The Case of the Fire Inside (Bad Machinery #5) by John Allison

My husband got me this book several years ago as I’m a huge Bad Machinery fan, but for some reason or other, I put off reading this until I felt it was the “right time.” So it’s been languishing on my dining room table for years, unready to join its kin — the first four volumes — that I hide in a special place to save from my kids’ grubby and destructive fingers, until I decided on Christmas morning, while my kids were occupying themselves with presents, that it was finally the moment!

Ofc, the first thing I did upon slipping back into that wonderful fictional world was chastise myself for waiting so long, but if I did that for every book I own that I put off reading, I’d be recriminating myself foreeeeever. And don’t think I wasn’t sufficiently punished when I went online afterward to track down the next volumes, and found myself faced with a multiplicity of editions and availabilities. Wound up buying used copies from online thrift stores because I’d waited so long to get the particular editions I wanted… and I’ve just discovered I could’ve gotten the exact copies I had in mind directly from the author’s website, oh good grief.

But this should give you some idea of the charm and hold that this series, revolving around six teenagers solving weird crimes in the town of Tackleford, England, has on the reader. Both funny and poignant, John Allison is doing some of the best work of his career with this series, and especially with this fifth installment, The Case Of The Fire Inside. Our heroes are growing up and setting aside things like their mystery-solving clubs in favor of romance and swotting up for college (well, most of them anyway: Charlotte is incorrigible as always.) Shauna and Jack have broken up, so now Jack and Linton, his best friend, spend all their time thinking about meeting girls. This doesn’t sit well with the last member of their trio, Sonny, who isn’t ready for a girlfriend and wishes they could go back to just playing with toys and having adventures. While moping at the swim party organized for his 14th birthday, he thinks he sees a girl swimming outside off the beach. He runs to see if she needs help, more or less followed by Charlotte, who is busy getting herself kicked out of the pool establishment. The mysterious girl disappears, but not before Sonny finds some weird hide lying on the seashore. Charlotte stuffs the hide into Sonny’s bag because… well, because she’s Charlotte and in her tortured logic it’s the sensible thing to do.

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Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir

How would a sword-and-sorcery author who basically wanted to have a hell of a lot of fun write in the twenty-first century? They’d write like Tamsyn Muir does in Gideon the Ninth, I think.

“In the myriadic year of our Lord—the ten thousandth year of the King Undying, the kindly Prince of Death!—Gideon Nav packed her sword, her shoes, and her dirty magazines, and she escaped from the House of the Ninth.” (p. 15)

Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir

How’s that for an irresistible opening? Why does she have both a sword and dirty magazines? Who is this King, this Prince? What is the House of the Ninth and why does Gideon want to escape? Muir doesn’t spell out any of it right away, and at least one of those questions isn’t answered at all in the entirety of the book, but the first paragraph sets the story’s frenetic pace, light touch, and merciless mashup of times and genres.

The story has some of the furniture of science fiction — there are spaceships, and a civilization that spans different planets with at least some implication of interstellar travel, plus some biotechnology and advanced mechanical thingies — but it’s a fantasy story, at least in this first volume of the series. The House of the Ninth is all about necromancy, and Muir hints that the Emperor is himself an immensely powerful necromancer served by a small elite force of similarly puissant sorcerers known as Lictors.

Gideon herself is one of only two young people in the only settlement on the planet, and as the first paragraph shows, she wants nothing more than to get the hell out of Dodge. Not many pages further into the book, readers learn that the Ninth House is run by a pair of priests who are much more dead than undead (although everyone else doesn’t notice, or pretends not to notice in the interest of not joining the ranks of the dead and undead), kept in motion by Harrow, the only other young person in the settlement and, not coincidentally, the daughter of the propped-up pair. Harrow also delights in foiling Gideon’s attempts to escape the House of the Ninth. It’s a funnily toxic sibling rivalry with side orders of swashbuckling, since Gideon is training to be a serious fighter, and death magic, since Harrow is a high priestess of a necromantic order. Until one day.

The Emperor is running out of Lictors and summons representatives — a sorcerer and a cavalier — of each of the nine Houses to the planet of the First, to unravel the secrets of Canaan House and become, possibly, Lictors themselves. Each of the Houses has traditionally played a different role in the Empire, and their approaches to magic (mostly but not always necromancy) differ appropriately. They are also all putting on a show in one way or another, displaying their power and hiding any weaknesses, of which there are far more than any let on.

Many things are not as the representatives expect. Canaan House is more of a ruin than an imperial palace or great temple. It is virtually uninhabited, and the few priests present are more cryptic than helpful. Further, some of the tests on the path to Lictor-hood prove to be deadly. Nor can they be solved by any one pair of representatives; the rivals must cooperate or fail. Still further, someone or something is trying to kill the representatives of the Houses. Is it a dreadful legacy of the past haunting Canaan House? Is it the rival Houses? Both? More?

The sword and sorcery turns into a locked room mystery turning into a series of puzzles, and hijinks very much ensue. Snappy dialog, changing factions, unexpected romantic entanglements and plenty of sarcastic mockery move the book forward quickly and excitingly. Harrow and Gideon are as a mismatched pair as any in fantasy, and yet their story does just what heroic tales from the genre have been doing all along, updated for the 2020s.

+++

This was the perfect book for Doreen. Her correspondingly enthusiastic review is here.

Permanent link to this article: https://www.thefrumiousconsortium.net/2020/12/31/gideon-the-ninth-by-tamsyn-muir/

White Ivy by Susie Yang

I had a very Lucille Bluth moment at the end, reading the final sentence and saying aloud, “Good for her!” even as I wished I had a martini in hand. Whether to celebrate or to sedate with is a good question, tho. The weird thing is that while I was cheering her on, I didn’t even like our titular Ivy, who’s lazy and obsessed with superficialities. She’s not particularly clever or moral, and her goal in life is to marry into a “good” WASP family so she won’t have to do anything she doesn’t want to ever again. Or so she thinks, after a fashion: Ivy’s thoughts tend to be muddled as she’s not the clearest thinker. What Ivy is really chasing is privilege, and in America, she knows that the ultimate privilege is to be from a moneyed and pedigreed white East Coast family. Nothing will stop her from achieving her dreams, not love, not even the promise of wild wealth. Riches, Ivy instinctually knows, are transient but cachet is forever.

White Ivy starts out as a fairly typical Chinese immigrant story (tho don’t read the blurbs, they’re weirdly misleading.) Ivy Lin is raised by her grandmother Meifeng in China while her parents establish themselves in Massachusetts. When she makes her way over at age 5, she hates it. Her parents are strict, impatient strangers and everything is new and terrifying. Things get a little better when Meifeng joins them in America, tho she’s also the one who teaches Ivy how to steal, mostly small items from thrift stores and garage sales, in an interesting commentary on property and valuations. As Ivy grows older, she develops a crush on golden boy Gideon Speyer, a classmate at the tony private school her parents enrolled her in. Before anything can actually happen between them tho, her parents move the family to New Jersey. Even tho Ivy eventually goes to college back near Boston, she’s already working as a first-grade teacher when her path crosses Gideon’s once more. Their courtship is a whirlwind, and soon Ivy is on the precipice of getting everything she’s ever wanted. But a series of bad decisions will force her to do the unthinkable and jeopardize everything she’s sacrificed so much of herself to attain.

I hesitated to say there that she’d worked hard vs sacrificed via lopping off or stifling parts of herself, as Ivy’s life throughout the book is less about mindful forward motion than it is a series of impulsive decisions and paralyzing dread. I actually had a lot of sympathy for her, and particularly for her incoherence any time someone asked her what she wanted to be. Our society puts far too much store by ambition, as if that’s an adequate panacea for the alienation from self that’s all too common for workers in a capitalist system (why yes, this is a bit of a Marxist review. As with most philosophers, Old Karl wasn’t all wrong.) Ivy’s upbringing had also done so much to squash what she wanted in favor of what her parents might think acceptable, so I totally understood where proactive choices felt so far outside her capabilities. Honestly, that probably spurred some of her worst choices, because she’d never been taught to carefully consider consequences on her own, or even that she was allowed to not choose between two options. I even sympathized with her efforts at self-effacement, especially when trying to fit in with Gideon’s friends, and her dull rage at having to diminish herself. She stoops to conquer indeed.

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The Mythics Vol 2: Teenage Gods by Philippe Ogaki, Patrick Sobral, Fabien Dalmasso, Alice Picard, Jerome Alquie, Frederic Charve & Magali Paillat

This has got to be one of the most beautiful anime-inspired comic book titles for young readers out there today. Despite the creative teams varying between each of the three issues that make up this trade paperback, the quality is uniformly high, and the art style doesn’t deviate so much between issues as to seem jarring. If anything, having different artists helps solidify the vastly differing personalities of the three heroes introduced here, one to each issue. My favorite art was probably in Alice Picard’s illustrations of Parvati’s story, with gorgeous colors by Magali Paillat. Which isn’t at all to throw shade on Jerome Alquie’s artwork of Miguel’s story, or Frederic Charve’s and again Ms Paillat’s on Neo’s. Parvati’s was likely my favorite art-wise because the story lent itself to cuteness plus beauty a little more than the other two did. For cripes’ sake, there’s a tiger that turns into the most adorable housecat! I was the embodiment of the hearteyes emoji every time Shahruk-kitty was on the page.

Unfortunately, Parvati’s tale was also the one that made me wonder whether a sensitivity consultant had been brought in to look over this book. As opposed to the Aztec and Ancient Greek mythos referenced in the other issues in this collection, Hinduism is a major living religion, and seeing the goddess Kali used as an embodiment of evil made even this non-Hindu reader cringe. I’ll freely admit that I don’t know for sure whether her depiction in this issue is actually offensive to Hindus but knowing that a sensitivity reader had gone through this would have allayed my fears significantly.

What did concern me as a secular reader was the odd attitude to vaccines, which smelled a lot like the nonsense anti-vaxxers in America have been spouting in recent times. It’s true that any vaccine that’s been rushed to market without sufficient testing should be considered skeptically, and it’s true that we should be careful what we put in our bodies, but the vast majority of vaccines are beneficial and shouldn’t be at all controversial: a nod to this latter would have gone a long way to reassuring me that this wasn’t anti-vaxx dog whistling.

Those issues aside, it was a very cute story about a go-getting young Indian girl who discovers she’s been chosen by the goddess Durga to be her avatar in the fight against Evil. Mumbai is suffering strange outbreaks of a super-rage disease, where the victims become mindlessly destructive zombies. Overachiever Parvati Patel is on a school trip to the zoo when another outbreak occurs, and the goddess Durga comes to her to reveal her powers. Parvati is eager to fight Evil, even if it means breaking her own heart a little in the process.

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From Page To Screen: The Man In The High Castle by Philip K Dick

I finally finished all four seasons of the brilliant Amazon adaptation of the sci-fi classic, and was struck both by the similarities, which were neutral to bad, as well as by the differences, which were mostly wise choices on the part of the series’ creative team, imho.

There must, ofc, be plentiful differences in order to expand Philip K Dick’s somewhat slender tale to encompass four gripping seasons. The biggest change is the enhancement of the roles of John and Helen Smith, an all-American couple who pledged allegiance to the Nazis when the Axis powers won World War II, and eventually rise to become the most powerful couple in America. John is played by Rufus Sewell at his conflicted and deadly best, as he denies more and more of his humanity in order to survive and thrive in the American Reich. His best scenes come when you think he’s cornered, especially when reporting to his superiors in Germany. His absolute ruthlessness against even more evil people than himself is a joy to watch, even as you know he’s still a very bad person.

Chelah Horsdal’s Helen self-medicates and self-deludes in order to live up to her role of the perfect Nazi matron, until their eldest child, Thomas, makes a choice that lays bare the utter horror of the system they’ve spent so long propping up. As Helen tearfully admits to her daughter in the season ender, she only started caring when the Reich began to do to her what they’ve done to everyone else; pretty much the lesson every Face-Eating Leopard Voter eventually learns. Her story arc is bold and entirely well-deserved, as is her husband’s, tho don’t think for a moment that this story team won’t have you on tenterhooks the entire time.

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The Peripheral by William Gibson

Like the protagonist of Neuromancer, William Gibson is an artiste of the slightly funny deal. In The Peripheral the first slightly funny deal is between some people in England who hire some other folks in a small-town part of Appalachia in the US. The English contingent wants the people across the pond to fly a drone, ostensibly in a game, and keep other paparazzi drones away from a window high up on a London tower. They’ve contracted Burton, a partly disabled veteran of an unspecified American war, to do the remote flying. It’s close enough to what he did during wartime to take advantage of the skills that remain even after the government took back the haptic enhancements they had given him. But Burton has things to do besides swatting drones in a game, so he lets his sister Flynne take a shift or two and thinks his employers will be none the wiser. She’s at least as good with the drone as he is, and it’s all done remotely, what can go wrong?

The Peripheral by William Gibson

Meanwhile, Wilf Netherton is a publicist with a problem. Daedra West, a performance artist who is his current client and not incidentally a former lover, is about to cause an incident by parafoiling into a mid-ocean meeting wearing nothing but a lot of brand-new tattoos. That will upset the sponsors who include puritanical Saudis. That reaction is likely to be mild compared with what her counterparts at the meeting might do: eat her right up, as they have done to more than one person who recently attempted contact. That won’t be the worst of it, says Rainey, Wilf’s partner on the project. “She’s a death cookie, Wilf, for the next week or so. Anyone so much as steals a kiss goes into anaphylactic shock. Something with her thumbnails, too, but we’re less clear on that.” (p. 6) What can go right?

The opening chapters are unforgiving, alternating between the two settings and giving readers little in the way of description and a lot in the way of terms particular to each. Gibson shows what his characters experience and has them talk like regular people of the worlds that they inhabit who know that everyone they talk with shares the same context. What gradually emerges (although the text on the cover spells much of this out) is that Burton and Flynne are in the near future, living in a poor county in the hills where much of the economy runs on drug manufacturing, while Wilf and Daedra are about seventy years further into the future on the other side of interlocking disasters — pandemics (The Peripheral was published in 2014), climate crises, social breakdown — that are collectively called “the jackpot.” Those disasters kill a large share of humanity, but the survivors have mastered advanced technologies such as nanotech assembly, carbon sequestration, personalized medicine, full-brain telepresence, and more.

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Permanent link to this article: https://www.thefrumiousconsortium.net/2020/12/23/the-peripheral-by-william-gibson-2/

The Tyrant Baru Cormorant (The Masquerade #3) by Seth Dickinson

Y’all, I thought this was the last book in the series. Like, I’m glad there’ll be more, but I was under the impression that this was the grand finale, so spent the last thirty or so pages being pretty confused till Seth Dickinson’s afterword acknowledging both that there’s one final book coming but also that he’s really tired. And I feel the man. These books are so dense and labor intensive (but fun!) to read, in no small part due to the obvious amounts of work he’s put into building the world of the Ashen Sea, thinking through all the historical and sociological ramifications that have brought us to the current political, economic and cultural point where Baru is trying to save the world, or at least break the Falcresti dominance of it.

Quick recap for those new to the series (tho please don’t start reading it with this book, as you will miss out on a ton of things): Baru Cormorant is a young woman from Taranoke, an island civilization whose way of life is being eradicated by the colonizing Falcresti, primarily through trade and (occasionally incredibly sketchy) concepts of hygiene. As a child, she was taken under the wing of Cairdine Farrier, who made sure she had the best Falcresti education possible. Upon graduating with highest honors, she was sent as Imperial Accountant to the volatile land of Aurdwynn, a disappointment to her since she’d been hoping to earn a position in Falcrest where she might be able to advocate directly for her people. But it’s in Aurdwynn that she learns how to foment a real rebellion… as well as how to betray it.

In the second book, Baru continues her role as Farrier’s protegee, taking her place as one of the Emperor’s most powerful masked agents. She’s also learned that she’s essentially locked in a duel to the death with Durance, the protegee of Farrier’s rival, Cosgrad Torrinde, as Farrier and Torrinde strive to prove through them the primacy of their philosophies. Now partially blind and still reeling from what she did in the first book, Baru must figure out the best strategy for dealing with the free people of the Oriati Mbo, the next realm Falcrest has its sights set on. All the while, she’s plotting revenge on Falcrest for conquering first her childhood home, then the land and people she’d come to love.

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The Cruel Prince (The Folk of the Air #1) by Holly Black

I put off reading this for so long because I assumed it was the kind of book a certain subset of YA readers go gaga over despite a lack of any real substance, and BOY, WAS I WRONG! This book was so good, I wound up reading in bed way past my bedtime, telling myself “just one more chapter” because I desperately wanted to know what happens next in this brilliant, audacious tale of a young human woman scheming to not only survive but thrive in the courts of the immortal fey.

Jude Duarte was only seven when her mother’s redcap husband killed her birth parents and claimed his daughter, her older sister Vivienne, whisking both girls as well as Jude’s twin, Taryn, back to the High Court of Faerie. Madoc is High King Eldred’s most trusted general, and his sense of honor will not allow him to do anything less than raise his now-dead wife’s children as his own. Ten years on, Jude hasn’t exactly forgiven him for what he’s done, but she and Taryn have both adapted well enough to life among the fey, having been raised among the Gentry as befitting Madoc’s status. Ofc, several highborn fey aren’t pleased by this, particularly Prince Cardan, the youngest of High King Eldred’s six children. Cardan and his circle of friends take great pleasure from tormenting Jude, to the point of driving a wedge between her and her twin. When one of the other royal heirs offers her a chance to prove herself and thereby secure her position at court, Jude leaps at the prospect of a royal patron whose protection will hopefully make Cardan leave her and Taryn alone.

So far, a standard if slightly more brutal retelling of a familiar enough tale, but when Taryn — who sucks — chooses her fey lover over her sister, it starts to get more interesting. I thought it was pretty obvious who Taryn was in love with, but really appreciated how Holly Black worked the story such that you weren’t 100% sure till the reveal, and even before then could empathize with Jude in a “girl, I understand your reasoning but please don’t go in the basement!” sort of way. But then civil war erupts, and Jude suddenly finds herself in the unique position of being able to play kingmaker. All she has to do is lie, cheat and not get herself killed, a tall order in a realm where many fey already view her kind as eminently disposable to begin with.

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Permanent link to this article: https://www.thefrumiousconsortium.net/2020/12/16/the-cruel-prince-the-folk-of-the-air-1-by-holly-black/

The Haunting Of Hill House by Shirley Jackson

I don’t know whether the authors invited to write companion essays to classic novels have any say in the placement of their pieces in relation to the main text, but God Almighty, is it irritating to read a spoiler-filled introduction by Laura Miller when at least Jonathan Lethem’s smug thoughts on We Have Always Lived In The Castle had the sense to come at the end of that particular volume.

But to Shirley Jackson’s classic haunted house novel, that I’d put off reading for years because I saw the terrible 1999 movie adaptation and figured that that was all there was to know about it (yes, I know, I’m sorry, but having stayed away from this book for so long has been punishment enough.) After finally reading The Haunting Of Hill House, I am genuinely baffled by why anyone would change a thing about the plot when it is so wonderful and bizarre as is. Dr John Montague, an anthropologist with an interest in the paranormal, has decided to make a scientific study of Hill House, a secluded mansion with strange architecture and a sad, almost sinister history. To this end, he tries to track down a number of people with proven connections to prior paranormal activity, inviting them to join him in a summer of research at the mansion. Only two people accept: Eleanor Vance, whose home had been bedeviled by a poltergeist when she was a teenager, and Theodora (no last name), whose ability to guess the face value of a number of cards held by a research assistant in another room far exceeded statistical probabilities. Rounding out the party is handsome, feckless Luke Sanderson, nephew of the absentee owner who insisted that a member of her family be present for the study. Hill House is tended to by a married couple, the gloomy Dudleys: he keeps the gate and grounds while she deals with the house itself, but neither will stay on the estate a moment past sunset.

Eleanor is our viewpoint character, a meek woman of 32 who nursed her domineering mother through an illness that lasted over a decade. After her mother’s death, she went to live with her married sister, trading one position of servitude for another. Getting the invitation is like a lifeline to something new and different, a chance to be something other than a nursemaid or poor relation for once. Her long drive to Hill House is filled with imaginings of a small home of her own, where she tends to stone lions and is tended to in turn by a small elderly maid, only the first metaphor in this book for a longed-for kindly maternal figure. Arriving at Hill House itself is a shock: even aside from the ghastly Dudleys, the house itself emanates an aura of brooding and madness.

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Permanent link to this article: https://www.thefrumiousconsortium.net/2020/12/14/the-haunting-of-hill-house-by-shirley-jackson/

Fable (Fable #1) by Adrienne Young

Look at that gorgeous cover! It’s literally the best part of this nonsense book that had me wanting to dig up copies of Arthur Ransome’s Swallows And Amazons series so I could read a tale of young pirates that I would actually enjoy. Okay, Adrienne Young’s prose is pretty decent — there are some lovely descriptive pieces, particularly underwater — but the plot and characterization are so dreadful. It’s essentially a book of immature people making irrational choices, in a poorly fleshed out fantasy world that only hangs together due to plot contrivance.

The story goes like this: Fable is dumped as a 14 year-old on the crappy island of Jeval after a storm sinks her parents’ ship and claims her mother’s life. The dumping is done by her father, Saint, who we’re supposed to believe is so fearful for her safety that he leaves a pretty young teenager to fend for herself on an island of pirates and thieves. He tells her that when she can figure out how to get off Jeval and find him, he’ll give her her inheritance, so for four years, she starves and schemes, finally saving enough money to buy dredger’s tools that allow her to free dive into the reefs and dig up precious gems to trade with West, the helmsman of the Marigold. As she tries to collect enough copper to buy passage back to Ceros, where her father lives, she draws the unwanted attention of Koy, a supposedly ruthless skiff owner, who causes her to flee earlier than expected and with barely enough money to her name.

And then it’s all about traipsing around The Narrows, as the bay where all this action takes place is called, a bay that takes about two days’ sail to traverse and where Fable and the crew of the Marigold lie, cheat and trade their way to getting what they want. Everyone on the Marigold is mean to her at first because that’s just the world this is, a place where everyone is hostile until she can win them over by being a martyr and/or an idiot. But since this world is also logic-free, hey, why the fuck not? Why not have a passionate underwater first kiss while free diving when time is of the essence and you need all the breath you can get? The romance, btw, is another of those “let’s fall in love with the first attractive person who is interested in me” variety. Barf.

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Permanent link to this article: https://www.thefrumiousconsortium.net/2020/12/10/fable-fable-1-by-adrienne-young/