the nature of gods, about climate change, about the Society's foes, about magical technology and its effect (or lack thereof) on the mortal world, about death and fate and love in its various forms -- but it's hard to grasp hold of any one thread and find resolution. That said, there are some very satisfying developments. I am looking forward immensely to the finale, in which I hope all will eventually be made clear(er).

Thanks to the publisher and Netgalley for the advance review copy, in exchange for this full honest review. UK publication date is 25th October 2022.

2022/108: Billie's Kiss — Elizabeth Knox

... He won't ask 'why am I alive? why has God preserved me?' because he regards his life as a temporary difficulty. He’s alive because he wants to know who took you from him. But he won’t ask “Who meant to kill me?” in case the question makes him jealous of his life and desirous of living. [p. 148]

Billie Paxton has survived a rough sea voyage aboard the Gustav Edda, tending her heavily pregnant sister Edith: Edith's husband Henry is due to take up a post with Lord Hallowhulme on the remote Scottish island of Kissack and Skilling. As the ship nears the dock, Billie leaps ashore -- and behind her the ship explodes, with several lives lost and many injured. Billie, and her flight from the deck, catches the suspicious eye of Murdo Hesketh, a minor aristocrat and a cousin of Lord Hallowhulme: he's lost his friend and servant Ian Betler in the disaster, and he thinks Billie may be to blame.

I've attempted Billie's Kiss several times over the years and not engaged with it, but a recent trip north inspired me to try again. I think it may be that rare thing, an Elizabeth Knox novel that I don't (yet?) love: perhaps because of the lack of fantastical elements, perhaps because of the slowness of most of the narrative (though time speeds up in the last couple of chapters, taking us from 1903 to 1916 in a few pages), perhaps because Billie -- who is illiterate, and whose sensorium I found at once fascinating and frustrating -- didn't always seem aware of her own feelings, perhaps because Murdo was chilly and prickly. That said, the gradual revelation of the two protagonists' histories and characters is beautifully done. I found Billie's love of sea-swimming -- remarkable for the time, and splendidly evoked -- especially resonant: '...being borne up on the steep peak of an unbroken wave or rolled about in the chilly fizz of a smashed one'.

Billie's Kiss is partly a murder mystery, partly a Gothic romance, and partly a portrayal of an aristocratic family with a plethora of secrets. Lord Hallowhulme, amiable and philanthropic, is surely modelled on Lord Leverhulme. His half-Swedish wife Clara is also cousin to Murdo (there are a lot of doubled relationships in this novel) and grew up with him. Murdo's own past is fraught with loss and deceit, as well as with the exuberant exploits of his youth. Even the children -- Hallowhulme and Clara's offspring, and a boy from the town named Alan -- have distinct and complex personalities. (I became very fond of Alan, who knew what he wanted and was not afraid to ask for it.) And the Betler brothers, Ian drowned and Geordie come to assist Murdo Hesketh, felt like a strong and solid presence throughout the novel: their letters to one another are both lucid and profound.

Thinking again about this novel, I think it'll merit a slower reread some time soon. I feel there's much I'm missing -- not least the connections with Shakespeare's The Tempest that are mentioned, but not discussed, in a couple of reviews.

2022/107: When Women Were Dragons — Kelly Barnhill

I thought that the general aversion to dragons was stupid. It was just a thing that happened. There was no reason to get embarrassed about it. Still. I didn’t like looking at it. I didn’t like the attention that Beatrice had given it. It was too embarrassing. Too female. I felt ashamed in ways that I couldn’t explain. It was as though she had drawn pictures of naked breasts. Or soiled sanitary napkins. [p. 151]

When Alex (not Alexandra, thank you) is four years old, the little old lady down the road turns into a dragon. Of course Alex doesn't initially understand what's happened: dragoning is a shameful, feminine thing, no more a topic of polite conversation than menstruation. True, dragoning -- the transformation of woman into dragon -- has been happening since at least the 1890s, and it's becoming more frequent in 1950s America. (I am not sure whether it also happens elsewhere in the world: the focus of this novel is small-town America.) And then comes the Mass Dragoning of 1955, in which more than six hundred thousand American women are transformed in a single day. This imense metamorphosis is also known as the Day of Missing Mothers, though -- according to a scientist quoted later in the novel -- many of the women were not mothers, and some 'were women by choice, and by the great yearnings of their hearts, and were not labeled as such at birth, and yet are women all the same.' [p. 247].

Alex remains human, as does her mother. But her Aunt Marla -- big, bold, trouser-wearing, auto-mechanic Aunt Marla -- has become a dragon, and Marla's baby daughter Beatrice becomes Alex's 'sister'. 'We were adjusting to the loss of my aunt while also pretending that I had no aunt. This sort of thing gets exhausting after a while.' It's not Alex's first encounter with adult attempts to reshape memory: when she was younger, her mother disappeared for months, and Alex was never really told why. When her mother returned she was a stranger, and Alex was too young to understand illness, surgery, cancer ...

I read When Women Were Dragons on two levels, and (unlike Barnhill, who balances the personal and the broader stories impeccably) I can't keep both in focus at the same time. Firstly there's a story about the transformative power of rage, about misogyny and prejudice in 1950s and 1960s America, about Alex (a brilliant mathematician, like her mother) being castigated for making the boys in her class look bad, about some of the dragons coming back from wherever they've been to help with civil rights and disarmament. But secondly, there's a story about a little girl whose memories are assailed on all sides by adults who won't or can't talk about what happened, who expect her to forget fear and trauma. "I learned to be silent; I was given no context, no frame of reference, no way in which to understand my experience, and the adults in my life hoped I would forget, and by doing so, nearly forced me to forget." [p. 272] Reading that sentence brought tears to my eyes, because that was also my experience when my mother was seriously ill during my childhood.

When Women Were Dragons is full of rage, but also full of humour: full of misogyny, but also full of women helping those who need help, paying it forward. (One of my favourite characters was the redoubtable librarian, Mrs. Gyzinska.) The monsters here are men, including Alex's father, though there are of course exceptions. The love affairs are, I think, all between women. And there's a sensibility that I associate with the dreams of the 1960s, the hopes for love and peace and an end to war, the idea that peaceful protest can change the world. (Oh, the placards they carry: 'MY BODY, MY CHOICE declared the sign held by one dragon. OUR LIVES ARE BIGGER THAN YOU THINK read another.' Hmm, sounds familiar ...)

Kelly Barnhill's afterword is an inspiration: "I, along with the rest of America, listened with horror and incandescent fury to the brave, stalwart testimony of Christine Blasey Ford... I thought I was writing a story about rage. I wasn’t. There is certainly rage in this novel, but it is about more than that. In its heart, this is a story about memory, and trauma. It’s about the damage we do to ourselves and our community when we refuse to talk about the past. It’s about the memories that we don’t understand, and can’t put into context, until we learn more about the world." [p. 337] Barnhill has previously published fiction for younger readers: I hope she is moved to write more for adults, too. I believe we need more joy, more rage, more humour, more hope. And more dragons.

2022/106: Airborne — Robert Radcliffe

Life’s routines and rhythms – eating, sleeping, washing, thinking – all cease except as sort of splintered fragments of their recognized forms. Existence evolves into a book hacked to shreds by a madman with an axe. The words are all there, somewhere, but any order, any sense, any narrative structure, any meaning, is gone. [loc. 386]

Having enjoyed Radcliffe's Under an English Heaven, I kept him in mind as an evocative and articulate writer of fiction about military and civilian life during WW2. When Airborne showed up at a bargain price, I bought it, and elements of the Sayers / Paton Walsh A Presumption of Death inspired me to read it. I think I was hoping for more RAF: I was certainly hoping for more than the first third of the story.

Medical Officer Captain Daniel Garland arrives in the Netherlands just in time for the Battle of Arnhem, his first battle and a test of his professional skills as well as his mental resilience. One of his patients is a young paratrooper named Theodore Trickey, so dreadfully injured that he's not expected to survive. Garland is determined to do his best for his patient: "You may think it inconvenient he’s still alive, but that’s his choice. Our job is to help him until he decides otherwise." Between chapters of Garland's (present-tense, first-person) account of imprisonment, escape attempts, and negotiations with German doctors, we learn more of Theo's (past-tense, third-person) story: born in South Tyrol, he speaks multiple languages, never knew his father, and has attracted the attention not only of the British military but of Field Marshall Rommel, who seems to have an interest in Theo.

Unfortunately, as mentioned above, this is only the first part of a three-part story: we don't find out what the connection between Rommel and Theo truly is, or how Theo ended up in what passes for intensive care in Stammlager XIB. I'd also like to know more about Garland's history: so far he's somewhat of a cipher, but though his story is less action-packed and daring than Theo's, he too acts heroically.

Radcliffe's prose is very readable, the story (so far) well-paced, and there is humour as well as horror in his depictions of battle and war. I hope to read the rest of the trilogy some time soon...