Tag: book-reviews

The Arthur C. Clarke Awards: Belated Post

On By janewisemanIn fantastic fantasy2 Comments

And don’t I feel silly! I know I said I’d turn to the Hugo Awards short-listed novels next. Meanwhile–how, I’m not sure–I completely misunderstood the Clarke Awards timeline. The decision has already been made and the winner is:


Annie Bot, Sierra Greer (Borough)


Find it HERE.

The other novels on the short list include:

  • Private Rites, Julia Armfield
  • The Ministry of Time, Kaliane Bradley
  • Extremophile, Ian Green
  • Service Model, Adrian Tchaikovsky
  • Thirteen Ways to Kill Lulabelle Rock, Maud Woolf

As with all of these short-listed novels, I plan to post capsule reviews. Unlike the Nebula Award, Hugo Award, and other short lists, I’m writing these reviews after the judges have made their choice, so my posts won’t have as much of a horse-race vibe to them! All that drama about which book will be chosen–gone. But these awards lists are fantastic ways to explore some of the best recent speculative fiction, so I’ll just post my reviews and proceed as usual–and postpone the reviews of the Hugo short list.

Luckily, I had already started reading the novels on the Clarke list, so here are my first two reviews, of Private Rites, by Julia Armfield, and The Ministry of Time, by Kaliane Bradley.

Private Rites, Julia Armfield, 2024 (Macmillan/Flatiron)

Find it HERE.

Except for two aspects, this is simply a realistic novel about three squabbling sisters. They quarrel for several hundred pages, their disagreements made even worse by the terrible weather, and then they stop. However, the setting is in near-future London, where climate change has put the city mostly underwater, so the incessant rain isn’t simply a depressing backdrop to the depressing account of the sisters’ difficulties. Instead, I suppose the sisters’ difficulties and the rain become an intertwined emblem of the terrible times that have come upon the world.

There’s another aspect to the novel, too. The opening is extremely disturbing and gory, making me wonder if I were about to embark on a horror novel. Then that opening gets seemingly dropped. Now, we all know about Chekhov’s gun, don’t we? The great playwright Anton Chekhov famously said that if he puts a gun in the first act of his play, he’d better have that gun go off by the third act. So I waited patiently (and then, sorry, impatiently) through hundreds of pages of sniping and fussing and rain for the payoff promised by the gory opening. In retrospect, I can see that the seeds of the developing plot are there. But they are so muted that nothing much actually happens for a long, long time–or so it seemed to me as a reader. There’s not much rising tension, just the low-level grinding tension we may all feel when we are trapped with family members or other close acquaintances with whom we are having a long-standing, toxic set of disagreements and misunderstandings. I did admire the realistic characterizations of the sisters.

I’m thinking maybe it would have been good if at least one of the three siblings captured our sympathy, but I do appreciate how skillfully they were drawn–and I’m not a reader who has to identify with or even like any or all of the characters in a novel. Every book doesn’t have to have sympathetic characters. Some books don’t need them or would be ruined if they had them. A book like this, with a message like this, frequently does have at least one character who works as an explaining presence, though, and all of these characters seem equally, evenly confused and deluded. The message about climate change is of course sorely needed, and yes, I’m sure it will be as depressing as it seems in this novel. When the novel’s payoff finally comes, though, it is kind of too little too late for me as a reader, and–maybe I’m dense–but how and why the novel’s final events happen is as murky as the dystopian weather.

The Ministry of Time, Kaliane Bradley 2025 (Simon & Shuster)

NOTE: Corrected post, with the right link to Bradley’s novel. Apologies!

Find it HERE.

I had read Bradley’s novel at the beginning of the year, but its details had faded a bit in my memory, so I recently re-read it–not just because of this list, either. The novel is on a number of lists recommending great recent speculative fiction. It is an immensely entertaining and skillful novel, and I enjoyed it just as much the second time as I did the first. It’s a time-travel novel drawing partly on a real incident, the fate of the English ships Erebus and Terror when the 1845 Franklin expedition to the high Arctic is lost with no survivors. But only one of the time travelers comes from that past event; others come from other pasts. The seaman from the Franklin expedition disaster is the most important but also a woman from the plague-ridden 16th century, another whose husband was guillotined in the French Revolution, several war-scarred combatants from different eras, and more. There’s even a really fun, really subtle cameo almost-appearance by the World War I poet Wilfred Owen. These voyagers from other times disconcertingly pop through a time portal into a near-future London. The novel’s main character, part of a secret government team helping the disoriented time-travelers assimilate into the present, begins to question herself and her employers as the details of the project grow ever more sinister.

Bradley’s plot and narration are intricate, the characters are fascinating, and the slow burn of evolving love is compelling. Underneath it all lurks a dangerous plot to use the unmoored, traumatized time-travelers in a scheme the main character only thinks she understands. Suspense mounts: will she puzzle out what is really going on underneath all the gaslighting, will she be able to avert the looming terrible damage to people she has come to admire and even love, and will she be able to do it all in time? We readers hurtle through a dizzy and skillfully managed amalgam of thriller plot, love story, search for identity, lost history, and threat of disastrous future. The twisty plot–unlike some–really earns its stripes.

I hate feeling manipulated by a plot with unexpected zigs and zags. Not here. Bradley gives us just enough breadcrumbs to begin figuring out, with the main character, the chilling direction of the novel’s events. The main character stands in for us, the readers, as the plot’s trap snaps shut. If that were not the case, I wouldn’t have enjoyed re-reading the novel. A twisty ending that springs itself on the reader with cheap tricks will not reward re-reading. This novel works as much because of the characters and the hows and whys of the plot as for the way the plot ends.

I have been thinking of this novel as a serious contender for prizes like the Arthur C. Clarke Award. It didn’t win this one, but it would have been a worthy choice. And it is also on the Hugo Awards short list!

Next up: Extremophile, by Ian Green, and Thirteen Ways to Kill Lulabelle Rock, by Maud Woolf.

It’s A Midsummer Night’s Eve: Fairy Abduction, Anyone?

On By janewisemanIn fantastic fantasyLeave a comment

I write this blog post on the evening of June 24th, which is the traditional date of midsummer celebrations all across Europe, even if it’s not the date of the actual summer solstice (and misleading as well, since that moment marks the beginning of summer in the Northern hemisphere, not the middle of it). In many countries, June 24th is St. John’s Day, commemorating John the Baptist. Midsummer Night’s Eve, I suppose, was actually last night, the evening before St. John’s Day. In some countries, the day of celebration is June 25th.

A quick personal reflection: this time last year I had just returned from a month-long sojourn in Porto, Portugal. If only I had stayed another month! Porto has one of the most colorful St. John’s Day celebrations, featuring the sniffing of leeks (???), the eating of sardines (well, sure, it’s Porto, isn’t it?), and the whacking of strangers with toy hammers (???????).

With that out of the way: in my own perverse celebration of Midsummer, on to three pretty recent novels of fairy abduction. They are: A Court of Thorns and Roses, by Sarah Maas (2015), Spinning Silver, by Naomi Novik (2018), and The Cruel Prince, by Holly Black (2018). All three might be thought of as YA, but I question that categorization. A Court of Thorns and Roses started out being thrust into the YA box, but then–especially because of the graphic sexual content–it was re-classified NA (New Adult), and by now it is in a category all its own, the hugely successful engendering of a new fantasy/romance hybrid, romantasy. Spinning Silver has a very adult feel about it–not in the sexual way but in the deftly mature way the novel handles themes, characters, intricate plotting, and above all, excellent writing. I suppose The Cruel Prince really is YA. More about that to come.

A Court of Thorns and Roses, Sarah Maas (2015)

Find it HERE.

What can I say about this novel that hasn’t already been said? I did try. See my review for last year’s midsummer fairy reads HERE. This novel and its sequels spawned an entire hybrid and hugely popular genre, romantasy, so much so that it actually goes by its widely-recognized initials, ACOTAR. The sex is hot. The fairies in all their shapes and iterations are hot. The main character starts out very much an abducted damsel in distress, but in later books, she grows a spine. So if you read Book One and are put off, just go on to read Book Two. Then if you really love it, keep reading. There are a bunch of them. I have to give the novel and its siblings a lot of credit for creating an intriguing and intricately described fairyland with elaborate customs, politics, and (did I mention this?) hot sex. I got sick of it/didn’t believe in it after a while, with its bathrooms apparently by Kohler, but okay, I kept reading. This book, along with all the many books it has influenced, is a true publishing force. With many another fan, you may want to cry out to the various incredibly buff fairies of ACOTAR, Steal me next! Steal me! Steal me!

Spinning Silver, Naomi Novik (2018)

Find it HERE.

I really admire this novel. It’s one of those books based on a fairy tale, but that’s misleading. Yes, it is based on the Rumpelstiltskin folk tale collected by the Brothers Grimm, but it is also a fascinating historical novel with fantasy elements. And in addition: fairy abduction. I won’t review this one at length because I already have, in my series of blog posts on novels that are fairytale retellings. See my review HERE. It’s a wonderful book. The main character is a spunky young woman, but I really don’t associate the novel with the all too frequent trivialities of YA. (You can see I have some prejudices about YA. You may not share them! I probably have them because I’m old and grouchy.) The fairies are as morally ambiguous as they always are. Delightful read.

The Cruel Prince, Holly Black (2018)

Find it HERE.

This brings me to The Cruel Prince, a novel I hadn’t read until now. I probably put off reading it because it is, indeed, YA (and its title is a little clunky). But I enjoyed this novel immensely, even though I’m not exactly the audience for it. I say that, and then I reflect that many, many readers of YA are adults. This is a good one, folks! Black’s novel is unlike Spinning Silver and ACOTAR in one important respect. Those two novels are what’s known as “second world fantasy” or “high fantasy.” This simply means that such stories are set from the get-go in a world far, far away from ours. Although–now that I think about it–novels of fairy abduction like those might actually transition from a “second world” (the fantasy world of the novel) into a “third world,” the parallel universe of fairyland, sometimes separated by a physical border, other times by some type of mystical transition from one realm to the other.

The Cruel Prince is different. This novel is portal fantasy, “low fantasy,” where the action begins in our own world and then transports the characters to a different realm (think Harry Potter). The fairy world of The Cruel Prince seems to exist side-by-side with the real world, too, again like Harry Potter. The characters can come and go. The fairy foster-father of the main character intrudes on her childhood world to murder her human parents and abduct her and her two sisters to his estate in fairyland. He is one of the fairy gentry there. Not a spoiler–this happens in one of the first scenes of the book. Such a gory beginning and such an exotic location as fairyland don’t prevent the main character from nipping across to the real world for a visit to Target. She reads as a real teen-aged girl. A teen-aged girl living a very strange life.

I know I keep mentioning Harry Potter, but this novel is actually nothing like Harry Potter, believe me. Black’s novel is full of court intrigue of the most delicious, well-plotted kind. It has a whiff of dark academia fantasy as the main character attends a sort of high school for fairy combat and lore, and more than a hint of horror. Think about that beginning. The foster father is a type of fairy known as a “red cap,” extremely violent and dangerous, known for dipping his cap in the blood of his victims. There’s the usual torn-between-two-lovers YA trope, handled here very subtly. And there’s the push-pull between the main character’s humanity and the fairy culture she aspires to blend into–especially poignant since the fairies, famously, are so amoral and dangerous that everything in the reader may scream “get out!” Besides, after reading Mirrlees (see my earlier post), I was especially intrigued that Black includes the dangers of eating fairy fruit as a hideous reference to the worst kind of drug addiction. I was also intrigued by the main character’s protective measures of Mithridatism. (Hint: you have to read to the last stanza to find out.)

Best of all, this is a first book in a series WITHOUT A CLIFF-HANGER ENDING!!!!! If you have followed my blog, you know how much I hate these. It’s the one thing (well, okay, also bad writing) that makes me refuse to go on with a series. Black is considerate of her readers. Sure, it’s clear there’s more story to come. But she doesn’t just chop us off at the knees. I plan to read on. This book was lots of fun, and Black is a very good, very satisfying writer.

WHAT NOW? Now I will move on to my reviews of the novels short-listed for the Hugo Award 2025.

It’s Midsummer! Older Novels of Fairy Abduction

On By janewisemanIn fantastic fantasy1 Comment

In this series of blog posts, I celebrate Midsummer fairy madness by reviewing tales and novels of fairy abduction. Those fairies aren’t the cute little Disney-fied winged things we think they are. Fairies are dangerous. Fairies are curious. They love to grab humans and spirit them off to fairyland. Two older novels base their magic on the fairy penchant for child-stealing: Lud-in-the-Mist, by Hope Mirrlees, and The Broken Sword, by Poul Anderson.

Hope Mirrlees, Lud-in-the-Mist, 1926

Original U.S. cover

Read the e-book free through Project Gutenberg. Click HERE.

When Mirrlees wrote this fantasy novel, she had already established herself as a modernist poet and associate of the influential Bloomsbury Group of avant-garde writers including Virginia Woolf. But other kinds of writing had captured the British imagination, including the fantasy stories of Edward Plunkett, 18th Baron of Dunsany (Lord Dunsany), whom many consider the father of modern-day fantasy writing, and George MacDonald, a Scots writer with equal influence. After writing two historical novels, Mirrlees turned to fantasy, too, with Lud-in-the-Mist.

Her novel is set in a fictional quaint village governed by stodgy older politicians. Their main job is to maintain a state of absolute, boring normalcy. It’s of utmost importance, because the village borders a terrible threat, Fairyland. Fairy ways will disrupt their worthy lifestyle of shopkeeping and polite teas and every comfort of bourgeois life. The Lud-in-the-Mist establishment has created elaborate euphemisms to avoid even mentioning the fairy threat, especially the threat of fairy fruit, so enticing to human beings that it drives them mad. No polite and proper resident of the village will so much as utter the words “fairy fruit.” Underneath the normal facade of the town lurks a much more lurid and romantic past. The town’s establishment is intent on reining it in at all costs. But when the son and daughter of Lud-in-the-Mist’s mayor are both abducted into fairyland, the usually staid father sets out to rescue them.

If you read this novel, do not expect the pacing of a present-day fantasy tale. This is a long, slow read. Slow. Did I mention slow? The characters are often self-consciously cutsey, even Hobbit-like. There’s a ton of quaint “atmosphere.” I wonder if British readers take to this kind of thing better than us crass Americans? So why read it at all, you ask, unless as an historical curiosity. THIS: the language is simply gorgeous. Mirrlees was a poet, and her language in this novel is poetic in a good authentic way, not in some schlocky pseudo-archaic way. Your question, reader: do you have the patience for it? If yes, grab this book. If no, give it a miss.

Poul Anderson, The Broken Sword, 1954

Original U.S. cover

Fast-forward to a different era, the Golden Age of Science Fiction. Interesting that The Encyclopedia of Science Fiction doesn’t even mention Poul Anderson in its article on that golden age. He was a seven-time Hugo Award winner, won the Nebula three times, was named a SFWA Grand Master, and on and on. Until now, when I thought of Anderson, I thought of SF. I hadn’t read any of his novels, though. I confess it. To my surprise, I found that Anderson wrote a great deal in the fantasy genre as well. The Broken Sword is one of his earliest published novels. I’m glad I discovered this novel, and glad I have finally started reading Anderson.

The Broken Sword, published the same year as Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, is a fantasy-Norse saga full of heroes, gods, trolls, giants, violence, swords, broken cursed swords (well, one), and all the rest. And fairies. Especially those, although the novel refers to them as elves. In this novel’s terms, I think it’s safe to say that elves and fairies are more or less the same–in the same way Edmund Spenser’s elves and fairies are two words for the same beings. More or less.

In this novel, the medieval English overlord Orm rides off leaving his new-born son unbaptized. Very unwise, because Orm has butchered an entire family of enemies, leaving only an old crone alive. Inconveniently for Orm, the crone is a witch and curses him. She sees a perfect instrument for her vengeance, Orm’s baby son. When she communicates her knowledge to Imric, an elven overlord in the overlapping parallel fairy realm, he leaps at the chance to snatch the infant and exchange it for a half-troll half-elven infant that he himself has engendered in order to have a changeling to leave in the human infant’s place. Imric raises Skafloc, the human boy, as his own in fairyland. Meanwhile, Skafloc’s mother unknowingly nurses her changeling baby, Valgard, thinking him human. Skafloc grows up the perfect elven warrior, violent but honorable. Valgard grows up the consummate human warrior, but hatred smoulders at the heart of his violent ways. We readers wait for the stand-off between these uncanny twins that will surely occur, and the cursed broken sword bides its time to unleash havoc on the world.

I think if I had encountered this novel in my younger years, I would have been enthralled. This novel of a fairy (elven) changeling turns on one of the most canonical and dangerous bits of fairy folklore–the abduction of a human child and the leaving of a fairy child in its place. The novel is also violent. The sexual parts are not graphic, but they may seem unsavory to many present-day readers. My biggest problem with the novel is its language, self-consciously archaic–so much so that in a later revision, Anderson removed a lot of that clumsy vocabulary. I read the original version, though, because I understand the revision also removes some of the sexual and violent underpinnings of the book. I wanted to read the real novel, not some whitewashed version. But the pseudo-medieval language is indeed annoying. That said–when I could clear that trashy language out of my consciousness, I found a great deal of Anderson’s description to be beautifully poetic. I really admire that aspect of the book. Then again, as the novel progresses, it is full of faux-Norse “poetry” that I could have really done without. I think of this book as a kind of flawed masterpiece. The annoying aspects kept intruding, though, so I had a tough time finishing the book.

To summarize: both novels are interesting examples of fantasy in their moment, and interesting examples of plots with fairy abduction at the center.

Next up: More recent novels with plots of fairy abduction.