I only learnt of this book this year, and I’m so glad I did! Set on a juggernaut called Worldshaker, in an alternate present in which the reign of QueI only learnt of this book this year, and I’m so glad I did! Set on a juggernaut called Worldshaker, in an alternate present in which the reign of Queen Victoria continues indefinitely, alongside the Victorian mentality. Col is the son of one of the elite families on the mobile city; his grandfather is the Supreme Commander and he is next in line. Everything in his neat, ordered world is right and good. But then one night a Filthy escapes from Below and hides in his cabin, a girl called Riff. The Filthies are barely human, he’s been taught, but this one challenges his understanding. His only other exposure to them are through the Menials, silent, tongueless and lobotomised servants ‘rescued’ from Below to serve the upper classes. Col’s encounter with Riff is the beginning of something new, dark and terrifying, as everything he believed in begins to fray.
This is a wonderful adventure story containing familiar elements and tropes but still a unique, standalone novel. While you will have a greater and more cynical understanding of the workings of this world than Col does, his path to understanding is rendered so vivid and nail-bitingly tense that it won’t matter. While it utilises the Victorian steampunk tradition, the story acts as an indictment on how we still treat others, even today, not only through class systems but through words and names alone.
At the back of the book are some great maps of the juggernaut, which I wish I’d known about sooner than I did, as they’re very helpful!...more
Without a doubt, Westerfeld's Leviathan was one of my favourite books from last year, so when the second book came out I ordered it straight away - I Without a doubt, Westerfeld's Leviathan was one of my favourite books from last year, so when the second book came out I ordered it straight away - I just had to get it in my hands. I'm not going to give much of a plot summary if I can help it; I don't want to spoil it or provide too many details. Always hard to discuss successive books in a series!
Behemoth begins more-or-less straight after Leviathan ended, with the air ship and its heroes, Deryn (still disguised as a boy called Dylan) and Alek, on their way to Istanbul. It is the First World War, and Istanbul is supposedly neutral but extremely strategic, so both sides are trying to sway the Sultan and Ottoman Empire to their cause. The city is an exotic, multi-cultural, cosmopolitan place, with a mix of Darwinist creations and Clanker machines in the streets and homes of its people.
Once there, Alek manages to escape before his true identity is discovered, with the Germans hot on his trail; and Deryn accompanies the "lady boffin", Dr Barlow, to the Sultan's palace to gift him with one of the precious eggs the Leviathan has been carrying. The Empire's neutrality is slipping fast, though, and it soon becomes clear that the Clankers have the upper hand here. It is up to Deryn to make sure the Behemoth, a vast sea monster that is their only hope against the powerful Clanker ships and their lightning towers that can pull airships down, gets into the harbour, while Alek connects with an underground resistance group in the city and finds himself helping to strategise with them. War is coming fast to Istanbul.
[image]
There's so much to love in this series: the alternate world; the imaginative creations and steam-driven machines; the characters and the way they talk; the historical period (WWI isn't often used for YA fiction, or many other types); the grand scale. Then you have Thompson's stunning illustrations that I gushed over so much in the first book - they're no less gorgeous here, and really bring the world to life.
The setting is fabulous - Turkey (and Istanbul) is one of my top 3 countries to visit (along with Morocco and the Czech Republic), and while I have more Turkish books on my shelves, unread, than I've got around to, every time I get to read a book set there (like the recently-reviewed Theodora by Stella Duffy), I thirst for the details. The city of Istanbul was vividly alive here, and the embellishment of machine and Darwinist creations was perfectly suited to its eclectic, vibrant bustle.
Deryn is still my favourite character and one of the most heroic characters I've come across, but I found myself appreciating Alek more here - the glimpses of compassion and maturity we got in Leviathan have provided solid ground to build on, and the development of his character is satisfying and believable as he comes into his own element.
It's hard to know where the story is going to go from here, except perhaps the restoration of Alek to his rightful position - though if I remember correctly, and considering Alek's existence is fiction (Franz Ferdinand had no children), I'm actually hoping there's something more interesting in store for him. It will also be interesting to see what happens with Dylan - his true identity can't remain a secret forever, especially in light of her feelings for Alek - and Count Volger knows. Oh there's lots to look forward to in the third and final book, Goliath!
I have to admit that I'm not bothered by this cover - mostly I love the colours, the graininess and the illustration of - is it Alek? I'm not actually sure! That would be a mite unfair since I think he was on the cover of the first book. But compared to the other editions I've seen, I much prefer this cover and don't find it atrocious like other reviewers do....more
Set between 1899 and 1903 in a world where the sun never set on the British Empire, where America is still deeply British on those small territories sSet between 1899 and 1903 in a world where the sun never set on the British Empire, where America is still deeply British on those small territories secured from the natives and with the French breathing down their neck across a tenuous border, New Amsterdam presents the great amateur detective, Don Sebastien de Ulloa. Travelling from Europe to the colonies across the Pacific by dirigible with his trusted young friend Jack, Sebastien is one of the oldest wampyrs living. While wampyrs are welcome in Europe, they are most definitely not in the colonies, so he and Jack work hard to keep it a secret on board the air ship. It’s not long, however, before Sebastien’s detective skills are required when a passenger disappears, and a sorcerer reveals his true nature.
When he arrives in New Amsterdam – only recently handed over to the British by the Dutch – Sabestien teams up with Detective Crown Investigator Abigail Irene Garrett, a sorcerer who drinks a lot, is loyal to the Crown – or at least, the oath she took to serve it – and is having an affair with Duke Richard, the British Empire’s representative in New Amsterdam. The two find themselves neck-deep in grisly paranormal murders and international politics, along with Jack and a curious widow who writes fiction, Phoebe Smith.
This is my first Bear outing, and I have to admit from the outset that it didn’t greatly impress me. I always start a book with a feeling of excitement, of possibilities, with my mind open to a fresh new story. It took a while for Bear’s actual story to get boring, but I think her writing style here made it rather plodding from the start. Normally, I like a high level of detail, but because I found her sentence structure often hard to follow, or clunky, the details just became burdens.
Part of my problem is, I freely admit, that I don’t care for mystery/detective/crime type stories much. I have enjoyed some, extremely so. This wasn’t one of them, sadly. I couldn’t follow their leaps of reasoning – hell, sometimes I couldn’t even follow a simple statement! It only makes me frustrated. You know those conversations, those slices of dialogue, where a character says something that sounds random, but others in room go “Ahh” or jump from there to some new realisation – this book was full of those. (I can’t really give you examples, you’d have to read the whole thing.)
Structurally, the book is comprised of chapters or parts that are something like connected short stories or novellas – each deals with a new and separate mystery to solve, but as a whole they are meant to tell a greater story than the sum of their parts. I say “meant to” because one of the biggest disappointments for me was how lacking the overall story was. Here we have two very interesting characters – an old, lonely wampyr who’s forgotten much of his past, and an intelligent, strong, independent sorceress who defeats beasts and the like, in an America where the indigenous tribes still hold much of their land, and where war with the French looms. The biggest let-downs were that there’s no great character development or change going on, and the setting – the very alternate history that so fascinates me – was only loosely sketched out, never really explored, and didn’t always make sense.
On the positive side, I did like the two main characters and Jack, and I did like the sensuality that we get glimmers of – it was very nicely done, especially around Sebastien’s potent bite. I was thrown by the very last line – Garrett tells her black maid, who wants to stay in Paris, “On your head be it”, which, am I wrong? I always understood to be something of a threat, or warning. It means “Fine, do what you like, but I take no responsibility for the consequences so don’t come to me for help if it goes wrong.” Which doesn’t match the scene - she was giving her maid her blessing. I wonder if it has more to do with the overall editing – and copy-editing – because the book was rife with mistakes, not to mention my dissatisfaction with the clunky sentence structure. And when a book’s lacklustre qualities stand out this much for me, I lose interest in its other points – its themes, its attempts at being profound.
For such a short book, it took me far too long to get through and hasn’t made me all that eager to read more of Elizabeth Bear – though I don’t want to dismiss her after just one book. ...more
Just look at this cover, isn't it GORGEOUS?! I absolutely love it. It's so rich, with such sumptuous detail, wonderful design and use of colour and alJust look at this cover, isn't it GORGEOUS?! I absolutely love it. It's so rich, with such sumptuous detail, wonderful design and use of colour and all the elements of the story and its genres. It's simply RIPPING!! It feels nice too, with embossed bits, shiny bits, matte bits, texture in places so that if you run your fingers over it they get all excited and tingly! The one and only thing that bothers me is the cardstock used - the cover never lies flat but is constantly (even brand new and sitting on the bookshop display table) lifting up into the air almost vertically. Hey, it's a keen book, but covers get damaged this way.
This is one of those books where the gorgeous cover completely matches - and does credit to - the absolutely wonderful story inside. I'm loving this - two YA novels in a row that I can utterly GUSH over! (Count how many times I capitalise my words as a cheap way of conveying enthusiasm - actually don't count, it'll get embarrassing!) Not only is Westerfeld an utter GENIUS here, but Keith Thompson's sketches are simply STUNNING! I found myself gazing and gazing at them. They match the scenes perfectly, and really make the world come alive. Oh, and would you just look at the stunning map:
Here you can see Europe, at the time of the Great War, separated along ideological lines of a new kind: the "Darwinists" depicted with impressive beasts, and the "Clankers" bristling with steam-powered machinery and weapons. The Darwinist countries, like Great Britain, have embraced not just natural selection but gene splicing, cross-breeding animals and creating incredible beasts called "fabrications" - including the Leviathan itself, an immense hydrogen ship that's not just one living organism - mostly whale - but a whole colony of organisms and beasts that each have a role to play. It's absolutely fascinating.
The Clankers, on the other hand - the Germans and Hungarians etc. - have the kind of machines that are clearly inspired by Star Wars, like this giant war machine. They come in smaller two-legged varieties as well.
But I best stop long enough to give you a summary, eh:
Prince Aleksandar, son to Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria-Hungary, grandson to the emperor, is secretly bundled out of the palace on the night his parents are assassinated in Serbia. His fencing master, Count Volger, and his master of mechaniks, Otto Klopp, get fifteen year old Alek away in a Cyklop Stormwalker (a two-legged machine), but it takes Alek a while to understand the seriousness of his position. Even though his grandfather made it so Alek could never inherit the empire (because he disapproved of the woman Ferdinand decided to marry), his father and Count Volger understood that with the continent bristling for war, Alek could prove a very useful hostage, or pawn.
Meanwhile, in England, sixteen year old Deryn is ready to take her middy's test and join the Air Service like her older brother Jaspert - as long as she can convince them she's really a boy. The test consists of being strapped into the seat below one of the earliest types of air ship - a Huxley. In essence a giant jelly fish filled with hydrogen that panics at the slightest thing, the Huxley goes mostly up or down and can't really be steered. But as Deryn is aloft, a storm comes and the Huxley panics - to save being smashed against a wall in its descent, she's forced to cut the rope that tethers it.
Deryn keeps a calm head, and while she is drifting out to the Channel, is picked up by the Leviathan, one of the earliest and still the best air ship in the Service. Determined to be kept on board, she learns the way of the ship fast. When they make an unprecedented stop at Hyde Park in London to pick up a scientist and a very precious cargo, it is the first step in an adventure that will see Deryn and Alek meet in surprising circumstances - and form an even more unusual friendship.
So, how about some more gushing? Westerfeld has created a superb world, an alternate world of steampunk technology and inventive science, with a wealth of detail and imagination. But it would be a hollow world if the characters and the story weren't equally as entrancing. Oh, and Westerfeld gets extra points for including a THYLACINE!! (Well he is somewhat Australian, after all.) I love this animal, and it was great to see it in a story, finally.
Deryn is the kind of protagonist I instantly love - a tomboy in the best possible way, with a mouth full of slang and stable talk (often invented for the world), a quick mind and passion - in this case, a passion to be in the air service and serve on board the Leviathan. She has her flaws, but she's got so much spunk and bravery - and she doesn't fret or panic. True to her more humble upbringing, she provides the perfect counter-point to the palace-bred Alek, though he too rises to the occasion, learns from his mistakes and shows courage in a time of peril. He sometimes comes across as a tad sullen and spoilt, but he's also willing to admit his mistakes, apologise for them, or do what's right despite the dangers. And then when you get the two of them together, they're just great. Their personalities are vibrant but the details are subtle and come across in dialogue and action. There's not so much of that reflective instrospection (did I just make up a word there?) that's so prevalent in YA and which drives me nuts.
Aside from being a wonderful adventure novel in a highly creative world, Leviathan also presents some interesting themes on the nature of science, technology, ethics and attitudes and so on. The best stories for examining interesting themes like this are the ones that don't deal with them head-on. The ones that let them play out, that let the reader notice them, think about them, question their own thoughts and reactions. Books like, say, Fahrenheit 451 are great for what they do but are also deliberately obvious and in-your-face, which doesn't always leave much room for gaining perspective.
I could ramble on but I better not - I think you get how much I enjoyed this, yeah? I'm looking forward to the next book, Behemoth, with great anticipation! ...more
The sequel to Carriger’s debut, Soulless, Changeless picks up three months into Alexia Tarabotti’s marriage to Lord Conall Maccon. Alexia is “soulThe sequel to Carriger’s debut, Soulless, Changeless picks up three months into Alexia Tarabotti’s marriage to Lord Conall Maccon. Alexia is “soulless”, otherwise known as a preternatural – in an alternate Victorian England where vampires and werewolves are out in the open and more-or-less accepted into polite society, Alexia can revert a vampire or werewolf back to mortal human with just her touch. Since the cause of vampirism etc. is understood to be due to an excess of soul, the newly minted Lady Maccon is their direct opposite. Still, that didn’t stop her from marrying a werewolf - the Alpha of the London pack, no less.
Armed with her trusty parasol, Alexia is also Mujah to Queen Victoria – completing a triad council of vampire, werewolf and preternatural. When a large area of London is suddenly afflicted with a state of mortality, several eyes look to Alexia as the cause. But the afflicted area is on the move, heading north to Scotland – where her husband is headed to deal with his old pack’s alpha-less state.
Alexia decides to travel – by dirigible – to Scotland herself and discover what’s causing the problem. Intending to travel alone, she is finds herself suddenly burdened with not just her insufferable younger sister Felicity, but her best friend Miss Ivy Hisslepenny as well – not to mention Ivy’s hideous hat collection. Her entourage grows even larger when she finds that a cross-dressing Frenchwoman and inventor, Madame Lefoux, is on the dirigible, where it becomes clear something is going on between her and Alexia’s maid. Mystery abounds.
The Kingair pack in Scotland is hostile to their presence, to say the least, but Alexia is sure they’ve brought something with them back from Africa that is causing the vampires’ and werewolves’ reversion to mortality. But someone is trying to kill her, maybe more than one person, and the vampires are up to something that Alexia is determined to foil. Thank God she has a new, reinforced parasol with some deadly secrets hidden in it!
There’s lots to enjoy with this series – it has a wonderful flippant sense of humour, lively characters and some neatly paced action. It also makes for a nice blend of steampunk and the supernatural, in an alternate-history Victorian England. As a result, it has some very funky inventions! It’s marketed as Fantasy/Horror, but it’s very light on horror. It’s more like … Historical Fantasy.
As fun as the dialogue and narration is, it does tend to belabour the quaint Englishness a bit. Carriger is, as far as I can make out, English by default (one parent being an ex-Pom), but it sometimes reads as trying too hard to sound English, and overdoing the expressions. She also uses “bollix” as alternate spelling for “bollocks” – I hadn’t seen that spelling before so I looked it up, and found that the change was “to make it appear less vulgar”. Spelling it that way also alters the meaning, to refer to something being messed up. In the book, “bollix” was used as “bollocks”, as in, “damn!” I know, I get hung up on these details – mostly I just find it interesting, but I do find that historical romance authors don’t research very well and even though this isn’t technically historical romance, I do find myself looking out for mistakes. (Dialogue is always a toughie, since so many expressions – the way we say things, our word choices and speech patterns – are fairly modern, including, don't get me started, the word “gotten”.)
I did love the ending though. I have to question the intelligence of most of the characters in their reaction to the news, since they all know that Alexia’s touch turns a supernatural being mortal - with that comes hair growth, slow healing and bodily fluids. Sorry, am trying not to spoil the ending for you but I still wanted to say that. It made the titles of books 2 and 3 suddenly make sense – well, 2 should have been obvious from early on except I wasn’t thinking about it, but 3 - Blameless - became clear. I’m quite looking forward to it, even if it is a bit of a cliché!
Ivy Hisslepenny provides quite the foil, being completely blind to what's going on around her, but Felicity was a largely forgotten character altogether - which wasn't a bad thing, as she was drawn to be as snide and selfish as could be. There wasn't much of Conall Maccon in this one, and when he did appear he alternated between single-minded forgot-I-was-married to very sweet and attentive. If you don't mind your characters a bit cardboard from time to time, you shouldn't have any problems here. I guess it goes hand-in-hand with the tone of the novel, which conjures up the word "buffoon". It made it hard to start, but if you can sit down with it for any length of time you can get back into the swing of things. A bit less re-capping would have been fine by me though. And a bit less pointing-out-the-obvious-irony too.
I'm still enjoying these, complaints aside. Alexia is a loud, strong-minded, decisive heroine who doesn't beat about the bush, which is refreshing, and I do find her sympathetic. Especially now. Looking forward to Blameless, perhaps because of the personal angle that's been set up for it. ...more
Seattle, 1879. Fifteen years ago a clever and talented inventor created a machine dubbed the Boneshaker, designed to mine for gold in the Yukon. InsteSeattle, 1879. Fifteen years ago a clever and talented inventor created a machine dubbed the Boneshaker, designed to mine for gold in the Yukon. Instead, he tunnelled under the city right into the banking district, causing whole sections of the city to cave in. After looting the banks he drove the machine back through the tunnels and into the basement of his fancy home, and was never seen again, leaving his pregnant wife with the stigma of Leviticus Blue's escapade.
Not only did the boneshaker destroy parts of the city, but from the underground tunnel came a gas, a gas that killed people or turned them into the walking dead, driven to attack and consume the living. In an effort to stop the gas from spreading further inland, the city built a giant wall around the contamination site, while the survivors stayed on in the outlying suburbs.
Now fifteen, the son of Leviticus and Briar Blue (now using her maiden name, Wilkes), Zeke, wants to turn his father into a hero instead of a widely-hated mad scientist. Zeke makes his way into the walled city, determined to find his parents' old house on the hill and discover something that will redeem Levi Blue in the eyes and minds of the population of Seattle. When she learns what he has done, Briar - a hardened, taciturn woman who slaves away at the water mains and endures endless "blue" taunts - follows him in, determined to rescue him. But finding Zeke in a city of zombies and other perils isn't easy, and when she encounters the folks who live in sealed tunnels under the city she learns of the mysterious inventor, Dr Minnericht, whose clever inventions have helped the people survive, even though they all think he's really Levi Blue, returned to the city he helped destroy.
This book came highly recommended by friends, and I want to say that I hope my review doesn't put you off reading it if you were so inclined before, but the sad truth is that I didn't really enjoy this book. I can't recommend it, but neither will I not recommend it. If that makes sense.
I love the premise. Colonial city beset by noxious gas, zombies and zeppelins. Sort of. Priest apparently took liberties with the city and with American history - I wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't pointed it out, somewhat defensively, in her Note at the back, and I don't care that she did - and added to the historical period a more inventive mechanical technology and nifty airships. The steampunk aspect is grimy, dirty, sooty, fiddly, weird and wonderful - all the things you would want from steampunk.
Then there's the horror blend - the zombies. They make the old city into a danger zone, a place of risk and death that the gas alone can't manage so spectacularly. The zombies are more visible, and definitely more audible. The trouble is, zombies have always bored me. I don't even find them very scary. They're mindless, and have only one goal; therefore they are predictable, and it's unpredictability that makes a character truly terrifying. Sure, one scratch and you lose your mind and become a walking corpse bent on eating human flesh, but that just somehow doesn't give me chills. I'm not saying I wouldn't be terrified if chased down a street by zombies, but I used to get scared in any game that involved being chased. Zombies just aren't clever. They might be hard to kill, but they're not hard to outsmart.
That's not what I had trouble with in this book, though. The trouble - or part of it - is Priest's writing style. There's nothing wrong with it, per se, she doesn't have bad grammar or use awkward sentences. It's more that it's the kind of style I expect - and get - when I read paranormal romance and even some fantasy - a simplistic style that wears on me and makes my eyes glaze over. It's not what I want when reading science fiction or speculative fiction. It was disappointing. Simplistic. The characters fell flat for me, their dialogue bored me (and there's lots of dialogue). Zeke was a realistically annoying and petulant fifteen year old who did mature somewhat by the end of the book; it still made me tired of hearing him whine and always try to have the last word - and really, how stupid is he to go off into the blighted walled city in the first place? Briar should have been the ideal protagonist, being a tough woman in a hard world who's come a long way from the pretty, young trophy wife of Leviticus Blue. But she has no personality.
The bond between mother and son was a brittle, thin thing, but it was realistic for the characters and their history and the adventure of the novel definitely made them closer. Briar thawed too, but I still found her empty. Both Briar and Zeke take turns offering perspective in their individual chapters, and both have the kind of inner introspective, wondering voices that bugs me in pulp fiction. The characters of Briar and Zeke are just so self-indulgent and into analysing every little thing, that I struggled to keep reading.
First of all, [Zeke] had little patience for being told what to do by anyone, much less a stranger who appeared to be inebriated and looking to become further inebriated at the nearest opportunity. Second, he had deep-seated doubts as to why this man who'd initially greeted him with threats of bodily harm might be moved to help. Zeke didn't trust Rudy, and he didn't believe much of what Rudy had told him.
And furthermore, he didn't like him. (p.94)
(Ah, the ubiquitous, standalone climactic sentence. When overused, as the trend is in genre fiction these days, it quickly becomes aggravating and one of my big pet peeves.)
Someone behind Briar gave her back a friendly pat. It startled her, but there was nothing salacious about the gesture so she didn't flinch away from it. Besides, this was more friendly human contact than she'd had in years, and the pleasantness of it smoothed the keen, guilty edge of her sorrow. (p.190)
See what I mean? There's nothing actually wrong with the writing (except for the too-free use of climactic standalone sentences); it just is too much like the mindless, formulaic writing that pervades genre fiction and makes me more and more jaded. I've become quite snobby about this because of some truly terrible books that I've read, and any similarity just makes my lip curl.
Then there's the plot, and the narrative. It's slow, and painstaking. A single scene can take pages while the protagonist overthinks everything, and everyone's every arm movement and eyebrow twitch are noted. I love detail in books and generally prefer it to books with not enough detail (though the writing style plays a big part - sometimes less is definitely more) - but somehow the detail here was not the kind that engages me. I can't tell if it's the details themselves or the way they're shared. Many of the descriptions I had a hard time following, and picturing: the words used or the way things were described, I'm not sure but either way I was often confused. There were some details that weren't explained - or they were but I didn't notice. Like, where does the inner city get the coal that they need to keep the furnaces going constantly? As far as the rest of the city goes, no one knows that anyone still lives inside the wall. And why? Why are the "Chinamen" there, and why do they take the responsibility of keeping the bellows going? Why did Rudy kill one of them? Did anyone else notice that Briar and Zeke go for what amounts to two or three days without eating or drinking anything beyond a bit of water and a fig (or was it a date?)? Or sleeping? Or toilet breaks for that matter? These questions are some of the ones that bothered me, and the map didn't actually helped because it seemed like the characters were going all over the place for no real reason.
On the other, more positive hand, the Seattle of Boneshaker is pretty fleshed out, solid and tangible (the walled-off part, anyway). The writing is clear, clean, and the plot is headed is a firm direction, even if it does take forever to get there. The truth of Leviticus Blue is a tad predictable, but Minnericht was the scariest thing about the story. The typeface is a lovely dirty brown colour on off-white paper that ties in perfectly, and there are some really nice details. I liked some of the minor characters better than the two main protagonists. And it was refreshing reading a steampunk novel not set in Victorian London.
By the end, though, I was just relieved to have finished it. The sequels are already out, Clementine and Dreadnought, but I'm not planning on reading it. The characters, the city, the problem of the gas and the zombies, just didn't engage me enough to care about them and want to hear how the larger story is resolved. I'm probably the only person who didn't love this book, and no doubt my complaints don't make sense or seem ludicrous; the truth is, I haven't been looking forward to writing this review and it's been weeks since I finished it, but this is what stands out for me. It might be more enjoyable for people who haven't read a lot of pulp fiction, or those who love that style. ...more
Miss Alexia Tarabotti has many things against her. First, she is half-Italian and has the nose and skin to prove it. Second, she is a twenty-six year Miss Alexia Tarabotti has many things against her. First, she is half-Italian and has the nose and skin to prove it. Second, she is a twenty-six year old spinster who must chaperone her silly younger half-sisters to balls where she would like to dance but where no one asks her to. Third, she is assertive, has an independent streak, and talks too much. Fouth, she is soulless.
Her soulless state is a secret from everyone but the paranormals - she is, after all, on the Bureau of Unnatural Registry (BUR) register. The vampires know of her, as do the werewolves and ghosts, but humans don't even know the soulless, or "preternatural", even exist.
So imagine her shock when a vampire in a very cheap shirt tries to bite her neck. Her soulless state neutralises him, but he keeps trying, so she is forced to use her trusty custom-made parasol to fend him off. When she accidentally kills him, the head of BUR, Lord Conall Maccon, is soon on the scene. Lord Maccon is also alpha of the Woolsey pack and he and Alexia have constantly butted heads ever since the hedgehog incident when they first met a few years ago.
It's soon apparent that something's not right with this dead vampire, aside from his embarrassing fang lisp. He didn't belong to any of the London hives, even though he smells - according to Lord Maccon - of the Westminster hive. The cases of disappearing vampires and werewolves, and the appearance of new rogue vampires, increases, and Alexia herself seems to always be in the thick of things. A wax-faced man keeps trying to kidnap her, and Lord Maccon has set BUR paranormals to guard her. It might not be enough to save her life, but as long as she can get a cup of tea and some decent cake Alexia is up to the challenge of discovering what is really going on.
One of the fun things about genre fiction is how fluid the boundaries are. Soulless is such a rich mix of genres and sub-genres that trying to pinpoint them all makes you dizzy, and yet it works wonderfully. Marketed as Fantasy/Horror, I can tell the publisher was also a bit confused as to how to sell this one, because it could just as easily have ended up in the Romance section. The romance isn't the main point of the novel, though, which is why it fits better in Fantasy - it does have a happy ending, romance-wise, though. The steampunk elements are slight and generally subtle, but important to the plot, and there's definitely a touch of the gothic.
Set in a more mechanised London - roughly 1870s, going by the clues - with a history of vampires and werewolves incorporated into society dating back to Henry VIII (the real reason behind the schism with the Pope), it seamlessly integrates new and fictional history into Victorian society without losing any of the prim and proper-ness of the period (more on that in a bit).
The story is fun in more ways than its mish-mash of generic tropes. Possessed of an ironic humour with a slight tongue-in-cheek touch - aimed at the social mores of the day - Soulless has witty banter and intelligent observations. Alexia can be at turns annoying and loveable, but always sympathetic. Lord Maccon the werewolf has his moments of also being a bit of a twit, but there's balance between wanting to laugh at him and respecting him that saves his character from being a buffoon. Besides, he's a romantic hero.
Theories about the soul are integral to the story, including the idea that vampires and werewolves exist because of too much soul, rather than none at all. Alexia, having no soul, can revert a vampire to human just from a touch. Aside from Alexia's own calmly reasoned opinions on the subject, the "truth" of the matter is very much open and quite fascinating to think about.
Soulless also breathes fresh life into the paranormal genre, blending more traditional vampires etc. with a few new twists. These aren't ridiculously handsome, all-powerful specimens: if a man was bald in life, he'll be bald as a vampire. The addition of the ultra-gay Lord Akeldama, who left his hive over disagreements about waistcoats, pokes irreverent fun at the hyper-heterosexuality of contemporary vampires.
There are a few slow points to the plot, but I often found the book hard to put down. The "bad guys" you can spot from the beginning, so it's not much of a mystery; the attempts to abduct Alexia add danger and threat to the tone of the story, and it's nicely dark and even macabre at points. It bothers me that, despite it's very English setting, it's littered with American spelling - absolutely jarring and completely weird, when they do that. Removes some of the authenticity of the setting and period, too.
The Victorian time period - which is lengthy (1837 - 1901) - has already produced great works in literature, such as that of Dickens, H.G. Wells and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Contemporary genre fiction though has been slow to utilise it, especially Romance which possibly gets side-tracked by the illusion of gloom and prudish hide-the-ankles-of-the-table sexual repression (whereas they were just as horny and sexually active as any other period - and sex also took on what we would now see as gothic overtones, such as in the treatment of female hysteria by giving orgasms - the vibrator was invented around 1870 for doctors to give their upper class female patients orgasms).
It's fantastic to see writers like Laura Lee Guhrke (in Romance) and now Gail Carriger, bring new life to what is arguably one of the most fascinating time periods in British history - fascinating for all the changes that occurred, for being the "beginning" of the modern period, for being a time of flux and inventions and new ideas and Freud and vivid contradictions and even the beginnings, late Victorian-era, of feminism. There is some Fantasy of the steampunk variety already set in this period, but not a lot. I certainly hope to see more genre fiction set in this period, but it will need some thorough research....more
Blood servant to the blood sorceress Yvaine, who was burnt to death by an angry ignorant mob in 1636, Jax has spent over two hundred years looking forBlood servant to the blood sorceress Yvaine, who was burnt to death by an angry ignorant mob in 1636, Jax has spent over two hundred years looking for Yvaine's apprentice. He finally finds her in Transylvania, Hungary, a tall beautiful woman called Amanusa Whitcomb who practices small women's magic to keep under the Inquisition's radar. She immediately inherits not only Yvaine's tower in Scotland, her books and lore and wealth, but also Jax himself who is magically bound to her.
Like everyone else, Amanusa fears blood sorcery and resists this inheritance. There have been no sorcerers since Yvaine, and myth and superstition have clouded minds against the misunderstood magic. But Amanusa has the power and Jax teaches her that blood magic is alive, a living magic, tied to innocent blood. It is justice magic, and the one thing Amanusa wants above all else is justice: justice against the rebel fighters who killed her mother and brother and kept her to rape and abuse for years.
Fleeing the aftermath of her first working of powerful blood magic, Amanusa and Jax travel to Paris where the Conclave is meeting - master magicians of the three other disciplines: alchemy, conjury and wizardry. Her arrival causes quite the stir, but the information she brings about the spreading Dead Zones - magicless spots where deadly little machines have come into being - is vital to their fight against them. And as some of the magicians think, the absence of women trained in magic - and of blood sorcerers especially, may be the cause of the problem in the first place.
As Amanusa learns to trust Jax and Jax falls in love with Amanusa, the bond between them strengthens and becomes something new and vital, something Jax never had with Yvaine. But there are too many magicians who think women too weak and corruptible to wield magic, and who fear blood magic in particular, who threaten their lives and everything they've achieved.
This is a novel that is not easily defined by genre. Marketed as a paranormal romance, I find this misleading - having read far too many paranormal romances, I can safely say that this isn't what you'd expect from one. This is a sweet loving romance with a very little bit of sex towards the end, but it's more about the magic than anything else. It's more fantasy than paranormal romance, but it's also an alternate history - Napoleon III rules France, magicians have long held an important place in the world - with a bit of steampunk thrown in. It works wonderfully. It's original and inventive, with plenty of familiar tropes to keep you on firm ground.
I loved Amanusa and Jax, who are both tortured souls but never in a self-indulgent way. I really cared for them and was deeply engrossed in their story; their growth and development came naturally and realistically. The story does focus on the romance slowly growing between them, so if that's not your cup of tea you probably won't like this, but I would argue that the intriguing premise is enough and regular fantasy fans would also enjoy this.
Even though it's set in a historical period - mid-1800s - there's certainly a modern tone to the novel, especially in the dialogue and some of the characters' attitudes and behaviour. Yet it also had a firm grasp of period and setting and the contemporary touch just seemed to add to the fantasy aspects rather than detract from its realism or historical accuracy. It worked and added to the enjoyment of reading it.
In terms of plot, it is suspenseful, exciting, curious. With its twists on well-known history such as witch burnings and the Inquisition, it manages to create something new while feeling firmly a part of our own world and history - sort of like Jonathan Stroud's Bartimaeus trilogy. The various forms of magic are given subtle new meanings, and the blood magic is fascinating.
The story throws up many old superstitions and the kind of attitudes towards women that make me grimace - many of the men in the book are a bit transparent in their outbursts against women being allowed to practice magic, but that in itself isn't unrealistic. In this sense, Amanusa's achievement is deeply satisfying.
This is the first book in what looks set to be a series, but it's also a standalone book as the others will focus on different characters - minor ones from this introductory story. And so the bigger plotline of Dead Zones, magical wastelands, will be dealt with in the following books. New Blood sets the stage, as it were, but that plot is far from finished with here. The next book, Heart's Blood is due out around December 2009/January 2010. ...more
A hundred years ago the Egyptian gods defeated all other gods and now reign supreme over the earth. Dividing the land up amongst themselves, their feuA hundred years ago the Egyptian gods defeated all other gods and now reign supreme over the earth. Dividing the land up amongst themselves, their feuds and squabbles and hatreds reflect on earth amongst the mortals. Thousands of men and women join their deities' armies and navies, their service and sacrifice the ultimate worship.
Lieutenant David Westwynter is a British soldier of Osiris. Having barely escaped with his life from a trap in Petra, Jordan, he knows his only hope is reaching Freegypt, what was once Egypt, ironically the only country in the world the gods haven't laid claim to. Once home to all, none of them want to fight over it, and it is the only independent, non-religious land left.
There David falls in with a beautiful aloof woman called Zafirah and her Liberators, freedom fighters who are part of a larger movement within Freegypt. Their leader is a masked man called the Lightbringer, who turns out to be more than he seems in more than one way.
As the Lightbringer's vision of freedom from the warring gods and a plan to fight back brings unity to Freegypt's people, so Ra, the sun god, seeks to unify his squabbling descendants on the godly plane. With so much history and hatred between them, he despairs of helping them change and forgive, and stop the wars among their human followers on earth. But as with Freegypt, the one person who can unify the gods against a common cause is the Lightbringer, and only David is in any position to speak reason to this revered human seeking to bring a new age to the world - and discover who he truly is.
At its heart, this is a simple story, simply told. The prose was refreshingly unpretentious (I confess, I do expect some pretension from sci-fi), without the superficial need to clutter its sentences with techno-gabble or other made-up words. I loved the ending too, the scene in England, which neatly summed up the "message", if you will, of the story.
Now, I decided not to spoil the first revelation, simply so I could discuss things more openly, but I will say this: the first revelation is very predictable, and you'll guess it early on because it's quite obvious. That's mostly because the story's so neatly laid out, and things that need to be prefaced, are. I don't hold that against it though. In a way, it read like one of those satisfying Hollywood movies, and indeed is structured much the same way, with the exception of the scenes amongst the gods, which added another, intriguing layer.
While David doesn't narrate, his is the only human perspective we get, and the style is noticeably different from how the Lightbringer talks to him in private - it's a nice display of inflection and syntax, showing skill and craftsmanship at work. There's more to Lovegrove than "meets the eye", so to speak. The simplicity of the prose and the neatness of the story work because the author is skilled, but it's like this iMac I'm typing on: the clean, smooth, almost featureless exterior hides a great deal of clockwork inside. (Not literal clockwork - you get me.)
I was intrigued by the premise, and I would have liked to understand how it works more. The gods are very very real, here. But how humans got caught up in obeying their dictates, doing their will, was never quite clear. And the world beyond the wars - that I would have liked to have seen. I guess it's no different than ours, really, aside from the different way countries are aligned.
At the end of the day, The Age of Ra is deceptively simple, and has a gentle yet poignant message about power and religion that is easily heard because it is not preachy or moralising. This isn't a story about religion, or who is right. I won't try to sum it up. I'm still pondering....more
Set in 1985 in New York, the Cold War is still very much alive, Nixon is settling in for yet another term as President, and masked vigilantes are consSet in 1985 in New York, the Cold War is still very much alive, Nixon is settling in for yet another term as President, and masked vigilantes are considerably passé. Since the costumed adventurers of the 30s and 40s called The Minutemen disbanded in the 50s, masked vigilantes became increasingly unpopular right up to the Keene Act of '77 which made it illegal. The only one who persists is Rorschach, and everyone knows he's not exactly mentally stable.
This second generation of retired crime fighters consists of Nite Owl (Daniel); the Silk Spectre (Laurie); who's boyfriend is Dr Manhattan (Jon), the only "real" Super-hero since a science lab accident turned him into a big, muscular blue genius who likes to stay naked and isn't at all ashamed of his unimpressive genitalia (yes, there is full-frontal male nudity of the blue variety); Rorschach, of course; Ozymandias (Adrian Veidt, the "smartest man in the world" who, since retirement, has turned himself into a marketable commodity); Captain Metropolis; and the Comedian, one of the original Minutemen who took a government job and is far from a barrel of laughs.
Now the Comedian is dead, and Rorschach thinks someone's out killing masked heroes. His warnings to his fellow, now ex, vigilantes falls on deaf ears: they all have their own problems to contend with. Laurie is fed up with being Jon's plaything - he lacks a "human" perspective now that he's a super-being - and hooks up with Daniel, who essentially needs to be in costume to get his rocks off.
Then someone tries to shoot Adrian, Rorschach is caught by the police, and Jon has teleported himself to Mars where he builds a crystal palace and contemplates the meaning of life and time. With Jon, America's not-so-secret weapon, out of the picture, the Soviets' attack on the U.S. becomes imminent and World War III is widely predicted. Frankly, it's a bit of a complicated mess - and no one notices the artist and writer and others missing, no one comes close to predicting the awful, gory destruction headed their way. Tick-tock, Time's. Running. Out.
Originally published in twelve individual comics, each ends with about four or more pages of "primary documents" in non-comic form: a section from Hollis' book; an interview with Adrian Veidt; psychiatrist reports on Rorschach; and so on. Some are interesting and fun to read, while others are incredibly dull and easily skipped. Those would be mostly for the die-hard fans to enjoy, as they do divulge - or support - even more about the characters than the story itself.
The cover doesn't make sense until you start reading it, and then you get one of those "Aaahhhh" moments, so I'll just tell you: it's a drop of blood on a smiley-face badge that one of the characters always wore. It pops up again at the very end, as a spot of tomato sauce (ketchup) on a guy's smiley-face t-shirt. There are quite a few parallels and neat little visuals like that throughout the novel.
It's not an easy book to read, despite being a graphic novel (less text to read). It jumps back and forth in time, even panel-to-panel, and you need to try to keep track of all the conversations and all the small details in the illustrations because everything's important! It made me quite dizzy at times. It's quite ingenious really, but that doesn't necessarily make it amazing. Clever, but not likeable. As is often the way.
My favourite character was Rorschach - complicated, twisted, scarred, violent, screwed-up, strangely honourable and determined. Chapter 6, "The Abyss Gazes Also", is his story, and as with all the chapters, the graphics and text interweave brilliantly to reveal more than is directly told. It's also the chapter where you get to see what he really looks like, what his real name is, his history, his motivations. Later, a minor character - a newspaper vendor - mentions that Rorschach was one of his customers, and I have to admit I'd lost that thread entirely and had to flip back. I'm like that with real people too though: change your clothes, your hairstyle, and I have trouble recognising you. I also had too many long gaps between readings of this book, which made it hard to remember all the details.
The graphics are very clever, full of symbolism and little revealing clues. There's an ongoing parallel story of a kid reading an old comic book about a pirate who's stranded on an island, makes a raft of all the dead bodies around him, is attacked by a shark and kills it, makes it back to his home and - well, I'll let you read it to see. The captions of this overlay the "real" story going on around the kid, who's sitting next to the newspaper vendor's stall, and when it shows the panels they're in that old pixelated style, with the washed-out colours made of tiny little dots.
There is a mystery here, one that you have to wade through all the background stories, side-plots, musings and messy violence to get to. The last two chapters are probably the most coherent and lineal. "Who Watches the Watchmen?" is the unofficial sub-title, and it's very fitting. There is a lot of gore, violence, an attempted rape (on Laurie's mother when she was the original Silk Spectre in The Minutemen), Jon's less-than-modest willy popping up here and there, murder and mayhem in the book. And some very daggy costumed vigilantes. They are a bit of a sad bunch, full of aspirations or dreams of glory but who look so ridiculous it's amazing they were ever taken seriously by the criminal underworld.
In a way, Watchmen is a tribute, a homage, to the old Superman et. al. comics of the early 20th century, but I can't be sure it isn't mocking them too. Or perhaps mocking us, for our superhero dreams and aspirations and wish-fulfilment fantasies....more
Sephy and Callum are the best of friends. They grew up together and despite the animosity between their families now, they continue to see each other Sephy and Callum are the best of friends. They grew up together and despite the animosity between their families now, they continue to see each other in secret. But as they grow older and the world encroaches on their friendship, they can deny no longer the big glaring barrier between them: Sephy is a Cross, Callum is a nought. Society, the world, their families, will never accept them.
Sephy is the daughter of Kamal Hadley, a successful and important politician who's manoeuvring his way to the top seat in parliament while his society wife drinks herself to oblivion. She goes to a posh school by chauffeur-driven car and doesn't really understand the discrimination and prejudice the noughts endure.
Callum knows all too well. From being constantly suspected of every possible crime and assumed the worst of, to being denied an education and treated like he's not just stupid but incapable of learning the skills the Crosses have - every day he faces the fact that he's lower than second-class because of one arbitrary fact he has no control over: the colour of his skin.
Yes, Callum is white and he's suffered all his life for it.
Blackman has taken our own history and flipped it around - but it's not an exact mirror-image: the situation of the noughts is far worse in legal terms than what non-whites suffer today in most developed countries (I want to stress the word "legal" here - in Noughts & Crosses, the law doesn't protect the noughts but takes the guilty before proven innocent stance - we have at least moved away from that, though it doesn't change what goes through people's heads still).
Blackman isn't trying to make dark-skinned people look bad and white people sympathetic; she's highlighting how arbitrary and ridiculous racial prejudice is, and how easily it could have been the other way around. She wrecks havoc on the age-old belief that people of one particular skin colour are naturally more intelligent and talented than others - it may not be scientifically supported anymore but the belief is still there, in some places, amongst some people.
Noughts & Crosses is written alternately in the voices of Sephy and Callum, in short chapters that grant the two differing perspectives. There's pain and tension here, and anger - it's a mature book, and doesn't shy away from the worst of human nature. It's well written, with both Sephy and Callum growing older, more mature, more disillusioned. For a book that's not set anywhere in particular, about a world that doesn't literally exist, it's a very real story because it pokes right at the heart of so many of our problems and makes no apologies for forcing us to look at ourselves.
I would have loved this book had I read it as a teenager, I know that for sure. As an adult, I found the chapters a little brief, a bit hurried, a tad too unsubtle. Which would be fine for an adolescent's attention span.
This edition also includes the short novella, An Eye for an Eye, which comes between this and the next book in the trilogy, Knife's Edge....more
It's very important, if you're intending to read this book, that you don't read any reviews or listen to any talk about it first. I had no idea what tIt's very important, if you're intending to read this book, that you don't read any reviews or listen to any talk about it first. I had no idea what this book was about before I read it - and the blurb gives you a very different impression, actually - and so I slipped easily into a story that was as engrossing as it was revealing.
If you know something about what to expect, though, I don't think you'll enjoy it nearly as much. It's a bit like an art installation that requires audience participation: you have to do your bit, too, to make it work, so it makes sense, so it tells the story it was meant to tell. Keep yourself in the dark, that's my advice. Because of this, there's no point in writing an actual review....more
On the back cover is a wonderfully written blurb/review from Publishers Weekly - I wish I could write like this! So succinct!
"World Fantasy Award-winnOn the back cover is a wonderfully written blurb/review from Publishers Weekly - I wish I could write like this! So succinct!
"World Fantasy Award-winner Jo Walton (Tooth and Claw) crosses genres without missing a beat with this stunningly powerful alternative history set in 1949, eight years after Britain agreed to peace with Nazi Germany, leaving Hitler control of the European continent. A typical gethering at the country estate of Farthing of the power elite who brokered the deal is thrown into turmoil when the main negotiator, Sir James Thirkie, is murdered, with a yellow star pinned to his chest with a dagger. The author deftly alternates perspectives between Lucy Kahn, the host's daughter, who has disgraced herself in her family's eyes by marrying a Jew, and Scotland Yard Inspector Peter Carmichael, who quickly suspects that the killer was not a Bolshevik terrorist. But while the whodunit plot is compelling, it's the convincing portrait of a country's incremental slide into fascism that makes this novel a standout."
That covers things pretty well.
I'm not a fan of generic crime books, but when a crime book/murder mystery is combined with interesting, well-developed characters and a unique premise, there's a lot more for me to get out of it. Having two narrators - Lucy Kahn in the first-person point of view, and Inspector Carmichael in third-person point of view - alternate chapters is quite clever. You never get bored with one because they balance each other so well. It's interesting how Lucy, without her knowledge of the details of the murder, arrives at her conclusions, knowing what she knows about her family and the other guests; and Carmichael, not knowing about the more intimate details of the family, arrives at his. It ensures that the reader knows more than either alone, but the whodunit is far from obvious.
As the blurb/review thingie stated, the book's framework is a murder mystery but it's really more about society and culture, prejudice and superiority and the "slide into fascism". Lucy's sure they were only invited to Farthing so her Jewish husband David would be a scapegoat for the murder. The police, except for Carmichael, are ready and willing to accept obvious clues, like the Star of David that was pinned to the dead man's chest having been bought by Kahn in France - even though you would hardly give your real name, and Kahn hasn't been to France (which could have been verified) and in fact would be stupid to go to France, which was conquered by the Nazi's. They're happier jumping to the obvious conclusions set up for them to jump to, and when Carmichael finds out who really did it - well, suffice it to say this book doesn't have a typical resolution. With my more modern-day, open-minded sensibilities, there were many cringe-inducing moments.
The world is tense and scary - it's not just Jews who are persecuted but homosexuals as well (and there seem to be a lot of them about!) - it's obvious to the reader that England is almost as scary and an uncertain place to be as Nazi Europe, even if you're not a Jew. The language and tone of the 1940s is spot-on, the small details all making you think it was written in the 40s and England really had signed a peace treaty with Hitler. The repurcussions of such a thing are mind-boggling and far-reaching - and followed up in the next book, Ha'penny (more to follow perhaps?).
It's the prejudices that are really frightening. Many are still around today, though at least on the surface people pretend and hide their real opinions. In Farthing, there's nothing wrong at all in saying the most horrible things not just about Jews and other races/cultures, but about the lower classes too. And yet, it's really not all that different from the real 1949. The aristocracy was still hanging onto it's superiority with decaying claws, I'm sure, and the lower classes were still just as maligned. But with Walton's premise, England is slipping into a 1984 world (in Farthing, this book is called 1974 - why the change I wonder?).
The resolution unsettled me quite a bit, I have to admit. It makes sense and fits but it's not what you expect. The story itself takes place over the course of a week, and the pacing is steady and a little slow - not dull slow, but not rushed or hyperactive at all, giving you time to absorb all the little nuances of this well fleshed-out world and the characters who inhabit it. Because it's speculative fiction, you'll find it in the fantasy section, but it's not, strictly speaking, fantasy. If fantasy doesn't interest you but you love 1984 and A Clockwork Orange, I think you'd love this. If you love Sherlock Holmes or Agatha Christie or any other non-contemporary crime writer, you'd probably love this. And if you love reading about the early 20th century, this'd be good for you too, because even though the path England and the world is travelling down is not the "real" one, it's so well written and fascinating, that you can learn a lot about the period and people's sensibilities as well. And it's an interesting social experiment, on top of it all. ...more
I'm a major Chabon fan. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier Clay was spell-binding, and I loved Summerland and Wonder Boys nearly as much. So it was diI'm a major Chabon fan. The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier Clay was spell-binding, and I loved Summerland and Wonder Boys nearly as much. So it was disappointing to find that The Yiddish Policeman's Union didn't grab me as much as I'd hoped. It is wonderfully well-written and crafted, but somewhat cold, occasionally obtuse, and a bit slow.
Meyer Landsman is a homicide detective in the Jewish territory carved out of Alaska after WWII. They held Israel for only a short time before they were kicked out of there, and now it's happening again. Reversion - when the US is going to take the land back - is only a few months away and the Jews are once again finding themselves homeless. Landsman is a divorced alcoholic but a good detective; when a man in the hotel where he's been living is found dead, executed by a single bullet to the back of the head, he feels drawn to the dead man. They lived so close but never met, never saw each other. And certain things about the dead Yid - a junkie and a genius chess player who went by the name of Frank - lure Landsman in.
But changes due to the approaching Reversion mean that he and his partner and cousin, Berko Shemets, aren't allowed to touch the case. Obeying directives that stink isn't one of Landsman's talents, though, and he suspects a cover-up, especially when he discovers that the dead Yid was a Verbover - a tight-knit orthodox Jewish sect that have their own island. Even more suspicious, he turns out to have been the only son of the Verbover Rebbe - and quietly hailed as the Tzaddik Ha-Dor: a potential Messiah, the man who will lead the Jewish people back to the Holy Land and bring about a world of peace and prosperity.
So why was he killed? Why did he leave the Verbovers in the first place and become a heroin addict? Why aren't the Verbover's trying to get American Green Cards or emigrate to Canada or somewhere else; what are they waiting for? What does the incomplete chess game in "Frank's" hotel room mean, and could this whole mess possibly have something to do with Landsman's sister Naomi's earlier death?
This is a tightly structured novel, drawing you deep into the insular world of Sitka and its Jewish denizens. It had a depressing feel to it, did Sitka. I kept picturing communist-Romania concrete cities, only worse. Run-down, cheaply made, bare-boned, ugly buildings. Made more so by the pervasive depressive air of its inhabitants. Chabon excelled at atmosphere here!
I know very little about Jews and Judaism - we covered it in my Year 11 Religion class, but considering we spent an entire semester on the Australian Aborigines and then crammed Buddhism, Judaism and Islam into second semester (and got way behind because we were so confused by the structure of Buddhism), it's fair to say that I have a far from in-depth understanding of the religion. More than that, though, I've never really understood what "Yiddish" is. I had to look it up. Embarrassing I know. I don't think my state (Tasmania) has a large Jewish presence - it has a Synagogue or two, but no one really talked about being Jewish. If I had Jewish friends - and I very easily might have done - I didn't know it. We're all mongrels there anyway, so what does it matter?
But I do understand that the Jews were - are -homeless and persecuted no matter where they went, and I know enough about the Promised Land to understand the motivations behind the characters in The Yiddish Policeman's Union, and also to feel their incredible "adriftness", a weird blend of apathy and resignation and everlasting hope and expectation. That's how it came across, anyway.
Landsman was a character I instantly felt drawn to, and sympathetic for, even though he could be frustrating and made stupid decisions and his messes affected other people. He's so very real. I loved his ex too, Bina, his boss. She's a tough nut. And Berko, his cousin. I absolutely adored Inspector Dick - he was so alive I felt like I could reach out and touch him (though he'd have something very sharp and biting to say if I tried). Oh hell, I loved them all! Even the bad guys - and they were scary. Not overdone, but subtle and menacing. The Big Plot itself was scary. Especially because so many powerful people were involved, there was that sense of being squished hanging over Landsman.
I wasn't always able to follow the plot or keep up with the impressive cast of characters. That's mostly my own fault, because I was reading several other books at the same time. The language, now, that's something I will always love Chabon for. I did feel that he may have overdone it a bit and the entire book could have been shorter, but the language was consistent and suited the tone of the novel (it created the tone as well, I know, but they go hand-in-hand. It's "artistic expression"). His descriptions are simple, stark and effective, and also poetic and vibrant with metaphor:
Look at Landsman, one shirttail hanging out, snow-dusted porkpie knocked to the left, coat hooked to a thumb over his shoulder. Hanging on to a sky-blue cafeteria ticket as if it's the strap keeping him on his feet. His cheek needs the razor. His back is killing him. For reasons he doesn't understand - or maybe for no reason - he hasn't had a drink of alcohol since nine-thirty in the morning. Standing in the chrome-and-tile desolation of the Polar-Shtern Kafeteria at nine o'clock on a Friday night, in a snowstorm, he's the loneliest Jew in the Sitka District. He can feel the shifting of something dark and irresistible inside him, a hundred tons of black mud on a hillside, gathering its skirts to go sliding. The thought of food, even a golden ingot of the noodle pudding that is the crown jewel of the Polar-Shtern Kafeteria, makes him queasy. But he hasn't eaten all day. (p146)
The first half of the book is a bit slow, but the second half buzzes with action and suspense. You can read it as a superb mystery-detective story, or as speculative fiction pondering the Jewish Question and more. For me, I read it as a Chabon fan. I can appreciate the detective side, the speculative fiction side, but mostly I appreciate it for being a bloody good novel, even if I'm not gaga over it....more
Loading...
