The Ministry of Time
What is there to say that hasn’t already? I read this because it’s on the Hugo shortlist this year, so that was already (likely to be) a good sign.
- Time travel done quite cleverly – excellent.
- Super slow-burn romance that basically makes sense – very nice.
- Politics that develop and get more and more tricksy as the novel progresses, in ways that I actually didn’t expect and was deeply impressed by as the book went on – magnificent.
- Pointed, thoughtful, and clever commentary about race, ethnicity, passing, immigration, assimilation – very, very nicely done.
This was another book that I had deliberately not read anything about before going in – the name told me all I needed to know, especially once it got on the Hugos list and friends started raving about having enjoyed it. So I went in with no expectations. (If you want to be like me, just stop reading now!)
I really didn’t expect that the idea was that people were being brought into the 21st century. I think the initial explanation of that is perhaps the weakest part of the story: why do this? I don’t think the “for science!” explanation is pushed enough to be convincing. And yes maybe that’s part of the point, but… on reflection, I do think that’s the one bit that’s too vague.
I really, really didn’t expect the whole explorers-lost-in-the-frozen-wilds chapters. They make a lot of sense in terms of elaborating Graham’s character. And it’s only in hindsight that I can see that they’re also doing some interesting work in terms of showing two groups, coming into contact, who find one another unintelligible.
One of the twists I picked up early – I think at the point where the author was starting to really flag it, so I won’t take any credit for being particularly clever. I did not pick up one of the other twists until it was presented to me, which was a highly enjoyable experience.
This is a debut, so I am left with “I hope Bradley has a lot more ideas left in her head.”
The Fortunate Isles, Lisa L. Hannett
What an amazing, intriguing, occasionally distressing, emotional and beautiful set of stories.
Everything I’ve read by Hannett, I have loved. This is not to say I’ve read everything of hers – some of her work has tended a little too horror, for my delicate reading sensibilities, or at least the descriptions of them have deterred me. But the collections and novel that I have read… I never regret it. And that goes for this, too.
By the way, you can buy it right now!
It’s a set of short stories, but it’s pretty close to being a mosaic novel. The key tying everything together isn’t a person, but the place: the Isles themselves. They’re not a “real” place in that you won’t find them on a map. But once you remember Hannett’s love of, and knowledge about, Viking history, it’s not hard to see how inspired this place (and some events) are by that northern part of Europe. I got to visit Orkney last year, and I could feel resonances with that place as I read. Everything about these stories is connected to the idea of the islands: the people being insular; the space being liminal; whether characters look to land or water as home, inspiration, solace, threat, provider or destroyer.
There are a few characters, and families, who reappear over the course of the stories, reminding the reader that the Isles are a small place and that while some people leave, most don’t – or if they do, they usually come back. Most of the characters are human – usually, mostly – but several of them aren’t, and a few are liminal. There’s magic, but it’s not easy or familiar or common. What there is mostly is humanity. Love and hatred, jealousy, fear and despair, joy and determination. Hannett is really, really good at people. She’s also very good at narrative, don’t get me wrong: the amount of twistiness she can get into just a few pages is remarkable. Mostly, though, I read these stories for the people.
This is a splendid collection and I am delighted it’s been republished.
The Incandescent, Emily Tesh
I had absolutely no idea what this book was about before I started reading it. I had pre-ordered it months ago purely on the basis of “Emily Tesh”. That’s how much I loved Some Desperate Glory: Tesh has become an insta-buy.
So then I discovered that it’s a school story, with the focus on one of the teachers; and that it’s modern, and a fantasy. Very different from Some Desperate Glory! Which is not a problem – but intriguing.
TL;DR I adored this book. Like, a lot.
The school bit: I was a teacher for a fair while. Not in a private school, not in a private boarding school, and not in a British private boarding school. And yet, this book was so clearly written by someone who was a teacher. The notes about no one getting on the wrong side of the office staff. About respecting the groundskeepers. About how experienced teachers view new teachers, and why teachers even do the job… and that’s all before the actual teaching, and the teacher-student interactions. I loved it. And it’s all necessary and appropriate for the story, too.
The fantasy side: this is a world where magic-users can access the demonic plane and make use of their power to do… well, magic. There’s also other ways of doing magic but that’s the focus here. The main character teaches invocation, and is an acknowledged expert in her field. Some of her students are remarkably strong and intuitive. You can probably start to anticipate some of the ways things might go wrong.
There’s also romance: it’s a significant thread throughout, although more along Han-Leia lines (important but not actually driving the narrative) than Wesley-Buttercup lines. It’s real and powerful and deeply believable.
Tesh writes beautifully, I wouldn’t change a thing, and I know that I’ll be re-reading this novel. And I’m sorry if you’ve got a lot on your plate, Emily, but please can you write more novels?
The Strange History of Samuel Pepys’s Diary
Many moons ago, I did an undergrad subject that I thought was part of the English department but was actually in Cultural Studies. It was about how “classics” get to be part of the canon – about how much there is to the construction of the canon, and that it’s not just organic. So we looked at the various versions of Hamlet, and Pound’s editing of “The Wasteland”, and James Joyce’s work at making Ulysses seem like a classic before it was even published. All of which was in my mind as I read this amazing, fantastic book.
I read this book courtesy of NetGalley and the publisher, Cambridge University Press. It’s out at the end of June, 2025.
What Loveman is doing is not just assessing and explaining the Diary, but also putting it in its historical context across the 350 years of its existence. How and why Pepys originally wrote it – and the fact that it is almost certainly not JUST a diary recording his uncensored thoughts, but consciously constructed. And then, even more interesting for me, the life of the Diary after Pepys’ death.
The Restoration is not my favourite period, so I haven’t studied the Diary much, if at all – and being Australian, I wasn’t subjected to excerpts at school. So I had no idea that most of it is in shorthand, nor that for the last three centuries very few people have been able to actually read the Diary: what scholars have worked from is a transcription – a translation, even, given that transcribers don’t always know what was intended. And then there’s the fact that until the 1970s, there was NO unexpurgated version of the Diary published. Early editors cut out bits that were perceived as too raunchy, as well as bits that were perceived as too boring (also often, apparently, bits involving women…). So again, what people have “known” about Samuel Pepys has been constructed by choices, consciously or unconsciously made. The way Loveman sets out this publication history is completely absorbing in a way I hadn’t really expected.
This book is deeply historical: it’s thoroughly researched, involving I can’t imagine how much time in archives. It is simultaneously wonderfully engaging, clearly written, and inclusive of fascinating tidbits – a newspaper column written like Pepys during the First World War, making daily observations! And a biting section about the work of editors’ and transcribers’ wives, “With thanks to…”, for the enormous amount of unpaid work they have put in over the decades.
This is a book that appeal not just to folks who know something about Pepys and his diary, but to anyone with an interest in how history is constructed. Splendid.
The Baker’s Book
I received this book from the publisher, Murdoch Books, at no cost. It’s out now; RRP$45.
I am remiss in reviewing this book! My excuses are a) being away for a couple of weeks, and b) finding opportunities to bake things when there’s not many people around.
I am not particularly an aficionado of the Australian baking scene. In fact, I think there might be only one place mentioned in here that I know (more on that later). Thus I do not know whether this is a representative, or interesting, or eclectic set of bakers. I can guess that they are, based on recipes, but I don’t know for sure. What I can judge, though, are those recipes, and I can say: it’s a fascinating selection. There are easy things and quite hard things; ingredients I’ve never used, and equipment I won’t bother owning, and takes on old favourites. There are savoury recipes but mostly sweet, and recipes for different occasions. There are also personal reflections from the bakers: about their personal journeys, or perceptions of baking, and often how those things relate to life in general. It’s a really nicely constructed book, both in contents and in physical appearance.
Recipes I have made:
Continue reading →The River has Roots, Amal El-Mohtar
I read this courtesy of NetGalley and the publisher. It’s out now!
This was simultaneously very sweet and very biting.
It’s a delight to read, and it will have you clutching at whatever you’re sitting or lying on whilst doing so.
It’s set kind of-ish in our world and also in Arcadia, which might be Faerie. It’s about sisters and love of all kinds, loyalty and spite, riddles and justice and fidelity and rivers.
The River Liss is a character, and I love them.
The willows are characters, too, in a more understated way. I’m Australian so willows don’t play a huge role in my botanical experience – but I’ve read enough European folklore to understand why they feature here.
This novella is completely captivating, like everything El-Mohtar writes, and I want to gently throw it at everyone so they read it and get to enjoy it with me.
Esperance, by Adam Oyebanji
Read courtesy of NetGalley and the publisher. It’s out in May.
Starts as a police procedural, which is fine by me – I love them: Chicago cops turn up to investigate a death, the cause of death is very weird, and how it was managed is baffling. Cops hear about a similar murder a long way across the country…
Meanwhile, someone has just arrived in England – we don’t know where from – and talks like someone from a bad 1930s film. She meets a grifter, they fall into some trouble together, and of course their paths eventually cross the paths of the American cops. And I can’t tell you why or how without going into some of the key revelations, the discovery which was a massive part of why I enjoyed this novel so much.
I spent a lot of this novel not really sure who the traveller was, where they were from, and what their purpose would turn out to be. Sometimes this sort of suspense is really annoying, but not here: although their overall intention was mysterious, Oyebanji still managed to create a character who was fascinating and appealing enough that I wanted to keep hanging out with them. He also does some very clever things with the American cops, I think, although as a white Australian I’m really not in a position to fully comment on that.
The book is fantastic. There’s wonderful characters, excellent interactions between them, and an intriguing and compelling mystery. It covers racism, mammoth questions like what justice really is or looks like – and is a standalone story. Highly recommended.
Beast, by Jade Linwood
I read this courtesy of the publisher and NetGalley. It’s out in June, in Australia.
This was a lot of fun.
I haven’t read the first book, Charming, which presumably introduces the titular prince and the variety of ladies he has rescued. Fortunately, there was enough backstory provided – and without it being super info-dump-y – that that wasn’t too much of a problem; I picked up fairly quickly that Charming is every Prince Charming, that he’s therefore regarded as a conman and a rogue by the rescuees who have now banded together, and that there’s also some sort of curse on Charming himself, organised by Mephistopheles, that the ladies need to work with Charming to break. Which is all well and good until Charming gets pulled into yet another curse – the focus of this novel, which is of course the Beauty and the Beast one. And it’s gender-swapped, with Charming as the Beauty and a woman as the Beast.
It’s interesting to read a flipped B&B, especially when it’s primarily from the man’s perspective (now I want to read a flipped version from the woman’s perspective). Because of the sort of story this is, Charming never finds Beast particularly offensive, and indeed appreciates many of her qualities from early on. The novel does acknowledge that other men have not been as generous, with some reduced to gibbering wrecks because they’re incapable of seeing past the idea of a very large furry bipedal ‘animal’ coming towards them while inside a house. There’s no great interrogation here or psychoanalytical discussion of what it means to have been transformed; that’s not what this novel wants to do. But there is commentary on Beast having to use a tankard rather than a wine glass, and not wanting to eat in front of potential suitors, and a few other notes that compare how a well-bred lady of the pseudo-medieval society would be expected to look and behave compared with how she looks now.
Other fairy tales also get a look-in here, in particular Red Riding Hood and Hansel & Gretel; they are likewise fractured in really fascinating ways. Linwood seems to have had a lot of fun playing with all of these stories and thinking about how to make recognisable and yet just a bit other. (Red’s hanging out with werewolves; Gretel is traumatised from her childhood – and not by a witch – and now protects herself with bears.)
Fast-paced in a good way, easy to read, some delightful characters: this book was great.
Mary Darling, by Pat Murphy
Read courtesy of NetGalley and the publisher, it’s out in May.
The Peter Pan/Sherlock Holmes mash-up I didn’t know I needed.
I’m a big fan of taking old stories – especially well-loved ones – and either putting women in, or re-telling the women’s stories to give them more agency, or just flat-out actually making them a character rather than sexy (or maternal) lampshades. Here, Murphy gives life to Mary Darling: wife to George, mother to Wendy, John, and Michael – and previous inhabitant of Neverland, courtesy of Peter Pan. She grew up in Cooktown, Qld; is the niece of Dr John Watson; and is generally awesome.
The story is partly Mary’s story, as she goes off to find her own children – recognising all the signs, as she does, of a Peter Pan abduction – and partly Watson’s story, as he (along with Holmes) follow in Mary’s wake to try and find Neverland. Along the way there are adventures, including other Victorian lady adventurers, and brothel-keepers, and several pirates. There’s also flashbacks to Mary’s childhood, as well as to the experiences of various members of the party: Sam, a South-Sea Islander friend from Mary’s childhood; some of the pirates; the people who become known as Princess Tiger-Lily and her family; and George Darling himself.
Murphy has made Barrie’s (and Conan Doyle’s) much richer by restoring the women and people of colour who would really have existed in London, let alone the rest of the world, to the story. She’s also written a zippy tale of adventure and family and identity that kept me completely enthralled.
Holmes does not come out of this story very well. Nor does Peter Pan. I was naturally reminded of AC Wise’s Wendy, Darling, which is a very different book but likewise asks questions about exactly who, or what, Peter Pan could possibly be.
This was brilliant. Loved all of it.
Upon a Starlit Tide
Read courtesy of NetGalley. It’s out in mid-February.
A simply glorious addition to the world of fairy-tale re-imaginings.
Did I think that mashing Cinderella and The Little Mermaid with a dash of Bluebeard (and a lesser known Breton tale) would work? I had doubts, but I did love Woods’ first novel so I decided to have faith. And it was amply rewarded.
Set in Saint-Malo in 1758, it seemed at first like this is going to be a largely real-world story… until it becomes clear that the Fae exist, although they have appeared less often to mortals in the last generation or two. And Saint-Malo, a coastal town thriving on the revenue of its sailors – both through legit trade and through privateering – is protected by storm-stone, which is also magical in some way.
The focus is Luce, youngest (and adopted) of three daughters of one of Saint-Malo’s chief and richest seamen. Her damaged feet only slightly hamper her determination to get out of the house when everyone else is asleep, to go beachcombing and even sailing with a pair of English smugglers she has befriended. And one day, she rescues a young man from drowning… you can already see some of the fairy-tale shapes here. Woods does a brilliant job of using familiar beats and combining them into an intriguing, captivating, and highly readable story.
I enjoyed Luce, and the stories of her sisters; I was generally delighted by the world (with the usual caveat that it’s not aiming to be an utterly realistic and historical warts n all story, plus it’s about a super wealthy family); I liked the way the Fae are imagined and presented.
I can’t wait to see what Woods does next.
Randomly Yours, Alex 