Ava and Avery are a bonded couple from Kaya, a land where ancient magic ensures that, once bonded, one cannot live without the other. So when Avery isAva and Avery are a bonded couple from Kaya, a land where ancient magic ensures that, once bonded, one cannot live without the other. So when Avery is killed while on a mission to assassinate the evil queen of Pirenti, the northern country with which they have been at war for as long as anyone can remember, Ava is expected to die as well. But she does not, she lives on, though with only half a soul. Vengeance guides her back to Pirenti where, two years later, disguised as a boy called Avery, she is caught by the second prince, Ambrose, and sentence to life on the prison island. But when their ship is wrecked in a storm, Ambrose and Ava must work together to survive. In the process, despite their vast differences, a friendship develops. That friendship soon grows into love, even with Ambrose believing Avery is a boy - when their secrets come out, can their new-found connection survive? Is it possible to love your enemy, or love at all without betraying the man who took half your soul with him into death?
I have several problems with this book. First off, Avery is marketed as 'adult fantasy' but I cannot in good conscience call it anything other than Young Adult, despite the 'adult themes' and excessively violent, often gruesome scenes that occur. It's in the adolescent tone, the way the characters speak, especially. It's not just that they - well, the main character, Ava/Avery, in particular - sound so immature, it's that words like "whatever" and "gross" belong more to badly written teen fanfiction than published adult fantasy. That might make me sound like a snob, but it's not that - you write a novel set in another world, a fantasy world, which has its own, decidedly foreign, cultures. You cannot then make your characters sound like cliches from Clueless and hope that your fantasy world be taken seriously. The culture that created such colloquialisms as 'whatever' is not part of this world, and the effect is incredibly jarring. My ability to suspend disbelief was too often hampered by such lazy writing.
The writing is also lazy in the world-building. This was perhaps the biggest flaw of the novel. The details of this world just never quite made sense, or weren't adequately explained. Geography, as well, was out of whack. Pirenti is a northern country perhaps geographically akin to Russia or Canada; in the north are the 'ice caps', which appear to be a permanent, year-round hostile environment. Yet, at the same latitude is the prison island, which is described as a jungle. How does that work? While we're on the prison isle, world-building gaffes abound within the secret 'village' of escapee Kayan prisoners - it's not the incredible cliffside dwellings carved out of marble that they've brought from a nearby quarry that I struggled with, believe it or not, but the fact that they have glass in their windows, luxurious apartments (even for unwanted guests) and eat things like cheese. This place is home to Kayans who, they say, escaped the Pirenti prison. No one knows they're there and they can't leave. They have no animals or livestock (so, no milk for cheese), and if they want to remain undetected they would have to be careful of the amount of noise they make (quarrying for rock with no tools?? or do they use their sole Warder's magic - it's never explained what these people are actually capable of) and of smoke, say from a kiln or other super hot oven? Where do they get their clothes from, the materials for everything? All highly unlikely.
Distances and timeframes were also liberally dispensed with when required by the author to maintain her swift pacing. It all reminded me of cheesy action movies, as if they were used as the model for many of the scenes - especially the fight scenes. Plot holes abound here, too, such as when Ava escapes from a dungeon, taking not the guard's sword but his bow and arrows! A dungeon guard, carrying bow and arrows?? In the highly militaristic and violent country of Pirenti, they would know better.
I could keep going, but I think you get the drift. Really, though, this is a character-driven romantic fantasy, so I should be discussing the characters. When she isn't talking like a rather lame contemporary western teenager, Ava is solidly drawn and has some charisma, as does Ambrose. The other two main characters here are Ambrose's older brother, Thorne, and his wife Roselyn. All four alternate in first person narrative voice, and this is handled quite deftly. Roselyn is a nicely distinctive character, and Thorne is clearly a different person from Ambrose. The problem for me lies in the way domestic violence is handled. While it's wrapped up in a broader theme of power and women's rights, and while the denouement ensures that Thorne's violence towards his wife is not rewarded by the author, Roselyn's quiet, steadfast and loving loyalty to Thorne remains a distinct problem. While one fictional character should not a message make, Roselyn's refusal to leave her husband or do anything but love him makes her a difficult character to respect. That said, the characters are the strength of this novel, that and the swift pacing.
Pirenti is a violent country, so the violence does have some context, but it was a bit excessive and rather unrealistic at times. (Also, marble stains something shocking - how do you have a "killing room" lined in marble and keep it spotless?) Not being afraid of spilling blood and tearing minor characters apart does not make for a more mature novel or more sophisticated ideas. Rather, it becomes too much and, then, too ludicrous. My ability to suspend disbelief - necessary in all fiction, television and film, to varying degrees, but especially in fantasy - was tested time and time again, and often failed under the weight of plotholes, inconsistencies, over-the-top violence and I have no idea what was going on with Ambrose at the end. The romance aspect fell completely flat there (plus, it had finally started to drag by then).
A disappointing foray into a newish Australian voice in fantasy fiction, for me. ...more
In a large, elegant yet imposing Victorian house in the seaside town of Brighton, England, several women live in hiding: hiding from the pain of the pIn a large, elegant yet imposing Victorian house in the seaside town of Brighton, England, several women live in hiding: hiding from the pain of the past, from people, from life, from the truth of their lives. Recent arrivals, it is months before they even meet the people living in the other flats. Yet when they do, they rediscover much that they had lost: purpose, laughter, confidence, a sense of belonging.
Georgie has followed her partner, architect Simon, to Brighton to avoid a six-month separation - not that he was super interested in her decision, either way. But having quit her librarian job and rented out their house to a couple of teachers, she's here in Brighton with high hopes and plenty of enthusiasm. With no job and a tense, stressed boyfriend dealing with protesters to the new hotel development, and a sense of impending strife, Georgie embarks on a new career: freelance writer. She wouldn't have been able to predict that this would put her in direct conflict with Simon, especially when she's sent to interview the protesters and comes to take their side.
Across the hall, Charlotte lives alone, hiding from everything and everyone. Having lost her baby, Kate, a week after her birth, Charlotte has made little attempt to do anything but indulge in her grief. Her ex-husband has moved on, but after being accused of trying to snatch another woman's baby, Charlotte transferred to the Brighton office of her legal firm, where everyone is much too friendly and involved than she'd like. When the company decides that its employees will take part in a community outreach program, connecting to the elderly, Charlotte has an idea that will help her stay within her comfort zone: having met the elderly Frenchwoman who lives in the attic flat, she feels sure Margot will sign up for it. She doesn't reckon, though, on Margot's force of nature.
On the ground floor lives Rosa, who left her London job and all her friends behind to escape to Brighton when she discovered the truth about her too-good-to-be-true boyfriend, Max. She's turned instead to her personal love of cooking and, having taken an intensive six-month course, is now working as sous chef at the local hotel. Work, home, work again: her life has taken on a simple, unfulfilling routine that is shaken when her neighbour, Jo, is suddenly taken to hospital with appendicitis and she has to take care of Jo's teenage daughter, Beatrice.
These Brighton months will change these women's lives forever, as old relationships are mended and new ones forged.
The House of New Beginnings is a well-written exploration of the grief and pain experienced by these women, which takes many forms and with diverse causes. Each of the main characters - Georgie, Rosa and Charlotte - are captured with a subtle shift in narrative voice, or tone: from Georgie's youthful yet inexperienced spunkiness to Rosa's mature, capable level-headedness to Charlotte's withdrawn, isolating timidity. Chapters alternate between the different storylines, connecting and overlapping at different points, and while sometimes the sense of time became a bit too vague, the pace is swift and smooth and the story engaging.
Usually, I come away from a book like this with a favourite character, but there are such lovable qualities to all three women - and Margot, the dying Frenchwoman with her 'harem' of handsome young studs across town - that I could not possibly pick one. It is light on the romance front - The House of New Beginnings is about individuals forging new relationships and dealing with painful memories and difficult situations, as a kind of mature coming-of-age story - but there is love in each woman's happily-ever-after. While I didn't find it a particularly thought-provoking novel, nor one that offered any new or fresh perspectives on these themes, the gentle, empathetic way Diamond handles each of her female characters helped make them endearing, believable and sympathetic. It touches very lightly on a social justice issue, relating to women's rights, and on gender roles - not enough to satisfy this reader, but enough to give it an edge. It is, primarily, a story of overcoming loss and developing an inner strength, and in that sense it is a very successful one.
My thanks to the publisher for a copy of this book....more
The last book I read in 2016 was easily one of the best. I had read a short review of this trilogy in the Review section of the Weekend Australian (thThe last book I read in 2016 was easily one of the best. I had read a short review of this trilogy in the Review section of the Weekend Australian (the Review section is much less right-wing than the newspaper itself, perhaps because it's mighty difficult to marry conservative values with the confronting and questioning nature of art and literature) some months earlier, ordered this, the first, book, and then forgot all about it. While looking for something to take with me on a beach holiday after Christmas (we went to Byron Bay), I thought this might do the trick - and I was right. I suffer from terrible travel sickness on domestic flights (something to do with the lower altitude, air pressure and the inner ear??), and even though I had my ear plugs, music and was taking a tonne of Travel Calm, I still felt incredibly nauseous, breaking out in a cold sweat and feeling close to vomiting. Usually, I can't read a thing, nothing can take my mind off how awful I'm feeling and how much concentration it takes not to throw up (I'm not always successful). And yet, Ancillary Justice was up to the challenge - and won. What a fantastic book! It absolutely deserves the praise it received in the review I read, not to mention all three major Science Fiction awards: the Hugo, the Arthur C Clarke and the Nebula (2014).
It will be hard, though, to explain the set-up of this story, because it is beautifully original without being too complicated or esoteric (I'm currently having that problem with another book, Briohny Doyle's The Island Will Sink). The Radch empire is centuries old and extends across a vast reach of galaxy. Their massive starships are artificial intelligences that not only run, manage, control and monitor absolutely everything on board (there is zero privacy), but also serve as soldiers through their thousands of ancillaries. An ancillary was a human but is no more - their brains are empty things. After being kept in storage in the holds until needed, they are connected to the ship and the ship's consciousness is thus split into all these different bodies, alongside and within the ship itself. Think of it like a computer tracking through thousands of cameras, able to think different things at the same time. On the ship, the ancillaries are like servants, and they are divided into different levels to match the many floors of the ship. On colonised planets, they are soldiers, spies and servants.
Breq is an ancillary soldier on a mission, a mission of revenge. As a starship, the Justice of Toren, she was blown up. This one ancillary was given last-minute orders and escaped in a pod. Her quest is one which no sane human would attempt, for Breq is going after the ruler of the empire, Anaander Mianaai, who also uses ancillaries to the point that there is no 'original' Anaander Mianaai anymore. Not only that, but Justice of Toren, before being destroyed, had discovered a truth that no one else realises: there isn't just one Anaander Mianaai anymore, one consciousness embodied in many ancillaries, there are two - and they are at war with each other/itself. This split, Breq has worked out, began when Anaander Mianaai ordered a whole planet destroyed as punishment for an attempted assassination: her conscience split over the decision.
As awful as the demise of a whole planet is, it has also given Breq the form of her quest: while the incredible guns used in the attempt were seized - guns that evade detection - one slipped through. It is in pursuit of this one special gun that Breq now finds herself on an ice-bound planet.
There is so much to love and enjoy here, not least of all Breq's first-person voice. As an artificial intelligence, as the remainder of the Justice of Toren, she is clearly not human, but she is understandable, sympathetic and vastly interesting. She can be quite deadly at times, able to make quick calculations and deductions, and very strong - much stronger than she appears. This is another aspect of the world that is interesting: in the Radch culture, they do not distinguish between men and women, and use the female pronoun for everyone. The actual, biological gender of the people Breq meets is irrelevant to her, not important. But we learn that the ancillary who calls herself Breq is gendered female; others, we never know for sure. The Radch are not particularly evil, intimidating, cruel or vicious. They are, however, superior-minded, and like many worlds, have a very clear idea of what it is to be civilised, and who is to be considered 'civilised'.
Alongside the exciting space-adventure story lie these thought-provoking ideas, and such is Leckie's skill at character and world-building, this complex story is rendered entirely clear without being simplified. It was beautifully layered, the backstory - Breq's story - parcelled out at just the right time, with just the right amount of new information revealed, and by returning to past scenes and events now and again, our understanding is solidified and expanded upon. A wonderful, wonderful story cleverly told - this is going on the Favourites list!