The Silver Mask by Christian Ellingsen

I return to TBRindr with The Silver Mask, a fantasy novel that promised a flintlock and alchemy story. I was really intrigued by this setting, because a lot of modern fantasy seems to forget that time periods between Medieval/Renaissance and Victorian exist, and I wanted to see how it would pan out.

Centuries after humanity has overthrown the shackles of slavery beneath the gods, the shattered moon and abominations roaming the countryside remain as evidence of their revolution. One of the city-states to have flourished since the destruction of the gods, Vasini, is on the verge of a momentous event. In the upper echelons of the city, Marcus Fox is investigating the murder of one of the city's darlings, Dame Vittoria Emerson, found naked and lying in a pool of her own vomit. Venturing out into the wildlands surrounding the city, Elizabeth Reid is trying to retrieve pieces of quicksilver falling from the ruins of the moon goddess, in the hopes that she can prevent its use for sinister means. What the two don't know is that their paths will cross as they uncover a grand conspiracy within the city.
I thoroughly enjoyed The Silver Mask. I'll start with the setting, as that was the part that interested me first. The way that I see it, the Vasini chronicles appear to be set in a world where the Renaissance didn't happen until the Georgian period. There's a fantasy equivalent of the Whigs and Tories representing the interests of those "people of quality", and then the Ranters who try and represent the interests of the poor, with significantly less success. There was magic of sorts, which was mainly alchemy or faith-based. The alchemical stuff was very traditional with an emphasis on bodily humours, requiring me to dig up knowledge I hadn't used since my GCSEs, and miasmas as the source of alterations or disease. The deity-related magic was more vague, but more sinister for that vagueness. It was an interesting mix of elements that I would definitely want to read more of.
The characters are solidly written. My particular favourites were Doctor Fox and his lieutenant Locke, partly because they balance well against one another. They're both quiet and considered, but when they do deign to speak, they couldn't be more different: Fox the emotionally tired academic who feels bogged down by the politics that he needs to navigate, versus Locke the no-nonsense man of action who wastes no time mincing words. Elizabeth was a bit less interesting to me, if only because it takes her a lot longer to bounce back from failure. She's passionate and committed to doing the right thing, but she does keep making the same mistakes, which I think can detract from her personal strengths.
The plot itself I won't go into detail with, as I'm likely to give away some sort of spoiler if I do. What I will say is that it's tightly plotted and has a lot of cool twists and cliffhanger moments. The final showdown part near the end was a bit on the frenetic, hard to follow side, but not enough to detract from my overall enjoyment.
The only thing that I will mention as a possible issue is some of the chosen presentation in the e-book version. Between chapters, and occasionally in the body of a chapter, The Silver Mask will include quotes from in-universe texts, such as essays, newspaper reports or correspondence. Now I really like the idea of that, as it creates more immersion without having to have huge info dumps in the middle of the narrative. The issue came with trying to imitate the layout and look of these texts, as they don't necessarily lend themselves well to the e-book format. While it was possible to read for the most part, there was one section that I had to skip entirely, and the harder to read fonts did slow reading down a bit. I like the idea, but I would have liked a bit more clarity with regards to how it was laid out.

A thoroughly entertaining read, The Silver Mask focuses on a distinctly Georgian fantasy world, with an interesting history and magic systems. I personally love my political schemes and conspiracies, so I was in my element with the plot. Some minor issues with how certain parts of the novel were laid out on my e-book version, but nothing that detracted hugely from my enjoyment. I would definitely pick up the next book in the series. 4.5/5

Next review: Soul Music by Terry Pratchett

Signing off,
Nisa.

Pirates! by Celia Rees

I have had Pirates! on my bookshelf for a long while, having originally read it when I was back in high school. I remember enjoying it at the time, and as I was feeling nostalgic I thought that I'd give it another read and see how it holds up against my older brain.

Pirates! follows Nancy Kington, the daughter of a sugar merchant, who is forced to move to her father's plantation after a storm that simultaneously ruined her father's health and fortunes. Dismayed by the treatment of the slaves that have funded her comfortable lifestyle until now and by how quickly her brothers are willing to marry her off to maintain their fortunes, she decides to run away and try to reunite with her sweetheart, William. Accompanied by one of her late father's favourite slaves, Minerva, she joins a pirate crew to try and outrun those pursuing her, and to pursue her own fortune in kind.
Re-reading Pirates!, I can definitely see why I enjoyed it as a teenager. The main cast of characters are sympathetic and interesting, and there is a lot of swashbuckling adventure to be had. Nancy is a bit of a worrier and a bit prone to melancholy, but a decent enough sort to be stuck with as a first-person narrator. If I'm honest, I always stayed because of Minerva, the fearless slave-turned-Pirate Queen, who rocks a set of breeches like a pro. I'm pretty sure she may have set off my personal love of cross-dressing women just in time to be introduced to Shakespeare's Twelfth Night and I will be forever grateful. There are a few other colourful characters to be found in the crew. There's Broom, the roguishly charming, if a tad bit dense, pirate captain. There's Graham, the morose doctor whose sensibilities are more suited for the damp of the British countryside than they are for a pirate ship roaming the Caribbean. And of course, there is the relentless antagonist, Bartholome the Brazilian, a mysterious figure who seems to have an almost satanic attunement with the sea and its treasures.
The main issue that I have found when re-reading this book as an adult is that it now seems to lack bite, and the romance seems a bit tacked on. While I found that the plot seems to hold up overall, I've since read and seen pirate stories that are more ruthless, more bloodthirsty and just overall more exciting. Reading Pirates! as an adult, I could see just how much the setting had been watered down for its audience. I don't necessarily think that that's a bad thing, considering the audience that the book is aimed at, but it was something that I hadn't taken into consideration with this re-reading. I would definitely still recommend the book, but perhaps not to those whose tastes are more hardcore.

Thoroughly enjoyable and definitely worth a recommendation to any young teens that you may know. It may come across as a bit tame and safe if your tastes run to the more violent or bloodier end of the spectrum, but is still a fun enough romp if you have the time. 4/5

Next review: The Stone Road by G. R. Matthews

Signing off,
Nisa.

Blood Meridian, or the Evening Redness in the West by Cormac McCarthy

So Blood Meridian took me longer to get through that I was hoping. Evidently audiobooks are not something that I get on with. I've been looking to read some of Cormac McCarthy's ever since seeing the film adaptation of No Country for Old Men, cliche as that may be. It was such an odd film that I was curious to see how much of that was the Coen Brothers' direction and how much was from the original source material. But I got my hands on Blood Meridian first, so that will have to be my introduction to his works. 

Blood Meridian follows a runaway known as the Kid during his violent coming-of-age as a member of a group of scalp-hunters, headed by the infamous John Joel Glanton and the eerie and erudite Judge Holden. As part of the Glanton Gang, he is tasked with collecting the scalps of natives attacking settlements at the Mexico-USA border. 

Right, so something quick to start the review off: if violence is not your thing, then Blood Meridian is not for you, as it comes up startlingly often and usually in a great deal of detail. If I were to guess, I would say that the majority of the narrative can be filed into one of three things: an act of mass and/or out-of-proportion violence, travelling in some truly wonderful descriptions of the landscape, or sitting around the camp-fire listening to the Judge preach about the world. 

Weirdly enough though, I found that the violence wasn't all that shocking. I have read that many readers who have gotten through to the end experience desensitisation, but it probably says something about me that, while the violence is vivid and utterly brutal, I just had a weird sense of dissociation. There was something about the stark nature of the writing style and the bleak, lawless setting that meant that when the violence did come along, it just felt like a natural extension. It didn't feel as shocking to me as, for example, Chuck Palahniuk's violent scenes, which stick out because they're meant to be set in modern day and contrast with mundanity. 

The thing that really stuck out for me was the Judge's speeches, just because he's such a well-written Devil figure. He is an unusual figure in pretty much every way compared to the company that he keeps, from his huge stature and arresting lack of hair, to the eloquence with which he completely runs circles around his uneducated travelling companions, to the obvious enjoyment that he takes in the violence that he inflicts as opposed to killing from necessity or for money. In addition to his unusual features, he seems to get a lot more spotlight than the nominal protagonist, the Kid, which gives the reader a better idea of his nature, if not his true origins. For me, I couldn't shake the idea that he was meant to be Satan, considering some of his actions appear to have no physical explanation at times, which gave the whole book a weird kind of Biblical parable feel to it. It felt like if new chapters of the Old Testament were written, but God never interjects as a guide, leaving the world to descend further and further into evil in their absence. 

A fascinatingly grim book, Blood Meridian is definitely not for those who can't stomach violence. Personally I found the Judge's speeches to be the far more disturbing part of the narrative, but I can understand it would be a deciding factor. I had this as an audiobook, but I would be really interested in re-reading it as a print or e-book at some later date. 4/5 

Next review: K-ON! Volume 1 by kakifly 

Signing off, 

Nisa. 

Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson

After the disappointment that was The Mammoth Book of Body Horror, I was in the mood for something familiar. I hadn't read Treasure Island in years, and remembered really enjoying it when I was younger, so it seemed like the perfect book to revisit.

Treasure Island follows a young boy named Jim Hawkins. Helping his parents run their inn, the Admiral Benbow, he meets a cantankerous old sailor who is rather keen on avoiding other seamen. When he dies after his old crewmates turn up to harass him, Jim gets his hands on the old man's sea-chest, with a treasure map inside. Joined by Doctor Livesey and Squire Trelawney, they embark on a journey to retrieve the treasure, gathered initially by the infamous Captain Flint. But all is not well, as their crew of honest hands has been infiltrated by former members of Flint's crew, most notably the one-legged Long John Silver.
It might just be the innumerable film adaptations overriding my memories of the book, but I do not remember there being quite as much malaria in Treasure Island. I'd also managed to forget a whole chunk of the book in which Jim manages to steal back their ship, the Hispaniola, which is probably more worrying. Regardless, I still enjoyed it about as much as I did when I was a kid. There was a small part of my brain making things weird by thinking of my two favourite adaptations (the Muppet version and Disney's weird but somehow still coherent Victoriana Space Opera version), but it does definitely still stand up by itself.
One thing that I will mention for those of you who haven't read Treasure Island, but have seen a bunch of the adaptations is that Hollywood has a weird obsession with trying to make Long John Silver into a kind of weird father-figure for Jim. There isn't really much of that in the actual book, with Silver being more or less a child-friendly depiction of a psychopath. Sure he switches sides towards the end, but not out of any genuine affection for Jim; considering that the alternative is dying on a malaria-ridden island with three former comrades who really aren't satisfied with the way that his grand voyage has panned out, it's a purely pragmatic decision. That's not a bad thing, it's just something that would stand out if you've only ever seen film versions before.

Treasure Island is a classic for a reason. The characters are great, the action is gripping and who doesn't love pirates? If you've only ever seen the film versions before though, you might want to prepare yourself for a significantly less likeable Long John Silver. 4.5/5

Next review: Summer Knight by Jim Butcher

Signing off,
Nisa.

The Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas

The Three Musketeers is one of those classics that is so culturally prevalent that I felt almost duty-bound to look into it. So when I found that it was one of the free ebooks when I fired up Google Books, I thought that this would be the perfect opportunity to take a look at a much-beloved classic.

The reader follows D'Artagnan, a young and hot-tempered noble who sets out for Paris seeking glory and fortune. Upon arriving in Paris, his attempts to gain acceptance into the elite musketeer company are initially hindered when his haste to avenge a slight causes him to anger three musketeers: the quiet and stoic Athos, the boisterous and vain Porthos, and the womanising would-be priest Aramis. And having befriended his would-be opponents, he finds himself getting involved in the private affairs of several august personages.
I went into The Three Musketeers expecting adventure and maybe a bit of intrigue. I hadn't realised just how much modern adaptations remove some of the more unsavoury aspects of our heroes' behaviour. I mean, I was kind of expecting some dissonance with regards to values, considering when it was written. But at the same time there is a surprising amount that adaptations leave out, such as the utterly shameless way that they seduce married women in order to get funds that is almost immediately squandered on high-living, or the servant girl that D'Artagnan uses and casually abandons to avenge himself on her mistress. While they are undoubtedly the lesser of two evils compared with the duplicity of Milady de Winter, it does feel a bit more grey than was perhaps intended by the author.
The unexpected underhandedness of the eponymous heroes aside, The Three Musketeers is a thoroughly enjoyable adventure, with a fair bit more depth than I had expected at first. And while I do have some reservations about some of his misogynistic tendencies, I did end up developing a bit of a soft spot for Athos. That may well be because he seemed to be the most competent and collected of the four protagonists though.

Overall, The Three Musketeers was an enjoyable read. The heroes are perhaps less likeable than adaptations would have you expecting, but they still have their good points to them. It has a lot more depth than I was expecting with regards the whole political powerplay aspects, and a surprisingly bittersweet ending. 3.5/5

Next review: The Mammoth Book of Body Horror edited by Paul Kane & Marie O'Regan

Signing off,
Nisa.

Birdsong by Sebastian Faulks

First of all, just an apology for taking so long to review this one. It has been a hectic three weeks, as I have just moved into my first home. As you can probably guess, this is a long process of settling in, and as of yet I haven't had as much time to sit down and read as I used to have.
As for Birdsong itself, I picked this up because I had previously read it in high school, but couldn't really remember it terribly well. I remembered snatches of it, and have found reviews to be generally positive, so I found myself wondering if I would enjoy it the second time around.

Birdsong follows Stephen Wraysford, a strange and intense young Englishman, in the years of the First World War and those immediately preceding it. The narrative starts with his passionate and scandalous affair with the wife of his host whilst visiting France on business. Following that are the years spent in the front line of the Western front and his growing apathy towards the war effort. Additionally, there are sections set in the late 1970s, with Stephen's granddaughter attempting to piece together his life whilst also trying to deal with her complicated affair with a married man.
Re-reading Birdsong, I realised why I could only remember parts of this book. It is somewhat uneven in tone and quality. The narrative can be roughly divided into three strands, all of which have their own separate issues. The first is the pre-war section, with the focus on Stephen's affair. This is by far the best part of the novel, with an engaging and intense affair between two very suppressed, unhappy people. The second strand is the 1915-1918 period, which I found to be mostly positive, but not as engaging as the pre-war strand. While the mood is appropriately grim and deeply uncomfortable, I found it made less impact than it possibly could have done, because while the slaughter of trench warfare is very well expressed, it's difficult to keep track of the cast of characters when almost none of the average soldiers get character development beyond being given a name. While the sheer amount of bloodshed and the awful living conditions are impressive and sobering to read about, it lessens the impact when it's happening to a cast of cardboard cutouts. The third strand is the 1970s section about Stephen's granddaughter Elizabeth, and honestly it's a complete waste of space. If there is a particular era of films that I remember disliking from my university studies, I found that they all seem to have been made in the 1970s. There's something about that decade that lends itself to ennui and a conscious level of detachment, and it's really quite grating to me. In terms of the plot itself, it's only really relevant in its penultimate chapter, where you get some closure in regards to what happened to Stephen after the war. As for the rest of it, it follows a woman who has by all standards a wholly uninteresting life. Sure, she's having an affair with a married man, but compared to her grandfather's affair it comes off as boring, because no-one seems to want to upset the status quo. Her quest to piece together Stephen's life could have made a good story by itself, but here we know far more about what she's researching than she does for pretty much the entirety of her plot. It was an exercise in wordcount padding.

A powerful novel let down somewhat by some poor characterisation and an entirely useless and irritating plot strand set in the 1970s. While still powerful, it does hit harder when you give people more character than just a name before sending them to be mowed down by machine-guns. The less said about the 70s sections the better really. 3.5/5

Next review: Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn

Signing off,
Nisa.

Empress Orchid by Anchee Min

I picked up Empress Orchid for one kind of shallow reason. I know practically nothing about pre-Communism China, and this seemed like an interesting way to dip into some history that I have been intrigued by for some time without getting bogged down in text-books of varying dryness.

Born into an impoverished family of aristocratic blood, Orchid decides to compete to be one of the Emperor's wives when the alternatives are to marry her cousin or become homeless. Winning a place as one of Emperor Hsien Feng's concubines only proves to be the beginning of her troubles though, as it soon becomes apparent that being one of his wives is to be part of a treacherous race to be the first to bear the Emperor a son. And those who are favourites today can easily be forgotten tomorrow.
I vaguely remember hearing about the woman who this novel is about, Dowager Empress Tzu-Hsi. What I do remember was basically that she essentially ruled China via her son during the final years of the Qing dynasty, and that she was something of a person to be reckoned with. I remember my teacher telling us about her with more than a little admiration. So it was nice to learn about her life in more detail, if perhaps a bit embellished. I'm happy to say that Anchee Min's depiction of her is utterly absorbing, and I am more than a little interested to read other books that she's written. Certainly, if you're after a book that has both tragedy and courtly intrigue up to the hilt, then Empress Orchid is definitely one to consider. The ways that the concubines in particular fight amongst one another is probably my favourite aspect of the novel, because it can be utterly devastating in its effect whilst still being so much subtler and unassuming in appearance.
Orchid herself is also very well written. I can't tell for sure how accurate her depiction is compared to what we know about her from historical records, but I certainly found her to be an engaging protagonist. Developing an iron will in order to flourish in an environment that she is incredibly unhappy in, she is fascinating if not always entirely likeable. Likewise, the people that she interacts with, like her fellow Empress Nuharoo and her personal eunuch servant An-te-hai, are a varying mix of fascinating and repulsing. Nuharoo in particular is brilliantly written, if only to see how easily she hides her spoiled and jealous nature.
The one thing that bothers me is the ending. It doesn't so much finish as screech to a halt once the word count is filled. I know that this is the first in a duology, but I still feel that the ending of Empress Orchid could have been handled with at least a little more grace than it is.

Empress Orchid is fantastically written with some really nasty court rivalries and some impressively evoked characters. The fact that it's based on real events only makes this more interesting, and I wouldn't mind learning more about the era depicted. My only issue is that the ending is too abrupt, a move that is surprisingly clumsy compared to the elegance of the rest of the novel. 4/5

Next review: Rose Madder by Stephen King

Signing off,
Nisa.

Perfume: The Story of a Murderer by Patrick Suskind

There are two main reasons that I can think of why I picked up Perfume. Firstly, the idea of a man who kills in order to preserve the scent of a young virgin is kind of fascinating in a sickening way, and there is a part of me that does relish narratives like that every once in a while. Secondly, I have very little sense of smell myself and I was curious to see what a novel with smell as its primary sense would read like. I guess I wanted to see if it could be conveyed clearly even to someone with my dulled olfactory sense.

Perfume: The Story of a Murderer follows Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, an intensely strange and disturbing man throughout his equally disturbing life. From the moment that he is abandoned by his mother to die beneath her fish stall, he is seen as different by those who meet him, though they couldn't necessarily be able to explain why. Whilst growing up, he realises that he has an unusually heightened sense of smell, and he develops a desire to become the world's greatest perfumer and to recreate the particularly exquisite scent of a young virgin girl. And he will do anything in order to possess that scent.
Perfume is an odd book to try and review, because while there is nothing that I can point to within the novel and say that this part is badly written or included unwisely, there is something about the work as a whole that left me a bit cold.
I suppose that I can start with what definitely did work, which was the writing itself. It is kind of unusual for me, most of the time I can point at characters, scenes or even themes that endeared me most to the book. But here, it was the style itself that really caught me. In some ways, it reminds me a little of The Child of Pleasure by Gabriele d'Annunzio, because the two have a similar way of enriching their comparatively simple narratives with grandiose sensory accompaniment. Where d'Annunzio focuses on visuals, Suskind brings this world to life through a cavalcade of different scents. I keep trying to think how to describe it and the word lush always seems to come to mind: rich and abundant, if not always (or indeed often) pleasant. It is an enthralling experience to imagine that crush of scents and definitely makes up for some of the lesser elements of the book.
I suppose that my main issue is with the main character, Grenouille. Don't misunderstand me, in his own way he is an interesting and well-written character. It was certainly refreshing to have a villain protagonist at least. I suppose my issue with him is that he is more or less a static character. While he creates conflict and has epiphanies about himself throughout the novel, I didn't feel that there was much real change in him at all. At various points in the narrative, he is compared to a tick, parasitic and infinitely patient. Neither of those key personality traits change at all, and considering that his is the perspective that the narrator sticks to for long chunks of the novel it does start to feel a little flat and one-note at times. It's not a huge issue, but I found it noticeable enough to bother me.

I found Perfume an odd book, but a mostly satisfying read. I would give it a shot simply for the lush sensory element of the writing style, although I did find myself a bit bothered by the static characterisation of the villain protagonist Grenouille. A book that I would recommend maybe reading once, but I can't see myself re-reading it any time soon. 3.5/5

Next review: Equal Rites by Terry Pratchett

Signing off,
Nisa.

The Midnight Palace by Carlos Ruiz Zafon

There are some of you out there, very few I would imagine, who can remember when this blog reviewed books on a chapter-by-chapter basis. Those of you who do remember my experimental phase will remember that the second book that I looked at was The Prince of Mist by Carlos Ruiz Zafon. Turns out there's a series of children's/young adult's novels that he's written, of which my current subject of review, The Midnight Palace, is the second installment of. I had certain issues with the previous installment, so I wanted to see if they carried over to this newer story.

The Midnight Palace starts in 1916 Calcutta, as a man desperately runs through the city streets, attempting to find safety for a set of newborn twins whilst being pursued by assassins intent on the children's deaths. The story then jumps forward 16 years, to the summer in which Ben and his friends grow out of the orphanage system that has been their home for all or most of their young lives. Coming together for a final meeting of their secret society, they stumble upon a mystery that is closely tied to Ben's unknown family past when Ben meets the sister that he never knew about. Much as he would like to get to know his sister better, Ben finds their reunion cut short as they are hounded by the same shadowy figure that tried to kill them as newborns.
I'm kind of disappointed to say it, but Carlos Ruiz Zafon doesn't really seem to write young adult novels terribly well. Right, so I suppose that I should start with what I liked about The Midnight Palace, give me at least something positive to say here. So, I really liked the atmosphere of menace and uncertainty that the book manages to keep up for the majority of the plot. There's something palpably unnerving about a group of teenagers attempting to combat an entity that is so far beyond the scope of what they can even begin to deal with, and it's a source of tension that Zafon is very good at implementing and has implemented just as masterfully in his adult novels. It does get you rooting for the heroes quite effectively, a desire to see the underdog win as it were.
Onto the first thing that I wasn't fond of. Apart from the villain Jawahal and the twins, the characters are practically two-dimensional. Possibly this is where The Prince of Mist benefitted, as that had a comparatively small cast. Here, there are eight teens to try and flesh out, and there just isn't enough room to give them anything more than a couple of superficial character traits. For example, there was one character whose sole characteristic shown in the narrative is that he's a fast runner. According to some of the narration, he can also pick locks like a champ, but it never comes up as a skill that he actually used. Not that it matters, since running and lock-picking are not personality traits. Sure, one can imply certain things from someone who is good at these skills, but really those are traits that should be shown directly. There's another character whose sole trait is that she's the female member of the group. Practically nothing else. It's frustrating as I started reading Zafon's work via his adult works, The Shadow of the Wind specifically, where there is a large cast that still manages to be vivid and interesting and utterly heartbreaking. So to see the cardboard cut-out excuses of characters in The Midnight Palace gives me no end of frustration, because I have seen him do so much better when he gives himself room to breathe.
The second thing that bothers me is the ending. Up until the ending, I was having a reasonably good time. Sure, the characters were flatter than pancakes, but the mystery was engaging and I wanted to see how the villain could be overcome. My disappointment with the ending is twofold and kind of spoilery, so if you still want to read the book, I'd advise maybe skipping to the summary at the end of the review. Okay, so firstly, it's disappointing because Zafon wrote almost the exact same ending in The Prince of Mist: the villain is exorcised, but only at the cost of the life of one of the protagonists, hanging over the lives of the rest of the cast from then onwards. I don't mind there being thematic or symbolic similarities between the two books if they're meant to be part of a series, but when your ending follows the same pattern, then I start wondering what the point of reading any of the other installments is. Secondly, it just smacked of adult bitterness and in terms of tone, it just felt wrong. Up until the final confrontation between Ben and Jawahal, it had been a young adult book, leaning more towards the younger end of the genre's age range. The ending itself would have been more fitting in an adult novel about childhood and growing up, because it just felt too bitter to appeal to an audience of around the same age as the characters. I guess that I'm disappointed because up until then, there had been an emphasis on the family that a person chooses for themselves through their friendships, and the cast's desire to hold onto it even as they moved into the uncertainty of adult life. It's a theme that I can really get behind, but it was all dashed by an epilogue that could be more or less summed up as "everyone has died or will die alone and isolated from humanity." I tell you, it's saying something when the young adult's book has a bleaker ending than the violent and mercenary world of Joe Abercrombie's books, and it's nothing good. Sure, make the ending bittersweet if it makes sense, but there comes a point where you may as well have not bothered with the narrative at all if the finale makes everything a pyrrhic victory that the author hasn't signposted well enough.

I want to like The Midnight Palace more than I do. While I was frustrated by the stunted character development, I was still enjoying myself with a pretty decent mystery compounded by a supernatural threat. Then the ending ruined it all by being almost identical to The Prince of Mist in formula, and by being bleak for bleakness' sake. The tone just went all wrong. 2.5/5

Next review: The Silver Chair by C. S. Lewis

Signing off,
Nisa.

The Fire Thief by Terry Deary

Nostalgia is the primary reason for my picking up The Fire Thief. A massive part of my childhood was spent pouring over whatever Horrible History books I could get my hands on. My collection is almost complete in fact. So when I found out that Terry Deary had strayed into fiction, I couldn't resist taking a look at the result.

The Fire Thief follows two sets of protagonists. The first protagonist is the Titan Prometheus fresh from his rescue at the hands of Hercules, who makes a deal with Zeus: in exchange for a chance of permanent freedom he must find a hero and prove to Zeus that humans deserve the knowledge of fire. If he uses his godly powers, however, he runs the risk of being discovered by the eagle and being destroyed forever. The second protagonist is Jim, a young thief in Victorian England who is about to embark on what will be his last confidence trick.
I am of the belief that there are two kinds of children's book. There are those that are aimed at children but have appeal to those of any age, and then there are those aimed at children and only really appreciated by the target audience. I feel that The Fire Thief is firmly in the latter camp. While I can't point at any one thing and say that it's badly written or poorly considered, I couldn't help but be intensely conscious that I was at least a decade older than the intended audience. It leaves me in a weird situation. On the one hand, I find the characterisation a tad too simple for my tastes, the narrative brings attention to itself as a narrative too often for my liking, and I'm a little wary of footnotes these days. On the other hand, this is not aimed at my age bracket whatsoever and I can well imagine that the issues that I have with the novel aren't things that would necessarily register as faults.

Not really to my tastes, but as a children's novel, it is perfectly functional. The characterisation is simplistic, as is the style at times. But in terms of plot and the writing itself, it is solid enough and does what it should. Maybe not for adults, but I would maybe add another point to the score if you're considering this book for someone within its intended age group. 2/5

Next review: Hater by David Moody

Signing off,
Nisa.

Hearts in Atlantis by Stephen King

Hearts in Atlantis is one of those books that has been on my shelf for so long that I can't really remember when or why I got it in the first place. I seem to have a fair few Stephen King books that have cropped up in my collection, so I can only assume that I must have had a period where I picked up any of his books that peaked my interest, only to never get around to reading them. Hearts in Atlantis in particular may well have been picked up because I found out that there was a film version of it made starring Anthony Hopkins, an actor whose work I admire immensely. In any case, it had been sitting on my shelf long enough for me to feel guilty about it.

Hearts in Atlantis is a collection of five interlinked stories set between 1960 and 1999. The first "Low Men in Yellow Coats" follows a young boy named Bobby as he befriends a new neighbour who asks him to keep an eye out for strange and unpleasant individuals that he only names as Low Men. "Hearts in Atlantis" follows Pete Riley in his attempts to win the heart of a fellow student, all while trying not to flunk and avoid the draft for Vietnam despite a crippling gambling habit. "Blind Willie" follows Willie Shearman as he cons busy New Yorkers out of their money by pretending to be a blind Vietnam vet. "Why We're in Vietnam" follows Sully-John revisiting the past following the funeral of a fellow veteran. And finally, "Heavenly Shades of Night are Falling" focuses on a grown up Bobby revisiting his childhood hometown and brings together all the tales that had come before it.
Apart from the first story in the collection, there isn't really much in the way of supernatural goings-on in Hearts in Atlantis, which was a bit unexpected but not really a bad thing. Considering that the last book by King that I'd read before this was The Stand, it was actually kind of nice to read a novel where the main bad guy wasn't the Antichrist. Much as I like The Stand, there needs to be variation in terms of stakes, and I certainly got it here. It was nice to read something where in the end, even if the good guys don't win completely, the world doesn't have to come to a screeching halt. It was good to read a book where the consequences were all so close to home, and the recurring characters really hammered that home, as you can see just how all of these events affect them all while the world continues on as normal.
I will say one thing though that I wasn't so sure about. I can't say for certain, not having read any of the Dark Tower series of books, but I feel like there's a lot of context from that series that would make the supernatural elements of "Low Men in Yellow Coats" make a lot more sense. It certainly isn't essential, as the important points come across just fine and don't actually need to be explained in full. I just feel that, having seen the use of terms like "breakers" and "te-ka", there is a lot of context that would take on a lot more meaning if I had already read at least some of the Dark Tower books. Probably not a huge issue, but it might well tip the balance of which you read first.

A superb look at a small group of characters, seen at various times throughout the latter half of the 20th century. Definitely one to pick up if you're looking for some more low-key, personal stakes after all these books with world-changing consequences. There may be some context about the supernatural elements that would only really make sense if you've already read the Dark Tower series, but it's not something that is going to completely ruin the novel if you're ignorant of the context like I was. 4/5

Next review: Dark Moon by David Gemmell

Signing off,
Nisa.

De Sade's Valet by Nikolaj Frobenius

I don't remember picking this book up at all, but it probably ended up on my shelf because of the intriguing subject matter. I've not read anything by the Marquis de Sade, but he has enough of a reputation that I was interested to get a taste of what he and his work were like, without necessarily committing to reading titles of his that are more than a little intimidating.

De Sade's Valet follows the life of a man names Latour, who is born physiologically incapable of feeling pain. Obsessed with finding out how pain works and why he alone seems exempt from the sensation, he immerses himself in the world of the human body and dissections, eventually becoming the close accomplice to the Marquis de Sade.
Honestly, I had kind of expected to finish De Sade's Valet with at least some emotional impression, but apparently not. Considering the salacious subject matter, I would have at least expected to be either outraged or morbidly intrigued, but having finished the novel, it succeeded in leaving absolutely no impression whatsoever. I can't actually believe that a novel where the Marquis de Sade, a historical figure with an infamous reputation for cruelty and unusual sexual proclivities, is a main character can actually be so nondescript. I am almost impressed at this level of incompetence. I think the main problem that De Sade's Valet has is that of tone combined with writing style. Everything is uniformly ugly, from the people to the scenery to the events of the novel itself. There are moments of high drama with arrests and murder, but the writing style is so understated that they don't register as particularly dramatic or even notable. I would call it beige prose, but there is a startling amount of description so it doesn't quite fit the definition. Hell, I made it clear that I did not like Victims by Shaun Hutson, but in comparison to this it seems like a goddamn masterpiece. At least Hutson managed to evoke something, even if it was my everlasting disgust. With De Sade's Valet? What I got here was the literary equivalent of river sludge: unpalatable, but not especially interesting. It's really disappointing. Frobenius has an interesting topic here, with the Marquis de Sade and the desire to experience a sensation that you cannot physiologically experience, but he wastes it. The scenes of murder, dissection and orgies aren't described in enough detail to make them interesting and the characters aren't crafted well enough to save the understated prose. It is a novel that more or less fails on every level and leaves absolutely nothing in its wake.

Don't bother with this one. The tone is uniformly ugly and unpleasant, but not in enough detail to actually make an impression. I would actually have preferred if De Sade's Valet had outraged me, because that at least would be an impression. As it is, I've got nothing. 1/5

Next review: Agatha Raisin and the Quiche of Death by M. C. Beaton

Signing off,
Nisa.

Bright Young Things by Anna Godbersen

So, here I am, going back to the roaring twenties again. I know, you're probably all sick of it by now, but there's something about the time period that I am inexorably drawn to.

Bright Young Things follows three young women trying to find their way in New York in 1929. There's Letty Larkspur, fresh off the train from Ohio and desperate to leave her old life behind by chasing her dream of being a famous singer. Cordelia Grey, who travelled down from Ohio with Letty, is looking for her long-lost bootlegger father and finds herself falling for the one boy he wants her to stay away from. And finally, there's Astrid Donal, a young flapper trying to navigate high society and her complicated feelings for her boyfriend, Charlie Grey.
After Das Boot, I needed something lighter and this may have been just about the perfect choice. Bright Young Things encapsulates just about everything that I want when I pick up a novel about 1920s America. There's a nice balance between the hard graft and sleaziness of your average working girl, and the backstabbing glamour of the upper classes. The emphasis on the bootlegging is a nice touch, as the presence of alcohol despite Prohibition is generally glossed over in novels that I've picked up previously. I also like that not all of the main girls want to be famous in some capacity. It's frustrating, I want to be more specific, but I like the book too much for my thoughts to coalesce right. I'm just really glad that I picked up Bright Young Things and I would be more than happy to pick up the next installment of the series.

Pretty much a perfect 1920s novel, with a nice blend of rich and poor, criminal and legitimate elements. Definitely one to pick up if you're interested in this period of history. 5/5

Next review: Aberystwyth Mon Amour by Malcolm Pryce

Signing off,
Nisa.

Das Boot by Lothar-Gunther Buchheim

A few years back, my parents showed me the film Das Boot, and it absolutely blew me away. So when I found out that it was based off of a book after coming across it at a secondhand bookstall, I couldn't really resist seeing how it compared to the film adaptation.

Das Boot is a novel closely based off of the experiences of the author's time as a naval correspondent aboard a German submarine. The U-Boat that the narrator finds himself on is set to make a patrol around the Atlantic, with the aim to destroy enemy supply convoys. It soon becomes clear why the return rate for sailors on German submarines was only 25%.
So, good parts first. If you're interested in military history, this is fantastically detailed account of life aboard a German U-Boat. There isn't an area of life on the boat that isn't touched upon, from daily routine, to the mechanics of the submarine itself, to the dangers of naval combat. I wasn't aware that this would be such a plus point for me, but I personally found the sections about how the submarine actually worked to be utterly fascinating. Additionally, this attention to detail makes the sections where they have to dive to avoid enemy fire all the more claustrophobic and harrowing.
Unfortunately, the bad parts of Das Boot also stem from this attention to detail. The book is separated into 11 chapters, with each focusing on one particular set piece, as it were. That in and of itself isn't an issue for me. The issue I have is that the chapters, and by extension each set piece, go on for too long. For example, one of the chapters recounts a storm that the U-Boat gets caught in, and it spans a grand total of 66 pages. I don't know about you, but there are only so many ways that you can describe terrible weather conditions and the sheer violence of the turbulence inside the submarine, before it starts to get repetitive. Unfortunately, this happens more or less every chapter. No matter how interesting the subject matter, it just feels like it's been stretched out far beyond what the material can actually provide. And because the style is so detailed, the reader is treated to this repetition with intense detail. Whether that is intentional or not, it wasn't to my taste.

My main impression was one of admiration for the sheer detail and atmosphere that is created, especially since it really comes across as something that the author had direct experience of. My main issue with Das Boot is that it has a tendency to drag after a while, so you may need a large measure of patience in order to soldier through it. I'd definitely still recommend it if you are at all interested by military history. 3/5

Next review: Bright Young Things by Anna Godbersen

Signing off,
Nisa.

Interview with the Vampire by Anne Rice

Interview with the Vampire has been sitting on my shelf for probably around a decade unfinished, as I found myself time and again getting around two thirds of the way through it, only to leave the final part untouched, despite the fact that at no point was I not enjoying. This time though, I decided that it wouldn't defeat me.

Interview with the Vampire follows an interview between Louis, a vampire from the 18th century, and a human journalist who finds himself fascinated by the story that his subject unfolds for him. Louis tells the story of his life, from his brief years as a human plantation owner, through to his interminable centuries as a creature of the night and the few companions that he meets over the years.
In terms of story and pacing, I have little with which to fault this book. Although at times Louis' narration can seem flowery, it fits with the tone of the book, which is pretty much melodrama with more than a hint of melancholy. The characters don't necessarily act or react in ways that are particularly human-like, but then the reason for that becomes increasingly obvious as the narrative goes on, and it really does work: they are not really likeable individuals, but they are fascinating nonetheless. And in combination these characters act in ways that are intensely unhealthy and uncomfortable to read about, but somehow you still don't want them to split away from one another. Really, while I enjoyed each element of the book both in isolation and as a whole, I think I know the reason why I couldn't finish it until now. While the tone is more or less dispassionate, there is still an emotional intensity that I found difficult to stomach at times. There is much made of the vampire race's propensity for detachment, but what that leads to is greater and greater extremes of cruelty and decisive action, made to seem normal by Louis' unusual perspective. All very interesting to read about, but when I had turned the final page, I felt utterly exhausted by the whole endeavour. Perhaps that's just me, but there are few books that have left me as drained as Interview with the Vampire did. And I think I would be interested in reading more of Anne Rice's work, though maybe not right now. Give me some time to rest and all.

Really can't fault Interview with the Vampire in regards to its story and characters, as they are absolutely fascinating. I would be prepared for something quite emotionally draining though, so maybe not a book to read when already melancholy. 5/5

Next review: Das Boot by Lothar-Gunther Buchheim

Signing off,
Nisa.

Dracula the Un-Dead by Dacre Stoker & Ian Holt

I seem to remember receiving Dracula the Un-Dead as a present, from a relative who knew that I had enjoyed the original Bram Stoker book and noticed that this was a sequel written by one of Stoker's descendants. I've always been a bit ambivalent about the prospect of reading it, because on the one hand it's a sequel to a book that I enjoy, but on the other I couldn't help but think that Dracula had ended on a pretty final and happy note, so couldn't really conceive of what the sequel could possibly run with. But, like many of my books, it has been on my shelf long enough that it has guilted me into finally picking it up.

Dracula the Un-Dead follows Quincey Harker, the son of Jonathan and Mina Harker, who decides to defy his father's decision for him to follow him into the realm and become an actor instead. He finds himself falling in with an actor named Basarab who is taking Europe's theatres by storm; Basarab's patronage leads to his inclusion in the troubled production of a little-known gothic novel named Dracula, headed by its author Bram Stoker, and the revelation of a whole host of secrets that his parents have kept from him.
I have some seriously mixed feelings about Dracula the Un-Dead, especially when considering it as an official sequel to the original 1897 novel. If I were to sum up my feelings, I feel that this novel had the wrong audience in mind. This is where the author notes at the back really help, because without them the book could seem somewhat incompetent. Basically instead of feeling like a true sequel to Dracula, it feels like something that you would get if Hammer Horror were given permission to make a direct sequel to the Francis Ford Coppola adaptation, and they also had a surplus of fake blood that hadn't been used in an earlier production. This is due to the fact that the authors make several alterations to the original canon and almost all of them have their origins in the various film adaptations that have been made of Dracula and the vampire fiction that it inspired. The two that are most egregious are as follows: first, that vampires burn up if exposed to sunlight, and second, that Mina Harker and Dracula had a romance. They are direct references to F.W. Murnau's Nosferatu and Francis Ford Coppola's Bram Stoker's Dracula respectively, and they encompass the main problem that I have with the novel: it is aimed squarely at the fans of the film adaptations, and not at the fans of the original novel. I somehow doubt that out of all of the people who have watched and enjoyed a Dracula film adaptation there are many who decided that they would read the source material afterwards, and if they aren't reading the original novel, who on earth would assume that they would pick up the sequel. The people who would pick up the official sequel are people like me, who enjoyed the original Dracula and won't necessarily have watched many of the film adaptations; we're going to notice the alterations and there's a strong possibility that the only reaction you'll provoke is one of irritation.
The other main issue that I have with Dracula the Un-Dead is the presence of Bram Stoker himself. The authors state that his inclusion in the narrative was meant to be a tribute to a man who was little appreciated beyond his friendship with eminent actor Henry Irving while he was alive, but the overwhelming impression that I got was not terribly favourable towards the author. While I can concede that depending on how it is written, Bram Stoker could well share the page with some of his own creations. But the way that the narrative unfolds, revealing that Stoker got the inspiration for his novel from some drunken stranger's story at a pub in Whitby and managed to get quite a lot of details wrong in the process, it gives the impression that he didn't actually have any decent ideas of his own. Combined with the way that the narrative quite happily alters or reimagines parts of the original Dracula, it seems less a tribute to a man poorly received in his own lifetime and more like a seriously backhanded compliment at best.
Honestly though, I feel bad that these issues were so big for me, because by itself Dracula the Un-Dead is actually a pretty decent vampire novel. There's intrigue, double-crossing, interferences from the police, violent deaths and blood up to your eyeballs. If it weren't trying to be an official sequel to one of the most influential Gothic novels ever, I could have enjoyed this a lot more.

A decent enough vampire romp that shoots itself in the foot by taking on the mammoth task of following Dracula. For me, the unnecessary concessions to the film adaptations and the unexpectedly backhanded way that it deals with Bram Stoker himself proved to be far too distracting for me to appreciate it more. 3/5

Next review: The Surrogate by Tania Carver

Signing off,
Nisa.

Death at Wentwater Court by Carola Dunn

If you've been following my blog for the last few posts, you'll probably have noticed that I seem to be on something of a mystery and period piece kick. Good thing for me that the two seem to gel quite well. As such, it probably won't surprise anyone that this installment is Death at Wentwater Court, the first novel in the Daisy Dalrymple series, a series of cosy mysteries set in the interwar period that I admitted to being so enraptured with a couple reviews ago. Evidently all I need do now is finally get round to watching the version of And Then There Were None that the BBC broadcast last month.

Death at Wentwater Court follows the series heroine Daisy Dalrymple as she visits the eponymous Wentwater Court in order to write a story for Town & Country magazine, about the stately home, its surroundings and history. Whilst there, however, she soon finds that all is not well with the family in residence, largely taking the form of Lord Stephen Astwick who has taken it upon himself to seduce the Earl of Wentwater's new wife. So when he is found dead in a skating pond, with evidence that it wasn't purely accidental, Daisy finds herself assisting Scotland Yard in their investigations.
Good Lord, this was the period cosy mystery that I've been looking for. After books tainted by either some unfortunately backwards attitudes, or principle leads who make less-than-convincing turns in the role of detective, this was a nice bit of harmless fluff that was nonetheless engagingly written and absorbing.
So, first thing's first. the detective. This role is taken more or less equally by the aforementioned Daisy, and the Scotland Yard inspector brought in specifically for his discretion, a man by the name of Alec Fletcher. The two of them work well together, as they take different approaches to the whole investigation: Daisy has an unusual talent of appearing approachable and kind towards listeners, while Inspector Fletcher has more experience asking the tough questions that Daisy would perhaps consider too delicate to broach. It's a nice balance, and enables the narrative to take a break from Daisy's viewpoint, which quickly becomes anxious and conflicted as it becomes more evident that she will find out that one of the people she has come to care about is a murderer. For a little while, it looked as though there might be a bit of a romance brewing between the two of them, but it was subdued at best. Perhaps something that will develop in later novels, but I'm glad that it didn't overshadow the main mystery.
It's easy to sympathise with Daisy's growing anxiety, as the majority of suspects are thoroughly likeable, or at least understandable. With the victim being the kind of cad that makes you wonder how he survived this long as it is, it makes the process of narrowing down who the guilty party is more difficult because most of the characters have motive to have him bumped off, leaving you to figure events out purely by opportunity.
Additionally, the period details are prominent enough to give some nice historical flavour without necessarily drowning out the narrative. It's a nice balance.

Overall, a solid period mystery novel and a thoroughly enjoyable read. I shall certainly be looking out for the next installment of the Daisy Dalrymple series if it continues with its strong leads, despicable villains, solid supporting cast and interesting period details. Definitely one to pick up for fans of cosy detective novels. 4/5

Next review: Dracula the Un-Dead by Dacre Stoker & Ian Holt

Signing off,
Nisa.

The Winter Queen by Boris Akunin

When you pick up a book promising contents that are like a mixture of James Bond and Sherlock Holmes if it were written by Tolstoy, there has to be at least a little part of you that is intrigued by that description. That's pretty much the sole reason that I picked The Winter Queen up really, curiosity and a desire to see if it can live up to the big claims made on its behalf.

The Winter Queen starts with an unpleasant but seemingly innocuous event, when a wealthy student shoots himself in the middle of a public park in Tsarist Russia, amongst scores of witnesses. The papers dismiss the incident as an unfortunate consequence of the youths of the day's seemingly endemic selfishness. But a young police officer by the name of Erast Fandorin sees the incident and, following a weird gut instinct that he has about the whole affair, finds that there may be something far more sinister afoot than initially meets the eye. He begins to uncover a plot that will take him from Moscow all the way to London and back.
I'm really not sure how to consider The Winter Queen. On the one hand, I like that the story is tightly plotted and at times incredibly tense; on the other, I find something of the coincidences to be really quite outlandish even for a cosy mystery. On the one hand, I like Fandorin because he seems genuinely sweet and gentlemanly and kind of dorky; on the other hand, his perceptiveness is easily matched and perhaps overwhelmed at times by his incredible lack of perception when it comes to people and their true motives. The vast majority of me wants to recommend this book, because the plot is genuinely interesting with an ending that is completely out of left field and totally gripping because of it. Additionally, Erast Fandorin is a detective unlike any other that I've seen: a little bit vain, more than a little foppish, incredibly earnest and overwhelmingly sweet and good-natured. These are things that I can look at and say "This is a book that entertained me and left me wanting to continue reading the series." But then I can't deny another voice, almost as loud, that leaves me unsatisfied. While the plot is well-written, it can feel a bit predictable at times, the ending aside. You learn fairly quickly that if Fandorin appears to be doing well, then he's missed a factor and is about to be sorely disappointed. That leads me nicely to my next point: while he is a detective like no other, that's also a fairly major negative for me at times, as it means that he's really not very good at times. Honestly, other than some admittedly good thinking in his few brief moments of peace and quiet, he has a habit of doing some really stupid things. He doesn't seem to understand that he isn't as good at tailing people as he thinks he is, and has a really bad habit of judging people by their appearances even after he should have realised that suspicion is a good trait for a policeman to have.

Overall, this feels a bit uneven. The story and the character of Erast Fandorin are well made, but there are too many points where I feel that Fandorin's flaws outweigh whatever analytical abilities he has. It meant that there were several times it felt like he got out of situations purely by chance, instead of through his own competence. A decent cosy mystery nonetheless. 3.5/5

Next review: Wycliffe and the Three-Toed Pussy by W. J. Burley

Signing off,
Nisa.

Last Dance With Valentino by Daisy Waugh

I cannot for the life of me remember buying Last Dance With Valentino, but I'm pretty sure it must have come from the second-hand book stall that they had at uni. It seems like the sort of thing that I'd pick up on a whim and judging by the order of the reading list, that makes most sense. As for why I picked it up, it's probably to do with my weird sort of fascination that I have with the interwar period. There's something about that whole doomed youth thing, living on the edge because they've survived what they think must be the worst that life can throw at them, unaware that worse is around the corner. Plus, you have to love the whole early Hollywood glamour thing.

Last Dance With Valentino follows a young Englishwoman named Jenny Doyle in the ten years after she comes to America with her father in an attempt to escape the hardships of Britain in World War I. The storyline focuses on her decade-long love affair with an Italian immigrant dancer Rodolfo Guglielmi, who later becomes beloved by millions as the silent actor Rudolph Valentino. It switches between two plotlines, one starting in 1916 where their budding love affair meets with a series of tragic events stemming from their involvement with the de Saulles family, while the other starts in 1926 and focuses on the pair trying to reignite their relationship, unaware that further tragedy is on the horizon.
I'll admit, I wasn't really familiar with Rudolph Valentino or his work, but I'm sort of fascinated to find out what a sex symbol from the 1920s must have been like. Because I didn't really get to see much of Valentino considering that he's our narrator's love interest. Instead of a tragic love story, it seemed more like an experiment on how much misery the author can pile on one person within a set ten year period. Honestly, it got really tiring because there's only so much suffering that one character can go through before you need something to lighten the mood. And there wasn't really anything like that in Last Dance With Valentino. It was more moving from one source of unrelenting misery to another source of unrelenting misery. I think the author tried to add light moments in the form of Jenny getting work as a photoplay writer and being surprisingly good at it, but when you compare it to the death, abuse and addiction problems that she has to deal with it seems utterly paltry in comparison. Honestly, it's a real shame, because the author does have a fair amount of actual writing talent, with a really good ear for dialogue and great skills with settings. But the balance just wasn't right for me.

Not really my sort of thing. An interesting enough premise, just spoiled by the fact that there's a bit too much tragedy to get you properly invested. If you don't have the bright moments as contrast, the dark tragic moments just make everything a murky shade of grey. Well-written, but I wouldn't read it again. Maybe something to pick up if you're a fan of silent movies. 3/5

Next review: The Winter Queen by Boris Akunin

Signing off,
Nisa.

Nation by Terry Pratchett

Nation was another book that had been languishing on my shelves for more years than is good for a book. I know the exact length of time I've had it to, since there's a nice little inscription on the bookplate wishing me a happy 17th birthday. I'm 24. I really could've gotten to this one quicker. Also managed to really confuse my fiance, who was stunned that my next read from Terry Pratchett wouldn't be a Discworld novel.

Nation follows two children who must overcome tremendous challenges in the wake of a tsunami that hits a small group of islands in the South Pelagic Ocean. There is Mau, an aboriginal boy who was in the middle of his rite of adulthood when the tsunami washed away his village, leaving him with a lot of unanswered, or unanswerable, questions and possibly without a soul. He soon discovers Ermintrude, a British girl who is determined that Standards will be upheld, even if that means serving scones that taste like rotting lobster. Together they must try and rebuild what is left of a proud nation.
I wasn't sure what this was going to be like since my fiance, an ardent Terry Pratchett fan, had confessed that he was never particularly fond of this one. Might not have even finished it, now that I think about it. Having finished it though, I would say that this is definitely worth your time. Admittedly, it does have a bit of a slow start largely brought about by the two main leads' language and cultural differences, but if you stick with it, I think it has a lot to offer. While it may not have as much of the sharp satirical edge or outright ridiculous comedy that Pratchett's work is known for, it does have some really interesting themes that it delves into. There's the constant questioning of humanity's place in the universe (especially in a religious context), with questions like "Why did unintelligent creatures like birds know how to escape the wave, but not us?" used as a starting point. Linked to this is an examination of traditions and how the strict adherence to them can be more harmful than helpful; it's a trait seen both in the aboriginal and colonial British characters to begin with, as both societies are so rigidly drawn, especially in terms of gender roles, that the individual parts played are soon revealed as useless without the rest of society to work around them. It's a surprisingly thoughtful novel, once you get past the necessary awkwardness that culture clash brings about. There's a large part of me that would actually argue that Nation is one of those books that should be part of a child's basic literary education, because it perfectly encapsulates an exploration of acceptance and constant questioning ourselves and our world. And really, that's one of the most important things that you could instill in someone.

A bit of a slow start, but more than worth the effort for the thoughtful themes that it examines. A must-read book for children of all ages. 4/5

Next review: Catch Me When I Fall by Nicci French

Signing off,
Nisa.