Nothing else in the challenge this time, so I am officially converting
the 2017 Challenge into an ongoing push to explore new (to me) literary
territory that I shall call Found Horizons.
I did listen to La Belle Sauvage,
the first part of The Book of Dust, Philip Pullman's new trilogy set in the
universe of His Dark Materials (and, critically, in Lyra's world, which is
probably the most interesting part of that universe.) It tells the story of
young Malcolm, an innkeeper's son and aspiring scholar, his relationship with
aleithiometrist Hannah Relf and his resulting involvement with an
anti-Magisterium secret society known as Oakley Street, and his flight with his
teenage frenemy Alice and the infant Lyra Belaqua along a flooded Thames Valley
aboard his canoe La Belle Sauvage. At
first navigating swiftly through ordinary terrain in flight from the charming,
yet malevolent scholar Bonneville and his much-abused hyaena daemon, they
gradually find the lines between the mystical and the mundane blurring, and the
canoe carrying them along the dangerous borders of Faerie; or something like
it.
A lot has been said of Pullman's fixation on pubescent psychosexual
awakening, surprisingly little of it along the lines of 'that's what fairy
tales are all about,' but take that aspect as you will(1) there is no ignoring
the fact that his prose is far superior to the run of the mill. It is
particularly noticeable because, this being something of an event release, they
have got in an A-list reader in the form of critical theatrical and indie
darling and mainstream rubbish monster actor Michael Sheen, whose delivery
would not have shamed countryman Richard Burton(2). Matched with a pacy adventure,
solid protagonists - although, as with His Dark Materials, our heroes are
outshone by their antagonists, if nowhere else then in the scene where Malcolm
witnesses Bonneville striking his own
daemon and the narrative hits the reader with this as hard as the fact of
it does Malcolm, who has a lifetime absorbing the implications of what such an
action means(3) - and just a smidge of fanservice foreshadowing, this makes for
an excellent read.
Speaking of that fanservice, this is the real balancing act of a
prequel; to set up a familiar situation without being predictable. La Belle Sauvage succeeds in this, as
while Lyra's future is known, and characters like Lord Asriel and not-yet-Fader
Coram are guaranteed to survive, Malcolm and Alice's future is unwritten, and
it is entirely possible that one or both of them might die to deliver the
infant Lyra to safety, or that Hannah Relf might take a bullet for her young
protégé, or any number of nuns die for their young charge.
Far more than just a prologue, however, La Belle Sauvage serves to dramatically expand Lyra's world,
increasing the reader's understanding of daemons, and even more so of the
Magisterium and the power that it wields. Coming back to my Found Horizons
project, it's interesting to note that the League of St Alexander - an
organisation which recruits children to act as Magisterial informants against
their parents and teachers - may be reminiscent of the Inquisitorial Squad in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix,
but having also read Wild Swans this
year is terrifyingly plausible in its parallels to Mau's Red Guards.
La Belle Sauvage is not a
lightweight read in any sense. The prose is dense and rich, the story
straightforward, but layered, and the hardback makes Order of the Phoenix look like a newsstand pulp thriller. It
definitely rewards effort and focus, however, in a way that more disposable
fiction(4) can only envy.
In some ways - most notably that of technical prose construction -
Magnus Chase and
the Ship of the Dead, the final novel in the Magnus Chase and the Gods of
Asgard trilogy, falls far short of the standards set by
La Belle Sauvage, but to focus on that would be to deny it its own
virtues.
The Ship of the Dead follows
on from The Hammer of Thor, with
Magnus and his allies from Floor 19 of the Hotel Valhalla preparing to sail
across mythical seas to prevent the launch of Njaglfar, the triumph of Loki,
and the coming of Ragnarok. In a quest which leads to the halls of Aegir, the
Shambles of York, the wilds of Alfheim and the frozen shores of Niflheim, the
crew of the good ship Big Banana(5) uphold the great scavenger hunt tradition
in search of a means for Magnus to defeat Loki in a flyting; a contest of
insults(6).
Now, the most singular achievement of this book is that it realises the
potential of the first transgender love interest in a mainstream early teen
book, and by extension features what is at best a rare example of a bisexual
teen hero, as Riordan establishes without fanfare or show that Magnus is into
Alex Fierro both as a man and as a woman. In discussing the coming out of Nico
di Angelo in the Percy Jackson series, Riordan explained that part of his
reason for teaching and writing was to advocate for children who conventionally
lack a voice in society, and he does so splendidly here(7).
In addition, Riordan once more weaves a rollocking adventure yarn from
the yarn of myth, and gives bountiful screen time to the previously
under-utilised veterans of Floor 19: Mallory Keane, Halfborn Gunderson and
Thomas Jefferson Jr. The children of Loki - devout(8) Muslim Valkyrie Sam, and
the persistently binomial Alex Fierro - are each in their own way a refreshing
break from the norm that would do their estranged father proud if he were less
of a dick. As for Magnus himself, since despite possession of the peerless
blade Sumerbrandr(9), he essentially takes the role of healer girlfriend and
self-confessed coward, which is pretty odd biscuits for a central hero
protagonist. There's also something of Caiphas Cain in his self-deprecating
narrative, which makes him much more likeable than in his first appearance; or
maybe that's the better narration.
Finally, for the month - the last few weeks have been all family time -
I went back to revisit Anthony Trollope's The
Warden, part of a grand adaptation of the author's Barsetshire and political
novels, all read by Timothy West. Now, I'll be honest, I could probably listen
to West read the phone book and get a respectable distance into the Bs before
it began to wear, and I've been a fan of Trollope's writing for years now, so
this was likely to appeal to me. The slightest of the Barsetshire novels, The Warden tells the story of Mr
Harding, a well-off and kindly cleric, who finds himself assailed by attacks in
the popular press when the administration of the sinecure secured for him by
his friends in the senior clergy is called into question by a dear friend. It
is at once a rather cosy affair, with no real villains, and a satire of both
the clergy of the time - while superficially very much in the corner of Mr
Harding's high church, it is notable that the same characters who question what
the beadsmen of St Hiram's could even do
with £100 a year are aghast at the thought of Mr Harding supporting himself on
less than £800 - and the popular press.
Politically it may not have a great deal to say in an era without
clerical sinecures and livings, but it remains a warm and bright read (or
listen), perfect for cold, wet commutes.
(1) For myself, the central relationship didn't feel particularly off
or creepy, but like nearly all m/f romance or semi-romance relationships these
days, felt like a waste of a more nuanced and unusual platonic pairing.
(2) The gold standard of voice performances.
(3) Having written fanfiction in which a character had significant
conflict with their own daemon, which repulsed the young protagonist, I also
felt a little smug at this point in the book.
(4) Newsstand pulps, more than Harry Potter.
(5) Because it is very, very yellow.
(6) Once more, props to Rick Riordan, because this is so totally a
thing in Norse sagas.
(7) At least in as far as I, a cis het guy, can tell.
(8) For most of this novel she is fasting for Ramamdan and still taking names.
(9) Or Jack, for short.
