Review: The Expedition of Humphry Clinker

The Expedition of Humphry Clinker by Tobias Smollett
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

When I studied English literature at university, I deliberately stopped at the 17th century. The more 18th-century novels I read now, the more I realize what I was missing out on, though I might not have appreciated them as much back then. Yes, they're rambling and wordy, both in their individual sentences and overall, and I wouldn't put up with that style in a 21st-century novel, but I make allowances for the period. It still meant that I wasn't always in the mood to read this one, which is why it took me nearly two months to finish.

This is a comedy of characters. Told via letters, which have distinct voices for the different authors and often give markedly different perspectives on the same events, it chronicles the doings of a Welsh squire's family on a journey around Britain. It's also a travelogue, with reflections by the various characters (mainly Squire Bramble) on the good and bad aspects of the places they visit, to the point of satire sometimes on the more fashionable ones like Bath. If there's an overall theme, it's the difference between balanced and healthy prosperity, which increases and spreads through wise management and sensible development, and extravagance, which exhausts and finally consumes itself and leads to ruin and poverty, not only in money but also in character.

As well as being a comedy in the "intended to be funny" sense, it's also a comedy in the sense that it ends with marriages rather than deaths. There are several slowly unwinding plot threads that come together relatively quickly at the end.

The head of the family, Squire Bramble himself, is a querulous hypochondriac who comes off as a misanthrope, until you dig beneath the surface and discover that he's a kind and generous man with a short temper because of his real and imagined illnesses. His health improves towards the end of the book, on his visit to Scotland, about which he enthuses (the author was born there, by what I'm sure is no coincidence). Bramble's unmarried sister Tabitha is a type of 18th-century literature (or perhaps of English literature), the wrong-headed woman who can't be reasoned with. Their nephew is superficially a young coxcomb, but again has more depth to him once you get to know him. Their niece is a naive young woman who has fallen in love with an actor - who may actually be a gentleman going under a false name. Partway through, we get the advent of the title character, Humphrey Clinker (eventually revealed not to be his real name), an honest young man who the squire engages as a servant at a low point in his life. This kind act turns out well for everyone, particularly Clinker and the squire. A coincidence eventually comes to light which connects Clinker to the family in a different way.

Clinker becomes involved in the Methodist movement - then an evangelical awakening within the Anglican church, which appealed strongly to the poor - and his honest piety, leavened occasionally with credulous superstition, is a major feature of his character, treated sympathetically for the most part.

If the book has a fault, it's that there are too many characters to easily keep straight at first, some of whom are written to and others written about, and that you sometimes have to check the end of the chapter to see who's writing, though often you can tell from the voice or from the recipient. As I went on with the book, I became more orientated. The stage machinery is visible occasionally, when one letter-writer avoids retelling a good story that has been told by the previous one, saying "I'll tell you that story when I see you."

The Project Gutenberg version has occasional OCR/scan errors, where words have been mistaken for other legitimate words. Because a couple of the letter-writers provide amusement through their misspellings and malapropisms (to a degree that stretches disbelief sometimes, particularly when it's bawdy through no intent of the letter-writer), and because 18th-century English was often spelled (and punctuated) differently from modern English anyway, and had a lot of vocabulary that we've since lost, it's a pardonable fault. I will send them an email about the obvious substitutions I noticed, though. I know I will have missed some through not recognizing the original word.

Overall, though for modern taste it needs a bit of compression and streamlining, this is an enjoyable look at Britain of the later 18th century, its places, people, and social movements and conditions, and a mostly gently satiric comedy full of memorable characters and absurd incidents. If you enjoy, say, The Pickwick Papers or even Three Men in a Boat , you will probably enjoy this literary predecessor of both of them.

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Review: Inspector French and Sir John Magill’s Last Journey

Inspector French and Sir John Magill’s Last Journey by Freeman Wills Crofts
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Crofts always writes a clever, twisty plot, and French is a solid toiler with flashes of brilliance who has just enough personality to qualify as a character, rather than the crime-solving plot device he was in the first couple of books. Mrs French is mentioned a couple of times in this book, but never appears.

At the 13% mark, I already had a theory about who had committed the crime and how. That theory proved to be correct as far as it went, though very incomplete, and I didn't know why they'd committed it. Watching French unravel the complicated plot in his dogged way was mostly enjoyable, though occasionally I felt some of the tedium that he himself was feeling. Mostly, the author skips over the tedious police-procedure parts with summary, and only gives us fully developed scenes when French's perseverance (or a credible stroke of luck favouring the prepared mind) yields progress. As always, the sense of place is well conveyed, particularly since many of the scenes are in Northern Ireland, which is where the author grew up. And, as is the tradition with the French books, there's a tense scene at the end when French and his colleagues make the arrest and are vigorously resisted.

The HarperCollins edition is a typical low-effort production that's been run through scanning and OCR and then pushed out without adequate (or, perhaps, any) proofreading for scan errors. There are multiple missing, inserted, misplaced or substituted punctuation marks, and a couple of typos that, if someone had bothered to run a spell check, would have been caught. I read the ebook from my library, but I assume the paperback is just as bad. If you have the option, don't buy this edition; it will only encourage the publisher in their lack of professionalism, plus it's annoying to read.

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Review: Short Fiction

Short Fiction by R.A. Lafferty
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Every Lafferty story I've read goes more or less the same.

1. Something weird happens, either to an individual or to the world, for reasons that are largely unexplained and unexplored.

2. Not-especially-ethical people deal with it the way such people do.

3. This doesn't end well.

It's not a formula I love, and I didn't much enjoy these stories, particularly since Lafferty had the misogyny that was common in his time very much on display. It's often mentioned that Lafferty, like Gene Wolfe, was a devout Catholic, but I see very little evidence of it in most of their work; the tone is generally cynical and misanthropic, and rather than being set in a well and benevolently ordered universe, their fiction shows us random, inexplicable events. At least Lafferty's characters mostly behave like human beings, even if they're generally the less admirable type of human being. I've never felt that Wolfe's characters made any sense at all.

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Review: Hot Water

Hot Water by P.G. Wodehouse
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Wodehouse is best known for his series books, but he wrote some wonderful standalones as well, and this is one.

It's very much in the formula, but it's a formula I enjoy, so that's fine. There's a man of action at the heart of it, a decent fellow who nevertheless doesn't scruple about a few falsehoods in a good cause. He's engaged to one of Wodehouse's attractive-but-managing young women, who is determined to develop his sensibilities, whether he wants her to or not. There's also a managing older woman whose husband, having lost his own money and being dependent on hers, is a cypher in the home, and resents it deeply, but doesn't see what he can do about it. His wife wants him to become American Ambassador to France, which is the last thing he wants, and is putting the screws on Senator Opal to make that happen. One of the screws she is putting on Opal is that he accidentally swapped two letters, and sent his refusal of her invitation to his bootlegger, and an order for alcohol to her. Given that he's a prominent Dry (a proponent of prohibition legislation) in public, this is powerful blackmail material, and the letter therefore becomes a McGuffin.

Of the twelve characters with a part to play in the plot, six of them are operating under some form of false identity at some point during the book, and the hero, Packy, ends up using three false identities, if you count pretending to be the Senator's daughter's fiancé. I don't think that's even a record for a Wodehouse hero, but it leads to wonderful complications for all concerned, as Packy tries to retrieve the letter for the Senator, definitely not because he's in love with the Senator's daughter, given that he's engaged to the managing beauty and the daughter is engaged to the wet Bloomsbury novelist. No, it's definitely not for that reason.

Meanwhile, there are four different crooks and an undercover detective operating in the French Riviera chateau where most of the action happens, drawn there by the managing older lady's jewellery (given to her by her husband during his prosperous years, before the stock market crash wiped him out). Also, there's a disreputable and dissolute, but basically harmless, young French aristocrat who's a friend of Packy's and the son of the owner of the chateau.

The farce is high, the prose, while not as crammed full of quotations as Wodehouse often is, sparkles along, the plot is intricate and beautifully handled, and overall it's a good time.

As is often the case with these Cornerstone Digital editions, this one shows clear signs of having been scanned using OCR and then given little or no proofreading, something which it badly needed. There are a great many missing quotation marks, some other missing punctuation (usually at the ends of sentences), and inserted hyphens where, in the print version, a word broke across two lines. There are even a few instances of what look like page numbers dropped into the middle of the text. It's distracting and unprofessional, and I recommend not buying these editions. (I got my copy from the library.)

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Review: The Case of Jennie Brice

The Case of Jennie Brice by Mary Roberts Rinehart
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

A short book - I read it in not much more than a couple of hours - but full of good material. The narrator is a woman from a wealthy family who was cut off by that family completely when she ran away from school to marry an Englishman named Pitman (since deceased). Shockingly, this turned out not to be a great decision, though she's mostly philosophical about the consequences - she's now running a theatrical boarding-house in a dubious part of Pittsburg that floods each winter, near her childhood home. By coincidence, her niece, who has no idea of the relationship, becomes peripherally involved in the story.

Content warning, by the way: a number of people and animals drown in the annual floods. Mrs. Pitman is regretful but philosophical about this too.

Mrs. Pitman is very much the main character, even though as far as the events of the mystery plot go, she's at least as much observer as participant. She is the first to be suspicious when one of her boarders, Jennie Brice, disappears after quarreling with her husband, and she supplies important clues and observations, but the work of solving the case is done mostly by an amateur detective who happens by in a boat, from which he has been feeding animals trapped by the floodwaters. He gets interested in the case, and moves into the boarding house, the better to pursue it. He's retired, with a little money, so he can do what interests him.

Mrs. Pitman's character is well developed, with her occasional musings about the course of her life, her surreptitious encouragement of her niece and the niece's suitor, her rivalry with Molly Maguire next door, and her observations on the mystery.

The mystery takes several twists along the way, and is cleverly resolved. In other books I've read by this author (notably The Man in Lower Ten ), the focus was so much not on the mystery plot that I came out of it disappointed, but this one has a better balance between "story of someone involved peripherally in a mystery" and "mystery story." It also (again, unlike The Man in Lower Ten) doesn't overplay the role of coincidence. There is some coincidence, notably the connection with Mrs. Pitman's niece, but it isn't central to the plot.

Written in 1913, the book shows us a world in which telephones are becoming common, but gas lighting is still used, and there are still a lot more horse-drawn than motorised vehicles. It's an atmospheric period piece with an appealing central character and a well-plotted mystery.

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Review: Dorcas Dene, Detective

Dorcas Dene, Detective by George Robert Sims
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

An early "lady detective," who was formerly an actress, so she's amazing at disguises. Her Watson (whose name is Saxon) is a sometime theatrical producer who knew her in her acting days, and becomes a friend of hers and her (blind) husband's. I did suspect that he was a little in love with her, though, as a decent fellow and a friend of the couple, he didn't do or say anything about it.

The big flaw of the stories is that they tend to tell us the solution rather than showing us how it was reached sometimes, though this isn't a universal fault. The very-end-of-the-19th-century setting is interesting (the more so because, having read a few books set in the following decade, I was amazed how quickly things changed). The detective is competent and clever, the Watson admiring and not up to much in terms of figuring out mysteries, but a good man to have nearby in case any action becomes required, and doesn't seem to have any difficulty finding time to assist the detective. In other words, he's a classic Watson - let's remember, Sherlock Holmes had debuted only ten years earlier.

Mrs. Dene takes a pragmatic view of the sometimes scandalous lives of the people she investigates, and is always professional and capable. An enjoyable set of stories, not among the greats, but better than plenty of other now-obscure classic mysteries, many of which deserve their obscurity.

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Review: The Standard Book of Anything

The Standard Book of Anything by Andrea H. Rome
My rating: 0 of 5 stars

This, for me, falls into a gap between two very disparate genres. One is cozy fantasy, and the other is dystopian. The scene in which the MC is rendered unconscious for sinister purposes by means of a spa treatment epitomises the clash between an element that should be cozy and an outcome that very much is not. I'm not sure how intentional the mixture is, but for me, it was always on the edge of not working.

Unfortunately, the writing is also in severe need of much more past perfect tense. The past perfect is used sometimes, but it needs to be used consistently. First of all, when referring to events that happened prior to the narrative moment, so that the reader doesn't suffer temporal whiplash trying to figure out the sequence, particularly in one case where the narration starts at one time, flashes back briefly to earlier events, and then returns. It's like a car changing lanes abruptly without signalling. As well as that, though, there are several cases where the author writes something like "she never knew X" when, in fact, she now does know X, having just learned it, and so the phrasing should be "she had never known X".

This isn't the only lack of clarity, either. At one point, a female character cups another female character's chin. This is described as "She cupped her chin," the obvious reading of which is that the character cupped her own chin, but two sentences later we discover that the "she" and the "her" were two different people, meaning I had to go back and re-parse the whole paragraph.

A dog who is a long way off, leading pursuers away, is, suddenly and with no transition, right there with his people.

Then there are the vocabulary issues. "Millennia" used as if it was singular (that would be "millennium"). "Marshall" with two Ls, which is a surname, used in place of the job title "marshal" with one L. "Betraying" for "belying" (most people get those confused in the other direction), "discrete" for "discreet" (a very common error), "bedclothes" for "nightclothes" (bedclothes are sheets and blankets), "peaked" for "peeked." There are misplaced commas now and again, and a couple of misplaced apostrophes. Nothing I haven't seen before, but it all adds up. One I hadn't seen before is "annuls" for "annals."

There's also a big clanging anachronism: "They weren't on the empress's radar." That's the kind of mistake you can only commit if you don't give a moment's thought to the literal meaning of the cliche you are using. This has got past half a dozen beta readers and an editor, according to the author's note at the end, so I can only imagine there were a lot of other issues distracting them from it.

Em, the protagonist, while she is one of those infuriating characters who gets in trouble by making the same stupid decision repeatedly, is well-intentioned, and in a difficult situation that's none of her making, but stepping up to try to solve it. That is what kept me reading, despite the mechanical problems. Her use of magic items at one point is moderately clever.

She's a person who fixes things, as in a handyperson - that's her occupation. This is the second book I've read recently where a young woman is portrayed as capable by making her someone who does home repairs (the other being Partridge Up a Pear Tree (and Dragons) ), but I felt this one did a better job of incorporating it into her character and making it part of how she approached the world, rather than just being a decal that said, against all other evidence, that she was competent and practical. I like a competent young woman protagonist, though I prefer ones who don't keep making the same stupid mistake.

The world is one where magic use is fading. The government (headed by an empress) is actively suppressing it, in fact, but it turns out there's a good reason - magic has caused a lot of problems. Still, the goon squad who come in search of one of the protagonist's friends to arrest him for magic use is needlessly brutal and bullying, and their captain, who later is portrayed as not so bad after all, does nothing to stop them, something that Em doesn't confront him about. Em's village has lost its guardian tree, which was suppressing negative emotions and producing a cozy-style village artificially - perhaps the whole book is a critique of the cozy genre? The loss of the tree causes a surge of negative emotions that tears the village apart, and Em leaves to find a solution, having a series of adventures. She's guided, or misguided, by the magical book of the title, which hints at directions for her to follow but never tells her everything she needs to know in order to get it right.

Em echoes, but never just follows, the fantasy cliche of the young orphan craftsperson who must leave the village when it's destroyed, encounters helpful and loyal companions and gains useful magic items; that side of the story is genre-savvy, and I think there may be some thought going on about artificial utopias, dystopias, negative consequences of attempting to make people happy and contented artificially, and the contentment of one group being purchased at the price of tragedy for another. (view spoiler)[Unfortunately, the resolution doesn't back up the direction of "you can't fix things with magic, but you can fix them with skin" (possibly misremembered Granny Weatherwax quotation). The magic tree isn't a good way of helping people, but another magic plant with healing properties instantly gets the villagers over their mental and emotional confusion and distress and enables them to go back to being sane and neighbourly. The text says "without enchantment," but that's simply not true. The solution was magic all along. That struck me as backing down from what could have been a more powerful and developed theme. (hide spoiler)]

If the execution had been better, and the resolution had stuck the landing, these underlying ideas could have worked, but it's not enough just to have a good idea about a theme; you have to pay attention to the details that convey it to the reader on a sentence-by-sentence level, with clarity and accuracy that let the reader absorb the story undistracted by mechanical glitches, or by having to re-parse poorly phrased sentences. For me, that quality wasn't there, and this lands in the lowest tier of my annual recommendation list, along with other books that could so easily have been so much better. There's definitely potential here, but I don't feel it's been reached.

Note: As of next year, I will be scoring books at this level three stars. I'm keeping four stars until the end of the year for consistency in my annual Best of the Year list for 2025.

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Review: The Charm Collector Box Set: Books 0-2

The Charm Collector Box Set: Books 0-2 by Melissa Erin Jackson
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

So, the prequel novella had me looking forward to an urban fantasy with an established married couple, sensible, capable, underpowered but making up for it with intelligence, private investigators who know about the hidden supernatural world. Sure, the husband didn't have a lot of personality - the wife was the narrator - but I assumed that would change as we went along.

Book 1 starts - and we're in the viewpoint of their daughter (in utero in the prequel). The dad is dead, the mother has disappeared, and the daughter, far from being a PI, makes her living by stealing artefacts, and is also implied to be making a number of other poor life choices. Not what I was hoping for at all, and not nearly as appealing to me. I'd much rather read about a smart, capable person solving problems that aren't of their own making in the cause of the greater good. Also, it felt (at least at first) like it rendered the prequel more or less irrelevant.

However, as the book goes on, she does start solving problems not of her own making in the cause of the greater good, along with several other initially unpromising characters, so I started enjoying it again.

In the second book, the allies assembled in the first book are dodging the authorities and trying to solve the threat, split into two groups, with separate interwoven narratives. The main character's thread continues in first person, and her friend's story is in third person. The alternation isn't chapter-by-chapter, which I think was a good choice, and usually switches at moments of high tension, which is the best way to do a split narrative. There's a slow-burn romance subplot for the MC's friend, but the parties to it are mostly focused on the main plot. And eventually, the events of the prequel do become relevant again. It gets gripping and impactful - a lot of the best writing is in the second book, but it needs the first book to set it up.

The world is interesting, with hidden supernatural cities dotted across the USA (and presumably the world), where magical technology functions, sometimes just replacing mundane technology (magical lights instead of electric ones), sometimes doing things mundane tech can't do (teleportation stations). The thing is, magic is said to be limited on earth, so why use it to do what mundane technology is capable of? It's not because mundane tech doesn't work; it does. Yet blue "fae lights" instead of more natural-spectrum LEDs are the choice for lighting, including flashlights, in the hidden cities. Perhaps it's a vibe/nostalgia/hanging-on-to-culture thing.

The copy editing is mostly fine, with the occasional small issue. There are a few places that need an apostrophe, but when an apostrophe does occur, it's in the right place. There's the odd homonym error, too, of the kind that a lot of people make, like leach/leech (always a tricky pair), tick/tic, base/bass, borne/born - it's surprising how often people write "borne" (carried) when they mean "born" (birthed) - plus a few other vocabulary choices that are either highly unusual or just wrong for what is evidently the intended meaning. Those mistakes are widely scattered, though.

There are other minor glitches. For example, a continuity issue: the MC, on her way to a teleportation station, worries about whether her stored-value card has enough credit on it, because she's not carrying her bank card or any cash. And then at the other end of her teleport, she gets a cab. Paying for it how? There's also a piece of dialog where the speaker is trying to say "I'm not out of your league, you're out of my league," but actually says "You're not out of my league, I'm out of your league." Since it isn't called out as a fumble by the character, I assume it's a fumble by the author. And a zoo established in the early 20th century and abandoned not long afterwards is very much set up like a modern zoo, including features like an "insect exploratorium" (the word "exploratorium" was first used in the 1960s).

So there are opportunities to tighten up and improve it further, but the heart of it is sound - a strong, distinct cast with interesting synergy and some push and pull between them, a compelling problem for them to solve that they have to push hard and risk everything for, plenty of action that means something, an original world (as far as I know) that mostly makes sense, and skilled tension-building cuts back and forth once it splits into two storylines. The ending is suitably dramatic. Overall, I enjoyed it, and will look out for other books in the series and from the author.

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Review: The Ministry of Witches: A Cozy Fantasy Novel

The Ministry of Witches: A Cozy Fantasy Novel by Dael Astra
My rating: 0 of 5 stars

A frustrating mixture of original and needlessly derivative, well-edited but with one huge persistent fault, emotionally sound and then emotionally unconvincing, predictable and unexpected, and also overly wordy for my taste. It's hard to rate as a result.

I say "original but needlessly derivative" because, although I don't think this is actually set in the Harry Potter universe - HP is not the most consistent universe, so it's hard to tell for sure - it uses multiple terms from that universe: galleons and sickles (the monetary units), house elves, Whomping Willows, gillyweed, the floo network. None of these terms are even slightly necessary to the story that's being told - they could very easily be something else, and nothing would be lost - so it's risking a lawyer's letter for no good reason. The rest of the worldbuilding, though done with a light hand, is sound and original and fit for purpose, so I haven't given it my "weak-worldbuilding" tag.

There are very few editing errors, and the big one that it does have is something many people won't notice, because almost nobody understands how the coordinate comma rule works. The simple explanation is that English has a preferred adjective order, which goes "number-opinion-size-age-shape-colour-origin-material-purpose," and if you have two adjectives that are in different categories, they don't need a comma between them, because they can only go in that order and feel correct; it's only if they're both in the same category that you need a comma, to signal that they're both, as it were, modifying the noun as equals.

This means, for instance, that number words like "single," "one," "two," "few" or "dozen" will basically never be coordinate and should not have commas after them. Nor should "each" or "own" or a great many other adjectives that this author sticks a comma after. I'm used to authors getting this wrong occasionally, especially in edge cases. These are not edge cases, and they're constant. I counted 40 instances in the first 10% of the book, which suggests that there are several hundred in total. It made it, for me at least, a chore to read. The most important part of the coordinate comma rule, and the one too few authors observe, is the part that tells you when not to use a comma, and this author has clearly never heard of it, and has faulty intuition on the subject to boot.

The author's style is lush, which means most of the nouns get at least two adjectives, sometimes three, and they almost always get commas between them, and about 70% of the time they shouldn't. It's wordy in general; repetitive (it's hammered home at least once too often that Aleda isn't doing command-and-control but empathy and empowerment), and, for me, outstayed its welcome by having too many wrap-up chapters after the main resolution. I personally prefer a compact style, and this is the opposite of that.

Multiple chapters should begin with the word "the," but oddly do not. Something to do with the drop caps, perhaps?

Anyway, the story. The protagonist, Aleda, is a humble gardening witch who is suddenly elevated to Minister of Witches (why that title, when it's neither a national office, nor British, but part of the government of New York City, and when male magic users are called wizards?) by the invocation of a peculiar old administrative rule on the departure in disgrace of the previous minister. The previous minister was a corrupt politician whose "modernizing" over a 20-year period has thrown the whole magical system out of whack, though the consequences of this mostly seem to be low-key disturbing and disruptive rather than, at least so far, catastrophic, even though the Ministry is supposed to head off catastrophes, and we later see it doing so. With her gardener's intuition, Aleda is able to restore the magical ecosystem to balance, in a series of emotionally sound and believable events. (view spoiler)[And then she has a crisis of confidence, which I didn't believe, either in its origin or in her recovery from it. And then she convinces an implacable foe of the Ministry, who is trying to pull its budget, to change his mind - and I didn't believe that either. I thought a real person who held the attitude he held would have accused the witches of fakery, since the crisis they averted wasn't verifiable, and also just because people who hold ideology-based opinions are rarely convinced by any amount of evidence. The author, in other words, doesn't sell these emotional events to me. Other readers, no doubt, will differ.

The archivist has a big flashing neon sign above his head that says "Enemies to Lovers." I suspected that trope was coming when he was first described, at his introduction, as "handsome" (his appearance, apart from his clothing, is never otherwise described, as is the case with most of the characters; only the twins get a hair colour, red, which I suspect is an echo of HP's Fred and George). I was sure of it by the time he was called "handsome" for the third time. And I was right. It was totally predictable. Yet most of what goes on in the book is not predictable or tropey at all. (hide spoiler)]

Continuity is not a strength. After the Board does the thing that gives Aleda the "Minister" title, they are never mentioned again except in reference back to that event, and their members (apart from one) never play any further role. The number of people on the Board also seems inadequate for the number of factions that are later described. There are several continuity issues within a chapter, too, such as when someone says "We did it!" and, after another couple of lines of dialog separated by a lot of descriptive waffle, several pages later, '"We did it," Aleda corrected.' Except she isn't correcting, because that's exactly what the other character said. It feels like things have been changed in editing and the rest of the chapter still left with the earlier version, creating a contradiction if you're reading closely.

It is absolutely cozy. There's an enchanted tea trolley that dispenses the exact beverage you need for the mood you're in. There's a wise cat. It is as cozy as you could possibly wish, and the crises are solved not by power and control but by listening and empathizing and finding ways for systems and people to work together. That part is great. It just falls into the all-too-common basket of "could so easily be so much better" because of completely avoidable faults: the unnecessary use of terms from another author's universe, the constant muffing of the coordinate comma rule, a predictable trope signalled far too clearly far too early, some emotional shifts that I didn't feel were justified well enough, minor continuity glitches, wordy prose that could stand tightening. The right developmental editor and (please) copy editor could make this amazing with relatively little work. As it stands, it's an awkward mixture of rare strengths and unfortunate weaknesses, and the weaknesses land it in the lowest (Bronze) tier of my annual recommendation list.

I received a pre-publication version via Netgalley for review, and further changes may take place before publication.

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Review: Partridge Up a Pear Tree (and Dragons)

Partridge Up a Pear Tree (and Dragons) by Rachel Taylor Thompson
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I grew up in a family where the women were capable and pragmatic, which isn't unusual in New Zealand. Accordingly, I prefer to read about women like that, and fortunately there are plenty of fictional heroines who are. Sasha, the protagonist of the first book of this series, for example.

Unfortunately, at least from my point of view, Joey Partridge, the protagonist of this book, is not that, even though she fixes things around the house (something that felt to me as if it had been tacked on to make her seem more competent). She's a big ball of crippling anxiety wrapped in a thick layer of codependency, and I personally found her trying to spend time with. She's surrounded by people who are incapable of listening to her, and treats this as normal and not a reason to, for example, refuse to go out with them. She has crying jags so severe as to be completely debilitating, and under stress she spills a desperate stream of consciousness that causes all kinds of trouble, not only for her but for the people around her. It got her previous boyfriend arrested by the Chinese state security forces, for example, which not only resulted in her family and his being thrown out of China but also broke their relationship completely.

He, of course, refuses to listen to her apologies. He's a brooding musician. At one point he describes her as the complete opposite of what we know her to be through her POV - fearless, happy, carefree - and then says she doesn't get him. Project much? (To be fair, when they were together she was able to be more like he describes, at least outwardly - but that in itself is a problem, in fact several problems.)

Her parents, and his, are part of a Canadian government department that researches dragons, called in to Newfoundland because of the events of the previous book. They move around a lot, researching dragons in various parts of the world; her parents are emotionally distant and impractical, and (you'll be surprised to learn) don't listen to her when she tries to tell them that she wants to pick her own college rather than the various ones they and several other family members have arranged for her.

For some reason - I suspect because otherwise she couldn't conceivably be the protagonist - the dragons have decided they like Joey, based on no acquaintance at all, and only she will do to help in finding out who is trying to do something initially vague to the incubating dragons that all of the fuss is about. She spends the first quarter of the book refusing the call, arguing (quite plausibly) that she's a poor choice for the role, engaging in extreme teenage angst, not being listened to by basically anyone, and starting up a new relationship that is obviously doomed (thus providing the classic YA love triangle), interspersed with flashbacks to the backstory in China.

She turns out to be surprisingly good at investigating, despite continuing high teen drama and a series of terrible choices and major wimp-outs on her part. Her handler/dragon liaison, Bob, says at one point that she's less incompetent than he'd expected, and honestly I felt the same. For me, it was the mystery and the investigation that kept me reading despite the teen angst - so I was somewhat frustrated when the resolution to the teen angst came before, and delayed, the resolution of the mystery plot, with no sense of urgency even though one was called for.

Other readers will no doubt enjoy the parts I didn't. The relationship and emotional dynamics are well developed and realistic, to be clear, so this isn't about the author's skill but the reviewer's taste.

Something else I enjoyed besides the investigation plot was the antics of the dragons, who are intelligent but in a way that doesn't completely map to human ways of thinking. They name themselves after dragons from fantasy literature, like Ramoth and Temeraire, which I also liked.

I had a pre-publication version for review via Netgalley, and one thing I did notice about it was that the editing was in a much better state than the previous book. I suspect a good copy editor has gone through and largely corrected the author's terrible overhyphenation habit, though they've missed a couple of cases where there's a hyphen between a verb and the pronoun which is its object (why would anyone do that?), and there are still one or two places where there's a hyphen between an adjective and the noun it's modifying. This includes "magical-creatures," which was everywhere in the first book, and the editor may have decided to keep it consistent (even though that means consistently wrong). There's also frequently a comma used after "of course" when it's just being used to agree with a previous statement, which is a common error encouraged by MS Word's inaccurate grammar checker. As always with books I get via Netgalley, there may be further editing to come after I see it and before it's published.

For me, it was a difficult-to-rate mix of strong storytelling, a character I didn't care for (though she does develop), and a cheeky shortcut by the author to justify why that character is even involved. Joey's character arc, from total emotional bomb site to able to stand up for herself and cope, came late and rapidly, which stretched my suspension of disbelief a little, though it is true that having to focus on the needs of others - in this case, the dragons - is the most likely thing to get someone in internal crisis to pull themselves together and break out of their downward spiral.

Overall, I'm putting it in the Bronze (lowest) tier of my annual recommendation list, because it wasn't quite the book I'd hoped for and didn't fit my taste well. If that hadn't been true, it would have won a place in Silver, since it's soundly written and has some insight into human relationships - just between humans I don't particularly care to read about. Your mileage is highly likely to vary.

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Review: Arrow of Fortune

Arrow of Fortune by Jacquelyn Benson
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

The world tour continues, with our characters off to India this time, the origin of a quarter of Constance's heritage.

The improvement in mechanics continues from book to book, which is great to see. Here, the main issue I noticed was that the author puts a comma after "of course" when the sentence is simply agreeing with a previous statement, which is not usual usage (MS Word will recommend it, but, as is so often the case, MS Word is wrong). Otherwise, it's pretty clean, though I did spot a few Americanisms, anachronisms and vocabulary errors. I had a pre-release version from Netgalley for review, so these minor issues may well be fixed for publication.

Even though I'd read the other books comparatively recently, I didn't remember their plots as well as I probably needed to in order to pick up on everything that was mentioned from the previous books. The characters themselves are strongly enough drawn that I remembered them, though.

The book wears its politics openly; the late-19th-century protagonists share common early-21st-century attitudes to race, imperialism, colonialism, homosexuality, and sexuality in general, while acknowledging that this sets them against the norm of their society.

There are two strong romance subplots, different from each other, one involving a woman who is dead set against the institution of marriage but wants to be with her beloved openly, and the other involving a couple who are in the process of discovering that they want to be a couple, despite their very disparate personalities. Throughout, there's a strong theme of how important it is to accept people as they truly are without asking them to change, which I'm not sure is a great idea in its very strongest form. Part of the point of opposites attracting, for me, is that they moderate each other towards more balance by learning from each other's strengths, and I didn't see that brought out explicitly, though it might be happening implicitly.

Anyway, this manages to be inspired by thrilling pulp novels while having a 21st-century consciousness, and mostly succeeds in walking the tightrope between those two. It's a well-done series, and I look forward to the next episode, which looks like it will occur in Korea.

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Review: The Miss Silver Mysteries Volume One: Grey Mask, The Case Is Closed, and Lonesome Road

The Miss Silver Mysteries Volume One: Grey Mask, The Case Is Closed, and Lonesome Road by Patricia Wentworth
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I picked up this book because I'd read another Wentworth, The Fire Within , which isn't a mystery novel, although initially it looks like it's going to be one. I was impressed with the author's handling of the character relationships, and thought I might get something with a bit more depth than the average pulpy mystery of the early 20th century.

Well, the first book, Grey Mask, was a disappointment to me. It's one of those books which convey the impression that London is a small village with a population of about two dozen people, based on how frequently the characters cross paths by pure random chance, and there were no fewer than three Convenient Eavesdrops, my least favourite plot device. (view spoiler)[Also, two separate characters who are believed to be dead turn out not to be. (hide spoiler)]

There is a fraught relationship between a man and a woman, who used to be engaged but now are not; this seems to be the author's speciality. But the mystery/thriller aspects appear cribbed from books in which they're done better, such as The Black Star by Johnston McCulley (criminal conspiracy, led by a masked figure, ordinary people manipulated into being part of it, known by numbers) or Edgar Wallace's The Man Who Knew (unassuming detective who can find out anything about anyone - though "sleuthess" Miss Silver doesn't have any associates that we see evidence of, so she appears, implausibly, to be doing all her own legwork).

Like the "Man who Knew," unfortunately Miss Silver doesn't actually solve the mystery, either. The villain is self-identified (when the characters get too close to the secret, so that part is not without character agency), and foiled by complete chance. It's not in any way a "fair play" mystery; two separate characters have been moving behind the scenes, and end up just giving us exposition of what we couldn't have guessed and the detective didn't work out.

It also contains one of the most maddeningly silly young women I've ever seen depicted in print, though given that I try to avoid characters like that, I've probably missed a good many. She is supposed to be maddeningly silly, though, so no demerits to the author for that. There's also a highly intelligent woman who takes important action which saves her and her love interest, so that's something. But overall, I felt it was an author writing outside her genre, not doing a great job with the genre elements, and patching the plot together with coincidences and eavesdrops.

The second book in this collection, The Case is Closed, also relies on coincidence to a degree. I give an exemption for inciting incidents being coincidental, but the inciting incident is not the last time the heroine, Hilary (who has busted up with her fiancé, just like the heroine in the first book), has a chance meeting with the servant couple whose testimony clinched the conviction of her cousin's husband for murdering his uncle. It's like there's a gravitational well pulling them together in random places. Hilary is in those places investigating, but coincidence still plays a big role.

Hilary's definitely-no-longer-fiancé, Henry, is the one who engages Miss Silver, and keeps asking her to investigate further even though all his internal arguments are against doing so. The suspicion is that the servant couple was lying in their testimony, and that the imprisoned man's cousin, who inherited under a new will executed on the day of the uncle's death, somehow is involved, although he has an apparently rock-solid alibi four hundred miles from the murder.

It's a promising setup, and soon we have real danger for Hilary, and stronger grounds for suspicion, and Hilary and Henry are clearly back together even if she won't admit it. They have a kind of war-of-the-sexes thing going on, where each one thinks that if they don't stand strong, the other one will walk all over them, because he/she doesn't listen, and if they don't win, they'll lose. Pro tip from someone who's been married going on 27 years: this is a terrible way to run a relationship. Very much how a lot of relationships were conducted at the time, though, with New Women starting to challenge masculine dominance. Unfortunately, it's never truly resolved, though there are hints by the end that they may have both learned something.

The denouement is thrilling and suspenseful, and even though Henry does (as I predicted) burst in and save Hilary at the psychological moment, she does something brave and effective first, so I didn't mind so much. I'd worked out how the crime was done some considerable time before it was laid out by Miss Silver, but the process of getting to the resolution was still enjoyable.

With the third book, Lonesome Road, the author finally seems to have got a sense of Miss Silver. In the first two books, she's a dowdy-looking middle-aged spinster who knits (typically for her stereotype), writes things down carefully in exercise books, and implausibly knows things about people by no clearly articulated mechanism. She's an archetype combined with a plot device. In this book, she suddenly develops a personality, rather a tart-but-kindly one, and we get to see inside her head, not least by seeing what it is she's writing in those books.

A wealthy woman with a large collection of family hangers-on (cousins and the like, mostly), who stand to inherit money from her, is receiving death threats and murder attempts, and asks Miss Silver to come and investigate, so we get to see her on site and active rather than largely in her consulting room. Things quickly become suspenseful, and everyone's a potential suspect, and there's a young woman also (one of the cousins) who seems to be in trouble and foolishly won't confide in Miss Silver.

It's an unusual detective story in that it's not solving a murder, but an attempted murder, and trying to prevent an actual murder (or, as it turns out, two murders), and the police never become involved, because Miss Silver's client won't set them on her relatives, no matter how awful those relatives may be. Also, (view spoiler)[there's a Disney Villain Fall of sorts that makes it unnecessary to bring the murder attempts to the attention of the authorities. (hide spoiler)] I didn't spot the would-be murderer at all, though Miss Silver's explanation makes total sense of why she did.

There's a small thread of continuity running through the three books, in that in both books 2 and 3, the person seeking Miss Silver's help has heard about her through the main character in the previous book. I wonder how far into the 32-book series this was sustained? I will probably find out, because after an unpromising start, this turned into a series I definitely want to continue with. It's a fortunate chance that I picked up the three-in-one from my library, because if I'd only read the first one, I might not have continued. The second was much better, and the third really good. Averaging them out, I'm putting this whole collection in the Silver tier of my annual best-of list, though the first would have been Bronze at best, and the third is knocking on the door of Gold.

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Review: The Porcelain Mask: a detective story

The Porcelain Mask: a detective story by John Jay Chichester
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This one's built from the ground up for melodrama, and there is plenty of that. Everyone runs around very dramatically regretting their life choices, and then a woman is shot.

Extensive plot summary coming; some of it could be considered spoilers, because it's not known right at the start, but I'll stop at the point of the murder, so that you have the setup for it.

A blended family. The father died some years previously, leaving his widow, Mrs. Gilmore; her daughter from a previous marriage, Joan Sheridan; and Kirklan Gilmore, his son from a previous marriage. They have a nice place in the country outside New York, but are not wealthy, just comfortably off.

Kirklan is a novelist, who has had some success with his first novel, in part thanks to Joan, who has given him some of his best material. In gratitude, he sends her on a trip for a month, and while she is away, meets and, an ill-considered week later, marries a woman named Helen, about whom he knows very little. Joan comes back to find that her stepbrother (who she's in love with) is married to someone she's never met, and that this interloper has insisted on moving into Joan's bedroom, the best room in the house. Joan is, understandably, furious.

Kirklan goes into New York to see his publisher, and the publisher, who used to employ Helen (which is how the couple met), swears he sees her going into a disreputable lodging-house. Kirklan dismisses this, but when he talks to her at home, she asks him for a lot of money and is evasive about why. What we know and he doesn't is that she had gone to see her no-good husband - to whom she is still legally married - because he's blackmailing her by threatening to reveal her bigamy. He's a criminal and a drunkard, and she wishes she'd never married him, but she did. She's not in love with Kirklan, but sees him as a safe haven - a haven that's now threatened.

By one of those coincidences that authors of this period used so freely, the illustrator for Kirklan's next book, a man he knows and considers a friend, comes to stay at the house so they can work together, and recognizes Helen as the woman responsible for his brother's death (we don't know how yet). Kirklan, already suspicious because of the earlier lies, notices their reaction to each other when they meet. When his friend won't tell him the story, Kirklan flies off the handle and attacks him.

The artist fights him off, and Kirklan goes off for a walk to calm down. He stumbles in after midnight, wakes the butler to let him in, and is with him having a drink when they hear a scream and then a shot upstairs. They run up to find Helen shot dead. Various clues point to murder, and it looks as if it could only be one of three people: harmless Mrs. Gilmore senior, Joan (who we know hates Helen, and who is found sobbing in her room, and whose scream the butler initially thought it was that he and Kirkland heard), and the artist (who we know, and the investigators soon find out, has reason to take revenge on Helen). What they don't know but we do is that Helen's no-good husband has located her, on the run from the police, and forced her to hide him upstairs. The gun is one he took from a police detective he assaulted in order to escape arrest, but it was in Helen's possession, not his, prior to the shooting.

So, at this point we have three equally plausible suspects. Let the investigation commence!

There are two investigators. One, the official police, is the sergeant whose gun was taken after he was hit over the head by Helen's not-legally-ex. His turning up is not a coincidence; he's pursuing a lead, and the fugitive, who has been traced to the area. He quickly becomes involved in the investigation, because the local constable is out of his depth, being more used to catching speeders than murderers.

The unofficial investigator is a reporter known as "Wiggly" Price, because his ears wiggle when he's in the grip of strong emotion. This is almost his only distinguishing feature, but it gets a lot of mentions. He isn't convinced by the most obvious initial explanation, nor by the next most obvious explanation, and keeps prying and pressing until he finally solves the case.

What he doesn't appear in any hurry to do, and what we in fact never see him do, is file a story, which is what he's supposedly there for. His status as a newspaper reporter is what gets him involved, but after that, he barely acts like one, instead acting like a detective. That (along with the overly heightened emotional drama) was almost enough to bring the rating down for me, but it's a twisty, clever plot with more red herrings than a Soviet trawler, so I'll leave it in the Silver tier of my annual recommendation list.

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Review: Falling Through Space: A Novella

Falling Through Space: A Novella by Michael L. Stevens
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Novellas fall into three categories. There are over-padded short stories, underdeveloped novels, and the occasional rare story that is best told at novella length. I think, on the whole, this is an underdeveloped novel.

Perhaps this is why I couldn't figure out, in at least one scene, what was actually going on, and why I felt that the characters didn't behave like real people on occasion. An alien ship turns up randomly in the solar system, set up for habitation by humans (or, at least, human-sized beings who thrive in an Earth-like atmosphere), staffed by sentient robots, capable of bending the laws of physics to teleport itself and other things/people and decide where it "falls" towards, meaning that it operates without fuel. A bunch of scientists come on board, excited to study... the solar system? Not the ship, its origins, its history, its physics, its robots - about the workings of all of which they show remarkably little curiosity?

It reminded me of Gene Wolfe, which is not a compliment coming from me - not because it had finely-worked prose, because it didn't, but for the reasons I just gave: I sometimes couldn't understand what was going on, or why people were acting the way they were.

The dialog was stiff at times, and overly simplistic. In terms of copy editing, the main fault (in the pre-publication version I had from Netgalley, so it may get fixed before publication) was the frequent occurrence of "let's eat Grandma" - missing comma before a term of address. This is despite the author having a degree in English literature, though in my experience people with English degrees often have much worse mechanics than this. The basic rules of prose writing are not something that's usually taught in English classes at universities, sadly.

What I really disliked, though, is a spoiler. (view spoiler)[The earth is destroyed at the end. (hide spoiler)] There was no signal that it was that kind of book, and if I'd known that it was, I wouldn't have picked it up.

Not a success for me.

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Review: The Luck of the Bodkins

The Luck of the Bodkins by P.G. Wodehouse
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

It's hard not to be put into a good mood when reading about the small (but, to them, vital) vicissitudes of Wodehouse's characters. This is classic Wodehouse: multiple couples, who want to marry but can't, for the usual three reasons: 1. Money; 2. Parental disapproval; 3. Misunderstandings between them which mean It's All Off.

Honestly, if I was Monty Bodkin and engaged to the jealous, suspicious, lacking-in-understanding, easily-offended Gertrude Butterwick, and she broke it off (as she does multiple times), I'd consider myself to have had a lucky escape. But he has his heart set on this tough, sturdy hockey-playing beasel, and is willing to go to great lengths, including splashing considerable cash from his fortunately vast stores, to have her end up as his wife.

As soon as we meet Ivor Llewellyn, the motion-picture magnate (older, richer, not particularly sympathetic), we experienced Wodehouse readers know that this is the poor sap who will end up funding the down-on-their-luck young fellows - in this case, the Tennyson brothers, Ambrose and Ronnie - to marry their chosen mates. We also suspect that the resolution will have a great deal to do with his wife's requirement that he smuggle her new pearl necklace through US Customs without paying duty on it, something that would be cheaper than what he eventually ends up doing rather than defy his wife.

A brown plush Mickey Mouse plays the role of Maguffin, there's a random pet alligator belonging to a film star (whose publicist came up with the idea to get her more press coverage), and a talkative cabin steward on the transatlantic liner where most of the book's action takes place is constantly sticking his oar in and providing everything from the equivalent of Shakespeare's "rude mechanicals" scenes to further complications in an already complicated plot, often simultaneously.

The hero, Monty, remarks several times that there are wheels within wheels, and while this is a biblical expression from the prophet Ezekiel, it's also a good description of the book if you think of the plot as being like a highly sophisticated watch with a lot of moving parts that all fit together closely and drive each other. It's a kind of plotting Wodehouse excelled at, all lubricated by a wonderful sense of absurdity and sparkling dialog and descriptions, often drawn from classic English literature.

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Review: The Brick Moon and Other Stories

The Brick Moon and Other Stories by Edward Everett Hale
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

A collection of interesting and unusual short works.

The title story, "The Brick Moon", from 1869, is the first appearance in fiction of the idea of an artificial satellite, in this case for ships to use as a navigation reference. I'm reasonably sure the proposal, even if the launch had gone as planned, would not have worked, because the satellites wouldn't remain on the north-south line that they were launched on; the earth would turn underneath them, and so, given that the proposal is to launch multiple satellites so that there's always one visible (as is done today with GPS), sailors would have needed a way to distinguish which brick moon they were looking at if they wanted to work out their longitude.

But the story isn't really about that. It's about, first, the coming together of the plan by a group of old college chums with various abilities to contribute, including the one who can persuade audiences without seeming to be eloquent, who helps them raise the necessary funds. Secondly, it's about the building of the first moon - out of brick, as the title suggests - and the flywheels to launch it. And finally, it's about what happens when it's launched accidentally with people in it, since a number of the members of the group and their families are living there temporarily because the brick spheres that make up the larger sphere are quite comfortable. They get flung into space, improbably not turned into jam by the sudden acceleration (which doesn't even wake them up, even more improbably, let alone fling disconnected bricks over a wide area, which is what would probably happen in reality), improbably manage to hold onto their atmosphere through the gravity of their tiny moon, improbably discover that their corn and chickens are evolving into other useful crops and livestock for an unspecified reason - though the several children later born there seem to be normal, as far as is mentioned - and, perhaps most improbably of all, form a utopian society and don't wish to return. It's a historical curiosity rather than a credible piece of science fiction, in other words, but it's pleasantly told for all that.

The author's narrative style is capable of pulling off some unpromising subjects, in fact, and making them engaging. The next story is "Crusoe in New York"; a young carpenter named Robinson Crusoe, asked to fence in a vacant lot, figures out that he could hide a cottage there for himself and his mother, and builds one, proceeding to squat there for 12 years. It brings in a number of elements of the original Crusoe story, but transformed: a footprint in the dirt, "savages" (rough men of New York), and a young Swedish woman named Frida instead of Friday were the ones I spotted, but I'm sure if I had read the original book and not just absorbed bits of it by cultural osmosis I'd have seen some more. The author's note indicates that whole passages are lifted verbatim from Defoe. It's odd that a man so opposed to slavery apparently loved Robinson Crusoe, but people are complicated.

"Bread on the Waters" is a Christmas story, and so of course sentimental, but in a way I personally found moving. An honest and blameless civil servant has to prove that he didn't embezzle some money he disbursed during the Civil War, but the receipts have gone missing, and his family and friends search for them frantically. As the title implies, an old kindness eventually comes back to him.

"The Lost Palace" is a tall tale of sorts, about a group of railwaymen who calculate that they can jump a gorge instead of going the long way round. The "palace" of the title is a Pullman "palace car" or luxury sleeper carriage.

"99 Linwood Street" is another Christmas story, in which multiple kind people come together to help a young Irish immigrant find her brother at the address of the title, which is harder than it sounds when there are multiple Linwood Streets and nearly 100 people with the same name as him. I was moved by this one also.

"Ideals" reuses some characters from "The Brick Moon" and refers briefly to it, but is mainly about four couples, close friends, who get fed up with the weather and the political situation where they live in the US and decide to try living in Mexico. There's a gentle twist at the end.

"One Cent" confused me a bit. The main character drops the change out of his pocket in the dark and a one-cent piece rolls under a table, unbeknown to him. He later gets roughly ejected from a streetcar as a bum because he's a cent short of the fare. While this is happening, letters are on the way to him honouring him for his contributions to his field (ceramics manufacture) and offering him large sums of money. He seems to think that there's a lesson there somewhere, but I couldn't find it; the two things had no causal connection. Perhaps the lesson is that you can't judge someone because they don't happen to have money at the time? It's told in an odd mix of narrative and play format.

"Thanksgiving at the Polls" is the story of a newspaper reporter who decides to save money, and time walking to work, by temporarily living in a street polling booth put up for upcoming elections. He takes in some Jewish refugees from Russia to live there with him (the tone is the opposite of antisemitic, which is a nice change from a lot of older books), and through various charitable institutions and gifts from employers they end up with more food than they need for the Thanksgiving holiday and go looking for people to share it with. There's a theme of "we could look after the poor better, all year round" running through the whole story.

"The Survivor's Story" is clearly inspired by Chaucer; four couples (this seems to be a thing with Hale, and I assume reflects his actual friend circle) come together at Christmas away from home and tell each other stories. There's an odd ending, which suggests he didn't know how to end it properly, and is out of keeping with the general tone.

In what is, strictly speaking, original research, Hale's Wikipedia article notes (at time of review) "Hale was active in raising the tone of American life for half a century." I can well believe it. His stories are humane, kindly and warm - although people do die in them for no particular reason sometimes - and their manner is more important than their matter. They remind me of Mark Twain in their style, although without Twain's occasional cynicism and misanthropy.

Recommended, and I would read more Hale.

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Review: No Stress Space Express: A Cozy, Low-Stakes, Slice-of-Life Adventure

No Stress Space Express: A Cozy, Low-Stakes, Slice-of-Life Adventure by Jack Bodett
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This isn't really SF. It's a gentle comedy with some SF set dressing for atmosphere. Kind of what you'd get if Douglas Adams had grown up in the southern US instead of England, only less so. Like its main character, it's kind of dumb, but so amiable that you don't care too much.

Two truckers break down by the side of the highway, and get accidentally abducted by aliens, who have ordered the load of whoopee cushions they are hauling in order to use them in a religious ceremony. On the alien ship, they meet a hot green Martian woman who was the victim of a similar misunderstanding, and ally with her to start a repair business for alien tech, which somehow they're able to figure out. Later on, another Martian woman joins the group.

The worldbuilding is often rudimentary; space is like the 21st-century USA a lot of the time, except when it's conforming to a well-worn sci-fi trope. Many people speak a language that's independently evolved on multiple planets that's almost indistinguishable from contemporary English except for a couple of amusing quirks, there's coffee, and it's served at a diner, where the robot waitress is very much like a stereotypical southern US diner waitress. Spaceship engines are also almost indistinguishable from truck engines; they have liquid fuel in lines which can be bled without special precautions, you can idle them, and they roar. There's a bit at the beginning where the alien written language (or, at least, an alien written language) is incomprehensible, but later on, the alphabets for the English-equivalent languages have apparently evolved to be the same as ours as well, because Rusty, the narrator, has no issues reading a manual for a spaceship engine. (view spoiler)[The wedding conforms absolutely 100% to what a contemporary US wedding would be like, and the Martian women expect it to be exactly that way, never inserting any specifically Martian customs, until near the end the author seems to finally remember there should be some cultural differences and has three Earth wedding customs be unfamiliar to the aliens. (hide spoiler)]

Funnily enough, I recently read an early work of SF ( A Honeymoon in Space by George Chetwynd Griffith) in which there was also a Martian who spoke a language that had evolved to be exactly like English, only Griffith, being Griffith, managed to make it racist, or at least chauvinist; English, being the best language (as proved by how many people on Earth had adopted it), would naturally be the language that a hyperrational and optimised society would evolve, he says.

Having studied the process by which English came into being, I can tell you that it couldn't happen twice - once was unlikely enough (and if a hyperrational society evolved an optimised language, English would definitely not be it). But in this book, it's just a workaround to remove issues of communication between the characters, and it's in the context of a humourous setting that doesn't take its worldbuilding remotely seriously, so I'll let it slide with just a healthy dose of side-eye. To be fair, in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, everyone in space speaks English and nobody even remarks on it.

The editing is surprisingly good for this kind of book. Yes, there are too many hyphens (between an adjective and its noun sometimes, and in numbers that aren't between 21 and 99), and sometimes missing hyphens where only the first two words of a three-word adjectival phrase are hyphenated. Yes, there are a few too many commas between adjectives, but there are very few authors, even good ones, who don't make that mistake. It needs another scan for missing punctuation, like closing quotation marks. Otherwise, it's much cleaner than I'm used to. By sticking to his own vocabulary, the author has managed not to commit any vocab errors, for example, apart from "hear, hear" being spelled "here, here."

Apart from the almost aggressively undercooked worldbuilding, its big fault, from my point of view, is that it has no chapters - or rather, it has just one long chapter which rolls on from incident to incident without pausing. This isn't ideal when you don't have time to read it all in one sitting. It does finish up with some significant events that change the situation of the characters, ready for the next book in the series, so it isn't one of those serial stories that just arbitrarily stops at a word count.

The humour lies mostly in folksy imagery ("tugged in more directions than a dog walker at a squirrel convention") and good-natured banter. It manages to be funny without trying too hard, which is always a risk in humourous writing. All the aliens the characters meet are nice and helpful and generous, and it's exactly what the subtitle says it is: a cozy, low-stakes slice-of-life adventure (the subtitle also has a comma it doesn't require). It's a pleasant read, and I wouldn't mind reading more in the series, though it has enough faults that I wouldn't pay full price for them. It's pleasant, but the building of the world is so low-effort that it reduces my desire to spend time there.

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Review: A Honeymoon In Space

A Honeymoon In Space by George Chetwynd Griffith
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

A turn-of-last-century piece of early speculative fiction, offering a tour of the solar system as it was then conceived (more or less; the author's grasp on science, even the science of the day, was not always firm). This makes it a "planetary romance," like Barsoom, C.L. Moore's tales of Mars and Venus, or Lewis's Space Trilogy (the latter a very late example of the form). It wouldn't at all surprise me to learn that Lewis had read it, though his Martians are completely unlike Griffith's, and his Venus, while also an unspoiled Eden, is also significantly different.

The hero is an engineer who has built an interplanetary ship powered by basically Cavorite (though I don't think he was copying Wells, whose The First Men in the Moon came out the same year), and uses it to take his newlywed wife on a tour of the Solar System. In line with the author's first book, The Angel of the Revolution: A Tale of the Coming Terror , as the only possessor of the technology of flight, he's in a position to dominate the earth and make everyone behave themselves, and uses this to stop World War I from breaking out early (with different alliances) before departing for his honeymoon.

It's shot through with all the prejudices of its time and its author. The engineer-hero patronises his new wife (daughter of the scientist whose designs he has realized, a couple of years after the professor's death) abominably. He repeatedly calls her "little woman," even though it's established in one scene that she's almost as tall as he is, and he's a tall man. She's one of Griffith's educated women, who's both celebrated for her intelligence and put in her place, similarly to his The Mummy and Miss Nitocris: A Phantasy of the Fourth Dimension , which I read recently.

The British Empire is a jolly good thing, hurrah, and Englishmen are the best, with Americans only a little bit inferior (the wife is American). When they reach Mars, there's a lot of dialog about how the Martians, under the pressure of their dying world, have become super-rational and no doubt reduced their "lesser races" to servitude or else eliminated them, as will happen on Earth some day; both of the travellers are highly indignant that the first response of the Martians is to shoot at them, which of course English or American people would never do with strange visitors. The most ludicrous moment of the whole book is when they can understand the Martian leader because, since English is the best language, the Martians have naturally come to speak something almost exactly like it as part of their evolution towards rationality and optimisation.

They consider themselves fully justified in mowing down a bunch of the nasty Martians with Maxim machine guns, and depart for Venus.

The Venusians are unfallen angels of sorts, and although they'd love to stay there, even these two egotists recognize that they'd only spoil the place. One of Jupiter's moons has an advanced and friendly civilization - the humanoid form is, of course, what everything evolves into if it's going to be intelligent - and Saturn is full of monsters.

Finally, they barely make it home, through one of several coincidences that save their bacon by celestial bodies being in the right place at the right time to assist their antigravity drive.

Apart from his various storytelling weaknesses, the author makes two big scientific blunders. First, he assumes that because a (very slow-moving) balloon doesn't throw you around when you fly in it, nor will an extremely fast-moving spaceship. Before Einstein (or maybe before actual aeroplanes), people don't seem to have had much of a grasp of acceleration and how it worked. The other blunder is that as they approach one of the gas giants - I forget whether it's Jupiter or Saturn, I think Saturn - he gets phases completely wrong. As he presents it, the planet goes through its phases rapidly because of the rotation of the planet, whereas in fact it's the angle between the observer, the sun, and the celestial body that produces phases, as he ought to have known if he thought about the moon for even a minute.

In summary, it's not good, though interesting as a sample of how people thought about the Solar System (and humanity) a hundred and twenty-five years or so ago.

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Review: Lucian's True History

Lucian's True History by Lucian of Samosata
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Classic proto-SF, and a probable ancestor of many a fantastic voyage narrative, from St Brendan to Gulliver to Sinbad to the Dawn Treader - though it drew on earlier travellers' tales, and notably on Homer, who Lucian greatly admired and constantly referenced, and who is even a character in this story. It's also arguably among the first works of fiction, though, and the differentiation it explicitly makes between itself and those earlier tales is that the author states upfront that everything in it is made up and a complete lie. It's not presenting wild speculation as authentic chronicle, but as the fiction it always was.

And the speculation is wild. The travellers, led by the first-person narrator, sail beyond the Pillars of Hercules into the Atlantic, and get caught up into the air by a freak wind, landing on the moon. The moon people are at war with the people of the sun over wanting to colonize Venus, and the travellers take part in the war, on what turns out to be the losing side (because of late reinforcements of centaurs). They're ransomed, though, and the king of the moon offers to marry the narrator to his son, which the narrator refuses. The people of the moon have no women; instead, the men under the age of 25 receive the seed of the older men in their thighs, where they gestate the children. (I assume this was satire on the then-common practice of older men having younger male lovers.)

They leave the moon, and have further adventures, including being swallowed by an immense whale, miles in length, and eventually killing it by setting the trees growing inside it on fire. They come to an island where the Elysian Fields (the Greek afterlife) can be found, and speak with famous people including Homer, some of whom are satirized. In this afterlife, men openly have sex with both men and women, and nobody thinks anything of it, and the women are "in common," but this doesn't stop some of the men being jealous about their wives.

The ruler of the realm of the dead tells them they have to leave, since it's not yet their time to be there, and they eventually make it back home, via Circe's island (the narrator carries a message from Odysseus to Circe, which he's careful not to let Penelope see).

The more you know about ancient Greek literature and culture, the more you'll get out of this, I'm sure, because there are a good few name-drops that I had to look up. But even a superficial knowledge will get you by, and it's interesting as an early example of fantastical fiction. I'm not quite ready to add it to my annual recommendation list, though; it's a bit niche for that.

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Review: The Land That Time Forgot

The Land That Time Forgot by Edgar Rice Burroughs
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

The nonsense racist pseudoscience is strong with this one.

A dastardly World War I German U-boat commander attacks the hero's unarmed civilian passenger ship (with US registry, and I don't think they were in the war yet, so it's neutral shipping) and sinks it, shelling boats with women and children in. The hero survives and rescues his dog and also a young woman, and they are picked up by a British tug - which is then attacked by the same U-boat. The brave tug captain chooses to ram the U-boat and then his men fight the Germans hand-to-hand, capturing it at the cost of the lives of the captain and several crew.

It turns out that the young woman's fiancé is the U-boat commander, but it was an arranged marriage. Fortunately, the hero's father's business is building submarines, and they built this one, so he can take over command.

Then we get a long series of misadventures that end up taking them into the Pacific and all the way down almost to Antarctica, thanks to assorted villainy. (view spoiler)[There's a secondary antagonist who is a filthy Red and just hates people like the hero in general - he was sacked from the hero's father's firm, it's implied for union agitation - and he makes several more or less ineffective attempts to kill them all and/or cause internal dissention, before being killed. (hide spoiler)]

They are running low on fuel and water and well out of their course, and then (about halfway through the book) they come across the land of the title, a large volcanic island with unscalable cliffs all round and just one river discharge, through caves that can only be navigated by submarine. Fortunately, they have a submarine!

(view spoiler)[They trust the German commander's word, even though he's the kind of person who would attack an unarmed neutral civilian ship, and of course he betrays them and takes off with the sub, after discovering a source of crude oil to use for fuel. (hide spoiler)]

This isolated place has a tropical climate (from the volcanic heat, presumably) despite being near Antarctica, and was probably the model for the Marvel Universe's Savage Land. It's full of otherwise extinct creatures from every era and continent, dinosaurs, plesiosaurs, pteranodons, sabre-tooth tigers, cave hyenas, you name it. It's like the Swiss Family Robinson's island, but with palaeontology.

It also has various apes, ape-men, and primitive humans, which is where the racism comes in; the less developed ones, of course, are "negroid" in appearance, even though their skins are white, and that disappears as they become more advanced. This seems to happen in the lifetime of an individual, with people heading further north and adopting more technology as they evolve (or rather metamorphose) in the direction of modern homo sapiens. It also seems to have something to do with the pools in which they bathe - I bet it's radium, that would fit the science of the time. Piltdown Man gets a name-check, being still believed in at the time of publication (1918), and not exposed definitely as a hoax until the 1950s.

It's all a bunch of nonsense, of course, with the flimsiest scientific backing at best, but it's mainly there to be a backdrop for the adventure - and the romance, such as it is, between the hero and the woman he rescued.

There were a couple of sequels, which apparently follow very similar lines to the second part of this book, and it wasn't good enough for me to want to read them. I didn't expect much from Burroughs, a pulp writer among pulp writers, and I didn't get much. The adventure parts are the best parts, of course, and if you're just reading for that, it's OK, but nothing else is very good at all.

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Review: The Mummy and Miss Nitocris A Phantasy of the Fourth Dimension

The Mummy and Miss Nitocris A Phantasy of the Fourth Dimension by George Chetwynd Griffith
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I've recently loaded up my e-reader with a large selection of early science fiction and fantasy titles from Project Gutenberg, after a binge on classic mysteries from the same source. I've often steered clear of early SFF, because it has, let's say, very different strengths from current SFF - it might as well be a different genre in many ways. But there is some good stuff out there - I know, from having read some now and again - and I'm going to explore and see if I can find some more.

The thing about reading hundred-year-old fiction is that the preoccupations and the tropes and the stock characters are very different. (And the prevailing ideologies, naturally.) Anything involving science, too, is liable to involve what we would think of as pseudoscience. That's certainly true of this one.

The central characters are an English professor of mathematics and his daughter, who he named Nitocris after an ancient Egyptian queen, since he's a keen amateur Egyptologist. But it turns out that she is in fact the reincarnation of the ancient queen, and he is the reincarnation of a priest who fell in love with the queen (don't think too hard about them now being father and daughter, or things will become more like ancient Egyptian royalty than modern minds are generally comfortable with) and helped her avenge herself on the murderer of her husband. Of course, the murderer and his associate, another priest, have also been reincarnated, and set out to play their villainous role over again.

Meanwhile, though, the professor, musing on a proposition of Euclid, comes to a gnostic realization of the nature of the fourth dimension, which gives him superpowers. He can become invisible, see into the past and great distances away, and so forth. He confounds his learned peers and rivals by demonstrating three supposed impossibilities: trisecting the triangle, squaring the circle, and doubling the cube (all of which, by that point, had been proved to be impossible with the ancient tools of compass and straightedge, though mathematical cranks continued to try). And then Nitocris, his highly intelligent and well-educated daughter, is raised to a knowledge of her heritage and gets superpowers too, and they decide to use them to solve the mystery of the disappearance of a possible future elective Tsar of Russia, depending how the revolution goes (this is 1906, a couple of years before World War I and several more before the Bolshevik victory). Of course, one of the villains, the reincarnation of the murderer of original-Nitocris's husband, is involved in that disappearance; he's a rival for the imperial throne. His sidekick, the reincarnation of the wicked priest, performs wonders similar to those performed on the music hall stage of the period, some of which were rumoured to be performed by Indian fakirs, but does so out in the open and in the middle of a circle of scientific skeptics, to their extreme annoyance and puzzlement.

Meanwhile, Nitocris wants to marry a naval officer, which her father (who, like many intellectuals of the time, believes in eugenics) opposes, being bitterly opposed to war and warriors. She also manages to pair up an unsuccessful suitor of hers with her American friend, who's the daughter of the professor's chief rival - though the two academics are friends of a sort when they're not trying to tear down each other's arguments.

So, we have: reincarnation (presented by the author as if it was a pretty obvious truth), superpowers arising from the understanding of abstruse mathematics, mystery, international politics, academic politics, two romances, and the plot of the reincarnated villains against the reincarnated Nitocris and her priest, now father. All of these are intertwined like a ball of snakes.

It's a complex way to approach a plot, and should only be attempted by experienced authors. This one, I think, largely pulls it off; he was at the end of his life when he wrote it, and although critics considered his powers were waning (under the influence of alcoholism, which killed him), he does juggle and intertwine the various strands capably. Having so many of them does mean that some remain underdeveloped, notably the romance subplots, which barely get any time devoted to them - not only on the page, but in the lives of the participants. The disappearance and reappearance of the mummy of the title is never explained in any way whatsoever; it just falls under "a wizard did it".

He's not the greatest prose stylist, and his characters and descriptions can be thin and stereotyped. Nitocris, for instance, is simultaneously a nice early-20th-century Gibson girl from a prosperous English background and a ruthless ancient Egyptian, and the contrast is sometimes jarring, because neither side of her has much depth, and so it's simply a contradiction with no bridge in the middle. Griffith also shares the usual anti-foreign bias of his time; practically anyone who's not English is automatically and obviously a villain, with an exception granted for the Americans (who are, however, portrayed as odd people talking a slangy dialect). He conveys the distinct impression that simply by being born English, the professor had taken a big step up from his previous incarnations.

Overall, it's an interesting idea but a less-than-amazing execution, and just makes it into the lowest tier of my annual recommendation list.

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