His Last Bow by Arthur Conan Doyle — Revisit Review

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I keep thinking I’ve reached the end of the Sherlock Holmes series, only to discover there’s more books still to come. In the case of His Last Bow, that feels forgivable; both the title and the final story feel like the intended end of the series. I don’t own a copy of The Case-book of Sherlock Holmes, so it might be a while before I find out exactly how that fits into the chronology, but I’m pretty sure I’ve heard at least some of the stories before, so His Last Bow will always been the last book that was new to me.

Don’t drop the instruments, I beg. Your arrest as a suspicious character would be a most unfortunate complication.

His Last Bow, Arthur Conan Doyle

His Last Bow takes some time to get going. The first three stories (The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge, The Adventure of the Cardboard Box and The Adventure of the Red Circle) aren’t particularly memorable. Things pick up with The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans (which Sherlock viewers will recognise as the basis for The Great Game) which, despite being a story of naval plans, poses an interesting mystery.

The second half of His Last Bow is definitely the stronger, and feels themed around the winding up of Sherlock Holmes’ career. Both The Adventure of the Dying Detective and The Adventure of the Devil’s Foot serve to place a neat cap on the Holmes-Watson relationship, showing how much both men care about their friendship. Admittedly, this is somewhat undermined by Holmes’ irritation with Watson in The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax, but at least that story has an interesting solution which somewhat makes up for the sting. Finally, in His Last Bow (the story), Arthur Conan Doyle offers a glimpse into the future, bringing Holmes and Watson back together for one final case.

Good old Watson! You are the one fixed point in a changing age.

His Last Bow, Arthur Conan Doyle

Overall, while His Last Bow has few stories that stand out individually, the overall impression is cohesive in a way that feels appropriate.

Rating: 2.5 out of 5.

No Big Deal by Bethany Rutter — New Review

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After being slightly disappointed in Dumplin(though I do love the film adaptation), I’ve been low-key on the lookout for other books with positive portrayals of plus-size main characters. I picked this up at my local station’s free bookshelf (whence it shall probably return) and have just been waiting for a gap in my reading schedule to read it.

First, and most important, things first: Emily is so much more consistent than Willowdean! She does go through ups and downs in terms of her self-image, but those always follow on from events in the plot, making them logical, and she’s much more coherent in her narration about why she feels the way she feels, even when she knows her feelings aren’t 100% rational. Emily’s character developments follows a genuine trajectory, one which is satisfying from beginning to end.

And it’s important for me to know that. To realise that I can stand up for things I think are important, even when it means disagreeing with a really, really cute guy — and I don’t have to panic when it happens.

No Big Deal, Bethany Rutter

Perhaps the price of all this internal consistency and self-focus is that No Big Deal‘s secondary characters aren’t drawn as strongly as they could be. Emily has friends, characters that don’t feel like cardboard cutouts and that do have their own lives and their own stories happening in the background, but they just don’t get enough attention to have particularly developed personalities. Abi is positive, Camila is calming, Ella and Sophia are girlfriends — that’s about it. Emily’s family fares better, perhaps because their lives don’t markedly change during the course of the story. (Sidenote: Emily’s mum’s story is just heartbreaking. Sequel?)

Maybe if I wasn’t fat, these things wouldn’t happen to me. Maybe I would be easier to love. Maybe I wouldn’t be as easy to hurt. Maybe I would be more valuable.

No Big Deal, Bethany Rutter

The romantic plot line works very well: the turns it takes feel realistic, without being so predictable that you can see them coming a mile off. The climax evoked the brutal plot twist in Girls Out Late, or the moment in Hairspray when Link tells Tracey the adventure is ‘a little too big’. (Plus-size readers, what are the moments in fiction that hit you in the solar-plexus like these?) As in It Only Happens in the Movies, the ending is more complicated, but feels more rewarding, than a simple happily-ever-after.

The whole of No Big Deal feels like Bethany Rutter’s love letter to teens and young adults struggling with their size in society. At times, that did mean that it came across just a little heavy-handed, but in a way that felt worth it, and wasn’t unpleasant to read.

I’d thoroughly recommend No Big Deal to anyone interested in this style of book!

Rating: 4 out of 5.

The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey — Reread Review

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As far as I remember, The Snow Child was a book I picked up from one of work’s book sales, and first read over Christmas (very seasonally appropriate). I thought I remembered the basic story, and liked it well enough, so I thought I’d read it again during the even colder months of January and February. Maybe it would help me recapture my love of snow after it betrayed me. (Yes, yes, I am Lorelai Gilmore.)

Eowyn Ivey’s descriptions of snow are very lovely and cosy, like sitting inside in the warm and watching snow fall against the window. Even when the characters face the genuine dangers of an Alaskan winter, the prose is always light and enchanting. While I wouldn’t say the story was predictable or obviously moving towards any particular happy ending, the danger to these characters is very rarely physical and immediate.

During the next several days the skies cleared, a deep cold settled on the valley, and the child’s tracks became edged in frost. They trailed sparkling and delicate through Mabel’s thoughts, and left her feeling as if she had forgotten something.

The Snow Child, Eowyn Ivey

At first, it seems as though The Snow Child might be a version of Pollyanna: an unusual, pure-hearted child appears to bring new meaning into older characters’ lives. (Which is absolutely fine, but a little overdone. Why must it always be a child?) Fortunately, there was more going on between Mabel and Jack, and the child’s touch is not the only thing required to fix their relationship, which was very much appreciated.

Mabel only had to wish and believe. Her love would be a beacon to the child.

The Snow Child, Eowyn Ivey

Faina (the titular snow child), too, has more going on than just being a child made of snow that came to life. Throughout the story, Eowyn Ivey presents evidence for both sides, that Faina is flesh-and-blood or that she’s something more folkloric, and without spoiling the ending, even that is left fairly open for the reader to decide.

Overall, a lovely wintery read that had more nuance in it than I had remembered! Also, bonus cameo of an otter, which is always welcome.

Rating: 3 out of 5.

Breaking through thin ice, splashing in cold creek water, sliding belly-down across snow. Joyful, though it should have known better.

The Snow Child, Eowyn Ivey

Babel by R F Kuang — New Review, Bookclub Edition

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Babel has been an extremely hot topic at book club since it came out, and we’ve just been waiting for the paperback before we put it on our reading lists. I knew the main conceit going in: that Babel‘s magic system relies on the difference between similar words in different languages; whatever meaning of the word is left untranslated, manifests as physical reality. As a speaker of only one language, the magic system felt about as distant to me as any other magic system I can’t participate in (which is to say, all of them!) but the themes of moving country at a young age are definitely ones I’m appreciative of.

They’d entered the wizard’s house, had watched him mix his potions and cast his spells, and now nothing would satisfy them until they’d tried it themselves.

Babel, R F Kuang

R F Kuang’s world building is amazing: not only is there a whole magic system grafted onto historic Oxford, there’s detailed interplay between real-world history & empire and the fictionalised versions based on acquisition of silver. Even more impressive, the world is explained clearly enough for readers to follow without getting bogged down in masses of extraneous detail. While parts of the novel are necessarily exposition-heavy, it never seems to slow things down.

Despite the vastness of the world, Babel is peopled with relatively few characters: a class size of only four students in a year at Babel seems to be perfectly normal. This allows R F Kuang to focus tightly on the interpersonal relationships between the four main characters, though there’s a lot going on under the surface that there’s never quite time to bring to light and explore fully. R F Kuang trusts the reader to connect the dots and make their own inferences, but readers who prefer character-driven novels over plot-driven novels may wish there wasn’t quite so much left unsaid.

Travel sounds fun until you realise what you really want is to stay at home with a cup of tea and a stack of books by a warm fire.

Babel, R F Kuang

Fortunately, the plot driving Babel is a gripping one, especially once the four students travel to Canton. It’s not too much of a spoiler to say that the latter half of the story had intense The Secret History vibes, albeit with a more overt political and class struggle undermining the main action. R F Kuang’s descriptions of Oxford also rival Donna Tartt’s for atmosphere, though the mood captured is very different in each.

It’s a treat to kick off the year with a book that’s firing on all cylinders. The only thing I can find to criticise is very much based in personal preference: early on, Babel seems like it will be a book about found family and friendship, which I love, and it does contain those things, but not in an uncomplicatedly positive way. The ending absolutely fits the novel, but perhaps doesn’t entirely fit me as a reader.

Rating: 3.5 out of 5.

Peter Pan and Wendy by James Matthew Barrie — Reread Review

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I have no very strong memories of my reaction to Disney’s Peter Pan; I must have watched it, and I liked fairies so I was probably a Tinkerbell fan, but beyond that I honestly couldn’t tell you. I was, however, completely enchanted by the 2003 adaptation, starring Jeremy Sumpter, which came out when I was 16, and is startlingly accurate to the book. If I’d have been able to get my hands on the text of J M Barrie’s original play, I would’ve written one of my university on essays on the adaptation of ‘clap if you believe’ into the ‘I do believe in fairies’ scene.

Many of the lovable things about Peter Pan and Wendy are so well known as to be hardly worth mentioning: mermaids, pirates, daring sword fights and fairies whose dust grants the ability to fly. J M Barrie wraps up so many trappings of childhood play into a single novel that surely any reader will find something to take them back to their own nursery days.

They live in nests on the tops of trees; and the mauve ones are boys and the white ones are girls, and the blue ones are just little sillies who are not sure what they are.

Peter Pan and Wendy, James Matthew Barrie

Equally reminiscent of childhood is the importance placed on stories and story-telling. The whole book is written in the voice of a narrator who, like the narrator in The Magician’s Nephew and the grandfather in The Princess Bride, interrupts and explains and talks about the way the story is crafted as he is telling it. In the title, Peter Pan and Wendy are given near-equal importance, and Wendy only gets taken to Neverland so she can finish telling the story of Cinderella. While there’s not a book in sight, this focus on stories is rewarding to any avid reader of fiction.

Of course, coming at Peter Pan and Wendy from 2023, there’s one massive sour note to contrast against all this loveliness. The depiction of the ‘redskins’ is awful, and very uncomfortable to read. As racist as some of the adaptations still are, at least they manage to make Tiger Lily into an actual character. In the original text, she’s just an object for Peter to rescue and another woman to want him to be a man. So little agency does she have in Peter Pan and Wendy that she barely even speaks English.

Wendy was grown up. You need not be sorry for her. She was one of the kind that likes to grow up. In the end she grew up of her own free will a day quicker than other girls.

Peter Pan and Wendy, James Matthew Barrie

As charming as the good parts of Peter Pan and Wendy are, I think the magic for me is in the adaptations, the way this story keeps being told and updated through the generations. It’s nice to return to the original text once in a while, but it’s by no means perfect.

Rating: 3.5 out of 5.
See bonus pics: Peter Pan and Wendy by James Matthew Barrie — Reread Review
Bonus pictures of my 21st Peter-Pan-themed birthday!

Les Misérables by Victor Hugo — New Review

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In January 2023, I discovered Les Mis Letters — a substack inspired by Dracula Daily which was sending out a chapter of Les Misérables each day in 2023. I’ve seen the musical twice, and listened to it substantially more than that, but never read it, so after very little consideration, I decided to dive right in. I spent a weekend catching up the chapters I’d missed, then the rest of 2023 doing my best to make time for my chapter each day. I did not always succeed, sometimes I had to catch up three or four chapters over the weekend, and I didn’t finish on the 31st, as I ‘should’ have, but instead on the 3rd of January 2024.

I really enjoyed reading Les Misérables this way at first, and I doubt I would ever have made it through ‘the brick’ in any other way. When he’s digressing about battles shaped like letters of the alphabet, a chapter is about as much Victor Hugo as I can manage. Unfortunately, I really lost steam around the barricades where, for what felt like weeks, we leave behind the characters we’ve spent a lot of time with to talk about the history and philosophy of revolutions. Even once the barricade has fallen, we never really return to the characters we love until the very, very end.

And do what he would, he always fell back upon the heartrending dilemma which lay at the foundation of his reverie: “Should he remain in paradise and become a demon? Should he return to hell and become an angel?”

Les Misérables, Victor Hugo

When the characters are strong, they’re really strong! The first book, all about M. Myriel is a delight, and sets up the second book beautifully. The interplay between Javert, Jean Valjean and Fantine is engaging enough to keep a reader going through the digressions. Even the introduction of the Marius-Cosette storyline is surprisingly entertaining. Unfortunately, Marius loses a lot of points once he and Cosette actually interact, and even more points for his treatment of Eponine. (Her affection for Marius is somewhat bewildering in the musical, it’s downright inexplicable in the book.)

One day, at last, he returned thither once more; it was a serene summer morning, and Marius was in joyous mood, as one is when the weather is fine. It seemed to him that he had in his heart all the songs of the birds that he was listening to, and all the bits of blue sky of which he caught glimpses through the leaves of the trees.

Les Misérables, Victor Hugo

Obviously, in a book with 365 chapters, there’s a lot of material that didn’t make it into the adaptation. Some of that is great: Jean Valjean giving Cosette an expensive doll she’s been admiring for days; what the fandom refers to as ‘the coffin heist’, Marius’s cousin. On the other hand, a lot of is comes in the form of digressions about French politics and history and philosophy that a lot of readers aren’t going to have enough context to follow or find interesting. That said, some people really enjoy these digressions! And many wonderful people have posted explanations and analysis of them, which can be read alongside the chapters, and which will certainly help provide some context, though perhaps only enough to make the digressions bearable rather than interesting.

Les Mis Letters used the Isabel F Hapgood translation which, because it was written in the 19th century, reads like a 19th-century novel. This, combined with the digressions, definitely slows down whole sections of the book. More modern translations are, apparently, easier to read, but that would mean devoting another 365 days to Les Misérables

While I’m glad I read Les Misérables, I’m also looking forward to not having that daily obligation on my to-do list in 2024!

You are right, sir, when you tell me that Les Misérables is written for all nations. I do not know whether it will be read by all, but I wrote it for all. It is addressed to England as well as to Spain, to Italy as well as to France, to Germany as well as to Ireland, to Republics which have slaves as well as to Empires which have serfs. Social problems overstep frontiers.

Les Misérables, Victor Hugo

Rating: 3 out of 5.

The Valley of Fear by Arthur Conan Doyle — Revisit Review

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Though I’ve labelled this a ‘revisit’ review, I don’t think I’ve actually read The Valley of Fear before. For some reason, I have it down on my list as the final Sherlock Holmes story — though as far as I can tell, it’s actually seventh in the series. The story wasn’t familiar to me, which is exciting as I got to approach the mystery entirely unsolved.

The format of The Valley of Fear is very, very similar to that of A Study in Scarlet; it’s divided into two books, the first features Sherlock Holmes and John Watson attempting to solve a murder in an English country house, while the second travels to America to give us the backstory of the people involved. The secret society ensconced in a remote mining community has extremely similar vibes to the Mormon community in A Study in Scarlet. The women characters are treated (slightly) better, at least, in that they are allowed to make their own decisions and not just abandoned to mistreatment.

Taking the two halves separately: the mystery of The Valley of Fear isn’t one of Arthur Conan Doyle’s best. A seasoned reader of mysteries will probably immediately realise that the witness testimony is highly suspect. That said, Arthur Conan Doyle was writing earlier than a great many popular mystery authors, so perhaps it wouldn’t have been as obvious at the time. The second half is engaging, and features an elements of murder and mystery which make the whole thing feel more in keeping with a Sherlock Holmes book than did the random historical romance inserted in A Study in Scarlet.

Surely our profession, Mr Mac, would be a drab and sordid one if we did not sometimes set the scene so as to glorify our results. The blunt accusation, the brutal tap upon the shoulder — what can one make of such a denouement? But the quick inference, the subtle trap, the clever forecast of coming events, the triumphant vindication of bold theories — are these not the pride and the justification of our life’s work?

The Valley of Fear, Arthur Conan Doyle

Though published later, The Valley of Fear is set before Reichenbach, so can’t advance the relationship between Holmes and Watson enough to be interesting. That said, Holmes is extremely idiosyncratic throughout, which is good fun to read, especially the spiel he goes on about why detectives need to be so dramatic.

The Valley of Fear is no The Hound of the Baskervilles, but it’s about equally enjoyable as A Study in Scarlet.

Rating: 3.5 out of 5.

Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders — New Review, Bookclub Too

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Lincoln in the Bardo is one of those books that’s been on my radar for a long time, but I don’t really know why. I knew nothing about it, except the name, so had no strong feelings either way when it was the only book nominated for January’s book club. I know very little about Abraham Lincoln, so much so that I initially assumed the first section of the book was about Lincoln, when it very definitely wasn’t. So at least Lincoln in the Bardo would be an opportunity to learn some (fictionalised) history.

George Saunders composes his story from snippets of text supposed to be drawn from and attributed to actual historical documents. Many, if not most, of these are completely fictional, but the attributions get repetitive fairy fast, as well as breaking the flow of the story. If you skip over these, it’s difficult to distinguish which character is which, so each reader will need to decide for themselves which is more important. (The story is still enjoyable, even without a crystal clear understanding of who does what in every moment.)

Despite the title, neither Abraham nor Willie Lincoln is really the main character. Instead, the story focuses on the Bardo itself, and the personalities which have haunted it for many years after their lives ended. While that might sound difficult to relate to for readers who, inevitably, have no yet come to the end of their life, George Saunders manages to build in many fears and themes which are just as applicable outside the Bardo. The focus on community and giving back to others instead of focusing completely on the self is particularly well done. (Lincoln in the Bardo would make an interesting companion piece to the musical In the Heights.)

The flowing sugar gown of Lady Liberty descended like drapery upon a Chinese pagoda, inside of which, in a pond of candy floss, swam miniature fish of chocolate. Nearby, lusty angels of cake waved away bees hung aloft on the thinnest strands of glaze.

Lincoln in the Bardo, George Saunders

I’m not sure I’ll read Lincoln in the Bardo a second time, especially as I usually reread things via audiobook and I suspect the attributions would become extremely annoying extremely fast in that medium.

Rating: 3 out of 5.

The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood — Reread Review

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Despite not having got on particularly well with any of the Margaret Atwood books I’d previously encountered, I read The Handmaid’s Tale when the TV series came out. (Hard to say why; I hadn’t watched the TV series before, nor have I since.) ‘Enjoy’ seems the wrong word, but it absorbed me much more than Cat’s Eye or The Penelopiad. Rereading was a very different experience, because I already knew how the society was structured, which allowed me more space to appreciate the nuances and details.

For many people, the first read of The Handmaid’s Tale will be all about the society of Gilead, working out what is different from our world, at what point in history it diverged and how all the different roles function. Margaret Atwood reveals this slowly, piece by piece, keeping the reader hungry for more knowledge, a better understanding. It creates a connection between the reader and Offred, who is also constantly seeking knowledge that she’s not supposed to have.

You’re white as a sheet, he says.
That is how I feel: white, flat, thin. I feel transparent. Surely they will be able to see through me.

The Handmaid’s Tale, Margaret Atwood

Once you’ve understood the society that Margaret Atwood has created, the rest of the story focuses primarily on Offred and her emotional reaction to what’s being done to her. Margaret Atwood really takes the reader into Offred’s thoughts, and this creates just enough distance from Offred’s horrifying treatment that reading The Handmaid’s Tale is uncomfortable without being agonising. That said, Offred’s narrative involves metafictional elements of her questioning or outright contradicting her own version of events, so the reader can never be one hundred per cent sure what’s true and what isn’t. The academic conference which ends the novel doubles down on this, and yet, Offred’s story always feels as though it’s substantially honest.

I believe in the resistance as I believe there can be no light without shadow; or rather, no shadow unless there is also light.

The Handmaid’s Tale, Margaret Atwood

While Offred suffers what seems to be primarily the ‘normal’ fate of a Handmaid, the characters around her face harsher or more dramatic conclusions to their stories. Hearing about Ofglen, Ofwarren and Moira shows just how rare it is that Offred seems to end the novel by escaping from her situation, giving the reader a glimpse of hope which is reinforced by the academic conference confirming that Gilead is a society firmly in the past.

While I expected my second read of The Handmaid’s Tale to feel different from the first, I was surprised by how compelling Margaret Atwood’s writing still was. I don’t know if I feel the need to keep it to read again, but I won’t rule it or the sequel out as future projects.

Rating: 2.5 out of 5.

Roses & Rot by Kat Howard — New Review, Book Club Edition

I’ve learned over the years that my level of excitement for a book club book is not necessarily a good indicator of how much I’ll enjoy it. In the case of Roses & Rot, though, I was intrigued by the premise of an artist’s community with a magical twist and I ended up thoroughly enjoying Kat Howard’s prose, which definitely fit the fairy-tale theme of the book. As I type this, I realise that book club was very careful not to spoil exactly what kind of magic is happening in Roses & Rot, and so I shall attempt to do the same.

Roses & Rot is a book that’s firing on all cylinders: the characters and their relationships are compelling, the plot drops some serious complications into those relationships, the setting and the prose are both equally enchanting and Kat Howard uses fairy-tale elements to do more than simply retread old ground. Imogen’s project while living in the artist’s community is writing fairy tales, and the snippets Kat Howard gives us from her in-world work are beautiful and sinister in roughly equal measure.

The most dangerous thing you could be in a fairy tale was to be a girl with a mother.

Roses & Rot, Kat Howard

The fairy tales in question are the traditional kind and fittingly, Kat Howard’s main relationships are of the sister-and-sister or mother-and-daughter variety, not the romantic love we get in modern adaptations. There are romantic relationships depicted in Roses & Rot, but they’re not the focus. Instead, we get a lot of female friendships, and artists relating to other artists, whether competitively, collaboratively or with a more experienced artist acting as mentor.

I wasn’t angry anymore, not really. Just tired, and achingly bored of the cliché of it all, the feeling that my humiliation had been part of a badly-written script.

Roses & Rot, Kat Howard

While Roses & Rot is very richly written, some of the emotional beats could have hit harder. Perhaps this is partly because the world of Melete is isolated from reality, and most of the people there have known one another for under a year, but even the big sister-sister plot complications didn’t completely drive their emotions home. That said, it didn’t at all hamper the enjoyment of the reading experience.

There are a lot of fantasy books using fairy-tale elements, and for me Roses & Rot is one of the better ones. I’ll definitely be revisiting this, possibly in audiobook form if it’s available.

Rating: 4 out of 5.