Just one month, and no Found Horizons on this slate.
New Novels
Obsidian Mirror, by Catherine Fisher
Jake is an angry young man, convinced that his father was murdered by his friend and research partner, the wealthy explorer Oberon Venn. Managing to get expelled, he is sent to Venn's home st Wintercombe Abbey, accompanied by a teacher from his exclusive boarding school. Jake is seeking revenge, but even as he arrives, the mysterious Sarah finds her way to Wintercombe on a mission, with both of their fates hinging on the experiments that Venn and Jake's father were conducting on the Chronoptika, an obsidian mirror that may allow one to travel through time, and Venn's relationship with the faerie folk who inhabit the wood around the Abbey.
Aptly opening on a rehearsal of a scene from Hamlet, The Obsidian Mirror is a Shakespearean study of revenge and obsession, which daringly blends time travel and faerie without a beat of apology. I've been a fan of Fisher's since my teaching days, and her books are among the select group of children's and young adult novels that I've kept for Arya to read later in life rather than sending them to the charity shops to make room for Pratchett, variations on Harry Potter and cats. Obsidian Mirror is a typical Fisher novel, with just enough darkness and threat to have bite, enough complexity to be compelling but not frustrating, and some pleasingly disturbing weird science around the Chronoptika.
I read this in paper form, thanks to the local library.
The Raven Tower, by Ann Leckie
The god known as the Raven of Iraden has long watched over his kingdom, fed by the ritual self-sacrifice of the Raven's Lease, the ruler of Iraden whose days are numbered from the moment they are chosen. Mawat is the Lease's Heir, but returning to the capital city of Vastai with his aide Eolo, he finds that his uncle has claimed the bench in his stead, something that should not be possible. As Mawat fumes, his uncle schemes and Eolo inquires, another moves behind the scenes. An ancient force stirs as the Raven is denied his sacrifice, and the clash for the title of Lease becomes ever more trivial in the face of vaunting ambition and dying gods.
Ann Leckie steps away from the galaxy of the Imperial Radch to try her hand at a fantasy version of Hamlet narrated by an ancient god observing - and perhaps acting - from the wings. It's not an exact translation - Mawat's weakness is not uncertainty, but rather his absolute surety - but the parallels are there, and mean that various characters can rest in familiar niches which obviate the need for long-winded exposition. Instead, the focus is on that which is not familiar; on the gods who move behind the scenes, and whose actions or failures to act evoke the kind of pathetic fallacies which in a more conventional story are mere dramatic artefacts. Scotland suffers under Macbeth as a dramatic echo of his disruption of divine right; Vashtai is plagued with sickness because there is no longer a god substituting for effective sanitation strategies or public health awareness.
As with sections of last month's The Fifth Season, The Raven Tower is largely told in the second person, with a god known as the Strength and Patience of the Hill essentially telling the story to Eolo, including descriptions of Eolo's actions and blending contemporary events with its recollections of deep time, and the historical actions leading up to the Raven's dominance of the current landscape.
It's undeniably the worldbuilding that makes this novel. The human characters are mere players on the stage, as the Strength and Patience of the Hill views them as largely transient beings. During the historical episode when the Strength and Patience of the Hill joins an alliance of gods to protect the city across the Strait from Vashtai, the people of the city are barely mentioned apart from those specifically associated with the gods. (It is also in this part of the story that the gods invent Huel, as an aside.) As a result, much of the story is more interesting than involving, but definitely worth a read.
Artemis, by Andy Weir
Jazz Bashara, courier and smuggler, lives in Artemis, the only city on the Moon. Established when the Kenyan government kickstarted its economy by offering big ol' bennies to corporations investing in the space industry, Artemis is a pseudo-state with a weird legal status, although the proper authorities - an upright cop named Rudy - still take issue with Jazz's smuggling activities. When one of her clients hires her to sabotage a rival business, Jazz is drawn into the affairs of a powerful, Brazilian drugs cartel. Her contact is murdered, and Jaxx finds herself needing to complete her contract for the sake of the very soul of Artemis.
Andy Weir's follow-up to critical and commercial smash The Martian is a more conventional story, and perhaps not quite as successful because of it. The Martian was very self-contained, and very concerned with the science of the situation. Artemis has a lot of science in it, but mixed up with slightly more action and adventure, and a big increase in human drama which is honestly the weakest point in the book. Jazz also falls into a few of the pitfalls of men writing women. She never quite boobs tittily anywhere - I can't help but feel that would be hazardous in lunar gravity - but comments on her own physical attractiveness in a way that doesn't quite ring true.
Not bad, but it's no The Martian.
The Singer of Apollo, by Rick Riordan
Percy Jackson is just taking it easy with his bestie, the satyr Grover, when Apollo - at this point in the narrative, still a fully-divine, Olympian god; my next review block will include the continuing mortal adventures of Apollo, in the latest volume in the Trials of Apollo series - drops by to ask a favour, and by ask a favour of course I mean tell him that he's going to do something for him, or else. Specifically, he needs Percy to retrieve a missing automaton, one of the Celedones, to complete his backing group for a concert on Mount Olympus, otherwise the sound would be all wrong! And also, the Celadon might provoke panic on Broadway.
This is a bit of a cheat to include as a novel, since it's actually only a short story, but I've been a bit slack this month and I wanted to look a little less so. The Singer of Apollo is a fun little snippet, but really that's all. It's not intended to be anything more than that.
There is apparently some confusion as to the timing within the series, as in part of the chronology Percy is slightly indestructible, which would tend to lessen the dramatic impact of theat to life and limb.
So it goes.
Re-reads
Framley Parsonage, by Anthony Trollope
Mark Robarts has achieved early success in life, thanks to the patronage of Lady Lufton - the mother of his schoolfriend Lord Lufton - who has secured for him the living of Framley and introduced him to his now-wife, Fanny. Unfortunately, Mark falls in with poor company, and finds himself caught up in the money troubles of the dissipate MP Mr Sowerby. Meanwhile, Mark's humble sister Lucy attracts the affections of Lord Lufton; in opposition to his mother, because Trollope, and in favour to the aristocratic Griselda Grantly.
Framley Parsonage is vintage Trollope; a gently satirical portrait of country life and the politics of his age, combined with a condemnation of the money-lending trade - apparently a terrifyingly unregulated business at the time - and the kind of romantic subplot that is bread and butter to the author (and two or three secondary romances to boot.)
As a note, one of the things that I really enjoy in the Barchester Chronicles is the recuring theme of married couples loving and supporting one another, even after marriage. It's rare these days to see a maried couple as romantic.
New Novels
Jake is an angry young man, convinced that his father was murdered by his friend and research partner, the wealthy explorer Oberon Venn. Managing to get expelled, he is sent to Venn's home st Wintercombe Abbey, accompanied by a teacher from his exclusive boarding school. Jake is seeking revenge, but even as he arrives, the mysterious Sarah finds her way to Wintercombe on a mission, with both of their fates hinging on the experiments that Venn and Jake's father were conducting on the Chronoptika, an obsidian mirror that may allow one to travel through time, and Venn's relationship with the faerie folk who inhabit the wood around the Abbey.
Aptly opening on a rehearsal of a scene from Hamlet, The Obsidian Mirror is a Shakespearean study of revenge and obsession, which daringly blends time travel and faerie without a beat of apology. I've been a fan of Fisher's since my teaching days, and her books are among the select group of children's and young adult novels that I've kept for Arya to read later in life rather than sending them to the charity shops to make room for Pratchett, variations on Harry Potter and cats. Obsidian Mirror is a typical Fisher novel, with just enough darkness and threat to have bite, enough complexity to be compelling but not frustrating, and some pleasingly disturbing weird science around the Chronoptika.
I read this in paper form, thanks to the local library.
The Raven Tower, by Ann LeckieThe god known as the Raven of Iraden has long watched over his kingdom, fed by the ritual self-sacrifice of the Raven's Lease, the ruler of Iraden whose days are numbered from the moment they are chosen. Mawat is the Lease's Heir, but returning to the capital city of Vastai with his aide Eolo, he finds that his uncle has claimed the bench in his stead, something that should not be possible. As Mawat fumes, his uncle schemes and Eolo inquires, another moves behind the scenes. An ancient force stirs as the Raven is denied his sacrifice, and the clash for the title of Lease becomes ever more trivial in the face of vaunting ambition and dying gods.
Ann Leckie steps away from the galaxy of the Imperial Radch to try her hand at a fantasy version of Hamlet narrated by an ancient god observing - and perhaps acting - from the wings. It's not an exact translation - Mawat's weakness is not uncertainty, but rather his absolute surety - but the parallels are there, and mean that various characters can rest in familiar niches which obviate the need for long-winded exposition. Instead, the focus is on that which is not familiar; on the gods who move behind the scenes, and whose actions or failures to act evoke the kind of pathetic fallacies which in a more conventional story are mere dramatic artefacts. Scotland suffers under Macbeth as a dramatic echo of his disruption of divine right; Vashtai is plagued with sickness because there is no longer a god substituting for effective sanitation strategies or public health awareness.
As with sections of last month's The Fifth Season, The Raven Tower is largely told in the second person, with a god known as the Strength and Patience of the Hill essentially telling the story to Eolo, including descriptions of Eolo's actions and blending contemporary events with its recollections of deep time, and the historical actions leading up to the Raven's dominance of the current landscape.
It's undeniably the worldbuilding that makes this novel. The human characters are mere players on the stage, as the Strength and Patience of the Hill views them as largely transient beings. During the historical episode when the Strength and Patience of the Hill joins an alliance of gods to protect the city across the Strait from Vashtai, the people of the city are barely mentioned apart from those specifically associated with the gods. (It is also in this part of the story that the gods invent Huel, as an aside.) As a result, much of the story is more interesting than involving, but definitely worth a read.
Jazz Bashara, courier and smuggler, lives in Artemis, the only city on the Moon. Established when the Kenyan government kickstarted its economy by offering big ol' bennies to corporations investing in the space industry, Artemis is a pseudo-state with a weird legal status, although the proper authorities - an upright cop named Rudy - still take issue with Jazz's smuggling activities. When one of her clients hires her to sabotage a rival business, Jazz is drawn into the affairs of a powerful, Brazilian drugs cartel. Her contact is murdered, and Jaxx finds herself needing to complete her contract for the sake of the very soul of Artemis.
Andy Weir's follow-up to critical and commercial smash The Martian is a more conventional story, and perhaps not quite as successful because of it. The Martian was very self-contained, and very concerned with the science of the situation. Artemis has a lot of science in it, but mixed up with slightly more action and adventure, and a big increase in human drama which is honestly the weakest point in the book. Jazz also falls into a few of the pitfalls of men writing women. She never quite boobs tittily anywhere - I can't help but feel that would be hazardous in lunar gravity - but comments on her own physical attractiveness in a way that doesn't quite ring true.
Not bad, but it's no The Martian.
Percy Jackson is just taking it easy with his bestie, the satyr Grover, when Apollo - at this point in the narrative, still a fully-divine, Olympian god; my next review block will include the continuing mortal adventures of Apollo, in the latest volume in the Trials of Apollo series - drops by to ask a favour, and by ask a favour of course I mean tell him that he's going to do something for him, or else. Specifically, he needs Percy to retrieve a missing automaton, one of the Celedones, to complete his backing group for a concert on Mount Olympus, otherwise the sound would be all wrong! And also, the Celadon might provoke panic on Broadway.
This is a bit of a cheat to include as a novel, since it's actually only a short story, but I've been a bit slack this month and I wanted to look a little less so. The Singer of Apollo is a fun little snippet, but really that's all. It's not intended to be anything more than that.
There is apparently some confusion as to the timing within the series, as in part of the chronology Percy is slightly indestructible, which would tend to lessen the dramatic impact of theat to life and limb.
So it goes.
Re-reads
Mark Robarts has achieved early success in life, thanks to the patronage of Lady Lufton - the mother of his schoolfriend Lord Lufton - who has secured for him the living of Framley and introduced him to his now-wife, Fanny. Unfortunately, Mark falls in with poor company, and finds himself caught up in the money troubles of the dissipate MP Mr Sowerby. Meanwhile, Mark's humble sister Lucy attracts the affections of Lord Lufton; in opposition to his mother, because Trollope, and in favour to the aristocratic Griselda Grantly.
Framley Parsonage is vintage Trollope; a gently satirical portrait of country life and the politics of his age, combined with a condemnation of the money-lending trade - apparently a terrifyingly unregulated business at the time - and the kind of romantic subplot that is bread and butter to the author (and two or three secondary romances to boot.)
As a note, one of the things that I really enjoy in the Barchester Chronicles is the recuring theme of married couples loving and supporting one another, even after marriage. It's rare these days to see a maried couple as romantic.
