Tag Archives: book reviews

Green Rider

Fantasy novel about elite messenger riders

I have seen this book around for quite some time. It has a really appealing cover, and I picked up a copy some time ago at the Lifeline Book Fair (back when it was still on). It sat on my shelf gathering dust until it was chosen as one of the books for my fantasy book clubFlying horses, I thought. Exactly what I need.

wp-1593684930048.jpg

“Green Rider” by Kristen Britain is a fantasy novel about a teenage girl called Karigan who runs away from her prestigious school after an incident with another student. Travelling alone through a forest, she comes across an injured rider with two arrows in his back. When he implores her with his dying breaths to carry his message to the King, she has no choice but to agree. Taking his horse and his gear, she begins the perilous journey through strange and dangerous lands.

Before I even get started, I have to make it quite clear: there are no flying horses in this book. If that’s what you are hoping for, forget it, you won’t find it here. The book started out quite strong, and is a typical Western-style medieval fantasy novel with swordplay, court intrigue, ghosts, feudalism and a couple of different humanoid races. Although it was a little at odds with the pace and tone of the rest of the book, I enjoyed the interlude with the Berry Sisters and their father’s house full of magical artifacts.

However, not long into the book it becomes clear that this is quite a rambling story that moves from one disaster to the next. As a character, Karigan does not have much agency and her problems are solved again and again not by her own skills, knowledge, instinct or talents, but by the dei ex machina of a myriad of external forces who always seem to arrive in the nick of time. Not that Karigan comes away unscathed; the number of head injuries she sustains in the book left me wondering whether she had developed an acquired brain injury. Distance is a little bit confusing, and this is one occasion where I felt the book really needed a map – for the author as much as for the reader. Despite riding what appears to be the fastest horse imaginable, Karigan always appears to arrive places later than other characters, and the route she takes seems to be no safer or faster than any other route. Furthermore, for all the time Karigan spends riding her horse (which she names, unimaginatively, “The Horse”), I would have expected Britain to spend a little more time on horsemanship. Apart from being given food occasionally, Karigan spends almost no time caring for the horse.

Now, speaking of horses, I cannot understate how disappointed I was that there were no flying horses. Britain hints at them when a character says “[d]o you know there is a legend that…the messenger horses of the Sacor Clans could fly”, and the badges Green Riders wear depict winged horses. Apart from that, flying horses appear to be simply a metaphor, and let me tell you: when I am reading a fantasy novel, I don’t want flying horses to be a metaphor. In fact, there isn’t a great deal of magic and the magic that is there is not clearly explained. Some characters have talents, but why that is or how that  manifests outside obtaining a particular item is never explained. Throughout the book, despite acquiring a Green Rider’s horse, clothing, gear and, for all intents and purposes, profession, Karigan is constantly proclaiming that under no circumstances will she ever be a Green Rider. The lady doth protest too much, methinks. A merchant’s daughter and the equivalent of a high school dropout, it isn’t really ever explained why she is so reluctant to become a Green Rider and other characters maddeningly spend all their time offering her more Green Rider paraphernalia, nodding, smiling and alluding with all the subtlety of a brick to the calling of hoofbeats.

A slow read that doesn’t bring much to the genre that hasn’t already been done, let alone been done better.

Image of Castor the Sloth, looking through a telescope. #StartOnYourShelfathon The Quiet Pond.

2 Comments

Filed under Book Reviews, Fantasy

(Adults Only) Letters for Lucardo

Queer erotic graphic novel about vampires

Content warning: sexual themes

I really enjoy webcomics, which is a bit of a double-edged sword. On the one hand, incredible artists can enjoy complete creative freedom and publish beautifully illustrated long-form stories that readers can often enjoy for free. Sometimes these stories get picked up by publishers and turn into award winning books that you can buy. However, the downside is that without anything but positive feedback from fans, maintaining enthusiasm for webcomics can be difficult, and many that I have followed over the years have been discontinued. One such webcomic was called “Judecca”, an eerie, compelling comic about a sharkman, his roommate (a talking rabbit) and a girl with facial scars. Unfortunately, the author discontinued the comic and although you can find bits and pieces scattered around online, there doesn’t appear to be any archive anywhere. However, the author has started publishing graphic novels and although it’s not “Judecca”, I have been keen to check them out. I ordered a copy via a Kickstarter, but this one has been sitting on my shelf for a while. After Marie Kondoing my books recently, I decided to finally read it.

wp-1591872299978.jpg

“Letters for Lucardo” by Otava Heikkilä (the name is different because the author has transitioned since publication) is a graphic novel about the immortal son of a vampire lord called Lucardo who falls in love with a 61 year old human scribe called Ed. Shy and conscientious, Ed is shocked when Lucardo confesses his feelings but they quickly develop an intimate relationship. However, unspoken between them is Ed’s mortality and although Lucardo seems unconcerned by the future, Lord von Gishaupt has his own agenda.

This is an interesting story that explores the idea of queer relationship between two men of significantly different ages. Lucardo is 33, and visibly much younger and stronger than his partner Ed and Heikkilä gently explores some of the insecurities Ed feels about his trim but aging body. Heikkilä also explores enthusiastic consent and clear communication during sex, as well as how sex can involve negotiation, creativity and flexibility. In the years since I read “Judecca”, Heikkilä’s art style has continued to improve and his depiction of male bodies is refreshingly realistic, gentle and true to his artistic style.

I do have to say that when I picked the book up and opened it for the first time, I was disappointed that the illustrations are all in black and white. I totally understand the reason for this – expense and effort – but when you are expecting colour, black and white can be a bit of a let down. The other thing was that I felt that while the overarching story did have tension, there wasn’t quite as much worldbuilding, context and depth to the story as I would have liked. While I am often very happy with a story that focuses on relationships, I like a bit more drama.

An engaging and very inclusive graphic novel with some great illustrations and messages which could have used a little more colouring in, literally and figuratively.

Image of Castor the Sloth, looking through a telescope. #StartOnYourShelfathon The Quiet Pond.

Leave a comment

Filed under Book Reviews, Graphic Novels

Red Dirt Talking

Mystery novel about field research in an Aboriginal community

I received a copy of this book courtesy of the author.

wp-1591780360460.jpg

“Red Dirt Talking” by Jacqueline Wright is a novel about Annie, a recent anthropology graduate who receives a grant and ethical permission to research massacres for her master’s thesis in a remote Western Australian Aboriginal community called Yindi. In her late 30s with plenty of personal issues left behind in Perth, Annie is eager to get started with her research and ignores Mick, the community project officer, when he advises her to take things slowly. When the connections she starts to build in Yindi take her research in a different direction, she finds herself in the middle of a child’s disappearance.

This is a very rich, considered novel that unflinchingly explores the hubris of academia and the disconnect between urban and remote Australia. It is hardly surprising that it was longlisted for the Miles Franklin Literary Award in 2013.  Annie is a fascinating, idealistic character who, despite the dysfunction in her own personal life, is convinced that interviewing Aboriginal people is going to solve all their problems. Wright does an excellent job of lancing Annie’s presumptions about both the magnitude and the nature of her own importance. I also think that academic failure and practical difficulties following research plans that are scrupulously checked by supervisors and approved by ethical committees is a really interesting concept to unpack. Quite a few years ago, I conducted field research in Indonesia for my own master’s thesis and the cringe-worthy mistakes I made and dead ends I hit helped me really empathise with parts of Annie’s story.

I also felt that Wright did a really good job critiquing Annie’s white saviour complex. The extent to which white authors should be writing about the stories of people of colour is something which is being debated hotly, most recently through discussion of the novel “American Dirt” and the #OwnVoices movement. However, I think that Wright struck a good balance with this book because of her obvious research, lived experience and, most importantly, consultation with Aboriginal elders and authors. Wright effectively used the perspectives of lots of different types of characters to explore white attitudes to Aboriginal people and the lingering impacts of massacres, deaths in custody and the Stolen Generations on Aboriginal people. Maggot in particular was an interesting character who, as the garbage collector, collects snippets of gossip as he drives around Ransom, the town closest to Yindi. Through Maggot’s eyes, we get to see the people that Annie has met through a different, sometimes more sinister light. Wright is a very flexible writer who convincingly captures the essence of the many characters.

This is a good book, but it is not always an easy read. Wright packs in a lot of information in a relatively short novel, and there is a broad cast of characters, some with more than one name, that can take some time to get your head around. I also felt that all the threads that had been so carefully laid down by Wright did get a little tangled right at the very end.

An enjoyable, engaging novel that explores different points of view, tackles important issues and is worth the work.

Image of Castor the Sloth, looking through a telescope. #StartOnYourShelfathon The Quiet Pond.

Leave a comment

Filed under Australian Books, Book Reviews, General Fiction, Mystery/Thriller

Picture Perfect

Novel about love, family violence and belonging

Content warning: family violence

As I’ve mentioned previously, while everything is still under varying degrees of lockdown, I’ve had to find other suitable opportunities to listen to audiobooks that involve some kind of exercise. My solution: yard work. I’ve been trying to stick to shorter audiobooks to make it easier to pay attention, and this one came up when searching. Although this author is very popular and often a bit divisive, I have enjoyed a number of her books over the years, so I thought I would use an Audible credit on this book.

Picture Perfect cover art

“Picture Perfect” by Jodi Picoult and narrated by Megan Dodds is a novel about a woman who is found in a graveyard suffering from amnesia. She is taken to hospital by Will Flying Horse, who has moved to Los Angeles to work as a police officer. While Cassie recovers, pieces of her memory come back and she discovers that her real life is actually like something out of a fairytale. However, like most fairytales, there is a dark undercurrent and it will take all of Cassie’s strength to be her own hero.

Listening to this book, I was actually struck by how similar the story was to another book I read recently. Like “The Brave“, this story is about a woman who marries a movie star, who experiences domestic violence and who finds salvation in the arms of a biracial Native American man. Picoult’s novel was written 15 years earlier and I think hers is the better novel. Cassie is an anthropologist; educated, articulate and adventurous, she certainly doesn’t seem like the kind of person likely to be affected by family violence. However, the whole world falls for Alex Rivers’ charm and the acting skills he brings to the screen are just as effective at home. I felt like Picoult did a very convincing job of exploring the cyclic nature of family violence, and acknowledged that family violence does not discriminate and can happen in any type of family. Cassie is one of the three point of view characters, but unlike Nicholas Evans’ novel, it is her perspective that is put front and centre. I think I actually preferred this exploration of domestic violence to Liane Moriarty’s “Big Little Lies“.

I am no expert on Lakota culture, but the novel felt much better researched in this regard as compared with “The Brave”, and Will’s character seemed far more well-rounded than Evans’ character Cal. Instead of being little more than a literary device, Will experiences his own struggles with his biracial identity, racism in the police force and frustration with Cassie’s situation. The narration of this book was quite good, and Dodds has a drawling, contemplative voice that lends itself to many of the reminiscing chapters. Unusually, some of these chapters had a bit of music backing which helped distinguish between past and present.

This is one of Picoult’s earliest novels, and I think it is fair to say that her storytelling has improved considerably over the years. The plot of this book was a little meandering, and I think that in trying to fully explore each character’s background, character and motives, something of the tension in the novel was lost. I am so used to Picoult’s hard-hitting, fearless plot twists that I was quite surprised that this novel petered out on a rather positive note.

A thoughtful book that was ahead of its time in discussing family violence, but not quite as punchy as Picoult’s later books.

Leave a comment

Filed under Audiobooks, Book Reviews, General Fiction

The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying: A Simple, Effective Way to Banish Clutter Forever

Self-help book about how to declutter your home

I first heard about this author a couple of years ago after there was some controversy in the bookish world about applying her methods to books. I had meant to read her book for some time but, like tackling decluttering generally, there always seemed to be something else to do instead. When she landed her own Netflix TV series, again, I thought I should have a go at reading her book, but again, I didn’t get around to it. Then, she found herself in the middle of another controversy. As with the previous controversy, I felt that again people were not properly taking the time to understand the author or her method. During self-isolating, I had been doing a significant amount of decluttering anyway, so although I tend not to go for self-help books as a general rule, I decided to finally buy a copy of her book (an eBook, of course) and see for myself.

wp-1590923321012.jpg

“The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying: A Simple, Effective Way to Banish Clutter Forever” by Marie Kondo and translated by Cathy Hirano (though, she is not credited in the eBook edition) is a self-help book about how to correctly declutter your home in a way that is effective, achievable and lasting. Through the KonMari method, Kondo explains that decluttering should happen in a particular order:

  • clothing,
  • books,
  • papers,
  • komono (miscellaneous things), and
  • things of sentimental value.

Kondo also explains that we must first discard all our things that don’t spark joy – everything – before next contemplating where to store the things that we have kept.

This is an interesting (and, very happily, a brief) book with a very simple goal: to assist people to feel better about their lives by helping them tidy their homes. There were quite a few things in this book that really stuck with me. First was Kondo’s message that one of the biggest reasons that people struggle to keep things tidy is not that they are inherently lazy, but rather that they have never been taught to tidy properly. Kondo explains that tidying is a skill, and it is one that she has spent basically her own life fine-tuning. This really resonated with me, because there are so many things that people are expected to be able to do as adults like manage money and write job applications, but that we don’t receive any kind of formal training for. Thinking about tidying as a skill to develop rather than an action that you either do or not do was really helpful for me.

Another thing that I’ve found really helpful is Kondo’s insistence that belongings must be sorted by category and then stored by category. She encourages the reader to find all things of a particular type (e.g. clothing) from around the entire house, sort it all at once, then store it all in one place. She applies this principle to other things like cleaning products, coins, pens that certainly I tend to have scattered around the house with no one clear home. This has also been really useful for getting a realistic idea of exactly how much stuff you really have. I certainly don’t need a pack of ibuprofen and a cache of coins in every single room!

I do want to make a quick point on books. One of the things Kondo has been criticised most about is that she tells people to throw away all their books and suggests that we only keep 30 books in total. Of course, if you take the time to read her book (which I now have) Kondo never says either of these things. In fact, what she says about books is far more interesting. She asks the reader, “[d]o you feel joy when surrounded by piles of unread books that don’t touch your heart?” She then asks the reader to “[i]magine what it would be like to have a bookshelf filled only with books that you really love. Isn’t that image spellbinding? For someone who loves books, what greater happiness could there be?” She is certainly pragmatic enough to acknowledge that her book, too, is an object and encourages the reader to keep “only those books that will make you happy just to see them on your shelves, the ones you really love. That includes this book too. If you don’t feel joy when you hold it in your hand, I would rather you threw it away”.

I’m still on the clothing part (which includes scarves, hats, bags and jewellery), but books are next on my list. I already give a lot of books away to either the Lifeline Book Fair or my street library, but I collect a lot of books and receive a lot of review copies, and my to-read piles are numerous. If anything, hopefully at least by tidying up the rest of my stuff, I’ll have more space for books!

Now, I do want to mention a few things that I wasn’t completely sold on in this book. First of all, Kondo is quite a quirky person anyway, but a few of her ideas (such as drying her dishes outside in the sun and standing carrots upright in her fridge) I don’t intend to implement. I think thanking each object for the contribution it has made to your life is a nice idea, but is honestly a little too labour-intensive for me.

The other thing I wanted to mention is that although the first edition of this book was only published about 9 years ago, Kondo does have a bit of an essentialist view of gender with men and women each having particular traits (though I’ve even heard Margaret Atwood make comments about why men can’t find socks). However, Kondo does gently encourage women to aspire towards elegance and femininity, and her target audience in this book appears to be mothers and housewives. This is not to say that I don’t think that her method could be applied to anyone, but she does seem to view these tasks – organising and tidying – as women’s tasks. I will say that in her TV show, she very happily sets both men and women to decluttering spaces without any concern whatsoever for gender.

Finally, I do think that there is one thing that Kondo doesn’t turn her mind to in this book which is one of my biggest obstacles when it comes to decluttering: how you throw things away. Although in my city we now have green waste as well as recycle, although I have two types of compost bins, although you can drop quality clothing and items off at op shops, although some places accept plastic bags, fabric and even batteries for recycling, there are still a lot of items that simply cannot be donated and are likely going to just find their way to landfill if you throw them in the bin. Things like old teddy bears and out of date or damaged electronics have hung around the house simply because I feel guilty just throwing them in the bin. I think that while reducing the number of belongings you have is a great way to think more sustainably about your life, the act of reducing itself is important and I think that part of the reason why we accumulate so many things is because things are so disposable.

If you want to declutter your house and you’re not really sure where to start, this book is as good a place as any. Although not definitive, especially with regards to disposing things, this book has some unique ideas and helpful tips about how to tackle the task of tidying.

1 Comment

Filed under Book Reviews, eBooks, Non Fiction

Administrations of Lunacy: Racism and the Haunting of American Psychiatry at the Milledgeville Asylum

Non-fiction book about the history of an asylum in Georgia, USA

Content warning: racism, ableism, massacres, eugenics, neglect, abuse, slavery, forced sterlisation

I received a copy of this eBook courtesy of the publisher.

“Administrations of Lunacy: Racism and the haunting of American psychiatry at the Milledgeville Asylum” by Mab Segrest is a history of a mental health asylum from when it opened as the Georgia State Lunatic, Idiot, and Epileptic Asylum in 1842 and how it stood by, was influenced by, was complicit in and actively participated in features of American history such as the massacres of first nations people, slavery, the American Civil War, Jim Crow, forced labour, eugenics, forced sterilisation and the prison-industrial complex until its closure in 2010.

This is an exceptionally well-researched book. According to the acknowledgements, Segrest spent many years investigating the enormous institution that at one point was the largest mental health facility in the USA and the many threads that connected this facility to the American historical context. Under several iterations, and many more superintendents, the asylum is thoroughly deconstructed by Segrest who explores, through newspaper articles, annual reports, journals and clinical records, the impacts of racism, sexism, ableism and white supremacy on its administration and its patients. I felt like the case studies of individual patients who found themselves, one way or another, admitted to the asylum. Their stories were equal parts fascinating and heartbreaking, giving the reader a real appreciation of the impact of segregation, neglect, starvation, hard labour and forced sterilisation on the tens of thousands of individuals who lived and died there.

I thought that Segrest’s research clearly illustrated how dependent the conditions of the asylum were on personal views of those in charge – especially when it came to legislation and funding. As demonstrated by the way people with disability continue to fall through the cracks, better legislation and funding is critical to ensuring that they receive the support and dignity they deserve. It is clear that even in 2020, people with disability are still incredibly vulnerable to abuse. In just the past week here in Australia there have been three devastating stories of unfathomable abuse and neglect that demonstrate that on a systematic level as well as an individual level, people with disability are still being failed. The strongest parts of this book were the anecdotes about the day-to-day life of the patients who found themselves admitted to the asylum.

As is often the case with well-researched books, it can be difficult to decide what to include and what to leave out. There is no question about the breadth of Segrest’s research on this topic, and she follows up every single lead that might provide more understanding about the asylum and how it came to be. However, I think at times the breadth of this book was at the expense of the depth. While I appreciate how important political history is to the American psyche, and historical periods and events were to the nature of the asylum, I think a stronger focus on the asylum itself would have made the book a little easier to follow. Particularly in the earlier parts of the books, Segrest peppers the book so liberally with metaphors and historical and cultural references that it does at time result in quite dense reading.

Segrest approaches psychiatry with a level of skepticism informed by the circumstances through which the field has developed and evolved. She critically examines the social factors experienced by patients admitted to the asylum and offers alternative explanations for symptoms of mental illness including environmental factors such as poverty, physical illness, malnutrition, culture, abuse and prolonged exposure to trauma. I agree that these factors are important to consider, and I can understand Segrest’s reluctance to lean too far into genetic causes for mental illness and disability given the horrors of eugenics policies.

However, having worked in mental health, I feel that she did downplay the impact that untreated and unsupported mental illness can have on an individual’s life outside a clinical setting and that this too can leave them vulnerable to abuse, neglect and homelessness in the community, especially without families or friends equipped to care for them. Regardless of her views on the utility of diagnostic tools such as the DSM-5, I think that we must accept that sometimes people do have symptoms of a mental illness or disability that do not have an environmental cause. I think by accepting people for who they are without looking for an external explanation (and unintentionally apportioning blame), we can better design a system that works for the individuals affected.

An important and thoroughly-researched book whose proverbial forest was at times obscured by the (pecan) trees.

 

Leave a comment

Filed under Advanced Reading Copies, Book Reviews, eBooks, Non Fiction

Pachinko

Historical family saga novel about Japanese occupation of Korea

Content warning: suicide, HIV

I have heard a lot about this book and so when a copy made its way to the Indigenous Literacy Foundation’s Great Book Swap I hosted at work last year (go team Yirrikipayi!), I snaffled it up. This year is the 10 year anniversary of this incredible fundraising event, so make sure you sign up (using appropriate social distancing, of course). This is another book that has waited patiently on my shelf for a while, and ticks the box for two reading challenges I’m doing this year: the Year of the Asian Reading Challenge and #StartOnYourShelfathon.

wp-1589889788198.jpg

“Pachinko” by Min Jin Lee is a historical family saga novel that spans from 1910 to 1989 in what is now known as South Korea and Japan. The book begins with the birth of Hoomie, a stoic, sensible man with two visible disabilities in a south-eastern seaside village in Japanese-occupied Korea. As the story progresses, the focus shifts to his young, pragmatic wife Yangjin and their beloved daughter Sunja. Seduced by an older, wealthy man, when Sunja discovers he is married, she is determined to forget him and raise their child alone. However, when a young Christian minister called Isak boarding at their home offers a solution, she travels with him to Osaka, Japan to start a new life. There, the reader meets Isak’s brother and sister-in-law, and we watch Sunja, her children and her children’s children unfurl in a country that, decades on, looks down on ethnic Koreans.

This book is a very compelling read and particularly in the beginning hooks you in. Lee has done exceptional research and the settings and era are fully realised, particularly through food, clothing and cultural norms. I have never been to Korea (and sadly had to cancel my honeymoon to Japan), but I had a number of Korean friends and classmates when I was in high school. A beautiful and unbelievably sweet Korean friend who only studied with us for a year had a similar facial difference to Hoomie. Lee’s exploration of how stigma associated with visible disability, intellectual disability and mental illness impacts not only the individual concerned, but their parents, children and even grandchildren, especially in relation to marriage prospects, gave me so much more understanding of what my friend must have gone through growing up.

I had another classmate who people used to say was part Japanese, was in gangs and had connections with yakuza. Reading this book really unpacked some of the meaning in this kind of talk for me, and how precarious the position was for Koreans who stayed in Japan after the war and ingrained racism became for these people who were no longer as Korean as the people left behind, but also not Japanese enough to be recognised as citizens. Disadvantage is something that marks Sunja’s family – evolving from poverty to racial discrimination. Even after Sunja’s children and grandchildren manage to claw their way to success, they are still marred by their ethnicity and for some, the knowledge that they will never be Japanese is too heavy a cross to bear.

I think one of the most interesting things about this book is it is only the second book I have ever read about a non-Western nation colonising another. I think these stories are incredibly important because it is a Eurocentric idea that the only examples of colonialism were Western examples, and because these themes of power imbalances, direct discrimination, stereotypes and structural inequality are universal themes that still play out around the world today. The title of this book, pachinko, was absolutely perfect. It references a key industry for several of the characters, but it also captures the struggle of trying everyday to win success in life when so much is left to chance and overnight someone tampers with the machine in such a succinct metaphor.

However, there were a few things about this book that I wasn’t completely supportive of. Lee introduces an ensemble cast, and the story skips from one character to another, highlighting a lot of the various social issues they are exposed to. As is tempting in a book of this magnitude, I think there were times where Lee tried to include too many things. Some of the stories As strong a proponent I am for inclusion, the parts of the book that deal with same-sex attraction felt gratuitous and lacking in the depth accorded to their heterosexual counterparts. I felt that while Lee very convincingly describes the situations her characters found themselves, I would have liked a little more development of the reasons why her characters found themselves there. Lee writes about suicides, and perhaps this is me showing some ignorance about the significance of cultural belonging in Japan, but I felt that the reasons weren’t expounded upon enough.

Anyway, a gripping book about a very important part of history in which it was occasionally a little difficult to see the forest for the proverbial trees.

Image of Castor the Sloth, looking through a telescope. #StartOnYourShelfathon The Quiet Pond.

5 Comments

Filed under Book Reviews, Historical Fiction

Miss Austen

Historical fiction about Jane Austen’s sister

I received a copy of this book courtesy of the publicist.

Miss Austen

“Miss Austen” by Gill Hornby is a historical fiction novel about Cassandra Austen, writer Jane Austen’s older sister. In her 60s, Cassandra drops in all but unannounced to the vicarage in Kintbury to visit Miss Isabella, also a spinster, following the death of her father Reverend Fulwar Craven Fowle. Close family friends, Cassandra was once engaged to Fulwar’s brother Tom and her sister Jane was a keen correspondent with Fulwar’s wife Eliza. After Jane’s death and continuing success as a novelist, Cassandra appoints herself the keeper of Jane’s reputation and is determined to make sure that nothing compromising remains.

This is an interesting novel that tackles a great mystery in the history of Jane Austen: why did Cassandra burn so many of her letters after her death? Hornby has chosen a good subject for her novel, and has clearly spent a lot of time researching the Austen family and the places they visited and lived. I felt that Hornby captured the linguistic style of the time well, particularly in the letters, and the idyll of coastal towns and country villages. I actually visited Jane Austen’s house in Chawton last year, and it was a lovely experience visiting some of the other haunts of the Austen family including the range of wealth among the siblings. I think Dinah the maid was one of my favourite characters and her sneakiness and loyalty to Miss Isabella were very enjoyable to read.

Jane Austen’s writing desk at Chawton

I think there were two things that I wasn’t fully on board with. One was the reason why Cassandra seeks out Jane’s letters to scrub them from the official record. Hornby wrote the letters really beautifully, but I think I would have liked a little more artistic license. The contents of the letters is the one unknowable thing, and I felt Hornby could have added a bit more spice, intrigue and controversy and drawn some modern themes into a classic period. The other thing was the rationale behind Cassandra’s spinsterhood, and I would have liked a bit more commitment either to her one true love or her chosen path as dutiful sister.

A relaxing and easy read that tells a little-known story, but that could have used a touch more drama.

2 Comments

Filed under Advanced Reading Copies, Book Reviews, eBooks, Historical Fiction

The Secret Commonwealth

Fantasy novel in the new series from the author of “His Dark Materials”

I am certain I wasn’t alone in my excitement when Philip Pullman announced that he would be writing a new trilogy following on from the series “His Dark Materials”, and I thoroughly enjoyed the first book in the new series. If you haven’t read the first book, then you might want to avoid this review in case of spoilers. Then, before I knew it, the next book was out and I picked it up from Harry Hartog Woden who, given current circumstances were doing takeaway books. The cover design is brilliant, it’s consistent in style with the first book but so striking in its own right.

wp-1589367944556.jpg

“The Secret Commonwealth” by Philip Pullman is the second book in the trilogy “The Book of Dust” which is set after the events of the “His Dark Materials” series. Lyra is in her early 20s and studying at Oxford in St Sophia’s, a college of young women, but still calls Jordan College, where she was given academic sanctuary as a baby. Lyra has taken her studies seriously, and has become intrigued by new philosophical works advocating for a radical type of rationalism. However, things are not going well for Lyra. Since gaining the ability to separate, she and her dæmon Pantalaimon have become increasingly estranged. When Pan witnesses a murder one night while exploring the city alone, Lyra’s life is turned upside down and she must journey halfway across the world to find answers to the questions she is left with. Meanwhile, Dr Malcolm Polstead, a young academic with secret connections, must trace the murdered man’s steps to find the truth about mysterious roses.

I picked up this book and I was absolutely ensconced for days. Pullman is at his absolute finest in this novel, and combines all the elements required for an excellent novel in perfect measures. Familiar with Lyra as a confident, plucky young girl from the original series, this adult Lyra we meet in just as compelling. Her unusual upbringing and the impact of the events and her decisions in “The Amber Spyglass” have not left her unscathed, and instead we have a young woman who is struggling with self-esteem and finding her place in the world with no family. Pullman pushes his concept of dæmons, an outward expression of your soul shaped like an animal that you can speak with, to completely new places, and I am still thinking about the implications of what it means when you don’t get on with your own dæmon.

This book also shows an entirely new side to Malcolm, who we got to know as a good-natured, resourceful boy in “La Belle Sauvage” and a friendly if boring tutor in “Lyra’s Oxford“. If Lyra’s part of the story explores more deeply the philosophical discourse, Malcolm’s investigates the causes behind the sudden economic and political upheaval and the swift changes to the international religious organisation known as the Magisterium. Since we left him as a young boy, Malcolm has developed a number of skills and has grown into a fascinating and rather intimidating man.

I think that my only critique of this book is that despite being 687 pages long, I did not want it to be over. I rarely tolerate books that are long for the sake of being long, but the pacing and complexity of this novel was so perfectly executed that I was absolutely willing to be at Pullman’s mercy and follow this story to all the unexpected places it goes. I think that this book was better than the first in the trilogy, but it did admittedly develop a lot of the concepts introduced by Pullman in “La Belle Sauvage” who smoothly referenced the events in this book to remind the reader without being overly repetitive.

I cannot wait until the final in the series; Pullman has really hit his stride.

2 Comments

Filed under Book Reviews, Fantasy, Pretty Books

The Old Lie

Military space opera science fiction

Content warning: war

I was very excited when this book came out recently, because I enjoyed the author’s debut novel so much. These past couple of months have hit the publishing industry hard, with book tours and events being cancelled en masse across the country. So, in a small effort to support local bookstores, I went and bought this and a few others from Harry Hartog Woden who were running a book takeaway service. The cover design is so striking. I was hoping to get this review up in time for ANZAC Day, but alas, it was not to be.

wp-1589284063655.jpg

“The Old Lie” by Claire G. Coleman is a science fiction novel with several point of view characters. Corporal Shane Daniels volunteered for the war and fights the enemy planetside through mud while dreaming of the family left behind. Jimmy is on the run with no documentation or support, trying to find his way back home one station at a time. William is trapped in a cell in a medical facility, with no way of knowing if he can ever leave. The only thing more impressive than Romany “Romeo” Zetz’s flying skills is Romeo’s reputation with women. Weakened by a terrible sickness, Walker is trying to make his way home to his grandfather’s country.

Coleman has constructed a clever novel using multiple perspectives to examine the human impact of war. Although the intergalactic setting may seem far fetched, this is a well-researched novel and the things that happen in this book are all based on things that have happened historically. Even the title, drawn from Wilfred Owen’s poem Dulce et Decorum est, is well-considered. Coleman paints layer upon layer of complexity and the individual stories, particularly Jimmy’s, are engrossing. While the experiences of the main characters seem worlds apart at the beginning, with Shane and Romeo more than willing to risk their lives for the war, as the book progresses, the true nature of the Federation and their positions in it becomes clear. This book is at heart a political commentary on the way Aboriginal people were treated following military service in the World Wars, and it is excellently executed.

However, this is not an easy book to read. War novels aren’t exactly my cup of tea, so the first half of the book, which is all no guts, no glory, was a bit hard going for me, someone who would prefer no war altogether in fiction and real life. This book, like the reality of war, is incredibly violent and that violence, physical or otherwise, is extremely confronting in Coleman’s hyper-realistic style. Coleman uses a lot of tools to hit her point home, but after a while I was a little overwhelmed by the “hammering of small-arms fire”, “stomach contents” and “the screams [that] would not stop”.

A well-written and well-researched novel that science fiction buffs and war history aficionados will enjoy equally.

 

1 Comment

Filed under Australian Books, Book Reviews, Science Fiction