Book Round-Up

 A Darker Shade of Magic by V.E. Schwab: A month later, I'm still not sure how I feel about this novel, the first in a series (that can stand alone). There was a lot I liked about this book, including the concept of four Londons with differing levels of magic. And there was a little I didn't like at all, such as Lila's not-like-other-girls status and the unrelenting cruelty of White London. But either way, Schwab is a compelling writer. And I'm adding this to my imaginary shelf of alternate Londons.

The Silmarillion by J.R.R. Tolkien: I read this first in high school, dipped in and out of it over the years, and finally settled down for a reread in January. To my surprise, it wasn't as challenging as I remembered (all that reading over the last 30+ years has paid off!), and the stories were still as melancholy and beautiful as I remember. Anyone who thinks Tolkien only writes simplistic, black-and-white stories with happy endings needs to read about Feanor.

The Clocktaur War by T. Kingfisher: This duology about a small group of ordinary people -- naive scholar, allergy-prone forger, traumatized paladin, and cynical assassin -- sent on an impossible task to put an end to unstoppable war machines was so much fun. Kingfisher has a knack for putting ordinary people in deadly situations without losing sight of her characters' humanity or sense of the ridiculous. She is rapidly becoming one of my favorite writers.

Book Round-Up:

 Zero: the Biography of a Dangerous Idea by Charles Seife: The flip side of infinity is zero, and this is a good but brief overview of the concept, written with a layperson in mind. I do wish Seife had gone into more detail in the latter half of the book, in particular the connection between zero and infinity and the implications for quantum mechanics and general relativity.

West End Girls by Jennie Colgan: I loved the two other books I've read by Colgan, but this was a disappointment -- more stereotypical and coarse in its portrayal of characters, and even a little mean-spirited. It's one of her early works, so that could explain it.

Origin by Jennifer Raff: An engaging presentation of the latest genetic and archeological evidence about the peopling of the Americas, with a good emphasis on the way racism and other forms of bias have affected and continue to affect our understanding of the science. This makes a great follow-up to Charles C. Mann's 1491 (which I strongly recommend, even if some of the information is now outdated).

The Book of Speculation by Erika Swyler: A book about circuses, mermaids, tarot cards, curses, librarians, and rare books is right up my alley, and I certainly enjoyed it, but I didn't love it. I'm not sure why; most of the characters were endearing one way or another, and the story itself was interesting, but it didn't grab me. Maybe because the all-consuming love at the heart of the story is the kind of thing I get impatient with.

Gallant by V.E. Schwab: Schwab's gothic take on the alternate universe trope reminded me both of Neil Gaiman's Stardust and Frances Hodgson Burnett's The Secret Garden (yes, really). I like how Schwab's novels never go quite where you expect them.

Book Lovers by Emily Henry: This was a fun inversion of the typical "city girl finds love in a small town" story, with lots of meta commentary about Hallmark movies, romance novels, and the book industry. The family melodrama was a bit heavy-handed at times, but I really enjoyed this, much more than People We Meet on Vacation (but not as much as Beach Read, which is still my favorite of Henry's).

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab

 Schwab's novel is a modern Faust, if Faust were a woman who just wanted control of her life. In a small village in France in 1714, to avoid an unwanted marriage Addie LaRue makes a desperate plea to a sinister power she names Luc in exchange for yielding her soul when she tires of life. But like all such bargains, there are unintended consequences: no one will remember Addie's existence as soon as she is out of sight; nor can she tell her story, say her name, or leave a mark of any kind. She will move through the centuries like a ghost.

But Addie is nothing if not resourceful. After a few harrowing years she learns how to see to her needs, how to steal clothing and food, how to find safe places to sleep. She settles for brief encounters with people in lieu of actual relationships. And eventually, she realizes how she can leave her mark after all -- through art. She cannot create, but she can inspire and encourage and leave behind a trail of paintings, sculptures, and songs (even if the artists never remember her). It's a life, if not a typical one. And then she meets Henry, and he remembers her.

There is romance, of course, and much of the narrative is driven by her relationships with Henry and Luc, but those serve as the scaffolding for what Schwab is really interested in: the power of art to create a legacy, and the ability to find value in life no matter how much one suffers. In many ways, Addie reminds me of Hob Gadling from The Sandman comics. He also makes a deal for enternal life, and never loses his passion for living despite all he goes through.

I enjoyed the novel quite a bit, although it's not without its flaws. Like a number of modern works with a fantastical element, it lacks a coherent theology, for lack of a better word. Luc and his kind are referred to as "old gods," but it's not clear what he actually is or how he relates to the Judeo-Christian God of Addie's family. And as the novel proceeds, he behaves more like a dangerous fairy rather than anyone who could be worshiped. At one point we see him destroy a soul, but there is no discussion of what happens to souls that are not claimed by him, no reference to an afterlife of any kind. It's not clear, then, what the consequences are of Addie giving her soul to Luc, other than death (which happens to everyone).

But I suppose it doesn't matter -- Addie has no intention of ever tiring of life. There's too much out there to experience.

Book Round-Up: Witchy Edition

Witches of Lychford by Paul Cornell: A witch, a priest, and an atheist meet up at a bar.  It's not a joke, it's the set-up of a novella where the three women team up to defeat the demonic forces (personified by a British version of Walmart) threatening their town and the world.  I loved it -- a fun, spooky story that handled everyone's beliefs, and resulting crises of faith, respectfully.  The only real flaw was that it was so short.

Practical Magic by Alice Hoffman: A lovely, lush novel I return to every few years.  Gillian and Sally, descendants of a long line of witchy women, do their best to lead normal, unmagical lives, but of course magic won't leave them alone.  Twin themes of sisterhood and passionate love dominate the story.

Babayaga by Toby Barlow: The last two survivors of an ancient coven of Russian witches try to survive in post-war Paris, alongside American ex-pats who may or may not be CIA agents, a nefarious scientist, and Frenchmen being French.  It was an entertaining book with some interesting concepts, but there was an underlying cynicism about human nature (especially feminine nature) that marred it for me.

The Near Witch by Victoria Schwab: The plot -- someone or something is snatching the children of a small village -- was an intriguing riff on the Pied Piper of Hamlin, but the story suffered from a surfeit of YA tropes: the impulsive, tomboy heroine; the male relative who tries to make her more ladylike (an odd thing to insist on in a peasant village where day-to-day living requires physical labor from everyone); adults who are either weak or evil; angsty teenagers; secret-keeping; and misunderstandings galore.  The ending, too, was unearned.  Too bad, because there was the making of a genuinely spooky story here.