Old Bestseller: The Romantic Comedians, by Ellen Glasgow
a review by Rich Horton
Back to a true quill writer of Old Bestsellers, Ellen Glasgow. Glasgow had the second bestselling novel of 1904 (The Deliverance), the tenth bestelling novel of 1906 (The Wheel of Life), and the fifth bestelling novel of 1916 (Life and Gabriella) -- all according to Publishers' Weekly's list. She also won the Pulitzer Prize for her late novel In This Our Life (1941), which quickly became John Huston's second movie in 1942, starring Bette Davis and Olivia de Havilland. The novel at hand, The Romantic Comedians, wasn't one of the very top bestsellers of its year, 1926, but I'm sure it sold quite well, and it was one of the very first Book of the Month Club selections (the Club was created that year).
Ellen Glasgow (1873-1945) was born into a fairly prominent Richmond, Virginia family. She was educated at home due to poor health, and began writing fairly early. Her first novel appeared anonymously in 1897 (delayed due to her mother's and brother-in-law's deaths). It portrayed a woman who rejected marriage in favor of passion, says Wikipedia. And indeed, Glasgow never married but had several affairs of some length. She was for a time a suffragette, but did not seem to stay active politically -- however, her novels seem to have often tackled significant social themes. She was a close friend of another Richmond writer, James Branch Cabell.
She seems one of those once prominent writers now nearly forgotten (though, as I note later, not really entirely forgotten). After all she had a lot of commercial success, and some critical success too as evidenced by the Pulitzer. But I really knew nothing about her -- just enough to have a sense when I saw this book at a sale that her name seemed vaguely familiar. (Wikipedia does say that Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings planned a biography, but died before she could complete it.)
While most of her novels seem to have been deathly serious -- her second novel was called "sodden with hopelessness all the way through", and many of her other novels seem depressing on a look -- this one, as with other late ones, is not so dark. But the title of The Romantic Comedians suggested it might be, well, a romantic comedy. It's not, really, though it's not exactly depressing, either. Apparently after her ambitious 1925 tragedy Barren Ground, she decided to turn to somewhat lighter subjects for her next couple or three books.
This book, then. the one immediately succeeding Barren Ground, concerns Judge Gamaliel Bland Honeywell, a 65 year old lawyer in Queenborough, Virginia. His wife Cordelia died a year before the action of the novel, and we soon gather that she was a worthy woman who took good care of him and kept him in order -- but perhaps that she wasn't his great passion. And soon we see Amanda Lightfoot, still beautiful at 57, who was briefly engaged to the Judge 37 years before, before a quarrel and her sudden departure to Europe. He followed her, but met Cordelia on the ship. Amanda has never married, apparently still carrying the torch for the Judge. But somehow Gamaliel doesn't quite feel up to visiting her.
The other characters soon enter. One is his scandalous sister Edmonia, who has buried three husbands and left the fourth. Now she's back home, only too ready to give Gamaliel advice. And too there is impoverished widow Bella Upchurch and her beautiful daughter Annabel, who herself was just jilted by her fiance.
This sets the scene, and what follows is predictable: Gamaliel takes an interest in Annabel Upchurch, and soon is making something of a fool of himself over the young woman. Her mother, desperate to save the family situation, urges Annabel to marry the Judge, reasoning that she's lost her "true love" and she might as well settle for money. Edmonia thinks her brother should court Amanda Lightfoot, but he won't listen. The reader might come to the conclusion that Bella Upchurch, a pretty woman of an age somewhat more appropriate for Judge Honeywell (late 40s) might be a better match than her daughter. But the May-December marriage goes through.
And the result is much as one might predict. Annabel isn't much of a wife to Gamaliel, and she doesn't really care much for him. And, of course, she's young, and there are other young fish in the ocean besides her caddish ex-fiance. And, after all, the Judge doesn't care to dance those fashionable '20s dances with her ...
Well, it's easy to see where this will end up. And so it does, really in a fairly sensible fashion. The disappointment is, perhaps, that it's too sensible. There is no great romance here. There is no sprightly comedy either. Amanda Lightfoot turns out to be rather a crashing bore. Bella Upchurch is just not the right woman. Edmonia is entertaining but really doesn't have enough of a role.
I ended up with the impression of a well-meaning, well enough executed, novel that I really didn't much like. It's possible that I was looking for the wrong thing -- clearly Glasgow was interested in (fairly gentle) satire, and I may have been after more of a love story -- if so, my fault. Still, I didn't find the satire biting enough, or perhaps just not funny enough (except every so often in Edmonia's scenes).
I would suggest that Glasgow was very much a writer of her time, and perhaps too serious a writer for her talent. That is, if she was more of a writer of entertainments, her work might have lasted at some level. And if she was a greater writer, it might have lasted. But as an ambitious writer who didn't quite have the chops -- she falls into sort of a gap. And having said that, I should note that she's not as forgotten as all that. The University of Virginia reissued a number of her books in the 1990s, and I think she still gets some academic attention, both from the "Southern writer" angle, and the "Early Feminist" angle.
Thursday, July 14, 2016
Monday, July 11, 2016
The 2016 Hugos: Short Story
The 2016 Hugos: Short Story
By Rich Horton
Repeating again: I am not planning to reflexively rank Rabid
Puppy entries below No Award. I am of course disgusted by the Rabid Puppy
antics, and I feel that many worthier stories were kept off the ballot by the
Rabid choices. And if a story is bad enough, it will certainly be off my
ballot, with No Award the last choice. (That’s always been my approach.) But,
this year in particular, many of the nominees supported by the Rabid Puppies
were either unaware of that, or aware and quite clearly not happy with that.
Also, I don’t want to reduce the meaningfulness of the win for the actual, and
probably quite worthy, winners – if they finish first and No Award is second,
to my mind it to some extent delegitimizes their wins, through no fault of
their own. Better to have been chosen the best with everyone voting on merit
than voted best simply because all the other choices were automatically
rejected regardless of quality.
The 2016 Hugo nominees for Best Short Story are:
“Asymmetrical
Warfare” by S. R. Algernon (Nature,
Mar 2015)
“Cat
Pictures Please” by Naomi Kritzer (Clarkesworld,
January 2015)
“If
You Were an Award, My Love” by Juan Tabo and S. Harris (voxday.blogspot.com,
Jun 2015)
“Seven
Kill Tiger” by Charles Shao (There
Will Be War Volume X, Castalia House)
“Space Raptor Butt Invasion” by Chuck Tingle (Amazon
Digital Services)
I’ll go ahead and
show my nomination longlist (I think I ended up nominating the first 5 on this
list but I may well have switched in or out a couple of the others):
“Mutability” by Ray
Nayler (Asimov’s)
“Capitalism in the
22nd Century” by Geoff Ryman (Stories
for Chip)
“The Game of Smash
and Recovery” by Kelly Link (Strange
Horizons)
“The Astrakhan, the
Homburg, and the Red, Red Coal” by Chaz Brenchley (Lightspeed)
“Hello Hello” by
Seanan McGuire (Future Visions)
“Consolation” by
John Kessel (Twelve Tomorrows)
“The Daughters of
John Demetrius” by Joe Pitkin (Analog)
“Unearthly
Landscape by a Lady” by Rebecca Campbell (Beneath Ceaseless Skies)
“The Karen Joy
Fowler Book Club” by Nike Sulway (Lightspeed)
“Little Sisters” by
Vonda M. McIntyre (Book View Cafe)
“Asymptotic” by
Andy Dudak (Clarkesworld)
“Cat Pictures
Please” by Naomi Kritzer (Clarkesworld)
“Today I Am Paul”
by Martin Shoemaker (Clarkesworld)
“Drones” by Simon
Ings (Meeting Infinity)
“The Graphology of
Hemorrhage” by Yoon Ha Lee (Operation
Arcana)
“Please Undo This
Hurt” by Seth Dickinson (Tor.com)
“The King in the
Cathedral” by Rich Larson (Beneath
Ceaseless Skies)
“Time Bomb Time” by
C.C. Finlay (Lightspeed)
So, only one story
from this long list of stories I considered – less than I might have hoped. But
easily explained – this is clearly the category Vox Day chose to make a mockery
of. His nomination choices in the longer fiction categories (Novel, Novella,
Novelette), were actually all readable stories, and some quite plausible Hugo
nominees. That’s not at all the case in Short Story. And, indeed, the only good
story on the list was only added after one of the original nominees withdrew.
So, my ballot:
1. “Cat Pictures,
Please”, by Naomi
Kritzer
Here’s what I wrote about “Cat Pictures, Please” in the March 2015 Locus:
“I really like a very funny short story by Naomi Kritzer, “Cat
Pictures, Please”, about an emergent AI that decides it has to do good
for people, though it must be paid, in cat pictures of course. The three cases
it takes on are interesting themselves, and the AI's reactions are priceless –
I laughed aloud in public.”
So, a funny story on the short list – that’s one valid
complaint, I think, about the Hugos – there is a tendency to perhaps undervalue
humor, or overvalue deadly seriousness (I’m sure I’m guilty myself), and it’s
nice to see humor getting some notice. As with most good comedy, there’s some
food for thought behind this story as well.
I’m torn about the next two stories. They are at least real
SF, and of professional quality. But they’re a long way below my view of Hugo
standards, more so than the least of the novelettes. I may end up moving my No
Award vote to second. But maybe not …
2. “Asymmetrical Warfare”, by S. N. Algernon
This is part of
Nature’s long-running series of short-shorts. It’s about aliens invading Earth,
in the hopes of raising up a new predator species. The starfish-shaped aliens
can’t believe the bipedal humans are the real intelligence, though … leading to
rather asymmetrical misunderstanding. It’s amusing enough, not remotely
Hugo-worthy, but a decent work in its short space.
3. “Seven Kill Tiger”,
by Charles Shao
A Chinese executive
is having a hard time meeting production goals in an African project. He blames
the locals (described in quite racist terms, though to be fair this is
presented as the views of a villain), and, in danger of losing his job, he
authorizes a project for a race-specific plague, to wipe out the Africans and
allow Chinese to immigrate. An American official for the CDC (or some similar
organization) starts to track down the reports of a mysterious disease in
Africa, but … Well, it’s a didactic story, and as such it doesn’t really have a
story structure, instead choosing to make its point. The racial politics – indeed
the politics in general – are dodgy as well. The story does manage to scare,
that’s fair to say…
4. No Award
The remaining two
stories are downright awful. The less objectionable of them is “Space Raptor
Butt Invasion”, by Chuck Tingle. It’s gotten Tingle some good press, because he’s
been a pretty good sport about the whole thing*, and because his politics don’t
seem to align with Vox Day’s. I fear that some people are tempted to vote for
the story because they think it will annoy Day. It won’t – if it won, Day would
be thrilled. The story itself is straightforward gay porn – I won’t evaluate it
on those terms, though I must say it didn’t seem anything special. Its SFnal
veneer has an astronaut coming to a Moonbase to tend it for a while solo, and
meeting an intelligent dinosaur, from a parallel universe. Soon they get down
to business … As SF, it’s a joke (not a funny one), and it certainly isn’t remotely
in the universe of stories that deserve a Hugo.
Even worse is “If
You Were an Award, My Love”, a juvenile and rather vile, and very clumsy and
unfunny, parody of Rachel Swirsky’s “If You Were a Dinosaur, My Love”. The
story itself is bad enough, the comments section of the blog post in which it
even appeared even worse.
*Though a better
sport would have had his fun and then withdrawn.
Sunday, July 10, 2016
The 2016 Hugos: Novelette
The 2016 Hugos:
Novelette
By Rich Horton
As I wrote in my first post in this series: I am not
planning to reflexively rank Rabid Puppy entries below No Award. I am of course
disgusted by the Rabid Puppy antics, and I feel that many worthier stories were
kept off the ballot by the Rabid choices. And if a story is bad enough, it will
certainly be off my ballot, with No Award the last choice. (That’s always been
my approach.) But, this year in particular, many of the nominees supported by
the Rabid Puppies were either unaware of that, or aware and quite clearly not
happy with that. Also, I don’t want to reduce the meaningfulness of the win for
those worthy winners – if they finish first and No Award is second, to my mind
it to some extent delegitimizes their wins, through no fault of their own.
Better to have been chosen the best with every voting on merit than voted best
simply because all the other choices were automatically rejected regardless of
quality.
The 2016 Hugo nominees for Best Novelette are:
“And
You Shall Know Her by the Trail of Dead” by Brooke Bolander (Lightspeed, Feb 2015)
“Flashpoint:
Titan” by CHEAH Kai Wai (There Will Be War Volume X,
Castalia House)
“Folding
Beijing” by Hao Jingfang, trans. Ken Liu (Uncanny Magazine,
Jan-Feb 2015)
“Obits”
by Stephen King (The Bazaar of Bad Dreams, Scribner)
“What
Price Humanity?” by David VanDyke (There Will Be War Volume X,
Castalia House)
I’ll go ahead and
show my nomination longlist (I think I ended up nominating the first 5 on this
list but really I don’t think there was much separation top to bottom, and I
may have switched a couple):
“Twelve and Tag” by
Gregory Norman Bossert (Asimov’s)
“Acres of Perhaps”
by Will Ludwigsen (Asimov’s)
“The Long Goodnight
of Violet Wild” by Catherynne M. Valente (Clarkesworld)
“Botanica Veneris:
Thirteen Papercuts by Ida Countess Rathagan” by Ian McDonald (Old Venus)
“Endless Forms Most
Beautiful” by Alvaro Zinos-Amaro (Analog)
“The Heart’s Filthy
Lesson” by Elizabeth Bear (Old Venus)
“This Evening’s
Performance” by Genevieve Valentine (The Mammoth Book of Dieselpunk)
“And You Shall Know
Her by the Trail of Dead” by Brooke Bolander (Lightspeed)
“Folding Beijing”
by Hao Jingfang (Uncanny)
“My Last Bringback”
by John Barnes (Meeting Infinity)
“The Deepwater
Bride” by Tamysn Muir (F&SF)
Thus, two stories
among my nomination candidates made the ballot, which is actually not unusual.
Oh well, that’s
enough about my choices. It does give you a hint as what will come first on my
ballot, though! Except that I’m not sure -- I could easily flip the first two
spots.
- “Folding Beijing”, by Hao Jingfang (translated by Ken Liu)
Here’s what I wrote about “Folding Beijing” in the March 2015 Locus: “The conceit here is that
Beijing has been literally folded into three separate parts, that each get part
of each day. The division is unequal, in a very explicitly class-based fashion,
and the story opens in Third Space, with Lao Dao, a waste inspector, as he
plans an illegal trip to First Space to deliver a love letter from a man in
Second Space to a woman there. The idea itself if fascinating and nicely
depicted, and the social differences between the three Spaces are well
described and only too believable, and the characters, Lao Dao in particular,
are also well done.” So, to my mind a very original concept (perhaps recalling
Philip Jose Farmer’s Dayworld to a degree, as well as numerous stories with
Dayside/Nightside divisions), used effectively to deal with class differences.
(I should add a note about the translator: Ken Liu of course
is a first-rate writer (and a Nebula, Hugo, and World Fantasy Award winner),
but his contributions as a translator, in introducing excellent
Chinese-language SF to the English-speaking world, are also very praiseworthy.
(He also translated last year’s Hugo winning novel, The Three Body Problem, by Cixin Liu (no relation).)
- “And You Shall Know Her by the Trail of Dead”, by Brooke Bolander
Here’s what I wrote
in the April 2015 Locus: “Rhye
is an android of some sort, made to be a killer, and after leaving the army she
has been rescued by another android, Rack, a gentle man who is a computer
expert. The two seem a traditional team: brains and muscle, as it were, but as
the story opens Rack has gotten into trouble. A mobster has killed him for not
finding his son quickly enough. Said son's brain had been uploaded, and Rack
had followed him there. Now Rack's body is dead, and Rhye is forced to upload
after him, to look for the mobster's son with the dangled reward of at least
retrieving Rack's brain. This is neat stuff in itself, and the story of Rhye's journey
in the virtual world is well-executed, with a perfect twisty ending (perfect in
that I saw the right answer in advance, but in a way that seemed earned, not
cheap or gimmicky). Best though is the manner of telling: Rhye's voice, profane
and vulnerable and very darkly funny. (By the way, Bolander swears in an author
profile that she had never heard of the drink “Rack and Rye” before naming her
characters – I had assumed the names were on purpose, either way, it works.)”
This is excellent action SF, with a pretty solid SFnal
premise behind it.
- “Obits”, by Stephen King
This is about a guy who wants to be a journalist, but at the
wrong time, i.e. now, with papers shedding employees (and cash) and online
places paying peanuts. He ends up writing a nasty satirical obituary column for
a TMZ-like website, for peanuts of course. When he asks for a raise and his
boss brushes him off he gets mad and to vent, writes an obituary for her. When
she suddenly dies he gets scared, then a bit tempted – what if he tries writing
an obituary for someone really evil? Well, you can see where this is going, and
it goes there, with no real twists (and, as King makes sure to tell us, no real
resolution). This is decent stuff, and King is an engaging writer, for sure,
but this isn’t really brilliant. It’s not King at his best, it’s not particularly
original – I just don’t see it as Hugo material.
- “Flashpoint Titan”, by Cheah Kai Wai
This is set on board an experimental Japanese warship in the
Saturn system. Ships start acting suspiciously, and it becomes clear that a
sneak Chinese attack on the American colony on Titan is in the offing. The
commander of the new Japanese ship offers to help, but he is constrained both
by rules of engagement – until the Chinese are proven to act hostilely, his
hands are tied – and also by a need to keep the experimental weapons on board
his ship secret. What follows is bog standard mil-SF, and decent enough stuff,
but nowhere surprising, nowhere a cut above any other particular story.
- “What Price Humanity?”, by David VanDyke
This opens with a long infodump setting up the situation:
the Solar System has been engaged in a long war against the alien Meme (a
really bad name choice these days), constantly throwing them back only to face
another wave. Must humanity “use inhumane means” to fight this war? Then we
switch to the POV of Captain Vincent Markis, in a strange situation which
quickly suggests to him a virtual reality setup to keep his brain going while
his body is regenerated. The VR setup gets more complex, and soon Markis meets
others in it – all fellow veterans. Soon they are doing wargames … Again, it’s
easy enough to see where this is going. It’s competent mil-SF – it’s not a bad
story – but it doesn’t stand out either.
So – two stories that I’d be happy see win the Hugo, and
three stories that, while readable enough, certainly publishable, are not at
all distinguished. Not the first time that’s happened, no doubt, but still
regrettable.
Thursday, July 7, 2016
The 2016 Hugos: Novella
The 2016 Hugos:
Novella
By Rich Horton
I’m going to write a series of posts on the short fiction
categories for the 2016 Hugos, now that I’ve read them all. I’ll rank them in
the order I intend to vote.
A quick word on my voting philosophy: I am not planning to
reflexively rank Rabid Puppy entries below No Award. I am of course disgusted
by the Rabid Puppy antics, and I feel that many more worthy stories were kept
off the ballot by the Rabid choices. And if a story is bad enough, it will
certainly be off my ballot, with No Award the last choice. (That’s always been
my approach.) But, this year in particular, many of the nominees supported by
the Rabid Puppies were either unaware of that, or aware and quite clearly not
happy with that. Also, I don’t want to reduce the meaningfulness of the win for
those worthy winners – if they finish first and No Award is second, to my mind
it to some extent delegitimizes their wins, through no fault of their own.
Better to have been chosen the best with every voting on merit than voted best
simply because all the other choices were automatically rejected regardless of
quality.
So, novellas first. The 2016 Hugo nominees for Best Novella
are:
Binti by Nnedi Okorafor (Tor.com)
The Builders by Daniel Polansky (Tor.com)
Penric’s Demon by Lois McMaster Bujold (Spectrum)
Perfect State by Brandon Sanderson (Dragonsteel
Entertainment)
Slow Bullets by Alastair Reynolds (Tachyon)
I’ll go ahead and
show my nomination ballot:
The Two Paupers, by C. S. E. Cooney (Fairchild Press)
“Gypsy”, by Carter
Scholz (Gypsy plus …, F&SF)
“The Four Thousand,
the Eight Hundred”, by Greg Egan (Asimov’s)
“The Bone Swans of
Amandale”, by C. S. E. Cooney (Bone Swans)
“The Boatman's
Cure”, by Sonya Taaffe (Ghost Signs)
With these four
also contenders:
Wylding Hall, by Elizabeth Hand (Open Road/PS
Publishing)
Penric's Demon, by Lois McMaster Bujold (Penric's Demon)
Teaching the Dog
to Read, by Jonathan
Carroll (Subterranean)
Sunset Mantle, by Alter S. Reiss (Tor)
So you can see that
none of my personal nominations made the ballot. Three of my choices were
somewhat obscurely published, so I wasn’t surprised that they didn’t make the
cut (these are the Cooney stories, and the Taaffe story (which may be a long
novelette anyway)). By all means seek them out to read! I was quite bothered
that the Scholz and Egan stories, two of the very best hard SF stories of the
last few years, and both published in top magazines, didn’t get a nod.
Oh well, that’s enough
about my choices. It does give you a hint as what will come first on my ballot,
though!
- Penric's Demon, by Lois McMaster Bujold
Here’s what I wrote
in the November Locus: “It's set in her Chalion universe (or, more
properly, The World of Five Gods). Penric is a pleasant young man, the younger
son of a not terribly prosperous noble family, whose life is turned upside down
when, while helping a woman stricken on the way, he unwittingly agrees to take
on her demon. This marks him as tied to the fifth god, the Bastard, and it's
also potentially a very dangerous thing. The rest of the story is about Penric
learning the nature of demons, his in particular (he names her “Desdemona”,
cleverly enough), and learning to navigate the dangers posed not just by his
possession, but by the jealousies and fears of those around him, particularly
those in his new Order. The depiction of demons (which remind me a little bit
of the (science-fictional) Aspects in Gregory Benford's Galactic Center future)
is pretty neat, and Desdemona is an interesting character (or characters). Nice
story, though not spectacular, but I'd be glad to see more of Penric and
Desdemona.”
So you can see that I liked the story, but wasn’t over the
moon about it. Still, best of this list, though I will say it’s pretty close
over the next couple stories.
- Slow Bullets, by Alastair Reynolds
I also wrote about this in the November Locus: “pure SF,
told by Scur, a veteran of a sectarian war that seems to have engulfed human
space. After the ceasefire, and an encounter with a vicious enemy soldier who
tortures her leaves her for dead, she ends up on a prison ship with a number of
war criminals. But when she wakes, with the bulk her fellow passengers, and the
ship's crew, they realize that something has gone terribly wrong – they seem to
have reached the right planet, but centuries late, and the planet seems unrecognizable.
Also, her enemy is also on board. The story blends a couple of mysteries – why
is Scur on the ship? What happened to it, and what happened to human
civilization? – with a tale of revenge and possible redemption. Parts of it
stretched my suspension of disbelief, and at times it drags a bit, but the
ending is moving and there are some neat revelations.”
Again, I wasn’t over the moon about it, but it’s got some
pretty good and powerful ideas.
- The Builders, by Daniel Polansky
I just read this story. It’s a caper story of sorts,
following the usual structure: the leader of a gang assembles all the varied
members, sometimes reluctantly. Then the plot is set in motion, and the caper is
executed. The first twist in this story is that all the characters are animals:
the leader, called the Captain, is a mouse; and there’s a rat, a badger, a
snake, an owl, a stoat, an opossum, and a salamander. The plan is to try again
something they had tried years ago, which we come to realize is a political
coup of sorts. We also realize that they were betrayed the last time by one of
their own … All these plot details aren’t so much the point, though – the story
is all style, offhand black humor, anthropomorphic descriptions of the
characters, cutting dialogue. And, eventually, lots of violence. This is pretty
fun, I have to say. It’s not really that interesting from an SF or Fantasy
point of view, and it’s really not all that deep (and doesn’t want to be). Fun,
though.
- Binti, by Nnedi Okorafor
Binti won the
Nebula for Best Novella, which may make it the frontrunner for the Hugo. But I
have to say I found it disappointing. It tells of Binti, a mathematical prodigy
from the Himba people (a Namibian group), who gets a scholarship to go to
University on another planet in what seems a Galactic culture with multiple
alien races. This first part is kind of interesting, as Binti meets a number of
other, more privileged, students, starts to make friends, and we start to
understand her culture. But that’s not the story Okorafor is telling – because suddenly
aliens attack and kill everyone but Binti. Binti is important, perhaps, because
she carries an ancient artifact that helps her communicate with the aliens
(jellyfish like creatures called Meduse). The aliens, without her permission,
modify her so that she can better understand and communicate with them, and
they use her to help them recover a significant artifact that was stolen from
them and housed at the University to which Binti is going. I was put off by the
wild jumps in the story, by the implausible and too often magic tech, by the
lack of apparent consequence or concern about the atrocities committed by the
Meduse, and by some slack prose. Against that I should point out that it has
more exotic ideas than any of the other stories, and appears to be trying to
engage “deeper” issues – just not, to my mind, quite successfully.
- Perfect State, by Brandon Sanderson
Perfect State
concerns Kaironimas, who is God-Emperor of his own little domain. He has
conquered his world after three hundred years, and is providing for his people pretty
well, and he’s getting kind of bored. There is the problem of Melhi, ruler of
another world, with robots, who wants to fight him … and then there’s the
summons he has received, from the Wode – he needs to find a mate an contribute
his DNA to create another “Liveborn”. And we realize that he’s really a “brain
in a jar” – and he knows it. He’s been given his own virtual reality, to make
of what he will, with limited contact with other domains. Everyone else in his
world is a simulation. And he must go to a Border State and meet a woman and …
And so he does, and she’s intriguing, and very different from him, and a bit
cynical, and he starts to fall for her. Well, there’s a twist of course, and it
involves his unwanted enemy, Melhi, as well as the nature of these virtual
lives. And it’s really not bad, coming to a real if slightly trite resolution.
None of the ideas here are terribly original, but this story is pretty well
done in that context. A fine story, not a brilliant one.
So there you have it. No story I would have nominated for a
Hugo myself, but also no truly bad stories. So I won’t leave any of these off
my ballot. Indeed, while this isn’t a great Novella shortlist, it’s really not
too different, in overall quality, from many previous shortlists. I just regret
the significantly better stories – in what was a very good year at the very top
of the novella list – that didn’t get nominated.
I’ll note something else: all 5 of these stories were
published as standalone novellas, either slim books or ebooks. So too were many
of the other stories I recommended, such as The Two Paupers, Wylding
Hall, Teaching the Dog to Read,
and Sunset Mantle. This seems
unusual, but it does seem to reflect the state of novella publishing these
days.
Monday, July 4, 2016
An Old Rex Stout Omnibus: Curtains For Three
Rex Stout Special: Curtains for Three
a review by Rich Horton
A special for Patti Abbott's Friday's Forgotten Books, which is focusing on Rex Stout this week. That said, while I doubt this particular book was a bestseller, Stout's Nero Wolfe books sold very well for a long time, and afforded him a handsome income.
I have a certain tendency to read mystery writers in bunches -- that is, as a teen I binged on Agatha Christie, and since then I've done the same -- read huge swathes of their oeuvre over a period of month or a couple years -- with the likes of Charlotte MacLeod, Robert Barnard, Ellis Peters, Anne Perry, Peter Lovesey, John D. MacDonald, and Georges Simenon. And also Rex Stout, sometime in the '80s, when I read dozens of his Nero Wolfe novels, mostly in the Bantam paperbacks that were being reissued at that time.
So I figured I'd reread one of the old Nero Wolfe books I had. I chose Curtains for Three, from 1950. Like many of Stout's Nero Wolfe books it's an omnibus of three novellas, which is one reason I picked it: interest in the short fiction market for mysteries. These three novellas were published in the American Magazine, one each in 1948, 1949, and 1950. I suspected they were marketed as "Complete Novels" in the magazine issues, and I was right, as the covers here show (or would show, if the reproduction was better!). They are all of similar length, in the neighborhood of 25,000 words.
Rex Stout (1886-1975) was born in Indiana, grew up in Kansas, and joined the Navy after a brief spell at the University of Kansas. He served as a Warrant Officer on President Theodore Roosevelt's yacht. He left the Navy and went into banking, apparently inventing a school banking system that was very widely implemented. He published a variety of genre short stories in the that period. By 1927 he had made enough money to retire and turn to writing, at first producing three literary novels that were well received but didn't sell. In 1934 he published the first Nero Wolfe novel, Fer-de-Lance (an abridged version appeared in the American Magazine), and from then on concentrated on mysteries, introducing a couple of other detectives (such as Tecumseh Fox and Dol Bonner, who appeared in one book of her own and later in some Nero Wolfe books), but eventually sticking with Wolfe. He was active politically, mostly for leftish causes, including time spent in a leadership position for the ACLU; despite this, he was fiercely anti-Communist and late in his life supported US involvement in Vietnam.
The Nero Wolfe books are one of those long-lasting mystery series in which the detective never ages even as the novels are set at the time of writing. (Simenon's Maigret novels are like this as well.) I always thought that worked well until perhaps the '60s, when maybe the present day setting didn't seem to fit Nero Wolfe and the narrator, Wolfe's assistant Archie Goodwin, quite as well.
To the stories. The three stories in Curtains for Three are:
"The Gun With Wings" (American Magazine, December 1949)
"Bullet for One" (American Magazine, July 1948)
"Disguise for Murder" (as "The Twisted Scarf" in American Magazine, September 1950)
The book was first published by Viking in December 1950. They all share a similar structure: a murder mystery is presented, with about 6 obvious suspects, and after interviewing them all, with Archie possibly sent on an errand or two, and with Inspector Cramer of the NYPD either accepting Wolfe's help or fulminating against his involvement, Wolfe determines the solution (often turning on a tricksy minor detail). Usually he reveals it with all involved present in his office. (Wolfe famously almost never leaves his brownstone, and has very fixed hours devoted either to work, food, or his orchids.)
In "The Gun With Wings", two lovers want to hire Wolfe to prove that each of them is innocent of murder. It seems that the woman's husband, a famous tenor, has just been shot. Naturally, the wife is a suspect, and so is her lover. And though both claim to be sure the other didn't do it, they want Wolfe to prove it so there is no lingering doubt. There are other candidates, such as a rival whose daughter claimed to have been seduced by the dead man, and that daughter as well, and a couple more. Wolfe's main concern is to find out how the title gun "winged" itself from one place to another ...
In "Bullet for One", a famous industrial designer has been murdered while walking his horse in Central Park. Wolfe is hired by a group of the suspects in the murder with a commission -- to prove that another man, the victim's top salesman, is guilty. Wolfe of course, refuses, and promises only to find who is actually guilty. The other suspects are a rival designer, the victim's daughter, an investor, an employee who was just fired, and the designer's groom. Part of the intrigue here, as usual, is Archie Goodwin's preference for one of the women involved over the other, and the perhaps related decision by Wolfe to send Archie on errands he considers unimportant -- but maybe they're not?
Finally, in "Disguise for Murder", the murder is actually committed in Wolfe's office. He is showing off his orchids, unwillingly, to a Garden Club. Taking a break by hiding in the office, Archie is confronted by a young woman who admits she's a crook, and wants to get out of the business, but she's been recognized at the orchid showing, and fears she might be in danger. When, shortly later, she is found strangled in the office, Wolfe is understandably motivated to find the killer, who must be another of the guests. A complication is the high-handed way the police treat the scene of the crime. This also features some action for Archie, and some real danger. And it turns on a fairly clever trivial point.
In all of these stories, as in most of the Nero Wolfe mysteries, the characters of Goodwin and Wolfe, as well as their various assistants such as Fritz the cook, and Saul Panzer; as well as foils like Inspector Cramer; are of greater interest than the mysteries. (This is hardly uncommon in these ongoing series.) They are good fun -- in the case of these stories minor fun, though the best Wolfe novels are more involved and of greater lasting interest.
a review by Rich Horton
A special for Patti Abbott's Friday's Forgotten Books, which is focusing on Rex Stout this week. That said, while I doubt this particular book was a bestseller, Stout's Nero Wolfe books sold very well for a long time, and afforded him a handsome income.
I have a certain tendency to read mystery writers in bunches -- that is, as a teen I binged on Agatha Christie, and since then I've done the same -- read huge swathes of their oeuvre over a period of month or a couple years -- with the likes of Charlotte MacLeod, Robert Barnard, Ellis Peters, Anne Perry, Peter Lovesey, John D. MacDonald, and Georges Simenon. And also Rex Stout, sometime in the '80s, when I read dozens of his Nero Wolfe novels, mostly in the Bantam paperbacks that were being reissued at that time.
So I figured I'd reread one of the old Nero Wolfe books I had. I chose Curtains for Three, from 1950. Like many of Stout's Nero Wolfe books it's an omnibus of three novellas, which is one reason I picked it: interest in the short fiction market for mysteries. These three novellas were published in the American Magazine, one each in 1948, 1949, and 1950. I suspected they were marketed as "Complete Novels" in the magazine issues, and I was right, as the covers here show (or would show, if the reproduction was better!). They are all of similar length, in the neighborhood of 25,000 words.
Rex Stout (1886-1975) was born in Indiana, grew up in Kansas, and joined the Navy after a brief spell at the University of Kansas. He served as a Warrant Officer on President Theodore Roosevelt's yacht. He left the Navy and went into banking, apparently inventing a school banking system that was very widely implemented. He published a variety of genre short stories in the that period. By 1927 he had made enough money to retire and turn to writing, at first producing three literary novels that were well received but didn't sell. In 1934 he published the first Nero Wolfe novel, Fer-de-Lance (an abridged version appeared in the American Magazine), and from then on concentrated on mysteries, introducing a couple of other detectives (such as Tecumseh Fox and Dol Bonner, who appeared in one book of her own and later in some Nero Wolfe books), but eventually sticking with Wolfe. He was active politically, mostly for leftish causes, including time spent in a leadership position for the ACLU; despite this, he was fiercely anti-Communist and late in his life supported US involvement in Vietnam.
The Nero Wolfe books are one of those long-lasting mystery series in which the detective never ages even as the novels are set at the time of writing. (Simenon's Maigret novels are like this as well.) I always thought that worked well until perhaps the '60s, when maybe the present day setting didn't seem to fit Nero Wolfe and the narrator, Wolfe's assistant Archie Goodwin, quite as well.
To the stories. The three stories in Curtains for Three are:
"The Gun With Wings" (American Magazine, December 1949)
"Bullet for One" (American Magazine, July 1948)
"Disguise for Murder" (as "The Twisted Scarf" in American Magazine, September 1950)
The book was first published by Viking in December 1950. They all share a similar structure: a murder mystery is presented, with about 6 obvious suspects, and after interviewing them all, with Archie possibly sent on an errand or two, and with Inspector Cramer of the NYPD either accepting Wolfe's help or fulminating against his involvement, Wolfe determines the solution (often turning on a tricksy minor detail). Usually he reveals it with all involved present in his office. (Wolfe famously almost never leaves his brownstone, and has very fixed hours devoted either to work, food, or his orchids.)
In "The Gun With Wings", two lovers want to hire Wolfe to prove that each of them is innocent of murder. It seems that the woman's husband, a famous tenor, has just been shot. Naturally, the wife is a suspect, and so is her lover. And though both claim to be sure the other didn't do it, they want Wolfe to prove it so there is no lingering doubt. There are other candidates, such as a rival whose daughter claimed to have been seduced by the dead man, and that daughter as well, and a couple more. Wolfe's main concern is to find out how the title gun "winged" itself from one place to another ...
In "Bullet for One", a famous industrial designer has been murdered while walking his horse in Central Park. Wolfe is hired by a group of the suspects in the murder with a commission -- to prove that another man, the victim's top salesman, is guilty. Wolfe of course, refuses, and promises only to find who is actually guilty. The other suspects are a rival designer, the victim's daughter, an investor, an employee who was just fired, and the designer's groom. Part of the intrigue here, as usual, is Archie Goodwin's preference for one of the women involved over the other, and the perhaps related decision by Wolfe to send Archie on errands he considers unimportant -- but maybe they're not?
Finally, in "Disguise for Murder", the murder is actually committed in Wolfe's office. He is showing off his orchids, unwillingly, to a Garden Club. Taking a break by hiding in the office, Archie is confronted by a young woman who admits she's a crook, and wants to get out of the business, but she's been recognized at the orchid showing, and fears she might be in danger. When, shortly later, she is found strangled in the office, Wolfe is understandably motivated to find the killer, who must be another of the guests. A complication is the high-handed way the police treat the scene of the crime. This also features some action for Archie, and some real danger. And it turns on a fairly clever trivial point.
In all of these stories, as in most of the Nero Wolfe mysteries, the characters of Goodwin and Wolfe, as well as their various assistants such as Fritz the cook, and Saul Panzer; as well as foils like Inspector Cramer; are of greater interest than the mysteries. (This is hardly uncommon in these ongoing series.) They are good fun -- in the case of these stories minor fun, though the best Wolfe novels are more involved and of greater lasting interest.
Thursday, June 30, 2016
Another Ace Double: 200 Years to Christmas, by J. T. McIntosh/Rebels of the Red Planet, by Charles L. Fontenay
Ace Double Reviews, 59: 200 Years to Christmas, by J. T. McIntosh/Rebels of the Red Planet, by Charles L. Fontenay (#F-113, 1961, $0.40)
Once again, I don't have a "new" old book to write about, so I'm posting one of my older Ace Double reviews. This one is about two writers who were still alive when I first wrote the review, but who died shortly later. Neither is much remembered, but J. T. McIntosh is a name that's come up in a few contexts recently so I figured this might be worth exhuming.
Neither of these writers is that well remembered these days, though McIntosh remains something of a guilty pleasure for a lot of readers, myself included. McIntosh was a Scotsman named James MacGregor (1925-2008), who originally published as J. T. M'Intosh. His career extended from 1950 through 1980. He was quite prolific, publishing in the neighborhood of 100 short stories and 20 novels, mostly SF but some mainstream work as well. Charles L. Fontenay (1917-2007) was a journalist who published fairly regularly in the SF magazines in the 50s, then had a few more stories mostly in anthologies late in his life. He published a few novels as well. 200 Hundred Years to Christmas is about 28,000 words, and Rebels of the Red Planet about 51,000. The artist for the 200 Years to Christmas cover is Ed Valigursky, I'm not sure who the other one is by, though John O'Neill's suggestion of Ed Emshwiller seems likely.
I've called McIntosh a guilty pleasure, but that's not really fair. In fact he was quite reliably entertaining, and his stories were usually aimed at specific SFnal/societal ideas. Very often, he would advance one particular unusual idea, without necessarily thinking it the whole way through. Often, the overall milieu of his futures was a bit thinly described -- except for whatever specific change he was examining everything seemed just like the 1950s. (He said that was on purpose somewhere, I think.) His plotting was energetic and the stories were usually fun reads. He might qualify as a forgotten SF writer who deserves at least a modest rediscovery. My favorite works by him are from fairly early in his career: the novels World Out of Mind (1953) and One in Three Hundred (1954), and some shorter work (mostly novelettes) from the same period.
200 Years to Christmas originally appeared in Science Fantasy #25, in 1959, probably in the same form (i.e. I doubt the Ace Double is expanded). It's a generation ship story, focusing on the problem of societal cohesion on a generation ship, as such reminiscent of Poul Anderson's "The Troublemakers", Ursula Le Guin's "Paradises Lost", and Stephen Baxter's "Mayflower II", among many other stories.
It is set over a few years at roughly the midpoint of a 400 year journey from Earth to another star. The inhabitants of the generation ship are not sure if human society has survived outside the ship -- they left rather precipitously during a period of considerable social stress. The main character is Ted Benzil, a schoolteacher on the ship. His position is of considerable prestige. As the novel opens he is propositioned by a 15 year old girl ("startlingly nubile") named Lila, but he gently rejects her, in favor of his long term older lover, Freddy Steel. The setup soon comes clear -- the ship's society is going through a libertine phase, but this is ending, to be replaced by a strictly Puritan phase.
During the years of Puritanism, the libertine views of the likes of Freddy Steel become anathema, and Freddy faces humiliation, while others face worse punishment. Ted Benzil is supposedly representative of a knowing middle way, but in fact he comes off as wishy-washy and not terribly courageous. He does eventually lose his job though, and he manages to find enough courage to help push things in the opposite direction, towards greater rationality. And of course he moves in the direction of Lila, while Freddy is presented as excessively libertine, just as the villains are excessively Puritan.
It's not by any means outstanding work, but it does hold the interest, and I found it a fun read. I don't fully buy McIntosh's thesis -- essentially, that society, especially a small and closed society, will inevitably swing from libertinism to Puritanism to rationality and back and forth again, but I thought it at least interesting and fairly thoughtful. I suppose the characters were the weak point -- more labels to be moved as the author desired than real people.
Rebels of the Red Planet seems not to be based on any earlier stories. It is, it must be said, rather a preposterous work. That said, it's smoothly enough written and the heroes are good and the villains are really evull, so I admit I enjoyed the reading despite considerable reservations.
The story is set, no surprise, on Mars. Efforts to adapt humans to live more easily on the planet have been suppressed by evull corporate interests -- if humans could live unaided on the planet they wouldn't be forced to pay the spaceship lines that import material from Earth. But these efforts continue underground -- some focusing on genetic alteration of humans to make them better adapted to Mars, others focusing on developing psychic abilities to, for example, allow teleportation of food directly from Earth.
The story opens with the beautiful Maya Cara Nome accompanying her fiance Nuwell Eli to a suspected outpost of illegal research. Nuwell is obviously evil, and weak, because he is a prosecutor. Maya is obviously good, because beautiful, and also because she was raised by the old Martians, but she is misguided. They discover quite shocking experiments performed by an old scientist, Goat Hennessy, who has vivisected embryos in feeble attempts at genetic manipulation.
Back in a major Martian city, Maya infiltrates a rebel center. There she meets the dynamic and handsome and amusingly named Dark Kensington, who should be in his 50s but seems to be 25 -- with no memory of the past quarter century. We learn that both Maya and Dark have psychic powers. Maya is loyal enough to expose the rebel base, but many rebels escape. Maya tracks down Dark at another city, and falls in love with him. But Nuwell Eli follows her, and she is just weak enough to alert the authorities to Dark's presence. He is shot and killed, and in despair Maya agrees to marry Nuwell after all.
But -- but -- those old Martians are something special! It turns out Dark isn't really dead, and he is able to join with the remaining rebels, the Old Martians, and some other victims just in time to save Maya. Save her? Well, it seems that Nuwell is whipping her to bring her to her senses, and to cure her or her obsession with Dark Kensington. Oh, what a baddy he is!
The resolution is really rather flat, without for instance any satisfying final battle between Dark and Nuwell. And what's with the names? "Dark Kensington"? A deeply silly novel -- in particular the genetic and ESP speculation is just dumb. Its heart is all too obviously in the right place, but its execution is quite lacking.
Once again, I don't have a "new" old book to write about, so I'm posting one of my older Ace Double reviews. This one is about two writers who were still alive when I first wrote the review, but who died shortly later. Neither is much remembered, but J. T. McIntosh is a name that's come up in a few contexts recently so I figured this might be worth exhuming.
Neither of these writers is that well remembered these days, though McIntosh remains something of a guilty pleasure for a lot of readers, myself included. McIntosh was a Scotsman named James MacGregor (1925-2008), who originally published as J. T. M'Intosh. His career extended from 1950 through 1980. He was quite prolific, publishing in the neighborhood of 100 short stories and 20 novels, mostly SF but some mainstream work as well. Charles L. Fontenay (1917-2007) was a journalist who published fairly regularly in the SF magazines in the 50s, then had a few more stories mostly in anthologies late in his life. He published a few novels as well. 200 Hundred Years to Christmas is about 28,000 words, and Rebels of the Red Planet about 51,000. The artist for the 200 Years to Christmas cover is Ed Valigursky, I'm not sure who the other one is by, though John O'Neill's suggestion of Ed Emshwiller seems likely.
I've called McIntosh a guilty pleasure, but that's not really fair. In fact he was quite reliably entertaining, and his stories were usually aimed at specific SFnal/societal ideas. Very often, he would advance one particular unusual idea, without necessarily thinking it the whole way through. Often, the overall milieu of his futures was a bit thinly described -- except for whatever specific change he was examining everything seemed just like the 1950s. (He said that was on purpose somewhere, I think.) His plotting was energetic and the stories were usually fun reads. He might qualify as a forgotten SF writer who deserves at least a modest rediscovery. My favorite works by him are from fairly early in his career: the novels World Out of Mind (1953) and One in Three Hundred (1954), and some shorter work (mostly novelettes) from the same period.
200 Years to Christmas originally appeared in Science Fantasy #25, in 1959, probably in the same form (i.e. I doubt the Ace Double is expanded). It's a generation ship story, focusing on the problem of societal cohesion on a generation ship, as such reminiscent of Poul Anderson's "The Troublemakers", Ursula Le Guin's "Paradises Lost", and Stephen Baxter's "Mayflower II", among many other stories.
It is set over a few years at roughly the midpoint of a 400 year journey from Earth to another star. The inhabitants of the generation ship are not sure if human society has survived outside the ship -- they left rather precipitously during a period of considerable social stress. The main character is Ted Benzil, a schoolteacher on the ship. His position is of considerable prestige. As the novel opens he is propositioned by a 15 year old girl ("startlingly nubile") named Lila, but he gently rejects her, in favor of his long term older lover, Freddy Steel. The setup soon comes clear -- the ship's society is going through a libertine phase, but this is ending, to be replaced by a strictly Puritan phase.
During the years of Puritanism, the libertine views of the likes of Freddy Steel become anathema, and Freddy faces humiliation, while others face worse punishment. Ted Benzil is supposedly representative of a knowing middle way, but in fact he comes off as wishy-washy and not terribly courageous. He does eventually lose his job though, and he manages to find enough courage to help push things in the opposite direction, towards greater rationality. And of course he moves in the direction of Lila, while Freddy is presented as excessively libertine, just as the villains are excessively Puritan.
It's not by any means outstanding work, but it does hold the interest, and I found it a fun read. I don't fully buy McIntosh's thesis -- essentially, that society, especially a small and closed society, will inevitably swing from libertinism to Puritanism to rationality and back and forth again, but I thought it at least interesting and fairly thoughtful. I suppose the characters were the weak point -- more labels to be moved as the author desired than real people.
Rebels of the Red Planet seems not to be based on any earlier stories. It is, it must be said, rather a preposterous work. That said, it's smoothly enough written and the heroes are good and the villains are really evull, so I admit I enjoyed the reading despite considerable reservations.
The story is set, no surprise, on Mars. Efforts to adapt humans to live more easily on the planet have been suppressed by evull corporate interests -- if humans could live unaided on the planet they wouldn't be forced to pay the spaceship lines that import material from Earth. But these efforts continue underground -- some focusing on genetic alteration of humans to make them better adapted to Mars, others focusing on developing psychic abilities to, for example, allow teleportation of food directly from Earth.
The story opens with the beautiful Maya Cara Nome accompanying her fiance Nuwell Eli to a suspected outpost of illegal research. Nuwell is obviously evil, and weak, because he is a prosecutor. Maya is obviously good, because beautiful, and also because she was raised by the old Martians, but she is misguided. They discover quite shocking experiments performed by an old scientist, Goat Hennessy, who has vivisected embryos in feeble attempts at genetic manipulation.
Back in a major Martian city, Maya infiltrates a rebel center. There she meets the dynamic and handsome and amusingly named Dark Kensington, who should be in his 50s but seems to be 25 -- with no memory of the past quarter century. We learn that both Maya and Dark have psychic powers. Maya is loyal enough to expose the rebel base, but many rebels escape. Maya tracks down Dark at another city, and falls in love with him. But Nuwell Eli follows her, and she is just weak enough to alert the authorities to Dark's presence. He is shot and killed, and in despair Maya agrees to marry Nuwell after all.
But -- but -- those old Martians are something special! It turns out Dark isn't really dead, and he is able to join with the remaining rebels, the Old Martians, and some other victims just in time to save Maya. Save her? Well, it seems that Nuwell is whipping her to bring her to her senses, and to cure her or her obsession with Dark Kensington. Oh, what a baddy he is!
The resolution is really rather flat, without for instance any satisfying final battle between Dark and Nuwell. And what's with the names? "Dark Kensington"? A deeply silly novel -- in particular the genetic and ESP speculation is just dumb. Its heart is all too obviously in the right place, but its execution is quite lacking.
Thursday, June 23, 2016
Old Bestseller: The City of Lilies, by Anthony Pryde and R. K. Weekes
Old Bestseller: The City of Lilies, by Anthony Pryde and R. K. Weekes
a review by Rich Horton
I doubt this was actually a bestseller, but it's certainly a piece of popular fiction from the first half of the 20th Century -- so very much in this blog's original purview.
Anthony Pryde was a pseudonym for Agnes Russell Weekes (1880-1940). R. K. (Rose Kirkpatrick) Weekes (1874-1956) was her sister. Almost nothing about the two is readily findable, at least with my search skills. (Denny Lien helped track down the bare details I have.) They appear to have been English. At first Agnes seems perhaps to have been the primary author, especially if Anthony Pryde was her pseudonym alone -- some books are attributed to that name only, and at least in the case of The City of Lilies, the byline for R. K. Weekes is given in smaller print. Later in their career the Pryde name was sometimes not used, instead Agnes used the form of her name A. R. Weekes, and they often published as by "A. R. and R. K. Weekes", suggesting that the collaboration was equal by that time.
The earliest Anthony Pryde novel I can find is Marqueray's Duel, from 1920, when Agnes was 40, and the latest dates to 1931. Novels as by A. R. and R. K. Weekes continue until Alda Abducted in 1942. It appears, then, that the novels stopped when Agnes died. (To be sure, Rose was 68 in 1942 and may have been ready to retire anyway.) They published very regularly for some time, at least a couple of dozen novels with titles like The Purple Pearl, An Ordeal of Honor, The Secret Room, and The Emerald Necklace. There is an earlier novel credited to R. K. Weekes alone, Convict B14 (1920), and one dating as far back as 1904 credited to A. R. Weekes alone, Yarbrough the Premier. I also found a short story by Agnes Russell Weekes in Harper's Magazine in 1904, so it seems she was a publishing writer at that time. I'm not sure why there's an apparent gap between those publications and the novels beginning in 1920. There was also a Shakespearean scholar called A. R. Weekes in the same time period -- in this case I suspect that wasn't Agnes, though I suppose I could be wrong. The other mentions I saw were a dismissive review in Harper's, and an apparently vaguely positive note in Time, of Anthony Pryde novels. Finally, a blog that may be very much up my alley, Furrowed Middlebrow, briefly mentions the Weekes sisters among a list of Edwardian women writers and adds a couple of novels from between 1904 and 1920: Faith Unfaithful (1914) by Agnes, and The Laurensons (1917) by Rose; and implies that Rose's list of solo novels was longer than I have suggested.
The City of Lilies is from 1923, published by Robert M. McBride & Company. Handwriting on the inside front cover says "Library of Mr. and Mrs. Jerry McGowan". It may be a First Edition. There was a later printing from A. L. Burt.
The novel is quite frankly an example of a Ruritanian novel (and indeed the Time mention of it emphasized that aspect). It's set in Neuberg, which seems to be located roughly where Lichtenstein is, and to be about the same size. Neuberg's ruling Prince is Heinrich, a cruel tyrant with a tortured artistic side: apparently he's a great architect, but his upbringing, by his harsh grandfather, has made him a terrible ruler. His most trusted adviser is Rupert Hautrive, an Englishman who wandered to Neuberg partly in search of his beloved older brother, who, it turns out, died in prison, a victim of Heinrich's grandfather. Heinrich has a beautiful young wife who hates him, but who he loves to distraction. And he has an implacable enemy, the lowborn Valentin Muller, leader of the revolutionary group called The League.
The novel opens with a masked ball, at which it soon appears that Valentin is an unexpected guest. He escapes, but not before getting the attention of a beautiful dancer from Paris, Mercedes. The upshot of all this is that Heinrich decides to punish the loyal Colonel von Ritzing, who had not attended the ball and whose pass had been appropriated by Valentin. Von Ritzing is very popular, and very upright, and his execution will outrage the people. Will the League intervene? Or will Valentin sacrifice von Ritzing to the greater cause?
Other subplots intertwine -- Mercedes joining the league and falling for Valentin; the mystery of Rupert Hautrive's parentage; the true love of Margaret, Heinrich's Princess; the cynical French police chief Suchet and his machinations. It's clear from the start that Heinrich's rule is doomed, and indeed that he realizes this and at some level doesn't mind -- he's an interesting if not quite believable character, fully aware of his faults but unwilling to change, truly in love with the wife he has abused sufficiently so that she hates him; truly brilliant when he cares to be. There is another mystery, easily enough guessed by any halfway alert reader, concerning the Royal Family of Neuberg.
It all bounces along nicely enough. It's popular fiction of its time, and of its very particular subgenre, the Ruritanian novel, and its overt debt to Anthony Hope's Prisoner of Zenda is, I think, something the authors would have cheerfully acknowledged. It's a bit brokenbacked -- the climax comes a tad too early, and is a bit of an anticlimax, actually, with a slightly overextended denouement. But really it's fun stuff, nothing all that great, sure, but enjoyable.
a review by Rich Horton
I doubt this was actually a bestseller, but it's certainly a piece of popular fiction from the first half of the 20th Century -- so very much in this blog's original purview.
Anthony Pryde was a pseudonym for Agnes Russell Weekes (1880-1940). R. K. (Rose Kirkpatrick) Weekes (1874-1956) was her sister. Almost nothing about the two is readily findable, at least with my search skills. (Denny Lien helped track down the bare details I have.) They appear to have been English. At first Agnes seems perhaps to have been the primary author, especially if Anthony Pryde was her pseudonym alone -- some books are attributed to that name only, and at least in the case of The City of Lilies, the byline for R. K. Weekes is given in smaller print. Later in their career the Pryde name was sometimes not used, instead Agnes used the form of her name A. R. Weekes, and they often published as by "A. R. and R. K. Weekes", suggesting that the collaboration was equal by that time.
The earliest Anthony Pryde novel I can find is Marqueray's Duel, from 1920, when Agnes was 40, and the latest dates to 1931. Novels as by A. R. and R. K. Weekes continue until Alda Abducted in 1942. It appears, then, that the novels stopped when Agnes died. (To be sure, Rose was 68 in 1942 and may have been ready to retire anyway.) They published very regularly for some time, at least a couple of dozen novels with titles like The Purple Pearl, An Ordeal of Honor, The Secret Room, and The Emerald Necklace. There is an earlier novel credited to R. K. Weekes alone, Convict B14 (1920), and one dating as far back as 1904 credited to A. R. Weekes alone, Yarbrough the Premier. I also found a short story by Agnes Russell Weekes in Harper's Magazine in 1904, so it seems she was a publishing writer at that time. I'm not sure why there's an apparent gap between those publications and the novels beginning in 1920. There was also a Shakespearean scholar called A. R. Weekes in the same time period -- in this case I suspect that wasn't Agnes, though I suppose I could be wrong. The other mentions I saw were a dismissive review in Harper's, and an apparently vaguely positive note in Time, of Anthony Pryde novels. Finally, a blog that may be very much up my alley, Furrowed Middlebrow, briefly mentions the Weekes sisters among a list of Edwardian women writers and adds a couple of novels from between 1904 and 1920: Faith Unfaithful (1914) by Agnes, and The Laurensons (1917) by Rose; and implies that Rose's list of solo novels was longer than I have suggested.
The City of Lilies is from 1923, published by Robert M. McBride & Company. Handwriting on the inside front cover says "Library of Mr. and Mrs. Jerry McGowan". It may be a First Edition. There was a later printing from A. L. Burt.
The novel is quite frankly an example of a Ruritanian novel (and indeed the Time mention of it emphasized that aspect). It's set in Neuberg, which seems to be located roughly where Lichtenstein is, and to be about the same size. Neuberg's ruling Prince is Heinrich, a cruel tyrant with a tortured artistic side: apparently he's a great architect, but his upbringing, by his harsh grandfather, has made him a terrible ruler. His most trusted adviser is Rupert Hautrive, an Englishman who wandered to Neuberg partly in search of his beloved older brother, who, it turns out, died in prison, a victim of Heinrich's grandfather. Heinrich has a beautiful young wife who hates him, but who he loves to distraction. And he has an implacable enemy, the lowborn Valentin Muller, leader of the revolutionary group called The League.
The novel opens with a masked ball, at which it soon appears that Valentin is an unexpected guest. He escapes, but not before getting the attention of a beautiful dancer from Paris, Mercedes. The upshot of all this is that Heinrich decides to punish the loyal Colonel von Ritzing, who had not attended the ball and whose pass had been appropriated by Valentin. Von Ritzing is very popular, and very upright, and his execution will outrage the people. Will the League intervene? Or will Valentin sacrifice von Ritzing to the greater cause?
Other subplots intertwine -- Mercedes joining the league and falling for Valentin; the mystery of Rupert Hautrive's parentage; the true love of Margaret, Heinrich's Princess; the cynical French police chief Suchet and his machinations. It's clear from the start that Heinrich's rule is doomed, and indeed that he realizes this and at some level doesn't mind -- he's an interesting if not quite believable character, fully aware of his faults but unwilling to change, truly in love with the wife he has abused sufficiently so that she hates him; truly brilliant when he cares to be. There is another mystery, easily enough guessed by any halfway alert reader, concerning the Royal Family of Neuberg.
It all bounces along nicely enough. It's popular fiction of its time, and of its very particular subgenre, the Ruritanian novel, and its overt debt to Anthony Hope's Prisoner of Zenda is, I think, something the authors would have cheerfully acknowledged. It's a bit brokenbacked -- the climax comes a tad too early, and is a bit of an anticlimax, actually, with a slightly overextended denouement. But really it's fun stuff, nothing all that great, sure, but enjoyable.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)