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Ghoul Trouble by John Passarella: B-

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Ghoul_TroubleFrom the back cover:
Something wicked has been preying on Sunnydale students—and whatever it is, its methods are pretty gruesome. Buffy locates some human bones that have been picked clean, and knows that she’s dealing with an unearthly evil. Some help from the Scooby Gang would be ideal, but they’ve run into trouble of their own. Oz and Xander are literally (perhaps unnaturally) mesmerized by a hottie new chick band headlining at the Bronze, and Willow has been captured by Sunnydale’s latest resident carnivores.

What they need is the Slayer. But in order to help her friends, Buffy must first dust a vampire—one that has an urgent interest in Joyce Summers, the unique ability to resist sunlight, and an open invitation to the Summers’ house…

Review:
I don’t think I even read the back cover blurb when I found this used several years ago. I think I just liked the goofy title and bought it on that fact alone. It certainly doesn’t sound very promising, does it? It turns out, though, that it’s actually pretty decent.

I’ve tallied up its various attributes into two columns: flaws and merits.

Flaws:
* The story is set in season three, but it’s hard to pinpoint exactly when it occurs. Much is made of Cordelia and Xander having broken up, which would put it after episode 3.08, “Lover’s Walk.” Willow and Oz are together, which would place it after 3.10, “Amends.” However, there’s no mention at all of why Cordelia and Xander broke up or the fact that Willow and Oz are newly reconciled, so I am uncertain. There’s no mention of Faith at all, either.

* Tying in with my first point, there’s not a lot of relationship continuity. Why not mention Xander and Willow’s illicit smoochies? There were plenty of chances, including one scene where they’re imprisoned together and she’s surprised to learn that he thinks she’s pretty. Because Wesley is nowhere in sight during scenes in the school library, this probably takes place before 3.14, “Bad Girls,” so the incident should be fresh on everyone’s mind.

* The supernatural foes are very boring. We are reminded every time we see the ghouls about their green skin and many rows of teeth, and the vampire dude, Solitaire, has cheesy affectations like leaving playing cards at the scenes of his attacks and wearing only black and red so as to represent the suits in a deck of cards. Cheesy!

Merits:
* Passarella has a really good feel for characterization and Whedony dialogue. I think it’s pretty easy to get characters like Buffy and Xander right, but when I read lines from Oz and Angel and can actually hear the characters saying them in my head, that’s a very good sign. Also, I snickered more than once.

* Action scenes are described in a manner that is easy to picture. It’s not that I enjoy details about the extent of a person’s injuries, but having a mental image of what’s going makes one feel as if one is watching an episode of the show, which I assume is the desired effect.

To sum up: the plot is dumb, but the dialogue is good. That’s not too different from many early episodes of the series, actually, and I’d ordinarily award a higher grade because of that, but Passarella really dropped the ball when it came to acknowledging the interpersonal complications among the group at this point in time. He’s written two other Buffyverse novels, both starring the cast of Angel, and I enjoyed this enough that I’ll probably seek those out as well.

The Daughter of Time by Josephine Tey: A

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daughtertimeFrom the back cover:
Confined to a hospital bed, Scotland Yard’s Inspector Grant is engrossed with a portrait of Richard III. How is it possible, he wonders, that such a sensitive-appearing soul could have been the odious villain, the Wicked Uncle responsible for the murder of his own nephews to secure the British crown for himself? Grant reconsiders 500-year-old evidence and brilliantly arrives at a compelling new answer to one of the most intriguing mysteries in history: who really murdered the Princes in the Tower.

“For truth is rightly named the daughter of time, not of authority.” – Sir Francis Bacon

Review:
After an embarrassing accident, Inspector Grant faces an extended convalescence in a hospital bed. Helpfully minded friends have dropped off some novels, but they hold no appeal. It’s only when Grant’s friend Marta, knowing his interest in faces, brings by a selection of historical portraits that the irksome prickles of boredom begin to fade. Particularly captivating is the portrait of Richard III, whose sensitive expression speaks more of illness and suffering than the villainy for which he is chiefly remembered. His police instincts roused, and together with a research assistant (also supplied by Marta) to do the necessary leg work, Grant sets about proving whether Richard III really did murder his nephews as history claims.

Ever since reading Sharon Kay Penman’s The Sunne in Splendour, I’ve had an interest in Richard III and, if pressed, would count myself among those who believe in his innocence. The Daughter of Time comes to the same conclusion, eschewing the hearsay accounts that fill the history books—often penned by historians from the Tudor years who did not like to write too favorably about the Plantagenets—in favor of contemporary sources and, when that isn’t available, a basic understanding of human nature. Taking it one step further, Grant examines the question of who had the most to gain by the princes’ deaths, and ends up making the case that Henry VII was ultimately responsible.

The wealth of historical information required to make these points is presented in a way that’s anything but dry; on the contrary, I found it fascinating. What makes The Daughter of Time so great, though, is that the storyline in the present is also fun. In what other novel does the protagonist spend the whole of the book confined to bed, his mind challenged and engaged but his body immobile? Anyone who ventures into Grant’s room is liable to be subjected to questioning on the topic of Richard III, and indeed, it’s a member of the hospital staff whose change in opinion regarding the much-maligned monarch is the first triumph of the inspector’s efforts.

Now that I’ve read something so pro-Richard, I feel the need to achieve a balanced view by reading an account that casts him as the murderer. Look, therefore, for a review of Alison Weir’s The Princes in the Tower in the near future.

To Love and Be Wise by Josephine Tey: B-

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toloveandbewiseFrom the back cover:
The advent of Leslie Searle was not a particularly fortunate happening for the village of Salcott St Mary. The American photographer possessed an almost inhuman beauty, and his presence aroused a variety of violent emotions in the small community. Then, one spring night, he disappeared close to the river. A case of missing, presumed drowned, one would assume. When Detective Inspector Grant is sent to the village, he is not short of murder suspects. But a far greater puzzle confronts him: Leslie Searle has vanished like someone performing the Indian rope trick in an English meadow…

Review:
To Love and Be Wise takes place in an isolated village called Salcott St Mary, in which something of a celebrity enclave has sprung up. An American photographer, Leslie Searle, is introduced into this society and quickly ruffles some feathers by perpetrating a few snubs and getting on too well with a woman who’s already engaged to be married to a rather self-important BBC commentator. When Searle goes missing after a public argument with said BBC chap, Inspector Grant is called in to investigate.

After the genuine enjoyment offered by The Franchise Affair, the previous book in Josephine Tey’s Inspector Grant series, this next installment comes as something of a disappointment. The biggest problem I have with it is that, in places, it can be very, very dull. It takes quite some time for the characters to become distinct and longer still for Searle to finally disappear. Eventually, it does grow somewhat more interesting, and though I had suspected something like the solution, I hadn’t expected it in quite the right way.

My favorite segments are actually those in which Grant consults with his actress friend, Marta, and values both her insights as well as her cool head in an emergency. It reminded me a little bit of Peter Wimsey and Harriet Vane—not that the characters are at all similar, but it’s the same idea of the contented bachelor detective finally finding a woman who captivates him not with her beauty but with her wits. I hope we see Marta again!

All in all, I found the book to be a pleasant enough diversion. It’s certainly not going to show up on anyone’s Top 100 or even Top 500 list of the best mystery novels, but it’s far from the worst I’ve read.

The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson: B-

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hillhouseFrom the back cover:
Four seekers have come to the ugly, abandoned old mansion: Dr. Montague, an occult scholar looking for solid evidence of the psychic phenomenon called haunting; Theodora, his lovely and lighthearted assistant; Eleanor, the lonely, homeless girl well acquainted with poltergeists; and Luke, the adventurous future heir of Hill House.

At first, their stay seems destined to be merely a spooky encounter with inexplicable noises and self-closing doors, but Hill House is gathering its powers and will soon choose one of them to make its own.

Review:
The Haunting of Hill House is considered a classic of the horror genre, but honestly, I found it to be a mite snoozeworthy. I think the main problem is me. I’m a desensitized reader in the 21st century, far more difficult to shock and frighten, I assume, than the typical reader in 1959, when the book was published.

It’s the story of four people who gather to spend a summer at the supposedly haunted Hill House and report on paranormal activity there. Eleanor, a lonely woman who’s spent a sheltered decade caring for her ailing mother, quickly emerges as the protagonist, and early on displays a tendency for fanciful ramblings, as each time she passes a picturesque spot on her drive to Hill House, she concocts a story about how she has lived there and lovingly cared for the stone lions flanking the drive, et cetera.

Upon arrival, she quickly makes friends with the other female in the group, Theo. They bond during various terrifying (to them) supernatural disturbances, but the friendship is tested when the house begins to exert its power over Eleanor. It’s subtle at first, but by the end Eleanor is quite taken over by the place and the ending, though rather predictable, is great.

Besides my not finding any of the events truly creepy, Eleanor herself is the primary reason I didn’t enjoy the book more. Even before she begins to be affected by the house, she’s annoying, with a non-stop inner dialogue of self-doubt and worry about what others thought of her that really got on my nerves. Worse than Eleanor is Dr. Montague’s wife, whom I absolutely hated. Thankfully, she’s only present at the very end; I wonder why her odious presence was deemed necessary at all.

In the end, there are elements of the story that I liked and ones that I didn’t. But that’s okay; it’s never a waste of time to read a classic!

Murder Must Advertise by Dorothy L. Sayers: B

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murderadvertiseFrom the back cover:
When ad man Victor Dean falls down the stairs in the offices of Pym’s Publicity, a respectable London advertising agency, it looks like an accident. Then Lord Peter Wimsey is called in, and he soon discovers there’s more to copywriting than meets the eye. A bit of cocaine, a hint of blackmail, and some wanton women can be read between the lines. And then there is the brutal succession of murders—five of them—each one a fixed fee for advertising a deadly secret.

Review:
Murder Must Advertise finds Lord Peter Wimsey infiltrating an advertising agency and investigating whether a man was killed for knowing too much. He assumes the identity of his (fictional) disreputable cousin, Death Bredon, for the purpose and, in the course of his probe, also dons the costume of a harlequin in an attempt to extract information from a notoriously drug-addled woman. Some of the story is told from the perspectives of outsiders who encounter Peter in these guises, paving the way for long entries about office squabbles and excruciatingly detailed passages about cricket matches (in which Lord Peter saves the day, of course). Sayers also works in a good deal of criticism of the advertising profession and how it preys on the poor by purporting to offer them luxury at an affordable price.

This mystery isn’t bad, but something about it didn’t click with me. I think the problem is that I’m used to knowing more about the case going in, what Peter is thinking, that sort of thing. This time his actions are more mysterious, particularly as regards his aims with the whole harlequin masquerade, and sometimes lost me a bit. Too, though the latter half of the book seems to focus more on the drug trade issue (I believe that by this point Peter already had the murderer pegged), in the end the resulotion to the drug plot occurs entirely off camera and the identity of the much sought-after kingpin turns out to be rather disappointing.

Maybe the real problem is that I miss the repartee between Peter and Harriet. Oh well, only one more to go before Gaudy Night!

Hangman’s Holiday by Dorothy L. Sayers: B-

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hangmansBook description:
Amusing and absolutely appalling things happen on the way to the gallows when murder meets Lord Peter Wimsey and the delightful working-class sleuth Montague Egg. This sumptuous feast of criminal doings and undoings includes a vintage double identity and a horrid incident of feline assassination that will tease the minds of cat lovers everywhere. Not to be missed are “The Incredible Elopement of Peter Wimsey” (with a lovely American woman-turned-zombie) and eight more puzzlers penned in inimitable style by the mistress of murder.

Review:
I’m really not much of a fan of short stories in any case, but was significantly underwhelmed by most of the tales in this collection. The first four stories feature Lord Peter Wimsey, and feature either silly quasi-supernatural plots (“The Image in the Mirror” and “The Incredible Elopement of Lord Peter Wimsey”) or near-identical scenarios of a crime occuring while Peter is attending festivities with a small group of suspects (“The Queen’s Square” and “The Necklace of Pearls”). None is very good.

The next six stories feature salesman-turned-sleuth, Montague Egg, who seems to have a knack for turning up just after someone has died or sharing a pub with a wanted man. He has an eye for detail honed during his occupational duties—Mr. Egg is a big one for refining his skills and continually quotes rhyming maxims from The Salesman’s Handbook, like “the goodwill of the maid is nine-tenths of the trade”—and assists police in discovering the relevant facts of the case. I liked these stories a bit better than those starring Lord Peter, particularly “Maher-Shalal-Hashbaz,” which I thought I might dislike on account of being a sensitive cat lover, though they have a strange tendency to end after the culprit is identified but not yet confronted with his/her crimes.

The best stories of the lot are actually the last two, which star no sleuth at all. In “The Man Who Knew How,” our protagonist, Pender, meets a fellow on the train who claims to know the perfect, untraceable murder method that makes victims appear to’ve died in their baths. Pender keeps running into the same fellow in the vicinity of where such deaths have occurred and takes it upon himself to become an avenger. In “The Fountain Plays,” a refined gentleman with a secret does the unthinkable to protect it. Both end in unexpected ways and seem to be rather more clever than their predecessors. I’m not sure whether they were written later, or whether each received a little more polish on account of acting as a stand-alone piece, but I definitely liked them the best.

Underfoot in Show Business by Helene Hanff: A

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underfootFrom the front flap:
“Each year, hundreds of stagestruck kids arrive in New York determined to crash the theatre… One in a thousand turns out to be Noel Coward. This book is about life among the other 999. By one of them.”
– Helene Hanff

In her spirited, witty and vastly entertaining memoir, Helene Hanff recalls her ingenuous attempts to crash Broadway in the early forties as one of “the other 999.”

From the joys of summer theatre and furnished rooms to being Seen at Sardi’s and weathering one more Theatre Guild flop, Miss Hanff recalls the rigors of crashing Broadway with warmth and generous humor. Her exuberant account of a misspent youth will hearten theatre hopefuls and entertain the large, devoted readership she has acquired through her subsequent works.

Review:
Helene Hanff’s memoir of her attempts to break into the threatre spans decades from the early ’40s to the early ’60s. Conforming to Flanagan’s Law, a theory advanced by a friend of hers that states, “If you can predict it, it doesn’t happen. In the theatre, no matter what happens to you, it’s unexpected,” Hanff’s career does not go as planned. It starts off well, with Hanff taking top prize in a contest, but soon sputters. Though she wants to be a playwright, and can create excellent characters and settings, she’s never been a fiction fan so her plots are always weak and her plays never sell. To make ends meet she takes a variety of part-time jobs, and eventually ends up writing for television. Just as she accepts that it’s time to give up on plays and focus on TV, all of the writing jobs for that medium move off to the West Coast and she’s left unemployed once again.

Hanff tells the story of her career trajectory with warmth and wit and, though I just used this adjective the other day and am hesitant to do so again, the result is nothing short of delightful. Interspersed with tales of her various odd jobs—including a memorable episode where she and an assistant have to alter 10,000 mimeographed press releases for Oklahoma! by hand when its creators decide it needs an exclamation point—are stories about the places she used to live (garrets with a communal kitchen and colorful neighbors), the free entertainment she and a friend used to enjoy (courtesy of a nifty trick of mingling in with the crowd at intermission), and snippets of wisdom gleaned from so many years in the business.

Toward the end, the narrative overlaps a little with 84, Charing Cross Road, probably the best known of Hanff’s works. At least one story shared with her English penpals is recounted in this book, too—about a dramatization of the life of Aesop and Rhodope—but it’s not tiresome by any means. It’s more like your friend telling you an amusing story and not quite remembering they’ve told you already, but it’s fun and you like them, so you play along and don’t interrupt.

And speaking of not interrupting, this book is so captivating that I very nearly read it in one sitting and would have if not for the pesky necessity of going to bed at a reasonable hour. A special thanks to MJfor the recommendation!

Have His Carcase by Dorothy L. Sayers: B

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havehiscarcaseFrom the back cover:
The mystery writer Harriet Vane, recovering from an unhappy love affair and its aftermath, seeks solace on a barren beach—deserted but for the body of a bearded young man with his throat cut. From the moment she photographs the corpse, which soon disappears with the tide, she is puzzled by a mystery that might have been suicide, murder, or a political plot. With the appearance of her dear friend Lord Peter Wimsey, she finds a reason for detective pursuit—as only the two of them can pursue it.

Review:
On the one hand, Have His Carcase is nothing short of delightful. Upon learning that his beloved Harriet Vane has discovered a body upon a stretch of coastline, Lord Peter dashes to the scene with a stated claim of interest in the case, though he is really there to defend Harriet, lately the defendant in a notorious murder trial and likely to be suspected on that account. When the local police force seems content with a verdict of suicide, Peter and Harriet proceed to work together to prove the victim was murdered. He still loves her and often cavalierly asks her to marry him, but she steadfastly refuses. While the banter between them is brisk, witty, and wonderful, the most emotional moments are really the best, like when Peter confesses that he camouflages his proposals in flippancy because he can’t bear to see the repulsed reaction a genuine query would engender.

Sayers sets the scene for these two right at the start in a highly amusing way that I must quote out of admiration for its economical humor:

The best remedy for a bruised heart is not, as so many people seem to think, repose upon a manly bosom. Much more efficacious are honest work, physical activity, and the sudden acquisition of wealth… Harriet Vane found all three specifics abundantly at her disposal; and although Lord Peter Wimsey, with a touching faith in tradition, persisted day in and day out in presenting the bosom for her approval, she showed no inclination to recline upon it.

Significantly less delightful, alas, is the investigation itself. This aspect of the book definitely has attributes to recommend it—I had no idea who’d really done the deed and had even begun to think perhaps Sayers would conclude by saying, “What do you know, it really was suicide!”—but bogs down a lot in lengthy passages spent decoding ciphers or tracking down innumerable townsfolk possessed with an uncanny ability to remember the precise time they saw a certain gentleman get into a Bentley. Cracking the case hinges on the time of death, so a lot of emphasis is placed on alibis and many theories are advanced that attempt to make all of the random clues work together. It’s kind of interesting, but does get rather tiresome after a while.

Still, it’s a solid mystery and I am satisfied that some progress was made in tempting Harriet to reconsider the merits of the Wimsey bosom.

Crocodile on the Sandbank by Elizabeth Peters: B

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From the back cover:
Amelia Peabody, that indomitable product of the Victorian age, embarks on her debut Egyptian adventure armed with unshakable self-confidence, a journal to record her thoughts, and, of course, a sturdy umbrella. On her way to Cairo, Amelia rescues young Evelyn Barton-Forbes, who has been abandoned by her scoundrel lover. Together the two women sail up the Nile to an archeological site run by the Emerson brothers—the irascible but dashing Radcliffe and the amiable Walter.

Soon their little party is increased by one—one mummy, that is, and a singularly lively example of the species. Strange visitations, suspicious accidents, and a botched kidnapping convince Amelia that there is a plot afoot to harm Evelyn. Now Amelia finds herself up against an unknown enemy—and perilous forces that threaten to make her first Egyptian trip also her last…

Review:
Amelia Peabody is a proud and independent 32-year-old spinster who has decided to put her inheritance to use by doing some traveling. After coming to the rescue of Evelyn, a young woman who’d collapsed in the streets of Rome, the two of them travel to Egypt where they meet the Emerson brothers, do some excavating, and are harassed by a supernatural menace.

While I liked most of the characters as well as Amelia’s blindness to her growing feelings for the elder Emerson brother and Evelyn’s amused awareness of same (You’ve heard of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies? Well, this is Pride and Prejudice and Mummies), I found the mystery plot of the novel to be incredibly obvious. In fact, very early on I predicted to a friend (who’d already read it) not only the identity of the culprit but some of his/her specific nefarious deeds. Later on, Amelia herself confirmed my impression by saying, “The plot now seemed so obvious I felt a child ought to have detected it.”

Still, the flaws in the plot have not dissuaded me from continuing with the rest of the Amelia Peabody books. The first volumes of mystery series are seldom the strongest, so I assume some improvement is in order. And besides that, I simply want to read more about Amelia and Emerson and their love, which seems to be equal parts withering scorn and impassioned smooching.

84, Charing Cross Road by Helene Hanff: B+

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84charingFrom the back cover:
This charming classic, first published in 1970, brings together twenty years of correspondence between Helene Hanff, a freelance writer living in New York City, and a used-book dealer in London. Through the years, though never meeting and separated both geographically and culturally, they share a winsome, sentimental friendship based on their common love for books. Their relationship, captured so acutely in these letters, is one that will grab your heart and not let go.

Review:
As promised, 84, Charing Cross Road is indeed a completely charming collection of letters, selected from twenty years’ worth of correspondence between Helene Hanff and Frank Doel. It all begins in October 1949, when Helene writes to Marks and Co., Booksellers—located in London—to inquire whether some out-of-print items on her wishlist might be located. Her letter is answered by an employee who signs his replies “FPD.” While Helene is personable from the start, and definitely quirky, her correspondent takes some time to warm up. After she hears of the rationing going on in England, however, and arranges for a package of rare food items to be delivered to the shop (a practice she will continue for several years), he writes to thank her for her kindness and reveals that his name is Frank Doel.

Helene can sometimes come across as rude in her letters, though even complaints about delays or unsuitable editions typically have a postscript inquiring about what kind of eggs the staff at Marks and Co. would like her to send (fresh eggs being extremely hard to come by in the postwar years) or something along that line. Part of this can be attributed to her attempt to “puncture that proper British reserve,” and in time, the letters from England do grow quite warm and friendly. When Frank first addresses her as Helene, I actually got a bit verklempt! Eventually, she begins to correspond with Frank’s wife as well as a few other employees of the shop. Through the years, Helene is urged many times to come visit. Though she makes several attempts to save money, life always intervenes, in the form of dental bills, new home expenses, or a lack of work as a TV writer. At the time that the book was published (1970), she had not made it there yet.

I consumed this little volume—its brevity is my chief complaint!—in unabridged audio format. Many thanks to Erica Friedman who recommended this particular edition. What’s so lovely about it is that each letter writer has their own narrator. Helene is given voice by the talented Barbara Rosenblat and Frank by John Franklyn-Robbins, with many other notable Recorded Books regulars making an appearance. It’s lovely to hear the increasing affection in each voice and it makes one particularly amusing part—during which Frank is dismayed that a “thank you” letter for the latest package hasn’t been sent to Helene when in fact several people from the shop have surreptitiously written to her already—work even better than it would in written format.

For a period of correspondence spanning twenty years, 84, Charing Cross Road does seem to go by awfully fast. But if you’re looking for a cozy read one afternoon—or a cozy listen while you toil away at some harried task—then I definitely recommend it.

Be Buried in the Rain by Barbara Michaels: B-

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From the back cover:
There are secrets buried at Maidenwood—dark secrets that span generations. Medical student Julie Newcomb, who once spent four miserable childhood years at this rundown Virginia plantation, would rather not resurrect ancient memories, or face her own fears.

Yet Julie cannot refuse her relatives’ plea that she spend her summer caring for the bedridden—but still malevolent—family matriarch. Reluctantly, Julie agrees, praying that life at Maidenwood will not be as bleak as before. From the first, though, Julie finds Maidenwood a haunted place, not merely echoing with grim reminders, but filled with dark secrets that will become part of her life even today.

Review:
Med student Julie isn’t thrilled when she’s asked to spend her summer caring for the cruel grandmother with whom she spent four dismal years—years that are strangely blank in her memory. She complies to spare her mother the thankless task, and ends up in the middle of a local mystery. Shortly before her arrival, the skeletons of a woman and infant were found on a road cutting through the family property, known as Maidenwood, and Julie and her family are besieged by reporters, archaeologists, and psychic anthropologists who are interested in the story.

Although I enjoyed reading Be Buried in the Rain, there are several things about the way that it’s written that puzzle me. For example, nothing really happens for about 80% of the book. It registers about a two on the suspense-o-meter. Oh, little things occur that do turn out to be important later, but mostly it’s Julie coping with her hateful grandmother, complaining (rather bitchily) about a co-helper’s cooking, caring for a stray dog, and bantering with and/or eventually rekindling a romance with her ex-boyfriend, an archaeologist who’s been given permission to dig at Maidenwood in an attempt to locate the burial site from which the skeletons were presumably exhumed. Things finally start to move near the end after Julie begins work on reconstructing the face of the adult skeleton based on the skull—apparently someone doesn’t want an identification to be made.

The ending leaves rather a lot to be desired, though. One question is not answered particularly well—how the kooky psychic manages to unearth a genuine archaeological find—and a couple of others not at all, including how the skeletons wound up in the middle of the road. Although the book is grounded in reality throughout, at the very end, Michaels throws in a random dollop of supernatural hijinks, with Julie believing she’s been in communion with the dead woman’s spirit and putting forth the theory that each year, the skeletons pop up again and have to be reburied by the party responsible for their deaths. I’d more easily buy this explanation if there were any notion of supernatural doings anywhere other than the final ten pages or so of the novel.

Still, though I have my complaints I still found Be Buried in the Rain to be reasonably entertaining and expect that I shall read more by Barbara Michaels in future.

The Sharing Knife: Passage by Lois McMaster Bujold: B+

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From the front flap:
Young Fawn Bluefield and soldier-sorcerer Dag Redwing Hickory have survived magical dangers and found, in each other, love and loyalty. But even their strength and passion cannot overcome the bigotry of their own kin, and so, leaving behind all they have known, the couple sets off to find fresh solutions to the perilous split between their peoples.

But they will not journey alone, as they acquire comrades along the way. As the ill-assorted crew is tested and tempered on its journey to where great rivers join, Fawn and Dag will discover surprising new abilities both Lakewalker and farmer, a growing understanding of the bonds between themselves and their kinfolk, and a new world of hazards both human and uncanny.

Review:
After one book taking place primarily in the farmer world and another that focuses on Lakewalker life, Passage, the third book in The Sharing Knife series, finds Dag and Fawn working to bring those two worlds closer together. Having witnessed the loss of life caused by farmers’ ignorance of the warning signs of a forming Malice, and not willing to stay at a camp at which the validity of his marriage is questioned, Dag gives up his patroller life and decides to become an ambassador of sorts, explaining some of the most fundamental Lakewalker secrets to what farmers as will listen.

After a brief stay with Fawn’s family, Dag and Fawn (along with her brother, Whit) hit the road, visiting a few towns and eventually booking passage on the Fetch, a flatboat headed downriver to the sea. From there, they encounter a variety of (mostly) likable characters, like Berry (boss of the Fetch), Remo and Barr (a pair of disgraced young patrollers), and a bevy of other boatmen. Dag performs several impressive feats of healing, works out some finer details of groundwork, ponders some troubling questions, and makes a lot of rather repetitive speeches. The action picks up a little when Berry’s search for her missing father, brother, and fiancé yields some unexpected results, and Dag is ultimately forced to question whether farmers and Lakewalkers aren’t better off living separate lives after all.

Although parts of Passage are quite slow—like the speeches and the many discussions on the ethics of Dag’s developing abilities—it’s still my favorite of the series thus far, a factor I attribute mostly to the influx of new people. Suddenly, a series that has been almost exclusively about two characters has developed an ensemble cast, and I find it to be a big improvement. My favorite of the new characters is actually not so new—Fawn’s brother Whit has been around before, but really becomes a new person due to the things he sees and experiences on this journey.

Whit’s growth also serves a handy example for one of my favorite things about the series: women’s roles. Bujold manages to show women in positions of power—boat captains, patrol leaders—about as often as women living more domestic lives without making a judgment about which has more value. Whit, having grown up on a farm, is used to men being in charge, and early on accuses Fawn of being “just a girl.” Dag expertly turns this around to talk about all of the brave and valiant things his first wife, Kauneo, accomplished when she was “just a girl.” After witnessing Fawn’s practical cleverness on several occasions, and having his notions of gender roles challenged by Berry, with whom he falls in love, Whit comes to value Fawn’s input in a way that the rest of her family does not.

Despite enjoying Passage quite a bit, I find I have some trepidations about Horizon, the fourth and final volume in the series. I do like Dag and Fawn, but they weren’t the main attraction for me this time. I hope Berry, Whit, Remo, and Barr have significant roles in Horizon else I shall be disappointed.

Additional reviews of The Sharing Knife: Passage can be found at Triple Take.

A Great and Terrible Beauty by Libba Bray: B-

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greatterribleFrom the back cover:
Gemma Doyle isn’t like other girls. Girls with impeccable manners, who speak when spoken to, who remember their station, who dance with grace, and who will lie back and think of England when it’s required of them.

No, sixteen-year-old Gemma is an island unto herself, sent to the Spence Academy in London after tragedy strikes her family in India. Lonely, guilt-ridden, and prone to visions of the future that have an uncomfortable habit of coming true, Gemma finds her reception a chilly one. She’s not completely alone, though… she’s been followed by a mysterious young man, sent to warn her to close her mind against the visions.

For it’s at Spence that Gemma’s power to attract the supernatural unfolds; there she becomes entangled with the school’s most powerful girls and discovers her mother’s connection to a shadowy, timeless group called the Order. It’s there that her destiny waits… if only Gemma can believe in it.

Review:
It’s 1895, and sixteen-year-old Gemma Doyle has finally got her wish and has come to London. It’s not how she’d envisioned achieving this goal, however, as it occurs only after her mother, who’d been steadfastly diverting Gemma’s pleas to leave India and see London for quite some time now, kills herself under mysterious circumstances. With Gemma’s father incapacitated by grief, she is largely left in the charge of her grandmother, who promptly ships her off to Spence, a boarding school where she will be made into a proper (read: obedient) lady.

While all of this is going on, and while Gemma is being bullied by a group of influential girls at school, she’s having disturbing visions and receiving warnings to quit having them from a handsome Indian boy named Kartik. Eventually she both befriends those girls and decides to disregard Kartik’s warnings entirely. The girls learn of a powerful group of women, the Order, and decide to reenact some of their rituals, not realizing at first how very real it all is. Things get out of hand, as magical dabbling often does, and the consequences are rather grim.

I’ve got mixed feelings about A Great and Terrible Beauty. On the negative side, it takes quite a while before the story makes sense. It’s not clear, for example, whether Kartik’s warnings ought to be heeded and Gemma is a fool for disregarding them, or whether he is simply trying to keep her from developing her powers as she should. As a result, I couldn’t tell whether I ought to find Gemma willful and annoying or cheer her on, which was a problem again later when she is shown some magical runes and then promptly told she mustn’t ever use them, yadda yadda. Well, you just know she’s going to, and at least I found her rationale for finally giving in kind of sympathetic, but we’re subjected to all kinds of petulant wheedling before that point. The ending is also rather strange in that I don’t understand how Gemma doing one thing causes another to happen.

On the positive side, I like the atmosphere of the school and its grounds as well as the evocation of the time period. The book is at its most compelling when it focuses on the plight of women in this era: little is expected of them save for placid compliance—no real academics are taught at Spence, for example—and they are often used as bargaining chips in marriages not of their own choosing. Each of the four girls in the new Order is unhappy with her lot in some degree, summed up nicely in a ghost story as told by former bully, Felicity:

Once upon a time, there were four girls. One was pretty, one was smart, one charming and one… one was mysterious. But they were all damaged, you see. Something not right about the lot of them. Bad blood, big dreams… They were all dreamers, these girls. One by one, night after night, the girls came together and they sinned. Do you know what that sin was? No one? Their sin was that they believed, believed they could be different, special. They believed they could change who they were. Not damaged, unloved, cast-off things. They would be alive, adored, needed, necessary.

But it wasn’t true.

I listened to A Great and Terrible Beauty as an unabridged audiobook, and I’d be remiss if I neglected to praise the excellent narrator, Josephine Bailey. She does a truly amazing job in giving each character a distinctive voice—so much so that it’s hard to believe at times that it’s one person behind them all. Her performance is one of the most impressive I’ve ever heard and I’ve heard quite a lot.

At this point, I am unsure whether I wish to continue with the series. In its favor is the fact that I already own the other two books in the trilogy, but since I find the plot rather muddled and the protagonist quite irritating at times that’s about all it has going for it at the moment. Besides my completist nature, that is.

The Brimstone Wedding by Barbara Vine: B+

by

brimstoneFrom the back cover:
“It’s crazy thinking I can tell her,” says Genevieve Warner, thirty-two years old, thirteen years into a loveless marriage, and recently swept into her first passionate love affair. “She’s so old. She’ll have forgotten what sex is.”

But Stella Newland, the gracious, dignified, dying woman that Genevieve cares for in an English nursing home, has not forgotten. She knows all about love: its promises, its betrayals, its sometimes deadly consequences. She learned her lessons thirty years ago in a country house she owned, and owns still. When Genevieve confides in Stella, the old woman reciprocates by giving Genevieve the key to the now forlorn house, and by telling this young woman who will be her last friend, in the few minutes a day her failing strength allows, the story of her own erotic entanglement in adultery and worse, much worse.

Review:
Genevieve Warner, employed as a “carer” at a nursing home, feels a special affection for her charge, Stella, an elegant elderly woman who, unlike the other residents, seems firmly grounded in the present. As Stella’s condition worsens, however, she begins to confide in Genevieve about her adulterous affair of 20+ years ago and the truth behind the mysterious disappearance of film star, Gilda Brent. Parts of the tale parallel what Genevieve herself is going through as she is engaged in an affair of her own.

The Brimstone Wedding possesses a puzzling duality of attributes, in that it’s rather predictable at times yet still unforgettable. Most of the revelations in Stella’s story are easy to see coming, and one is often left merely waiting for the details to be revealed to Genevieve. Even so, the tale from the past is intriguing and the characters in the present so vivid that it’s hard to fault the story too much for going where one expects it to go. In fact, it’s done in such a way that I wonder whether Vine even intended for these revelations to be big twists at all.

The tone is different from other works by Vine (a.k.a. Ruth Rendell) that I’ve read recently. Mostly this is due to Genevieve, who has spent her life in rural Norfolk and has been raised to believe in all sorts of folksy superstitions, giving her a rather unique outlook. She’s also not weak and annoying like the heroine of The Keys to the Street, for which I am grateful. All in all, I enjoyed the book, and will certainly be reading more by this author in future.

The Brimstone Wedding was another recommendation from Margaret.