octavia_cade's Reviews (2.64k)

I have to admit, half the time I don't really understand what's going on in this series! Which actually doesn't bother me so much, because it doesn't come across as something confused. It comes across a little more like a puzzle box, presented in fragments and needing me to put it together, and that's interesting to me. It piques curiosity. 

That being said, a large part of this particular issue is fairly straightforward back story, following what happened to Mason after his wife died. It's clear that he feels substantial regret - as he damn well should - for his jealous, abusive actions, but it's also clear, I think, that it's genuinely felt rather than self-pity, and that he's actively trying to do better in his caretaking of little Sissy. I'm still not sure whether Ginny is his daughter or Death's, and honestly I hope that's never entirely cleared up, because the ambiguity adds something to the tragedy of the entire situation. 

That relatively straightforward narrative doesn't last, though, and the end sequence with the rising waters is baffling. I don't quite get it, but I trust it will all make sense eventually! 

I didn't like this quite as much as the first one, partly because it's really violent, and partly because it didn't have the same level of rhythmic prose that the first one did, when it was telling the story of Death, Beauty, and Ginny. That being said, I'm still fascinated by the weirdness and the general story remains compelling. I do enjoy the fact that the two reapers with primary roles here are women, too - I'm not overly familiar with westerns, but the ones I have come across seem to have somewhat limited gender roles, so it's interesting to see Pretty Deadly play with genre tropes here, with Ginny and Alice having a sword-and-gunfight out in the desert. I do note, though, that there's still a prostitute featured fairly heavily here, which tracks with the westerns I know and which doesn't seem terribly innovative in comparison with the rest of it, although to be fair I'm still not entirely sure how much that particular storyline intersects with the rest. 

Very interesting book about evolution taking place in cities. One of the opening examples was particularly effective - mosquitoes in the London Underground, effectively cut off from different populations on different lines, evolving differently from each other.

This could be quite a difficult topic, but the book's very much popular science, directed at a lay audience, which is appealing. I've read a number of popular science books that are far less accessible, so it's a success there. A couple of things help it along, I think. First, the chapters are all relatively short. Almost bite-sized, averaging 10-15 pages each, so it's easy to get through. Secondly, a lot of this is concerned with sharing the details of practical experiments. There's not a lot of theory here. There are a lot of clearly explained examples, such as the above-mentioned mosquitoes, and I've always found practical examples an extremely effective way of getting ideas across. Admittedly, those examples tend towards insects, and to a lesser degree birds - animals with relatively short generations, so that the ability to assess genetic change over time is something that can be demonstrably measured.

I'm not as certain as Schilthuizen as to his conclusions about the value of introduced species, though. I think he's right when he says that urban environments are increasingly sharing organisms across the world, but remembering the Tallamy book I read some time back, Bringing Nature Home, where introduced species are very clearly shown to have a deleterious effect on endemic biodiversity, well. The homogenisation that Schilthuizen describes may have somewhat less value in that context. 

I have to admit that I read this largely by accident. John Wyndham the science fiction writer is one of my favourite authors (The Chysalids might be my favourite sci-fi novel ever), and when I saw this I thought I'd somehow come across a book of his that I'd never heard of. Much excitement!!! Rather less excitement to find that it was an entirely different John Wyndham, with nothing of science fiction about it. Which is not to say that this wasn't an enjoyable and interesting read, because it was. It just wasn't what I expected.

This Wyndham was a colonial administrator in Nigeria, early in the twentieth century, where he recorded some of the myths and religious stories of the Yoruba people. This is not a subject that I know the first thing about, but I'm questioning the accuracy of what's been recorded, to be honest - primarily because Wyndham, in an introductory note, says that the reticence of the people he interviewed to talk about religious subjects meant that it was "necessary to piece much together from incantations and chance remarks" and that "the legends are bare and uncertain" and for that reason he decided to present them in verse. I like poetry, but I don't follow the logic of that choice, and frankly I am side-eyeing the whole project to begin with, considering the methodology here. If I knew more about the subject I'd have a better handle on the accuracy of this supposed record, but I don't. 

I like the stories. Wyndham's poetry was adequate. I just think, if I want to know more about Yoruba mythology and religion, I'd be better off locating a book written by someone from that culture - someone who I can trust to actually know what it is they're talking about. 

The first of the Pretty Deadly comics, which I first read a couple of years back and have since bought for myself, because they're awesome. At this point the series is a weird western, which is not my preferred genre but which really works here: Deathface Ginny, the daughter of Death, can be summoned by singing a rhyming song which calls her forth in her role as the Reaper of Vengeance. Westerns are generally pretty good at vengeance, and the art reflects this: a mix of fantasy and reality that I find enormously appealing. 

It honestly can take a while to sort out what's going on in these comics, as the storyline is fairly complex. The first real hint to that is that the whole is being narrated by a dead rabbit, after half its face has been shot off. The rabbit's talking to a butterfly, and I remember when I first picked this up wondering what the hell I'd stumbled across. The whole thing is just plain strange, but it's also original and weirdly - and I use that term deliberately - compelling. 

It's been a while since I read the previous book in this series, but the next one was at the library so why not. It's solidly moved into the mystery rather than thriller genre in this particular volume, I think, and that's fine with me. Why a medical examiner would get into shoot-outs if she can possibly avoid has seemed a little incredible, albeit I'm not reading these for realism in anything but science. Even then, the part that most interested me here was the feather analysis; I'm not much into computer programming so that side of it left me cold.

What I liked best was how much politics was seeping into this. I'd like to think that scientists are left to get on with their jobs without interference, but I'm not that gullible. Scarpetta has received the body of an executed man, and it becomes clear his death is at the centre of politically-motivated cover-ups and conspiracies. There's a lot of people dodgy things and trying to hide it, and the investigation gets hampered - and Scarpetta blamed - because of this. I like that it's all so tangled, and that there are so few trustworthy people. It makes for a tense story, although I do think the end wrapped up far too quickly. I would have liked to see the supporting criminals rounded up and exposed, but no dice. I suspect that major suspect is going to return in later books, however.

I still enjoy the characters, although Lucy is beginning to irritate. She's a teen with a chip on her shoulder so it's not at all surprising, but even so. No wonder she's got no friends. 

Oh dear, this is not for me.

Admittedly, a large part of that response comes down to me not being the target audience for this book. I picked it up thinking it was horror - it's a story about possession - but really it's inspirational fiction, focused on casting out demons and religious conversion. My atheist self does not find it particularly convincing, but religious readers might enjoy this. And fair enough, no piece of fiction appeals to everyone.

However, there are some technical issues here that matter more than genre, I think - I've certainly enjoyed books, including religious books, where I've not been the target audience before. There's generally something in them, an argument, or particularly beautiful prose, or excellent characterisation, that appeals. Such is not the case here. The tone varies from horrific to almost cartoonish. The prose can be clunky and is often irritatingly repetitive. See, for example, the following paragraph: "Rather, it was the conflicting emotions she felt right now of tormenting fear and soothing peace. Fear was all over her; peace was all over this woman. And most baffling was that her fear feared this woman."

Furthermore, the adult characters (with the sole exception of Ben) are either frustrating or obnoxious - or, in the case of Elsie's husband Daniel, an actual rapist. I felt some sympathy for him at first, dealing with what he perceived as his wife's mental illness. But after she goes missing, having shot at some demons, Elsie is convinced that she's been kidnapped and shackled, and this is when Daniel finally finds her. Now, Daniel isn't aware of the demons at this point. He is, however, absolutely convinced that his wife is hallucinating, and that she can no longer tell fantasy from reality. So, after pretending to take off the invisible handcuffs that Elsie believes that she's wearing, he has sex with her. Because he needs to feel better. You cannot tell me that a doctor who believes his wife so deep in hallucinations that she is shooting at invisible monsters simultaneously believes that she is competent enough to consent to sex. Sorry, no. He's a rapist and the demons can have him.

I bought the Kindle box set before reading, so there's more in this series. I'll probably read them eventually, because I hate leaving books unfinished, but I hope the rest is an improvement. I especially hope that, somewhere between the publication of the first and second volumes, some kind person has taken the author aside and let him know that people who believe in evolution don't actually believe that humans are descended from monkeys, because that comes up a lot in this book, and I find it as baffling as Anna finds her sister's questions about exorcism. 

This feels, in some ways, like the conclusion to a series, but I understand there are more books after this one. Which on the one hand is great, as I'm enjoying reading them, but on the other hand I think I've spent enough time with this particular villain, so if the rest of the series involves any kind of resurrection or miraculous survival on his part, I shall find it harder to be enthused.

That being said, the constant movement from loop to loop here doesn't feel as frenetic as it might, which is good. The most appealing thing about these books is the setting, which is something of a kaleidoscope - lots of different loops repeating the same day - but there's the risk, I think, of that fantastic setting overwhelming everything else, so all credit to the author that it doesn't do that. The balance of elements is very well-judged. I like that Jacob's parents get some closure here, too, albeit not the sort they would likely prefer... because it's always there, underlining his adventures, isn't it, that his mum and dad are frantic about their missing child. 

Anyway, I don't think I'm as excited about Addison the talking dog as the author is (I would far rather have more Bronwyn) but this was still a fun read, and I've already put a hold on the next one in the library. 

Honestly, I've read and reviewed both the novels here separately, so when I came across this collected edition in the library, I read the introduction - brief and unilluminating as it was - and came to log it here for completeness' sake.

I remember thoroughly enjoying both novels, giving them four stars each, although of the two I give the edge to Room, simply because it is funnier. In both, however, Forster's cuttingly observant writing absolutely shines as he skewers the middle-class pretensions around him. I can't help but think he would have been a wonderfully entertaining person to have at a dinner party. I'd like to read a biography of him one day... goodness knows the introduction in this volume was only minimally informative. 

I have to admit, when I first started reading this I was inescapably reminded of the Gormenghast books, by Mervyn Peake, which are some of my absolute favourites. The story isn't at all similar, but a house built on a gargantuan scale with fantastical rooms, a house that is more morbidly compelling than any of its characters... that's the same. It's also not at all the same, because the Piranesi house is a statued museum of classical architecture, and Gormenghast is what would happen if Charles Dickens built a haunted house and surrounded it with funhouse mirrors. In both cases, the house is not easy to escape, and often the characters just don't want to leave anyway. Piranesi himself, suffering from a sort of amnesia that he picks apart as the book goes on, is in two minds... almost literally. He loves the house, and has come to belong there, but that belonging has an enormous price, and one which he comes to understand that he is all too willing to pay.

It's a very, very well-written book, and I was fascinated. It is also, it must be said, utterly humourless. I mean utterly. Which is why I'll always prefer Peake, when it comes down to it - but nonetheless, Clarke has produced a fascinating read.