Books read this week: The Wasteland (T.S. Eliot) 9/10, Rivers of London (Ben Aaronowitch) 8/10, Moon Over Soho (Ben Aaronovitch) 8/10, Summer Knight (Jim Butcher) 7/10, First Lord's Fury (Jim Butcher) 7/10
London is an old city. Dozens of neighbourhoods, rivers, myths and legends all it's own; Spring Heeled Jack and Jack Ketch, Gin Lane and Tyburn. Two millenia of history lies thick on the streets like a victorian smog. And that's why Ben Aaronovitch's Rivers of London series is so brilliant. It's an urban fantasy set in London, focusing on a black police constable who just happens to also be a wizard in training. It's strange that so much urban fantasy is set in the states; there's not really any proper urban history there, and so the author always has quite a difficulty trying to explain why scary old and eldritch horrors have decided to take a vacation to some dull city in the American midwest, but I guess authors write what they know. Rivers of London is probably most similar to Charles Stross' Laundry series, but it's a more serious take on things. It is also interesting to compare the British and American approaches to supernatural terror; Americans tend to assume that private investigators or some other non-government organisation will deal with the supernatural beasties using swords, axes and magic; the government is at best ignorant of the supernatural, and at worst actively malicious.
The British series, on the other hand, and rather more sensibly, tend to assume that the government knows and actively tries to manage the supernatural, and that if a threat is sufficiently severe a transit van full of guys in balaclavas will turn up and shoot it to death, and then burn it (it's the only way to be sure). It's also nice to see a protagonist in an urban fantasy book who isn't white and middle class (and doesn't, as yet, seem to have any massive destiny coming to him). The British series also focus more on the massive impact the Second World War would have had on the supernatural community in Britain; American novels tend to gloss over it; assume that somehow the wizards could remain aloof, or that the war didn't have much impact. To the US, the war happened half a world away; it was something men were sent away to fight in and it never touched the American mainland. In the UK, on the other hand, Churchill was willing to use chemical, biological and nuclear weapons, if necessary; had the Nazis invaded, he would have set the sea on fire; any possible weapon, no matter how odd, no matter how far fetched, no matter how forbidden would have been investigated, would have been tested, would have been used. A further advantage the British series have is the distinct lack of lycanthrope porn (yay!).
Of my other books this week, The Wasteland is one of my favourite poems; the opening line of the fourth section "Phlebas the phoenician, a fortnight dead" is one the most beautiful lines in English literature. The charm of the poem lies in the beauty of the language; kind of like opera, even if you don't know what it actually means, you can still appreciate the the exquisite craftsmanship that went into making something that sounds so harmonious.
Wednesday, 31 August 2011
Sunday, 21 August 2011
Dark Satanic Mills
Books read this week: Daily Life in Victorian London 7/10 (Lee Jackson), Anno Dracula 6/10 (Kim Newman), Academ's Fury, Cursor's Fury, Captain's Fury and Princeps' Fury, all 7/10, all (Jim Butcher).
I've been ill this week, so I've had quite a lot of time for reading. As you can see, I re-read most of Jim Butcher's Codex Alera. Reading the books for a second time, so soon after finishing the Dresden Files, I was struck by the overt similarities between the main characters (both begin the series as apparent orphans, both find out that someone in authority is their grandfather, and both are selected by their bloodline for some higher destiny). They're both quite fun series, but I think one of the reasons that I have a problem with fantasy in general is the rather lazy (and fundamentally anti-democratic) tendency it has to focus on lost heirs, and true royal blood and chosen ones. People tend to forget that just because your father (or your grandfather, or his father) happened to be a good king, that doesn't mean you're going to be one; in fact, the historical record is full of total fuckwit children of competent monarchs (take a bow, John, Edward II and Henry VIII). And that's before we even consider the inbreeding.
I call it lazy, because it provides a ready made excuse for involving the hero in whatever crisis of the month the author has come up with; why are they involved? because God/the gods/destiny says so! It also discourages the reader from trying to change the world themselves; after all, I'm fairly sure I'm not the secret heir of the last king of Norfolk, so how can I make a difference? I guess what I'm really saying is I prefer heroes that are made, not born; those that achieve greatness, rather than those that are born great.
<Song of Ice and Fire Spoilers>
It's interesting to contrast this with Martin's approach in the Song of Ice and Fire. I think, when the series is finished, we are going to see that one of the overarching themes is that hereditary succession is an absolutely terrible way to decide who gets what job; of the Stark children, Jon Snow is clearly the most like Ned, and would be the best successor - and he's also almost certainly not Ned's son. Likewise, from the hints Martin has been dropping, I'm fairly sure Tyrion is not Tywin Lannister's son, but he is, of the Lannister children, the one most like Tywin (as many other characters have observed). Likewise, the problem with Joffrey as a king isn't that he's not the son of King Robert; the problem is that he's a psychopath.
<\ Song of Ice and Fire Spoilers>
My other two books are mutually complementary; Daily Life in Victorian London is a fascinating anthology of press clippings, letters and diary entries about all aspects of life in Victorian London (hence the name...). Anno Dracula, on the other hand, is a massive mash-up of every possible character, both historical and fictional, who ever walked the streets of Victorian London; the main framing device being a showdown between Mycroft Holmes and Dracula whilst Jack the Ripper stalks the streets of London. It's quite a fun book, and reminded me heavily of Alan Moore's League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (much the better book, it has to be said - even if the film was an abomination).
The anthology was fascinating because it illustrates the whole spectrum of experiences in 19th Century London; the marvellous, the inspiring and the horrifying. We have the opening of the first tube line, and the shipping of ice across the Atlantic to cool food. We have operas and the first photographs. We have killer smogs, and vitriol throwers. We have pregnant maidservants killing themselves, and we have factories where girls would start work at 15 and die of lead poisoning before their 17th birthdays. It's a reminder that even without vampires and werewolves and Spring Heeled Jack, 19th Century London was a terrifying, nasty, violent place to live - especially if you were poor.
I've been ill this week, so I've had quite a lot of time for reading. As you can see, I re-read most of Jim Butcher's Codex Alera. Reading the books for a second time, so soon after finishing the Dresden Files, I was struck by the overt similarities between the main characters (both begin the series as apparent orphans, both find out that someone in authority is their grandfather, and both are selected by their bloodline for some higher destiny). They're both quite fun series, but I think one of the reasons that I have a problem with fantasy in general is the rather lazy (and fundamentally anti-democratic) tendency it has to focus on lost heirs, and true royal blood and chosen ones. People tend to forget that just because your father (or your grandfather, or his father) happened to be a good king, that doesn't mean you're going to be one; in fact, the historical record is full of total fuckwit children of competent monarchs (take a bow, John, Edward II and Henry VIII). And that's before we even consider the inbreeding.
I call it lazy, because it provides a ready made excuse for involving the hero in whatever crisis of the month the author has come up with; why are they involved? because God/the gods/destiny says so! It also discourages the reader from trying to change the world themselves; after all, I'm fairly sure I'm not the secret heir of the last king of Norfolk, so how can I make a difference? I guess what I'm really saying is I prefer heroes that are made, not born; those that achieve greatness, rather than those that are born great.
<Song of Ice and Fire Spoilers>
It's interesting to contrast this with Martin's approach in the Song of Ice and Fire. I think, when the series is finished, we are going to see that one of the overarching themes is that hereditary succession is an absolutely terrible way to decide who gets what job; of the Stark children, Jon Snow is clearly the most like Ned, and would be the best successor - and he's also almost certainly not Ned's son. Likewise, from the hints Martin has been dropping, I'm fairly sure Tyrion is not Tywin Lannister's son, but he is, of the Lannister children, the one most like Tywin (as many other characters have observed). Likewise, the problem with Joffrey as a king isn't that he's not the son of King Robert; the problem is that he's a psychopath.
<\ Song of Ice and Fire Spoilers>
My other two books are mutually complementary; Daily Life in Victorian London is a fascinating anthology of press clippings, letters and diary entries about all aspects of life in Victorian London (hence the name...). Anno Dracula, on the other hand, is a massive mash-up of every possible character, both historical and fictional, who ever walked the streets of Victorian London; the main framing device being a showdown between Mycroft Holmes and Dracula whilst Jack the Ripper stalks the streets of London. It's quite a fun book, and reminded me heavily of Alan Moore's League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (much the better book, it has to be said - even if the film was an abomination).
The anthology was fascinating because it illustrates the whole spectrum of experiences in 19th Century London; the marvellous, the inspiring and the horrifying. We have the opening of the first tube line, and the shipping of ice across the Atlantic to cool food. We have operas and the first photographs. We have killer smogs, and vitriol throwers. We have pregnant maidservants killing themselves, and we have factories where girls would start work at 15 and die of lead poisoning before their 17th birthdays. It's a reminder that even without vampires and werewolves and Spring Heeled Jack, 19th Century London was a terrifying, nasty, violent place to live - especially if you were poor.
Monday, 15 August 2011
The End of the World As They Knew It
Books Read This Week: Millenium: The End of the World and the Forging of Christendom 7/10 (Tom Holland)
I have very much enjoyed Tom Holland's books in the past; Rubicon (on the fall of the Roman republic) and Persian Fire (on the Greek-Persian wars) are among my favourite works of popular history. Millenium is his first venture outside the realm of classical history, and it is something of a disappointment; his first two books had a clear and very certain narrative thread running through them; Millenium just seems to meander from country to country, and decade to decade, occasionally passing by some interesting facts or figures, but it lacks a firm direction. This is a pity, as Millenium discusses a period of history much neglected; it is centered on the period between about 900 and the First Crusade in 1096 (i.e. it concentrates on the end of the first Christian millenium, and the fervor which this excited).
Much of the book focuses on the struggle between the Holy Roman Emperor and the Pope for supremacy; somewhat surprisingly, Holland seems to favour the papacy. He seems to believe that the triumph of the Pope lead to the separation of church and state, and hence to modern democracy. This is something of a Whiggish interpretation, with two major flaws i) the aim of the papacy was the subordination of the state to the church, not the separation & ii) (rather more crucially) the Pope didn't win. I'm also somewhat puzzled by his affection for William the Conqueror; or perhaps I should say rather his distaste for Harold Godwinsson. I've always found the Godwinsson a very sympathetic figure; brave, daring and possessing a good sense of humour (in marked contrast to the Normans who wouldn't know a joke if it got up and beat them to death with a battleaxe*). English historians have generally tended to agree; it is a strange thing that despite the fact that William won, and that he got to write all the history books, there has always been a feeling in England that really, Harold was the better man, and that he should have won. It may have something to do with Harold being the last actually English king England ever had; nevertheless it has been over 900 years, and you'd think we'd have gotten over it by now.
I also think that Holland is far more sympathetic to the Church of the middle ages than I can be; possibly I'm just not capable of the moral relativism that's required. It may be true that everyone was a violent, irrational religious bigot with a taste for murdering people who disagreed with them, but as far as I'm concerned the fact that everyone else was doing it (something which Holland maitains, but of which I am not convinced) is no excuse. After all, if all the other global religious leaders were jumping off a cliff, would you do it? (Don't answer that one Gregory VII).
And partly I just find the medieval mind very alien, in a way that (for example) the Roman mind isn't; Holland describes how a starving ill-clad shepherd boy found a gold coin in the mud, and rather than spending the money on food, or shelter, or warm clothes, went to a priest and paid for a mass for his father's soul. And somehow we're supposed to support the church that sees this as praiseworthy behaviour and crucially, actually took the boy's money. It's something I just can't do; I have a similar problem when I visit cathedrals. I find them inspiring and beautiful and stupendous, but there's always a little voice in the back of my mind saying how much better the lives of the artisans who built them would have been if a tiny fraction of the wealth put into building those prayers in stone had gone into social housing, pensions or healthcare.
* Housecarls FTW!
I have very much enjoyed Tom Holland's books in the past; Rubicon (on the fall of the Roman republic) and Persian Fire (on the Greek-Persian wars) are among my favourite works of popular history. Millenium is his first venture outside the realm of classical history, and it is something of a disappointment; his first two books had a clear and very certain narrative thread running through them; Millenium just seems to meander from country to country, and decade to decade, occasionally passing by some interesting facts or figures, but it lacks a firm direction. This is a pity, as Millenium discusses a period of history much neglected; it is centered on the period between about 900 and the First Crusade in 1096 (i.e. it concentrates on the end of the first Christian millenium, and the fervor which this excited).
Much of the book focuses on the struggle between the Holy Roman Emperor and the Pope for supremacy; somewhat surprisingly, Holland seems to favour the papacy. He seems to believe that the triumph of the Pope lead to the separation of church and state, and hence to modern democracy. This is something of a Whiggish interpretation, with two major flaws i) the aim of the papacy was the subordination of the state to the church, not the separation & ii) (rather more crucially) the Pope didn't win. I'm also somewhat puzzled by his affection for William the Conqueror; or perhaps I should say rather his distaste for Harold Godwinsson. I've always found the Godwinsson a very sympathetic figure; brave, daring and possessing a good sense of humour (in marked contrast to the Normans who wouldn't know a joke if it got up and beat them to death with a battleaxe*). English historians have generally tended to agree; it is a strange thing that despite the fact that William won, and that he got to write all the history books, there has always been a feeling in England that really, Harold was the better man, and that he should have won. It may have something to do with Harold being the last actually English king England ever had; nevertheless it has been over 900 years, and you'd think we'd have gotten over it by now.
I also think that Holland is far more sympathetic to the Church of the middle ages than I can be; possibly I'm just not capable of the moral relativism that's required. It may be true that everyone was a violent, irrational religious bigot with a taste for murdering people who disagreed with them, but as far as I'm concerned the fact that everyone else was doing it (something which Holland maitains, but of which I am not convinced) is no excuse. After all, if all the other global religious leaders were jumping off a cliff, would you do it? (Don't answer that one Gregory VII).
And partly I just find the medieval mind very alien, in a way that (for example) the Roman mind isn't; Holland describes how a starving ill-clad shepherd boy found a gold coin in the mud, and rather than spending the money on food, or shelter, or warm clothes, went to a priest and paid for a mass for his father's soul. And somehow we're supposed to support the church that sees this as praiseworthy behaviour and crucially, actually took the boy's money. It's something I just can't do; I have a similar problem when I visit cathedrals. I find them inspiring and beautiful and stupendous, but there's always a little voice in the back of my mind saying how much better the lives of the artisans who built them would have been if a tiny fraction of the wealth put into building those prayers in stone had gone into social housing, pensions or healthcare.
* Housecarls FTW!
Saturday, 6 August 2011
Mere Anarchy Is Loosed Upon The World
Books read this fortnight: Sten 3: The Court of a Thousand Suns 6/10 (Chris Bunch and Allan Cole), The Boys: Volume 7: The Innocents 7/10 (Garth Ennis et al.), The Boys: Volume 8: Highland Laddie 7/10 (Garth Ennis et al.), The Cellar 5/10 (Richard Laymon), The Graveyard Book 8/10 (Neil Gaiman), The Steel Remains 8/10 (Richard Morgan), Cryoburn 7/10 (Lois McMaster Bujold), A Dance With Dragons 8/10 (George R R Martin), Judge Dee at Work 6/10 (Robert van Gulik), Rule 34 7/10 (Charles Stross), The Lost Fleet: Dauntless (Jack Campbell) and The Dresden Files; (deep breath) Fool Moon, Grave Peril, Death Masks, Blood Rites, Dead Beat, Proven Guilty, White Night, Small Favour, Turn Coat, Changes, Ghost Story and Side Jobs, all 7/10, all (Jim Butcher).
As you can see, I've had the chance to do quite a lot of reading over the past couple of weeks. I've not time to go into detail about all of these books, so I'm going to try and write something brief about each book.
The Court of a Thousand Suns is the third book in the Sten series, a pulp sci-fi series from the mid-80s. It's quite entertaining and moves fairly quickly, and provides a fascinating insight into what we thought the future would be like before the internet.
The Boys is Garth Ennis' gleefully anarchic series about superheroes and the black clad eccentrics employed by the CIA to keep tabs on the 'supes'. The series began brilliantly, but has begun to tail off slightly; that said, it's still very funny (and exceedingly violent), and I do retain a lot of sympathy for Ennis' basic thesis; if superheroes were real, they would be like rock stars. Can you imagine Michael Jackson with the power to destroy buildings?
The Cellar is a straight-up horror story, a genre I read only very rarely. Tis a pity it's not very good.
The Graveyard Book is Neil Gaiman's homage to the Jungle Book, but with vampires. It's by turns creepy, humorous and moving. Classic Gaiman, in other words.
The Steel Remains is Richard Morgan's first foray into the fantasy genre, and it is excellent. I think Morgan is one of the best science-fiction writers working at the moment, and as far as I'm concerned his debut, Altered Carbon, is the best novel of the past decade. However, writers can stumble when moving into a different genre and I was pleased to see that this didn't happen here. On the other hand, Morgan moved from gritty, cynical and ultra-violent cyberpunk noir to gritty, cynical and ultra-violent dungeonpunk noir, so possibly is wasn't that big a step.
Cryoburn is the latest entry in the Vorkosigan saga. The series remains what it always has been; light, breezy, entertaining and fairly cheerful. With (in this case) and added pinch of ripped-from-the-headlines trading in dodgy futures (in this case deep-frozen citizens not mortgages).
A Dance with Dragons is the newest novel in the Song of Ice and Fire series; a dramatic improvement on the fourth novel (much more Tyrion!), I'm beginning to get a feel for how Martin wants to end the series. That said, I'm not sure how he can do it in two books. The book is primarily devoted to tearing down the two decent characters who were actually doing well so far, and also to Martin demonstrating that he will not permit things to improve in his world (this is particularly blatant in the epilogue where a character is killed by a deus ex crossbow purely for trying to make things better). This makes the bad guys seem quite a lot less threatening; if they succeed solely because the good guys are afflicted with a bizarre streak of bad luck, they aren't particularly scary; as soon as Martin makes that streak end, the bad guys are going to go down hard. Not that that won't be entertaining, but a little more challenge would be more dramatic I think.
Judge Dee at Work is a collection of short stories about a Chinese detective under the Tang dynasty (about the year 700). The protagonist is based on a real historical figure; the main point of interest really is the level of sophistication in administration and society that is on display in the stories compared with the (total lack) of sophistication on display in Europe at the same time.
Rule 34 is Charles Stross' latest, a sort of pseudo-sequel to Halting State. It's not a bad book, but nothing like as good as Halting State, and I felt that the plot didn't really seem to go anywhere (and neither was it properly explained). Still fun to read.
Dauntless is the first book in the Lost Fleet series. I found it quite dull.
The remaining twelve books are all part of Jim Butcher's Dresden Files series. I (as you can see) found them quite gripping; extremely entertaining, with a well-evolved mythology that develops through the series. There's also a strong undercurrent of humour, despite the increasingly dark tone of the books as the series progresses. I have tried to get into the series before, without much success, but something did just click this time, and I chainsawed through them in short order. Unfortunately I'm going to be in for a bit of a wait until the next one.
As you can see, I've had the chance to do quite a lot of reading over the past couple of weeks. I've not time to go into detail about all of these books, so I'm going to try and write something brief about each book.
The Court of a Thousand Suns is the third book in the Sten series, a pulp sci-fi series from the mid-80s. It's quite entertaining and moves fairly quickly, and provides a fascinating insight into what we thought the future would be like before the internet.
The Boys is Garth Ennis' gleefully anarchic series about superheroes and the black clad eccentrics employed by the CIA to keep tabs on the 'supes'. The series began brilliantly, but has begun to tail off slightly; that said, it's still very funny (and exceedingly violent), and I do retain a lot of sympathy for Ennis' basic thesis; if superheroes were real, they would be like rock stars. Can you imagine Michael Jackson with the power to destroy buildings?
The Cellar is a straight-up horror story, a genre I read only very rarely. Tis a pity it's not very good.
The Graveyard Book is Neil Gaiman's homage to the Jungle Book, but with vampires. It's by turns creepy, humorous and moving. Classic Gaiman, in other words.
The Steel Remains is Richard Morgan's first foray into the fantasy genre, and it is excellent. I think Morgan is one of the best science-fiction writers working at the moment, and as far as I'm concerned his debut, Altered Carbon, is the best novel of the past decade. However, writers can stumble when moving into a different genre and I was pleased to see that this didn't happen here. On the other hand, Morgan moved from gritty, cynical and ultra-violent cyberpunk noir to gritty, cynical and ultra-violent dungeonpunk noir, so possibly is wasn't that big a step.
Cryoburn is the latest entry in the Vorkosigan saga. The series remains what it always has been; light, breezy, entertaining and fairly cheerful. With (in this case) and added pinch of ripped-from-the-headlines trading in dodgy futures (in this case deep-frozen citizens not mortgages).
A Dance with Dragons is the newest novel in the Song of Ice and Fire series; a dramatic improvement on the fourth novel (much more Tyrion!), I'm beginning to get a feel for how Martin wants to end the series. That said, I'm not sure how he can do it in two books. The book is primarily devoted to tearing down the two decent characters who were actually doing well so far, and also to Martin demonstrating that he will not permit things to improve in his world (this is particularly blatant in the epilogue where a character is killed by a deus ex crossbow purely for trying to make things better). This makes the bad guys seem quite a lot less threatening; if they succeed solely because the good guys are afflicted with a bizarre streak of bad luck, they aren't particularly scary; as soon as Martin makes that streak end, the bad guys are going to go down hard. Not that that won't be entertaining, but a little more challenge would be more dramatic I think.
Judge Dee at Work is a collection of short stories about a Chinese detective under the Tang dynasty (about the year 700). The protagonist is based on a real historical figure; the main point of interest really is the level of sophistication in administration and society that is on display in the stories compared with the (total lack) of sophistication on display in Europe at the same time.
Rule 34 is Charles Stross' latest, a sort of pseudo-sequel to Halting State. It's not a bad book, but nothing like as good as Halting State, and I felt that the plot didn't really seem to go anywhere (and neither was it properly explained). Still fun to read.
Dauntless is the first book in the Lost Fleet series. I found it quite dull.
The remaining twelve books are all part of Jim Butcher's Dresden Files series. I (as you can see) found them quite gripping; extremely entertaining, with a well-evolved mythology that develops through the series. There's also a strong undercurrent of humour, despite the increasingly dark tone of the books as the series progresses. I have tried to get into the series before, without much success, but something did just click this time, and I chainsawed through them in short order. Unfortunately I'm going to be in for a bit of a wait until the next one.
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