octavia_cade's Reviews (2.64k)

This is less depressing than Tess of the D'Urbervilles, but that is hardly a high bar. This novel at least has a happy ending, which I suppose is something, but the misery quotient is still very high. Granted, this and Tess are the only two of Hardy's books I've ever read, but he doesn't seem like a barrel of laughs, frankly.

Which doesn't mean that this isn't both effective and affecting, because it is. I admit that it took me a while to get into, but by the end I was riveted. I think it's the characterisation that's the main appeal here: Bathsheba, especially, is both convincing and compelling, and I enjoyed her immensely. Gabriel Oak is likely more admirable, but less interesting. The one I'm stuck on, though, is Boldwood. I suspect in generations past he might have had a more sympathetic hearing from readers, and I am somewhat sympathetic... but only to a point. He's a tragic figure, yes, but he's also a creepy sort of obsessive who has no problem guilting Bathsheba into a relationship. There's a sort of weaponised patheticness there that reads very differently in the age of Me Too. He'd be unbearable to be around, the kind of nice guy you warn other girls about. I wonder, frankly, about Hardy's intentions with him, and how much of that off-putting behaviour was intentional. How much sympathy did Hardy expect us to have for him?

I think if I were Bathsheba, I'd be glad he escaped the gallows, and equally glad that he was locked up and far the fuck away from me. 

I didn't like this quite as much as the first one - relocating much of the action to Moscow loses that lovely forest setting - but I'm still really enjoying the series. Vasya is still a fantastic character, as is her porridge-loving horse, but I'm less enamoured of the antagonist this time. Although that sounds wrong: he's awful, but the priest of the last book was really awful, the kind of small scale, selfish, weak awful that's so disturbing because it's so unfortunately realistic. He's back in this book, in what's not more than a cameo role, but the real threat here is from a more legendary or mythic figure, and the sense of revulsion is not the same. Kasyan's horrible, but he doesn't affect me in the same way.

What I really did like here was the sibling relationships between Vasya, Sasha, and Olga. The latter two, especially, are sad and horrified at what's become of their little sister, but they're angry too, which is realistic considering that her behaviour may have terrible consequences for them. As dismayed as they are, however, they clearly still love her, and I enjoyed the interactions between them all. 

I'm still enjoying this, although I'm far more interested in the road and the creepy seven foot bipedal hyenas than I am anything that goes on in town, which is fun but seems a little like filler. (I don't care that the text refers to those creepy beasts as coyotes. They are giving off major hyena vibes to me, and they are TERRIFYING. I read an article once by a woman who'd been attacked by a hyena, and ugh. I can't honestly say it made me stop liking the species, because they've always creeped me out and are one of the few animals I cannot warm to, but I say again, UGH. Which is all not really relevant here, but still.)

The Landlady thing is mysterious and all, but I can't help but feel, for the moment, as if it belongs in another comic. I may change my mind as the story goes on, but going from the hyenas to her felt a little jarring. Maybe it's just because, creepy as she is, she's nowhere near as disturbing as those furry, slavering monsters. *shudders* 

I can't say that I know much at all about the history of archaeology, and I know vanishingly little about places and cultures of the southern US states that might be of interest to archaeologists. (And when I say "vanishingly little," I mean nothing at all. I spent a lot of time on Wikipedia looking at maps and aerial photos for context.) I read this because I came across the book and thought "why not?" - I'm always interested in women in the history of science, and it was well worth reading.

This book is basically potted academic biographies of twentieth century women archaeologists working in the American south. They get a chapter each, and there are a small handful of broader-view chapters that go along with it. It's a shame that some of these - for instance, the chapter on African American women who excavated sites as part of Roosevelt's New Deal - don't appear as longer studies somewhere, but as the authors point out, so much information has been lost, or was never recorded in the first place. Something is better than nothing, however, and that applies to work records and anonymous photographs as well as potsherds. 

The nontraditional routes that some of these women took to get into archaeology, and their experiences in that field, make for some fascinating reading. I still have a very poor grasp of southern archaeology, but I do have a much better idea of how far adaptation, specialisation, and cooperation can get an individual scientist, even under very challenging circumstances. (If I had ever been assigned by any of my university professors to make sandwiches for all the men in the class while being excluded from night-time field trips, I don't think I would have responded graciously... thankfully times have changed, and even in this book that sort of behaviour seems the outlier. Many of the women here had outstanding male mentors who encouraged their success and ensured them opportunities, so I was glad to read that. Science should be for everybody, sandwich guy, so please take from me the great big Fuck Off that Elizabeth S. Wing could not give you.) 

I actually really like the cover here - it suits the book, bizarre thing that it is! I came into it expecting a haunted house type of story with mythological overtones, and while it starts that way, by the end it's something quite different. I don't want to spoil anything, but while the mythic elements remain it almost feels as if it's shifted into quite another sub-genre of horror... creature feature rather than haunted house, if that makes sense. I happen to enjoy creepy monsters as well as creepy houses, but I'm not sure that the transition worked quite as well as it should have for me. Possibly, though, that's a result of expectation overcoming result.

I've always enjoyed the Persephone myth - full disclosure, am in the very early stages of working on a retelling myself - and what I like best about it is how, like most myths, it can be adapted to different times and locations. I'd never have thought of adding monsters to it, but I can't deny that there's something very, very disturbing about their presence here. I would have left that house long before Sara did, that's for sure. LONG before. 

Oh, this is cool! Fun and snarky, with the potential for gore. Four teenage girls, desperate to get to a Janis Joplin concert, try giving tours of a creepy road for cash. I'd not really call it haunted, because the creatures - including some very disturbing humanoid dog things with faces that remind me of hyenas - seem to be a little too carnivorous to be ghosts. Naturally the first sightseeing attempt goes pear-shaped, and three boys on the verge of being shipped out to Vietnam disappear while the girls panic and run back to town. 

Having just read another horror comic series that was, frankly, not all that great, this is a welcome change. Just see what clarity and characterisation can do! 

I'm looking forward to reading the rest. Luckily, I have them. 

I read and reviewed each of the five comics collected here separately, so this is basically just for my own records. Two stars is the average individual rating: it's a very solid "meh" from me. The artwork is the best thing about it; it's not a style that grabs me, but it's done well. The story, on the other hand, is a mess. The characterisation is practically non-existent, and even in a short five issue run it's got too much waffle in it. I can't help but think that it might have been structured more effectively if the explanation as to what was happening came at the very beginning, with the rest of the series showing the consequences and the resistance. Instead, it was a not-very-interesting slog to the answers and a rushed conclusion that had little emotional resonance. 

Two stars may be the average, but I can't help thinking it's also generous. Just not my thing, I'm afraid. 

On the bright side, I liked the art - there's a very washed-out sort of palette that I find interesting - and there was finally an explanation as to what was going on. Better late than never, but it was overshadowed by a sacrificial death scene that was just completely unaffecting. The characterisation has been so thin, overall, that I didn't have enough sense of the character to care when he died. Granted, this is a short run comic of only five issues so there's not exactly been a lot of page space to tease characterisation out, but there's been enough waffle over the past five issues that something more could have been done there, I think. 

I can't honestly say that I've ever been to a drag show, but they sound fun. I'd be interested in going. And given that drag is in the news right now, due to absolute cretins objecting to drag queens reading to children in public libraries I thought I'd give this a go. (Literacy! The horror! Like The Very Hungry Caterpillar is suddenly irredeemable perversion if read by someone in a colourful wig. I mean seriously, get a grip. Anyone who's willing to spend time teaching kids to read can dress as whatever the hell they want, signed someone-who's-actually-worked-in-a-library.) 

I enjoyed it. Mostly I just felt sympathetic to this poor kid who was really suffering at the thought of going to hell and losing their family and just being generally unworthy of any good thing. I'm glad they grew up to find something that made them happy and gave them a sense of self-worth. We could all use some more hopeful stories these days. And the cover is gorgeous; I love the sparkly tentacles. 

I enjoyed this, although I have to admit that I enjoyed it more as it went on. I was going to say that Le Guin's writing is always best for me when it prioritises clarity, but then that's the case with every writer as far as I'm concerned so it's not especially noteworthy. I do think, though, that the opening pages of "Winter's King" do not perhaps have the same level of clarity as the rest of the story. Perhaps that's intentional, a way to underline the instability of the king after he's been attacked, but it didn't grab me. I'm glad I kept reading though (not exactly a chore with a short story) because the end drags the rest of the story up by main strength. Had it been less affecting, this would have stayed three stars for me.