Charlotte MacLeod Slam!

I hate writing reviews of mysteries. It is such a difficult thing to do without giving away the plot, while still giving the reader an idea of the novelistic style. So let me start with Charlotte MacLeod. By all reports, she was a woman who took the job of writing very seriously, and would actually work at it in a regular fashion. She apparently was also somewhat genteel, which is a description belied by her female characters. They may well appear genteel, but have backbones of steel, and are not fainting violets by any means.

Sarah Kelling is one such character. We meet her in The Family Vault, a seemingly shy young woman married to a man decades her senior, and overshadowed by all of her relations, particularly her blind and deaf mother-in-law, who rules them with her weakness. But during the course of the novel, we discover that she has quite an interesting personality, and that it takes only a little bit for her natural tendencies to overcome her studied meekness.

The problem I have is that this series is composed of at least half a dozen more novels than I have been able to track down, and those gaps lead to depressingly large jumps in the narrative. We meet Sarah and her foil, art detective Max Bittersohn, in the first book... and then I haven't got the second one, but have to skip to at least the third. Then there's a big jump between The Bilbao Looking Glass and The Recycled Citizen, and another between The Silver Ghost and The Resurrection Man... and it's quite frustrating.

Perhaps the most distinctive thing that can be said about MacLeod's writing is that it is classical mystery, with poisons and deliberate accidents and absurd numbers of bodies by the end. And naturally every book is set around the complexities of the enormous and interbred Kelling clan, which, given the number of them that seem to be running around fictional Boston, isn't all that surprising. (Sarah is, herself, a Kelling married to a Kelling... but the closet connection is fifth cousin or somewhat, which is also what is known to geneticists as "unrelated.")

So here's the series, go, enjoy.

The Family Vault
The Palace Guard
The Bilbao Looking Glass
The Recycled Citizen
The Silver Ghost
The Resurrection Man
The Odd Job

Grab Bag

Grab Bag Charlotte MacLeod Date: January, 1987   —   Book product page Rating:

Fiction, Mystery, Short Stories

Well.

It's Charlotte MacLeod, who has a wicked sense of humor. Some of her plot twists are obvious, but in short stories that does tend to happen. She's got stories about characters you will recognize, such as Peter Shandy and Max Bittersohn, and some for whom I have not found a book, like her shaggy-dog tales of Carter-Harrison. She has a couple of entertaining one-offs as well.

Anyway. Book. Read.

(It's a horrible review, but eh? The book's not long enough to justify more.)

The Chronicles of Narnia

The Chronicles of Narnia Box Set C.S. Lewis   —   Book product page Rating:

Fiction, Fantasy, Children's

Pauline Baynes is still alive? Wow. The things you learn.

Pauline Baynes, for those of you who don't know the name, is the original illustrator of the Narnia books. Her artwork was sadly butchered for the American editions, a fact readily apparent to me as my family had many of the British paperbacks from a few years they spent there. The American editions took every picture that Ms. Baynes created, picked just one, and then cut one tiny bit out of it to stick at the beginning of the chapter, probably in an effort to save expenses. Collier, I blame you.

These new editions restore all of the illustrations, newly colored by Ms. Baynes, which is how I tracked down the fact that she was still alive. They're on nice glossy paper, and this set is dirt cheap (not listed because the little box didn't pull up this one, so I had to stick the info in myself.) They do, unfortunately, renumber the set as all modern editions do, but at least they've fixed the typos.

Why is it so important that they be read in the published order? According to the publishers of the current editions, this is "the order Mr. Lewis preferred," which is balderdash as this "directive" was taken from a letter to a fan in which Mr. Lewis said it was okay to read them in chronological order. Of course you can do that. AFTER you've read them in the original order.

It's a personal annoyance of mine. Sure, The Magician's Nephew is chronologically first, but it makes reference to things that happen in The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. Furthermore, reading it first takes some of the wonder out of that first true glimpse of Narnia, and that lampost standing in the snow. It is more of a discovery to read LWW first, then find out the backstory. Chidren need to learn the value of flashbacks, really.

I've even seen a valid theological reason for putting LWW first, and that goes back to that scary thought of Lewis drawing from Christian tradition when creating Narnia. What is the most important book of the Old Testament? What is the central defining characteristic of Jewish and Christian theology? It is the story of Exodus, the fact that once we were slaves, but now we are free. Our entire culture is based on that fact, an argument which would take far too long to lay out in a book review.

The parallels to Exodus are quite clear. The Hebrews were enslaved to the Pharoah, while the Narnians are enslaved to the White Witch. The promise of freedom is the promise of this book, and it is so theologically powerful that it has to come first. Genesis, and the Fall, are comparatively weak entries to begin a series with.*

Besides, the contrast of Narnia's creation and its destruction is likewise powerful, and a child's attention span necessitates close proximity of the books lest the impact be lessened.

One final note on LWW: I had one friend, who read this as an adult, complain about the lack of dramatic tension and about the repetition of what a foolish thing it is to shut oneself into a wardrobe, O Best Beloved.† These are stylistic marks of a fairy tale, and children love the repetition of phrases.

Prince Caspian is the second book of the series, and furthers the concept of flexible time in Narnia. (It was introduced in LWW by the fact of the Pevensies— who, incidentally, don't have their last name revealed for another book— getting older in Narnia, but returning to their own ages and their own time.) It's a more standard fantasy of the displaced prince regaining his kingdom. The aforementioned friend preferred this book, which has a stronger narrative, but it wasn't my favorite as a child. That may be because this sojourn in Narnia is very short; the siblings are only in Narnia for a week or so if you count it up. That's hardly time to acclimate, let alone have a rousing fantasy.

The Voyage of the Dawn Treader is very weak on narrative but very strong on the fantastical journeys; I have always liked all the little island worlds they visit. I was introduced to Eustace in another book, a book on dragons, and found out the story of a boy who was turned into a dragon because he hadn't read the right books. The accompanying illustration showed a forlorn little dragon peering over a scholar's shoulder, and I had to read the book to find out what happened!

Incidentally, there is a fairly major discrepancy in between the British and American versions of the chapter of the Island of Dreams; this was an authorial revision by Lewis, who decided that his original ending was not quite as he had intended. (In the original, they watch the island disappear behind them; in the revision, the island is completely gone when they turn around.)

The Silver Chair is a favorite of many of my friends, though it made me a little claustrophobic. It is the book of What Goes Wrong and seems to be overcast for me. (Yes, I tend to get weather overtones with some books, not always congruent with the descriptions. In this case, overcast is right; aside from one interlude they're always in rain, or snow, or just plain gray skies.) The children don't follow directions and the adventure just gets dimmer and dimmer. But it all turns out right in the end, barely.

Now we go back in time, to A Horse and His Boy, which is a delightful relief from the gloom of The Silver Chair. Forecast is desert sunny, a familiar feel for me. It's a lot more straightforward adventure, and is perhaps the simplest of the Narnia books, dealing with only two perspectives at most and one overreaching tale. Very likeable.

Then we get around to The Magician's Nephew, which is the only Narnia book to be largely set in our world. It gives it an entirely different feel from the other books, and is particularly good to read as a child who has not yet discovered how to make connections between books. The reveal at the end that Digory Kirke is the Professor from LWW is surprising to the target audience (oh, the things we forget as we age!)

This is a world with extreme depth, but one which we only touch on shallowly. We learn that the housemaid is having a wonderful day, but we never find out why. We find out about the Wood Between the Worlds, but we only explore two, and find that further exploration is forbidden. And we find out about the history of Narnia that we never will learn, never quite. This one has always been one of my favorites, not the least because of the access hall along the back of the houses. Which child hasn't dreamed of a secret tunnel in their very own house?

The final book, no matter how you count it, is The Last Battle. A lot of people don't like this one because good things shouldn't come to an end, or because the Christian imagery is stronger in this one, or just because. The first time I read this book was one of those years when California was burning down (this happens quite a lot, you know), and I got to the end of the book in the car and could look out to see a smoke-stained sunset and it really did look like the end of the world. It's a powerful book and doubly so when it's the first time you come across such apocalyptic imagery.

Ever since that time, though, I've wanted to write a story about Susan, who was left behind. I fully believe she caught up with them eventually, but her road became very, very hard after that. (I didn't even realize that some people thought the comments her siblings made about her meant she had, in effect, turned to the Dark Side. Nonsense. She just tried to fit in with everyone "normal", which isn't a sin, but which can obscure what's really important.)

The most interesting thing about Narnia is an observation once made upon it. "These are books that get bigger in memory." If you have not read them in years, you might be surprised at how short they are. And though I read them on a regular basis, I, too, find they're always a bit... maddeningly... shorter than I remember them, or want them, to be.

*For those of you who are fond of biblical criticism, scholars tend to agree that Genesis was created later than Exodus. At least if I remember my Old Testament classes correctly. While bits of Genesis may have predated Exodus as oral tradition, Exodus is considered to be a central, unified creation long before Genesis made paper.

†Just So Stories, by Rudyard Kipling. What do they teach you in those schools?

Dog Wizard

Dog Wizard Barbara Hambly Date: 23 December, 1992   —   Book product page Rating:

Fiction, Fantasy

Wow, what a horrible cover this links to. Really. I much prefer the Darrell K. Sweet cover on mine, and I'm not a fan of Sweet's artwork in general. (I apologize, Mr. Sweet. By all accounts you're a very nice person and a dedicated artist.)

*cough* Anyway...

Dog Wizard is a sequel of The Dark Tower and The Silicon Mage, and focuses on Antryg, the crazy wizard from those novels. My only objection, in fact, is that Antryg is far too functional to truly deserve the epithet of "crazy." He's traumatized, sure. He's certainly weird. But he doesn't even act as far off the beam as an under-medicated bipolar type or schizophrenic, and yes, I've had friends on adjusting medication so I know what I'm talking about. Yet everyone, including Antryg, refers to him as crazy as though it were settled and accepted, even though in many cases he's acting saner than the rest of them.

I'm referring in particular to the malady of "selective blindness" ot "not seeing what you don't wish to see." The wizards of the tower, who look down on Antryg because they are both uncertain of his loyalties and because he doesn't hold himself aloof from human concerns, actually daring to use magic to interfere, are the most selfish and obnoxious group of people you'd ever hope to avoid. The fact that they need Antryg's specialized knowledge makes them even haughtier, of course.

Hambly's a good read, usually, and this is no exception. The only thing that grates in her writing is the misogyny of the societies she creates, depressingly accurate as it probably would be. Quite honestly, less misogyny in fantasy, while it makes for an easier read, is a little more fantastical— only a few societies in history, and most of them recently, have ever been equitable between the genders.

Ah, well.

Where's My Cow?

Where's My Cow? Terry Pratchett Date: 27 September, 2005   —   $11.53   —   Book product page Rating:

Fiction, Fantasy, Children's But Not Really

Where's My Cow? is part of that delightful genre that looks like a children's book, is illustrated like a children's book, and yet is sold in the adult section even though a small child could read it without any worry of inappropriate material. This is because some books, like this and like The Day I Swapped My Dad For Two Goldfish (Neil Gaiman and Dave McKean) are much, much funnier when read as adults, due to the subtext going on.

Where's My Cow? is sort of a campanion to the novel Thud, and expands upon a minor incident in one chapter. (I have not read Thud but I am very good at tracking things down, and I wanted to see if Where's My Cow was an illustrated chapter, which it is not.) It is the tale of Sam Vimes, head of the City Watch, who drops everything he is doing to read to his son every night at six, because Some Things Are Important. (And yes, they are.)

The name of the one-year-old's beloved book is, like its frame, Where's My Cow? and Sam Vimes is very good at making the animal noises for the not-cows that are found along the way. But Vimes is a very pragmatic man, and he wonders about the value of a farm book for a city boy... and so creates his own version of the tale, Where's My Dad?

Melvyn Grant's illustrations are spot-on perfect. It looks as though he took the Paul Kidby designs (showcased in The Last Hero) and worked them to a more realistic perspective (though Lady Sibyl is almost identical). Sam Vimes looks more than a bit like Bogart in this version, and you can see the love shining through him when he looks at his son. Various other characters make brief appearances; Grant decided to skew Lord Vetinari clear over toward Shakespeare, which makes his polite little smile somehow chilling.

In essence, there's several stories being told here. There's what the text is saying. There's what the references to established Discworld characters (25+ books!) are saying. There's what the pictures are twisting the words into— it's quite obvious that Sam Vimes is a bit of a clown for his son. And, of course, there's the message that Some Things Are Important, especially making time for your son.

Get this book if you're not ashamed to be reading a picture book in public, and if you've got a love for Pratchett's work. Or get this book if you know nothing about Pratchett and love a good children's book. You can even get a copy for your children.

But only if you're going to read it aloud.

Timelike Infinity

Timelike Infinity Stephen Baxter Date: 31 July, 1997   —   Book product page Rating:

Fiction, Science Fiction

I like Baxter's writing, I really do, even though he sets most of his stories in some sort of futile universe where humanity crashes and burns somehow. In this instance, a wormhole project is nearing completion, connecting a near-future Earth with a further-future Earth in which humanity has been conquered by an alien race. Cross-time war of a sort follows.

And over everything hangs the threat of the godlike Xeelee, who pose no direct threat to anyone but who are so far advanced that nobody bothers to innovate for themselves anymore. Instead, various races fight for scraps of Xeelee technology.

Brin had a similar supposition in his Uplift series but dealt with it differently, allowing the possibility of innovation. But in Baxter's universe, nobody bothers because the Xeelee have, in fact, perfected everything, including themselves... through cross-temporal modification. Paradox doesn't seem to cut it, quite.

The funny part is that I don't usually care for dystopian science fiction, but Baxter usually has enough of a focus on striving individuals to make it interesting. And really, those individuals don't fail in a manner consistent with dystopias; instead, they get a little depressed at the eventual fate of the species, but manage to do okay with themselves.

Damning with faint praise, I see. How about this: try his short stories in Vacuum Diagrams and see if you like them. If you do, track down the books it references, as I am doing. If not, little time is lost.

Shakespeare's Christmas

Shakespeare's Christmas Charlaine Harris Date: 01 March, 2005   —   $5.99   —   Book product page Rating:

Fiction, Mystery

Lily Bard is going home for the holidays, and for her sister's wedding. Like many female mystery protagonists, she's a bit nervous about dealing with family. Like many female mystery protagonists, she had a violent rape in her past (what is it with that as a plot device?) Unlike many female mystery protagonists, the stress between her and her family is not a withdrawal due to the violent circumstances but the fact that they're so loving that she feels a bit smothered, and they still treat her like glass.

At any rate, an eight-year-old kidnapping case suddenly comes to the fore, and Lily's detective boyfriend tells her the trail leads straight to her hometown. To make matters worse, the prospective kidnapper could be one of three people... one of whom is her sister's fiancé.

Spin the wheel and play Which One's the Killer!

Oh, so cliché. But it's very well done, and I never let overused clichés get in the way of a good story.

Mediocre stories, however, are killed by the merest hint of cliché.

(Incidentally, Shakespeare is the name of Lily's town of residence, and this is part of a series. So even though almost nothing happens in that town, it gets star billing.)