Review: Poison by Sarah Pinborough

Disney won't like it, but who cares about that?

Pinborough takes "Snow White" and applies a little twist... make that a few little twists. For one thing, nobody is quite what they seem. Evil the Wicked Stepmother, while being VERY wicked and VERY stepmothery, gets some sympathetic backstory. She's portrayed as a real person, and with some sympathy - as is Snow White herself, not just a cut out Good Girl but more of a real, actual person with real desires and appetites.

So while this book has dwarves, castles, magic, princes and poisoned apples, it also has some acute dissection of the place of women in a kind of fairy-tale land (it's all joined up round the back: we learn the true nature of that unpleasant boy Aladdin, and a couple of rather PTSD characters turn up who have apparently wandered in out of other stories). And sex - which Pinborough is rather good at describing (no danger of this getting a Bad Sex award, I think).

It's quite a quick read, very enjoyable, actually quite thought provoking. Definitely recommended.

Review: Necessary Evil by Ian Tregillis

This is the third in a "tripytch" of books, after "Bitter Seeds" and "The Coldest War".  It's appropriately called a "triptych" not a "trilogy" - a triptych is a picture in three parts, while a trilogy is just three successive books.  If you've read to the end of the second book, you might have started to guess why and I will be discussing this in a moment, so if you want to avoid spoilers for the first two books, go away and do something else now (ideally, read those first two books).

If you're still with me, "Necessary Evil" follows Raybould Marsh back from the 1963 of "Coldest war" back to the dark days of 1940.  Marsh is a British secret agent and part of the unconventional "Milkweed" organisation, whose job is to conjure up demons to fight the Queen's enemies.  But Milkweed has been played, and in '63 the demons break loose to eat the world.  Marsh takes a desperate course of action, returning to the Second World War to prevent that.  Marsh has also been played by Gretel, one of a secret cadre of German super-soldiers.  Gretel can see the future - or rather possible futures - and is trying to engineer one in which the demons fail - and in which she can claim Marsh for her own.  As part of this, she murdered his baby daughter (in 1940) by directing a bombing raid at the village to which she was evacuated.  that's part of Marsh's motivation for returning to 1940 - not only to save the world, but to save his daughter (and to avoid the subsequent failure of his marriage).

Confused?  If not, remember that not only is "old" March now in 1940, but so is the "original" Marsh.  And so is the younger Gretel, who can, of course, see forward to the future timeline in which she send Marsh back...

It's a mark of Tregillis's technical skill that he holds these threads and alternate characters together, resolving the story credibly and tying up these loose ends with aplomb.  I was also impressed by his characters:  they are very human, real people who almost walk off the page - Tregillis sketches their motivations and characters convincingly, and makes them all sympathetic, even horrible Gretel. This isn't run-of-the-mill SF, it is a book very much driven by those real characters, who are not simply there to have the plot happen to them.

The setting was also well described and realised, although slightly less convincing in two respects.  First, a few Americanisms slipped through which I think an editor or advance reader could have caught.  Secondly, I found the mechanics, especially in the second half of the book, a little unlikely - could you really put on a Naval uniform and wander into the Admiralty in 1940? Was travel as easy as the plot requires?  Perhaps, though, it's a bit off to complain about details like that in a book where demons are summed and surgically enhanced soldiers can turn invisible, walk through walls or wield fire as a weapon!

This is a fitting, even triumphant, ending to the "triptych". We have another history of the events told earlier, filling in missing details and completing the picture.  So clever is it, it might almost be one of those Steven Moffat "wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey" Doctor Who adventures.

Review: The Mongoliad, Book Three by Neal Stephenson et al

This is the third volume of "The Mongoliad" and at nearly 800 pages, it is almost twice as long as the previous two - not that it seems long: the pages rattle by.

In one sense, the book is easy to review. It is just as good as its predecessors, and if you have read those, you will want to see how things get wrapped up. If you haven't read the other books, this isn't the place to start - I'd recommend you go and look at reviews of Book One and decide if it's for you or not.

But at another level, it may be worth saying a little about the trilogy as a whole, and about how much Volume 3 does, or rather doesn't, provide "closure".

These books make up a true epic, ranging across thousands of miles of medieval Europe and Asia, featuring characters from (in modern terms) Italy, Spain, England, Germany, Poland, Russia, Mongolia, Korea and Japan. They capture a tipping point in history when Western Europe - "Christendom" - seemed poised to be swept away by invaders.

For most of the 1500-odd pages of the cycle, we have followed four threads of the story.

- In Mongolia, the Great Khagan, son of Genghis, passes his time in drunkeness. Around him are the normal intrigues of any Imperial court, heightened by the Mongols being a roving, nomadic people, not accustomed to settled palace life. Honest, bluff warrior Gansukh, untutored in the ways of the Court, arrives on a mission to save Ogedei from himself, making friends and enemies as he does so. Outside the imperial palace, Genghis Khan's mysterious "spirit banner" stands brooding.

- In Hunnern, which I think is in modern day Poland, European knights fight to the death with enslaved warriors from across the empire, seeking, as champions, to prevent any further advance by the invading Horde.

- A small group of knights from the ancient Shield Brethren, despairing of this, has set out across thousands of miles to find and kill the Khagan.

- A conclave meets in Rome to elect a new Pope. The process is watched and manipulated both by Orsini, Senator and ruler of Rome, and by the Holy Roman Emperor, encamped with his troops in the hills outside the city.

In this third book, the war party of Shield Brethren are finally closing on Karakorum, site of the Khagan's palace, even as he leaves to renew his faith in himself by hunting a great bear. The remnants of Europe's chivalry, at Hunern, are trying to fight back against the Mongols (though hampered by schisms and feuds) and a Pope is - finally - elected.

Moving between these threads, the pace never flags. Each is resolved, after a fashion, and the story is never less than entertaining. Yet I did wonder if in the end this saga isn't actually rather less than the sum of its parts. For example, the Roman story never intersects with the others: while eminently readable, I do wonder if it couldn't simply have been cut, to leave three books of more moderate length. And the various hints of mystical artifacts scattered thoughout the books - the Grail, the secret in the tombs at Kiev, the Pope's ring, the spirot banner (and the sprig cut from it) - never come to anything. Nor does the stuff about the ancient origins of the Shield Brethren, the Livonian knights, or the mysterious Binders.

It seems to me clear that the authors have built in hooks for further sequels (whether those ever appear we'll have to see) where presumably this will be explored further, and at the end of this book almost all the main characters are in motion (mostly on horseback) heading purposefully towards the next volume. However I feel a bit cheated by the way that so much material that this story (across all three books) dwells on is simply left unresolved: all those crossbows hanging on the wall in Part 1 that remain unfired... which is why I have only given this concluding volume three stars. In large part, that reflects my slight disappointment with the outcome of the trilogy as a whole, rather than criticism of this book in particular.

Review: The Age Atomic by Adam Christopher

I've changed my mind about this book a couple of times reading it, but for me, it came good in the end. It is worth pointing out, though, that it's a bit different from Christopher's Empire State to which it is a sequel.

Like the earlier book, Age Atomic is set in the Empire State, a "pocket universe" that is a twisted copy of 50s New York City, and in New York itself. The hero of Empire State, PI Rad Bradley, returns. He is still living in the back of his shabby office, still walking the mean streets. However, this book doesn't have the noirish bite of the previous volume - it is more straightforward SF, albeit at the softer end of SF: there are robots, there is an airship, there are, er, more robots, there is NUCLEAR FUSION... and did I mention the robots?

It is a rollercoaster of a story, and to begin with I was a little disappointed at the lack of noir, and perhaps at the (slightly) forced plot, as Rad goes into action, saving the heroine, Jennifer (I'm still not quite sure how that came about). But the story soon begins to rattle along as twin threats emerge on both side of the rift that connects the Empire State and New York. There are forces at work engaging in a kind of arms race that mirrors the one the 1950s US is part of. The plotting has many twists and turns, and although simpler than that of Empire State, it keeps the pages turning - and I think the ending is rather better. Don't, though, look for much logic in the mechanics of the interlinked worlds or of the mysterious Director - as I said, this isn't hard SF, not even firm SF. It is what is is, an enjoyable romp.

At the end, Christopher seems to be setting up for another sequel, and I look forward to that.

Review: A Pretty Mouth by Molly Tanzer

I read this book after it was mentioned in a round up by Damien Walter in The Guardian. It was enjoyable, though I think that Ms Tanzer will write better, and to a British reader there were a number of howlers where very un-British phrases were placed in the mouths of English characters.

The book consists of four short stories and a novella ("A Pretty Mouth"). These are based around the mythology of the aristocratic Calipash family of Devon, different stories being set from the Roman occupation to the 1920s (they go backwards in time) although the dating of some is vague.

The Calipashes are a cursed family, their affliction having distinctly Lovecraftian overtones (though mainly of the Innsmouth, children-with-webbed-feet variety rather than the unspeakable-horrors-from another dimension sort). This allows the author to spin a variety of spooky Gothic stories told in different forms, loosely suited to the different times they're set in.

The first story, "A Spotted Trouble at Dolor-on-the-Downs" is a PG Wodehouse pastiche, narrated by Jeeves, Bertie Wooster's gentleman's gentleman, who has to investigate some fishy goings on at a seaside resort. I take my hat off to Tanzer's ambition here. Mimicking Wodehouse's style - or even his ambience - would be a tall order for any writer, and while the story is fun, I don't think that she quite hits the mark with this. There's also, perhaps, a slight cultural unfamiliarity which shows up: for example the English seaside town was at its peak in the 20s and 30s and Dolor-on-the-Downs would not have been "seedy" (in any case, Aunt Agatha would not have visited anywhere that could have been so described).

The second, "The Hour of the Tortoise" is much more successful - set in the late 19th century, it's basically a Gothic tale of a young girl returning to her childhood home, Calipash Manor, to find her guardian dying, and something distinctly rum going on. There's a twist in that the young lady is a writer of literary smut, and another in the ending of the story. Again, though, Tanzer misses one or two points of etiquette - the servants wouldn't have addressed Chelene by her first name, she would be "Miss Chelene". The phrase "visit with" is also out of place

The third, "The Infernal History of the Ivybridge Twins", set in the very early 19th century, is perhaps written in the vein of MR James, though like most of the others in the volume it is rather more saucy than he would have liked. It manages to both chill and amuse.

The novella, " A Pretty Mouth", takes place around the time of the Restoration and is set in an Oxford college (Wadham). It has something of a Hell-fire club ambience, recounting the doings of a particularly debauched member of the Calipash family who befriends a young man, Henry Milliner, with unfortunate consequences for the latter.

The final story, "Damnatio Memoriae" is almost an origin story for the Calipashes, based on a Roman expedition to Britannia. Alone in this volume, it has (almost) no supernatural aspect.

The stories are all satisfyingly creepy, the effect being heightened by one's growing knowledge, through the book, of the Calipashes and what they're capable of. Tanzer has clearly given some though to creating an overall story arc. Given the family's history of dealings with the unspeakable over many centuries, it would have been tempting to set them up by the end as potent villains, to the detriment of the story but she avoids that by hinting at and then describing various failings and twists of chance that limit them.

Where I felt the stories fell down slightly was in some of the language. For example, "A Pretty Mouth", set at Oxford in 1660, was full of what read to me as modern US college slang including references to "grades" and terms like "whatever!" and "awkward!" and a discussion in one place of the effect of "social class" (I think this anachronistic and natives of 17th century England would have been more likely to use a term like "station".) I may be being over sensitive here. After all, the story is written in Modern, not Jacobean, English, so why not go the whole way and use up to date terms? And as Tanzer is (I'm pretty sure) an American writer, it's clearly no more wrong to use Modern American English here than Modern English English (as it were). Nevertheless this grated on me in places (though the story is good enough to carry it) and I wondered how far it was deliberate - in some places she has used 17th century terms (such as referring to the "middling sort" when describing Henry's background)

So I'm giving this three rather than four stars. But all the same I hope she writes more soon, because hers is a distinctive voice and I think she's found - or created - a richly unsettling vein of horror to exploit.

Review: Life After Life by Kate Atkinson

This book presented me with a dilemma. I couldn't put it down, but didn't want it to end. In the end I had to sit up reading till I'd finished it - and I think I'll have to read it again soon.

Ursula Todd is born, during a snowstorm, in 1910. That much is given. Almost everything else is... provisional, shifty, alternate. In the manner of a video game, Ursula will die and the book will reset to her birth ("Snow"). So we have many versions of Ursula, living through the mid 20th century. We see her as a young girl, as a wife, a mother, an ARP warden in the London Blitz. And we see alternate timelines for her family, friends and lovers. These branch from one another, but the characters and events remain similar and Atkinson uses the cumulative effect of the different realities to tell one story. It's the most quantum physics way of telling a story I've ever seen - the essence is a kind of sum over all the alternates.

To take one very minor example (with no serious spoilers) in a number of the timelines Ursula takes a secretarial course at a college in High Wycombe. The instructor is a somewhat sleazy type, but the details - or at least, what we're told about them - are slightly different in the different alternates You only get a clear picture of him by taking all the versions together. Crucially, Ursula's response is slightly different each time and we only get a complete picture of her by holding all the versions together, as it were.

While Ursula's birth is (almost) the only fixed point, there are other places the timelines converge - where events echo one another - and as you become familiar with the alternates you begin to anticipate these. Examples include the Armistice Day celebrations of 1918, Ursula's 16th birthday, a wartime encounter in the tearoom of the Charing Cross Hotel in London, the bombing of a block of flats in London. The events are recognisably the same, but also very different: each time Atkinson adds viewpoints, changes characters' roles, turns things round, completes her picture.

There is something of a meta-narrative going on. In some of the timelines Ursula becomes increasingly aware of having lived through the same events before. She experiences flashbacks from her alternate lives (or perhaps "flashsideways" since these are in some sense all going on in parallel, and some are of events we haven't seen yet). She begins to anticipate dangers and traps to be avoided. Her attempts to do so ("practice makes perfect") are comic in some places, tragic in others. This builds (in one timeline) to a determination not simply to sidestep immediate dangers to herself and her family, but to intervene and change history on a grander scale. While the resulting "what if?" may be something of a discussion point - and a commercial handle - it isn't actually as much of a central theme as you'd think - this book is much more than just a clever idea, excellently realised (though of course it is that). Rather, Atkinson uses her unconventional approach to tell an involving and compelling story. In particular she has a real skill in conveying character with a few words and in creating sympathetic, real yet flawed individuals (Ursula's parents, Hugh and Sylvie, are one example - at different time we sympathise with both - Sylvie left behind with the children, as banker Hugh marches off to "adventure" in the Great War, Hugh as she becomes prickly during the Second).

To a degree, I think you could read the different sections of this book in any order you want - the epitome, you'd think, of a book written to be consumed by digital means (e-reader, iPad or whatever). However, I read it in hardback and did a lot of paging back and forward in this book, to check details, compare versions of the "same" events, and to work out how the timelines fitted together. I have a nagging feeling that the paper version was easier for this purpose as you're able to keep two or three pages open together. The book comes with a stitched in ribbon bookmark: I think that possibly two or three would be even more helpful.

The only drawback (for me) - and it is a very minor one - of this book was keeping track of all the children. Ursula has a number of siblings and friends and they seem to be rather fecund. At times it can be difficult to remember who is who.

In a postscript, Atkinson suggests that she may write a companion novel, focussing on one of the characters. I really, really hope that she does, as I'd love to be able to read more about the very real world she creates, and the people in it. (She does leave a few tantalising loose ends which would surely be developed?)

Review: "Mayhem" by Sarah Pinborough

I'm grateful to the publisher for letting me have an advance copy of this book.

"Mayhem" is a book not to be pigeonholed. It has crime, but it's not a police novel. It's set in the later nineteenth century, but is definitely not a Sherlock Holmes pastiche. It has the supernatural, and horror, but it's not trying to evoke Bram Stoker. If there were a space between these for a kind of Victorian-urban-fantasy-detective-noir (emphasis on the noir) this might be it. But it's probably better just to enjoy the fact that Sarah Pinborough's new book is... different.

The book is mainly set in 1888 and 1889, at the time of Jack the Ripper. It features real historical characters (doctors and police who were involved in the hunt for the Ripper) and weaves around real events. But it's not "Ripper fiction". Nor is it (thank goodness) True Crime. Instead, Pinborough has created a background, an atmosphere, a taint, which has infected London, the Ripper murders being one consequence. It is this underlying cause which is the true subject of the story and which Dr Thomas Bond, the police surgeon, investigates.

The narrative mainly follows Bond and Aaron Kosminski, a Jewish Russian refugee whose story begins, in flashback, a few years earlier. (There are a couple of other viewpoints too, whose relevance emerges gradually). Of the two, Kosminksi is written with more verve. He is a fantastical creation, a man who loathes both blood and water and has dreams that foretell the future (he glimpses terrible evil coming to his family and people - historical events of course give the story a very dark context indeed).

Compared to Kosminski, Bond seems flatter, reflecting his semi-official status (and also perhaps also the fact that he was a real person). He does though have his vices, and is increasingly to be found in the opium dens of the East End. At the start this is to escape from sleepless nights, but in time he begins to think that the drug will assist him in hunting down the horror that is behind the "Thames Torso Murders". These were as real as the Ripper killings, and as unsolved, and their investigation is the main focus of the book. It leads Bond to a terrible conclusion, that there is a more than human wickedness behind the Torso killings.

Pinborough is good at evoking the atmosphere of panic as the two sets of crimes continue: the scarcely suppressed hysteria, the Press frenzy, the casting about for someone to blame (whether the police for failing to find the murderer, or suspect foreigners). I think it's one of this book's strengths that in describing it all she avoid any temptation to adopt musty Victorianisms. At one stage she refers to "smog" - language underpinning the sense that what is happening is current, not confined to a distant land of pea-soupers, Hansom cabs and policeman with whistles. This in turn highlights Bond's dilemma: he is a rational scientist, a doctor, in many ways a very modern investigator seeking to apply the science of his day (in one scene he scoffs at a constable who believes that a photograph of the dead woman's eyes will reveal an image of her killer). Yet he is forced to confront the possibility of the supernatural - or the alternative, that he's losing his sanity.

It's all made very real. This is a fine book - I'm pleased to see that there is a sequel coming.