Reading Roundup - July and August 2019

And yet again, a twofer, covering July and August's reading/listening.

Found Horizons

The Fifth Season, by N.K. Jemisin
As a note, this is another of those books where I have no idea how most of the names are spelled. In this case, this actually masked a significant character note, switching a character's chosen name from Syenite - after a coarse, igneous rock - to Cyanite - a far more decorative blue silicate gemstone.

In a world of ceaseless, violent seismic activity, the Stillness is the only inhabitable land, and that with great difficulty. Long ago, humanity angered Father Earth, and now all life exists at the mercy of irregular 'seasons', when supervolcanoes, tsunamis and other upheavals destroy civilisations. The only civilisation to last is Yumenesce, which has harnessed the power of those 'cursed' with the power of orogeny, able to tap into the power of the Earth itself, to still and redirect the destructive energies, but despised as unnatural and treated as barely human assets of the state. The story follows three women, before and at the start of a season which begins with the deliberate destruction of Yumenesce: Damaya is a novice orogen, training at the Fulcrum. Syenite is a talented young orogen in service to the Fulcrum. Essun is an older former agent of the Fulcrum, living secretly until her children reveal themselves, and her husband kills their son and abducts their daughter. These stories unfold in parallels across time, as they and their companions uncover the secrets which underpin the survival, and ultimate destruction of Yumenesce, and perhaps the end of the world. For real this time.

That's a lot of text for a brief synopsis, and there's a lot to this book.

Spoilers follow.

As in many of the recent Found Horizon entries, it is set in a secondary world dominated by non-white races, and also features non-cishet characters and polyamory in a positive light.

Its structure is unusual, cutting between three internally linear narratives out of overall order, and featuring three protagonists who are ultimately revealed to be a single woman. I guess this is a spoiler, but not much of one, as it is a fairly obvious twist once you start getting the timeline straight. The novel also uses a very unusual second person voice in narrating Essun's story, which I'll be honest feels somewhat gimmicky and also means the book occasionally tells me that my daughter has been kidnapped and I am not okay with this!

Oh,yes; it's also a pretty bleak book, as you might expect from the end of the world. Like Black Leopard, Red Wolf, it begins with a dead child, and this one was apparently(1) murdered by his own father(2). As the narrative proceeds, we learn just how utter is the systematic abuse and persecution of the orogens, and Jemisin is unusually successful in presenting a world where those with power are downtrodden, with the orogen highly engaged in their own oppression, via the Fulcrum. Control over them is maintained by the Guardians, who are lauded as cunning heroes able to defeat an orogen through pure skill, but whose abilities are in fact far more horrible and unnatural than those of the 'monsters' they control. The rest of society isn't much cosier, with the population divided into 'use castes' which define them in strictly utilitarian terms which, while ordinarily just part of their names, have a material impact on whether they get kicked out of their self-sufficient walled communities when a Season comes. The Seasons may result from the spite of an angry Earth - or quite possibly from the long-ago careless detonation of the planet's moon - but the Stillness is a mundane hell of entirely human manufacture.

Wicked Fox, by Kat Cho
My knowledge of Korean language and mythology is second only to my knowledge of Korean nomenclature and Korean-to-English transliteration, so what I said about the names in The Fifth Season, but more so.

Miyoung is a gumiho, a nine-tailed fox in human form who must consume the life energy of men to survive. She is only half gumiho, however, and her human side rebels at the need to kill, driving her to only feed from the worst humanity has to offer. But then she rescues fellow sexy teen Jihoon from a goblin(3) and, in the process, loses her 'fox bead', a mystical item which might be her soul, and the two of them find themselves hurled together at the heart of a cruel conspiracy of revenge.

At two-thirds high school romance and one-third supernatural thriller, Wicked Fox is rather more of the former than I'd prefer, which I suspect means more than I'm not the target audience than that the book is bad. As it is, my main complaint is that I kind of wanted the relationship between the two leads to focus more on their friendship, rather than romance. I also had very little patience with the relationship between Miyoung and her gumiho mother, which consisted mostly of Miyoung getting kicked to the curb for being reckless and rebellious, and accepting all the blame even when her mother's actions - although in many ways justified by revelations in the course of the narrative - have directly led to the mistakes that Miyoung makes.

There is also a kind of a subtext that a powerful woman can only find love by becoming weak, and I don't really like that.

So, yeah. It's an interesting read for a glimpse into another culture's mores, but it's not a series I'll be following up on any time soon(3).

New Novels

Stan Lee's Alliances: A Trick of Light, by Kat Rosenfield, Luke Lieberman, Ryan Silbert and Stan Lee
Nia has grown up in total isolation, with only her father for company, only a series of virtual reality simulations to explore the world, and only the internet to meet other people. Cameron has grown up surrounded by people, but separated from them by the trauma of his fathr's disappearance years ago. His best friend Juaquo is growing increasingly disaffected in the wake of his mother's recent death. After Cameron is struck by lightning on Lake Erie, he discovers the ability to sense and control the interactions of electronic devices, which brings him into contact with Nia, and into conflict with a mysterious agency run by his father's ex-partner's daughter. Elsewhere, an alien is seeking the scientist who almost destroyed her hive-minded race.

Full disclosure: I would feel like a arse being too harsh on Stan Lee's final project. Also, I was completely unprepared to hear his intro for this, the opening volume of a planned ongoing series, so that coloured everything here.

That being said... damn, but Cameron is an old-fashioned superhero. His cyberkinesis is very now, but he is every inch the straight, white, cis-male nerd. This would probably bother me less if Nia - the more powerful of the two - wasn't so strongly defined by her relationship to him and to her father, and depicted as barely capable of maintaining her own identity without support, or if Cameron's Latinx bestie Juaquo didn't disappear for half the story until Cameron needs him, and then prove easily manipulated by the villains' power. It's not the only place where the novel suffers from an excess of conservatism. The chief villains are female but unfeminine, yet neither presented as being as immediately powerful or effectual as the male 2IC of the Sinister Government Agency(5).

The worldbuilding - a day after tomorrow America, with a human race on the brink of technological singularity, yet never more divided - is excellent, but the human stories are more than a little stock. Honestly, the superhero genre has advanced to the point where a new power set does not a character make. Nia and Juaquo are substantially more interesting than Cameron, but both end up strongly dependent and rather at the mercy of the villains' powers in a way that Cameron never is.

Galaxy Outlaws: Missions 2-6, by J.S. Morin
Rolling on with Galaxy Outlaws (see my last post for some background on this one) and... Man; some stuff happens. Tanny struggles with ties to her mob family and her dependence on Marine Corps super-soldier drugs, Mmri tries to reclaim her lost honour - because alien warrior culture - and a series of mini-episodes explore the backstories of the crew.

I'm going to be honest, I'm pretty much treating this series as filler. It's not bad, but it's not going to set my world on fire any time soon. As with A Trick of Light, its world-building is probably its biggest strength. Magic and SF are often an odd mix, but honestly, sorcery is as good an excuse for faster than light travel as any, and the notion that the galaxy is scattered with 'Earthlike' planets that are not merely similar in composition and environment, but literally identical in size and continental formation, raises a whole lot of interesting questions. I just wish I had more confidence that the answers would be as interesting.

Fright Forest, by Marcus Sedgwick
Terror Town, by Marcus Sedgwick
Creepy Caves, by Marcus Sedgwick
Okay; wrapping up Marcus Sedgwick's Elf Girl and Raven Boy series - more or less; I've now read all but the second volume - I read through the first volume - Fright Forest - followed by the fourth and fifth, Terror Town and Creepy Caves.

Elf Girl - not her real name - and Raven Boy - also not his real name - meet when their homes in the forest are destroyed by an ogre. With the aid of a slightly second-rate witch they elude a band of hungry trolls and discover that the destruction of their home is done at the behest of the Goblin King. They discover that they must find the Tears of the Moon and the Singing Sword to defeat him, and set off to do so.

Acquiring the Tears in Dread Desert, they proceed to Terror Town, a community under the shadow of the Goblin King's evil, where they uncover a civic traitor and get their hands on the Singing Sword, a blade which constantly performs terrible lounge numbers except when held by Raven Boy. Here they also find allies, in the form of the trolls, the lord of the town and his official wizard, and set out to confront the Goblin King himself in the Creepy Caves, and attempt to finally defeat his world-destroying ambitions.

Elf Girl and Raven Boy is a pretty fun adventure romp, with uplifting themes of friendship and hope at odds with some of Sedgwick's other work. It's a little repetitive for my tastes, but that would probably go down a storm with the target audience.

New Comics

Giant Days - Vol. 9 & 10, by John Allison
The chronicles of life at Sheffield University reach the end of the second year for Esther, Susan and Daisy, with the dissolution of their household in the face of conflicting emotional committments. Susan is moving into a house with McGraw, Daisy is moving into a shed in a warehouse with Ingrid, and Esther is moving into the depths of a crisis. At this moment of destiny, a visit from Esther's erstwhile croney Sarah Grote and her younger sister, youthful mystery-solver Charlotte, pushes Daisy to break up with Ingrid, while Esther knuckles down to study - for real this time - and takes a room in a house with Ed Gemmell, whose long-standing crush on her can only spell a complication-free final year.

The third - and final, for everyone but medical student Susan - year begins with intense emotional turmoil, as Esther struggles to make amends to Ed for capitalising on his feelings to secure the best room, Susan and McGraw's domestic bliss encounters teething troubles, and Daisy's gran finds out that she hid her entire, turbulent relationship with Ingrid. The job fair brings opportunities, and consequent existential angst, and somewhere in amongst all this there is a suggestion that perhaps our heroes are going to... I think they're called 'lectures'.

Volumes 9 and 10 of John Allison's campus epic Giant Days move us somewhat further than ever from the whole study thing, which is probably a good thing as there is probably only so much play there, and the domestic lives of our intrepid trio have drama a-plenty. The cameo from Bad Machinery's Charlotte Grote - technically, I think, a pre-Bad Machinery appearance - was also a delight to me, not just because BM is so much my jam, but because I always love seeing Lottie crash like a heavily-armoured and brutally-honest truth-wagon into the lives of complacent adults (a la the Shelley Winters one-shot Murder She Writes.)

Particular triumphs in this installement include Daisy's breakup with Ingrid, which effecitvely portrays the emotional rollercoaster of excising someone from your life who is incredibly toxic without having any malicious intent, and the fallout of Ed's incredibly drunken confession of his love for Esther, balancing Esther's unexpectedly self-aware reflection on the fact that she has always known that he loved her, just never wanted anything more than friendship, and Ed's mature realisation that he can't hold Esther accountable for his feelings.

I confess I was really worried about the Ed Gemmell dynamic early in the run, but my stars he's coming up a winner. I'm so happy to see the unrequited lover figure transcend the status of pathetic incel and show real growth. Esther also surprises once again, and again, I love the fact that wanting to be friends with someone you know had or has stronger feelings isn't a bad thing.

By Night - Vol. 2, by John Allison
Something is wonky in the state of South Dakota, and in particular in the dying town of Spectrum. Jane, Heather and their allies - Heather's dad, Chip, Jane's co-worker Barney - have returned with usable footage of the other dimension, but Jane is upset that Heather dropped her in a vampire nest, and Barney is harbouring a secret that could ruin everything. Meanwhile, in the other dimension, Gardt the troll-type-thing is condemened by his peers for aiding the human interlopers, and banished to the holy mountain where he finds the long-lost Chet Charles, and a mysterious predator escapes to the real world.

Up front, I want to say that I am waiting with bated breath for the worlds of Tackleford/Sheffield and Spectrum to overlap.

Volume 2 of By Night does a lot of establishing backstory, after the basic world-building of volume 1, and takes us through four volumes of a dimension-hopping story without any of the main characters hopping dimensions. It's a far cry from the episodic adventures of Sheffield University's most eccentric students, but Allison's pacing is solid, his characters as appealing and his humour as sparkling as in his less serial fiction. Jane and Heather's friendship is real and affecting, Barney's flaws both infuriating and sympathetic, and Chip is as delightful a sports-obsessed resting alpha as you could hope to encounter.

In many ways, By Night is a step on a path from the early, gag of the day Bobbins strips, through the increasingly pronounced narrative arcs of SGR and Bad Machinery, to the long-form character arcs of Giant Days to a work telling essentially a single story over an extended period. With Giant Days approaching the inevitable armageddon of graduation, I'm happy with the idea that By Night is the future of Allison's writing, whether or not it all truly exists in a fully shared universe. I'm also very pleased to see a creator I have long admired making a living from his art.

Podcasts
Tales from the Aletheian Society, Chapter 3
I've not done a lot of podcast reviews, but I finished a couple this month, so here we go.

Full disclosure, I actually know a bunch of people who are involved in the production of Tales from the Aletheian Society, which is how I came to find it in the first place. It's the serialised adventures of the members of the Glasgow Chapter of the titular organisation, a Victorian secret society devoted to battling the supernatural and riddled with vice, incompetence and apathy. Established under the dissolute leadership of Dr Hieronymus Cadwallader following the destruction of the previous chapter in and around 'the incident,' the Glasgow chapter muddle through one adventure, negotiate another under the oversight of Dr Cadwallader's ruthlessly driven aunt Cressida, bringing them to Chapter 3, and a clash with the Lovecraftian mathematics of Charles Babbage.

I won't drop many spoilers, since twists and turns are a hallmark of the series, alongside bawdy humour and surpising depths of character. It's an essentially amateur(6) production, supported largely by crowdfunding, but what it loses in forgiving production schedules and top-shelf foley work, it more than makes up in efficiency and independence - producing at least four times the content of a professional scripted podcast and presenting it without adverts - and there really isn't a big difference in acting or writing quality.

There are three seasons, so if the above sounds interesting and as long as you're reasonably comfortable with rough humour, give it a go.

Wolverine: The Lost Trail
Richard 'Thorin' Armitage plays Wolverine in the sequel to last year's The Long Night, a moody, horror-tinged piece set during the character's wilderness years. Pursued by the Prime Sentinels of Weapon X and mutant hunters of all kinds, Wolverine tries to find his missing ex - a perennial plot for old Logan, of course - while seeking vengeance against the programme that created him and wrestling with the better angels of his nature which drive him to help those in need. The Lost Trail is set in New Orleans, and follows Logan's search for Maureen, a Weapon-X scientist who helped him to escape and who was his lover for a time. While looking, he encounters Marcus Baptiste, a young man whose mother and entire community have vanished, part of a series of disappearances which point to a place called Greenhaven, and a mutant named Jason Wyngarde.

Armitage is an intense, growling presence at the centre of the story - a departure from The Long Night, in which he was more of a catalyst than an actual character - while a strong supporting cast put forth a variety of Cajun accents(7). Marcus is the emotional core of the story, but Armitage plays Logan as a particularly ferocious lost puppy who needs to learn how and who to trust, and that keeps him from being too bland a centrepiece.

Rachel Watches Star Trek
In 2017, podcaster and Star Trek fanatic Chris Lackey persuaded his Trek-skeptic wife, the eponymous Rachel, to watch the original series with him, and podcast her reactions as a new viewer, alongside his as he revisited episodes he might not have seen for some time. Episodes came out roughly once a month, with no definite promise that she would make it through the first series. Two years later, and episodes are coming out two or three times a month, alongside comment shows and other bonus content (including Chris Watches Musicals and analysis of episodes of other retro SF shows,) and Rachel regularly composes and performs songs and jingles dedicated to recurring Trek tropes. The final episode of season three, and of the original series as a whole, came out recently, and after a bit of series wrap-up the plan is to move on to the animated series.This is also one of two podcasts that I back financially.

I came to Rachel Watches Star Trek out of vague curiosity, but fell in love with the affectionate dissection of classic Trek. I think that what makes it work is that Rachel is not determined to hate Trek, and that Chris is not determined that she - or indeed he - must unequivocally love it. There is a pernicious idea in nerd-oriented media that a person must love the things you love for there to be a future in your relationship(8), which is unhealthy and unhelpful, so it's great to have something so nerdy in which this real-life couple put the lie to that bullshit. It's also fascinating to hear Rachel coming at Star Trek without all the accumulated baggage and trivia that I have in my head.

I don't know what you'd make of this if you didn't know Star Trek already, but as a fan - and having recently gone back into TOS on Netflix and noted some... troublesome aspects - it's utterly fascinating.

Monster Man (and Patron Deities)
The other podcast that I back is Monster Man, in which my university buddy James Holloway analyses the monsters of 1st edition AD&D (although when he finishes Monster Manual II, he might need to swap editions.) This could be a fairly mechanical process, but James comes at this as a highly qualified historian, archaeologist and GM, so rather than just looking at numbers or poking fun at some of the weirder monsters, he looks at their history within the game, their antecedents in real world literature and mythology, and at their potential uses as more than just dungeon filler. It's a process that has contributed more than a little to the homebrew setting for my own D&D game.

For Patreon backers like me, James also produces a companion series called Patron Deities, in which he is examining the Deities and Demigods supplement, analysing not only the presentation of the various real world deities within, but also the role of religuion and mythology within games more generally. Again, this has been a big influence on my setting.

Monster Man is both entertaining and a useful resource for anyone looking at creating a more coherent fantasy setting.

Re-reads
Coraline, by Neil Gaiman
Coraline lives with her mother and father in one of three flats in an old house. They have only lately moved and their neighbours are eccentric, leaving Coraline a little lost, especially as her parents have less time for her than she would like and her father is the world's most experimental chef. It is a relief then to find a way into an alternative world, where a button-eyed 'Other Mother' offers her the life she has always thought she would like. But is the life you want as good as you thought? Is it really better than the life you have? And is a woman with buttons for eyes and hands like needles really someone with your best interests at heart?

A midget gem from the ever-prolific Gaiman, Coraline is a novelette full of creeping existential dread and body horror, but y'know; for kids. Widely and justly considered one of Gaiman's masterpieces, it encompasses some of the darkness of The Ocean at the End of the Lane, but also hope and love and strength, and features at its core a girl who is part of a perfectly normal family. Coraline's parents are not cruel or neglectful, but operate at a highly relatable remove from the needs of a daughter who is not quote a little girl anymore.

You know, I still haven't seen the film adaptation. I should probably do something about that.

Stardust, by Neil Gaiman and Charles Vess
Speaking of Neil Gaiman, film adaptations and the like, the most recent novel I read to my partner at bedtime was Stardust.

Tristan Thorn is the son of a down to earth family in the not-entirely-down to earth village of Wall, a community that lies on the border of Faerie. When he sets out to return a falling star to the girl that he loves, Tristan puts his foot on a road which will bring him into a much larger quest, involving Lords of Faerie, Witch-Queens, and a luminous girl named Yvain, and lead him in the end to the fulfilment, not of his stated goal, but of his heart's desire.

Another of Gaiman's most popular works, Stardust was originally conceived as an illustrated work, with the images provided by Vess intended as an integral part of the text. It's a gorgeous production - it always feels a bit of a let-down to have it in paperback - and a compelling story, combining classic fairy tale tropes with a more modern narrative sensibility. Those who started with the movie sometimes have issues with the slightly more downbeat tone of the novel, which aims less for slapstick adventure than for melancholic romance, and in particular of the ending, but I've been a fan of it since before it was even optioned, and keep the original ending alongside The Little Mermaid on my very limited list of beautiful downers that I love anyway.

I Was a Rat, by Philip Pullman
Roger seems like a normal boy, apart from his tendency to gnaw on things, the vagueness of his past memories, his insistence that he knows the beautiful lady who has lately married the handsome prince, and the fact that he insists that he used to be a rat. Bob and Joan take him in and try to do right by him, but a parade of showmen, criminals and journalists see a freak or a monster to be exploited, reviled or destroyed. Will a terrible (potential) killer be put to death? Or will an innocent boy be saved by the unassailable goodness of a princess?

I Was a Rat is one of a number of children's books written Philip Pullman in the wilderness years before His Dark Materials made him a controversial titan of the young adult scene. It's a social satire with a quasi-Victorian setting, and if the freakshow itself isn't much of a hard target these days, the abuse of the young, the apathy of institutional education, and the malignancy of the sensationalist press are evergreen. The links to the Cinderella story of course serve to make the whole thing more relevant to a younger audience - this was one that I read with my daughter - and the whole is both satisfying nad accessible.

(1) I mean... probably actually. I live in hope.
(2) In review terms, the fact that I got through this opening to the rest of the novel, albeit on the third time of trying, is pretty telling of the overall quality.
(3) A dokebi (spelling almost certainly wrong,) which seems to be kind of a homonculus, created either to gather wealth or to be a sexy sidekick, depending on the individual.
(4) I mean, whatch this space for when I even get around to the sequels to books that I really enjoyed.
(5) Again, full disclosure, I've forgotten most of the actual names in this novel, which is perhaps telling.
(6) I think. I'm not privvy to the contract details, but it certainly isn't a big commercial gig.
(7) Yes; Gambit is in there.
(8) YouTube keeps showing me clips from How I Met Your Mother in which an otherwise promising relationship is scuppered because she doesn't care for Star Wars, just as an example.

Reading Roundup - September 2018

The village of Kilsgard expects little of Alva, but she has plans beyond being just another Viking wife. With the aid of her tracker wolf Fen, she aims to become an investigator, seeking out truth like her uncle Magnus. When strangers come to the village, bearing tales of a hidden treasure, and tokens which link them to her father – long absent a-viking – Alva sees her chance to prove her worth. The village is in turmoil, however, as mystery disappearances and assaults ramp up the tension and patience with Magnus’ methods wears rapidly thin.

Riddle of the Runes is written for much younger readers than I and makes a decent fist of authentic-ish pre-Christian Norse adventure (although points off for Lindisfarne; the Lindisfarne raids are such a cliché in this genre.) Alva is an appealing lead, and while I’m not sure that Magnus’s rationality over superstition, CSI Oseberg schtick is exactly legit, or that 'the real treasure was the family bond we reignited along the way' is a conclusion that would have appealed to anyone at the turn of the 9th century, it all makes for a fun mystery with a feelgood ending. Like The Apprentice Witch and A Witch Alone last month, its simplicity doesn't really transfer its appeal out of its target readership well, but I can see its virtues even if I don't entirely appreciate them.

Now adapted for TV.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that any classic novel in possession of a substantial and enduring readership must be in need of a sequel. In Death Comes to Pemberley, PD James continues the narrative of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice with a murder mystery, as George Wickham finds himself accused of the murder of his friend, Captain Denny, in the woods of the Pemberley estate; and of course it would be social death for the Darcys if their brother-in-law were to beat a man to death on their property. Clearly, there is no alternative but for Elizabeth to cast propriety to the winds and exercise her quick wits in the investigation of the crime.

Or, you know, Darcy could mope around trying to get his testimony perfect until an eleventh-hour twist resolves the case without the direct involvement of any of the main characters.

Okay, so… I may have spoiled this one for myself, because I might have got more out of it if I hadn’t been waiting for Lizzy Bennett, PI to kick off, because this book is not Lizzy Bennett, PI. It’s not anyone, PI, and while I suspect that I would not do well if I got into it about the definition with PD James, it isn’t what I would consider much of a murder mystery. People are really concerned about the social implications of Wickham killing someone in the woods or analysing their own motivations in the original novel(1), but none of our viewpoint characters really give a flying fuck what actually happened, so long as the Darcy name isn’t dragged through the mud.

So, yeah; didn’t get on with this one; probably my fault, at least in part, but it’s also just not as much fun as Austen’s original writing.

The Queen is Dead! Long Live the King! 

In the wake of Victoria’s assassination (in Anno Dracula,) the lord of the undead has tightened his iron grasp on Britain. Penelope Churchward is assigned to coordinate the Regent’s jubilee celebrations, while Kate Reed plots insurrection as part of the anarchist Council of Days; the Lord of Strange Deaths and his criminal council plan to use the great occasion to their own advantage, and the gender politics of the post-Victorian age are about to take a shoeing.

Anno Dracula 1895: Seven Days in Mayhem is a coda to Anno Dracula in comic book form, drawing on – among so many other sources, and in addition to the vast panoply of the Dracula extended canon and other fictional and factual individuals featured in the original – The Man Who Was Thursday (see below.) The matter of the Fu Manchu novels of Sax Rohmer also gets an increased focus(2). While for the most part vampires are depicted as a different kind of human, Newman resists the urge to humanise Dracula himself, depicting him as an inhumanly vast presence, both here and in the second full novel in the sequence, The Bloody Red Baron.

At the height of the Great War, Dracula – Supreme Commander of the Central Powers and architect of the Kaiser’s industrialised battle strategy – has created JG1, a unit of the greatest flying aces in Germany, led by the ‘Red Battle Flyer’, Manfred von Richthofen. Charles Beauregard’s protégé, Edwin Winthrop, joins the elite allied flyers of Condor Squadron (including Archie Ball, Captain Midnight and Biggles) to counter JG1’s success, while Kate Reed pursues a dual calling with the VAD and the independent press. As control of allied intelligence slips from the hands of the dwindling Diogenes Club and into the control of Lord Ruthven’s vampire cabinet, a desperate gambit is launched to blunt the expected big push, but is Dracula’s plan really what it seems?

The Bloody Red Baron was basically the novel that cemented Anno Dracula as a franchise. It’s a strong entry, with its mix of espionage, high-flying heroics, vampire spies and the mud and blood hell of war, and extends the alternate history of Anno Dracula forward to consider the implications of vampires in a global conflict (or at least in the European theatre of said war.) It’s interesting that it’s Dracula, in this story – who, in his own book, was characterised as utterly trapped in his traditional modus operandi of conflict – who sees the way the wind is blowing and takes the lead in adapting to a more modern style of warfare, but who also creates too great a cult of personality around himself. It’s at this point in the sequence that I kind of fell in love with Kate Reed, and it still bothers me this time around that she doesn’t have a huge amount of agency, acting more as an observer – aptly enough – and enabler for other characters, although she is definitely stronger and more defined than in Anno Dracula, and gets a very strong outing in Seven Days in Mayhem.

My re-reading with Arya has now reached Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, and I can clearly state that she is well into Hagrid’s Care of Magical Creatures lessons, because we read the chapter ‘Teacups and Talons’ like a dozen times. Since starting The Philosopher’s Stone the improvement in her listening comprehension and focus is just staggering, and part of that is her involvement in the characters and story. She's currently - as we head into Goblet of Fire - very sad that Scabbers is no longer present, as she loved 'the little mousey', and despite my assurances that Scabbers was, in fact, a rat in every respect. She also misses Professor Lupin, so Hallows is going to be a rough ride.

We followed that up with the Alice books: Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass, which Arya really enjoyed. I think it helped that she first hit Wonderland in pop-up book form (a rather wonderful pop-up book, with an abridged version of the original text.) Both her big, full-colour hardbacks and the pop-up use the original, Sir John Tenniel illustrations, which makes me happy. There's a current trend to re-illustrating the text which sometimes feels like a cheap way to get your own pictures on the shelf, although I think there's also a Chris Riddell version, which I really can't bring myself to criticise.

Speaking of Chris Riddell, as I was, while we were in the FLBS to pick up a book for Arya, I grabbed a signed, first edition copy of Once Upon a Wild Wood.

Little Green Rain Cape is out for a walk in the woods. Practical and sensible, she avoids the dangers of the woods, and does her best to help out the people she meets - like a lost harp, a lonely beast, and a group of dwarfs destined to be a witch's dinner - on the way to Rapunzel's party. Short, simply told and gorgeously illustrated (of course), Once Upon a Wild Wood is a delightful little gem. Arya is also very taken with it, and after initially resisting the suggestion of reading this instead of The Fairytale Hair-Dresser and Repunzel, her own choice of book on the same outing, seems determined to persuade me to give the book to her. I'm resisting, because she needs to understand that Mummy and Daddies get to have their own stuff, although the two taken together cost less than either of the pop-up books - the Alice in Wonderland and a Paddington 2 tie-in with pop up London landmarks - she has previously bought as a reward for doing her bedtime routine quickly and well.

Re-reading for myself, I’ve finished off Reaper Man and Moving Pictures in my Discworld re-read, which I’m fairly sure puts me way off the official order.

In Reaper Man, Death has his first run in with the Auditors, the faceless bureaucrats who don’t so much run the universe as manage reality in such a way as to ensure its essential function at the cost of draining every last speck of joy or imagination from it. It continues the narrative begun in Mort, in which Death’s growing fascination with life impairs his ability to fulfil his cosmic purpose, and begins to ask the question ‘is that a bad thing?’ Mort put the proposition that existence is without inherent fairness. ‘THERE’S NO JUSTICE,’ Death tells his apprentice, ‘THERE’S JUST ME(3).’ Reaper Man softens this somewhat, as Death ultimately challenges the demand that he do his job without caring for the lives he ushers to their end by asking: ‘WHAT CAN THE HARVEST HOPE FOR, IF NOT FOR THE CARE OF THE REAPER MAN?’  It’s a key instalment in Pratchett’s ongoing examination of the fundamental importance of stories and myths to the human condition.

Moving Pictures, on the other hand, uses the lens of the Discworld to examine the nature of fame, and in particular of that evergreen topic: the Hollywood studio system of the 1950s. Okay, I kid, but in fact, he takes the trappings of the studio system and the accelerated lifecycle of any development in the Discworld and uses them to muse more generally on fame and the way that it changes people (represented here as the extradimensional force of ‘Holy Wood dreams.’) The focus on the one-shot characters Victor Tugelbend and Ginger Withel makes me miss Death. They’re not bad characters, but at this point in the series I guess I’ve become accustomed to recurring characters; not just Death, but the Watch and the now permanent faculty of the Unseen University (which has itself shifted from a cutthroat occult order to a more mundane academic establishment, where the backbiting is largely metaphorical.)

I’m in Pratchett’s golden period now. His early work was grounded mostly in parody, but by this point in his writing he’s moved into producing some of the strongest satire of the turn of the century. His female characters still aren’t great – with the exception of the witches, who aren’t in these novels – but he’s come on leaps and bounds from The Colour of Magic, and I’m now onto Soul Music, and another of the great women of the Discworld.

Off the back of Seven Days in Mayhem, I reread The Man Who Was Thursday. One of GK Chesterton’s weirder efforts, subtitled ‘a Nightmare’, it follows the bizarre adventures of a detective infiltrating the ‘supreme anarchists’ council for Europe.’ The seven members of the Council are known by the names of the days of the week; philosophical detective Gabriel Syme is Thursday, and the leader of the Council is the monumental individual known only as Sunday. The Man Who Was Thursday is a strange tale, a meandering narrative with near-constant philosophical digressions, and it’s a lot of fun.

And finally, I picked up an electronic version of The Adventures of Luther Arkwright, which I only really knew from the Big Finish audio adaptation featuring a then largely unknown actor named David Tennant. Luther Arkwright first appeared in mid-70s underground comics, and this graphic novel is one of the most 70s things to come out of the 1970s. Psychedelic, experimental, graphically violent and in places explicitly sexual, its narrative combines new age religion, eastern mysticism, transhumanism and multiversal science fiction in a manner perhaps most closely paralleled in the work of Michael Moorcock. The first half switches back and forward in time(4) as it establishes the threat of the extradimensional Disruptors and the Firefrost opal, before switching to a more linear structure. The resulting narrative is an epic, philosophical adventure that epitomises its time and place, for good and for bad.

Because it’s not all good. There is a certain amount of orientalism in the co-option of Eastern religion and mythology. The story is full of horrible characters on all sides, with a hell of a lot of incidental rape(5) and child-abuse-as-backstory. There’s a woman in the comic who is raped to death to prove the wickedness of the villain, and whose face is never shown. On the other hand, the lead female character is a polyamorous bisexual badass, who is motivated by anger at her country’s culture of rape, but doesn’t have rape as a personal part of her backstory.

The Adventures of Luther Arkwright is an important milestone in British comics history, but the trappings of its era are a mixed bag. It’s well worth reading, but not one I’m likely to go back to.

(1) Seriously, there’s a whole chapter and a number of other sections in which Elizabeth and Darcy talk about what they were thinking during their courtship, because apparently Pride and Prejudice was just begging to be fixed.

(2) Although the man himself is unnamed for legal reasons.

(3) And seriously, I didn’t get this for, like, a decade, until I heard Mort’s version (there’s just us,) in a stage play.

(4) Interestingly, I’m not sure that the audio adaptation actually got the timelines right.

Reading Roundup - July and August 2018

Full disclosure, it took me a long time to
realise which two towers the title referred to.

A double event this month, having missed last month.

The Two Towers continues my revisiting of The Lord of the Rings, and another interesting aspect of this is that I think this is my first reread since seeing the movies, and so my first chance to really appreciate the way in which Jackson’s aesthetic has infiltrated my visualisation of Middle Earth. This time out, the big revelation was in the depiction of the orcs. Yes, they are foul, and yes, they are degenerate, but overall they are shown in the novel as soldiers. They bicker and fight over spoils and glory, but they aren’t nearly as bestial as other interpretations make them. 

Of course, this is also the book with the Southrons in, and all the… difficulties that they present. In and of themselves, they are a really interesting concept; a race very like the men of the west, led by descendants of Numenor, but in league with or thrall to the Dark Lord. Where it falls down is that they happen to be the folk in the parts of Middle Earth which map to Africa and the Middle East, and whether Tolkien loathed analogy or not, you can’t just ignore that. I suspect that he legitimately meant nothing by it, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t meaningful or problematic.

Deep Roots is the second novel in the Innsmouth Legacy series, Ruthanna Emrys’ pro-fish revision of the Cthulhu Mythos, following the adventures of Aphra Marsh and her circle, as they travel from the ruins of Innsmouth – itself faced with the spectre of gentrification since they have begun its reoccupation – to New York, in search of a potential long-lost cousin or two. Negotiating the interest of the closeted Agent Spector’s extended family – a New York Jewish community who have reached the level of nuptial desperation which leads respectable royal courts to consider ‘shoeless beach waif’ a godsend – and their fraught relationship with the FBI’s more decorated and action-oriented paranormal team. Finding one of their kin caught up with a group of Mi-Go, Aphra and her Deep One kin must struggle with their own prejudices to decide if the Mi-Go can be trusted, or whether they need to go on the offensive while the FBI are seeking to establish diplomatic ties. With this second volume, we see that the Aeonist perspective which does not fear the Yith is yet repulsed by the inhuman cosmopolitanism of the Mi-Go, which threatens the Deep Ones’ sense of physical identity with its focus on the mind as the only relevant centre of being. Emrys also ensures that Aphra’s choices have consequences, as her decision to conceal the actions of the Yith from the FBI in Winter Tide comes back to bite her.

Once again, this is a slow-burner; like, a really slow-burner, even managing to be quite sedate during an honest-to-goodness commando raid. It’s nothing like you would expect from a Cthulhu Mythos story, of course, continuing Emrys’ tour de force reimagining of the mythos from the viewpoint of the disadvantaged outsiders who were Lovecraft’s villains.

Another revisiting this time, as for some reason – seriously, I can’t remember what my impetus was on this – I reread Anno Dracula, the first volume of Kim Newman’s alternate historical series of the same name, which takes as its premise the idea that Dracula defeated his hunters in the narrative timeline of Dracula, married the widowed Victoria and took over England, transforming it into a vampire utopia that is simultaneously decadent and selectively puritanical, as well as being inhabited by a broad spectrum of historical and fictional characters. Newman’s original characters, Renaissance vampire Genevieve Dieudonne and gentleman-spy Charles Beauregard, find themselves at the centre of the hunt for the serial killer Jack the Ripper, who murders vampire prostitutes with silver knives, while Arthur, Lord Godalming plots to elevate himself in society and the great and the good of the Gothic and the grand guignol seek their own advantage in the chaos.

Honestly, a large part of the appeal in Newman’s writing, especially the Anno Dracula series, lies in spotting the cameos, and I definitely get more of them than I used to. I was surprised by the relative absence of Kate Reed, a minor character from early drafts of Dracula who appears in an unflattering role in Dracula Unredacted, and does much more in later novels in this series (although despite Newman’s apparent fondness for her, I’m not sure she is ever very effectual. I guess I’ll see as I go through.) The story is okay, the setting much more interesting, if only for its inclusion of every conceivable form of fictional vampire – including the Chinese hopping variety – or fictional human. It’s not deep, but it’s good fun.

After the whiplash change of pace from Deep Roots to Anno Dracula, I did another reversal into Record of a Spaceborn Few, the third novel in the Wayfarers series. Even more loosely connected than the first two – one of the several viewpoint characters is the sister of the captain in The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet – this novel follows a disparate group of characters in one of the ships of the Exodus Fleet, the semi-nomadic collective of self-sufficient vessels which carried the human race away from the dying Earth. In the wake of a disaster which destroyed one of the homestead ships, the others have accepted aid from various alien races to upgrade their dwellings, and the narrative of Record of a Spaceborn Few revolves around the clashes engendered by the changing culture this has brought to the once-isolated Fleet.

With Record of a Spaceborn Few, Becky Chambers reaffirms her place as one of the leading lights of character driven SF. While her world is built on a solid, crunchy foundation, the stories are about people and how they deal with this vast galaxy. The clash between the traditions of the Fleet and the ways of the Galactic Commons, the perils of a life lived in space, and the impact of outsiders on a relatively closed culture.

We stay in space for Ancillary Mercy, the final instalment of Ann Leckie’s Imperial Radch trilogy. Fleet Captain Breq has effectively declared independence for the Atoeck(1) system. With at least one aspect of the Lord of the Radch definitely out to get her, and her identity as the last ancillary body of the troop carrier Justice of Toren an increasingly open secret, she must scramble to assemble her few allies into an effective resistance against the master of a thousand worlds. Given its set up, it is perhaps unsurprising that Ancillary Mercy never goes full space battle. Breq’s force – basically consisting of Breq’s patrol ship Mercy of Callah, a few administrators and labourers, and a mostly friendly botanist – is so massively outmatched that the conflict is more interestingly shifted into the political domain. The result is a tense narrative, making inventive use of Breq’s first person narrative through her ability to directly receive sensory feeds from multiple sources.

Next up, it’s a shift to a fantasy notBritain for The Apprentice Witch and A Witch Alone, debut and follow up novels from former Ely librarian James Nicol(2). When Arianwyn Gribble’s assessment goes wrong, she is denied qualified witch status, but due to some irregularities and her grandmother’s influence, instead of being sent back to school, she is assigned to on-the-job training as resident witch to the village of Lull. Here she makes friends, clashes with overbearing bureaucrats, encounters strange and sometimes dreadful creatures from the Great Woods, and accidentally becomes mentor to her former witch school bully, Gimma.

These books are aimed at a much younger readership than me. The same is true of a lot that I read, but this is definitely for children rather than my more usual teenage/YA minimum, so that should be born in mind regarding this review. The story and characters are very simple, and the setting feels more like an accumulation of ideas than a fully realised secondary world, and has a few head-scratching moments (for example, all the witches we see are women(3), but civic and temporal power is all held by men.) On the other hand, there is plenty to like in the world Nicol has created, and I am especially taken with the system of magic used by the witches, which is based on a simple set of glyphs which can be combined to different effects. 

Overall, while I’d be very happy to read this one with my daughter, and there is an appeal to Arianwyn’s misadventures, most of the twists are fairly obvious to an adult reader, and the ‘the power was inside you all along’ resolution is one that I am kind of over, at least where that power is some unique magical ability rather than a more mundane realisation of agency.

Man; speaking of agency, the next book is Isaac Asimov’s classic SF novel, Foundation, in which a ‘psychohistorian’ creates an organisation, the titular Foundation, designed to survive the downfall of a galactic empire and ensure the restoration of civilisation after a mere millennium, rather than thirty-thousand years as originally predicted, which is some serious long game ambition, if nothing else. In order to bring about his planned future, he has carefully aligned the starting conditions of the Foundation to bring about an inevitable and necessary outcome, and chaos theory bedamned. Set over the first century and a half of the Foundation’s era, Foundation collects four previously published short stories and a fifth written as a prequel for the collected edition. After establishing the creation of the Foundation in ‘The Psychohistorians’, the other stories follow the transition of power from ‘The Encyclopedists’, to ‘The Lord Mayors’, ‘The Traders’ and finally ‘The Merchant Princes’, with each transition happening at a moment of crisis, and followed by a time-locked message from Hari Seldon, basically congratulating them on following his masterplan unawares and noting that, by the by, all that they have worked for has now served its purpose, so they can hand off to the next bunch kthxbye.

As with much golden age SF, there is a fascinating juxtaposition in Foundation between the still quite visionary futurism, and the entirely outmoded social assumptions that Asimov was probably quite unaware of, like the Foundation being composed of a number of good ‘men’ and their wives and children(4). Asimov also presents atomic power as the Apex of galactic technology. The Foundation is the only group retaining mastery of atomic science, whereas the fading Empire can only maintain its atomics, and the splinter kingdoms of the galactic periphery have no atomics at all, but they do have faster than light travel. They can’t harness the atom but can defy the fundamental limitations of physics with their, presumably, coal-fired spaceships; with no female crew.

Foundation is good, but it’s very much of its time, is what I’m saying.

Prophets of Waaagh! isn’t actually a book, but rather a series of three short audio dramas – ‘End of

Dayz’, ‘Bozgat’s Big Adventure’ and ‘The Waaagh! Faker’ – featuring the Orks of Warhammer 40K. As Orks, the characters are basically thugs (albeit mechanically brilliant thugs, since they are mostly MekBoyz, the Orks’ mechanical savants,) and not terribly sympathetic, which ironically makes them one of the more accurate representations of the 40K universe when compared to the novels featuring human or Space Marine protagonists, who are typically absurdly cuddly for denizens of the hypermacho grimdark forty-first(5) millennium, showing concern for the rights of civilians and underlings and everything.

It’s kind of silly, good fun, and features a rare modern appearance of a MadBoy, a concept little seen since their origin in the days before mental health sensitivity and here transposed from uncomfortable cute lunatic to the primary receivers of the psychic attack signal that is the Waaagh!

Finally, The Burning Page is the third part of Genevieve Cogman’s Invisible Library series. Irene is on probation after ditching her official duties to rescue her apprentice, Kai, from a chaotic alternate Venice, and their local friend Vale is succumbing to chaos infection… and also drug addiction. It is at this point that gates to the library begin to fail in a particularly incandescent fashion, as the Library itself comes under attack by its arch-enemy, the renegade Librarian Alberich.

I had some issues with the last instalment of the Invisible Library – The Masked City – but I’m pleased to say that I enjoyed this one a lot more. Vale’s combination of condescension and actually being that good is less annoying when it is both a vector and a symptom of his chaos contamination, and I appreciate that Irene is not spending the entire story obsessing about Kai (even if I did want her to give Vale more of an earful for making her the stick for his pity piñata.) It helps, a lot, that Irene gets to show her strengths, particularly in facing off against Alberich, and that in acting as the moderate influence against Kai and Vale’s anti-fae extremism, she is proven to be in the right, rather than being taken advantage of.

(1) As a reminder, I am working from hearing instead of seeing the names.

(2) He was doing an author visit at the library which my daughter attended, where she picked up the first book for me and the second for her other daddy.

(3) There is one mention of a male witch, but he’s only referred to.

(4) There are all of two women in the entire novel with actual screen time, and only one of them really qualifies as a character.

Reading Roundup - June 2018

So, this past month I’ve been reading through the first two Harry Potter books with my daughter(1), using the large, illustrated editions to keep her from going all pie-eyed at the walls of text. We’ve started on The Prisoner of Azkaban, but after that we’re going to need to wait for the next one to come out next year. She’s not the most focused of listeners, but she frequently surprises me with her acuity and recall. Of course, we’ve hit a bit of a complication as her brain smooshes various media – book, film, LEGO video game – together into a single narrative, but so it goes, and I’m honestly kind of proud of her ability to zone out Gilderoy Lockhart.

My own reading kicked off this month with The Burning Maze, book three of Rick Riordan’s Trials of Apollo series(2). From Indianapolis, Apollo and Meg travel with Grover to California, only to find that the Labyrinth there has become filled with supernatural flame, causing the land to wither. With the aid of old friends, including Coach Gleeson Hedge, Piper Maclean and Jason Grace, Apollo and Meg must walk into the burning maze, knowing it is a trap, and confront the most dangerous member of the Triumvirate, an Emperor who has set his sights on the sun itself.

While none of Riordan’s books are exactly super-fluffy, this is perhaps the first to truly embrace tragedy. Opening with a Lemony Snicket-style disclaimer that more than any other, this chapter of the life of Lester Popadopoulos is one that he doesn’t want to write and doesn’t advise you to read, and I’m not going to lie: for long-term fans of the series, this one is going to sting. However, the tragedy – the book is dedicated to Melpomene, Muse of Tragedy, ‘I hope you’re happy’ – is not gratuitous, but both earned by and vital to the course of the narrative. It’s a part of Apollo’s growth arc, but also very much belongs to the characters more directly involved. People do not die to further Apollo’s story, but in their own stories which stand adjacent to his. In fact, it is this sense that the world is made up not of one story, but of multiple interlocking stories, which is a strength of the Trials of Apollo, a series in which the protagonist is almost a bystander, an observer to the adventures of others.

Next up, one of my rare paper reads, as I shelled out for the Night’s Black Agents sourcebook Dracula Unredacted. This is essentially the text of Dracula, but with some altered and some additional passages, some altered dates, a slightly rearranged timeline and three sets of footnotes to convert the novel into an account of an actual vampire incursion. The conceit is that Stoker adapted the true events of a disastrous attempt to recruit Dracula as an intelligence asset, as part of the cover up of the fallout from that attempt.

Now, the main thing that strikes me about this book is that it is not entirely complete. It says on the back that it is designed to be a player resource for the Night’s Black Agents scenario The Dracula Dossier and that means that the book, and especially the footnotes, contain a whole slew of references that get no pay-off or explanation. The additional material is interesting, but its pay-off is again not always in the book itself. In particular, I feel slightly aggrieved at the inclusion of Kate Reed – a character from early drafts of the novel, now better known for her substantial roles in the Anno Dracula series – only for her to be locked away and forgotten when she proves to be compromised by Dracula, while our ‘heroes’ pursue their single-minded quest to save the incomparable Mina. I mean, I like Mina, but the reverence the other characters show for her borders on the fanatical.

Actually, you know what, it’s not just Mina. They’re the same about Lucy, and what bothers me with the inclusion of Kate Reed is that, by keeping most of the text as is, she is apparently the only living woman in the world not worthy of this obsessive, pedestal-setting worship. When everyone is saying that Mina shouldn’t be involved anymore because of her delicate sensibilities, does anyone give a thought for Kate’s? No. She is apparently unworthy even of condescension.

So, yeah; it’s an interesting, but ultimately flawed work, or possibly just not really intended as a stand-alone novel.

Still on a Dracula tip, Quincey Harker: Year One – or, more precisely, Year One: A Quincey Harker Demon Hunter Collection – is an anthology of novellas following the adventures of the son of Mina and Jonathan Harker, who gained immortality from Dracula’s influence on his parents and has, in the time leading to the present day setting, become a skilled fighter and magician, devoting himself to fighting demons. By the second story he has a unique bond with an unusually badass female detective, and works for Homeland Security as a demon hunting consultant. He also maintains close contact with his ‘Uncle Luke’, aka Dracula, and his super-butler Renfield(3).

Quincey Harker is pretty by the numbers paranormal mystery. We’re in the early phases, so no gratuitous sex, but Harker has some internalised misogyny to work through and Detective Rebecca Gail Flynn is a cookie cutter tough female cop. In addition, there are areas where the novellas contradict one another, or even themselves. It’s not terrible, and avoids some, but not all, of the worst clichés – men and women face violence more-or-less equally, although we do open with a case of a girl drugged to be impregnated by a demon – and is competently written and read.

If that last sounds like slim praise, it is important. My next listen, The Paper Magician, came highly recommended, and I really didn’t like it, and I think a lot of that – but not all – comes down to the reading. This is a danger with audiobooks, of course, and I think also hit me with the highly-recommended Sorcerer of the Crown.

Anyway, The Paper Magician is set at the turn of the 20^th century, in an alternate version of England where magic is, if not common, then at least a fact of life, and where magicians bond with a single, man-made material to work magic. Ceony Twill is an apprentice magician who, due to quotas, is assigned to bond to paper, instead of metal, as she had wanted, because paper is shit and stuff, and her mentor is mental. Anyway, she cooks and cleans and launders for her mentor, Magician Emery Thane, and then he gets his heart ripped out by his psycho ex and Ceony realises he’d look hot in a tux and sets out to rescue him, a process that will involve travelling through his heart and learning how to use paper to fight.

My biggest problem with this novel is that it is set in England in the early years of the 20^th century, but written in an American vernacular, a flaw emphasised by the fact that the narrator is also American. To make matters worse, the narrator’s English accent for the characters is not strong, with Ceony in particular sounding snooty in situations where she is supposed to come off as brave, defiant, or even whimsical. Additionally, while the world intrigued me, the characters did not, and in particular the romance – or rather, pre-romance – between Ceony and Emery was deeply unengaging. This romance really dominated the second half of the novel, with Ceony at one point struck by the sexiness of Emery’s handwriting, and served largely to cast the conflict between Ceony and the excisioner – flesh magician – Lyra(4) primarily in terms of the latter’s jealousy of her ex-husband’s apprentice eliminates any possibility of exploring the philosophical and political aspects of the forbidden magic that she practices. I mean, she animates severed limbs; I’m not sure layering femme fatale on top of that was really needed, and I would rather have learned more about the Magicians’ cabinet and the historical turns that resulted in Westminster Abbey being an unremarkable church merely close to the political heart of a secular nation.

Read, or with a different narrator, The Paper Magician might not be so problematic, but for me at least the rest of the series feels like a pass.

Finally, as I began the series with Arya, I finished Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows on my own account, which I think is my first re-read. It’s a very different book to the rest of the series, taking the action away from Hogwarts, embracing the intrinsic combative potential of wizards, and seeing our heroes adopt two of the three ‘unforgivable’ curses with barely a batted eyelid. I still think that the Battle of Hogwarts is a missed opportunity for at least some of Slytherin to make good. Snape is honestly rather too vicious in the earlier novels to be fully redeemed by his motives, but it’s not as if any of the other teachers at Hogwarts were natural teaching material. The wizarding world has some issues, is really what I’m saying.

(1) She is capable of reading them herself, but in doing so focuses on the words to the expense of the story.

(2) Using the Greek mythology, so it’s five parts, where other mythologies get three.

(3) A successor, not a descendent.

(4) Or Leera, or Lira; this is the other problem with audiobooks.