**spoiler alert** Reading the reviews on here, it's easy to get a very wrong impression of the book. Sure, the marketing may suggest The Little Friend**spoiler alert** Reading the reviews on here, it's easy to get a very wrong impression of the book. Sure, the marketing may suggest The Little Friend is some kind of murder mystery, and you'll quickly realize that it's not. But it's not a long series of mostly unrelated vignettes, either.
Instead you should trust how Donna Tartt herself describes the novel: it's "a frightening, scary book about children coming into contact with the world of adults in a frightening way" (I'm quoting Wikipedia here). That sounds very accurate to me. I don't understand how so many people talk as if too many dull sideshows distracted from the actual story. The little episodes about people (relatives and strangers), places, and history vividly depict social surroundings that are not downright horrifying, but that are increasingly confining and that from the very beginning reveal the dark potential for tragedy.
For our young protagonist, Harriet Cleve Dufresnes, this is literally true. She was only a baby when her brother was killed by hanging at the age of nine. It may seem fully unintelligible how something like this can happen. It's not too big of a spoiler that in over 700 pages we never get a conclusive answer as to who did it. But the more we learn about the social realities of Mississippi at the time the better we appreciate the climate where something like this would be possible.
Twelve year old Harriet is more concerned with the question of down-to-earth responsibility. From very early on she is dead set on who did murder her brother. From here the whole plot – and again, there is a real plot! – is based on an unfounded accusation. It's brilliantly meta, as this is a theme often nonchalantly addressed within conversations without any determinate political message.
All this may sound very heady and may support the claims of people who say that it's a novel that was very difficult to get into or that was exhaustive to read. Again, it's not! For me it was very much a page-turner full of childhood adventure and exploration, erratic criminals, and hilariously whimsical characters.
I sometimes hear people say that they think of book characters as being real (Stephen King says that in his introduction to The Stand, for instance). To be honest, I very very rarely feel that. Maybe I'm reading too much science fiction and fantasy, but in my fiction individuals are mostly defined by a bunch of stereotypical traits necessary to serve the plot. It wouldn't be difficult to describe who Harriet, her best friend Hely, her grandmother Edi, her sister Allison, or her aunt Libby Allison are. The main villains, Danny and Farish Ratliff, are almost frighteningly real. Yet, what makes them special is that they remain to some degree unpredictable despite their vividly defined personalities.
And the writing, among the best I've read... well, since Gene Wolfe, but I cannot remember the last time I felt so enticed by prose. It's so incredibly nuanced without weighing you down, and it's so amazingly on point. The highly adventures fourth chapter is a great example. Here, Harriet and Hely somehow end up in the house of Eugene, an ex-con-turned-preacher who is part of this good-for-nothing family of drug-dealers and thugs. As they sneak around they discover what is a whole stack of... deadly snakes?! In the chapter's climax the writing style changes to convey the terror and tension when the two are separated and the violently erratic Farish arrives on the scene.
At every point the story is about the emotional repercussions of the world we find so comprehensively portrayed. It's genuinely funny at times, especially in the very recognizable portrayal of how it was to be a child. Especially Hely is just hilarious, he's so much like we were when we were boys, right? He's a bit of an idiot and in the end he's self-centered and certainly not the most loyal. But of course, that's perhaps again what it's like to be a child.
It may not surprise that overall it's a very melancholic story. People don't often talk about Robin's death, but one way or another their lives are mostly about coping with the horror of what happened. Naturally, the tragic event very much determined who they are. Episodes that happen later in the book – as when the housekeeper Ida is fired (in everything but words) or when Aunt Libby dies – are incredibly sad to read. Not only because of the actual events, but in the heart-crushing way it's described how the events unfold. I cannot say books often make me cry, but these moments genuinely made me tear up.
The Little Friend is easily among the best books I've ever read. It's the kind of perfectly told story that makes you re-evaluate what makes a good piece of fiction.
Annihilation has been an unsolvable mystery. The uncountable scientists that went into Area X either died, or they were absorbed by the terrifying conAnnihilation has been an unsolvable mystery. The uncountable scientists that went into Area X either died, or they were absorbed by the terrifying conundrum. It remained impenetrable from the outsider's perspective of Southern Reach, the governmental research facility located at the outskirts of the zone. After decades the haunting presence has been clouded in secrecy as the too out-there facts have been covered up by whoever might really be in charge.
In the beginning it looks as if we know. A man fittingly called Control takes up the position as director of the aging institute. However, he quickly learns that he has very little actual authority over his staff. Not everyone is as hostile towards him as his assistant director, yet there is no support or intelligence as to where to go from there. And the data poses as much confusion about the area as it does about the individuals currently or previously working in the facility.
For the most part the novel reads as much like espionage fiction as it concerns itself with the mysteries explored in the first novel. In fact, there is very little new information. Instead, facts are re-discovered in different guises and re-evaluated by new theories. Aliens rarely figure in those reflections. If a truth is out there, there are forces at work that control how it would be revealed.
So, if you came back to the series for answers you might be disappointed. The depressing state of the project actively deprives you of all hope. Although not necessarily an appealing figure (or interesting in his own right), its only the protagonist's determination that pulls through the sluggish motion all around him. By the end, internal discoveries do relate to what happens within Area X, only before the status quo is thoroughly shaken.
It's not exactly an exhilarating read. I'm sure the book has been compared to Kafka, in that Control's attempts to deal with his staff can assume almost absurd features. Frankly, maybe it's even lacking some substance. Still, if you are in the mood for something dark, the novel's thick atmosphere will sure be fully immersive. It might not quite be The Road or anything, but be prepared for this to properly drain your energy.
Southern Reach is a microcosm capable to send shivers down your spine, as much as Area X did in Annihilation.
**spoiler alert** The residents of Bird Street made a pact with the Devil. He offered them happiness if they in turn provide him with a human sacrific**spoiler alert** The residents of Bird Street made a pact with the Devil. He offered them happiness if they in turn provide him with a human sacrifice once a year. The book's title points to the one caveat that surrounds the fateful clause. During the month of November they are all fully deprived of their luck, until the Accountant (as they call the manifested presence of evil) gets his victim. When things could go bad, they will go bad.
You cannot talk of Thomas Olde Heuvelt without mentioning Stephen King, and I won't attempt to free myself from forces stronger than what one insignificant "book critic" could overcome. What Heuvelt does equally well is characterization. The horrors creep up from within as our tragic protagonists are no longer capable to suppress their inner demons.
As the month goes on their situation is getting particularly dire. Mental and physical illness haunts them as maybe it would have under more normal circumstances. What I loved about the story was how vividly the characters reacted to their fates. Sometimes we do things and afterwards think that we were lucky and that things might have turned out much worse. In November they learn (again) that things can go bad and that then you have to take responsibility for your mistakes (i.e., for your bad actions whose bad consequences were not somehow avoided). Before acceptance they are in the familiar circle of when you ask yourself, Why did you do it? I don't know. I really don't know.
There are individuals that in November feel the full force of their guilt. There is one man who resorts to alcohol to drown his conscience. His daughter suffers from a bipolar disorder that makes her lose control over the person she wants to be. I think in these moments the author expresses genuine empathy for human weakness (I think I said something similar on The Poppy War?). It's not simply a fault of character (an ethical fault, so to say); weakness may result from the external pressure getting too much. It's for this reason that the more fortunate have it easier to succeed morally, too.
At least superficially, There is an obvious metaphor here, one that the story itself calls out at one point. Isn't many people's happiness made possible by the suffering of others? Isn't yours, at least to some degree? From this angle happiness is presented as the ability to overcome guilt. Moreover, when something bad happens (like an unfortunate medical diagnosis, say) won't you think that you deserved better? I highly enjoyed these moral undertones, especially since the story never gets unduly preachy.
Another interesting aspect of the plot was how the children are introduced as the product of their parents' good fortune. They are unusually gifted and especially the boy's interest in very early jazz was a cool touch. Actually, their subplot too were somewhat rooted in tradition. The children's exploration of the forbidden woods reads less as Stranger Things adventures than as mythical fairy tales.
Naturally, the first couple of chapters the cultists' intrigues are clouded in mystery. Admittedly, it's not the most engaging kind of opening and mostly serves as cover-up for some holes in the premise. But at the end of Part One it culminates in a climax that thoroughly shook me up. The way they exploit the teenager's struggle with severe depression and his suicidal spiral was incredibly sinister and shameless.
November is the kind of horror whose supernatural premise is mostly pretense. If you are not negatively triggered by how the story tackles themes of psychological and ethical significance, then the depths greatly add to the overall atmosphere and round up a fully convincing tale of horror.
Surfacing starts out as mystery detective novel. A woman returns to her hometown after she received a message that her father disappeared. They had beSurfacing starts out as mystery detective novel. A woman returns to her hometown after she received a message that her father disappeared. They had been alienated for many years, ever since she got a divorce. The town is somewhat secluded and his home can only be reached by boat. He couldn't have left the island, yet there is no obvious trace to pursue.
The woman narrates her own story. For her the return is coupled with deep-rooted emotions. When certain events and objects trigger memories, inner and outer sensations enter her account. There is no real danger, yet her prose is very brutal and intense, and the more so the more she readopts to the environment. People grow their own food, live without electricity, strongly endorse separatist politics. When they eat fish or meat, they kill the animals themselves.
It feels as if almost every moment is important in her change of character ever since she came back there. The scene when she accompanies a friend on a fishing trip is a case in point. He has no experience, for him it's more like a game, something you do when being on such kind of vacation. The narrator, on the other hand, she is very upfront about how she kills a frog as bait or how the stumps on a fish to kill it. It's relentless, somehow as if heady ideals don't even figure in her actions.
She travels with others, but she talks about them almost as disinterested spectator. Joe, a man you might even call her lover, is a very good example. She lives and sleeps with him, to some extent the perhaps confides in him, yet there has never been any real connection. In an important moment he asks her to marry her and although it's clear that she wouldn't, it's fascinating to read about her inner struggle.
The novel is often praised for its feminist qualities. It's evident how her sentiments and actions contrast with ideas usually associated with femininity. The narrator clearly suffers from societal expectations and the lack of perspective and among the strongest aspects of the novel is how themes of oppression are reflected in the way that people think and act. Marriage, masculinity, make-up, the pill, inequality, adultery, in the harsh environment these ideas take on a unique form that shapes the narrator's perception.
The experiential language is incredibly cold and vivid. She describes unpleasant smells and uses unsettling metaphors like amputation. There are phrases like "death is logical, there is always a motive". There are many references to WWII and the reflects about whether violence is innate and part of the human condition. Before she didn't feel anything; here, in the wilderness, she might reconnect with this evolutionary heritage.
The narrator often thinks about how her father might have gone mad. In the end, isolation and overwhelming emotions lead her down the same path. At this point the prose seriously got under my skin and becomes this haunting account of back-to-nature. These days you might get used again to the dankish autumn weather that makes you long for a warm tea at home. Imagine that instead you would spend the night in a forest outside town – this is essentially what reading Surfacing feels like.
**spoiler alert** The two previous novels in Adrian Tchaikovsky's most famous series, Children of Time and Children of Ruin, had been epic space opera**spoiler alert** The two previous novels in Adrian Tchaikovsky's most famous series, Children of Time and Children of Ruin, had been epic space operas. Children of Memory is more reserved in scope. It tells the mostly self-contained story of how the crew of an ark ship that left the dying Earth more than two thousand years ago desperately tries to settle down on the planet of Imir. The focus is on the mystery that slowly unravels throughout the story.
Like Nod, Damaskus, and Kern's World, Imir was once designated for the Old Earth terraforming project. Unlike the latter, the process was never completed. Still, when war and excessive resource usage had made Earth mostly uninhabitable, humanity sent out its ark ships in hope of settlement on different worlds. One of them, the Enkidu set sails for Imir. Eventually, it's among the very few spaceships that actually reach their destination.
I was surprised by the story's strong supernatural dimension. Of course you never truly believe in the mythical interpretations of what is going on. But for me it was still very intriguing to explore what was really going on. They are best introduced with respect to the two main protagonists whose actions drive the plot forward.
One is Miranda who had once been a human that gifted her thoughts and memories to the Nodan parasite to be replicated. Our hero in the story is a copy of the human that once lived. It's clear very early on that she as well as other old acquaintances – the octopus Paul and two spiders, the engineer Fabian and the hunter Portia – somehow infiltrated the human settlement on Imir. Puzzlingly, they appear to live as humans among humans. Even more baffling, this strange fact is never explained or even openly acknowledged. Are they parasite replicas created to animate engineered human bodies?
On Imir Miranda becomes the teacher of a teenage girl called Liff. She thinks of herself as the granddaughter of Heorest Holt, the captain of the ark ship that landed on Imir. This fact in itself is already confusing as the timeframe doesn't seem to fit. By her time, agriculture, forests, and livestock have made life on Imir possible; yet, when Holt and the core crew first set foot on the planet it was evident that the terraforming process was interrupted at an early stage. It's very unlikely that they made this much progress in only a generation or two. So the question is, how much time has passed since their first arrival?
The arrival too involved another mystery yet to be fully disclosed. Holt and his lover came across some signal. They weren't able to figure out its meaning, yet it appeared very likely that there was a significant pattern – and that the source of the signal was alien in nature. In Children of Ruin there was First Contact with genuinely alien species on Nod (the parasite among others). Might they have come across another intelligent being?
Even years after their arrival, Holt still searched for the signal's origin. Some of his peers gradually began to think that he became mad in old age. Still, there were rumors that something was out there in the hills or woods. The children of the community saw these ideas in the light of their fairy tales. In an early chapter Liff dreams (or is it a dream) that her grandfather left them to live with the Witch in the woods. When she tires to follow him she comes across her familiars – two talking ravens that are capable to transform themselves into human beings.
Of course, the birds are yet another species uplifted by the familiar nanovirus, and I absolutely loved them. I have a strong interest in computational linguistics and in the question of what kinds of problems can be solved computationally, and the new seemingly intelligent player puts a hilarious twist on these issues. When talking to (other) intelligent interlocutors the birds react with responses that appear fully appropriate at the given point of the conversation. Yet, the sense remains that all they do is complex parroting, that there is no essential difference to what their non-enhanced ancestors did back on Earth. Throughout the book characters asks whether the birds truly understand what it is they hear and say.
This poses the question whether they really are intelligent. It seems clear that the behaviorist idea of intelligence – that certain kinds of behavior, like using language or solving problems , demonstrate the intelligence of the acting being – misses the crucial genuinely psychological dimension. We expect the behavior to be the output of genuine thought processes. Yet, there is some evidence that our own capacity to speak and understand language are facilitated by innate grammatical knowledge somehow encoded (and hardcoded) into our neurological makeup. That is, the human capability to use language is essentially computational, too.
However, some worries remain. The birds express their belief that there are no genuinely intelligent beings. In their own case, the nanovirus turned them into exceptional pattern-matching tools (as they call themselves) and gave them the storage capacity to obtain the data thus received. From this they extrapolate whatever is appropriate to say at a given point in a conversation. That is, they are basically a biological version of ChatGPT.
The other fascinating topic closely connected with the overall mystery is the question of what is (really) real and the nature of reality itself. The big twists in the final chapters reveal that Kern, Miranda and the birds were trapped in a simulation. Intuitively, the experience they had only seemed real (but were not). Their main question is whether Liff and/or Liff's experiences were real.
For the sake of the argument it's probably fair to assume that, for the entity in the simulation, the experiences were indistinguishable from what they would have been had she been living in the real world. But from an outsider's perspective it might be relevant to distinguish between different environments in which the simulation takes place. The plot itself discusses two different scenarios.
In the first scenario – the one originally presented to the reader (in Part XI) as what really happened – the Enkidu landed on Imir. For some generations, the community struggled to survive, but eventually it becomes clear that the planet won't be able to sustain them. Coincidentally, Liff is the very last survivor before she dies too. For whatever reason, the simulation engine then recreates these events over and over again. The Liff in the simulation was in some sense a copy of the real life that once lived in Landfall.
In the book's final twist it's revealed that the crew never actually made it. There never was a real life; all we can say is that, contrafactually,, there would have been a Liff had things been different. Perhaps, this is exactly what the simulation engine is after, to identify and realize possible scenarios close to what happens in the actual world. It's worth noting that Miranda, a parasite replica that animates an engineered human body, thinks of herself as the real Miranda; and that Avrana Kern, the AI that resulted from the memories and thought patterns of the original scientist and that existed in this form for centuries, thinks of herself as the real Avrana Kern. Does it make a difference that, in this scenario, Liff would not be a copy of an entity perhaps more rightly called real?
I thought that, at least for the most part, the plot itself was quite gripping, too. Bigger reveals await the reader at every corner and there are again some visually striking moments. For instance, I enjoyed their arrival on Rourke where they are suddenly attacked by thousands of seemingly intelligent birds. There was also the scene were the intruders are hanged on the First Tree turned gallows before they suddenly turn into the horrifying creatures the really are.
There were some obvious shortcomings, though. The book is already shorter than the predecessors, but I still felt there was an simulation iteration or two that didn't really add too much to the overall picture. What bothered me even more than in the two previous novels were the extremely lackluster minor characters.
It's probably fair to say that there were quite a few incarnations of Fabian and Portia that had been little more than a name and a job designation; but here they are literally that. Other than the discussion about Tchaikovsky's of the Prime Directive, which Miranda could have had with anyone, they are barely present in the story at all. In the chapters set before their landing on Imir they are annoyingly disinterested in taking any action at all. Why would they even bother to join the crew if they were almost completely indifferent to the planet and its civilization?
Thematically, Children of Memory is perhaps the strongest in the series, yet, even if the plot itself is not quite as tight. I was truly captivated by the overall mystery and I'm sure the final reveal will stay with me for a long time. So, if you felt Children of Ruin was too much of the same – this is something very different, and very excitingly so!
**spoiler alert** 1Q84 is Haruki Murakami's unexpected take on the mystery thriller. Given the novel's marketing, you might expect strong elements of **spoiler alert** 1Q84 is Haruki Murakami's unexpected take on the mystery thriller. Given the novel's marketing, you might expect strong elements of science fiction or a setting of alternative history; instead, brutality and trauma take center stage in a parallel universe where the author's defining traits of magical realism enforce the unlikely reconnection of should-be lovers.
The multiverse is the logical space of possibilities. If you ask yourself what might have been you construct in your mind a possible world that may differ from the actual world in infinitely many respects. If you realize what could be – for instance, when you wonder what candidate might win an ongoing election – you try to determine what possible scenario will turn out to be the given reality. Regret might present itself as the yearslong desire for a different world.
It's not immediately obvious – in fact, the fact takes roughly 1,200 pages to emerge – but for Aomame and Tengo 1Q84 will turn out to be the alternative they longed for ever since she briefly held his hands after he protected her against the wrath of their fellow students. Back when they were teenagers or younger they never found the courage to openly talk to each other and suddenly she left school. They are now in their 30s, but they never stopped thinking about the brief moment that held the unrealized potential to change everything. Naturally, their ideas of each other cannot accord with with the real person. What matters, though, is trans-world identity – the fact that this person is Tengo/Aomame. The question of what they are like is not yet of importance.
The possible worlds we construe would more appropriately called possible scenarios. Of course, even world-famous writers when writing the most extensive works can only describe (let alone keep in your mind) segments of what would be the entire universe. Still, 1Q84 goes way beyond what Tengo and Aomame anticipated. It is only by much detail of the world's past and by the entanglement of our protagonists in the affairs of a powerful religious organization that they paths would cross again.
Some decades before the main events of the novel, an idealistic professor left the university to form a farming commune that was able to inspire many members and that only after a few years was fully self-sufficient. However, more radical minds within the organization dreamed of revolution. There was a bloody clash with the police and as a reaction the armed forced of the law were equipped with new weapons. Different guns, that is what Aomame coincidentally notices, and she never heard of the violent confrontation – clues that the events never occurred in the 1984 she left when (at the very beginning of the story) she climbed down an escape stairway on the highway.
For the rest of the story, it's not the political Akebono but it's sister organization, Sakigake, that will determine the course of events. For reasons connected with the more fantastical aspects of the narrative, the group embraced religion as its raison d'être. But given the considerable financial means at their disposal, there is reason to believe that their methods aren't as unobjectionable as their public image suggests. More concerning are the rumors of the hideous acts of violence against young girls committed by their Leader.
Aomame and Tengo's connection to Sakigake is established in the early chapters. For me it was highly captivating to learn more and more about the scenario already in place. We discover that Aomame is a righteous assassin that kills abusive men by order of a powerful dowager. Her newest assignment is to take care of Leader. The themes of sexual violence and violence against women are very explicitly addressed and make this a much darker story than what you might expect from Murakami.
Tengo is an eloquent writer with a day job as math tutor at a cram school. A friend of his is an editor who hires him to rewrite an extraordinary novella whose powerful story suffers from subpar writing. More than the content of the novella itself – it's only in the middle of Part II that it's summarized to some extent – it's the originator of the story, the 17-year-old high-school student Eriko Fukada (called Fuka-Eri) that will fascinate the reader. She appears very timid and fragile, yet somehow fully in control of the turn of events. She surely knows things, though it's difficult to fathom the exact nature of her knowledge.
It's primarily through Fuka-Eri that we learn about the more out-there aspects of the parallel universe. In her novel she talks about the little people and of people born within the so-called air chrysalis (the title of her novella). In true Murakami-fashion, the boundaries between the events of the novella in the novel and the story of the novel become more and more blurred.
In a key moment, Leader tells Aomame that by raping his daughter he became an agent of the Little People, and that his daughter, Fuka-Eri, became their opponent. Apparently, her novella put limits to their actions. Perhaps what this means is that the more detail you put to the description of your possible worlds, the smaller the leeway that remains. In any event, the mysteries are never fully resolved.
The sexual dimension is an integral part of the story. Fuka-Eri was the victim of the most reprehensible of crimes and it's clear that she strongly suffers from the emotional and psychological repercussions. As children Tengo and Aomame intensely and lastingly bonded over similiar experiences, but the desire for each in later years appears primarily sexual in nature. In a very uncomfortable scene Tengo sleeps with Fuka-Eri, and I wondered whether it's a coincidence that in their fantasy world he sleeps with a minor when the mental object of his sexual desire in some sense never grew up. Does this represent a Whaf if... scenario in which they shared their first sexual experiences with each other?
The romance completely comes down to the fact that they kept each other firmly in their minds. It's a powerful thought and it was heart-warming when they finally meet again. But by the end you might feel that the finally should be italicized. In fact, especially in the last act there are many detours on the way to the inevitable conclusion. For me that was especially true for the Aomame chapters. After she killed Leader she spends most of her time actively waiting in her hideout. Her individual ark is basically over at this point, but there are still hundreds of pages to go.
However, I would still argue that there were some minor stories that for me were worthwhile reads for their own sake. The subplot where Tengo spends time and reconnects with his dying father is a sideshow for sure, but it made for a relaxing seaside escape with emotional moments that have some emotional impact on his character.
The third part even introduces chapters for a third character that previously made an appearance in the narrative. At first I wasn't particularly invested in Ushikawa's investigations, since the reader already knows whatever he may find out. But he turns out to be an eccentric detective figure, certainly not unlike the famous Hercule Poirot (who is often similarly described as having an egg-shaped head, if I recall correctly). His thorough investigation and inspired hypothesizing throw new light on our two lovebirds and his reflections are captivating and occasionally funny to read.
IQ84 has often been criticized for clumsy writing, and to some extent I share the sentiments. An initially intriguing quote might loose its depth the more often it's repeated (“If you can't understand it without an explanation, you can't understand it with an explanation”). There are times when you read repeated passages the editor surely should have straightened out. For instance, during Tengo's stay at the sanatorium it's said more than once that the nurses grew more fond of him when he returned more often and more than once we read that Tengo is reading to his father from the book he is currently reading himself. It was probably meant to be funny, but eventually I grew annoyed by the countless times we hear about Aomame's flat chest.
But for the most part, IQ84 is a surprisingly well-rounded thriller that is rich in emotional depth and that is capable to surprise the reader for the whole of its extensive lengths.
**spoiler alert** The Wayward Pines series was strongly inspired by Twin Peaks. As in the classic TV show, an agent arrives in a remote village surrou**spoiler alert** The Wayward Pines series was strongly inspired by Twin Peaks. As in the classic TV show, an agent arrives in a remote village surrounded by woods. Secret Service Agent Ethan Burke was sent there to investigate the disappearance of two fellow agents. On his way there, he and his partner have a terrible car accident from which Ethan awakes without memory of his past life.
The issue of our protagonist's identity is quickly solved, but the real mystery about what is going on in Wayward Pines only begins. While the questions are thoroughly intriguing, his Kafkaesque attempts to get back his walled and batch from various officials is highly unnerving. I cannot make up my mind whether it's in a good way (this kind of storytelling rarely resonates with me). The turn of events is getting particularly tedious when the seemingly never-ending fête – the villagers' hunt for the dissenter – begins.
On some level, it's quite the page-turner. It's a very easy and, for the most part, very entertaining read. But about fifty pages in I couldn't get over the fact that it all feels so terribly familiar and frankly clichéd. It's not just Twin Peaks, it's as if watching another solid Netflix production created entirely from the ideas of more original works. Don't get me wrong, I'm well aware that all art is rehashing familiar tropes, but here it felt there was little else.
In the final act, turns into science-fiction on a more epic scale. It wasn't greatly surprising – I'm sure most readers will suspect something like this at that point – but to my mind the dystopian surroundings make for a more interesting backdrop than the nihilist absurdism of the earlier chapters. In fact, I think with a higher pace – and about one hundred pages less – this would have been highly enjoyable.
I think I'll continue the series soon, but with Ethan now established as the sheriff I'm worried the plot will tread some more water before it gets going again.
**spoiler alert** In the prequel to The Shadow of the Wind, The Angel's Game, a mysterious book from Barcelona's hidden Cemetery of Forgotten Books ag**spoiler alert** In the prequel to The Shadow of the Wind, The Angel's Game, a mysterious book from Barcelona's hidden Cemetery of Forgotten Books again plunges the protagonist's life into disaster. But had Daniel Sempere found Julián Carax's novel early on, David Martin comes across the D.M. penned fable only when he is already doomed to die from brain cancer.
The plot ties into the processor's story in interesting ways, especially towards the end, but at no point does it rely on the celebrated bestseller. What really distinguishes the prequel is its deeply ambiguous plot and its refusal to fully resolve the mystery in the end. There are many pieces to the puzzle that is David's own role in the events. Maybe he is tragically destined to serve as the unreliable narrator to his own story—unreliable not only to the reader but to himself. Maybe the memories of horrible crimes committed by him are hidden away in his subconscious. Maybe what he offers us is a purely (or mostly) fictional account of a life a fatal illness refused him, his swansong written in the months before his death. David doesn't present us with a definite answer, and the novel is the better for it.
As I've indicated, there is a very noticeable break in the story after David told us about one third of it. The first act is about his ambition to become a novelist. In his early years, he tries to emulate his big mentor, the affluent dandy Pedro Vidal. Vidal supports him the best he can, getting the young man the chance to publish stories in the newspaper they both work for. He strikes a deal with two publishers. Although contracted to publish under a pseudonym, at least he is making some money from writing detective stories. Over months and years it becomes more and more evident that he carved out a miserable existence of pulp fiction, poverty, and loneliness.
In this time, there is one person who is giving his life meaning. Secretly, he cast an eye on Vidal's beautiful assistant, Cristina, the daughter of his chauffeur. For years Vidal had been working on something to be remembered by. Cristina confides in David, and the reader shares his disillusionment when he has to discover the dilettante quality of his idol's writing. The two conspire to rework the little he is actually able to put to paper, and for David it's an almost happy period of his life—because of the time he is able to spend with Cristina. Tragically, she doesn't return his love and it's with deep grief that he learns that she agreed to marry Don Pedro.
David will never recover from his broken heart, but at this point he already knew about his terminal medical condition. He worked hard to leave the world something of himself, but his own novel too was met with lukewarm responses at best. It's at this point that he is contacted by a mysterious French (Italian?) publisher, Andreas Corelli, who offers him another chance of life, and it's here that the story takes a very different direction from what you may have expected. Suddenly, David finds himself in the middle of a conspiracy that claims the life of many people around him.
David is hired to write a story that would form a religion. I was very intrigued by Corelli's cynical ideas about faith. "(...) (A) religion", he tells David, "is really a moral code that is expressed through legends, myths, or any type of literary device in order to establish a system of beliefs, values, and rules with which to regulate a culture or a society." But the act of believing in myths and ideologies he sees grounded in biological necessity, and great writers are able to induce them by the poetic form of their tales (as opposed to their substance). It's David's job to come up with writing whose intensity would secure them a following.
From then on the plot gets increasingly more surreal. People who interfere with David's solemn purpose die under mysterious circumstances. When David is introduced to The Cemetery of Forgotten Books, the book he finds—or that finds him, as the guardian likes to stress—appears to be exactly what he is working on. He discovers that it was written on the very same typewriter he uses, and by a man who appears to have lived in the same house he is now living in. Crimes have been committed, but by whom? And what exactly happened? Interspersed are dreamy sequences that leave you wondering whether the tumor in David's brain affects his experiences.
Corelli seems almost all-knowing. His appearance is described as wolfish and he never blinks. His friendly demeanor is clearly deceptive, but what is he hiding? Many plot points in David's investigations are admittedly clichéd, occasionally to the point where it gets too silly (as with the bizarre witch scene), and unnecessarily convoluted towards the end. Death is all around him, I don't think you really needed all the 17 bereavements (if I've counted correctly) and sideshows to cement this point further. For the most part I was thoroughly intrigued though, as evidenced by the fact that I blasted through the 700 pages in less than a week.
This is in no part due to the again wonderful characters that are easily the strongest aspect of the novel. The most obvious connection to The Shadow of the Wind is via the Sempere & Sons bookshop, and the old Sempere's helpfulness is truly uplifting. It broke my heart when David realizes that his loving friend is now an old man. His taciturn son won't leave you with much of an impression here, but I liked how unagitatedly the prequel develops the background of the first novel.
Easily my favorite character was Isabella. Their friendship developed over the course of the story is genuinely heartwarming. You may argue that it falls victim to the familiar pattern of Hollywood sentimentality, but this is something I gladly embrace. All the teasing is charming and amusing, and there is ample opportunity to indicate David's broken heart in moments of bitterness and personal shortcomings. When I go through my favorite authors, maybe I'm unconsciously seeking out emotions of happy sadness, and when David and Isabella say goodbye to each other this urge is fully satisfied.
The Angel's Game's most convincing literary quality is certainly the layer of potential meaning woven into its plot. Nonetheless, it's just as much a page-turner as its more famous predecessor. If you've enjoyed The Shadow of the Wind and you are looking for another feel-good book to sink into, you could certainly do much worse than its often overlooked follow-up.
A woman is alone in a library at night. But is she really? As everyone will have experienced, the creaking sounds of the hours past sunset are ever moA woman is alone in a library at night. But is she really? As everyone will have experienced, the creaking sounds of the hours past sunset are ever more creepy than being at the same places during the day. When she later tells others about her scary night, she swears that something touched her hair and she even saw how drawers opened and closed by themselves! One physicist (not a parapsychologist!) takes her report very seriously and offers his help in getting to the root of things with the help of thorough use of scientific methods.
As the author makes clear in the commentary quoted in the description box of the only edition of the novella included on here, "Mammy Morgan Played the Organ; Her Daddy Beat the Drum" for him was a very personal story to write. Like the protagonist scientist, Flynn lost a brother that was very very dear to him. It builds on ideas his of another brother, Kevin, had for a thriller story and turned it into hard science-fiction. The setting is real too, there is an allegedly haunted library with a graveyard nearby and apparently even Mammy Morgan existed.
Initially, I thought the story was a bit silly as it strongly resembled the famous opening scene of Ghostbusters. When the librarian accompanies the physicist to noteworthy sites around the area and tells him about strange occurrences and sightings (for instance, of will-o'-the-wisps) it does build a certain degree of atmosphere. The story of the titular character, Mammy Morgan, was of particular interest: she was a woman who read legislative texts as a pastime and who offered help to the poor and needy of her community. In misogynist cycles she soon developed the reputation of being a witch.
I began to enjoy this more when the core premise comes to the fore. Esoteric believes are only that as long as it goes against the ideas of established science. So, if you could record strange events with the help of reliable equipment and if you could account for your findings in reliably scientific terms, sober materialism may be reconciled with the events familiar from prominent ghost stories.
To distance himself from superstition, the physicist tries to think of the occurrences in more positivist and neutral terms. For instance, when others talk about ghosts he uses the expression "Standard Night Phenomena" ("SNPs", for short). At least in one brief section, the story is quite heavy on the science. To establish credibility, he talks of Boltzmann distribution, thermophotonic effects, spectographic analysis and image evaluation.
What made the climax more interesting, their world is our own. There is very little reliable evidence for the reported events. If anything, from what we know commonsensically about psychology it's easy to explain why the librarian imagines things that may not actually be there or why the physicist wants there to be signs of contact from the beyond. In fact, he is under a lot of stress (he may have been ever since he lost his brother) and he himself is haunted by things at night (he even hears voices). When the pressure is building up, the suicidal thoughts expressed at the end of the story are somewhat comprehensible, at least to some degree.
Unfortunately, what are for the author powerful themes are not necessarily as important to the reader. Personally, I didn't feel very invested in the story. At no point were the thrills captivating enough to work as a horror story, and the science-fiction is not developed enough to carry the story, either. It was not bad, but I doubt I will remember it in four weeks time.
**spoiler alert** I love the idea of a spy novel, though I don't think I've ever read one. I also haven't read any of the novels that feature Tommy an**spoiler alert** I love the idea of a spy novel, though I don't think I've ever read one. I also haven't read any of the novels that feature Tommy and Tuppence in their younger years. Actually, The Mysterious Affair at Styles, Mrs. McGinty’s Dead, and And Then There Were None are the only Agatha Christie novels I had read so far. There was something about the setup of N or M? that intrigued me, though.
It's 1940 and the Blitzkrieg is taking place. Tommy and Tuppence Beresford are a middle-aged couple who feel terribly useless. They are considered too old to take their part in British war efforts and they are unable to find other occupation. Then one day Tommy is offered a job by what turns out to be a secret agent (a man named Grant).
Tommy and Tuppence used to be undercover agents themselves, and now Tommy is asked to become one again. German spies infiltrated British Intelligence. His job is to identify these members of the "fifth column". So far, they only have a note of what his predecessor said before his death: "N or M. Song Susie". The Secret Service assumes that this actually refers to the seaside hotel called Sans Souci. It's there that Tommy is sent to look for the spies. Of course, when he arrives there he finds that his wife already beat him to it.
As is so often the case, the group of people they find at the hotel are hardly the ones you would expect to be spies. With the exception of one, who so obviously qualifies that it's hardly to be expected that he will eventually be the one they had been looking for. The German refuge Carl von Deinim works in Britain as a chemistry researcher. Apart from him, there is a Major Bletchley, Mrs. Sprot (with her baby girl Betty), Miss Minton (who spends her days knitting), the colossal Irish woman Mrs. O'Rourke, the grumpy Mr. Cayley with his obsequious wife, and hotel-owner Mrs. Perenna with her daughter Sheila. Apart from that, a suspicious Polish lady shows up.
I loved how they appear at the scene assuming undercover identities. He poses as Mr. Meadowes, a widower who fought during the war. She turns up as Patricia Blenkensop, who has three sons in the army and who had two husbands before. Now she is after Mr. Meadowes. They smartly use their disguises to manipulate the people around them, trying to bring the supposed spies to make mistakes and to reveal themselves. For instance, Tuppence publicly talks about how she has this secret code that she and her fictional son use to talk about secret details of the war. Soon thereafter, someone sneaked into her room and read some letter (no finger prints... not even her own!).
During their investigation, they occasionally hesitate at how to properly interpret what they sensually perceive. For instance, is it just her or did Carl von Deinim sound as if he learned his lines by heart when he was talking about his family? Is she just imagining things or is Mrs. Perenna looking at the group with scorn? Is Mrs. O'Rourke just particularly perceptive or is she on the alert? Naturally, they also pick up quite a few red herrings before they get on the right track.
In the beginning, it's rather cozy. I liked the very manly afternoons of Tommy, Major Bletchley, and later a Commander Haydock. There is something effortlessly cool about these old men. I absolutely loved the twist about Haydock. His plan was just brilliant: He over and over and over tells everyone about how he acquired Smugglers' Rest after he identified the former owner as a German spy. As he himself admits, the place is perfect for communication and for secret meetings. As it turns out, the Germans consciously send one poor bastard to be debunked by Haydock - one of their own, now free to pursue the very same activities at the very same place.
Towards the end, it appropriately builds up the tension, though. The events pick up pace when the little baby is kidnapped. They receive a letter that the kidnappers would kill the child if they call the police. I didn't expect so much action as in the high-speed pursuit. You could scream when they come across this incredibly verbose fellow. They corner the kidnapper at the edge of a cliff. Commander Haydock is unable to shoot - then a shit is fired. Oh, you really hold your breath!
The climax offers everything you would want from the finale of a spy story. The Commander turns out to he more like a classic James Bond villain in his grandeur. Tommy is on to him. His slapstick performance is seriously hilarious. He slips on a dessert that was still lying on the ground - and finds wires! Now it's clear, the English sailor is in fact N. Will he be able to escape? Will he be able to trick him into thinking he is just a daft Englishman who doesn't get what is going on? Eventually, he snores out an SOS, as loud as he can, so that his old friend Albert is able to find him. Yeah, that really happened.
Meanwhile, the Secret Service asks Tuppence to accept a very dangerous mission. A German intruder landed with a parachute, dressed as a nurse. They sidelined her and now Tuppence is asked to take her place and to meet with her liaison at an agreed meeting place. Although I thought the subplot with the daughter's boyfriend was incredibly silly and forced, the eventual confrontation with the villain was great.
Oh yeah, they also discover that Mrs Sprot is M. Tuppence wondered why anyone would kidnap a baby. Suddenly, the scales fell from her eyes. The crucial piece of the puzzle is discovered when she realizes that Carl used his chemical expertise to produce invisible ink stored in his shoelaces. The baby found out and that's why it needed to disappear. And her battered picture book, that was part of the resolution as well.
So, full of espionage atmosphere, cozy charm, double plays, and a great climax, I very much enjoyed my first excursion into the literary spy genre. I really didn't expect this to be so much like a James Bond movie. I need more of this!
This book was quite some trip. Like the psychedelic exploration of a zone, the Area X, in which not much is as what we are used to. I guess it's scienThis book was quite some trip. Like the psychedelic exploration of a zone, the Area X, in which not much is as what we are used to. I guess it's science-fictional in spirit, with many elaborate, yet strangely beautiful descriptions through the eyes (and with the biological concepts) of the narrator. However, the mystery takes centre stage from the get-go. The book has been compared to 'Lost', and for once I think the comparison isn't entirely off, at least in the way how the mystery feels. There is also a strange kind of tension that grips you for the entire trip.
A group of four female scientists - a biologist (the narrator), a psychologist (the leader of the group), an anthropologist, and a land surveyor - are send into the area by the mysterious Southern Reach institution to explore it and to find out what the heck is going on. And that there is something going on is clear pretty much immediately, but it's incredibly hard to pinpoint what exactly it is. Based on information from earlier expeditions, the group received a special sort of training to prepare them for the mission; but it also becomes evident very early on that this is more to control the team members hypnotically, rather than really prepare them by giving real information.
As already said, at least on the surface the book lives off almost entirely of the mystery and I'm sure most readers will be quite intrigued and desperate to find out more about the area. But there is also quite a bit of horror in there, as common sense is certainly stretched more than to its limits here. In fact, Clifford Geertz (a famous anthropologist) claims that we feel disgust and nausea when we are confronted with things that we cannot assimilate in our everyday, or even scientific, categories (as, for instance, forms of hermaphroditism do for many people). Without going into the details, I think this explains quite well what you will experience when reading the book.
I seldom feel the urge to read books allegorically, but this seems to be appropriate here. One central tenet of many religious believes is the idea that humankind distinguishes itself from (other) animal species in that, by reason or a "soul", it looks and acts upon nature rather than being part of it. The impending environmental crisis might sooner rather than later free us from this pretense. Contrary to this, in a more profane way many find the idea soothing that after death our body decay and become not only part of nature once again, but making new life possible. Maybe the events in Area X are so disturbing because they demand this to happen during our lifetime.
One last thing: Is the Netflix movie really based on this book? I've seen it when it was released, but when reading the book hardly anything felt familiar. I certainly need to revisit that. Anyway, while I felt lukewarm about the movie, I wholeheartedly recommend this book!