Outside of a Dog: Kate Nepveu's Book Log

Code Name Verity, by Elizabeth E. Wein, is hands-down the most talked about book among my social circle this year. It's an epistolary novel set in WWII: a young British woman has been caught as a spy in France, and after torture has agreed to write down all she knows about the British war effort. She uses the paper and temporary reprieve to tell the story of how she came to be in France, particularly her friendship with the pilot (also a young woman) who flew her there.

Lots of people have said "don't find out anything else about the book before you read it, no spoilers!" And some people have said that this emphasis gave them an unfortunate reading experience, because—somewhat perversely, though understandably—it led them to expect something different than what they got. So: this is not a Big Shocking Twist book, that's not why people are saying "no spoilers!" It is an extremely emotionally tense and suspenseful book, and it's the resolutions of what's-going-to-happen?!?!! that would be a shame to spoil, because the tension is so beautifully built and released.

The things I can say: it's an excellent book and I highly recommend it if you like spies, suspense, flying, historical novels, WWII, first-person narration, and/or awesome women. It's got lovely complex characterization, down to the minor characters. Its focus on female friendship is sadly rare but all the more welcome for it. It makes excellent use of its chosen narrative device. Though it is obviously about some tough subjects (Nazis and interrogation and torture, oh my!), it is not particularly graphic and manages to not be soul-crushingly depressing—indeed, is often witty along the way (I love the proposition that the unnamed British intelligence officer is Peter Wimsey, by Becca in a post with spoilers for everything).

Seriously: if you regularly read this booklog, our tastes almost certainly overlap enough for you to like this book. Go read it. (If you are buying a paper copy in a bookstore, you'll have to look in YA.)

(If you buy an ebook: the first half of my U.S. edition contains some underlined text, which is indeed supposed to be underlined. The second half contains some underlined text, which is alas supposed to be struck through (this is reasonably clear from context, but I was glad to confirm it from someone with a paper copy). Also for some reason most if not all of its upper-case "U"s are lower-case. Unfortunate, but still readable.)

SPOILERS for Possession; here's the non-spoiler post if you got here by mistake.

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A.S. Byatt's Possession is kind of ridiculously important to me. I first read it when I was 13 and imprinted upon it, re-reading it multiple times over the next few years, hand-copying quotes into a paper journal, that kind of thing. But the last time I re-read it was in 1998, and so when I discovered recently that it finally had an e-book edition, I decided the time was ripe for a re-read: it had looked different the last time, when I was newly in love, and I thought it would likely look different now, when I'm married and have two kids.

And indeed it does, though I'm pleased to say that by and large it holds up very well. The American characters were never particularly real to me, and they don't improve upon re-reading: I don't know what my mental image of Cropper's looks is, but whenever the narrator describes him I get a visceral jolt of "not like that"; and I have discovered a new and intense loathing of Leonora, which the narrator and indeed the rest of the characters seem not to share.

I've also always had a difficulty in maintaining momentum through the abrupt distancing that happens about halfway through (starting with chapter 16, for those of you with the text to hand; I'm going to discuss this more in a spoiler post). I was virtuous and read all the poems, but I would suggest to a first-time reader that unless you particularly enjoy the poetry, the long poems that get a chapter to themselves may reasonably be skipped.

Two other non-spoilers things I can say. I'm not sure I'd registered the narrator before, omniscient yet an individual, who nevertheless scrupulously avoids using "I," to the best of my recollection (there's at least one "we," meaning "you the reader and I the narrator"). Perhaps as a part with that, the narrative strikes me as resolutely non-judgmental, which was something I was interested in this time around.

Possession has always been an odd duck on my lists of favorite or important books, because I very rarely read literary fiction (I think it was the mention of the fairy tales in the post-Booker Prize reviews that got me to pick it up). But even though those lists are extremely out of date, Possession stays on them, because (almost) all the characters feel very real to me, and because I appreciate its exploration of what I will clumsily describe as intellectual engagement and its relationship to autonomy and physical connections. (I assume the comparison to Gaudy Night is old hat by this point.)

Finally, I should note that the text of the e-book edition appears to have been meticulously converted and proofed, though I disagree with some of the layout choices.

A spoiler post follows, in which I gossip shamelessly.

Next in the Discworld re-read, Reaper Man. I have the impression that a lot of people think very highly of this one, but it was never on the list of my favorites and I couldn't remember why until this re-read: like Becca, I completely forgot that there's a part of the book that isn't Death-as-farmhand. And while the plot that starts with the snow globes appearing out of nowhere has some good bits, like this bit of dialogue late:

"Tell me," Ludmilla whispered to Ridcully, "is this how wizards usually behave?"

"The Senior Wrangler is an amazingly fine example," said Ridcully. "Got the same urgent grasp of reality as a cardboard cutout. Proud to have him on the team."

it's still a really weird fit with the rest of the book. (For the record, though, it is kind of another "invading pop culture" story, as I was asking about last time. And this may be the book that actually breaks the Bursar.) As discussed over in comments to Becca's post, it mostly feels like trial runs for later Ankh-Morpork stories.

However, the Death bits are really lovely and put this in mid-to-upper Discworld for me. Even if the introduction of the Auditors (who I didn't remember appearing this early) does include this unfortunate line: "They might be numbered among those who see to it that gravity operates and that time stays separate from space." Whoops. (And hey, if you want to learn more about why you can't do both of those at once, Chad's book on relativity is coming out in a month!)

Word of mouth is terrific, because I would never otherwise have picked up Rick Riordan's series Percy Jackson & the Olympians. These are apparently middle-grade books, but are very readable by adults. [*] The premise is that the Greek gods are real, are still around, and have a bunch of kids by mortals, who tend to attract attention of monsters as they get older so are brought to Camp Half-Blood to learn survival skills. Plus the gods get along as well as they ever did, and (of course) there's a prophecy.

[*] I gather that, marketing-wise, Harry Potter is also middle-grade, and in some ways it's an inevitable comparison. Both series start fairly light and get quite dark by the end, and both have one-book-per-year structure. However, the Percy Jackson books focus on the summers, not the school years, which makes them a lot tighter; the third also departs from the pattern by taking place in December.

I was warned that the first book, The Lightning Thief, is somewhat weak, which it is, suffering from too-obvious threats and a bit of a tone mismatch, especially at the end. But I could see the seeds of what people recommended it for, the humor (the first chapter is titled "I Accidentally Vaporize My Pre-Algebra Teacher") and the strong female characters and the start of a clear theme that, for lack of a better way to summarize it, I will call a deliberate rejection of the lone male action hero paradigm. And it was a very fast read and I'd gotten them all from the library, so I kept going.

Things get more complicated with the second, The Sea of Monsters, and the stakes rise with the third, The Titan's Curse. By the fourth, The Battle of the Labryinth, I'd progressed to "wow, that was good!" in my sketchy notes to myself. I think that one may be my favorite, though the final book (The Last Olympian) is thoroughly satisfying on the whiz-bang and thematic levels.

The books do require a reader be able to roll with the idea that the Greek gods are key to Western civilization and that as a result, the destruction of Mount Olympus (now atop the Empire State Building) is a genuine threat to said civilization. I mean, yes, it does at least limit it to Western, but it's the kind of thing best not examined too closely—if one can, and if one can't, that's perfectly understandable.

With that caveat, however, I had a ton of fun reading these, I suspect they may become comfort reading for me, and I look forward to SteelyKid and the Pip being old enough to read them (which will make three generations of our family to enjoy them; Chad & I gave the set to his dad this Christmas and he just finished the last, which is a near-record pace for him.) If this is the kind of thing that might appeal to you, don't let the bookstore location or the apparently-dreadful movie adaptation of the first put you off.

The Admiral's Penniless Bride, by Carla Kelly is a quite enjoyable marriage-of-convenience Regency romance with some unusual touches—well, okay, I haven't read widely in the genre for quite a few years, so maybe a matter-of-factly disabled male protagonist, Jewish neighbors dealing with anti-Semitism, and a child rescued from what is plainly stated to be sexual abuse are no longer unusual. Until it feels the need to have a plot, which is predictable and unpleasant and unnecessary. If this is your kind of thing, stop reading at, let's see, halfway through chapter nineteen—you won't miss a thing. Unfortunately I wish I had, because that sort of plot now leaves a bad taste in my mouth, genre furniture or no.

One time, after an incredibly nondescript restaurant meal, Chad looked at me and said, "Well, that . . . had calories."

I finished Mastiff, the conclusion to Tamora Pierce's Beka Cooper trilogy, and all I could think was, "Well, that . . . was a book."

There's nothing specifically wrong with it that I can put my finger on. But it didn't provoke any particular feelings in me either, even when it should have.

Maybe it's because it, like the second book, takes place in yet another location and thus the characters introduced in the first book were largely absent again, though I'd thought they would be important because of the frame story. Maybe it's because I was badly disoriented when the book opened with the funeral of Beka's betrothed and I had to go back to the last book and see if I'd forgotten something major. (I hadn't; it happened between books.) Maybe I liked chase-the-kidnappers better in a different book by Pierce. Maybe it's just too long. Really, I have no idea.

So, you know. It's the last Beka Cooper book.

Random backlog catchup, while waiting for sleeping baby to wake:

I've not been thrilled with Loretta Chase's recent books. I couldn't get more than a few chapters into Your Scandalous Ways, the espionage one, because it just wasn't any fun. Don't Tempt Me: I've already filled my quota of female-virgin-leaves-harem stories with The Ringed Castle, thanks. And I stalled out on Last Night's Scandal, the Peregine/Olivia story, I think because I couldn't make sense of why they weren't talking to each other, though I'd frankly forgotten about it until now and probably will go back.

So when Silk is for Seduction came out, I got it from the library (in e-book form, because the future is awesome) rather than buying it. And it turned out to be actually fun, the way that I look for in Chase's books. Better, it's about someone in trade: the female protagonist is a dressmaker and her profession actually matters. This is doubly refreshing in the Regency(-ish) romance genre.

The non-romance plot is pretty thin, but that's not what you read Chase for anyway. A pleasant surprise; I'll probably buy the next one (it's the start of a series).

I got behind on the Discworld re-read, but the next book was Eric, about which I have almost nothing to say: it's Rincewind, it's slight, it's about bureaucracy, and I haven't read the version with pictures but didn't feel the lack (unlike The Last Hero, which has at least one scene that doesn't make any sense without the pictures). But then, I don't particularly care for Josh Kirby's Discworld art.

Next up is Moving Pictures, which kicks off the "invading pop culture" line of stories. (Or, well, is there a line? There's Soul Music, and I suppose Unseen Academicals to a certain extent. Anyway. This is what series re-reads are for.) These have never been my favorite so I was not particularly enthused to read this one.

The University comes into recognizable form here, with Ridicully (who I do like, which I don't think I expected at the time), the Bursar (not yet on the dried frog pills, but getting there), the Dean, and Ponder Stibbons. This book also introduces the dog, Gaspode. Otherwise, the only thing I have to say about it is a spoiler, so I will put it behind the jump.

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It was pure coincidence that I read Kalpa Imperial, written by Angélica Gorodischer and translated by Ursula K. Le Guin, after 1491, but it turned out to be suitable in an odd way.

Kapla Imperial is a set of stories about "The Greatest Empire that Never Was." It hooked me from the opening of the first story:

The storyteller said: Now that the good winds are blowing, now that we’re done with days of anxiety and nights of terror, now that there are no more denunciations, persecutions, secret executions, and whim and madness have departed from the heart of the Empire, and we and our children aren’t playthings of blind power; now that a just man sits on the Golden Throne and people look peacefully out of their doors to see if the weather’s fine and plan their vacations and kids go to school and actors put their hearts into their lines and girls fall in love and old men die in their beds and poets sing and jewelers weigh gold behind their little windows and gardeners rake the parks and young people argue and innkeepers water the wine and teachers teach what they know and we storytellers tell old stories and archivists archive and fishermen fish and all of us can decide according to our talents and lack of talents what to do with our lives—now anybody can enter the emperor’s palace, out of need or curiosity; anybody can visit that great house which was for so many years forbidden, prohibited, defended by armed guards, locked, and as dark as the souls of the Warrior Emperors of the Dynasty of the Ellydróvides.

If you hate that, then don't read the book; all the sentences aren't like that, but I think you need to be able to roll with the language and something of a, hmmm, non-directed approach to storytelling. The stories aren't in chronological order—I think; I'm not sure because it is not, as far as I can tell, possible to put them all in chronological order. There's no continuing characters, there's no timeline or family trees, there's no obvious arc over the entire book. What there is, are vivid and remarkable short stories about people and cities and ways of living.

When I finished Kalpa Imperial, I almost didn't want to think of it analytically, because it felt so much its own thing. But I re-read because I was trying to figure out why the last section alone is not told by a storyteller [*], and then I found myself considering the little context I had and feeling the lack of more. Gorodischer is Argentinian, and—here's where 1491 comes in for me—that gives me a sense that the lengthy and often forgotten history of the Empire, and the Empire's uneasy relationship with the South, resonate with Gorodischer's cultural context. But, particularly with regard to the story about the South, I wished I knew more about Argentinian history and culture, because I think it would inform my reaction and understanding. (See also this discussion in comments to Jo Walton's review).

[*] I didn't come up with any ideas. Nor was I able to figure out why the stories told in this section were adaptations of the Trojan War in which, among other things, the Achaeans and the Trojans are houses called saloon and the charge of the light brigade. It is extremely weird and massively distracting and, thankfully, not at all typical of the book.

There are two excerpts linked at the publisher's webpage for the book, which will almost certainly be more useful to you than this booklog entry in telling you whether you want to read this book.

Finally, I'm putting this under "sf and fantasy" on the Swordspoint principle.

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