If you don’t like socio-political international intrigue with high action, complex characters and plot twists the world never expected—stay away from James Clavell’s Hong Kong novels of Tai-Pan, Gai-Jin, and Noble House (with the war-time edition of King Rat containing related material and some same characters, despite being set elsewhere).

Of course, if you’re like me, DIVE IN. I ate these up!

It’s all political action and Cold War spy craft in these 1116 pages, but Clavell allows for a bit of relationship, revelry, romping, and even a touch of romance here, too. Nothing like the intense heart-breakers he weaved in Shōgun and Tai-Pan, but it’s tucked lightly between the rest of all these dialogues laden with economic jargon and the self-preserving power-struggle present in the expanding tapestry of interior monologues. 

I love Clavell’s writing. He does his best to think and feel like each and every one of the characters he’s created, getting under their skin and into their culture, feeling their gender, their age, and foraging beneath the deep-set traumas that have shaped their lifestyles and philosophies and practices. In this way, he always assumes much—much more than some might appreciate—but he does it so honestly and as much without bias as possible. His racing narrative is a fresh break for me from the restrained and vapid contemporary language of ‘new’ Westernised 21st CE literature; from the latest (immensely necessary) academic additions to history revision; and from the thick, emotion-heavy vocabulary of my beloved classics. I love all those genres, but sometimes, you just need an escapist trip through time and culture to the world of James Clavell’s Asia.

Clavell is a thoughts-and-motives ninja; he delves past appearances into the darkest corners of everyone’s thinking, often culturally motivated, and produces a truly vast global cast of complex people. He presents socio-political and economic issues of the Cold War world from the platform of Hong Kong in the mid-60s through the intertwined lives of his expansive pool of characters.

And true to his nature (and as true to historical events as he can get), he drops everyone in grave danger near the end in a race to the finish —you never know who will survive.

Michelle Good is eloquent and gracious, but oh so wonderfully direct in this short collection of powerful essays. The language she uses to continue these vital discussions is inclusive and empowering, academic and relational, and above all focuses on truth telling. Oh, that we could get back to more of that… 

 

Good is an essential voice in the grand political plateau of the land referred to as Canada. 

 

*I borrowed the audiobook from the library, but will be purchasing a copy of this for my shelf, and to share among family asap. 

This second half of the story takes far too long to arrive at its destination, and while I love a good ramble, this is not so much a good one as a bit of repetitive pointless one for much of the doughy middle— but it delivers in the end. If you can endure the thick sticky plod of a large portion of the middle narrative, it is worth the trudge for the last third. (I believe this was an issue with a lack of willingness to streamline the story in the editing stages—or possibly the lack of an adept editor.) 

 

The story, the characters, and this world worked together mischievously to build an insular absorbing dark cave of strange fantasy you’ve never before encountered. 

 

I enjoyed Lacelle’s writing, and I will be looking for more of her creative worlds in future. 

Interesting…

The best compliment I can give to this work, besides being well-written (because the author is a fantastic writer), is that I’m now intrigued to read more on Akhenaten & Nefertiti. All I could remember before reading this was from a project I did in primary school…

You've got to love Nefertiti… she’s always been one of the historical figures that intrigues me; to know her story, to get inside her head and hear her reasoning… the presentation of these ‘interviews’ with people who knew her was interesting, and while it’s fictional, it certainly makes for compelling story. 

But if any of this is true, one wonders as to whom this secret One God might have been, despite all the abominable and abysmal practices Akhenaten invoked in his lifetime and within his kingdom, where did he get the idea of this Creator God? And why was he drawn to rejecting all the other gods?

Curious…

A dark academia novel imbued with moon magic and a plethora of punters plagued with myriad secrets. Starts mid-action, but takes a bit of time to settle into this unfamiliar bizarre and enthralling world. Give it a chance, you won’t be disappointed…

Once things begin to unfold and the plot-snakes start tangling and hissing about one another, the world build and mysterious magic and capricious characters offer a web of captivating puzzles for this strained group of classmates—and especially one awkward tangled pair who have every reason to hate one another…

It goes in all the directions you never expected, and then drops you off a cliff…

Part horror. Part mystery. A memoir full of sorrow and more sorrows and layered generational sorrows mixed with hallucinations and multiple traumas… not an easy read, but a fast one. The writing was creative; literary in places, down to earth in others, regional and immersive and expansively tragic.

A novel to be studied and discussed to be sure.

Katherena Vermette has quickly become one of my favourite Canadian authors in the last decade+. I love the way she tells a story from the spilling-guts and upwards.

This is a hard one for those of us who have lost connection to our heritage because it was taken away by death and adoption and forced immigration due to famine and war. Our stories are important because they’re our stories. All stories are important for that same reason. And we read the stories of people from places to see a moment through their eyes, to stop a moment in their shoes, to listen, and to learn...

This: Forgive people, not for them, but for you. 

And there is a lot more wisdom in these pages; healing thoughts and conversations… 

This is another nonpareil by Vermette that is worthy of the curriculum and the bookclub and the House of Parliament…

The writing is quite beautiful. The story is hard to take, but it will be/would be useful and helpful for those who have no context with people suffering from addictions and want to gain insight into the lives and thinking of those who do. The conversations with family and friends that surround the experience of loss and addiction are insightful and therapeutic, though for a reader engulfed in these personal sorrows, the reception will depend on their tolerance of more. They may find these interactions helpful, but some may find them too overwhelming.

I appreciated that the book didn’t glorify the rampant irresponsibility of playing with drugs and the numbing affects of alcohol, but laid out the stark consequences that affect a body, and those who care for that person. It wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t cool, it wasn’t set up as something you’d want to dive into and experience in any fashionable manner. It was presented as disgusting and vile, unattractive and damaging—and I appreciate that reality amid a SLEW of NA novels that glorify the lifestyle.

Cute. Witty. Creative. Tame. Clean. 

There's enough philosophising throughout to break up the rolling plot. The plot, by the way, isn’t bogged down with unnecessary details, rather it is light-hearted and fun, even when it's diving into conflicts and terrifying impossibilities and the uglier side of fantasy politics.

What a cute emotional relief of a read amid a library of emotionally taxing others...