I picked this up anticipating a fun and informative read mixing science and history, and man, was I disappointed. Kept reading hoping it would get betI picked this up anticipating a fun and informative read mixing science and history, and man, was I disappointed. Kept reading hoping it would get better, and my advice to anyone else finding themselves less than enamored is: don’t, because it doesn’t.
The best part of this book is the opening, which shares some cool factoids about the moon with promise of more to come: stuff like the moon’s rocks being sharper because it has no wind, the optical illusions resulting from its lack of atmosphere, the fact that up close it’s actually somewhat colorful (see a former astronaut’s artwork here). Various organisms have not just circadian rhythms but internal lunar clocks as well. The science part was most interesting to me because I knew least about it, but often poorly explained—the math parts really needed diagrams, along with more detail—but instead Boyle spends time hammering obvious points. Like after pointing out that the moon has no life, not even bacteria in the soil, she feels the need to go on to specify that it has no birds in the sky, and even “no culture, except the one we brought.” I think that goes without saying…?
This was a harbinger of things to come however, as the book is basically an impressionistic mash of stuff that’s interesting to the author, who clearly has a lot of feelings about everything moon-related (for some reason she capitalizes Moon throughout). But it did not translate itself well to this reader, and I was left without even a clear or complete narrative of things like the moon missions. Her history picks and chooses from all your standard western civ stuff: archaeological finds in Bronze Age Europe (the author finds historically ancient but biologically modern humans tracking the moon mind-blowing, for reasons not quite clear to me), a little bit of ancient Mesopotamia (which was interesting, mostly the kings consolidating power through priestesses who were at least legally speaking their daughters), the usual on the ancient Greeks and the early modern European astronomers. She spends a few pages at the end talking about Native Americans, mostly making excuses for why she didn’t visit their sites despite living in the U.S., and didn’t learn anything when she did. Asia is acknowledged in passing to exist, Africa barely gets that.
Boyle also loves to give the moon credit for everything, inflating it to the point that her valid points can be lost. Early calendars were often lunar? “The Moon is responsible for the beginning of time.” Further, “[t]he Moon’s time-setting abilities meant humans could use it to plan, which meant they could invent.” Not just technological inventions, either: elsewhere she speculates that “the people of Mesopotamia invented religion” (moon-worship, of course), imagining that the moon first proved useful and only then evolved into an object of worship. (I don’t think this is how prehistoric people worked; religion is always present. Boyle provides no support for the idea that the Mesopotamians “invented” it.) It gets credit for teaching people to think too: “lunar symbolism likely enabled humans to understand, or at least to relate to, the otherwise mysterious concepts of becoming, birth, vanishing, death, resurrection, renewal, and eternity.” (Because the sun, the seasons, and plant, animal and human life don’t also show this, or are apparently harder to relate to than the moon? Given Boyle’s comments about considering “the perspective of the Moon” on mineral exploitation, maybe she does relate to it that strongly, but I don’t think this perspective is widely held.)
Anyway, assorted other things annoyed me, like the generalizations that swing wildly from assuming “people in the ancient world knew X” because some thinker in the ancient world wrote down X (with no way of knowing what people in general knew), on the one hand, to telling us that only “literate white men who owned property” were even aware of the Enlightenment, which is patently absurd. For one thing, knowledge was generally greater in cities, where fewer people owned property; for another, lots of women were involved, from those who ran the great salons of Paris where these conversations happened, to those who made discoveries in their own right—one of whom was actually profiled at length in the very book the author cited at the beginning of the same paragraph!
It makes you wonder to what extent Boyle even read the books she cites, especially when, also on that page, she has a footnote recommending a bunch of the most well-known science fiction books, with wildly off-base descriptions. The Dispossessed: “allegorical treatment of a big, beautiful wall dividing cultures.” (What? This is neither an allegory nor a book about a wall, and the closest it comes to including one is an unremarkable waist-high fence around a shuttle launch area. It’s a novel exploring different political and social systems on different satellites.) The Broken Earth trilogy: “frank treatment of climate-driven mass migration and segregation based on race and homosexuality.” (All right, I’ve only read the first, but this is an oppressed mages story, as an allegory for race and perhaps homosexuality, but does not feature segregation based on either. Also I’m not sure “climate-driven mass migration” quite describes “small number of survivors fleeing geo-magical apocalypse” but anyway.) While this is a footnote, I have to wonder if Boyle’s understanding of her scientific and historical sources was equally skewed.
At any rate, clearly this book annoyed me a lot, and generally wasted my time. A disappointment....more
This book is about an important topic, and as the author is a history professor, I imagine she knows a great deal about it. After reading the book, I This book is about an important topic, and as the author is a history professor, I imagine she knows a great deal about it. After reading the book, I am left imagining, however, because good luck gleaning information from it.
The book suffers from a lack of organization on any level: paragraphs, chapters, the book as a whole. I was left with little sense of what the author was trying to say other than that Africa and Europe have a history together, nor was the focus of individual chapters particularly clear, as they leap around in time, place and subject with no transitions.
While the book is sold as a rebuttal to the notion that people of African descent living in Europe are a relatively new phenomenon, kicking off with World Wars I and II, it actually does little to rebut that or even focus on it much. Out of seven chapters, the first two are sort of about that, though also with non-sequiturs like the Roman-governed Egyptians’ war with Nubia, cited as an example of European/African contact. Then it jumps straight from the Roman Empire to the Renaissance. Chapters 3 and 4 focus on European overseas empires and the slave trade, Chapter 5 on the period around the world wars, and Chapters 6 and 7 are all about 21st century activism.
But the biggest problem is with the writing itself; I wouldn’t even call it academic—there’s a bit of jargon, but not much—so much as clunky, confusing and at times incoherent. Here are some examples:
Dutch ambiguity was further evidenced by the debate about slavery and education to which Capitein contributed in some degree. Capetein arrived in Middelburg in 1728. He then travelled with Van Gogh to The Hague, where Van Gogh had a house. Two years after his arrival, Van Gogh sent him to German-born minister [sic] of the Reformed Church, Johann Philipp Manger. Manger’s impression on the boy was important. In the 1730s the Republic was at its height in terms of trade and culture. The Dutch, Capitein amongst them, were proud of its achievements. Through Capitein’s writings, one learns that The Hague and the whole of the country were a source of regional and national esteem. Manger’s position as a vocal protector of immigrants and a tolerant Christian provided access to a more balanced and outward-looking perspective that greatly influenced the young Capetein. Under Manger’s tutelage, Capitein learnt French and was encouraged to consider university. In 1735, at nearly eighteen years old, he was baptized. He joined the University of Leiden two years later. (72)
It’s as if the author put all the sentences into a blender and slapped them down in the order they came out—and at no point is the debate about slavery and education addressed, despite being the apparent thesis sentence of the paragraph. Or see this one, about France:
The number of legal cases involving black people led the authorities to suggest that a special unit should be set up. In 1777 the Police des Noirs, or ‘police for black people’, was created. Soon after, it became compulsory for black people to carry a cartouche (an identification card). Between 1777 and 1789, in Paris only, 765 people were registered. The aim of the Police des Noirs was to limit the number of black people in the country. It was not named a ‘police for enslaved people’, so the assumption by then was that all black bodies were enslaved. Masters who had enslaved domestic servants in their service had to register them or risk paying a heavy fine. Enslaved people were to stay in detention centres for the duration of their master’s stay. The costs would be the master’s responsibility. (84-85)
This paragraph appears to discuss two totally different regimes—one under which black people in France had to be registered and carry identification cards at all times and were heavily policed, and another under which they were interned (in regular jails, a subsequent paragraph explains). At no point is this abrupt transition addressed: did one system replace the other? Did one apply to some people while the other applied to others? Who knows! Not the reader of this book!
I was similarly confused by this one, about the French West African colony at Saint Louis:
The mariage a la mode du pays was legally recognized. When the European husband died or left the country and it was confirmed that he would never come back, the woman could remarry. These women had the support of their communities if they then wanted to start anew and have children within a second or third union. The children born from the marriages had their father’s name and could enjoy the benefits of his wealth. However, these unions were not recognized by European laws, meaning that the father’s European assets could not go to his African children. In 1830, the law changed, stating that European African children in Senegal could no longer inherit their father’s property. However, a French Royal Ordinance of the same year stated that children born before 1830 were still allowed to inherit their father’s property in Saint Louis. (108)
So, basically, the law didn’t allow mixed-race children to inherit their European father’s property (despite “enjoying his wealth” in some unspecified way), and then the law changed so they super-duper couldn’t inherit it?
Or take this one, about a Cameroonian prince:
Alexander led a life of leisure in many ways. He married Andrea when he was nineteen years old. She was seventeen. Their first child, a son, was born in 1920 and their daughter was born a year later. Alexander travelled to Cameroon in 1919 and returned the same year. He went back there again in 1922, but by then the couple had grown apart. Andrea had been allowed to move to Germany and Alexander never saw her. He allegedly refused to provide for her unless she relinquished custody of their children, so she had to work to provide for them. It was only after the Second World War that Alexander was reunited with his daughter. His relationship with his son, Jose Emmanuel Manga Bell, remained contentious. Alexander shot his son while he was on a visit to Cameroon in 1947. The circumstances of the death remain unclear. Alexander and Emmanuel were African Europeans who were caught between both identities at a time when colonial rule was shifting from German to British and French powers. (140)
What a bizarre paragraph: the opening sentence has nothing to do with the rest of it (nothing here suggests a life of leisure), buried midway through there’s a surprise filicide, given no more narrative weight than the mundane biographical details, and then it wraps up on such an anodyne statement one assumes it to be true, but which is in no way supported by the information given.
Likewise, some assertions really needed more explanation, such as:
Despite Bailey’s strict definition of the term, we have seen over the last few years that certain forms of discrimination against black and dual-heritage women have common features. The vile media attacks against the Duchess of Sussex held similarities to those encountered by supermodel Iman. Both were deemed too far away from either blackness or whiteness. Iman famously confronted the editor-in-chief of the black US magazine Essence when she stated that Iman was ‘a white woman dipped in chocolate’ in 1976. Both women have been criticized for having either not enough or too much of certain attributes. Nonetheless, class is an element that needs to be part of the discussion. Iman and Markle have had access to a kind of wealth that many underprivileged dark-skinned black women can only dream of. They have both held professional posts based on their physical attributes as well as expertise and achievement in their fields. (178)
Like much of this book, this paragraph seems aimed at people already familiar with the situations described. As someone who does not follow royal gossip and has never heard of Iman, this “certain attributes” talk was opaque to me, as was the claim that both women “held professional posts based on their physical attributes” (?).
Or:
As Félix Germain and Silyane Larcher have noted, black French citizens are often referred to as people issus de l’immigration (‘from an immigrant background’) ‘as if white French citizens were not also issus de l’immigration’, with the implication that ‘whites are natives, but people of African descent are not’. (190)
We’re talking about France here, not the U.S.—I’m going to need some explanation for why this proposition is wrong.
Or:
For example, a report on stop and search police practices in Spain corroborates word of mouth stories about the relationship of the Spanish police with minority ethnic communities. The harrowing reports demonstrate that stop and search for no valid reason is widely accepted by the majority group. In fact, it is one of many ways the police force shows that it values white bodies above all else. The report found that, according to the police, racial profiling reassures the majority group even when there is no evidence of danger. Yet the practice also propagates the idea that there must be a need to profile specific communities. In 2015, the last year that police data about stop and search in Spain is available, 6,550,422 police identifications were conducted. To put things in perspective, the report argues, this needs to be compared with 1.2 million stop and searches conducted in England and Wales in 2011-12. Police impunity in public spaces has rendered these places unsafe for most minority ethnic groups in Spain. (196)
Maybe this brain glitch is unique to me but formatting those numbers that way had my brain so convinced that the England/Wales count was double the Spain count that I could not for the life of me figure out why this made Spain look bad even upon several readings (thanks to the commenter who pointed it out!). If the goal is to provide perspective, maybe compare the per capita stop-and-searches in each country, and express them in the same style? (Also, while we’re on the topic of this paragraph: did the Spanish police actually admit they were searching minorities solely to reassure white people and if so, why is that buried in weaselly language in the middle of the paragraph?)
Part of me felt like I should give this book a second star, because it’s an important topic and I was pleased that it ranged over Western Europe as a whole rather than centering England, as British writers usually do. And if much of the book reads like the literature review portion of someone’s thesis, at least there is good information buried in there somewhere? But then I reached the bit stating that Treyvon Martin was killed by a “neighborhood manager” (221), when in fact George Zimmerman was just a neighborhood watch volunteer, with no authority over the neighborhood or the residents. And when the facts you know are wrong, it’s hard to trust the rest of them....more
Oof, I just couldn’t with this book, and it’s a rare example where the disconnect between my reaction and my friends’ is genuinely puzzling to me. I pOof, I just couldn’t with this book, and it’s a rare example where the disconnect between my reaction and my friends’ is genuinely puzzling to me. I pushed through 200 pages—at a time when I’m averaging a bit over two books a week, the fact that doing so took more than two weeks is in itself a bad sign, especially given the large-ish font—and I didn’t yet feel like I’d actually learned anything. The author spends so much time talking in circles about the limitations of the evidence that exists and how it doesn’t necessarily mean what people have taken it to mean that, well, where are the facts? How about just giving us a straightforward chronological narrative of what we do know? I was expecting this would be a good primer in Roman history for someone who knows very little about it, but am wondering if instead it’s intended for people who already know a lot, to challenge their assumptions. On the other hand, it’s more chatty than academic, and the references consist of lists of relevant reading for an entire chapter rather than citations for specific facts, so it’s perhaps not very well-designed for that purpose either.
I’m also confused by some of Beard’s assertions, such as that “It is inconceivable that the men of the fourth century BCE sat down to debate the precise implications of civitas sine suffragio [citizenship without the vote] or the exact privileges that went with belonging to a ‘Latin’ colony.” Personally I have no difficulty conceiving of people who have legal statuses and colonies debating these things; it seems rather contrary to human nature not to do so. To the extent that this book is built on the author’s instincts and assumptions, therefore, I have some doubts.
But mostly, this book just seemed like a giant, messy stew of words relaying no meaningful information. I’d definitely like an accessible primer on Roman history, but between this book and the Wikipedia article, the latter seems like both a more informative and less frustrating option....more
Read through page 70, at which point I was actively mad at the book and so definitely needed to stop. This is all ideology and no story—I’m a feministRead through page 70, at which point I was actively mad at the book and so definitely needed to stop. This is all ideology and no story—I’m a feminist and still couldn’t stand the way it pounds the reader over the head with seemingly every sentence. There’s not a single thought, action or character trait that isn’t specifically engineered to make a political point, and in fact our narrator barely has any character traits at all. The only character I had any interest in was the cool aunt and I think she’s only around at the beginning.
So, this book is about women turning into dragons as an answer to patriarchy, set in the American Midwest in the 1950s. Which despite the fact that in this version of the world, all women are able to turn into giant fire-breathing dragons if sufficiently pissed off, looks exactly like the real world in the 1950s. In fact, if there’s any deviation it’s that it’s a caricature of itself (my family was there; I don’t see them in this book at all). In a world where a woman even starting to get upset means her eyes glow a warning gold and the men in the room shut up, patriarchy nevertheless exists in exactly the same form as in the real world? I am very tired of the endless round of books insisting, essentially, that power is not power—that there is some essential state of victimhood unaffected by the massive, tangible power that a group in fact holds, as if the holding of power is some irrelevant sidenote in human power relations.
And you know, the book still could have made sense if the Mass Dragoning of the 1950s was the first such event, but no, the book insists at length (via the supposed scientific articles of an accomplished male scientist of the 1950s, which read like a 2020s woman’s sassy blog posts) that women spontaneously turning into dragons has always happened. But been ignored and suppressed by everyone. Because what’s easier to ignore than flights of fire-breathing dragons, which presumably need to live somewhere and eat something? Seriously—in the book, 650,000 new dragons are born on a single day and the only effect this has on society is that the women they once were are now missing? Dragons play no role in politics, warfare or transportation? They have no effect on the economy or environment? No political parties see points to score in allying with them or even acknowledging their existence? Mmmkay then. Sure.
The book’s actual focus—the life of narrator Alex Green—is scarcely more believable. Barnhill seems to believe that memory is a recording device, allowing one to simply replay moments even from early childhood with fully accurate detail, upon which she expounds at length. Also, everything about Alex’s life is engineered to point out her community’s resistance to her tomboy identity, to an absurd degree, in which she constantly asks to be called Alex while her teachers and even parents aggressively call her Alexandra—that’s a lot of name for a 4-year-old. Did they call her Alexandra in the cradle? Why did they give her this name in the first place when they oppose the most obvious nickname so vehemently? Each individual detail could conceivably happen, but pile them all on top of each other and it becomes absurd.
Perhaps I am just too immersed in social justice discourse, to the point I couldn’t hear the story over the dog-whistling—but I think it’s fair to say this isn’t a dog whistle, it’s a battering ram. I think I also just don’t identify with this brand of feminist rage. (Murdering men for cheating on women is okay, what? Presumably few people who believe this also think it’s acceptable to murder women for cheating on men. Isn’t feminism supposed to be about getting rid of double standards?) But it’s left me discouraged regarding recent fantasy generally—I need to go read other stuff until the taste is washed out of my mouth....more
Read through page 55, dragging myself a bit to at least give it a full 50-page test. Sadly neither the characters nor their world had convinced or graRead through page 55, dragging myself a bit to at least give it a full 50-page test. Sadly neither the characters nor their world had convinced or grabbed me by that point, and the assassination mystery plot was only starting to get off the ground.
And there’s something a bit opaque about the writing, the pacing and blocking of scenes a bit off. Our protagonist, Lysande, will be playing the central role in some court ceremony with all the nobility looking on, and then she walks to the back of the audience and starts chatting with her friend the guard captain, there’s a long contemplative scene in which they have a conversation and look over some gifts, at which point I assume they’ve relocated to an antechamber or something, and then at the end of that we’re told that some never-before-mentioned noblewoman is staring at them. So… they were still in the hall all along with the audience just... standing there doing nothing, even though the event is clearly over? Or Lysande will take a long walk down to the little-frequented crypts with a political ally, and then he just…. steps out (to where?), and someone else shows up to fetch her and she leaves with that person, without thinking that the first guy might expect her to still be there? It makes for confusing reading, not helped by the lack of line breaks between scenes that make the transitions feel jerky.
The setup also doesn’t feel fully thought through. Lysande is 30, a scholar, has been the queen’s ward since she was 8, and has become the queen’s closest confidant (before the queen’s untimely demise in chapter one). And the queen is clearly grooming her for a political role. However, somehow Lysande doesn’t know any of the main palace officials even by sight, and apparently has no idea who the realm’s chief ambassador even is despite his being a longtime lover of said queen (who is quite up-front about her relationships). Lysande also hasn’t visited any of the realm’s four major cities, which is especially odd because it implies the queen has never toured her realm in her adult life either: she’s in her early 40s, meaning she was around 20 when she took Lysande in, and from their relationship it certainly seems that Lysande would have traveled with her had she gone anywhere. And given the queen’s unmarried, childless state—meaning one of the major cities’ rulers will be her heir—you’d definitely think she’d want to keep tabs on these people and their domains.
Meanwhile I am just being ruined for fantasy conceptions of monarchy by reading history, but this book is supposedly inspired by Renaissance Italy and Machiavelli, yet shows no indication of research. Why would the queen—a bluff warrior type who seems very secure in herself and has been on the throne for decades—wear her crown while taking a walk in her private garden with Lysande? Crowns are heavy, ornamental pieces for state occasions and ceremonies, and from this queen’s allowing common-born Lysande to address her by her first name, she clearly doesn’t stand on ceremony. She also apparently has no attendants or servants, but, well, fantasy I guess.
At any rate, when the first 50 pages of a book give me this much to criticize and so little to like, it’s clearly time to move on! Sounds worth a try for those who love BDSM in fantasy though (not present in the first 55 pages)....more
Read through page 268, but with nearly 200 pages still to go I couldn’t do it with this book and was relieved to stop forcing myself through it.
This bRead through page 268, but with nearly 200 pages still to go I couldn’t do it with this book and was relieved to stop forcing myself through it.
This book purports to be a different kind of history of Native America, one focused on Native Americans’ real lives and agency and existence in the modern world, but for the most part it’s just more of the same.
First, despite purportedly being a history from 1890 to the present, the entire first 100 pages (out of 455 in the main text) explicitly summarize pre-1890 history, as do most of the following 75, which are labeled as covering the years 1891-1934.
Second, despite the author’s claim at the beginning that he wants “to see Indian life as more than a legacy of loss and pain”—and the fact that he’s Ojibwe himself—the book still represents Native American life as the stereotypical “peaceful and uneventful before the white man showed up, full of death and oppression afterwards.” If it focuses less on massacres and more on unjust government policies, it is nevertheless a chronicle of oppression, loss and pain, in which Native Americans are rarely shown with agency unless they are perpetrating violence. And those 100 pages explicitly devoted to pre-1890 history, bizarrely, mostly just describe pre-contact tribes’ diets and migration patterns. Beside a really exceptional history of the Americas like Charles Mann’s 1491—in which the author made a point of writing the same type of history we write about Europe and Asia, you know, with discussion of technology and government and society—this book compares poorly. Writing a “history” of pre-1890 Native America that’s based almost entirely on archaeology (plus the occasional massacre) gives the impression of people who don’t have a history, or who aren’t even people (seriously, diet and habitat? Every species has those), regardless of vague generalizations to the contrary.
Third, and relatedly, the author’s choice of what information to include and what to leave out is bizarre. The one pre-contact event discussed is the founding of the Iroquois* League, but he only names the leaders involved, without a word about the actual governmental structure resulting. He doesn’t even reference its influence on the later structure of the U.S. government, which for someone trying to lift up Native American history is a bizarre thing not to claim. And despite that initial talk about focusing on resilience, he passes up the opportunity to discuss people who have done well: for instance, there’s a brief reference to the Osage becoming wealthy on oil reserves, without any discussion of how this has affected the tribe or anyone in it, and then they are not discussed for the rest of the book (I checked the index to make sure).
And what achievement does he call attention to instead? Stone axes. No, seriously. In reference to early trade between Native Americans and European traders: “European knives were no better at cutting. European axes were no better at felling” (45). Way to make a wild claim (that stone tools are just as good as metal ones, including for chopping down trees) while pretending you aren’t (by hiding it behind vague assertions that, without the background knowledge to realize what he’s talking about, just make it sound like he’s saying European people aren’t better) and therefore entirely fail to back it up.
Finally, although the pages turn fairly quickly for a history of this length, I simply didn’t find the author’s writing style compelling. In particular, he inserts these human-interest bits about himself traveling about interviewing people, but manages to make them utterly uninteresting and mundane. Likewise, much of the historical information raises questions that he doesn’t follow up on. The writing overall is short on specifics—particularly for readers who already have some knowledge of Native American history—so that the author’s feelings about it all come through far more clearly than the facts.
* Also inconsistent: whether the author refers to tribes by the names they use for themselves. He always does this for the Ojibwe (his own), about half the time for the Diné (which seems likely to make things even more confusing for readers who also see “Navajo” in there and don’t realize we’re talking about the same group), and rarely to never for most of the rest. I have no idea why....more
I read the first two stories in this collection, the only work of fiction by a Papua New Guinean author that I could find. And it's a short book to boI read the first two stories in this collection, the only work of fiction by a Papua New Guinean author that I could find. And it's a short book to boot, at only 144 pages (perhaps a dozen of which are occupied by illustrations), so believe me when I say it had to be awful for me to decide to abandon it.
But you don't have to take my word for it! Sample it yourself. Here's the opening of the first story, "A Medal Without Honour," typed exactly as written:
Two Japanese zeros appearing from nowhere, swept menacingly low, spitting death all around the long column of over-burdened natives. Deadly bullets raining down from the mounted machine guns on those mean looking flying machines. The natives panicked and scattered for cover in panic, under the punishing heavy loads they carried. Food and ammunition for the allied troops, holed up along the ranges of what was later to become known as the "famous Kokoda Trail". This was a painstaking task and the natives were beginning to get used to it. The task of a carrier or a "cargo boy", promised nothing more than death or survival as the ultimate fate. Such was the ordeal and the nature of this punishing task that saw some natives flee to freedom during the first week of forced recruitment, by the ANGAU officers. They remained frozen wherever they fell when they took cover meditating silently to their long gone ancestors, hoping they would help them stay alive!
Harsh words of command barked from the white boss-man amidst blood-curdling screams of dying men, as the deadly flying machines made another run. Again the Japanese fighters approached with rage, irritating and deafening. Dry leaves, tree branches, and even tree trunks including kunai grass whithered and wavered as they absorbed bullets . Somebody down the column yelped from their hide-out and began moaning in pain. Another screamed and sprang up from the opposite side of the track, tossing off the heavy napsack and began jerking involuntarily for the last dance. He dropped head long onto his face and died.
This is representative of the story as a whole. The book is rife with spelling, grammatical and punctuation errors. Verb tense shifts randomly. Word choice is poor: the approaching fighter planes, which drive people into a panic, are "irritating," while the panicked carriers "meditate" to their ancestors? And sometimes it's so poor as to be nonsensical: dry leaves absorb bullets, causing them to "whither"? Repetition of the wrong words and phrases is distracting: the natives "panicked and scattered for cover in panic"; the airplanes are referred to as "flying machines" twice in two paragraphs even though the narrative immediately identifies the type of plane in question. Momentum never has a chance to build: as the fighter planes are sweeping down, the author calls a halt to the action to make vague assertions about the nature of the carriers' jobs (called a "painstaking task" and a "punishing task" in back-to-back sentences). And the ideas are expressed in a clunky manner; so the jobs "promised nothing more than death or survival as the ultimate fate" - well, either death or survival is the ultimate fate of anyone caught up in war.
The story goes on like this for about ten pages before, on the eve of the definitive battle, it without warning shifts to its primary character (I hesitate to call him a protagonist when he plays only a small role in the story) as an old man. The shift is so abrupt it took me a couple paragraphs to figure out what had happened. It continues for two or three more pages without ever finding a plot, then ends.
I read the second story ("A Sordid Affair") anyway, because it is short. It at least has something resembling a plot. But the author would need to do a lot better than that to compensate for the truly terrible writing. There are self-published books better than this....more
This book’s chief merit is that it is set in East Timor. If, like me, you are doing a world books challenge, or if you have a particular interest in tThis book’s chief merit is that it is set in East Timor. If, like me, you are doing a world books challenge, or if you have a particular interest in that country, that is not inconsequential, because there are very few options. Unfortunately, there’s nothing about its content or style to recommend it.
Luis Cardoso grew up in East Timor under Portuguese rule, lived in various places around the country and attended various schools, until around the time the country became independent; he was off to study in Portugal on scholarship before the subsequent Indonesian invasion. This book purports to be his memoir, though we learn little about the author and his life; he spends much more time on random information about the lives of people whose connection to him is unclear (many of whom turned out to be political figures, apparently), and describing the political situation in ways that do little to elucidate for those not already familiar with East Timorese history.
Because the hallmarks of The Crossing are a lack of focus – jumping between seemingly unrelated ideas even within a single paragraph – and a lack of clarity, it’s often difficult to tell just what the author is trying to communicate. The attempts at figurative language only hinder that project. Take for instance: “He went back to reading the big dictionary to decipher the words heard over the crackling radio, as if they were coffee beans defecated by a palm civet.” What? What does a palm civet (whatever that is) defecating coffee beans (as they do?) have to do with looking up unfamiliar words in the dictionary, and/or the sound of the radio? Do palm civets make crackling sounds when they defecate? Is looking up unfamiliar words being compared to poking through scat to see what animals have been eating? Who knows? Figurative language is supposed to aid readers’ understanding, not distract us with bizarre and nonsensical comparisons.
If you do need to read a book set in East Timor, The Crossing does have one additional merit: it is short, at 152 pages with generous margins and spacing. That’s the best I can say for it....more
This book combines two of my least favorite aspects of the fantasy genre--unnecessary sequels and endless travelogues--into a vortex of boredom. I almThis book combines two of my least favorite aspects of the fantasy genre--unnecessary sequels and endless travelogues--into a vortex of boredom. I almost never give up 320 pages into a 400-page book, but I am already kicking myself for having read as far as I did and see no point to wasting any more of my life on it.
The first book is great fun, but this one did not need to exist. The characters who were great came back dull, the okay ones came back interchangeable, and there is absolutely nothing going on except a very slow voyage to China,* because the Chinese want Temeraire back, which of course we know isn't going to last because there are half a dozen more books featuring him and Laurence in places that aren't China.
Now it's no secret that I have little patience for series and even less for the episodic type, but good grief, if you're going to write that kind of series, at least bring in some complex new characters or interesting plots or something.
I propose a new rule for fantasy book writing: if more than a quarter of any sequel is spent traveling, it's because the author doesn't really have anything more to say in this world or with these characters, and is simply drawing it out for the sake of writing a sequel. The manuscript should be scrapped immediately.
*I assume that by the end of the book the characters did in fact reach their destination? Because 80% of the way through, I was still waiting for it....more
I am setting this one aside 30-odd pages in for two main reasons:
1) Pacing within scenes seems off and characters not quite believable.
2) Holy male gaI am setting this one aside 30-odd pages in for two main reasons:
1) Pacing within scenes seems off and characters not quite believable.
2) Holy male gaze, Batman! Literally the first thing we learn about the (16-year-old) protagonist is her breast size. They are, in case you wanted to know (I didn't), "the fullest breasts in her class." As we are told from her own POV. Meanwhile her governess is off ogling the headmistress, or so I presume by the fact that when the author writes from said governess's POV, the headmistress's "bosom" is her only physical characteristic described.
With such a beginning, it seems just that this book was shortlisted for a bad sex award, though not based on those particular passages.
Okay, guys, here's a rule of thumb for writing from a female point-of-view: consider how often and in how much detail you would describe a male character's penis, from his own POV or that of another man. Write no more than that about your female characters' breasts when your POV is female.
I rarely give 1 star reviews, but this overlong and poorly-written family saga earned it. This review will contain SPOILERS, but you won’t want to reaI rarely give 1 star reviews, but this overlong and poorly-written family saga earned it. This review will contain SPOILERS, but you won’t want to read the book anyway.
This is a family saga, more or less, set in Nepal in the second half of the 20th century. The central focus is an orphan named Raja, though the story is told primarily through the eyes of his love interest, Nilu. Meanwhile the early chapters feature a street vendor named Kaki who adopts Raja as a baby, while toward the end there are random psychic flashbacks about the life of his dead mother. Unfortunately, from a young age Raja is an unappealing character, perhaps in part because of the author’s distasteful imagery; here he is as a young boy curious about his birth mother:
“He’d find a woman sitting by herself on the grass, doodling on the ground with a stick, and he’d perch a few yards away. . . . But before that woman looked up, another would glide past, gesticulating with her fingers as she carried on a silent conversation with herself. Then Raja would abandon the first woman and follow the second. And during this pursuit, he’d spot one or two other women who didn’t look any less sad, and he’d feel confused and go to a bush and pee.”
Okay? At any rate, Raja finds a new surrogate mother, gleefully abandoning the woman who raised him up to this point:
“After Raja’s bath, Jamuna would make the boy lie on the carpet in their bedroom and massage him. She’d rub her palms with oil and draw circles on his belly with her fingers, making his shriveled penis jiggle.”
We are talking about a 6-year-old boy and his mother-figure here, and no, this creepy image does not foreshadow child molestation. Though don’t worry, there is plenty of child molestation in the book.
At any rate, Raja becomes a teenager and gets involved with Nilu, who adores him for some reason. I’m sure we’d all want to be friends with this charming pair:
“Often they were together, rarely relinquishing each other’s company to join their other friends, who were not too many. Raja had a group of friends who sat around admiring him for his bravado, but he didn’t hesitate to abandon them when he saw Nilu walking through the campus gates. Nilu in general kept to herself, preferring Raja’s company to that of her women classmates, who seemed to enjoy gossip and talking about fashion more than anything else.”
Stereotypes ahoy! This book runs on stereotypes: all the men are losers, and all the women are maternal, and all the characters are so flat that that’s about all you need to know. Raja and Nilu of course defy their families to marry; Raja then takes the opportunity to mooch off Nilu’s teaching job for years, and without even helping around the house (he prefers to eat out, on her dime). When he eventually finds a job, he does nothing but complain and immediately decide to quit, and Nilu enables him:
“[W]hen she pictured him fidgeting in his chair, drumming the desk with a pencil, responding to rude, dismissive clients, she felt he had a point.”
Poor baby, with an unsatisfying first job! But life moves on. They ignore their families, including the poor woman who devoted her life to Raja for years, and whom he refuses for no reason to acknowledge or visit; she dies of a broken heart, for which Raja never feels a shred of remorse. He and Nilu have a baby, and Raja gets over his giant sense of entitlement (born, apparently, of not knowing the identity of his birth mother) long enough to hold down a job, and then after a few years, the child dies. Our hero is supportive to Nilu in her distress:
“ ‘Don’t you have anything else to say? I’m so sick and tired of hearing about how your world has gone dark. Fed up! I can’t listen to it anymore.’”
So he leaves, demanding of his upset wife, “Why can’t you think a bit positively about this? Why do you always have to be negative?” This is totally reasonable, because most people would think positively about being abandoned by their spouse soon after the death of their only child.
Because she is a woman, Nilu soon finds a new outlet for her maternal urges:
“She was fully aware that with Shiva she experienced a cravenness that was more maternal than anything.”
I don’t even know what that means, except that, of course, Nilu is maternal.
Anyway, this lovely couple reconciles; sadly, more than 100 pages remain in the book. Thus, the random psychic flashbacks about Raja’s mother, which don’t affect the plot, but do reveal that despite being portrayed as a victim of her father’s abuse, she is just as sympathetic as her son, inclined to knocking over old disabled women in the street:
“Holding the books to her chest, she trotted down the sidewalk, brushing past pedestrians. The old spitting lady from the neighborhood, the one with the horribly bent back, was a few yards away, stooping in front of a peanut vendor, arguing about something, probably asking for samples with no intention of buying. As she breezed past her, Mohini thwacked her on the back of the head with her books, making her tumble forward, onto the mountain of peanuts arranged on a nanglo, which scattered all over the sidewalk.”
Lovely. Then there is a random subplot about Raja and Nilu’s adult daughter. Raja never does redeem himself; he simply grows older. Then the book ends. And no, I don’t know what the point of any of it is, except that if you never knew your birth mother, you have a Freudian excuse for anything, apparently.
Long story short, the most positive statement I can make about this book is that the sheer unpleasantness of its otherwise dull characters kept my attention better than the inoffensive blandness often found in bad books. The story is way too long, without any plot to speak of; what events do occur are predictable and trite. The writing is clunky. The setting has the potential to be interesting, but the author never delves into it; Nepalese history passes in the background, but in a way that makes little sense to a reader without prior knowledge of the region. Really, there is no reason to read this, unless (like me) you find yourself looking for a novel set in Nepal and with limited options, or you are curious to see just how unappealing an author can make a protagonist, without apparent reason. Avoid....more
You never know with obscure fantasy novels, especially those written by women, whose works are still too often unjustly ignored. There are some hiddenYou never know with obscure fantasy novels, especially those written by women, whose works are still too often unjustly ignored. There are some hidden gems out there. (Here, have some recs: Firethorn. The Secrets of Jin-shei. Fudoki.) And then there are the books that are forgotten for good reason. This one falls into the latter category. Unfortunately, it’s so hard to find that I wound up requesting and receiving it as a gift, at which point I felt obliged to read all of its 500+ pages.
The Porcelain Dove is a historical fantasy, set before – and, toward the end, during – the French Revolution, narrated by a duchess’s maid. The story is supposedly about a curse placed on a noble family, but would be more accurately described as the mundane life story of the maid, since all the curse does for the plot is require minor characters to disappear from the narrative as they go off questing for years – or decades – on end. Our narrator herself has nothing to do with the curse or its resolution, nor does she even have access to the people who do. Her mistress is a shallow and flighty woman, who does no more to advance the plot than Berthe herself. Berthe is possessive of her mistress regardless, but to me the LGBT label is a stretch; there is little in Berthe’s devotion that reads like desire.
Meanwhile, the character who acts as the heroine of the novel (at least toward the end) doesn’t get along with Berthe and rarely appears. In fact, our narrator has so little interaction with this character that the climax of the novel consists of Berthe’s watching a play, which magically reveals to her over 20-odd pages everything that happens in this other character’s quest. Riveting drama, that, but it’s not quite as bad as the premise itself. As it turns out, the curse is imposed as revenge for a horrific crime, and goes like this, “You (view spoiler)[raped and tortured my prepubescent daughter to death, along with many other children (hide spoiler)]! Therefore, I curse you with a beggar approaching one of your descendants hundreds of years in the future and asking him for something! If he refuses, a family member of his will have to go on a quest, and in the interim his lands will decline!”
What kind of lame vengeance is that? Really, why even bother? The real-life perpetrator who inspired this ancestor was simply hanged, which seems much more appropriate.
But this is one example of a problem that permeates the book. Now, historical fantasy is among my favorite subgenres. Done right, the history brings texture and authenticity to the fantasy, while the fantasy brings imagination and possibility to the history. But here, the fantasy simply eliminates the stakes from history (we learn in the prologue that the entire unsympathetic aristocratic family survives the revolution unscathed, as their chateau is transformed into an inaccessible paradise), without bringing any liveliness to a tale bogged down in mundane details of jaunts to Lausanne and Paris and petty arguments among servants.
So, what are we left with? A slow-paced story, with no plot at all in the first half of the book and an ending we know from the start. A snooty narrator with no discernible goals or struggles, surrounded by a cast of characters too flat to justify the meandering. Dialogue that is often cliché and overblown, and a narrative peppered with French words and phrases (if you don’t know what lessons in comme il faut might be, or precisely what is meant by the exclamation “foutre ce dedale infernal!”, you’ll likely feel lost at times). Tedious details about clothing and garden parties. One black guy who exists primarily to be referred to by all as an ape, because those 18th-century-ers sure were racist! Various aristocratic men who get away with assaulting and/or raping whomever they like, and peasants who are dismissed as unintelligent and perpetually discontented, in a setting that, despite the overabundance of mundane detail, still feels underexplored.
Needless to say, I don’t recommend seeking this one out. But for those seeking French-Revolution-inspired historical fantasy, all is not lost! Go read Illusion instead. You can thank me later....more
Sigh. I read the first chapter of this book and it made me reflect on our community of reviewers, both online and professional, and not in a good way.Sigh. I read the first chapter of this book and it made me reflect on our community of reviewers, both online and professional, and not in a good way. Not only does this book seem to be universally lauded as "beautifully written," even by people who disliked it, but it was even long-listed for the Booker prize. So of course I was expecting a, well, beautifully written literary novel.
Let's take a look at this so-called beautiful writing, shall we? Examples all come from the first chapter (17 pages):
“And there was something else in the envelope. Turning it over, a thin wooden stick, about five inches long, fell out onto my desk.”
“Entering Tanah Rata, the sight of the former Royal Army Hospital standing on a steep rise filled me with a sense of familiar disquiet.”
“Walking over to the mound of leaves, I grabbed a few handfuls and scattered them randomly over the lawn. Brushing off the bits of leaves sticking to my hands, I stepped away from the grass.”
The scenery described may be beautiful, but this writing is not. The writing is inelegant when it isn't downright clunky. A Booker contender? Seriously?
Meanwhile the flat first-person voice completely failed to inspire my interest in the narrator, even though it's a character type I might be expected to enjoy. This is a good example of why authors shouldn't use the first person unless it's really necessary; when the voice isn't strong, when no discernible personality seeps through, it only distances readers from the character. Character interactions also seem clunky, with everybody wanting to know about the narrator's Tragic Past.
I am trying to stick to a policy of quitting any book that inspires lengthy criticism after the first chapter, so this one is headed back to the library. And, fellow reviewers: please don't be afraid to criticize an author's writing style just because everyone else is calling it beautiful. Just because people say it doesn't mean it's true....more
Update 2: Activity Goodreads does not permit me to mention, but does permit to happen, occurs in comment #51 [formerly comment 52] to this review. CheUpdate 2: Activity Goodreads does not permit me to mention, but does permit to happen, occurs in comment #51 [formerly comment 52] to this review. Check it out!
Highlight: Kline thinks pointing out bad writing is "silly," which tells you pretty much all you need to know about the quality of this book. That's it, I'm one-starring this baby.
**Update: Disclaimer!**
This is my review space, in which I discuss bad writing in recent releases, including but not limited to this one. If you are offended by criticism of bad writing, criticism of this book, people discussing books they have not read in full, or (gasp!) cursing, feel free to scroll on past and write your own review. If people keep posting whiny comments, I reserve the right to add gifs and make it 5 times longer!
****
I know better than to request ARCs without a preview. Really, I do.
So I read the first chapter of this, which explains everyone's backstory, personality and motivations. Which, first, show don't tell please, and second, can't we leave something for chapter two? Why would I read on when there's nothing to pique my curiosity?
Also, um, the writing. Check this out: "Black makeup is smeared under her eyes like a football player." Like a football player.... smeared under her eyes?
On the positive side, a preview saved me from ordering another book, beginning with the sentence, "The climb felt almost arduous, the engine juddering and restarting four times during the creaking ascent up." Ascent up, are you fucking kidding me? Also, what's up with this weak-ass "felt almost arduous"? This is the first sentence of a published novel! I mean, it's only like the most important sentence in the entire book!
So, I'd thought getting a job as an editor with a major publishing house was supposed to be difficult, or something. But seriously, ascents up and football players smeared under people's eyes? You can do better than this, publishers. Seriously....more
I’m baffled, because I really liked Maalouf’s Ports of Call. But this flat and colorless book is halfway between fiction and history/biography, and maI’m baffled, because I really liked Maalouf’s Ports of Call. But this flat and colorless book is halfway between fiction and history/biography, and manages to encompass the worst of both worlds: not enough background or historical detail for nonfiction, and not nearly enough plot and character for fiction.
Despite the title, Samarkand is a book about Iranian history. (view spoiler)[Which means that on top of just having wasted my time on a fucking terrible book, I don't even get to count it for Uzbekistan! Where the hell else am I going to find a book set in Uzbekistan? (hide spoiler)] The first half centers on the life of Omar Khayyam, a famous 11th century poet. The second half is set in the early 20th century and narrated by Benjamin Lesage, an American who visits the country. The two parts have little to do with each other beyond Benjamin’s rather halfhearted interest in Khayyam’s work, apparently stemming more from boredom than anything else, and both parts are equally lifeless.
The first half reads like a halfhearted biography of Khayyam; the beginning has some decent scene-setting, but the plot doesn’t focus in on anything in particular, the characters don’t come to life, and the narrative often skips years or decades or jumps to a different point-of-view. Interesting or transformative moments in the characters' lives are explained or even skipped where they should be shown, and historical background that ought to be explained is often left unsaid. The editor bears some of the blame for this; when translating a book that assumes familiarity with 11th century Middle Eastern history into English, it would be advisable to at least include an introduction explaining the basics. But even that might be forgivable if there were any plot momentum or character development.
The second half reads like a halfhearted history of the Iranian Constitutional Revolution of 1906. Benjamin is a cipher: an American rich kid who keeps traveling to Iran at moments of political importance and hangs out there for years despite political turmoil, for no particularly compelling reason. This half can’t be faulted for not explaining enough; I did learn some history from it, but again, there is zero plot momentum, while Benjamin neglects his own story for chapters on end, for instance, to explain how the new government selected a treasurer. (I am not making this up!) There are authors who can integrate history lessons into a novel and keep it engaging--Michener and his ilk do it well--but Maalouf is not among them. He manages to make a dramatic time period flat and tedious, and displays no storytelling ability at all; interesting bits are briefly summarized while routine interactions are developed into scenes and chapters. Meanwhile, there’s not a single interesting character in the second half of the book--even though a few of the historical figures were probably fascinating. The romance is best not even mentioned.
Russell Harris’s translation may be partially responsible for all this; it’s certainly not good, littered as it is with grammatical and spelling errors. At times it’s just plain nonsensical: “he told us with an imperceptibly triumphant tone of voice.” Um...?
Overall, this painfully boring book left me feeling that Maalouf was interested in two specific time periods in Iranian history, but wouldn’t commit to just writing nonfiction. He can write an engaging story, but I’d never have known it from reading Samarkand....more
I almost never give 1 star to books I've actually finished, because they're bound to have some redeeming quality that will at least bring the ratGah!!
I almost never give 1 star to books I've actually finished, because they're bound to have some redeeming quality that will at least bring the rating up to 2. But the best I can say about this one is that it's not offensive--in fact, I share many of the author's opinions--and that the prose was at least competent enough for me to continue reading, but that isn't very redeeming when it so utterly failed to entertain that I threw it against a wall. (I really did!)
The (alleged!) premise of this book is that it's a retelling of the fairy tale/ballad of the same name, set in the early 1970's in a small Minnesota liberal arts college. I say "alleged" because the fantasy element is only occasionally hinted at until the last 50 pages or so out of 456. The rest is "Daily Life of an English Major." (On reflection I've decided to not even put it on my "fantasy" shelf; it hasn't earned that.) In fact, over 300 pages describe the protagonist's freshman year, even though the events of the ballad don't happen until she's a senior. And, seriously, nothing happens.
But don't just take my word for it. Here's a representative sample:
"She put the books she was holding neatly on her lower shelf, shrugged out of her pink nylon jacket and hung it over the back of her desk chair, tucked her gray Blackstock T-shirt into her pink corduroy pants, put the jacket back on, zipped it to just below the Blackstock seal on the T-shirt so that the lion seemed to be peering over the zipper pull, and said, 'Let's go, before the line gets too long.'"
And the whole book is like that! Endless minutiae (and bizarre fashion choices), with every little thing described in detail no matter how irrelevant it is. Now, I have nothing against slow pacing; the right author can write a brilliant book consisting almost entirely of minutiae. Read The Remains of the Day if you don't believe me. But the difference between that book and this one is that here, the minutiae doesn't mean anything; there's no payoff; it doesn't advance the plot or illuminate the characters or their relationships. It's just endless daily life, the stuff that's moderately interesting to live through but gets boring when even your friends talk about it too long--and how much worse, then, when the people living it are fictional characters?
In Tam Lin, we sit through every meeting Janet has with her academic advisor to pick her classes. The merits of various professors and their teaching styles and syllabi are discussed. Every time Janet and her friends want food, we see them weigh which dining hall to eat in (the one with a view of the lake? or the one resembles a dungeon? did I mention that the architecture of generically-named buildings I could never remember is also much discussed?). And of course, there's the books. Endless discussions of literature--by which I mean, for the most part, old-school poetry and plays--seem to substitute in the author's mind for both plot and character development.
In fact, there's so little tension in this book that halfway through, Janet realizes the biggest problem in her life is that one of her roommates, while a perfectly nice girl, doesn't understand Janet's literary obsession. And that Janet therefore finds her tedious. What the....?! Did the author miss the creative writing class where they talked about how a plot requires conflict??
SPOILER
And then we get to the end, and the retelling bit plays out exactly like the ballad, and exactly as Janet was told it would. And then the (alleged!) villain responds with a disapproving stare and exits stage left. I say "alleged" because the most detailed description we ever get of her supposed acts of villainy is basically, "Well, there's a rumor she's slept with a married person sometime." How truly menacing!
/SPOILER
I could keep going.... the indistinct personalities, the mysteries and foreshadowing that are heavily built up and then come to nothing, the use of unexplained, apparently magically-induced memory loss and general indifference to keep Janet from figuring out the entire (alleged!) plot early on, the dialogue that's probably 50% literary quotes, the 12 pages describing a play blow-by-blow, which even then fail to explain it so that it makes sense!.... but in the spirit of what I think Dean was trying to do with this book, I am going to recommend some other books instead.
So: if you want to read about college women in the early 1970s, try Nunez's The Last of Her Kind. If you want cultlike groups of Classics majors at small-town liberal arts colleges, read Tartt's The Secret History. If you like the idea of pretentious college students combined with fantasy elements, try Grossman's The Magicians. Or, for less pretention and more coming-of-age, Walton's Among Others (okay, I had mixed feelings about that one, but at least it has some plot and character development to go with its science fiction references). And if you're here because you want a fairy tale retelling where the girl saves the guy from an evil sorceress, check out something by Juliet Marillier, preferably Daughter of the Forest.
But if you really do want to read a book that describes liberal-arts-college life in exhaustive detail and talks endlessly about the sorts of works only an English major could love? Then by all means, read Tam Lin. You can have my copy!...more
One star, yikes, I should have known better than to read this book. But I wanted to read something set in Vietnam and written by an actual Vietnamese One star, yikes, I should have known better than to read this book. But I wanted to read something set in Vietnam and written by an actual Vietnamese person about Vietnamese characters--not by and about Americans who fought in the Vietnam War--and this fit the bill. Unfortunately that was the only bill it fit. (What does that mean, anyway, fitting a bill? What kind of bill are we talking? Anyway.)
This is a wannabe-epic tale, set in early-20th-century Vietnam, of a boy whose family is killed, and who seeks revenge but falls in love with the killer’s granddaughter. It starts interestingly enough, with the boy’s first wife; he’s 7 and she’s 24, and his family arranges the “marriage” for the free labor. Then it gets bogged down in cliché, and in long boring chapters from the perspectives of minor characters. The characters’ emotions are stereotypical, their interactions clunky and simplistic, and much of the dialogue consists of their spouting grandiose pronouncements at one another. The villain would surely be twirling his mustache, if he had one. And everyone constantly makes idiotic decisions, without realizing their idiocy even in retrospect. It would be funny--sometimes it almost is--if it weren’t so slow and didn’t take itself so seriously. Instead it's just boring.
The cultural and historical detail is usually the one redeeming quality of even bad world fiction, but I’m not inclined to be generous here; the descriptions are rather tired, as is the language (although mostly competent, the writing is never fresh or arresting), and I doubt the author’s credibility. For instance, there’s a woman with bound feet, and early in the book we see her in a room full of people resting her bare feet on an ottoman. Whoa now! Bound feet looked and smelled terrible; a woman wouldn’t display them unshod. Then later in the book, her feet “though small, were no longer bound.” Whoa again! Footbinding included literally breaking the bones and reshaping the feet; there’s no going back, and trying to do so would make them worse. So if the author can’t even get the stuff I know about right, how can I trust him on anything else?
Basically, this is a tiresome melodrama--rarely does a conversation pass without someone "screaming" at someone else--that’s neither fun nor enlightening. I’m not surprised that it’s based on stories the author’s grandfather told him as a boy; the storyline and characters seem like they would most appeal to young children, although the vocabulary, slow pacing and level of violence put this book in adult territory. Sadly, then, I just wouldn’t recommend it to anyone....more
40 pages in, the writing was awkward and nothing in the characters or story had yet caught my attention. By my estimate, Moran is a few steps above Ph40 pages in, the writing was awkward and nothing in the characters or story had yet caught my attention. By my estimate, Moran is a few steps above Philippa Gregory, but that’s not saying much.
And now I am going to use the rest of this “review” as a soapbox. Ranting ahead.
1st: DECKLE EDGE PAGES. DO NOT WANT. EVEEEER!
2nd: What’s with all the illogical use of first-person present tense these days? This book has a prologue set in 1812. Then it goes back to the main story starting in 1788, and that’s in present tense. How can the character be telling her story in present tense when it’s all already over? Okay, the first-person conceit itself often makes little sense and we overlook that. (And the bookend prologue and epilogue don't actually help that here, because she isn't telling her story in 1812, just being reminded of it.) But dammit, if your story is in the present tense then it’s happening right now. In which case, it isn’t over. Please, authors, think about this.
3rd: This book just has such a bourgeois sensibility (I learned how to spell that word just for this review. I did not learn it from this book because it is not used in the first 40 pages, and I wouldn’t be surprised the characters never use it, even though they actually speak French). And that’s not what I’m looking for when I read a book about the French Revolution. You know, there are literally thousands of wars and conflicts you could write about if you want a “oh, they’re murdering people! How terrible!” sort of book. The French Revolution is different. It came up time and time again in completely unrelated history and literature classes in college, not because people got killed but because it’s rather important in world history: for the ideas, for the effect on social and political structures around the world. And what I learned in class is basically all I know about it--the historical fiction on point just doesn’t seem to be very good. I’ve read A Tale of Two Cities, which is the only Dickens so far that I haven’t liked. But I’m pretty confident that it still did a better job than this book. If I’m going to read a novel about the French Revolution, I want it to really deal with the ideas and the effects and the underlying causes. I want it to care as much about a peasant dying of starvation as it does about a royal being guillotined. I want it to let me make my own moral judgments. I want main characters who are not from the upper classes and revolutionaries who are at least sympathetic, and an aristocracy that is not whitewashed. And I want it to be at least somewhat well-written. And this was not going to be that book.
In fairness, the book does have a picture of a woman in a fancy dress on the cover, so it’s not exactly hiding anything. But she was a career woman*, not a noblewoman, so I thought it might be okay. Then she started saying things like “The king and queen have gifted the city with as much firewood as they can spare from Versailles” and I realized no, no it wouldn’t. A book that thinks a little bit of charity makes systemic abuses okay is not the French Revolution book I’m looking for.
So, if you know of the book I’m looking for, please let me know. This is not it.
* And I was so excited to read historical fiction featuring a career woman who actually existed, which meant I wouldn't have to wade through a bunch of reviews by people who know no more about history than I do but are nevertheless firmly convinced that the character is anachronistic because everybody knows no woman ever made her own way before the 20th century. But Moran's rendering of this character was so bland that it didn't matter....more
Blargh, I'd been having such good luck with Goodreads Choice finalists.
I really should have put it down after page two, when the female, working-classBlargh, I'd been having such good luck with Goodreads Choice finalists.
I really should have put it down after page two, when the female, working-class narrator describes her roommate as follows:
"Eve was one of those surprising beauties from the American Midwest. In New York it becomes so easy to assume that the city's most alluring women have flown in from Paris or Milan. But they're just a minority. A much larger covey hails from the stalwart states that begin with the letter I--like Iowa or Indiana or Illinois. Bred with just the right amount of fresh air, roughhousing, and ignorance, these primative blondes set out from the cornfields looking like starlight with limbs. Every morning in the spring one of them skips off her porch with a sandwich wrapped in cellophane ready to flag down the first Greyhound headed to Manhattan--this city where all things beautiful are welcomed and measured if, if not immediately adopted, then at least tried on for size."
You know, maybe you shouldn't write your debut novel in the first person from the POV of a character of the opposite gender from yourself? Let alone a different time period and socioeconomic (and educational) background? Just a thought?
Well, I kept going. For 129 pages. Until I realized there was no plot. Just lots of drinking, and pretentious talk about art and such.
Also, by the time I quit, the main character had coincidentally run into someone while out and about at least 5 times. I thought New York City was a bit bigger than that?
But, I admit, I hated The Great Gatsby, which this has been compared to.
But at least Nick Carraway was convincingly male....more
I've liked other Kay books. But all the rhapsodizing about how awesome his characters are got to be a bit much and I returned it to the library at theI've liked other Kay books. But all the rhapsodizing about how awesome his characters are got to be a bit much and I returned it to the library at the halfway point, after two main characters met and stared at each other for 10 pages....more
Emma Deplores Goodreads Censorship
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