The People in the Trees by Hanya Yanagihara

Looking back, I wonder why I pre-ordered The People in the Trees. I guess the marketing blurb must have worked. I like to think that I can be enthused about "challenging and visionary literary fiction", that an "astonishingly gripping and accomplished first novel" would excite me, that "an anthropological adventure story that combines the visceral allure of a thriller with a profound and tragic vision of what happens when cultures collide" would be the sort of book I could enjoy.

Alas.

Part of the problem is the way all the major plot points are revealed in advance. If you read the blurb and the prologue / preface / start of the framing of the story, you will know every significant story development before the first bit of narrative starts. That is not the way of thrillers, and it is not the best way to tell of adventures. (Some adventure stories do give you a gist in advance - but they leave enough details for the main story to thrill you with. This book does not leave such room for excitement: it really does give you everything that's interesting in advance)

So, forget about narrative tension, forget about wanting to find out what happens next: you already know what happens next, pretty much all the way to the final page.

Fine. It must be the writing voice, then, which bewitches and seduces you, takes you away from your own life and into another. Right?

Well, our narrator is a scientist. He's a callous, hard-to-like, arrogant and judgemental man. But his tone of voice is matter-of-fact and the reading experience is roughly comparable to reading a very long Wikipedia article. (A summary at the start, and then fact upon fact upon fact). Don't get me wrong: there is craftsmanship involved in creating an authentic-sounding piece that could have been written by a scientist, and the writer of this novel has achieved a well-crafted, authentic-sounding work. It just isn't all that enjoyable as a reading experience.

Our protagonist, meanwhile, is exactly the sort of scientist that non-scientist creative types like to imagine. He's judgemental and arrogant, but without actual merit - his Nobel Prize winning discoveries are through pure luck rather than skill. In fact, his skill at science is very mediocre and he is not very academically gifted. He's dedicated to logic and thinking and sense, but unable to understand himself. He's callous, a force of devastation and faintly sadistic: early on, he describes working in a laboratory, on experiments he does not understand, as lowly undergrad doing menial tasks. Of these tasks, it is killing the mice which he enjoys most - flinging them in circles by their tails until they are dazed, then breaking their necks with his hands - and he describes, with some glee, how he used to kill them in bulk by swirling many mice simultaneously. It's the sort of nonsense that breaks the suspension of disbelief - not because I cannot believe in casually sadistic men, but because I don't think that this method of killing mice would be particularly popular, nor even that it would be particularly easy to accomplish. It simply reads like a fantasy of someone who distrusts, resents and secretly envies scientists.

Despite its lack of enjoyable qualities, the novel is a detailed character study. Much of it feels authentic, and the number of scenes when authenticity is missing entirely are fairly limited. (Of course, these scenes revolve around the medical mystery, and the 'science' inside the novel is ludicrous beyond belief)

So, writing of decent craftsmanship, lots of detail, some authenticity, but no joy, no thrills, not much adventure - and nothing particularly visionary or thought-provoking. This is not the novel I expected from the blurb, and it is not a novel I would recommend.

(For some reason, the entire book kept putting me in the same mood as The Testament of Gideon Mack, so if you like Gideon Mack, then chances are, you may also appreciate this novel. It might also appeal to fans of Measuring the World)

Rating: 3/5

The Volunteers by Raymond Williams

The Volunteers starts with a bit of a bang - the shooting of a politician in St Fagans National History Museum near Cardiff. Our narrator, a journalist working for a fictional equivalent of Newscorp / BSkyB, is sent out to follow the story. He's chosen because he has a past as left wing agitator / protestor, and because, as an ex-insider with some street cred, he might be able to connect with violent left-wingers.

The rest of the novel follows him as he comes up with theories about the events, and stumbles into something which may be a larger conspiracy.

It sounds like a political thriller, and it really very much wants to be. But, with a ruminating writing voice, a tendency to meander, and long descriptions, the story does not read like a thriller.

As things develop, you get a sense of the weaknesses of the book. The author has no good ear for dialogue. Most interactions our reporter has with people are described in some detail - we get descriptions and analysis of verbal manoeuvrings that read a little bit like a sporting commentary, a sort of tactical analysis, each dialogue a little skirmish, but at the same time, a lot of the dialogue is opaque and about not speaking plainly. Often, as a reader, I think I know what people are being circumspect about, but sometimes, I don't. It makes for an odd experience - getting a blow-by-blow tactical analysis without always being sure what was actually being talked about or implied.

The central premise, meanwhile, is just too laden with wishful thinking. It's a novel that is painfully aware of the ineffectiveness of the fringes of political classes at effecting change, so it dreams of mastermind tacticians and grand plans.

The book kept me engaged and interested all the way through, but by the end, it was hard to feel invested in any characters. Everyone was so clearly an idea, a concept, a theory, rather than a human being, that I did not really believe in any of them, and did not much care about any outcomes.

It is not surprising the book was written by an academic - it does have a very aloof feel to it, when it does not go into a journalistic, blow-by-blow account of a serious event. Those bits are quite well-done, but the meat and bones of the novel are rather less well-cooked than the set-piece scenes.

That said, I loved reading a book set in places I recognised (St Fagans! Cardiff! London! Finsbury Park!) and infused with political people and a political Welsh identity that is not just about being Welsh for the sake of being Welsh, but about class war, Unions, communities and industrial conflict (interestingly, without a persecution complex, unlike the grand lament of victimhood that is Cwmardy) - a national identity that seemingly perished a generation ago, by now replaced by a fairly shallow, red-rugby-shirt-wearing hangup about "not being English", with no other distinctions, a sort of boil-in-the-bag cultural identity... as someone who wasn't around in the 80s and who lives in Wales now, reading about a very different Wales was quite interesting.

As a novel, it's certainly a lot more fun to read than Cwmardy.

Rating: 3.5/5

Libriomancer by Jim C. Hines

Libriomancer starts out at a galloping pace and never really takes a breather. Fire spider, library, VAMPIRE ATTACK, rescue, GANDALF HAS DISAPPEARED, WAR IS ABOUT TO START, RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN.

(I say Gandalf. I should say Gutenberg).

The writing is decent, the pacing solid, but somehow the story never really bewitched me, it never lulled me into that magical sense of being totally engrossed. It never absorbed me in the way that great fiction does. It's not The Neverending Story, it's not Inkheart, and it took the book about 150 pages before I actually started to like our hero. It's not that he is anything less than a decent guy, it's just that he isn't anything more interesting than your average guy either (until he finally unleashes some librarian-powers and starts doing detective work through means of research). Basically, everything is done well enough to be solid B-rate fantasy.

I suppose one of the big factors in not quite making me happy is the central conceit: that books are magical and magicians can pull things out of books, but the things have to fit through the space of the book's pages, and not be living intelligent beings. Which sounds interesting enough, except mostly, our hero pulls out guns or swords or, at a stretch, healing potions. It reads like books are a storage system for weapons and potions in a video game. It's a very utilitarian approach to "the magic of reading", and quite disappointing. (Later in the book, things get more interesting, but it takes about half the novel before things start to intrigue at all).

It's readable, well-paced light entertainment. Not terribly absorbing, but pleasant enough.

Rating: 3/5

Cinnamon and Gunpowder by Eli Brown

Cinnamon and Gunpowder is a novel about a chef who is kidnapped by a female pirate captain, forced to become her personal chef cooking a nice meal for her once a week, while she continues her obsessive pursuit of a mysterious individual and a vendetta against an evil corporation.

The writing is authentic enough, feeling similar to Mary Shelley's Frankenstein in tone. That also means it is not necessarily very lively: Victorian writing tends to be quite wordy and not very streamlined. Just like Doctor Frankenstein, our hero is a rather whiny fellow. The story is told in diary entries, so many chapters start with a breathless "I can't believe I just survived these perils" type sentence - which tells you that he survives and that there is little need to worry or fear for our narrator's safety.

The most notable thing about the story is that it reads like a complete gender inversion of a typical Stockholm Syndrome pirate romance tale. Dominant captain kidnaps verbally spirited, but physically weak and generally unwise person. Kidnap-ee plans their escape, verbally opposes the captain (by whinging, mostly), occasionally gets up to some mischief causing themselves problems and a bit of havoc on board, but is ultimately exempt from the ship's otherwise harsh discipline because the captain has a weak spot and keeps the weakling under their personal protection. Over time, the weak kidnap-ee develops feelings of loyalty and devotion towards the strong, dominant captain. Except this time, the weak kidnap-ee is a man, and the dominant captain is a beautiful red-haired woman. It's Mills and Boon, only backwards.

I like the idea, but I found that it was often unconvincing: male leads are supposed to be protective of female protagonists. That's chivalry. When it's reversed, it is an inexplicable and alien favouritism that seems unconvincing and a bit wrong. Also, a female kidnap-ee on a ship full of men stands out because she is female (rendering her in more need of protection). A male kidnap-ee on a ship of men does not stand out and does not seem to warrant extra patience. Basically, it turns out a complete gender reversal just feels strange, forced, and unconvincing, even borderline unpleasant. Perhaps the dominant-character-kidnapping-weakling and weakling-falling-for-their-abductor plotline is a bit toxic, no matter what the gender assignments are.

There is more to the plot - it also deals with the Opium Trade and British Imperialism etc. - so there's something quite educational about the story. The steam-punky obsessive captain in pursuit, with hot air balloons, rockets and crank-powered machine guns, on the other hand, seems much less authentic.

In terms of swashbuckling adventures, there's plenty. Some beggar belief (a person survives without boat in the ocean for two days and is then, through dumb luck, picked up by another ship, which happens to be a very important ship to the plot...), but for the most part, the adventures are on a grand scale and just this side of believable.

All in all, it's not a bad novel. It's just not very good, either...

Rating: 2/5

In Great Waters by Kit Whitfield

In Great Waters is a speculative fiction novel set in an alternative Britain where merpeople (known as deepsmen) are real. They are not really like humans: fiercer, more direct, more blunt, essentially, very intelligent animals. Related to dolphins, they are not unlike chimpanzees in personalities. They can interbreed with humans (which results physical and mental differences). And thus we meet Henry, or rather, Whistle, a crossbreed who is born in the sea and ultimately grows up among humans on land.

I don't want to give too much away. This is a novel where great care is taken: the world building is immersive yet gradual. It's detailed and carried out with great writerly craftsmanship.

Tension - and plot - builds up very gradually. The reader gets to absorb this world, become a part of it, and understand it (and its characters) before the story starts gaining momentum. In a way, the book gives you a chance to experience intrigue at the settings and characters, before the plot becomes intriguing, and once the plot starts creating tension and pace, it turns genuinely thrilling, with several twists and turns that are authentic and not too far-fetched. And giving away too much of the setting and plot, to me, would detract from the reading experience. What I would say is that, if you can persevere through the gradual start, the book is very rewarding.

There are some big events, about three quarters of the way into the book, and after that the big central plot tension is partially relieved, yet the story continues, tidying up plotlines (with a few more tense episodes). I do feel that the book allowed itself a somewhat more gradual ending than most readers will be used to, and perhaps it could have been somewhat shorter.

However, the imagination and craftsmanship is stunning and truly immersive. The book actually made me think about some things with a different perspective (royalness and bloodlines are an important part of the book, and, once you accept the central conceit, you start to look at our own world with new eyes, and may find our own world more baffling and illogical than the one in this novel). And last but not least, it is a thrilling novel, with large sections of page-turning pace and tension.

I would absolutely recommend this novel, and I don't think I've read anything quite like it. Glad I stumbled across a review of the book by Jo Walton (author of Among Others): In Great Waters deserves a lot more attention.

Jordan by Carole French

I am currently planning a trip to Egypt and Jordan. The departure and return dates are fixed, but how I divide my time between these two destinations is not yet decided.

As I read the guide books (a copy of Egypt by Lonely Planet) and this Bradt guide to Jordan, I feel myself allocating more and more time to Jordan, to my surprise. I'd thought the pyramids and valley of the kings in Egypt would dominate my trip. Some of this changing emphasis is because Jordan appears to be a fascinating, welcoming country with a lot that merits seeing (and because it seems to have more potential to surprise me).

But if I am honest, I have to admit that the other reason is the relative merits of the guide books. This is only the second Bradt guide I have ever read, but, like the first (a guide to Malta & Gozo) which was an order of magnitude better than the other guide book I'd bought about the same islands), it is not just rich in detail, but also written with more flair, more affection for travelling, more heart and enthusiasm.

When travelling solo, a good guide book can be a little bit like a companion or a friend. Reading a Bradt guide is unusually rewarding: there is personality in the writing, and visiting places described in the book with the book in hand is almost a little bit like a shared experience.

Or, to put it another way: other guide books tell you all you need to know about a destination. A Bradt guide will tell you more details, and it will actually make you love your destination. I cannot think of any other guide book publisher whose books achieve such quality.

Addendum (after the trip): I still hold this book in high esteem, and it has served me well. However, there is one inaccuracy in there - the Zara Cliff Walk from the Dead Sea Panoramic Complex does not in any way match its description in the book. I am not sure whether this is because of a change on the ground, or because the path has never been completed as planned, or because there is confusion (I was told by a taxi driver that there is a different Zara Cliff Walk, in a quite different location, that matches the description in the book more closely). But for other readers of this book, I thought I'd highlight this: the Zara Cliff Walk starting at the Dead Sea Panoramic Complex is only about 200m / 600ft long, and not particularly worthwhile (as of March 2013).

Rating: 4.5/5

The Best of All Possible Worlds by Karen Lord

The Best of all Possible Worlds is a slightly strange novel. I suspect that I did not quite comprehend everything that's in it. The back story is treated as so incidental that I occasionally felt a little lost.

The novel begins with a bit of a shock: a disaster / genocide has befallen a race of humanoid aliens. One branch of the remnants from the disaster is now starting a colony on an Earth-like planet that is a kind of refuge for races and nations from across the universe. All are human(ish), and they either live in little colonies and settlements on the frontier, or in big urban cities. There, we meet Grace Delarua, a bubbly civil servant / scientist / researcher, who liaises with the newly arrived aliens. After a while, they decide to form an expedition to sample and meet many of the colonies on the frontier, to check for genetic and societal compatibility, in order to start a breeding programme to revive the near extinct race.

All of which sounds bewildering and high-concept and somewhere outside my usual reading zone. But, truth to be told, this is not really a novel about plot. Or rather: I ended up finding the plot incredibly incidental. The start is slow and confusing. Most of the middle is taken up with an episodic "meet culture, experience reaction, move on" or "have travelling adventure, experience reaction, move on" type chapters. It's a bit like watching a slide show or a nature documentary. Curious, but not perhaps hugely memorable. Some people seem to be very taken with the fact that the Fair Folk make an appearance of sorts, but I had no reaction to that chapter whatsoever. I think part of the reason is that our main characters are scientists, and therefore a little detached, even when in the middle of a grand adventure. The mood of the book is, at times, a little like the music video to the song "Little Talks" by the band "Of Monsters and Men": wide-eyed wonder and joyful adventuring, but with a sense of detachment.

Perhaps the best way to sum up the plot is this: it reads like a sightseeing tour, a record of explorers, travelling and encountering people. There are no heroes, no villains, and even though there is nominally a point to the explorations, there is no sense that this is a quest.

Where the book really comes together is in the relationship between the explorers on the expedition. Richly realised, complex, grown up and human. Characters are drawn with a light touch and huge writerly elegance. More importantly, this is a piece without villains, so while there might be occasional tensions, and some characters don't really like each other all that much, they all work together, they're all mostly professional (with occasional human moments), and they all have, for want of a better word, souls.

But even the story of character relationships is not some operatic tale: it is a very mellow book, with very mellow developments and movements. There are many very human moments in the story, little, endearing, amusing moments, and also disturbing and cruel moments. Dialogue sparkles. There is genuine rapport between characters, and authentic frictions that don't always have specific reasons. Occasionally, characters fall under the influence of stimulants or telepathy or other factors, and I can honestly say that I am in awe of the writing skill in creating these scenes, where the narration becomes a little less reliable, and where the reader is left to reconstruct and reinterpret things by themselves after the scenes have taken place. The book trusts readers' intelligence, and it deserves multiple readings.

The prose is excellent. The characterisation is excellent. The plot is not perhaps for everyone - it is quite mellow and never really builds up great tension - but the episodic, exposition-rich nature of it is carried out very well.

There are things I am still unclear about - I don't get the (title) reference to Candide, some of the races and their motivations / characteristics befuddle me (What are the taSadiri again? And who did what to the Sadiri and why?), and some of the mythology towards the end felt a little forced and pointless to me, but despite all that, it is a fantastic novel, showing great craftsmanship in its writing and great humanity.

I am sure that I will re-read this book in future to get a better sense of all the background and references that I did not quite absorb properly in my first reading. But I am also sure that the novel is an acquired taste: it is very subtle and mellow for a science fiction novel. However, rest assured that it is never pretentious and a pure joy to read.

Rating: 5/5