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.