Review: The Travails of Jane Saint and Other Stories, by Josephine Saxton

Review: The Travails of Jane Saint and Other Stories, by Josephine Saxton

by Rich Horton

Josephine Saxton was the winner of the 2023 Cordwainer Smith Rediscovery Award. The award is given at Readercon every year, and the following year there is a panel discussing the winner's stories. I am part of the award jury, and I represented the jury (the other members are Steven H Silver and Ann VenderMeer.) I also participated in this year's panel on Saxton's work, along with Gregory Feeley and Rob Kilheffer. Saxton was a first rate writer, and a very original one, and I strongly recommend seeking out her work, particularly novels such as The Hieros Gamos of Sam and An Smith, Vector for Seven, and Queen of the States, and stories like "The Wall", "Nature Boy", and "The Power of Time". 

I had read a good deal of Saxton's work as part of the process of awarding her the Cordwainer Smith award last year, but I hadn't read the Jane Saint stories. These are two short novels (or long novellas), published in 1980 and 1989. The latter story, "Jane Saint and the Backlash", was one of the last stories Saxton published ... her fiction career ended in 1992. Jane Saint was introduced in 1979, when the first chapter of the first Jane Saint novella was published in Jessica Amanda Salmonson's significant original anthology Amazons!, which contained stories about woman warriors, nearly all by women. The full novella, The Travails of Jane Saint, appeared as a slim volume from Virgin Books in 1980, and then was collected in the Women's Press paperback The Travails of Jane Saint and Other Stories in 1986. That volume is available as an ebook from Gateway/Orion.

The stories in the book are:

"The Travails of Jane Saint" (34,000 words)

"Woe, Blight, and, in Heaven, Laughs" (4600 words) (first appeared in Pulsar 1 in 1978)

"Gordon’s Women" (3800 words) (first appeared in a French anthology, Femmes au futur, in 1976)

"The Message" (16100 words) (first published in this book)

"Heads Africa, Tails America" (5300 words) (first appeared in Orbit 9 in 1971)

"The Pollyanna Enzyme" (4600 words) (first published in this book)

"The Travails of Jane Saint" is introduced as "ten parts of the history of Jane Saint, Heroine of the Revolution, who journeyed in strange places and had adventures on her Quest. This is the true record of the beings she met on her travels along the way, and of what she endeavoured to accomplish for this world." Which is pretty accurate. Jane Saint is a revolutionary against a misogynistic and authoritarian near future regime, and is being brainwashed by the authorities, but mentally escapes to another world. There she searches for her three daughters, and for a "kodebook", and also she wants to learn how to make life better for women in her world. In a series of episodes, she meets a flying monster named Zilp, a talking dog named Merleau Ponty, a man named Hugh who claims to be her husband, an old couple trying to summon an Anthroparion, a Nazi airship pilot, and more, and indeed has a variety of adventures. The story bounces along nicely, and is very funny on occasion, and also full of on point sarcastic observations about the place of women in the world. It's a good piece, fun and trenchant by turns, though I don't think it's at the level of her best work.

"Woe, Blight, and, in Heaven, Laughs" is set in a depressing future in which a dying young woman named Lucille lives with her evil stepmother, Queenie, who is obsessed with being the most beautiful woman around. And Lucille escapes, with the help of a man named Hunter, and ends up with a team of seven mutants ... yes, it's a somewhat goofy Snow White variation. Amusing but not much more.

"Gordon's Women" is one of the most purely science-fictional stories I've seen from Saxton. Gordon is one of four men sharing a new planet that is apparently being terraformed. He is served by a great many beautiful women, who do whatever he bids, on pain of immediate death if they displease him. So far, so very creepy ... and then there's a sharp switcheroo. It's a nice short SF piece, not a major work but just fine.

"The Message" concerns a middle-aged woman, who lives alone in what seems to be London, hardly every going out because the modern world distresses her. She is in the hospital at the start of the story, for minor surgery, but checks herself out, only to have a "message" foisted on her by a another patient who is dying. As she wanders the neighborhood, trying to find a place to deliver the message, she encounters a variety of the people she's been avoiding -- young people, men, black people, Indisns, etc. ... all the while looking to deliver the message. By the end, it's clear the message is really for her, and it's really a way of fixing her lonely and crabbed existence (or so I took it). The story goes on a bit too long for my taste -- otherwise it sort of resembles some of her novels, partly by an obsession with food, and more because of the notion of a mysterious journey to personal growth.

"Heads Africa, Tails America" is the most experimental of these stories, with the main character -- named "Josephine" -- thinking about visiting Africa, remembering a visit to America, obsessing about the weather in England, recalling scenes with a variety of men she knows -- it's a strange piece, very much almost a cliché of the worst notions people back in 1971 had about Orbit fiction. 

"The Pollyanna Enzyme" is forthrightly an end of the world story -- in a somewhat depressing nearish future, the Earth is infected with the title compound (?) which will lead to the death of everyone in a matter of a couple of weeks, but which also makes everyone unnaturally happy and peaceful. Not bad stuff, again.This collection isn't really major Saxton, but it's solid work, and worth reading. 

Review: The Gold at the Starbow's End, by Frederik Pohl

Review: The Gold at the Starbow's End, by Frederik Pohl

by Rich Horton

The Gold at the Starbow's End is a collection of stories, despite not having "and Other Stories" tacked on to the title. Perhaps that's because you could take the title as a metaphor for the story gold it purports to offer (and mostly delivers.) It was published by Ballantine in August 1972, rather quickly on the heels of the magazine publication of most of the stories. It had a UK edition from Gollancz in 1973, a Ballantine reprint in 1974, and a UK paperback from Panther in 1975, as well as a Canadian edition and a UK book club edition. All in all, not bad going for a collection.

My copy is the 1975 Panther edition. It has a Peter Jones cover, which makes it look pretty 1970s British, especially as this cover, to my eyes, vaguely resembles Chris Foss's work. (Other Peter Jones covers don't necessarily look as Foss-like.) The book has more than the usual amount of typos -- I don't know if that's Panther's fault or that of one of the other publishers.

Frederik Pohl (1919-2013) was truly one of the giants of the SF field, and he contributed in multiple ways: as an editor of magazines and of books, as an anthologist, as an agent, and as a writer. As an editor, he was essential to the careers of major writers like Cordwainer Smith, Robert Silverberg, and James Tiptree, Jr. He convinced Bantam to publish Samuel R. Delany's Dhalgren. He more or less invented the SF original anthology series with Star Science Fiction in the 1950s. His fiction writing career lasted for some seven decades, and he won multiple Hugos, and also a National Book Award, and even won a Hugo for Best Fan Writer late in his life. I met him myself once, not long before he died -- we shared a panel at the Chicago convention Windycon. Pohl was physically very frail by then but mentally remarkably acute.

At the time of publication of this collection, Pohl had fairly recently left the editor's chair at Galaxy, If, and Worlds of Tomorrow, where he had had an exceptional run. He was still editing books -- he was at Ace around this time, succeeding Don Wollheim, and he would soon move to Bantam. But at the same time he was re-energizing his writing career, and entering his most productive period, which I would argue extended from 1972 throughout the '70s -- or from "The Gold at the Starbow's End" through JEM. This isn't to say his earlier writing wasn't good -- he published some outstanding work, such as The Space Merchants (1952, with C. M. Kornbluth), "The Midas Plague", and "Day Million", but for everyone except Kingsley Amis, he tended to be overshadowed a bit by his collaborator Kornbluth. (Amis, of course, called him "The most consistently able writer science fiction, in the modern sense, has yet produced" in his 1960 book New Maps of Hell, an evaluation that greatly surprised American SF readers.) Likewise Pohl did some very fine work after the '70s, including the Hugo winning story "Fermi and Frost". But his work in the '70s represents his peak -- the two pieces I've mentioned plus the novels Man Plus and The Cool War, and stories like "The Merchants of Venus" and "The Meeting" (with Kornbluth, and a Hugo winner.)

Here are the stories:

"The Gold at the Starbow's End" (Analog, March 1972) 20,500 words

"Sad Solarian Screenwriter Sam" (F&SF, June 1972) 5300 words

"Call Me Million" (Worlds of Fantasy #2, 1970) 1800 words

"Shaffery Among the Immortals" (F&SF, July 1972) 5700 words

"The Merchants of Venus" (Worlds of If, July-August 1972) 25,500 words

I'll treat them in order. "The Gold at the Starbow's End" got the most attention at the time, and remains the most famous of these stories. Interestingly, Pohl himself used it in his anthology Best Science Fiction for 1972, which was essentially a continuation of the World's Best Science Fiction series that Donald Wollheim and Terry Carr had edited for Ace since 1965. Wollheim and Carr had left the company, with Pohl taking over, and thus Pohl also took over the Year's Best anthology. Nominally the book was supposed to include stories from 1971, but Pohl used three from 1972, including this story, and in fact the anthology was published a month after the collection. Pohl claimed that he used one of his stories because he had blown his budget (I got the sense, perhaps unfairly, that the extra money went to Harlan Ellison for his two(!) stories, "At the Mouse Circus" and "Silent in Gehenna", but also possibly he was paying a translator for the one Japanese story he used.) Pohl claimed he was the only writer he was comfortable in paying below market rates to; but also conceded that he was extremely proud of "The Gold at the Starbow's End" and felt it deserved this honor. The story was also reprinted in Donald Wollheim's new Year's Best for DAW, and in the Ben Bova anthology Analog 9, the last of the original series of "Best of Analog" collections. It won the Locus Award for Best Novella, and was shortlisted for each of the Hugo and Nebula awards. The March 1972 issue of Analog appeared quite early in Ben Bova's editorship, so in theory it could have been purchased by John W. Campbell, Jr., but I am pretty sure this was a Bova purchase. Pohl expanded the story into a much weaker novel called Starburst in 1982.

It's about an expedition from Earth to Alpha Centauri, theoretically with the goal of colonizing a planet found orbiting Alpha Centauri A. The starship Constitution hosts 8 crewmembers -- four married couples. They were selected by the director of this project, Dr. Dieter von Knefhausen, specifically for high intelligence. Knefhausen has lofty (and largely secret) goals -- he believes that by having the crew concentrate on certain scientific "games" he has assigned them that they will make spectacular discoveries, which they will transmit back to Earth and allow the US at least to turn around its decaying fortunes. For this future (which seems to be around the turn of the millennium) is pretty dire, with riots everywhere, economic and environmental unrest, etc. And -- not really a spoiler -- the crew do indeed become essentially superhumanly intelligent, and make amazing advances. But they also develop their own opinions about what do with what they've learned. Especially after they realize the unpleasant surprise awaiting them at Alpha Centauri. 

The story is told on two tracks -- one consisting of various increasingly incomprehensible reports from the crew back to Earth, and the other following Knefhausen's fortunes -- or misfortunes -- as his plans disintegrate in parallel with the world situation disintegrating. It's a very satirical piece -- savagely so -- and its message is quite dark. Unless you believe in the fantasy of what the crew of the Constitution achieves -- which I admit I kind of bought at age 14 but don't buy at all now. (The superhuman powers are developed simply by studying the right concepts -- sort of a mental "grammar" -- to be honest a sort of situation like that in Poul Anderson's Brain Wave or Vernor Vinge's Zones of Thought books makes more sense to me now!) But really, that magic isn't the point of the story -- that lies in the satirical and somewhat despairing depiction of this near future (now past, I suppose) which is established by Knefhausen's portion of the narrative and reinforced by the crew's reports, which serve as a sort of crirical outsider viewpoint. It's a very good story, though not now and not back when I first read it was it my favorite of this book. 

"Sad Solarian Screenwriter Sam" features aliens monitoring Earth for its worthiness to survive. If Earth fails, the planet will be scoured of life completely, in the hope that in a few billion years something better will emerge. (Oh, and Mars and all the other potential life-bearing planets/moons get the same treatment.) The evaluation process involves picking a single representative and deciding if he's a decent person. In this case, the choice is Sam Harcourt, a struggling screenwriter whose latest idea is to adapt A Princess of Mars for the screen in honor of the actual Martians who are about to visit Earth. Of course, Sam fails. (Though there is a twist in the tail of the tale.) The story is amusing enough to read, but it's REALLY REALLY STUPID on multiple levels. For one thing, though Sam is kind of a loser, he's really not that bad a guy. In the end, I get that Pohl is just being sardonic, but this story is just not convincing.

"Call Me Million" is a brief piece about a sort of vampire who sucks the life essence (or something) out of other people, and what happens when he realizes he isn't the only one. First, this is a terribly familiar idea, and second, it doesn't do anything new. This is minor magazine back of the book filler, slightly elevated by Pohl's slick storytelling ability.

"Shaffery Among the Immortals" is about a sad sack astronomer, whose rather stupid attempts to make his name via an Einstein level discovery have come to nothing. He is head of a small observatory in the Lesser Antilles, whiling away his life with more silly experiments such as irradiating mushrooms, hating his wife, struggling with his two assistants who would rather aim the telescope at the windows of a nearby hotel; but still desperately hoping to make his name immortal. Pohl's dark conclusion (and a somewhat timely one here in the 2020s) does reveal his name becoming, ironically, world famous. It's another pretty minor piece, really, again enlivened mainly by Pohl's mordant descriptions of Shaffery's life.

And, finally, to my favorite story of this book, which was indeed my favorite back when I first read it decades ago. This is "The Merchants of Venus". This is the first Heechee story, followed by the very fine novel Gateway and a host of increasingly weaker novels and stories. It's not at all clear how much he knew about the Heechee when he wrote this particular story, and it doesn't really matter -- the story works on its own. It's told by Audee Walthers, who grew up in Amarillo, the son of the Deputy Governor of Texas. That seems privileged, but it's not really -- the story makes clear that economic conditions on Earth are horrendous, and even a Deputy Governor of a big state isn't much -- indeed, only the super rich are in any sense comfortable. Audee is now on Venus, scraping by as the owner of an airbody, with which he can transport rich tourists to interesting sites on Venus. He's also deeply in debt, and very sick -- if he can't keep up payments on the medicines he needs for his decaying liver -- or, preferably, buy a new liver -- he'll be dead in three months.

And what do tourists in Venus want to see? Heechee sites. The Heechee were aliens who visited the Solar System a long while ago. They made a bunch of tunnels on Venus (even they couldn't tolerate the surface conditions) and then they left. They left behind a fair amount of stuff, most of it basically garbage, but some of it, accidentally perhaps, very valuable, potentially offering insights to revolutionary tech. The humans on Venus who make a living mostly sell souvenirs or cater to the people who try to make a bigger score, like Audee. Audee is desperately hoping to finally make a really big find, and he does have some interesting knowledge, that just might give him a chance. But he needs to attract a really wealthy tourist to bankroll this effort -- and that tourist will keep most of the rewards if it works -- but Audee might get a new liver out of the deal. And finally he has a chance -- Boyce Couchenor, a hyper rich tourist, 90 years old but with the medical treatment to make him look 40, shows up. He's got a much younger girlfriend (or so Audee thinks -- Pohl plants hints that made me think that this woman, Dorotha Keefer, is actually Couchenor's granddaughter, though Audee never seems to realize this) and he is really interested in investigating unexplored Heechee tunnels. So, he does end up hiring Audee, and the expedition of Audee's dream goes forward ... And there are a couple of well set up twists, and lots of dangerous reversals and crises. It's a well told story, and an exciting one, with an partly expected, partly surprising conclusion. I like the story a lot. It's not at all inconsistent with the rest of the Heechee stories, but it's also not dependent on them -- it's quite independent. And it's the most optimistic story in the book -- admittedly a low bar to clear.

On the whole, this is an excellent collection, though mostly due to the bookend novellas. The three short stories are minor works, though all are worth a read. Still, this stands as a herald to the most productive decade of writing for a very worthy SFWA Grand Master. 

Review: Cranford, and Cousin Phillis, by Elizabeth Gaskell

Review: Cranford, and Cousin Phillis, by Elizabeth Gaskell

by Rich Horton

These days I get a bit itchy when I haven't read a Victorian novel in a couple of months, so I decided to read Elizabeth Gaskell's Cranford (1853) in amongst my Readercon reading over the last couple of weeks. My copy of the novel, a 1976 Penguin edition, also includes Mrs. Gaskell's short novel (or nouvelle) Cousin Phillis, plus a short story sort of sequel to Cranford called "The Cage at Cranford", Gaskell's essay "The Last Generation in England", and an excellent introduction by editor Peter Keating.

I will preface my review with an embarrassing admission. I searched through my SFF Net notes for any mention of Gaskell prior to writing this, and I found that I had actually read Cranford previously, in 2001! I wrote a couple of paragraphs back then, paragraphs that are accurate and appreciative but don't capture my feelings about the novel as of now. I'm not sure if the difference is my age, or my more recent reading of another Gaskell novel (one of her greatest, North and South), or my generally fuller involvement with Victorian literature. I will add that at the time I noted that Sherwood Smith recommended Wives and Daughters as her best work, and that Gregory Feeley has in later years also made that suggestion. I do have a copy of Wives and Daughters and I promise I'll get to it. I just needed something shorter and lighter for now!

Here's the potted bio I wrote for my review of North and South: Elizabeth Cleghorn Stevenson was born in 1810. Her father was William Stevenson, a Unitarian minister and writer on economic subjects. (Stevenson, by the way, resigned his position as minister on conscientious grounds: remember this in view of events in North and South!) Elizabeth married a Unitarian minister, William Gaskell, in 1832. They eventually settled in Manchester. She wrote and published poems (with her husband) and some non-fiction beginning in the 1830s. Her first short story was published in 1847, and her first novel, Mary Barton, in 1848, which made her name as a writer. Other important works are Cranford, Sylvia's Lovers, Cousin Phillis, and her last novel, unfinished at her sudden death in 1865, Wives and Daughters; as well as the first biography of her friend Charlotte Brontë. 

So, to Cranford. It seems to me that, very crudely, her books might be divided into two groups. One is her "industrial" novels, dealing with the social problems resulting from the industrialization of England in the 1840s and beyond. These would include Mary Barton, Ruth, and North and South. The other group are perhaps "social" novels, detailing life in England, especially the rural areas, in the decades preceding the '50s. Cranford and Cousin Phillis surely fit in this category. Such a division is very rough, and I should note that a novel like North and South is certainly "social", and indeed in some part deals closely with rural life in the South of England; and much of the tension in Cranford is between the disappearing social order that hangs on in the village of Cranford (a stand in for Knutsford, where Gaskell grew up) and the more vigorous society of nearby Drumble (a stand in for Manchester, where Gaskell lived as an adult.) Likewise the plot of Cousin Phillis is driven in part by the impending arrival of the railroad in a rural area. One aspect of this division is that the tone of the more rural books is sweeter, and, particularly in Cranford, much more comedic.

Cranford grew out of a shortish story, or sketch, published in Charles Dickens' magazine Household Words in 1851, called "Our Society at Cranford". This piece proved popular, and (with Dickens' eager approval) Gaskell produced seven more sketches, published in 1852 and 1853. The book version was published in 1853, and Gaskell revised it somewhat for that edition, making it a bit more consistent among other changes. Cranford was fairly popular in Gaskell's lifetime, and she called it the only one of her books she could reread. It became her most popular book in the decades after her death, and I admit it was the only one of her novels I was aware of, when I first read it back in 2001. Gaskell's reputation, as with many Victorian writers not named Bronte, Dickens, Thackeray, Eliot, or Hardy, declined precipitously by the early 20th Century, but it has since recovered -- as it should have because she was a wonderful writer -- and the latter day ranking of her novels seems to put North and South and Wives and Daughters at the top. And likely that is fair (though I haven't read enough of her work to make a personal ranking) but Cranford is really quite wonderful in its way.

The novel is narrated by a young woman named Mary Smith, who grew up in Cranford but now lives with her wealthy father in Drumble. Mary (and I should note we don't learn her name until towards the end of the novel) frequently visits her friends in Cranford, who are mostly a generation older than she. She notes in the first sketch that Cranford society is ruled by its "Amazons" -- a group of old maids and widows. As such, men are regarded with suspicion, and if not excluded from society, are at least not seen as important to it. The society is extremely class conscious, and quite conscious of financial matters, in a somewhat paradoxical manner -- some of these women are understandably not well off at all, and thus it is important nobody flaunt their comparative wealth -- instead, practice "elegant economy". (But it is very clear that they are still quite aware of who has money, even as the richest of them is the most parsimonious in her entertainments.) All this is detailed in Mary Smith's affectionate but gently sardonic voice. The novel is, throughout, extremely funny in a lightly amusing way. By which I mean, sometimes laugh out loud funny and always cute.

Having said that -- which is more or less all I saw on first reading -- it is also acutely observant: of why this social order exists, of why and how it is changing, of how it is maintained outwardly while often flouted, and of what it means to the people of Cranford, especially the women. Some of this is told via a series of romantic stories that run through the eight sketches. There is at the beginning Miss Jessie Brown's wedding to an old admirer, a certain Major Gordon, which follows upon the deaths of her father and elder sister. There is the impoverished widow of a Scottish lord, Lady Glenmire, marrying the lower class Mr. Hoggins, the town doctor, who is looked down on despite his evident accomplishments. And most of all there is the story of Mary Smith's closest friend, Matilda Jenkyns. Matilda, called Matty, is the daughter of Cranford's previous rector. Her parents are long dead, and their brother is assumed dead after he ran away to join the Navy. Matty and her hidebound elder sister Miss Jenkyns have lived alone for decades on a reduced income. Miss Jenkyns has ruled over Matty, who is perhaps "simpler" but far more sympathetic, for years, in particular thwarting her romance with a (lower class) farmer. Even after Miss Jenkyns dies, her influence shapes Matty, though she does manage to allow her maid to have a "follower". But Matty's sweetness is real, and at the close, when a disastrous investment of Miss Jenkyns goes bad, that sweetness and honesty is what saves her, in an ending that is perhaps a tad over-sentimental, and perhaps a tad reliant on a deus ex machina, but which is for all that powerful.

The latter day story, "The Cage at Cranford", is more or less trivial. The humor is okay, but seems a bit forced. It concerns Mary Smith trying to buy a gift for Miss Pole, one of the old maids of Cranford, who would like a nice new cap, but not anything so fashionable as Mary might end up with. It's a pendant, and changes nothing about the novel.

Cousin Phillis was published in the Cornhill Magazine in four parts between November 1963 and February 1864. It is told by Paul Manning, a young man who has taken a job working for a railroad company in the early 1840s. His father is a mechanically minded man, an inventor indeed, and Paul is a worthy fellow but without his father's brilliance. He learns that a cousin of his, a Mrs. Holman, lives near one of the towns the railroad is being extended towards, and his boss, an intelligent young man named Mr. Holdsworth, allows him to visit. 

His cousin Mrs. Holman lives at Hope Farm, and her husband is a nonconformist minister who also runs the farm, very capably. Their daughter is Phillis, who is tall and beautiful and intellectually brilliant. Paul is fascinated by her, but quickly realizes she's quite out of his league. (Not only is she much smarter than he, she is taller!) They become good friends. Paul becomes close to the Holmans, in part out of great respect to Minister Holman, who is not only a committed and deeply moral dissenting minister, but a profoundly intelligent and mechanically inclined man, who over time becomes good friends with Paul's father.

Here I will say that I immediately guessed nearly the exact course of the story ... and I was right. Paul greatly admires his boss Mr. Holdsworth, who is, like Phillis, quite brilliant. In the course of things, Phillis and Mr. Holdsworth are introduced. Mr. Holdsworth charms both of Phillis' parents, and Phillis quite falls for him. It is clear that Mr. Holdsworth is enchanted with Phillis as well -- but then he is called away to a railway project in Canada. And ... well, Phillis doesn't take this well. Aspects of this seemed just a bit overwrought to me, but perhaps that is my 20th/21st Century perspective. The nouvelle resolves itself not as melodramatically as I suppose I feared. It becomes a moving meditation on the place of intelligent women in mid 19th Century English society, and also on how even a well intended man like Minister Holman can completely misunderstand his daughter. It's a very fine story, perhaps not quite a great story, but certainly worth reading.

Review: Icarus Descending, by Elizabeth Hand

 Icarus Descending, by Elizabeth Hand

 a review by Rich Horton

Icarus Descending concludes Elizabeth Hand's Winterlong trilogy, which comprises her first three novels. Winterlong was published in 1990, Æstival Tide followed in 1992 and Icarus Descending in 1993. The second and third novels have never been reprinted except in Open Road ebooks, and Icarus Descending did not even get a UK edition, while Winterlong got a very nice Harper Prism edition in the late '90s. I must say I do think that represents the relative quality of the books -- the second and third books are good, but Winterlong is special. And, I confess, I do wonder if the events in the latter two novels were part of the original conception -- in some ways they seem second thoughts, and it's almost as if a trilogy consisting of Æstival Tide, Icarus Descending, and a third novel might have worked better. Winterlong, I believe, stands powerfully on its own.

That said, I did enjoy the second and third novels in the series. And to be fair, the action in those novels is clearly set in the same future (possibly with mild adjustments) as Winterlong, and there are shared characters. Icarus Descending opens, however, with a brand new character, Kalamat, an "energumen", one of many genetically modified clones of the daughter of a great scientist, Luther Burdock. Burdock died a couple centuries earlier, but his daughter's clones, modified to be giants (roughly 9 feet tall), to be very intelligent and very strong, and to have three year lifespans, have been slave labor for the Ascendant class. (Yes, I did think of Blade Runner.) Kalamat lives on one of the Ascendant space stations, and recently all the humans ("masters") on her station died of a plague -- purposely spread by a revolutionary hoping to free all the various "geneslaves" in this dark future. Kalamat quickly learns that her fellow energumens on other stations are trying to unite, and to return to the "Element" (Earth) to join the effort of freeing the geneslaves on the Earth, and also to meet their now resurrected father.

This seems at base an honorable project -- and indeed it is. But it's soon clear that it's being led by Metatron, the military AI we learned about in the previous novel. Metatron is insane, and his goal is to kill all humanity, and to rule over the survivors (mostly the geneslaves.) He also is aware of Icarus, an asteroid which will soon crash into Earth -- so he plans to take over the never fully used starships of the Ascendants and escape. Kalamat is skeptical -- and she also has but a few weeks to live.

The other two strands of the novel follow familiar characters. In one, we again meet Wendy Wanders (from Winterlong) as she and her zookeeper friend Jane and the intelligent chimpanzee Scarlet Pan flee the ruins of the City. They happen upon an old old house, now a hostel of sorts, run by a gay couple -- a centuries old man and a much younger one. This couple is supporting the revolution of the geneslaves, and before long they send Wendy and Jane on to the city in the Appalachians that is the center of the revolution -- Cassandra. (I was also reminded of the "Long Long Time" episode of The Last of Us.)

The third thread follows the cyborged "rasa" Margalis Tast'annin as he, along with another AI, Nefertity, and the boy Hobe escape the ruins of the arcology Araboth. They are trying to find Metatron, a quest which leads them to fly to Kalamat's station. But Metatron is a step ahead of them, even though Nefertity, a much more virtuous creature, is hoping to stop him. So they too return to Earth, to Cassandra, as Icarus descends. The fate of Nefertity, of Tast'annin, of Jane, and indeed of humanity itself (and really the geneslaves too) hangs in the balance ...

There is lots to like here. Some compelling characters. Strong writing. Some additional fascinating imaginative constructs. A morally challenging situation. And for all those things it is worth reading. But, alas, the ending fizzles out. Some confrontations that seemed set up never happened. Some characters were essentially just dropped. As a conclusion to the Winterlong trilogy, it's a disappointment. As a book on its own -- or a sequel to Æstival Tide -- it's just fine, but I think it needed at least a couple more chapters, and possibly another book.

Review: The Gradual, by Christopher Priest

Review: The Gradual, by Christopher Priest

by Rich Horton

Readercon for 2024 was this past weekend (July 11-14.) I was on a panel about the fiction of Christopher Priest. In preparation, I read or reread several novels and short stories. Here is one of them, The Gradual, from 2016, one of a run of 7 novels in the last dozen or so years of his life. Three of these books, including The Gradual, are set in his enigmatic recurring location, the Dream Archipelago.

I'll repeat a quick potted bio I've used before: Christopher Priest was born in 1943 and died earlier this year, at the age of 80. His first sale was "The Run", to Impulse in 1965. His first novel, Indoctrinaire, appeared in 1970, and he began to get wide recognition for his reality-bending fiction with novels like Inverted World (1974) and The Dream of Wessex (1977). His best known novel is probably The Prestige (1995) which was made into a successful movie by Christopher Nolan. A large portion of his work concerns the Dream Archipelago, a world-spanning belt of islands on another planet, which is featured in a number of short stories and five novels.

The Gradual is narrated by Alesandro Sussken. Alesandro, or Sandro, is a very successful composer from Glaund, one of two warring polities on the northern continent of his world. These two countries -- Glaund and Faiandland -- have been at war for centuries. Over time they have moved their hostilities to the mostly unoccupied southern continent. The Dream Archipelago, the islands in between the northern and southern continents of this world, is determinedly neutral, though as this novel will show, it is not unaffected by the war. By this time the main impact on Glaund is not direct damage to their land, but the economic burden of the war, and the threat of conscription for their young men. Glaund, at this junction, is an autocratic police state.

Sandro and his older brother Jacj are both musically talented, and both grow up opposed to the government of Glaund, and to the war. But when Jacj is conscripted, he does not resist, and enlists in the army right away. Meanwhile Sandro grows to maturity, waiting futilely for his brother's return -- the battalions return from their service roughly in the order they were drafted, but there is some randomness, and the time anyone will be away is hard to predict. Sandro becomes a promising modernist composer, and avoids conscription. His fame grows, he marries another talented musician, his recordings are widely distributed. All along he feels inspired by his visions of the Dream Archipelago islands nearest to his home. He is even surprised to learn that a rock musician in the Archipelago, with the curious pseudonym And Ante, has plagiarized his work. And when the opportunity arises to go on a tour of the Archipelago, he agrees, even though it means being away from his wife for several weeks. He still remembers his brother, but it has been decades since Jacj was conscripted by now -- he must have died.

The tour is a success, though Sandro is puzzled by the difficulty he has keeping his watch on time. They visit a number of different islands over the 9 weeks of the tour, and Sandro's music is well received. He has a one night stand with a pianist on one island, and he comes close to the place his plagiarist lived. And then he returns home. And finds, shockingly, that he has been gone not 9 weeks, but almost 2 years. His wife has left him. His finances are in a mess. He works to restore things, and also realizes his brother's battalion is scheduled to return soon. And then he is tapped by the government to write a symphony celebrating the regime -- something he can hardly refuse, despite his hatred for them. Instead, he escapes to the Dream Archipelago, and over time (time?) begins to understand the nature of time in the Archipelago, the concept of the "gradual", and also reunites with his lover from the previous trip, and makes a couple more surprising meetings with people from his past. But all along his destiny is set  ...

I was not bored by this novel, but I wasn't enthralled, either. In the end I don't think the treatment of time at the center of the book really works. And even though I guessed the key "surprises" towards the end of the book, I found them a bit disappointing. It's an interesting book, but not quite successful, and sort of meaningless (to me) in the final analysis. Priest was a great and individual writer, and his best works are remarkable, but this one is just, er, marking time in his oeuvre.

Resurrected Review: The Pyrates, by George MacDonald Fraser

Resurrected Review: The Pyrates, by George MacDonald Fraser

by Rich Horton

George MacDonald Fraser (1925-2008) was a British journalist, novelist, and screenwriter. He is by far most famous for his comic historical novels about Harry Flashman, in which he made the cowardly character from the 19th Century novel Tom Brown's Schooldays into a hero (or antihero). I read the bulk of these with enjoyment as a teen. I plan to read his very long novel Mr. American sometime (it is peripherally related to the Flashman books.) But some years ago I read his comic novel The Pyrates, and I've resurrected what I wrote about that book.

According to Fraser, a man named Manders set him a painting of the deck of a pirate ship, packed with colourful piratical (or pyratical) characters. He decided the painting was too good to waste, and wrote this novel around it. When he was done, he wanted to use the painting as the book's cover, but he could not locate the mysterious Mr. Manders. They used the painting for the cover anyway. That story seems to good to be true in a way -- I wonder if he wasn't having us on.

The novel is a loving and over-the-top parody of pirate adventures, both cinematic (i.e. Errol Flynn) and literary (i.e. Rafael Sabatini and Jeffery Farnol) -- indeed, Fraser includes a long list of "influences" at the end of the book. It's told in a postmodern fashion, with plenty of deliberate anachronisms and direct addresses to the reader, reminding us of what is sure to happen, the book being fiction and all. It's very funny, in a way that is at times almost distracting, or perhaps tiring. Which seems an odd complaint -- that a purposely funny book might be too funny -- but at times I put it down simply because I was tired of the constant jokes.

The story concerns a valuable crown, with six jeweled sections, entrusted (by Samuel Pepys) to Our Hero, Captain Ben Avery, for safe delivery to the King of Madagascar. But unfortunately Avery's ship, in the charge of one Admiral Rooke, is secretly manned by a crew of pirates, who wish to free their comradess, the beautiful and bloodthirsty black woman pirate Sheba, who is being transported to prison (or a slave camp or something) on the same ship. They free Sheba, and also steal the crown, which conveniently splits six ways. In the mean time they also kidnap the beautiful daughter of Admiral Rooke, Vanity, who has fallen in love with Ben. And Ben is accused of the theft of the crown. So he must attempt to recover the six pieces of the crown, as well as rescuing Vanity, and also restoring his good name. And his only help is in the dubious person of the rascally Captain Thomas Blood, who ended up on the same ship, and who also has his eye on Vanity's virtue.

Naturally Ben will ultimately be successful, but not before facing the attentions of numerous women who fall in love with him, such as Sheba, Anne Bonney, and a lovely young Spanish woman; and also dealing with the evil and sadistic designs of the Spanish governor in the New World; and also dealing with Captain Blood's various betrayals, most of which actually end up helping things, if only by accident; and also dealing with cannibals and religiously zealous natives and his own agent. And so on. It's intricately but of course not plausibly plotted, wickedly funny, all in all a good read if as I implied somehow less that a true masterwork.

Review: Æstival Tide, by Elizabeth Hand

Review: Æstival Tide, by Elizabeth Hand

by Rich Horton

Æstival Tide (1992) is Elizabeth Hand's sequel to Winterlong, which I reviewed here. My copy is the Bantam Spectra first edition mass market paperback (remember those?) It has not been reprinted since 1992, except for the ebook available from Open Road.

The novel is set about a year after Winterlong. It shares with that book only one character, the mad Aviator Margalis Tast'Annin, who was killed at the end of the first novel. This novel opens with a scene of his "resurrection", as a rasa, essentially a zombie, and in this case a zombie in a robot body. He is now in the city of Araboth, an arcology (remember them?) located in what was once Texas, on the Gulf of Mexico. The city has been governed for centuries by the Orsina family, who seem to be in some sense loosely the rulers (or to consider themselves the rulers) of what remains of the old US, after the First and Second Ascensions. Unlike in Winterlong, some of this is detailed in exposition, and it mostly tracks with what I had deduced from reading the first novel, though I confess I has assumed the ruling "Ascendants" lived in space stations. (And perhaps they do, and the Orsinas are yet another layer of rulers.) 

The society depicted in Winterlong was cruel, but that shown in Araboth basically tells the aristocrats of that book "Hold my beer"! The Orsinate's power revolves around a city's worth of slave labor in various forms (with the cruelly resurrected rasas the lowest of the low.) They arbitrarily arrest people on the slimmest excuse or none, usually executing the prisoners, they breed people and genetically altered animals for sex, they perform human sacrifices often, culminating in the Feast of Fear every decade at Æstival Tide. It's as appalling a society as I've seen portrayed, and an oddly small one (Araboth, at the time of the novel, houses only some 20,000 people, though its capacity is much higher.) The residents fear the Outside, and any mention of it is potentially punishable by death. The ruling family is terribly inbred, and at the time of the novel (which takes place over just a few days) there are three surviving sisters, and one semi-exiled brother. (Although one sister and the brother had had an affair which resulted in a child so deformed that they abandoned it.) Margalis Tast'Annin had had an affair with the youngest Orsina woman, and when he broke it off he was sent off to the front, first returning a hero but then sent again on his abortive mission to the old Capitol, described in Winterlong.

That's the setup -- revealed over time in the novel, and, as I said, some of it a bit baldly revealed. (Which may have been the right choice in this book.) The novel itself revolves mostly around two characters. One is a 14 year old hermaphrodite named Reive who by chance becomes involved, to her peril, in the intrigues of the Orsinas, partly because she is able to properly interpret some dreams -- of the Outside. The other is another teenager, Hobi, the son of the Architect Imperator -- that is, the man in charge of the Architects, AIs that maintain the city and keep it structurally sound despite the storms that threaten it on the Gulf. Reive's adventures bring her to the attention of the sisters who rule the city, as well as associates such as the dwarf Rudyard Planck and the pharmacologist Ceryl Waxwing. Reive, in her earlier life in the lower levels of Araboth, had also ambiguously befriended the genetically engineered sea creature Zalophus, who longs to escape the city. Hobi, for his part, is taken by the exiled Orsina brother Nasrani to a room at the bottom of the arcology where he meets a beautiful android named Nefertity, who may have knowledge that could help people survive Outside -- or that could reveal some critical military secrets. Both Reive and Hobi, in different ways, confront hints and prophecies that the city may not survive the storms at this Æstival Tide, which is due in just a couple of days.

It's a novel that is by turns sickeningly beautiful and grotesquely horrifying -- and sometimes quite moving. The history it is built upon is even worse than we already knew from Winterlong. It's well-written though it didn't, for me, attain the heights of Winterlong. The imagination revealed is expansive and always intriguing. The characters are mostly quite mad, but believably so. I didn't like it as much as I liked Winterlong, but I think it's a worthwhile novel, and I am looking forward to the final novel of the trilogy, Icarus Descending. (Which is advertised as The Eve of Saint Nynex in the author bio at the end of the book -- I think the eventual title a bit better, and doubtless more marketable.) 

Review: Expect Me Tomorrow, by Christopher Priest

Review: Expect Me Tomorrow, by Christopher Priest

a review by Rich Horton

Christopher Priest was born in 1943 and died earlier this year, at the age of 80. His first sale was "The Run", to Impulse in 1965. His first novel, Indoctrinaire, appeared in 1970, and he began to get wide recognition for his reality-bending fiction with novels like Inverted World (1974) and A Dream of Wessex (1977). His best known novel is probably The Prestige (1995) which was made into a successful movie by Christopher Nolan. A large portion of his work concerns the Dream Archipelago, a world-spanning belt of islands on another planet, which is featured in a number of short stories (including the classic "An Infinite Summer") and five novels.

Priest's fiction shows an abiding interest in the nature of reality, often involving virtual reality, or dream worlds (mental creations), or, in The Prestige, illusions. He also seems fascinated by twins, though to my knowledge he was not himself a twin (unless you count the comics writer named James Priest who works professionally as "Christopher Priest", a situation which could plausibly have become fodder for a Priestian story.) Expect Me Tomorrow, from 2022, his second to last published novel (in his lifetime, at any rate), features two sets of twins, and a sort of virtual experience to boot. It's also a climate change book.

It's set in two different times. One thread follows Adler and Adolf Beck, identical twins born in Norway in the middle of the 19th Century. Adler becomes a glaciologist, like their father, who died while studying a Norwegian glacier, while Adolf, called Dolf, is less stable: at first an aspiring opera singer, and later devoted to somewhat risky business ventures. We follow their story mostly from Adler's point of view, as he becomes interested in climate, not just as affected by glaciers, but also the Gulf Stream and sunspots and volcanoes. He and his brother move first to England, then to the US, where Adler meets a brilliant woman astronomer, and after the two marry they return to England. Meanwhile Dolf has traveled to South America to pursue his opera career, but eventually returns to England pursuing some business plans.

The other thread is set in 2050, and concerns another pair of identical twins, Chad and Gregory Ramsey. Chad is a psychological profiler, working for the police, while Greg is a journalist. Catastrophic climate change has made Europe a very dangerous place, with most of the continent descending into chaos. Chad lives in Hastings, on the English coast, and his life there is getting difficult -- he has lost his job (the police aren't interested any more in the subtleties of profiling now that they are dealing with internal and external climate refugees), while Hastings is clearly not going to be inhabitable much longer. But Greg revives Chad's interest in an old family story -- their disreputable great-great-granduncle Adolf. The reader figures out right away that Adolf is the Dolf Beck of the other timeline, though Chad's investigation is complicated because he had not realized that his Norwegian ancestor had changed names from Beck to Ramsey at one point, presumably due to Adolf's notoriety as a criminal. However, Chad has a breakthrough when he learns that some (frankly grossly implausible) police tech allows him to communicate through time with his ancestors via their DNA samples. This is complicated because Adolf and Adler Beck, as identical twins, have identical DNA -- and Chad randomly contacts both of them at different times.

In the end, then, the story intertwines three plots -- 1) Adler's life as a climate scientist, eventually leading him to conclude that sometime in the middle of the 21st Century the world will be plunged into a new ice age; 2) Chad's struggle to adapt to the worsening climate conditions, even as eventually he gets involved with a company that may have found a hopeful path to a solution to the climate crisis; and 3) Adolf Beck's criminal past.

I found the novel quite enjoyable, with some reservations. I've already mentioned the magic tech that enables communication with the past -- but I was willing to swallow that as a story-enabling device. But also, there are a great many infodumps in the book, presented mostly as Adler discussing his scientific ideas, which come off as the writer letting his research notes take over the novel at times. Priest is not typically a writer of beautiful prose, and that's the case here -- nothing sings. But it is very clean and clear writing.

I should also mention that Priest has used an actual, and quite significant, historical character as one of his main characters, for Adolf Beck was in fact a Norwegian immigrant who was at times an opera singer, and a speculative investor, but who was sent to prison multiple times for running schemes to defraud women. This case is well-known to this day, as Beck was a victim of mistaken identity, and of very shoddy police work, and his case, in which he was eventually exonerated, led to important reforms in the British court system. (The story is so well documented that by the end it's quite implausible that Chad would have had the difficulty he's shown having in finding out what happened to his "Uncle Adolf", especially once he learns Adolf's name was Beck.)

The real Adolf Beck was not a twin, so Adler and his ideas are invented. But the whole thing works nicely together, with the double twins (the Becks and the Ramseys) being oddly mirrored by the additional "twin" -- the criminal who looked just enough like Adolf Beck to have Beck confused with him. The two threads held my interest, and the contrast between Adler's theory of a coming Ice Age and the actual 2050 catastrophic warming due to greenhouse gases (of which Adler was aware) ends up driving the conclusion of the novel in a moving and cautiously optimistic fashion. Adler and Chad are the primary POV characters, and they are both pretty ordinary men, with happy marriages, and good jobs at which they are quite skilled -- not perhaps the stuff of drama but effective enough to me. Having said that, it's fair to say that Adler and Adolf's story is only tenuously connected to the 2050 climate change story -- though the linkage via Adler's research interest, if slight, is just enough to hold things together.

I don't rank this among Christopher Priest's best novels, but I did like it. I think it might have done better with one more revision pass -- I don't know, of course, but I wonder if Priest knew he didn't have much time left as he wrote it, so didn't have a chance to do the revisions. He also may have felt that the climate change subject was urgent enough that he wanted to get the book out quickly.

Review: Winterlong, by Elizabeth Hand

Review: Winterlong, by Elizabeth Hand

by Rich Horton

Winterlong, from 1990, was Elizabeth Hand's first novel. (Her first story appeared in 1988, but I didn't really become aware of her until "Snow on Sugar Mountain" (1991), and it was really "Last Summer at Mars Hill" (1994) and "Chip Crockett's Christmas Carol" (2000) that clinched the deal. Since then, she's become a favorite, with stories like "Cleopatra Brimstone", "Illyria", "Near Zennor", "The Maiden Flight of McCauley's Bellerephon", and novels like Wylding Hall, Curious Toys, and Waking the Moon. But I still hadn't read her first three novels, a trilogy, Winterlong, Æstival Tide, and Icarus Descending. So when Readercon decided to have a panel on those novels this year, it was time to read them.

My copy of Winterlong is a 1997 reprint, from Harper Collins, with an afterword by Hand, which tells quite interestingly of the germination of the book. It is as I said a first novel -- with both the energy you expect, and some of the faults. But on balance it's a fabulous first novel. It's set in a post-apocalyptic future, in which there have been two previous "Ascensions" -- the nature of them unclear. The world as we see it is a mess.

It's one of those novels that drops you into its setting without telling you anything. This makes it hard going at the first, but before long it speeds up, and by the end the mysteries and ambiguities are a feature. We open with Wendy Wanders, an autistic girl (it is said) aged 17, who has been raised from a young age at the Human Engineering Laboratory (HEL), where she has been subjected to invasive brain surgery, and many experiments (and drugs.) This has made her an empath -- she can absorb emotions and memories from other people, either with an electical connection, or by tasting their blood. She believes she has no emotions of her own. She is also haunted by dreams or visions of a boy in a tree -- a hanged boy, perhaps, and has some intimation of a twin brother of her own. And, worse, her empathic connections seem to cause some people to commit suicide. As the facility in which she lives is taken over by a new staff loyal to the the mad Aviator Tast'Annin, who is the new Governor of the City, the doctor who has treated her most of her life has also committed suicide, and there are threats that Wendy's powers will be weaponized for a coming war..

The focus shifts to Raphael Miramar, a Paphian in the City, a City that is increasingly a dangerous place, with its new Governor and impending war, with the periodic viral strikes ("rains of roses"), with lazars and aardmen roaming the environs and kidnapping or killing anyone they can get to. The Paphians are prostitutes, members of several Houses. Raphael is, for now, the most prized catamite of House Miramar, having been adopted when young, though his twin sister, who never spoke, was sent away and is presumed dead. He is 17, and it's made clear that Paphians age out quickly. And he has decided to leave the House, for the patronage of a Curator, Roland. He hopes, while at the Curator's place -- a museum, of course -- he can actually gain some learning. And indeed he meets a woman who lets him help with her duties, and they begin to become close -- but that relationship comes to a shocking end. And we realize that Raphael too is plagued with dreams of a boy in a tree, and a sense that he is somehow an agent of Death. 

Readers will gather quickly that Raphael's missing twin is Wendy. And soon Wendy has escaped HEL in the company of an Aide, Justice, a member of a Paphian family, who is in love with her. Likewise Raphael is soon cast aside by his patron, and he finds himself at loose in the City, captured by lazars, and ready to confront Roland at the next chance he gets. Wendy and Justice find their way to a company of players (including an uplifted chimpanzee, Miss Scarlet Pan, who is the leading lady.) They put on old dramas (mostly Shakespeare.) Wendy is being searched for by the mad Aviator Tast'annin, and so disguises herself as a boy -- and is quickly confused for Raphael. Inevitably the fates of the two are entwined, and will converge eventually, and resolve the mystery of the Boy in the Tree while bringing Tast'annin's plans either to fruition or frustration.

The story is beautiful and horrifying. Death stalks the narrative, and death is easy and common in the City (which is readily recognizable as Washington, D. C.) I should say both sex and death are common, and often linked -- the prostitutes are abused as part of their expected roles, and are used sexually from very young ages, with the sex often violent. But there are many other ways to die in the City, and it's clear that life is similarly parlous throughout the rest of the geography of this future age. The prose is very lush, mostly to very good effect, especially in the final scenes, in which some passages are gorgeous and powerful. The novel is suffused with tragedy, and this never fails to wrench the reader. Important characters die in the first few pages, and at the end -- sometimes at the hands of our heroes, sometimes cruelly at the hands of villains, sometimes randomly. 

I'll quote one beautiful passage: "And there came to me then a great sound, the sound of singing. And I saw all of them, Emma and Aidan, Gligor and Merle and Anna, Dr. Silverthorn and Toby Rhymer, a white dog with eyes like burning ice and a girl who wanted to fly like finches, all of them like lights dancing in the air. With them shrilled the voices of the lazars, like wounds bleeding song, all of them crying out to me. Loudest of all was the piercing cry of a boy with fair tangled hair and green eyes, his hands streaming through the darkness like the purest moonlight and his eyes like burning stars." ("Wounds bleeding song" -- what a glorious image.)

It's not a perfect book. There are passages that drag a bit, and the strategy of telling the reader nothing, though appropriate, does make it hard to follow at times. That said, solving the mysteries, figuring out what the Ascensions were, and what the lazars are, and the aardmen, and the geneslaves, and so on, is enjoyable. The overall conflict is difficult to rationalize -- and perhaps that's only to be expected, but it does sometimes try the reader's patience. But all that is minor, and in the end this is a lovely and moving book, and the harbinger of a brilliant career -- which was indeed realized. 

Resurrected Review: Kiln People, by David Brin

As I continue working my way through novels by Elizabeth Hand and Christopher Priest in preparation for Readercon, I figured I'd resurrect a review to post here. This is David Brin's 2002 Hugo, Clarke, and Campbell shortlisted novel Kiln People.

(I actually wanted to post something I wrote about C. C. Finlay's alternate history fantastical Revolutionary War series, but I seem to have lost that somehow. But it's Charlie's birthday, so, Happy Birthday Charlie!)

Kiln People, by David Brin

a review by Rich Horton

Kiln People (2002) is set several decades in the future. The key technological innovation presented in the book is "golemtech" -- it has become possible to imprint a person's "soul", or "Standing Wave", into a clay model, a golem or ditto, which will then have all one's memories, and which can do errands for their "archtype".  These models last only a day, after which they return to the archtype, and the memories can be inloaded if the archtype so chooses.

This has resulted in an economic revolution.  Most of the grunt work is now done by low-quality golems, most of which don't even inload their (presumably boring) memories to their archtype.  As a result many people have no job, and live on the "purple wage".  Recreations include, predictably, unusual sex using special golems optimized for heightened sensation; as well as "clay operas" -- realistic dramas enacted with golems; and dangerous sports in which the loss of a golem is regretted only if it results in complete enough destruction that the memories cannot be inloaded.  A key change, too, is that wars are now fought as a form of "sport", with skilled soldiers sending fighting golems to such places as the Jesse Helms Memorial Battle Range to resolve international disputes.  These various tasks are done by golems of different sorts, by law all different colors: grey ones for relatively normal tasks, green ones for fairly menial work, white ones for extra sensation, ebony ones for intellectual focus, etc.

All this background detail is very well done.  Brin has done a neat job of pretty pure SFnal extrapolation -- taking a quasi-plausible and interesting bit of future tech, and trying to work out its effects on an entire society.

The story itself is basically a thriller.  Albert Morris is a private detective.  He ends up with several different "selves" investigating (in parallel, it turns out) the death of Yosil Maharal, one of the inventors of golem technology.  If it is murder (it might be accident or suicide) the suspects include Maharal's partner, Aenaeas Kaolin; a crime lord called Beta who has had many past encounters with Albert; Gineen Wammaker, a purveyor of sex dittos; and various fanatics, both anti-golem agitators, and those who want golems to have full civil rights.  This story is for the most part pretty exciting, and confusing is a good way that eventually gets resolved.  Albert's journeys, and those of his dittos (including a "frankie" -- a ditto who didn't copy true and wants to be independent of Albert), allow exploration of much of this future society.  The search for motives for the murder leads us to investigate some research, hence further extraploation: what would be the effect of dittos that could last longer than a day?  Of dittos that could be copied over long distances?  Of the possibility of loading somebody else's memories into your head?  All this is pretty interesting stuff.

Then, the book pretty much runs off the rails.  Why?  I think the answer is -- too much ambition.  Brin begins to explore even more metaphysical issues -- "souls" independent of the body, in another dimension -- life after death -- that sort of thing.  And in so doing he stretches his extrapolation to the point where my belief in it snapped completely.  The "mad scientist" finale really just about lost me.  I think the book would have been better if Brin had turned off his imagination at a certain point -- if he had been more conservative.

That said, though I think the silliness of some of the last 100 or so pages of the book is a severe flaw, it's still a pretty strong piece of SFnal extrapolation up that point, with some pretty decent action to the plotline.  Overall, I recommend the book -- worth reading, just not a great book.

Old Bestseller Review: The Hundredth Chance, by Ethel M. Dell

Old Bestseller Review: The Hundredth Chance, by Ethel M. Dell

by Rich Horton

Ethel M. Dell (1881-1939) was a writer of romance novels published between 1911 and her death. She was popular enough -- she made up to £30,000 per year -- that she was routinely disparaged in serious books at the time, and even nonserious books like those of P. G. Wodehouse. Her married name was Savage -- curiously appropriate given some of her sexual themes. She is largely forgotten these days, as with many very popular authors of that era who were considered lowbrow. As I am fascinated by popular fiction of the early 20th Century (and for that matter before and after!) I figured I needed to try her. I had bought a book of hers at an antique store some time ago, but it got buried in a box somewhere when we did some remodeling a couple of years ago, so instead I went to Project Gutenberg and downloaded a copy of The Hundredth Chance, from 1917.

I have to say, upon reading The Hundredth Chance, that I kind of get why she was popular. She wasn't a good writer -- but she was better (at the prose level, and even the character level) than many writers of her era. Certainly she was better than her contemporary E. M. Hull, another romance writer, best known for The Sheik. The Hundredth Chance is involving -- it keeps your attention, makes you care about the characters, even though every reader can guess the shape of the plot from the getgo. I note, too, that it was the 10th best-selling novel of 1917, according to Publishers' Weekly. 

That said, there are huge caveats to offer. For one thing, there are lots of unpleasant -- often unnecessarily unpleasant -- aspects to the book. There is plenty of casual racism -- several uses of the N-word, for one thing. There are no POC characters, so no outright offensive characterization, but there are attitudes. And there is violence against women -- one beating for example, and an attempted kidnap and rape using drugs. And -- perhaps most troublingly -- there is marital rape, over some time period. None of this is justifiable, but there it is. (I will add that his novel is rapey enough, but The Sheik is far more, and more offensively, rapey.)

And on the literary side, there are faults as well. I've already hinted at the predictability. There is also a heck of a lot of convenient coincidence, and some dei ex machinae. (A miracle cure, for one thing, and some sheer luck rescuing the heroine at the end. And more.) And while the characters are consistently and recognizably portrayed and differentiated -- they are still pretty two-dimensional. But for all that, the book does keep you reading -- and I enjoyed it.

The main character is Maud, a 25 year old woman who has spent much of her life caring for her 10 years younger brother Bernard, who is crippled. Maud's father, a baronet, is long dead. Her mother is a useless whiner. Maud herself had been close to marrying Lord Saltash, an engaging man who seemed to love her, and who is wealthy and of good birth. But Maud rejected him when she discovered his affair with a married woman. Her mother, rather mad at her for turning down such a good match, is, at the start of the book, ready to marry the vulgar local bar owner, to save the family, as she has run out of money. The bar owner turns out to be an abusive slob, and a bad businessman, and when he thrashes Maud she leaves, with Bernard (called Bunny.) 

She and Bunny have already met Jake Bolton, the groom who runs Lord Saltash's stables. Bunny and Jake have struck up a friendship. And Jake has clearly fallen for Maud, and has gone so far ask her to marry him -- an offer she refused, to some extent on the grounds that Jake is not of her social class. But now, with nowhere to go, Maud agrees to marry Jake, for protection. But she makes it clear that while she and Bunny will live with him, they will not sleep together. He makes one condition -- if they ever are living together alone -- that is, if Bunny is ever cured and can live on his own -- they must live "as man and wife". Maud agrees.

Jake and Bunny continue to be friends, and Jake is very good for him. And Jake is friends with an American doctor who just may be able to cure Bunny. At least, there is a chance in a hundred, and Jake is always ready to bet on  the "hundredth chance". But  Lord Saltash has returned. And he begins to attempt to seduce Maud. He urges her to divorce Jake, and come away with him. Maud is too moral to accept, but she still seems to warm to him, despite clear evidence of his immorality, in manners aside from his previous betrayal of her.

Things keep developing -- the American doctor comes, and is able to cure Bunny. This is great for Bunny, but Maud is torn in a way -- she has given over much of her identity to being his caretaker, and Jake has already taken some of that, with his male friendship. And now Jake -- already angry over Maud's apparent dallying with Saltash -- claims his right to live with her as "man and wife". Which leads to carefully offstage incidents of marital rape. Maud grows more and more miserable -- and a form of salvation arises when her wealthy uncle, who had cut his feckless sister (Maud's mother) off, agrees to have Maud and Bunny visit.

There's a lot more going on, and I've already said too much I think. There are horse races involving Jake's favorite horse, and some bad dealing from Lord Saltash, who is always ready to arrange to throw a race for money. There is a religious awakening of sorts in Maud. There is a scene where she is a convinced that Jake (who doesn't drink) is drunk -- due to Lord Saltash's lies. There is a fire, and heroism by both Jake and Maud. It seems that Maud might be pregnant, then she isn't -- and I'm honestly not quite sure if we are subtly shown that she lost the baby or if she really wasn't pregnant. And Saltash makes his final play for Maud -- and goes too far.

The thing is -- a lot of this is absurd. Hyson Concepcion, who mentioned reading Ethel M. Dell with (sometimes horrified, I imagine) enjoyment, upon someone telling her that it's meretricious trash, responded, "Of course it's meretricious trash. That's why I read it." I feel the same way -- there are certain writers who are just trashy enough (and slyly skilled enough) that they are simply fun to read in the right mood. Dell was one of those, it seems. I rolled my eyes at much of this book, but I kept reading, and I enjoyed it (with huge reservations, but hey!) 

I will note that I ordered a couple of used Ethel M. Dell books, and when they came I realized they were abridged, as part of something called the Barbara Cartland Library. Which reminds me that, if you want meretricious trash that ISN'T worth reading, Barbara Cartland's your woman. This is, I note, based on decades old memories of trying a Cartland novel or two after I ran out of Georgette Heyer, and realizing they were dreadful and boring. Anyway, I don't like to read abridged books, so I went to Project Gutenberg as noted above.

Review: The Book of Love, by Kelly Link

Review: The Book of Love, by Kelly Link

by Rich Horton

This may be the most anticipated first novel in the SF/Fantasy field of at least the past decade. Kelly Link has been publishing short fiction since 1995, and she attracted immediate attention. Indeed, in the first year end recommendations piece I did, at SFF Net in 1997, I listed "Flying Lessons", her third story, among my Best Novelettes, and wrote "Of those listed, I'd point special attention to the Kelly Link story, mainly because I think she is a new writer of considerable interest, based on the grand total of two stories of her's that I've read." That's one thing I think I got right!

Since then she has published close to 50 short stories, most included in her six collections (and one slim chapbook.) She has also edited several anthologies and co-edits the magnificent small 'zine Lady Churchill's Rosebud Wristlet with her husband Gavin Grant. Kelly and Gavin also have a bookstore, Book Moon, in Easthampton, MA (very close to my Dad's hometown of Hadley, close enough that last year before Readercon I drove out to west central Massachusetts to see my Dad's old house (and the school my grandmother taught at) and then visited Book Moon.) She has won the Tiptree/Otherwise Award, three Nebulas, a Hugo, a couple of World Fantasy Awards, a Sturgeon, a Stoker. And she has gained plenty of respect outside the genre as well, with numerous placements on "Book of the Year" lists, a Shirley Jackson Award, and being named a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize.

As for myself, I have a long list of Kelly Link stories I adore. I reprinted "The Summer People", "Secret Identity", "The Game of Smash and Recovery" and "The Girl Who did not Know Fear" in my Best of the Year volumes. Other favorites include "Magic for Beginners", "Lull", "Light", "The White Road", "The Faery Handbag", "The Specialist's Hat", and "Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose". So I was certainly anticipating The Book of Love.

So what is it like? It's a big novel that takes place over a period of less than a week, in December of 2014 in the town of Lovesend, MA. There are four central characters, about as many nearly central characters, and many more who get brief POV sections. It's a fantasy, involving a Moon goddess, some nearly immortal characters, people coming back from the dead, and lots and lots of magic. It's also a pretty naturalistic story, about life in a semi-gentrified, semi-tourist town, with a noticeable focus on race, as one of the main characters is the grandson of a bestselling romance novelist who happens to be Black (but who only wrote one novel with a Black heroine.) Aspects of the novel reminded me of Elizabeth Hand's Waking the Moon, and as one of the main families in this novel is named Hand, I wondered if that might be a little nod to Hand's book. I should add that while there are some points of resemblance, the two novels are on the whole very different. 

The novel opens with Susannah Hand still mourning the death of her sister Laura, who had disappeared about a year before along with their neighbor Daniel Knowe (who was also Susannah's off-and-on boyfriend) and Mohammed Gortch, another friend of Susannah's. Susannah has graduated from high school but is kind of drifting. Laura and Mohammed were a year younger than Susannah and Daniel. Susannah, Daniel, and Laura were in a band called Our Two Hands Knowe You, while Mohammed was obsessed with music but very private about it.

Then, mysteriously, Laura, Daniel, and Mohammed escape whatever realm they went to when they died. And their music teacher, Mr. Anabin, makes bodies for them and sends them home, having altered the memories of everyone in Lovesend so that they are thought to have returned from a semester studying in Ireland. But there is a catch -- Mr. Anabin and a sinister shapeshifting creature named Bogomil are rivals of some sort, and they agree that the three returnees, plus a strange fourth, a boy named Bowie, must complete some magical tasks, after which, "Two stay, two return".

There follows a sort of whirlwind series of days -- just days -- in which the four returnees variously struggle with their increasing magical abilities (or resist them, in Daniel's case), and reintegrate themselves with their families: Laura with her sister and their mother and an unexpected visit from their father who left long ago; Daniel with his horde of step-siblings plus his mother and stepfather; Mohammed with -- well, the shocking realization that his grandmother (the romance writer) died in his absence (his mother was long dead) and all he has is his grandmother's assistant, Jenny Ping; and Bowie -- well, Bowie, who had died centuries before, has mainly to realize his own identity. Daniel and Susannah reignite their relationship, Mohammed breaks off with his occasional hookup before falling in love with a strange visitor named Thomas; Laura finally takes the chance to encounter her long time crush Rosamel; and Bowie -- well, things are different for Bowie.

All along there are occasional spooky encounters with Mr. Anabin and Bogomil, some definite indications of magic, and then the realization that there is a new more powerful entity in Lovesend, a goddess named Mala Mogge, whose servants are Anabin and Bogomil -- and Mohammed's new boyfriend Thomas. Mala Mogge is a tacky individual, evil incarnate in ugly costumes and shabby temples, and she is looking for her lost key -- which she is convinced one of the returnees has. And that's what the novel turns on -- what is this key? Where is it? And should whoever has it cooperate with someone as vile as Mala Mogge?

The novel is a bit of a slow burn. It's never not interesting, but it takes a while to cohere -- I think for good artistic reasons, but readers do need to stick with it. We do get an extended look at life in Lovesend -- the coffee shop, the Cliff Hangar bar, the school, Little Moon Bay. And we learn a lot about not just the main characters, but people like Mohammed's grandmother Maryanne, who writes as "Caitlyn Hightower"; and Rosamel Walker, the sassy Black Lesbian; and her friends Natalie and Theo, whose parents own Thai Super Delight; and Daniel's little sister Carousel; and the statues Maryanne Gortch bought, of Black women whose achievements are in danger of being forgotten; and of course the back history of Bowie, and Thomas, and a girl named Avelot.

The novel comes to a climax after much chaos, some honest tragedy, some triumph, and some compromise. Towards the end the slow burn ignites, and there are some truly wrenching passages. Having said that, the resolution felt just slightly flat -- perhaps I simply wanted too much. It's an honest conclusion, to be sure -- it doesn't cheat. But it doesn't quite astonish. Still -- it's a novel above love -- and love's end -- and love send -- and maybe love zen! -- and successfully so. It's also about doors, and revenge, and magic, and death, and family. It's a very good novel, not quite a great novel, but a wonderful first novel. 

Resurrected Review: Trash Sex Magic, by Jennifer Stevenson

This is a review I wrote back in 2004 for the Internet Review of Science Fiction, a quite impressive webzine devoted to, er, reviews (and essays, etc.) of Science Fiction. It was founded by John Frost, and lasted until 2010. I contributed a couple of pieces.

Trash Sex Magic was Jennifer Stevenson's first, and it came out from Small Beer Press. She published a few more novels for Ballantine in 2008: The Brass Bed, The Velvet Chair, and The Bearskin Rug. I read the first couple of those and found them light sexy fun. They are paranormal romance with mystery elements. Since then most or all of her many novels have appeared from Book View Cafe, and seem to be in a similar mode, and are set (mostly?) in the same paramormal version of contemporary Chicago, called Hinky Chicago.

Resurrected Review: Trash Sex Magic, by Jennifer Stevenson

a review by Rich Horton

Jennifer Stevenson, a Chicago-area writer, has published a few short stories, but Trash Sex Magic is her first novel. It is set near the Fox River, in a version of Geneva, Illinois (called here Berne or perhaps Rimville). A real estate development is going up, but a few trailer owners who are about to be displaced are holding out.

The story is made up of a complicated, one might say organic, web of interactions among a large cast. Perhaps the main character is Raedawn Somershoe, a young woman living among the trailer park holdouts. Rae holds the group together, earning most of their money, acting as something of a voice of sanity. The rest of the locals' lives are intertwined, like vines or tree roots, with Rae's life. There is her older but still aggressively sexy mother, Gelia; and Gelia's main squeeze, an elderly black man named Erny Brown. There is the extended Gowdy family: Cracker Coombs, their disreputable uncle; King Gowdy, the straitlaced son who has just returned from Alaska and wants to take Rae away from all this; Cracker's basically feral twin children, Mink and Ink; and King's brothers: Willy, who is coming to terms with his homosexuality, and Davy, a rather simple teenager.

The outsiders represent the real-estate company. Central among them is Alexander Caebeau, a Bahamanian construction worker, heartsick at tearing down beautiful trees to put up ugly buildings, heartsick even more because he's missing his home island, and falling very quickly in love with Rae.

John Fowier is a sleazy executive, scared by the sudden seductiveness of Raedawn, plotting a backhanded way to get the holdout properties for his development. And Suzy Wohnberg is John's associate, bitterly aware that the price for advancement in the company will be sleeping with John.

All of the above seems not at all fantastical, but we soon gather that Gelia and Raedawn have somewhat "elemental" powers. Many of these powers revolve around a huge tree that the two women each treat as a lover (each jealous of the other). There is a perhaps tragic family secret concerning the tree. The plot action is precipitated by the construction workers cutting down this tree. Somehow Alexander Cabeau, as he is drawn to Raedawn, also finds himself taking on treelike characteristics. And the elemental powers of the Somershoe women and their extended family manifest in other ways—the Fox river is rising, and moving in unexpected directions, and foxes turn up in other curious ways.

The novel takes place over the course of only a few days. It's told from a dizzying variety of viewpoints. I do think the multiplication of viewpoints is a bit excessive—for example Davy's and Willy's stories seem mostly superfluous. It resolves rather definitely, though, leaving a few acceptably dangling threads. I enjoyed the novel throughout and read with interest and involvement. It's a strong first novel, a wild book, well-imagined and well-written, with absorbing characters.

Review: The Quiet Woman, by Christopher Priest

Review: The Quiet Woman, by Christopher Priest

by Rich Horton

The late Christopher Priest (1943-2024) was one of the greatest SF writers of his generation. He made an early splash with novels like Inverted World and A Dream of Wessex (aka The Perfect Lover), followed by The Prestige, which was made into a succesful movie by Christopher Nolan, and then by any number of stories and novels in his Dream Archipelago sequence. I wrote an obituary of him for Black Gate here. 

I am scheduled to be on a panel at Readercon next month concerning Priest. In preparation for that, I'm reading or rereading a number of his novels. So don't be surprised when you see a number of reviews of his work on this blog in the coming weeks. I'm starting with one of his lesser known novels, The Quiet Woman. This was published in 1990 in the UK, but didn't get a US edition until 2005, and that from the small press Cosmos (an imprint of Wildside Press.) 

Alice Stockton is a writer, recently divorced and as a result living in a village in Wiltshire, instead of in London. She has just submitted her latest book for publication, but, shockingly, it has been impounded by the Home Office, and she can't get any information about why. And then the one friend she has made in her new village, an elderly woman named Eleanor Hamilton, is brutally murdered. 

So far this seems like a fairly typical dark British thriller/murder mystery. But then Alice learns that Eleanor had a son -- a son she had never mentioned to Alice. Meanwhile Alice decides that her next book will be about Eleanor (her specialty is books about the lives of women.) Eleanor was also a writer, though she was cagy about her publishing history to Alice -- and it takes some time for Alice to learn the name she used as a writer (of children's books, indeed, books that Alice had read at the appropriate age.)

We get chapters from the son's point of view as well. His name is Gordon Sinclair, and we learn that his father and his older brother died in a terrible accident when Gordon was very young, after which, in his words, his mother went mad. Gordon has a difficult childhood, and copes in part by creating an imaginary world of his own. In the present day, he has a job in public relations of some sort, in which he rather sinisterly manipulates the news -- manipulates reality, one might say -- for his clients' advantage -- and his clients may include the government. Or perhaps some of this is his imagination?

The story gets slowly weirder. Eleanor Hamilton's political activities come into focus -- she was an active member of the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament. And apparently there has been a meltdown at a French nuclear reactor close enough to England that fallout reached Alice's village. England's political situation seems darker than it was in our timeline, with much more active government censorship, as evidenced by the treatment of Alice's seemingly harmless book. Eleanor's stories about her past are faintly ominous. Gordon Sinclair seems a creepier figure. Alice worries about her physical condition -- has the fallout affected her? And what about the alien ships that land in the nearby farms, leaving crop circles? Not to mention the sordid sexual assignations between Alice and Gordon in the past -- though neither seems to recognize the other in the present day narrative.

It coheres in the end, with a scary and tricksy and slightly ambiguous resolution. It is in this sense a very Priestian book. I don't think it stands with his very best work, like The Prestige, or A Dream of Wessex, or his several more recent Dream Archipelago books such as The Islanders. But it's a solid work, spooky at times, if at other times I did feel that Priest may have overegged his pudding.