Books Read in March
Saturday, April 2nd, 2005 12:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tamaranthA Thousand Days in Venice: An Unexpected Romance -- Marlena de Blasi
Non-fiction, which I hadn't realised until I was about halfway through: it was a present from a friend, and I hadn't checked the classification.
The author -- a middle-aged American with passions for food, interior design and living life to the full -- met and married a Venetian banker. This is her account of the first three years of their marriage: Fernando, the man she agrees to marry mere weeks after meeting him, gradually becomes less 'the stranger' who she doesn't understand, and more 'my husband'. De Blasi's style is rich and baroque, occasionally to excess, and she writes her life as though she were living in a novel, with an eye for detail and vignette. There's a faint, annoying whiff of American superiority, and a coyness that can be vexing (she tells us it's a grand passion, but there's little evidence of that). But on the other hand, she includes gourmet recipes that made me, lying on a Cyprus beach, wish I was within 100 miles of an Italian delicatessen; and her depictions of the people she meets in Venice, and of Venice itself, are vivid and interesting.
The Jane Austen Book Club -- Karen Joy Fowler
I enjoyed this very much: six characters, six points of view, plus a ubiquitous 'we' that doesn't seem to be spoken by any individual. Some of the characters aren't entirely likeable people, but the affectionate, wry, very Austenesque way in which they're described is witty and enjoyable. The book's full of the sort of observations and experiences familiar to many -- well, to me at least. There's a recurring theme of writers stealing ideas from other people's lives. Fowler (author of Sarah Canary, which was widely praised by the SF community) has plenty of gently acerbic observations of the genre -- authors who people their fantasy novels with jewel-eyed characters, fans who act in ways quite impenetrable to the outside world -- and of each of her characters, whose lives all change, directly or indirectly and quite unpredictably, as a result of the book club and the people they meet through it.
I occasionally quibbled with her language (the past tense of 'spit' is not 'spit', but 'spat'): but far more often I smiled or laughed out loud at her observations. Married life as a life without plot, just the same events repeating; Patrick O'Brian as the next potential author for the bookclub ("When we needed to cook aboard ship, play a musical instrument, travel to Spain dressed as a bear, Patrick O'Brian would be our man."); the simple truths. What if you had a happy ending and didn't notice?
Delightful, and reminiscent of Austen without slavish imitation.
Inkheart -- Cornelia Funke
A good holiday read, well-paced and with plenty of adventure: Funke is the second most popular children's author in Germany (after J K Rowling) and she knows how to tell a story. Meggie is a bookbinder's daughter, brought up to adore and cherish books. She finds herself embroiled in a villainous plot to turn a particular book, Inkheart, into reality. There's danger and death, an intelligent animal, plenty of references to favourite books (each chapter's headed with an excerpt from another book, ranging from Watership Down to The Lord of the Rings -- indeed, a lot of my enjoyment was from the nostalgia and happy memories these evoked!), death and darkness and bad things. Anyone who loves books and reading (and rereading) will see a little of themselves in Meggie.
Where the book failed, for me, was in the language. I don't know whether that's because of a fairly prosaic (and occasionally clunky) translation, or because it's aimed at a fairly young audience -- early teens, at a guess. Easy to pick up and put down, but I wouldn't have minded a little more depth: unfair of me, though, because the book's very good at what it is, which is an entertaining and pacey story for children.
Coram Boy -– Jamila Gavin
This novel, set in 18th-century England, is aimed (I'd guess) at older children and young adults. Its protagonists are all under 18, and the harsh realities of their lives are not bowdlerised. The title refers to the Coram Hospital for the Maintenance and Education of Foundling Children, the focal point of the novel, an institution which is viewed very differently by the different characters. For Meshak, who's mentally retarded, it's a place which has offered him sanctuary after escaping his blackguard father. For Toby and Aaron, it's their home: as orphans they have no other. For Otis Gardiner, Meshak's father, it's just a name: a name which can charm orphans and foundlings from their guardians, and into his villainous clutches.
I bought this book because it's about music, and music-making, and musical talent: Handel's Messiah, written for the Coram Boys, is featured strongly, and Thomas and Alexander start off as choristers before they're overtaken by adult responsibilities and Plot. I did feel that the book ended rather abruptly, and that climactic events -– deaths and marriages -– were all dealt with in unseemly haste, compared to the joys of witch-baiting and apple-scrumping so lavishly described earlier in the novel. An entertaining and evocative read, though, with thoughtful and credible characterisation.
The Minotaur Takes a Cigarette Break -- Steven Sherrill
This wasn't quite what I was expecting, and I think it's a book I admire, rather than one I actually enjoyed reading. Not that it's a bad book, not at all: the prose is clear and understated and unsensational. But it's not a cheerful book: Sherrill is writing about loneliness and failure and poverty, and he does it very effectively. Even at the end there's no more than the hope of a new beginning.
The Minotaur (having struck a deal with 'ashen-faced Theseus') is alive and well, living in a trailer park in North Carolina, working as a chef in a fast-food restaurant. It isn't easy being half-man, half-bull. It isn't easy, either, being a 5000-year-old immortal with a history of devouring virgins: but he doesn't dwell on this. His colleagues call him M, and don't remark on his appearance. Neither, directly, does anyone else: there are a few hints of discrimination, a few hints that he's notably different, but that's it. Which, OK, works well on a surreal level, but is a little jarring.
There's one little element, one side-story, in the book which intrigues me immensely: the indication (though it's never explicitly stated) that there are several other mythological beings living in the southern states. I was especially caught by an allusion to Medusa, and I wish Sherrill would write her story.
I'm glad I read this, and I'm very impressed by it. But I don't think I'd read it again for simple enjoyment.
Not Before Sundown -– Johanna Sinisalo, trans Herbert Lomas
This novel, by one of Finland's foremost fantasy / science fiction authors, has just won the Tiptree Award for 'gender-bending' fiction. I'd been meaning to read it anyway, after glowing recommendations from Finnish and American friends. I suppose this novel counts as an AU, for it's a world in which trolls -- descended from the cat-ape Felipithecus -- roam the wilds of Scandinavia, though they are extremely rare. Mikael, a young gay photographer in present-day Finland, finds an adolescent troll outside his apartment; he takes it in, feeds it catfood and names it Pessi. The novel deals with how the two of them are affected by one another's presence. It's 'about' outsiders, from Pessi to Mikael to Palomita, the Filipino woman downstairs. It's 'about' territory.
Sinisalo presents many of the pertinent facts in the form of news reports or excerpts from other (real and imagined) texts, ranging from scientific journals to children's stories: it's not always clear whether Mikael has access to the same information as does the reader.
I'm presuming this is a good translation of the original Finnish: it has the same rhythm and flow as English written by Finns of my acquaintance. A very quick read and a powerful plot, though there is plenty left unsaid at the end: recommended.
The Family Trade -- Charles Stross
I acquired this after hearing about it from the author. It's a departure from his more usual hard SF (a subgenre which doesn't presently enthuse me much), being a worldwalking fantasy somewhat along the lines of Zelazny's Amber series, the first few of which remain amongst my favourite fantasy novels ever.
This is different. Instead of the Amberites' neo-Renaissance machinations and aristocratic feuds, tinged with magic and Weird Stuff and drowning in Zelazny's edgy, toughly poetic prose, Stross has updated plot and setting to present us with an alternate Earth (rather than an infinite variety of worlds) with a strongly Norse influence, and a Clan who wheel and deal between the two worlds, laundering a great deal of money via an illicit import/export business. His protagonists: a business journalist and a development economist.
No one in this novel has jewel-coloured eyes.
Am not clearing aside the Zelazny to make room for The Family Trade, but I am looking forward to reading the rest of the series.
Non-fiction, which I hadn't realised until I was about halfway through: it was a present from a friend, and I hadn't checked the classification.
The author -- a middle-aged American with passions for food, interior design and living life to the full -- met and married a Venetian banker. This is her account of the first three years of their marriage: Fernando, the man she agrees to marry mere weeks after meeting him, gradually becomes less 'the stranger' who she doesn't understand, and more 'my husband'. De Blasi's style is rich and baroque, occasionally to excess, and she writes her life as though she were living in a novel, with an eye for detail and vignette. There's a faint, annoying whiff of American superiority, and a coyness that can be vexing (she tells us it's a grand passion, but there's little evidence of that). But on the other hand, she includes gourmet recipes that made me, lying on a Cyprus beach, wish I was within 100 miles of an Italian delicatessen; and her depictions of the people she meets in Venice, and of Venice itself, are vivid and interesting.
The Jane Austen Book Club -- Karen Joy Fowler
I enjoyed this very much: six characters, six points of view, plus a ubiquitous 'we' that doesn't seem to be spoken by any individual. Some of the characters aren't entirely likeable people, but the affectionate, wry, very Austenesque way in which they're described is witty and enjoyable. The book's full of the sort of observations and experiences familiar to many -- well, to me at least. There's a recurring theme of writers stealing ideas from other people's lives. Fowler (author of Sarah Canary, which was widely praised by the SF community) has plenty of gently acerbic observations of the genre -- authors who people their fantasy novels with jewel-eyed characters, fans who act in ways quite impenetrable to the outside world -- and of each of her characters, whose lives all change, directly or indirectly and quite unpredictably, as a result of the book club and the people they meet through it.
I occasionally quibbled with her language (the past tense of 'spit' is not 'spit', but 'spat'): but far more often I smiled or laughed out loud at her observations. Married life as a life without plot, just the same events repeating; Patrick O'Brian as the next potential author for the bookclub ("When we needed to cook aboard ship, play a musical instrument, travel to Spain dressed as a bear, Patrick O'Brian would be our man."); the simple truths. What if you had a happy ending and didn't notice?
Delightful, and reminiscent of Austen without slavish imitation.
Inkheart -- Cornelia Funke
A good holiday read, well-paced and with plenty of adventure: Funke is the second most popular children's author in Germany (after J K Rowling) and she knows how to tell a story. Meggie is a bookbinder's daughter, brought up to adore and cherish books. She finds herself embroiled in a villainous plot to turn a particular book, Inkheart, into reality. There's danger and death, an intelligent animal, plenty of references to favourite books (each chapter's headed with an excerpt from another book, ranging from Watership Down to The Lord of the Rings -- indeed, a lot of my enjoyment was from the nostalgia and happy memories these evoked!), death and darkness and bad things. Anyone who loves books and reading (and rereading) will see a little of themselves in Meggie.
Where the book failed, for me, was in the language. I don't know whether that's because of a fairly prosaic (and occasionally clunky) translation, or because it's aimed at a fairly young audience -- early teens, at a guess. Easy to pick up and put down, but I wouldn't have minded a little more depth: unfair of me, though, because the book's very good at what it is, which is an entertaining and pacey story for children.
Coram Boy -– Jamila Gavin
This novel, set in 18th-century England, is aimed (I'd guess) at older children and young adults. Its protagonists are all under 18, and the harsh realities of their lives are not bowdlerised. The title refers to the Coram Hospital for the Maintenance and Education of Foundling Children, the focal point of the novel, an institution which is viewed very differently by the different characters. For Meshak, who's mentally retarded, it's a place which has offered him sanctuary after escaping his blackguard father. For Toby and Aaron, it's their home: as orphans they have no other. For Otis Gardiner, Meshak's father, it's just a name: a name which can charm orphans and foundlings from their guardians, and into his villainous clutches.
I bought this book because it's about music, and music-making, and musical talent: Handel's Messiah, written for the Coram Boys, is featured strongly, and Thomas and Alexander start off as choristers before they're overtaken by adult responsibilities and Plot. I did feel that the book ended rather abruptly, and that climactic events -– deaths and marriages -– were all dealt with in unseemly haste, compared to the joys of witch-baiting and apple-scrumping so lavishly described earlier in the novel. An entertaining and evocative read, though, with thoughtful and credible characterisation.
The Minotaur Takes a Cigarette Break -- Steven Sherrill
This wasn't quite what I was expecting, and I think it's a book I admire, rather than one I actually enjoyed reading. Not that it's a bad book, not at all: the prose is clear and understated and unsensational. But it's not a cheerful book: Sherrill is writing about loneliness and failure and poverty, and he does it very effectively. Even at the end there's no more than the hope of a new beginning.
The Minotaur (having struck a deal with 'ashen-faced Theseus') is alive and well, living in a trailer park in North Carolina, working as a chef in a fast-food restaurant. It isn't easy being half-man, half-bull. It isn't easy, either, being a 5000-year-old immortal with a history of devouring virgins: but he doesn't dwell on this. His colleagues call him M, and don't remark on his appearance. Neither, directly, does anyone else: there are a few hints of discrimination, a few hints that he's notably different, but that's it. Which, OK, works well on a surreal level, but is a little jarring.
There's one little element, one side-story, in the book which intrigues me immensely: the indication (though it's never explicitly stated) that there are several other mythological beings living in the southern states. I was especially caught by an allusion to Medusa, and I wish Sherrill would write her story.
I'm glad I read this, and I'm very impressed by it. But I don't think I'd read it again for simple enjoyment.
Not Before Sundown -– Johanna Sinisalo, trans Herbert Lomas
This novel, by one of Finland's foremost fantasy / science fiction authors, has just won the Tiptree Award for 'gender-bending' fiction. I'd been meaning to read it anyway, after glowing recommendations from Finnish and American friends. I suppose this novel counts as an AU, for it's a world in which trolls -- descended from the cat-ape Felipithecus -- roam the wilds of Scandinavia, though they are extremely rare. Mikael, a young gay photographer in present-day Finland, finds an adolescent troll outside his apartment; he takes it in, feeds it catfood and names it Pessi. The novel deals with how the two of them are affected by one another's presence. It's 'about' outsiders, from Pessi to Mikael to Palomita, the Filipino woman downstairs. It's 'about' territory.
Sinisalo presents many of the pertinent facts in the form of news reports or excerpts from other (real and imagined) texts, ranging from scientific journals to children's stories: it's not always clear whether Mikael has access to the same information as does the reader.
I'm presuming this is a good translation of the original Finnish: it has the same rhythm and flow as English written by Finns of my acquaintance. A very quick read and a powerful plot, though there is plenty left unsaid at the end: recommended.
The Family Trade -- Charles Stross
I acquired this after hearing about it from the author. It's a departure from his more usual hard SF (a subgenre which doesn't presently enthuse me much), being a worldwalking fantasy somewhat along the lines of Zelazny's Amber series, the first few of which remain amongst my favourite fantasy novels ever.
This is different. Instead of the Amberites' neo-Renaissance machinations and aristocratic feuds, tinged with magic and Weird Stuff and drowning in Zelazny's edgy, toughly poetic prose, Stross has updated plot and setting to present us with an alternate Earth (rather than an infinite variety of worlds) with a strongly Norse influence, and a Clan who wheel and deal between the two worlds, laundering a great deal of money via an illicit import/export business. His protagonists: a business journalist and a development economist.
No one in this novel has jewel-coloured eyes.
Am not clearing aside the Zelazny to make room for The Family Trade, but I am looking forward to reading the rest of the series.
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Date: Saturday, April 2nd, 2005 01:25 pm (UTC)