Since I was so impressed with Planetfall by Emma Newman, I borrowed the next book in the series, After Atlas, also in audio form. It turned out to be an SF murder mystery, and to my great surprise I ABSOLUTELY LOVED IT. (I've been reading crime novels since I was nine, so excuse me for being a bit blasée about them.) It's set in the same technology-dominated universe as Planetfall, 40 years after the departure of the colonist ship and just before a capsule left by the woman responsible for the project is due to be opened. Our main protagonist is in charge of investigating the death and dismemberment of someone he once knew and loved. He's drawn in such a nuanced and touching way... His traumas, his conditioning, his small acts of rebellion, how the future he dreams of is constantly delayed by his choices... and oh, his memories of Bear! It genuinely made me tear up — that's how immersive this story is! (Remarkably, the technology never detracts from the humanity of the characters, for good or ill.) Not only was I moved, I was also given much to reflect on, especially the advantages and inconveniences of hypertechnologization and the various forms slavery can take. Plus, the police procedural aspect didn't disappoint. For all this, I think this is a precious jewel of a book. And once again, Emma Newman knows how to end a novel! I will definitely be reading the other volumes in this tetralogy.
Unfortunately, I can't wax so lyrical on The Woman in the Library by Sulari Gentill. A library, a murder mystery, four ill-assorted amateur sleuths — what's not to love? The narrative alternates between novel chapters by an Australian author called Hannah and letters of "criticism" from a fan who gradually becomes more intimately involved with the story. While interesting, this concept began to irritate me quite soon (I enjoy a mise en abyme as much as the next sentient life form, but why have a double one when you can keep it single?), and the rushed ending has to be the most unsatisfying of any book I've recently read. A Goodreads reviewer used the word "scattershot" to refer to the plot, and I absolutely agree. The less said, the better, I think.
To my everlasting shame, I was once again fooled by a stunning cover with Weyward by Emilia Hart. This book's blurb sounded just my cup of tea, promising "the stories of three extraordinary women across five centuries." What it doesn't warn potential readers about is that it includes pretty much every type of abuse that can be thrown at women. While this criticism is often levelled at male authors, rape-as-character-development is no more acceptable when written by a woman. The novel's other offences are too numerous to list, but here is a sample: the tired trope that "witches are in touch with nature"; a supposedly secret form of magic that barely moves beyond a few vague notions of herbalism that anyone can pick up; poorly researched historical details (the dialogue in the witchcraft trial scenes wouldn't be out of place in a modern crime show, and nice try, but inserting a single "prithee" won't lend a text an authentically 17th-century feel); and one of the most idiotic characters I've ever encountered (the only "extraordinary" thing about her is her dimness). Reading this allegedly feminist novel, whose ultimate message seems to be that females need to experience trauma to find their inner strength — a seriously warped, dangerous and toxic take — was a veritable ordeal. For a portrayal of genuine female resilience, allow me to recommend The Once and Future Witches by Alix E. Harrow instead.
Speaking of witches, the next book was The Shadow Cabinet by Juno Dawson, the second volume in the Her Majesty's Royal Coven series. I didn't read the first one, since my library doesn't have it, so the initial few chapters caused some confusion. Fair enough, I don't hold this against it — but plenty of other things annoyed me greatly. I think the author tried to cram too many subplot elements into her novel, perhaps in an attempt to make it more exciting, which only succeeded in slowing down the momentum.
I don't know if this choppiness is her signature style, but she inserts such excessive amounts of commentary/inner monologue/reflections/memories between bits of dialogue that, by the time we get the next line, we've almost forgotten what the characters were talking about. The briefest conversation goes on for pages! And the writing is terrible, clunky and awkward. Let me treat you to a few choice snippets:
- The poor thing had been terrified, and it was a terror she was terrified to revisit.
(She was terrified, terrified I tells ya!)
- She rolled over, curling into a foetal C-shape.
(The phrase you're looking for is "foetal position.")
- They said nothing, and she realised time had stopped still.
(Surely it should be either "time had stopped" or "time stood still"? Choose one!)
This novel does have very good points — its queer/trans/POC representation, its use of witchcraft history (including locations and characters' names), and its incarnation of "witchfinders" in the modern era — but ultimately feels ungainly and unpolished.
I'm going to end by mentioning a couple of podcasts I enjoyed this week (this may become a regular feature), as well as a "podcast moment."
If, like me, you cheer whenever you hear someone working to re-establish the truth regarding supportive undergarments, you must listen to Dirty Sexy History episode 3.18 "Mythbusting Corsets" with Dr. Rebecca Gibson, where she talks about her book The Bad Corset.
I just recently found out about The Rest Is Entertainment with hosts Marina Hyde and the honey-voiced Richard Osman (yes, the author of the Thursday Murder Club novels). Although they mostly focus on UK shows and personalities with which I'm unacquainted, their light, humorous conversations prove to be a welcome distraction, a balm in troubled times.
And finally, please indulge me for mentioning Emma Newman again, but on the latest episode of Tea and Sanctuary, she — very bravely, I thought — confided that she occasionally isolates herself (or "runs away") because she's afraid of people, and I want to thank her for speaking about this feeling and helping to normalize it. Despite the fact that I've lived with this fear for many years now, I've never been able to disclose it because I know it'll be met with incomprehension or simply dismissed. It brought me a bit of comfort to hear someone else validate my experience.