octavia_cade's Reviews (2.64k)

I've enjoyed nearly every Stephen King book I've read, and this is no exception. I liked the main character, and the differentiation of her interior voices was, I think, skilfully done and interesting.

However, there are three stories in this book and one of them doesn't gel. Jessie, trapped in handcuffs, is one. Her past trauma, set during an eclipse in her childhood, is another. Then there's the third: Joubert, the monster in the room. In my opinion, the fact that Jessie briefly thought he was her father is too thin a conceit to hang a story on - it feels like this subplot, which becomes more substantial towards the end of the book, has been tacked on from another piece.

The other events in the book were horrifying enough. They didn't need a third unbalancing the whole when that third didn't fit. One of those cases, I think, where less would have been more.

I enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed Lion's Blood, the first volume in the series. The world-building here is just so good, with the social and political changes resulting from this alternate history rippling through every part of the narrative. I think, though, that this is more Kai's book that Aidan's - the focus has shifted, somewhat, although their friendship is still the heart of the book. And honestly, I don't mind the shift. Aidan's story is interesting, but the political intrigues going on in Bilalistan have always been one of the most interesting parts of this world for me, and that remains the case. I was delighted that part of this intrigue included code-breaking, and the alternate-history version of the Enigma machine, undone by the same sort of user-laziness that allowed Bletchley Park to crack codes during WW2. It appealed to my inner nerd immensely.

The book ends with an afterword by the author, in which he doesn't discount the possibility of future additions to the series. Unfortunately, there don't seem to have been any more since this was published back in 2003, which is a great shame. On the other hand, before Lion's Blood Barnes was entirely new to me, and he does seem to have produced a lot of other books, so I'm happy to have more books of his to explore.

I read this as part of Book Riot's Read Harder challenge 2019 - the second task of the challenge is an alternate history novel. I haven't read many of those so it took time to track one down and, despite the recommendation I had for it, I was a little bit sceptical to be honest. Half the magazines I submit stories to myself seem to have, stashed away in their submission guidelines, "No stories which illustrate prejudice by making the majority suffer as minorities have done". I paraphrase, but the point is to not have men discover the evils of sexism by being treated as women historically have been, or not to show how terrible slavery is by focusing on white slavery, for instance (as if decent people couldn't figure it out otherwise). That last is what this book does: in an alternate universe, the great powers of the late 1800s are Egypt and Assyria, and the Irish are kidnapped from their homes to be slaves in the American South.

So yes, I was sceptical, I freely admit it. I was going to pass it by until I discovered that the author was married to Tananarive Due, who writes so excellently herself. Which is a stupid reason to try a book out, I know, but there it is. And you know what, I was riveted. There are long passages of degradation and misery such as you would expect to find in any honest narrative about slavery, but the whole world-building background elevates this past all those magazine warnings. It's clear that the entire world is genuinely different - without the European conquest of South America, for instance, the Aztec empire is a strong and present element. And the uneasy peace between Islamic and African worlds - both share in power and high technology - pops up again and again in new and surprising ways. Lion's Blood isn't a lazy what-if exercise; it builds a convincing and in-depth alternate reality with conflicted, thoughtful characters and I want to read more of it. Happily for me, it appears there's a sequel. Yay!

I've enjoyed every Pratchett book I've read - many of them multiple times! - but I think the best written Pratchett books are the ones where he has a clear idea of what he wants to say, morally, and just goes for it. And what he comes out with is so clear and so kind and so angry, still, and it rarely expresses itself in big moments - for him, the real coal face of ethical behaviour happens in the moments of small choices, of choices made in the understanding of their smallness, and of their immensity. It's very hard, I think, for a writer to be able to do this without preaching, or without making the reader feel irritated and lectured at. And perhaps it's just that, as a reader, I'm already sympathetic to the way that Pratchett perceives (perceived, alas) the world - perhaps if I had different values then didacticism would be more apparent. But I don't and it isn't, so when I read a book like Nation it's as much confirmation, as well as persuasion, of what the world could be if we were different.

It helps that the two main characters are so relatable. Daphne, cut off from her own culture and having to adapt to another, having to assess the value of what she knows in order to help others as well as herself. And Mau, put into the position of preserving a culture he no longer quite believes in, having to balance the needs of community against his growing understanding of the world around him. The two of them together, valuing difference and communication and persistence, and the ending I think is perfectly weighted. They don't become each other's answer; rather they become the means by which each can go on asking questions. It's lovely.

Szilard, I think it is fair to say, was a man with one foot in the future - scientifically and politically at least. He, together with Einstein, wrote the letter that kick-started the Manhattan Project. Working on the bomb and using that bomb were quite different things, however, and one suspects that he never quite got over the latter.

The titular story in this collection is essentially a thought experiment: the establishment of a political environment where the threat of atomic war is ameliorated, and peace between nations established. Its interest (and that of the collection as a whole) lies in the connection between this thought experiment and Szilard's own personal/professional context. A second attempt on the same subject ("The Mined Cities") is essentially the same thing, with the added benefit of brevity, and the few remaining stories run along the theme of failure - whether of the dolphins' plan, or all others.

The book is not, one must say, a literary triumph - Szilard tends to didacticism and clearly prefers blueprints to beautiful prose. Still, as a science fiction response to atomic war it has interest and even, I think, importance - even if the latter results from the author instead of the text.

I can’t deny it: I’ve been waiting for this one for a while. I find the idea of time travel a fascinating one. It’s pure speculation, in a genre known for it.

"The Time Roads" takes an interesting approach, both structurally and in-story. It’s not a novel so much as four intertwined novellas, taking place over a 17 year period and in different time streams. This is something that could be confusing for readers, but I appreciate the fact that Bernobich doesn’t cut down into chunks. She expects the reader to follow along, and given that I don’t enjoy being pandered to and explained at this gets extra marks from me.

The novellas are set in an alternate political history, one where the relationship between Ireland and Britain has been flipped. Ireland is a great power, and is experiencing (ever more) trouble with its dependencies across the water. This is set against a wider backdrop – both continental and global – of shifting governments and loyalties.

"The Golden Octopus" (beginning in 1897, but spanning several years) starts things off, with the introduction of Áine, the Queen of Ireland and the commander of her guard, Aidrean. While the latter is off investigating a series of murders, the young Áine is fascinated with the scientist-mathematician Breandan, who is researching his way to viable time travel. "A Flight of Numbers Fantastique Strange" (1902) explores the murder investigation from another perspective. I won’t spoil the ending, but suffice to say by the time it’s all done the timeline has shifted. "Ars Memoriae" (1904) returns to Aidrean, who’s sent off to the continent to investigate various plots and treacheries, and it’s here the possibility of altered universes becomes a political tool rather than a personal quest. Finally, back in Ireland – "The Time Roads" (1914) – Áine is dealing with Anglian rebellion, where politics and time travel are making a giant, murderous mess of her country.

Of particular interest is Bernobich’s conception of altered time – particularly the fact that when time changes, memories of the (alternate) life intrude on the individual as he or she goes about their business. This, as one might imagine, is a highly disconcerting occurrence. It’s the kind of thing that could make one doubt their sanity – but it also allows the characters extra knowledge with which to navigate cause and effect. And to compare their lives before and after, as it were.

In one way, I would define "The Time Roads" as a study in dualities. There are more than two time streams, more than two people playing off each other, so this isn’t an accurate description really. Yet the narrative focus is on duality: duality set against a background of endless possibility, against calculations of probability. This is in some ways a consequence of form. Within the strictures of a novella one really has to focus on the meat of the story and not get side-tracked into dead ends that, no matter how interesting, detract in a limited word count.

This duality is most noticeable in "A Flight of Numbers", concerning the character of Síomón. He is contrasted with his sister Gwen, with Aidrean, and finally with his own self. It’s the most effective of the four novellas, to my mind, as it’s simultaneously the most focused and the most emotive of the bunch.

All in all, an interesting read. If I had to rate it, I’d say four stars out of five. I have to say I responded to it more intellectually than emotionally, but then that’s maths for you. The only maths I ever thought was beautiful was group theory, and there’s nothing of that in here. There is, however, an unusual look at time travel in a well-realised world, with plenty of subtle touches.

Disclaimer: I got a free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review. A more extensive version of this review is on my website: I've edited out of the Goodreads version anything that could be taken as spoilers.

There are some biographies that just make you feel as if you've done nothing with your life. Enter Gertrude Bell, who when not climbing mountains and travelling the globe late in the 19th century, went to the Middle East, fell in love with it, and started working as an archaeologist. And apparently was happy as all get-out, wandering through the countryside, messing about with ruins and making friends with various tribes living out in the desert, all of whom must have been absolutely astonished to see this crazy woman and her ridiculous mountain of luggage traipsing through the sand dunes.

But come WW1, Gertrude's focus begins to change. She comes back home to England, starts working for the Red Cross in France, but fairly soon is back in the ME, because it's clear to pretty much every Briton working there that she's the only real expert in the people of that region that they have. But Gerty has her own agenda, one that's only sometimes supported by her own colonisation-prone government, and that's to cobble an independent nation out of war and conflict... and it turns out this is how Iraq comes into existence. Oh, there are other factors, and I'm not trying to simplify what was clearly a monstrously complex situation, but what this woman managed to achieve is nothing short of incredible. I'd never heard of her before fishing this book off the shelves of the local library but I'm so glad I picked it up because the whole thing is fascinating. Howell's biography is particularly readable, very attuned to personality and character, and though occasionally dense in places (as the focus on politics picks up, there's a lot of names and details to keep track of) it's still a genuinely entertaining story, as well as an informative one.

Granted this is a bit dated now, but it's still interesting in that its short entries often caught my imagination enough to go looking for more information elsewhere. To be honest I'd rather some of those entries focused more on the context of particular sites and less on their measurements, but as different regions were described by different contributors, some entries were more readable than others.

More seriously in a book that calls itself an atlas, there is also a total absence of south-east Asian, Indonesian, Australasian or Pacific Island sites (even Angkor Wat, Borobudur, Easter Island, and 50,000 year old Australian rock art is dismissed). I can't reasonably expect an atlas of this kind to cover every archaeological site - and the introduction admits it has had to select for space - but when you're ignoring entire continents I think you need to take a serious look at your table of contents.

And this is petty, as most of the illustrations were very helpful, but whoever made the poor decision to have tiny black type on a dark green background in some of them... boo! It's well nigh unreadable.

A readable introduction to the methodology of archaeological digs. Granted it's quite old now but, as Woolley comments, the principles are the same and those principles are largely what he's trying to get across.

The book is written for the layperson - of which I am one. There are lots of examples given, hardly any jargon, and the text is simple and clear. I found particularly interesting Woolley's comments on the logistics of managing an archaeological dig. I imagine things have changed in that regard in the intervening decades but it gives the feeling of what archaeology was like in Woolley's day - the book was first published in 1930 (although updated some decades later) so one has to sift out the lasting observations from those that are a product of the time.

This was fascinating. I didn't ever imagine I would say that about a book that is, essentially, on urban planning, but I came across a mention of it in another text and thought why not give it a go. I'm so glad I did. Jacobs looks at the city very much as an ecosystem - filled with competing and diverse interests, which are frequently ignored in favour of idealised planning by people removed from the communities being planned. Her argument that such diversity should be celebrated and exploited by planners, instead of being simply shoved aside, makes an enormous amount of sense. I mean, of course the perception of danger is going to go up in areas that are regularly unused (or used at only specific times of the day) and are therefore devoid of regular community life. Her examples have the flavour of genuine common sense, and her writing, though academic, is lively and easy to follow.

Most of all, though, she's got me looking at cities in a completely different way, and that is I think the mark of good non-fiction: it opens up new perspectives, and challenges readers to re-imagine what they're already entirely familiar with. Excellent.