octavia_cade's Reviews (2.64k)

Fun collection of witch-themed stories that are nearly all directed at young adults, although the ending story, by Margo Lanagan, doesn't seem particular attuned to that audience. The stories I liked best were a little more keyed into adolescence, and there's the interesting parallel of coming into all sorts of powers at that time, or becoming aware of them, which is not perhaps blindingly original, but is still something I consistently find appealing. I don't know why, exactly - some things just resonate more than others - but I think I like the reflective possibilities, the potential explorations of maturity and consequence.

I think the story I most enjoyed here was Delia Sherman's "The Witch in the Wood," but the one that most interested me was "Barrio Girls" by Charles de Lint, which is coincidentally the only story here that swings more towards horror than fantasy. I feel as if witches should have some capacity for horror, or at least some interaction with it, and there's a casual sort of brutality to the plot that's very much red-in-tooth-and-claw in a way that I can appreciate. 

I came across this story in a fantasy anthology, and given that I'm slowly making my way through The Dresden Files series, I thought I may as well log it here. It's a likeable story, if not an especially challenging one - it was pretty clear early on that the solution to this particular body-guarding crisis was to get the kid to stand up for himself. I feel as if it's pretty much standard-Butcher fare in that way, from the relatively few stories of his that I've read. "Sticking up for oneself" seems to be a theme in those stories, though it's nice to see Harry act more as a mentor than a wrecking ball in service of that. I'm more interested in him that way. 

I read this in a young adult fantasy collection about witches, but honestly it comes across more of a horror story to me. Two girls, both fans of vampire media, stumble across a real vampire lurking down by a river, and are out for revenge after the vampire kills someone they know. Just how they go about this is reminiscent of an almost fairy tale sort of logic, but it's an entertaining story, and I'd like to read more of the two main characters. I think it's part of a series? It'd be worth looking that series up, I think, because both Vida and Ruby are appealingly loyal and appealingly vicious, and their community-minded monster destruction is fun to read. 

I like a lot of Nix's work, but this one just didn't do it for me I'm afraid. I enjoyed the concept, in which several poor students from a magical college are bullied by their wealthier brethren, and have to find a way to escape the curse set upon them in order to complete their education. It's a great idea, with a sympathetic protagonist and an interesting beginning, but it all fell apart in the second half for me, and I think it's down to the form. This is, I believe, a novelette, but it might have done better expanded to novella length, because there's just so much crammed in that it begins to feel as if it's less a story than a bullet point list of actions. Or if not bullet points, then an outline in story form. 

I would genuinely like to read a longer version of this, but as I said: the current length is doing this story no favours. 

Fun short story in which the two protagonists of The Parasol Protectorate series briefly meet, in what is a cleverly engineered introduction facilitated by a hedgehog. There's clear interest from both sides, but it's more a pre-romance titbit than an actual romance at this point, I think. It comes across as an Easter Egg type of story (appropriately, I've read it on Easter Sunday), one which basically exists as a reward for existing fans of the series, which I am. There's not enough of it to be hugely affecting, but it succeeds at being an entertaining few minutes, and reminds me that I want to go back and reread the series itself. 

I picked this up at a library sale, because I enjoy cooking and because Pride and Prejudice is one of my favourite books. It's an interesting idea... snippets of Georgian food history interspersed with examples from Austen's novels, and modernised recipes contrasted with their contemporary inspirations. (I now know what a peck of flour is, but there's no way I'm beating a sponge batter for an hour, sorry.) There are quite a few things here that I wouldn't mind making, although the terrifying marzipan hedgehog isn't one of them, and I note that the author clearly recommends that readers don't sit it in a sea of jelly, as the original cook instructed - though I'm curious to know what disaster would occur! 

One thing did irritate me a bit, which dropped the book down a half-star. The original recipes are all in this thin, handwritten font, and I understand it's a stylistic choice, but screw that: one of the reasons type has become so predominant is that it's easily readable. If a font choice slows me down, and this one does, I end up annoyed by it. Still, I suppose I never planned to try the original recipes anyway... but I've always wanted to give caudle a go. I don't know why, it strikes me as something which sounds quite revolting, sort of a boozy porridge drink for invalids, but it's just weird enough I want to try it. Not weird like the hedgehog, though. That's one disgusting marzipan step too far. 

 

I love Mori's series A Bride's Story, so when I found the local library had this other series by her, I had to give it a go. I liked it, but not as much. Perhaps it's that it's the first volume, and a lot of this is set-up... but it is, admittedly, very slow set-up. Emma, the title character, is working as a maid in nineteenth century England, and falls in love with someone who Mori characterises, in her afterword, as useless but easy to draw. (I've just finished the book and I've already forgotten his name, so her assessment's right on the money with that one.)

The basic conflict of the series is that of class: Emma is definitely working class, while her forgettable suitor is rich, with a father who stresses the importance of a good match. Such is the obstacle between them, but Mori, in my experience, is not really one for angst, and so the goodnatured beginning portrayed here is likely to go on in the same way, and I'm certain of a happy ending. I wish I could be a little more certain that Emma has a personality, however. She's apparently beautiful, kind, and very reserved, but other than that I get very little sense of her. She's very much in the mould of Dicken's angel of the house, and they are never very interesting. As such, the whole thing's pleasant, and I'll keep reading, but it's not grabbing me like A Bride's Story did. 

I have to admit, I knew absolutely nothing about the history of El Salvador before I picked up this particular novel, and that ignorance largely remains. That's not the fault of this very interesting book, however, which is inspired by one particular event in the Salvadoran Civil War: the 1989 assassination of six Jesuit priests and a mother and daughter who work for them by the Salvadoran army. There's the usual attempt at cover-up that you would expect from something like this, and very little justice, which is depressing. Most of the official wrap-up is in the last section of the book which, though well-researched, is honestly less interesting than the rest of it.

Part of that interest lies in the structure. Divided into parts, each section of November focuses on a single individual and how they respond to the killings. Sometimes the individual is quite closely related, and other times it's a more distant interaction, but the whole combine to give a really effective narrative. It's a clumsy analogy, but if each part is a snapshot, then the stack of those snapshots, joined together, give an almost 360 degree panorama of response. I found it an appealing way to tell a story, despite the grim and frustrating subject matter.

It is, however, necessarily limited. Because the focus is so strongly on these murders, I finished the book with no real context for the Civil War itself... frankly I learned more about that from Wikipedia than I did November. I don't say that as a criticism, though. It's more a neutral observation. It's clear that Galán has not set out to write a sprawling history; his purpose is more precise than that. No doubt if I were more familiar with the history of El Salvador I would see links and references that have just passed me by, but even so: cultural histories, whether fictional or not, benefit from a variety of approaches, and the microscopic has as much value as the macroscopic, I think. 

I might rate this higher if I didn't hate the husband so fucking much. Right from the very first he's loathsome, which in a way undercuts the effect of Nora leaving him. Of course she has to leave, who would want to be married to that?! I expect back in the day, when this first started playing in Norway, Torvald might have been perceived by audiences as somewhat patronising but essentially goodhearted, and the subsequent reveal of his total lack of love for his wife might have been seen as genuinely shocking... and Nora's reaction to it all more compelling. Nearly 150 years later, feminism has percolated enough through my culture, at least, for me to recognise that shit for what he is right off the bat. As such, it's not a surprise that Nora walks away... it's just basic relief, really.

You don't have to be a genius to understand that, whatever happens to Nora after the play ends, Torvald at least will learn nothing. He really is dreadful. Good on Ibsen for making him that way, though. I understand the play sparked a whole lot of conversation, and controversy, as it damn well should have. Apparently Ibsen took inspiration from real life, ugh. 

The introduction to this edition opens by calling the book "broken-backed," and it's not wrong. The first half is fascinating and worth five stars, being a series of chapters on the nature of poverty in the North of England, particularly in the mining and industrial regions. Orwell immersed himself in that life for a short period, experiencing what he reported on, and the details of how the working class lived, the sheer grinding degradation of their housing and so forth, are horribly vivid. It's immediate and affecting, an entirely sympathetic approach to communicating inequality and the costs of unrestrained capitalism. Then comes the second part, a rather more woolly- if still mildly entertaining - rant on the necessity of socialism and, not gonna lie, it kind of felt as if it went on forever.

Apparently the original editor wanted to publish the first half but not the second; he did not get his wish. That's kind of a shame. I can understand why Orwell wanted the two halves together: the first is there as motivation for the second, but he's kind of missed his own argument. Part of his explanation as to why socialism isn't more accepted by the general public, at time of writing, is that some of its adherents were far more focused on theory instead of practical fairness... and yet the very effectiveness of Wigan Pier's first half is absolutely undercut by this far less interesting pontification in the second half. It would have been more compelling if left to stand alone, I think.