I picked up The Queen of Subtleties in the book store and was immediately impressed by the opening lines, written in the voice of Anne Boleyn: "Elizab...moreI picked up The Queen of Subtleties in the book store and was immediately impressed by the opening lines, written in the voice of Anne Boleyn: "Elizabeth, you'll be told lies about me..." (1). Since I'm a firm believer in a book with a good opening, I picked it up and settled down to read it.
I think Dunn has really brought her two narrators to life. Chapters forming a letter from Anne (imprisoned and awaiting her execution) to her daughter alternate with standard first-person narration from Lucy Cornwallis, confectioner to Henry VIII and friend of Mark Smeaton. While Anne's chapters look back on her rise to power, Lucy's deal with the Queen's fall. The two women have very different views of the world, of politics, of love, and Dunn has succeeded in showing that not only through what they say, but how they say it. One could not mistake one of Anne's passages for one of Lucy's.
But within this wonderful characterization, I did have a little trouble with the language of the novel. While I understand that a novel written in the English of 1535 would be incomprehensible to modern readers, I found that Dunn's prose really lack a sense of 'old-worldliness'. Several of her phrases jarred me completely out of the past, such as Anne referring to her former suitor as "her ex", and Smeaton translating Anne's motto of "It's going to happen, whether they like it or not" into the so-modern-sounding "Tough." Striking a balance between past and present English is a tricky thing, and I think Dunn's scale is weighted a little heavily on the modern side. If one doesn't mind that, as much as I do, I know The Queen of Subtleties will provide wonderful entertainment. As it is, I still enjoyed it. (less)
The Moonstone was recommended to me by my fellow fans at wilkiecollins, as a good follow up to my first Collins novel The Woman in White. While I enjo...moreThe Moonstone was recommended to me by my fellow fans at wilkiecollins, as a good follow up to my first Collins novel The Woman in White. While I enjoyed this novel immensely and was enthralled by the intricacies of the plot and characters, it didn't capture my imagination to quite the same extent as my first experience with Collins. Rachel Verinder, strong-willed and fascinating as she is, will not make the cut when I come to list my favourite characters of all time -- Marian Halcombe likely will.
What The Moonstone showed me, other than the right way to plot a mystery novel, is that the choice of characters names (both here and in The Woman in White) can be a powerful descriptor. When one meets heros named Hartright and Franklin, one simply expects them to be exemplary. Collins' choice of Godfrey Ablewhite is perhaps more ironic, but that very irony makes the choice all the more apt.
The best books leave one with questions. As I was reading The Moonstone I accepted the opium theory with all the suspension of disbelief that an author could ask of a reader, but I now wonder about its accuracy. Collins claims, in his introduction, that it is accurate -- according to his consultations with emminent doctor -- just as the legal machinations of The Woman in White were verified by solicitors. It would, however, be foolish to accept such assurances at face value. I have seen modern novelists assure their readers of accuracy, but nevertheless allow glaring errors in their stories. Collins does manage to make his theories plausible, and I would like to look into them further.
The Moonstone is a wonderful read, both for the layperson and the mystery novelist. I can understand why it's a classic of the genre. (less)
We're only staying together for the sake of our mutual friends. You know the magic is gone. I confess, I've bee...moreDear Julia,
I think we should break up.
We're only staying together for the sake of our mutual friends. You know the magic is gone. I confess, I've been seeing other writers. I know you've been seeing other readers.
It's not that you haven't been trying. I'm pleased that you've dropped those undiagnosable-maladies-du-jour. The last couple of books have had, if not perfectly healthy heroes and heroines, at least ones that did not consider themselves bizzare or insane due to a condition their time had little hope of understanding.
I should have been careful what I wished for. The trouble is, your plots now feel a bit lackluster. Looking back, I realize that those earliest maladies-du-jour did affect the plot -- one of my favourites being the bit with the beesting allergies in The Viscount Who Loved Me, the first of your books I read. It was when they became a trademark of yours that I feel like they started to fail you. You started to depend on them to liven up your books.
It did work, for a time. But now, without them, your characters don't have much depth. All of the things keeping the characters apart are external rather than internal. Anne thinks (view spoiler)[people are tryng to kill her (hide spoiler)]. Daniel thinks (view spoiler)[people are trying to kill him (hide spoiler)]. Exciting, yes, if you're looking for an action novel. I'm looking for the character development you had in your Bridgerton novels.
The trouble is, you always, always, put in one little bit that intrigues me enough to read "just one more book". In this one, it's Hugh. I was horrified by Hugh's threats to his father and what that meant for Hugh's mental state. So of course I need to read his novel, if and when you write it.
One of the real pleasures in reading history is the speculation that comes with hindsight, but we must also be careful not to impose that hindsight on...moreOne of the real pleasures in reading history is the speculation that comes with hindsight, but we must also be careful not to impose that hindsight on the motives of historical figures and end up judging them by our standards rather than those of their native time and place.
Gillian Gill's finds an excellent and entertaining balance between the two in her biography of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert.
The term Victorian has come to be synonymous with repression and anti-feminism, but Gill's says casually in her biography, a better term might be Albertian, as it was his discomfort with being placed second to Victoria that set the example for the rest of England.
Of course this is where we have to be careful of our hindsight and remember Albert's time and place. After all, when a man is raised to believe his is superior to all around him, then set into a situation where he is head of his family but his wife is head of the nation, one doesn't wonder he does his best to change the latter.
This is definitely a dual biography, which is a tricky thing to do. Luckily for Gill, Victoria and Albert married relatively early in their lives and so a quick alternating chapter on Victoria and Albert in their respective youths is enough to bring the timelines together.
That said, the narrative following the opening chapters does seem to focus slightly on Albert, though reading of all his accomplishments, one does not blame Gill very much. Albert, whatever his flaws, did accomplish a great deal in his shot life, the most famous and ostentatious being the Great Exhibition of 1851. Many quieter accomplishments lead Gill to surmise that, had Albert not succumbed to typhoid and lived only a few years more, his statesmanship might have stopped some of the key events that later led to the First World War.
An entertaining read, especially when compared to the recent film, The Young Victoria which romanticizes Albert nearly as much as Victoria herself did in the later part of her life.
Part metaphysical mystery story, part homage to Montmartre, part irreverent romp through the art salons and galleries of the nineteenth century.
Why di...morePart metaphysical mystery story, part homage to Montmartre, part irreverent romp through the art salons and galleries of the nineteenth century.
Why did Vincent Van Gogh shoot himself in the chest, then walk over a mile for help? This true event is the inspiration for Christopher Moore's imaginative take on the Montmartre of the late nineteenth century, a Montmartre where artists are needs beware the Colourman, a revolting little man who presses a certain colour on them. A colour knows as sacré bleu, the sacred ultramarine blue of the Virgin Mary's cloak. A colour that seems to hold strange powers, and comes with the price of the artist's very sanity.
While I loved taking this trip with Moore, the second half of the book (when we find out more about the Colourman and how his colour works) gives me serious reservations. The metaphysical nature of this book means the characters end up in situations that would never happen in reality, and because of these situations Moore ends up skirting some very ambiguous moral issues. I don't object to anything in the plotline, per se, but I do find it troubling that Moore does not comment on what his characters are doing. I will, however, admit that Moore's silence on the topic might be deliberate, in which case you must forgive me for not being more direct in describing the latter half of the book as to do so would reveal a great deal of the plot.
Many of the paintings that go by in the story are reproduced in full colour within the text, a kindness for those who know less of art history than they might wish, among which number I must count myself. (Even more information is available via Moore's website.) The best part of the book design, however, is the faint blue colour of the text itself.
George has never been one to stand up for himself: that kind of behaviour only leads to life smacking him back down. When he's kicked out of a class t...moreGeorge has never been one to stand up for himself: that kind of behaviour only leads to life smacking him back down. When he's kicked out of a class trip at the Natural History Museum for another boy's disruption, he punches at a statue of a dragon on the outside of the museum, breaking it. To his shock, his actions bring another statue to life, and he finds himself running from a stone pterodactyl that no one else can see. No one, that is, but a girl named Edie.
Saved by the Gunner from the Royal Artillery Memorial, George is informed of two important facts: breaking the dragon statue has somehow caused him to fall into a reality (and unLondon) that lives alongside our own and in killing the pterodactyl the Gunner has broken the tentative peace between two factions of London's statues -- the human-shaped "Spits" and the animalistic "Taints", the latter of which seem bent on killing George for breaking the dragon statue.
Alternate-dimension stories are common, but in bringing the statues of London to life, Fletcher has created a world that we feel we can fall into as easily as we can blink.
Fletcher's background as a screenplay writer is evident in his very vivid descriptions. The writing is perhaps heavy in the number of similes employed, but it is rare indeed to find one that is not fresh and interesting.
Stoneheart is the first in a trilogy and I recommend picking them all up together. Though not exactly a cliffhanger, Stoneheart ends with a firm push toward the sequel Ironhand, a push I am not entirely unhappy to receive.
When summarized, this book sounds like a mid-grade novel, but the language and plot elements are difficult and dark enough that it makes a better home in the teen section. I'm eager for my oldest nephew to read this book, but he's a little too young for it yet.
A note on the reader: Jim Dale is most known as "the voice of Harry Potter" and holds the Guinness World Record for the most character voices developed and recorded for a single project (146 voices for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows). In his recording of Stoneheart, his expressive voice only assists Fletcher's excellent description and consistently fresh metaphors.
The Prestige is novel of perspectives; of the sightlines of magic acts; of the limited knowledge of historians; of the careful crafting of point of vi...moreThe Prestige is novel of perspectives; of the sightlines of magic acts; of the limited knowledge of historians; of the careful crafting of point of view.
This is a book I needed two attempts to read. Being a fan of film director Christopher Nolan, I made one attempt to read the book immediately after seeing his film adaptation of The Prestige. Eager for some Victorianism, I was stymied by the contemporary framing story with which Priest sets up the novel, and was especially frustrated with the narrator's emphasis on his psychic communication with the twin he never knew but is convinced he has which seemed to be overdone.
In trawling the public library website for a new audiobook for my commuted, and limited in choice due to technical issues, I thought I would give Priest's novel-version another chance, telling myself I would listen as least as far enough to get past the modern section.
The story of two rival magicians in Victorian London, Rupert Angier and Alfred Borden, The Prestige is a fascinating read, though some of the descriptions of magic tricks do slow the narrative significantly in parts (and, listening to an audiobook, it was more difficult for me to skim those sections than it would have been in a print version).
Despite its flaws, I'm glad I finally was able to read this book. Besides cutting the framing story, Nolan changed not only several details of the plot, raising the stakes in the middle of the story, but he also changed the ending, which is much more frightening in the book.
What the film did not translate was the powerful use of point-of-view. By telling the story in long tracts rather than switching back and forth in small sections as the film does, Priest successfully lulls the reader into forming opinions of the characters, only to see those opinions reversed when the very events that formed them are told from another perspective.
A note on the reader: The Prestige loses something in audio form. Due to the nature of the story, part of the prose's strength is in the fact that phrases can be read several ways. In the transformation to aural form, the reader must, perforce, choose one interpretation to present to the reader and in doing so, leave the ambiguity behind.
This review may contain spoilers for Stoneheart by Charlie Fletcher
Sophomore novels are tricky, whether they're simply the author's second offering at...moreThis review may contain spoilers for Stoneheart by Charlie Fletcher
Sophomore novels are tricky, whether they're simply the author's second offering at publication (which is often written on a much tighter deadline than their first) or, as in this case, the second volume in a series.
Trilogies are especially prone to this. In the second book, we've established the world and the characters, the plot as been set in motion, but the final climax is still more than an entire book away.
Still, there are tricks that can be employed. J.K. Rowling was able to structure her series with seven subplots, allowing the overarching plot to build in the background. Even so, she did end up with a couple of books where she seemed to be marking time until the seventh book. For my money Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince showed this tendency the most.
In Charlie Fletcher's Stoneheart trilogy, this second volume likewise suffers from what writers will term "the saggy middle". This is more noticeable because Fletcher separates his two protagonists and, to allow them to keep pace with each other, he pads George's subplot with several events that don't advance the plot, but rather mark time.
Having chosen "the hard way" at the end of the previous volume, Stoneheart, George finds he must battle in three bizarre duels in order to appease the stone he offended. Meanwhile, Edie's glinting abilities are targeted by the Walker, who's machinations her on a bizarre journey to the House of the Lost.
Ironhand ends with much more of a cliffhanger than did Stoneheart, but at the same time, sets up the third and final book Silvertongue in a way that sets it apart from the previous too. But more about that in a future review.
A common question to booksellers is whether a series can be read out-of-order. In my opinion, the best series are that ones where each book can stand alone, but give the reader something extra when read in sequence. The Stoneheart trilogy, unfortunately is not one of those series. Jumping into Ironhand will leave the reader at a serious disadvantage.
Fletcher's descriptive prose continues to make his books' minor deficiencies easy to accept, and though his fondness for the simile is evident in his frequent use of the device, the freshness of the images therein continue to delight.
Can I just say how much fun it is to be in Danny Wallace's head again? Even when he's pretending to be someone else, he's delightful.
Wallace's protago...moreCan I just say how much fun it is to be in Danny Wallace's head again? Even when he's pretending to be someone else, he's delightful.
Wallace's protagonist is Jason Priestley. (No, not that one.) One day on Charlotte Street he sees a woman struggling with packages as she gets into a taxicab. A quick offer of help and Jason is smitten. At the end of the brief encounter, he finds he has accidentally kept one of her things, a disposable camera.
The plot of Charlotte Street is remarkably like his non-fiction. Jason's 'stupid boy project' involves trying to track this girl down using the very pictures he wants to return to her. Wallace walks a fine line with his plot, but he's good enough to hang a lantern on the fact that Jason's behaviour is vaguely invasive. The characters use the term "stalking", but unlike most stalkers Jason doesn't imagine a relationship with the girl that doesn't exist. He's aware of the questionability of his behaviour and knows perfectly well he may find this girl only to be told to bugger off.
The title of the book indicates that Wallace intended Charlotte Street to be a definitive part of the story, but as someone whose never been to Charlotte Street (and has only occasionally been to London) I was left with the feeling that I was missing something.
I admit to a vague disappointment while reading this volume that the events inside it never happened, but I realize how ridiculous a demand that is. Join Me and Yes Man were delightful "stupid boy projects", but if he were to keep up such activities, it would mean he would have less time to write.
Therefore, I can only look forward to his next piece of fiction.
Strange things have been happening in London, and they all seem to revolve around Zanna. Her face appears in the clouds, foxes come to the edge of the...moreStrange things have been happening in London, and they all seem to revolve around Zanna. Her face appears in the clouds, foxes come to the edge of the playground and watch her. Strangers come up to her, using a nonsense word, Shwazzy, as if she should know what it means.
When Zanna and her best friend Deeba find themselves in a strange version of their city, an unLondon, the signs start to make a small amount of sense. Zanna is the "Choisi" the Chosen, or so it has been prophesied in a talking book.
But then, you shouldn't believe everything you read (or in this case, hear). Miéville expertly subverts both reader expectations and classic fiction tropes in this delightful play on London history and fantasy quests, slipping in pitch-perfect, kid-friendly messages on prejudice, the environment and politics.
After reading Un Lun Dun, you'll find yourself listening much more carefully to words you hear. And you'll never see a discarded bit of trash blowing toward you in the wind without feeling just a wee bit nervous.
I've read enough Austen fanfic (good and bad, published and unpublished) that I'm no longer frightened by the idea of another. My new philosophy is th...moreI've read enough Austen fanfic (good and bad, published and unpublished) that I'm no longer frightened by the idea of another. My new philosophy is that if another author can "ruin" Austen, I was never that big of a fan to begin with.
That said, P.D. James's book is barely fanfic. Darcy and Lizzie figure in the plotline but do not have much effect on it. Their definitive character traits appear sparingly, if at all. The prose has all the pomp of Austen's era, but misses the sparkle of her wry and witty voice.
What does make the book interesting, however, is that is forms a kind of treatise on the state of the British justice system in 1803. We watched the accused Wickham as he is shunted through the jails and courts, even as he decries his innocence. In this, the book kept my interest, but I would have been just as interested in a well-written essay on the topic. (Of course, I can't speak for other readers.)
Death Comes to Pemberley is an interesting read, but if you need your Austen fix, I would recommend looking elsewhere.
It was not the fact that the girl is levitating that first caught my eye. It was the old woman's face on the child's body.
I love books that are open a...moreIt was not the fact that the girl is levitating that first caught my eye. It was the old woman's face on the child's body.
I love books that are open about their inspiration. In the case of Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children, the story is built around a collection of vernacular photographs from the collections of the author and some of his friends/acquaintances. All of the photographs included have a disquieting effect on the reader, from the one of a man asleep with a gun in his hand, to the one of a man's shadow cast in front of a child playing.
Jacob's grandfather introduces him to the first of the pictures, claiming that for all their amateur look, the "peculiar children" they depict are real. As a child, Jacob believes in them, along with his grandfather's stories of fighting monsters and of the home where he briefly lived as a reprieve, but eventually Jacob accepts the family's explanation that the stories are a psychological construct. Jacob's grandfather, alone out of his family, escaped from WWII Poland. The "monsters" are his way of compartmentalizing both the Nazis that killed his family and his own survivor's guilt.
Or are they? One night, Jacob's grandfather is brutally killed, and Jacob sees something, just a glimpse, but it's enough to bring back all of his doubts. With his therapist's encouragement, Jacob decides that the best way to get some answers is to travel to the island and visit the ruin of the home that sheltered his grandfather.
The photographs are fascinating, but I think the story woven around them might have been even stronger with a few more images, and especially with a few unexplained ones. Also, the descriptions tended to precede the photographs themselves, which I think took away some of their power.
Readers who, like me, were fascinated in the beginning with the life of Jacob's grandfather, might find a similar experience in Briar Rose by Jane Yolen.(less)
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