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

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 Inaugural Meeting of the Fairvale Ladies Book Club by Sophie Green — Reread Review

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Back when I was routinely picking up books from my company’s book sales, there was a period where Australian stories seemed to be all the rage. I collected The Inaugural Meeting of the Fairvale Ladies Book Club, Salt Creek and Skylarking in quick succession. Not only that, it was through reading The Inaugural Meeting of the Fairvale Ladies Book Club that I went on to read The Thorn Birds. So my interest in fiction set in Australia is well established, and I remember enjoying The Inaugural Meeting of the Fairvale Ladies Book Club first time around — I gave it three stars.

Like All Together Now, The Inaugural Meeting of the Fairvale Ladies Book Club is an ensemble story of how the club, and the friendships formed through it, changes the lives of each of the members. The books chosen and the reading aren’t really the point: that’s just an excuse to bring the characters together. (Nonetheless, there is enough reading and discussion of books that Sophie Green doesn’t run into the problem so many books about libraries do.) The stories tread familiar ground: a woman escaping a bad marriage, another dealing with the lost of a husband, a third struggling to conceive and blaming herself. And each of these stories ends much the way you’d expect.

Sallyanne wanted to cry with the horribleness of it all but that would be rude: she would be getting upset because she’d behaved badly and that would make her guest uncomfortable.

The Inaugural Meeting of the Fairvale Ladies Book Club, Sophie Green

Nonetheless, the friendship linking the stories together adds something quite special, especially given the setting. Sophie Green effectively conveys just how big and empty this part of Australia was in the 1970s and 80s. For most of her characters, seeing a friend involves a trip that’s numbered in the hours, if not the days, and there’s little opportunity for forging new relationships until the book club comes along. There’s a real theme of women helping other women through the generations, and an acceptance that not every friend is going to follow the same life path.

Sometimes Della thought love affairs in books could never match anything that happened in real life.

The Inaugural Meeting of the Fairvale Ladies Book Club, Sophie Green

While Sophie Green’s prose isn’t remarkable (either positively or negatively), it is always interesting to see the way characters react to the Australian landscape, and Sophie Green delivers this from many different perspectives. There are characters who’ve recently moved to Australia from England and America, as well as characters who’ve lived in the same region of Australia all their lives and others who move between different regions. The discussions between characters coming from different backgrounds make this particularly memorable.

Overall, The Inaugural Meeting of the Fairvale Ladies Book Club is an enjoyable ensemble piece, and I will definitely come back to it once I’ve read more of the books that the characters discuss.

⭐⭐⭐

Rating: 3 out of 5.

The Little White Horse by Elizabeth Goudge — Firm Favourite

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I discovered The Little White Horse when I caught part of a single episode of the 1994 television adaptation. It must have been a part involving the titular horse, because I was obsessed with all things equine and especially with all things unicorn. Since we couldn’t find the rest of the TV series, my parents bought me the book instead and I fell utterly in love with it. Not only the unicorn, but Maria’s tower bedroom and delicate sugar biscuits fit exactly into my aesthetic.

Maria Merryweather is, in many ways, a children’s fiction version of Emma Woodhouse. She’s a little too privileged and a little too proud, and the narrator knows it. The plot is as much Maria learning to overcome her faults as it Maria discovering the magic of Silverydew Valley and the mystery of the previous moon princesses. Elizabeth Goudge’s character descriptions are as memorable and charming as her descriptions of locations, and it’s nice to see the portly Uncle Benjamin be romanticised just as much as willow-thin Maria. Robin, Maria’s supposed imaginary friend turned flesh-and-blood boy surely fulfils more than one childhood dream.

While the prose makes everything feel enchanted, there’s not a lot of actual magic in The Little White Horse. Moonacre and Silverydew Valley are clearly pastoral locations existing in a slightly different sphere of reality, and Maria’s animal companions are both longer-lived and more intelligent than is common, but Maria performs superhuman feats, nor is there any true fortune-telling attached to her role as the moon princess. Despite this, Elizabeth Goudge is able to elicit the same longing for a more magical life that readers might get from Lucy walking through the wardrobe into Narnia.

It was as though he were a sort of picture of the fine qualities of Moonacre men — strong and brave, loving, warm and ruddy — so that when the Moon Maiden parted with her man she had to part with the tawny dog, too.
And the little white horse, Maria thought suddenly, had all the Moon Maiden qualities, the white beauty, the shining purity, the still pride.

The Little White Horse, Elizabeth Goudge

Unsurprisingly for a book written in 1946, The Little White Horse does stick to traditional gender roles and romances. Unlike the film adaptation, there’s no scene where prim Maria runs through the forest dishevelling her clothes, but she’s still able to participate in adventures just as fully as the male characters, and even acts alone to bring about the final resolution between ‘good’ and ‘evil’. Even so, the way her authority figures disdain feminine curiosity may grate on modern readers, as may the decision to marry off all three female characters at the end of the novel.

Maria gave a cry of delight. She was going to live in a house with a tower, like a princess in a fairy-tale.

Oh, but it was a glorious house! It towered up before them, its great walls confronting the shadowy garden with a sort of timeless strength that was as reassuring as the light in a window of the tower. And though she had never seen it before, it gave her a feeling of home. For the Merryweathers had lived in it for generations, and she was a Merryweather.

The Little White Horse, Elizabeth Goudge

The Little White Horse claimed a place in my heart too long ago for me to ever truly be objective about it. For me, picking it up will always mean a magical return to the places, characters, feasts and festivals that I love. I haven’t always found that same satisfaction in Elizabeth Goudge’s novels for adults, but Moonacre Manor will always be one of my dream homes.

(If you’d like to see all the featured homes, you can find their descriptions on my Tumblr.)

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Rating: 4.5 out of 5.

Shadowplay by Joseph O’Connor — New Review, Bookclub Too

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The third and final book for my reading holiday, Shadowplay fictionalises the life of Bram Stoker, rather than adding to the story of his most famous character. Joseph O’Connor’s prose is probably my favourite of the three, though Shadowplay is arguably the least Gothic of the three novels. It does share some similarities with Dracula and The Deathless Girls; they’re all sad stories, and by being the most realistic, Shadowplay is in some ways the saddest.

But I do sort of feel London is where a playhouse belongs, dashed if I know why. Something to do with the weather.
And Shakespeare. When one knows he might have walked the selfsame street, it rather puts a fizz in one’s blood. You see the Thames, and you feel, golly, the Globe was just younger. He might have got the idea for MacBeth on Southwark Row or The Embankment. Pepys. Kit Marlow. Those ghosts are all about.

Shadowplay, Joseph O’Connor

Jospeh O’Connor conveys a strong sense of how it felt to live in London in the late 1870s to early 1900s. As a character, Bram only infrequently visits parts of the city other than his home and the Lyceum theatre, but his night-time wanderings through the streets philosophising about Jack the Ripper do ground the narrative in a particular place and time. That said, Joseph O’Connor’s London may not be entirely true to life: despite the looming menace of Oscar Wilde’s trial and imprisonment, the LGBTQ characters’ lives seem substantially carefree.

Despite their interpersonal tensions, Joseph O’Connor’s characters are all sympathetic. Their relationships to one another are complicated, troubled by disagreements and competing priorities in the same way that real relationships are. The reader can side with Bram one moment and be frustrated at his dismissive attitude towards his wife the next. Just as there are no entirely unpleasant characters, there are no paragons of virtue either.

And as with real people, it’s hard to say that Shadowplay has any singular plot direction. The reader navigates through Bram Stoker’s life as Bram navigates through his relationships — both interpersonal and creative. The ending is bittersweet, and the final passages reminded me strongly (and positively) of How to Be a Heroine.

According to Shadowplay, Bram Stoker never lived to see Dracula’s success, let alone to know that over 125 years later, people would travel to Whitby specifically to discuss his writing. It’s a thought which is definitely going to make October’s reading holiday an interesting one.

⭐⭐⭐

Rating: 3 out of 5.

The Deathless Girls by Kiran Millwood Hargrave — New Review

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As I mentioned when I reviewed Dracula, The Deathless Girls is on the agenda of my ‘Gothic Fiction’ reading holiday. When I agreed to go, I was fully expecting the other books to be along the lines of The Monk or The Mysteries of Udolpho. It came as a (pleasant) surprise to discover that both The Deathless Girls and Shadowplay were published in my lifetime. (I didn’t take the Gothic fiction module at uni, but I certainly heard enough from those that did to put me off 1790s Gothic novels.) What took me even more by surprise was learning that The Deathless Girls is a Young Adult novel. If last year’s singing holiday is anything to judge by, it’s safe to say most of the holiday readers will have left their young adult years long behind them, so I’m intrigued to hear what people have to say about this is October!

I hauled my breaking heart, my hurt, into my throat, and sang something low and sweet: a mourning song. A song for Mamă and for Old Charani, and Dika, and all the other burnt and broken bodies that had once held the souls of those we loved.
I sang their spirits free and safe and unburdened with the knowledge of what had become of us, and sent them spinning up to the stars, or into the trees, or wherever they felt happiest.

The Deathless Girls, Kiran Millwood Hargrave

As a standalone novel, The Deathless Girls is a little underwhelming. Lil and Kizzy’s relationship feels like well-trodden ground: Lil’s the less extroverted sister who follows in Kizzy’s lead and wishes she could stand out more. Similarly, the romance between Lil and Mira is standard Young Adult fare, complete with moments of Lil somehow managing to miss the obvious clues that her feelings are reciprocated. Mira doesn’t get much of a personality beyond their relationship and being a victim, which is a shame. Kiran Millwood Hargave’s prose is nice, especially when she writes about Lil singing, but sadly that subplot doesn’t really go anywhere.

In the forests there would be witch haze and willow bark, other remedies the trees could give to soothe her sore skin. If knowing the land and all it could offer was bestial, I didn’t want to be human.

The Deathless Girls, Kiran Millwood Hargrave

All that said, The Deathless Girls shouldn’t be taken as a standalone novel. It’s a response to Bram Stoker’s Dracula, and that’s where most of the interest lies. Lil, Kizzy and Mira could not be more different from Jonathan Harker, Doctor John Seward and Abraham van Helsing. The European characters in Dracula come from a much more civilised world than the vampires, their fears are about that bestial influence on civilised society. Lil and Kizzy come from a society more connected to nature, literally living with wild animals in their midsts. It’s a really interesting flip, over and above the fact more obvious difference that Lil and Kizzy are women with more agency than Mina and Lucy are allowed in the original novel.

Kiran Millwood Hargrave fits The Deathless Girls almost perfectly into the spaces for story that Dracula leaves unexplored. Her Dracul follows the same vampire logic as Stoker’s Dracula, which feels important and respectful to the original text. Even knowing which Dracula characters the story was based on, Kiran Millwood Hargrave managed to keep the ending from being too transparently forecast.

While I wouldn’t necessarily recommend The Deathless Girls over any other Young Adult novel, it should bring up some really interesting discussions when paired with Dracula, so I’m looking forward to my reading holiday! Two down, one to go.

⭐⭐⭐

Rating: 3 out of 5.

Voss by Patrick White — Reread Review

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I remember enjoying the university module I studied on Settler Fiction: Australia and New Zealand, which potentially explains why I had a vague sense that I’d enjoyed reading Voss as part of that module. Perhaps the very vagueness of that sense should have tipped me off; I couldn’t remember anything specific about the novel at all, let alone any particular feature I might have appreciated. Rereading Voss over a decade later was an exercise in trying to find what I’d liked about it the first time.

If I were not obsessed, Voss reflected, I would be purposeless in this same sea.

Voss, Patrick White

Patrick White’s language is no more complicated than any other novel written in the 1950s and yet, there’s something impenetrable about it. Like Rob Roy, the novel harkens back to a more historical period, and yet ends up to be a more challenging read than novels actually written in that era. In particular, Voss’s character motivations are frequently obtuse. Even looking at chapter summaries which describe all the events of any given scene, it’s not obvious why the characters are reacting as intensely as they are.

Laura Trevelyan openly admits in one of her letters that Voss’s proposal comes as a surprise. Despite this, and the fact that the characters never correspond again, they’re spiritually bound in some ineffable way which is presented as merely fact, as if the reader should understand how and why their connection works, or perhaps that the reader shouldn’t question it at all.

Exhausted by food, mellow with Christmas, they no longer demanded narrative, but preferred the lantern slides of recollection.

Voss, Patrick White

While things happen in Voss, it’s hard to pin down any actual plot, any sense of cause and effect and resolution. Voss, sleepwalking, steals a compass, but he puts it back when its loss is discovered. Laura adopts a child, and ruins any prospect she might have had of a conventional marriage, but only her aunt and uncle are bothered by this. The explorers’ interpersonal relationships change, and this leads to the party splitting in two, but both parties come to basically the same end. Voss doesn’t seem to have the shape or structure of a recognisable story.

Disappointingly, Voss was a slow, frustrating reread, and I doubt I’ll be revisiting it in future.

⭐

Rating: 1 out of 5.

A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles — New Review, Bookclub Too

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A Gentleman in Moscow came to my Discord book club as my nomination, and it was recommended to me by Nickie, though sadly I don’t remember what she said about it. All I knew going in was that it was set shortly after the Russian revolution and was about a former aristocrat who was sentenced to spend the rest of his life in a hotel. Ironically, I chose to read over my most social fortnight so far this year, so my life made a marked contrast as I was out of the house eight days out of 14.

And in the days that followed, a man who had long prided himself on his ability to tell a story in the most succinct manner with an emphasis on the most salient points, by necessity became a master of the digression, the parenthetical remark, the footnote, eventually learning to anticipate Sofia’s relentless inquiries before she had the time to phrase them.

A Gentleman in Moscow, Amor Towles

Despite being set in a single building, A Gentleman in Moscow doesn’t feel claustrophobic at all. It’s not that Alexander is untroubled by his limited freedom and reduced circumstances, because his actions make it clear that he is deeply affected by them. It’s more that Amor Towles’ prose maintains enough of distance from Alexander’s emotions to give the whole novel a very dreamlike feel. The plot, such as it is in the early sections, is centred around exploring and making the most of the environment and characters as they’re presented.

Both the novel and Alexander feel a little purposeless until Sofia makes her entrance, which is thematically appropriate. In some ways its a shame that Alexander’s purpose should be parenthood, which is hardly a surprising or unusual answer to the question of what a character should do to find meaning. It might have been more interesting to explore the question of what a character trapped in a hotel could do to create a life of purpose without the convenient adoption of a child.

If you are ever in doubt, just remember that unlike adults, children want to be happy, so they still have the ability to take the greatest pleasure in the simplest things.

A Gentleman in Moscow, Amor Towles

Amor Towles’ characters are engaging and memorable, even if they mostly don’t feel as though they’re particularly connected to their social and political environment. With a few exceptions, most of the guests and employees feel as though they could’ve been met in a luxury international hotel in any country, rather than being specifically Russian. While the Russian revolution is the inciting incident, politics is otherwise very much kept in the background.

Most of A Gentleman in Moscow was gently enjoyable, but the ending did provide a few moments of exciting action. Watching Alexander’s plan come together was a very satisfying way to round off what had otherwise been a fairly sedate pleasure.

⭐⭐⭐

Rating: 3 out of 5.

Golden Hill by Francis Spufford — New Review, Bookclub Too

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When book club actually started to vote for my nomination, I felt irrationally nervous. No matter how much I told myself that voting meant they’d read the blurb and were interested, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it would be my fault if Golden Hill was bad and nobody enjoyed it. Fortunately, that feeling went away as soon as I started reading.

Mr Smith is immediately intriguing; he keeps the reader, as well as the characters, in suspense about what he is doing in 1746 New York. The very real possibility that he’s pulling an elaborate con adds a certain spice to his introduction to the city, especially if you find con-artist characters in fiction particularly fascinating heroes.

“I like all of you. I like the bird and I like the cage. I like the polished mind and the rough tongue. I like the tearing claws and the warm hands. I like the monster and I like the girl.”
“I do not like myself very much,” said Tabitha painfully.
“I know.”

Golden Hill, Francis Spufford

Golden Hill‘s narration, like The French Lieutenant’s Woman, has a metafictional sense of detached commentary, which particularly stood out when the narrator deliberately obfuscated the rules of piquet and the high-action of the sword fighting. As a winner of the Ondaatje prize, Francis Spufford has been lauded for creating a sense of place — and yet, Golden Hill still feels modern, especially in its treatment of LGBTQ+ characters, characters of colour and slaves.

A bitter wind had come in, from off the East River, and licked at his skin as a salamander might, if that creature’s legend were reversed, and it lived in ice not fire, with a body of glassy blue.

Golden Hill, Francis Spufford

As well as evoking 1746, Golden Hill specifically brings to life the Christmas season. There’s a fascinating mix of traditions, taking from British, Dutch, protestant, catholic as well as some which are probably unique to this particular set of characters. Despite being set entirely in the real world, Golden Hill shares a surprising amount with the fantasy novel The Republic of Thieves — especially the focus on ‘historic’ theatre.

Like Gentlemen & Players, Golden Hill has an ending which almost makes the reader want to immediately start again from the beginning. Even if you resist that urge, it would reward rereading once you know the truth about certain things. I’m certainly looking forward to reading it a second time some day.

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Rating: 4.5 out of 5.

Romola by George Eliot — Revisit Review

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As mentioned in my The Mill on the Floss review, Romola is the high water mark showing how far through George Eliot’s works I made it when trying to read the entire canon of a single author. During my last attempt, I’m not even sure I made it to the title character before giving up, and I can still see why! I’ve previously praised Silas Marner and Adam Bede for being easier to read than I expected, but Romola was hard going all the way through. I’m starting to wonder if it’s a historical fiction problem, because I similarly struggled with Rob Roy.

While George Eliot gives a lot more historical context in Romola than she does in her English novels, it’s not enough and it’s not particularly engaging. It’s not crucial to the plot that readers understand the conflict between Florence and Rome, or the religious debate happening between various flavours of Christianity, but the book might read better with some background knowledge because without it, certain passages are a slog of detail not moving the plot and characters forward.

A vision had risen of what Tito was to her in those first days when she thought no more of wrong in him than a child thinks of poison in flowers.

Romola, George Eliot

The character-focused stories are interesting! Tito is an incredibly morally flawed character who sits at the centre of a web of consequences, all of which he’s trying to avoid. Wanting to find out whether he succeeds or fails is definitely enough to keep a reader going, even without the nobler and more likeable characters who rotate around him. Tessa and Romola are similar to Hetty and Dinah in the way George Eliot describes them, but they have a very different dynamic.

Under every guilty secret there is hidden a brood of guilty wishes, whose unwholesome infecting life is cherished by the darkness.

Romola, George Eliot

There’s a lot of potential for drama, even without a full understanding of the cultural context, but Romola never quite lives up to that potential. The ending, in particular, all came a bit too quickly and wrapped up too neatly. Romola’s conversion to Christianity was another place that lacked the necessary depth, which undermined the whole of the Girolamo Savonarola plot line.

I don’t think Romola will be one of the George Eliot novels that I revisit, but I’m glad I can say I’ve read it now and finally take it off my TBR!

⭐⭐

Rating: 2 out of 5.