June 2023 Books
The Great
Royal Assassin by Robin Hobb
Something about Hobb’s writing brings me back to the feeling of reading as a child. Her novels are so comforting, so assuredly written, plotted and paced. You’re in safe hands with Hobb, feeling that she knows exactly what she’s doing with each twist of the story. There is some excellent character work here, some of whom you will undoubtedly fall in love with. The novels are undeniably enjoyable to read. And yet, this appeal to my inner child is not in a guilty-pleasure, YA-y way; there is much here for the discerning adult reader in me too. This is a well-fleshed fantasy world, with a strong sense of psychological realism. The writing can be quite beautiful, but the prose style also doesn’t get in the way of the movement of the plot. And there are ideas here for my little analytical brain to feast on. Namely, the ‘magic systems’ at its heart, the Wit and the Skill. The Wit enables our protagonist, Fitz, to commune somehow with the animals around him, but it is an illicit skill he hides from most because it’s said that if you use your Wit too much, you might turn into a beast yourself. This blurring of boundaries between the human and the natural world is something I always find interesting, and Hobb’s work here seems to presage the themes of so much modern speculative fiction.
And finally, for this particular book… that ending! I won’t forget it anytime soon. One of the most powerful endings to a book I’ve read in a long time. Overall, I am happy to have started at the very top of Realm of the Elderlings with this Farseer Trilogy. There are a couple of different entry points, but I would recommend this one so far.
The Strange by Nathan Ballingrud
This novel was a wonderful surprise, which often makes for one of the best reading experiences. I wasn’t expecting much from it; the giant astronaut on the cover made me think of Andy Weir’s The Martian or something similar. Books I like but am not totally enamoured with. But it was really quite delightful.
It follows Anabelle Crisp, a fourteen-year-old girl living with her parents on Mars. Oh, and it’s 1931. Yes, in this alternate history, Mars was landed on in 1864, and colonised by the time the novel begins. There they mine a mysterious mineral called the Strange, which is used to give their machines the “illusion of intelligence”. Just before the start of the novel, Earth has gone silent, leaving these would-be Martians stranded on their new planet, with no word or supplies from home. When the family diner is raided by members of a desert cult, Anabelle, appalled by the lack of action from the local authorities, heads off to take revenge with her trusty “kitchen engine” (humanoid dishwashing machine) in tow.
At its heart, it’s an adventure story, and Annabelle’s predecessors include the likes of Mattie of True Grit. Indeed, it has been widely marketed as Ray Bradbury’s The Martian Chronicles meets True Grit. I haven’t read the former, but I can certainly see strong influences of mid-century science fiction, alongside the western elements. I think some readers will feel alienated from this forthright teenage girl, and the gritty, gruff cast that surrounds her, but here I see Ballingrud hearkening back to a different era of literature, and it heightens the book’s nostalgic atmosphere alongside the period setting itself. Without it, I feel the transposition back in time would have felt more cursory, and less grounded. And as if combining science fiction and the western were not enough—being two of my favourite genres—there is also a shot of the weird and the horror-filled in here, a hint of VanderMeer.
Ballingrud’s prose is quite wonderful, and his imagery is particularly impressive throughout. He brilliantly uses the deep russet colours of Mars and the green glow of the Strange to illuminate his characters, creating beautiful, vivid scenes. Overall, it was a real joy to read; engaging at a plot level, comfortingly nostalgic, interesting conceptually and generally well-executed, bringing together all its various influences effortlessly.
Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin
Baldwin is just one of those authors you have to read. He was a very special and gifted writer, and this novel is akin to a punch in the gut, albeit one you just might welcome if you like masterful literature. It follows David, a young American in Paris, and his affair with Giovanni, an Italian barman. The depth of David’s shame, self-hatred and internalised homophobia radiate off the page, so be warned, this is a difficult and heart-wrenching read. When his fiancée Hella returns to Paris, events begin to spiral out of control, leading to great tragedy. Baldwin is not just a writer of beautiful sentences, the characters of the novel are finely wrought and burst with life, the dialogue is succinct and engaging. The plotting is done with a refined touch, drawing the reader quickly into Paris of the 1950s. This is an iconic novel for good reason, deftly exploring what it meant to be queer, gay or bisexual at this time. I highly recommend it.
In Ascension by Martin MacInnes
I’m going to be re-reading this one in August for book club, so I will leave my review for then. Suffice it to say I think it’s fantastic, and I’m really looking forward to discussing it!
The Good
Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro
I first read this book probably about ten years ago, and I was very glad to return to it. It follows Stevens, the head butler of Darlington Hall, a grand English house. He has given the best years of his life to service and is now present for the decline of the stately home in the wake of the Second World War—his staff is smaller, his employer less given to large events and grand dinners. If you happen to be one of the people who has not read nor come across further details about this novel, I will stop there. It is a worthy read that will just probably break your heart. I did find it perhaps less subtle than I found it the first time I read it, but it was still very enjoyable.
Translation State by Ann Leckie
This was my first foray into Leckie’s work—and therefore her Imperial Radch universe for which she is famous, and which this book expands on—and I was sufficiently impressed. This can easily be read as a standalone, as I read it, but will appeal to fans of the existing series, I’m sure. It’s narrated from the points of view of three characters; middle-aged Enae, who has spent her life serving her recently deceased grandmaman and now finds herself given the curious task of tracking down a missing person; Reet, a young man who knows nothing of his biological past, but is approached by a group of people who think they know exactly who he is, and Qven, a Presgr translator with a desire to dissect the bodies around him. Particularly fascinating was this last perspective, of course, Qven being some biological composite of both human and alien peoples.
This novel was surprisingly sweet (especially considering the touches of body horror Leckie throws in), perhaps by its end slightly too sweet, but I’ll let it off as I’m sentimental at heart. I would say the first half is stronger, establishing the above voices and the beginnings of the plot, which tips in the end into something a little too trite. In many ways, this novel explores what it means to be human, and although I appreciated some aspects of this, I would say the interest of it lies elsewhere. Because my, is it weird. There are some fascinating ideas in here, and it feels truly alien to read at times, which is hard to do with the amount of space operas out there. I think it’s well worth a read, but I’d probably go back and start with Ancillary Justice if you’re interested. I probably would have picked up on a few more references if I had.
Wild Swans by Jung Chang
This book is an epic journey, and an epic feat. In it, Chang tells the story of her grandmother, her mother and herself over the course of about sixty years. But what a sixty years! For at the same time, Chang is also telling the story of China through the rise of Mao, the People’s Republic of China, and the Cultural Revolution. Exploring this through the eyes of these three women was a great way of getting an overview of this time period in a more focussed, accessible way, especially when there is simply so much to learn about it. I certainly feel like I have a better grasp on it now than I did before, though I can’t comment on the exactitude or complete accuracy of Chang’s account. It is, after all, a memoir and I allow some artistic license.
However, you know me, writing style and the literary aspect of anything I read—fiction or nonfiction—is paramount. And I didn’t find the style of this particularly engaging. One of my latest tricks to try and negate this annoying trait of mine is to switch to listening to a book, which helped immensely in this case. I’m much less likely to be paying attention to the prose style itself and much more likely to pay attention to the content. Overall, I recommend listening to it, as a first-hand account it also works particularly nicely in this format. I’m glad I read it as I think it’s an interesting work, and culturally iconic in its own way (I know my mum’s copy has jumped out at me from her shelves for many years), not to mention it taught me a lot.
The Solid
The Stranger Times by C. K. McDonnell
This was just a bit of fun. I listened to it, and I enjoyed it in a silly sort of way. It’s set in Manchester, and it’s about a newspaper—the nominal Stranger Times—that reports on the weird and wonderful around the world. Only something quite weird (and not so wonderful) appears to be happening on their very doorstep.
It has a humorous style which would probably bear comparison to the likes of Terry Pratchett (though I’ve only ever read Good Omens), though possibly not quite as good. But there are some good laughs in here, which I feel is hard to do in the novel form, though of course, you can’t expect every single one to land. The characters fill out all your typical tropes, and there is little that is really surprising here, and yet I felt drawn to many of them. I would probably listen to the next in the series.
Lavinia by Ursula K. Le Guin
This novel will certainly appeal to many readers, it’s just that I’m not one of them. I can’t even blame Le Guin, this is very much a me problem. I have this strange aversion to classics (and Greco-Roman mythology more generally); the content alienates me somehow. This is probably some complex I have, and where I pride myself on being able to be interested in almost anything in the world, I am always stumped by its inclusion in literature. Also, a side note, I listened to this and the narrator did a very heavy-handed, overwrought delivery of Le Guin’s soft but powerful prose, and it near drove me up the wall. So I don’t think that helped, either.
Of course, this novel follows Lavinia of the Aeneid. She was barely more than a bit part in Virgil’s epic poem, but Le Guin fleshes out her story here. And interestingly, Le Guin uses a strange metafictional technique whereby Lavinia seems to commune with the dying form of Virgil himself, and discover things about her life ahead of time, as well as acknowledge that she is a fictional character. Ah, Le Guin. She couldn’t just keep it straightforward, of course. And I liked the fact that Lavinia engages with her own fictitiousness. I also liked the earlier parts of the novel, which focussed on her childhood in rural ancient Italy; it’s the kind of quiet stuff that Le Guin writes best. But when we really got into the events of the poem and the arrival of Aeneas I just could not bring myself to care. It lost me entirely. It’s partly of course a war thing. I don’t much like reading accounts of war, and I felt Le Guin did a touch too much of the actual poem we already know here. I wished she would have focussed almost entirely on those bits we did not, the before or after, but especially the before. Le Guin did not often write very long novels, and she regularly covered a lot of ground in her few pages, and in this case, I do think it let her down a bit. I could’ve read a whole book of the time preceding Aeneas’ arrival. Or perhaps even what Le Guin imagined came next (though please spare us the fawning over Aeneas himself).
However, this novel will be for many readers. Existing fans of Le Guin who also like retellings of Greco-Roman myths, flock to this book. I think you will enjoy it.
