Fearless Beatrice Faust
I very rarely read biographies of modern people. Faust only died in 2019, so that’s VERY modern by my standards. But I’ve been interested in how people approach modern biographies, for a project, and so this one was recommended. Having enjoyed Brett’s “From Compulsory Voting to Democracy Sausage,” I was fairly sure I’d enjoy her style, so this seemed like a good option.
Turns out, Faust was an amazing woman. Would I always have agreed with her? Oh no. Would I probably have found her abrasive to work with on a committee? Oh yes. Would I nonetheless have loved to be a neighbour, occasionally going over for coffee and hanging out? For sure.
Faust had a difficult upbringing: her mother dies from childbirth complications, her father is distant, her eventual stepmother unpleasant, and Faust herself is a sickly child (and continues to have multiple chronic conditions for most of her life, which are an enormously complicating factor for her). Yet she is clearly highly intelligent; she gets into Mac.Rob, the select-entry Melbourne girls’ school, and then Melbourne University to do an honours degree in Arts, and eventually an MA. Over her lifetime she writes many tens of thousands of words, and basically becomes a public intellectual – but not an academic, mostly because of misogyny.
Faust was extremely open about her life: her sexuality and sexual experiences, her abortions, her accidental addiction to benzos – all were fuel for public talks, articles, government submissions, and the many letters she wrote to friends.
She was also the founder of the Women’s Electoral Lobby, a key member of the Abortion Law Reform League, and various other women-focused campaigns. Her relationship with “women’s lib” and some aspects of feminism were fraught – she’s just that bit older than many of the agitators of the early 70s – and she definitely had some views that 1970s feminists had a problem with. In particular, some of the ways she talked about pronography, and – even more problematically – her apparent defence of some paedophiles were very troubling. Brett goes into these topics in great depth, sympathetic to Faust in that she tries to understand her views as well as possible, and present them fairly, but not so sympathetic that Faust gets a pass when she is saying unwholesome things.
Brett’s overall style is intriguing. She was approached by Faust’s friends, after she died, saying that she would be a good subject – and Brett said yes for many reasons, including the personal connection (living in Melbourne, some of the same haunts). Brett is not absent from the text, and I appreciated this aspect a lot. That’s not to say that Brett makes it all about her. I mean that Brett will mention when Faust’s reasoning is ambiguous, or when she got something wrong; and in dealing with some really hard topics – like her views on paedophilia – Brett wrestles with why Faust may have thought the way she did, and also calls her out for views that are pretty clearly inappropriate by today’s standards. Brett insightfully considers the question of whether Faust would be considered a TERF today, because she believed that biology was a significant part of a person’s identity; she concludes that it would be easy to say yes, but that Faust’s view is more nuanced than many TERFs, so perhaps not (Faust also didn’t seem to have a problem with a trans woman she spent some time with).
Beatrice Faust absolutely deserved to have a biography written about her. I’m glad Judith Brett was able to do so.
The Dead Withheld
Oh look, another Neon Hemlock. Am I finally catching up on all of the novellas that have been piling up in my electronic TBR? Yes I am!
I love it when folks play with the hardboiled detective story, and make it way more interesting than ‘morose middle aged white man who drinks too much and investigates sad crimes.’ In this case, we have ‘morose unclear-aged woman who drinks too much and investigates sad crimes’ – who can also see ghosts (not entirely unusual in her town) and summon them, occasionally has to deal with demons, is in a friends-with-benefits relationship with Carmen, a demon running a bordello… and got into the PI business in an attempt to find the killer of her lover, now dead several years.
Dizzy is a wonderful character. Once a musician, she’s given that up to be a PI, and she is currently fairly messed up by the unanswered questions in her life; and she has done some questionable things in trying to resolve them – violence, and holding souls captive, to name just two. She’s also a devoted and fierce friend, honest about her failings, and has the sort of drive to get answers that can make or destroy a person.
Exactly when and where the story is set is opaque – there’s mention of “the Former United States”, but if there are clues about exactly where this is set, this Australian could not find them. But that’s irrelevant to the story, because it’s not about technology it’s about magic. The story also doesn’t care about politics; it cares about love, and revenge, and finding your way after you’ve been lost for a long time.
Again: it’s Neon Hemlock. High quality.
No Such Thing As Duty
Do I know anything at all about W. Somerset Maugham? I do not! Have I ever read anything he wrote? I have not! Did I still enjoy this fantastical take on a period in his life? Certainly did!
William is in Romania. He is dying of TB, and he has left his unhappy marriage – but also his daughter – in England. His lover Gerald is somewhere on the western front, current fate unknown. On paper he is working for a newspaper; in reality he is… sort of a spy. Ish. It’s World War 1, but you’d be forgiven for not realising that – there’s only one mention of the Kaiser, and no other leaders. In fact initially I thought it was WW2 from some other hints, but that mention of the Kaiser seals it.
An assignment comes to William: contact a man who can apparently get one of their agents out of Bucharest, which an Englishman would be unable to do. And so he contacts Walter, and they start getting to know each other, and things happen, and Walter is a surprise.
It’s a Neon Hemlock, so you know you’re going to get a) quality and b) queer content. This novella does not disappoint; it’s well written, well paced, and made me go look up Maugham’s life to see where Donnelly had shoehorned this story in.
Countess, by Suzan Palumbo
Did I ignore this book for several months because I have never read The Count of Monte Cristo? Yes.
Was that foolish? Also yes.
Should I have paid attention to the fact that this is a) gender flipped (mostly), b) space opera, and c) a novella, NOT LIKE the 1000+ PAGE PLUS ORIGINAL? Oh yes.
So, this book is great. Like everyone who has raved about it has suggested. A young migrant woman rises through the military hierarchy of her beloved adopted home, desperately proving that she can be as good as any of the white-skinned folks (did I mention this is anti-colonial as well?) of her new planet. And then, of course, things go very bad because Jealousy, and she ends up in prison. It’s not too much of a spoiler to say she escapes (the original is basically one long revenge fantasy, as far as I can tell), and then things… well. Things change.
Palumbo writes beautifully, illuminating the relatively-newly-colonised planets as distinct places but also evoking the original Terran homelands, especially of the Caribbean. I did go and read the Wiki for The Count after reading this, to get a sense for how closely she kept to the original, and the answer is ‘pretty close but also not slavish’ – SEE LENGTH in particular. Having said that, this is obviously an excellent example of how you don’t need to have read the original even when it’s clearly a book riffing off another: Palumbo has made this story all her own.
Magnificent.
The Folded Sky
Apparently I didn’t review either Ancestral Night or Machine? Oops.
Quick recap: very far future, galactic colonisation, (most) humans live alongside other species, they have ‘right-minding’ to deal with anti-social tendencies, and there’s an ongoing search for the remnants of long-dead very powerful alien predecessors. Also, there’s FTL travel, through White Space.
The three books in the White Space series are connected by being set in the same universe and dealing with some of the big issues, and events from previous books make the next books happen, but there’s basically no character connections.
In this book, the archinformist (historian) Dr Sunya Song has left her family to go do research in one of the most exciting discoveries in centuries – an ancient AI left by that predecessor civilisation. Of course, things do not go at all as planned, starting with the very snarky AI ship she travels on, moving rapidly to a pirate attack, and then the arrival of her arch-nemesis. And there are the actual and attempted murders.
This is a space opera, with a whole lot of discussion about inter-species relationships on a personal and societal level, with both the continuation of racism and the desire to understand The Stranger playing significant roles. There’s also some interesting crossover between this and Arrival / “Story of Your Life” in terms of how someone can come to understand a species whose entire way of looking at reality is utterly different from your own.
On a more mundane level, this is also a murder mystery, since Song gets involved in that side of things, when perhaps she shouldn’t.
Overall this is a really fun story, with characters I enjoyed and a plot whose resolution I didn’t entirely expect. However I must note that there were disappointments, particularly in some poor editing. For example on p414 of the trade paperback, and a few other times, questions are asked and then not answered in the conversation. Obviously this is sometimes deliberate, but there’s no suggestion that’s the case here – it just feels like a line is missing. There’s also some repetition of information that feels like it’s been doubled up because someone wasn’t sure where it should go.
Will I read another book in this series? Of course I will.
New Philippine Speculative Fiction 1
And another book sent by Charles! You can buy it from the publisher.
This anthology is both a mixed bag and a diverse collection – ah English, you are hilarious.
Some of the stories brought together here are absolutely brilliant. There are very few names that I recognised, and many that I hope will have their work picked up by and read further afield.
Of course, any anthology is going to struggle to please a reader with every story. So as expected, there were stories that really did not resonate with me here. Most of those were the horror stories – which is entirely to be expected, since that is not my vibe at all. In particular some of them leaned far too heavily on body horror for my tastes, so I simply skipped them. If that’s your vibe, then I’m glad for you that they’re included here. There were plenty of other stories here that did work for me: there are 35 stories included!
Some stories were clearly and obviously leaning into Filipino places, ideas, history, and language; I definitely didn’t get all of the references in those, but I got enough that I could appreciate the story. Others were, I guess, more “universal” – whatever that means, given the stories are presented largely in English. One of the fun things about an anthology like this is that the only connective tissue is the identity of the authors: there are no themes or ideas tying the stories together, so you have absolutely no idea what you’re going to read next.
Some favourites:
- Jose Elvin Bueno, “Cadena de Amor” – the narrator’s perspective here was intriguing, and the story tantalising
- Vida Cruz-Borja, “Call of the Rimefolk” – art, space, aliens, love, family. This story is magnificent.
- Exie Abola, “Shadow Sisters” – difficult to characterise, gut-wrenching if you’ve got siblings.
- Ian Rosales Casocot, “The Apologist” – I don’t like this story. It made me angry and feel powerless. It’s very well written and it reflects modern media too well for my liking – how rich people can get away with anything, and how PR works. More people should read it.
- Kate Osias, “The James Machine” – AI stories are still very Now. This is a simple story, in the sense that the narrative is straightforward and it doesn’t dive deep into philosophy; it’s also poignant and lovely, and the subtitles throughout are a masterstroke.
Highly recommended for getting a taste of what the Philippines is producing.
Cinder House, Freya Marske
My main take away from this novella is “do not come at me with your ‘fairy tales are dead’ takes.”
This is probably the most imaginative reworking of Cinderella I’ve ever come across. Not least because it starts with the death of Ella’s father… and of Ella herself.
Yes, Ella is a ghost. No, that doesn’t stop her from having the traditional Cinderella adventures. Yes, it makes it more complicated; yes, it makes it absolutely intriguing.
Honestly, don’t even keep reading this review. Just go read it. It’s that good. (Also, novella! I basically read the whole thing while donating plasma!)
If you want more detail: Ella dies at 16. She becomes a ghost and haunts her house. The only people who can see her are her stepmother and stepsisters, and she can’t leave the house… until she finds a way to do so, temporarily.
This is a world with magic and fairies; the fairies are treated much like exotic humans (I choose the term advisedly), and magic has a difficult place in the world. Ghosts are not unknown. Ella’s tie to the house is used brilliantly – I think it’s one of the more clever explorations of that idea that I’ve come across, too, although given my general avoidance of haunted-house-stories (because I’m a wuss), maybe it’s not as novel as I think. At any rate, in not very many pages Marske creates (for me) a whole new way of thinking about hauntings, and I bought it completely.
Marske also manages to make the prince complex and interesting, with – again – a really brilliant take on his character.
Also also: a queered fairytale.
And finally also: gorgeous prose.
I loved this book a lot.
Every Day I Read, Hwang Bo-reum
I received this book from the publisher, Bloomsbury, at no cost. It’s out now.
(Translated from Korean by Shanna Tan.)
I am not the audience for this book. That’s the main thing I took away from reading it. Perhaps as importantly, I don’t know – and I’m not sure the book itself knows – who the audience actually would be.
Sometimes the book’s purpose seems to be to give readers a way into, or back to, sharing the author’s love of reading. A worthy goal, of course – but I question whether most people who are struggling to find time to read (or to see it as a worthwhile activity) would pick up a book about that activity. So I was confused by that aspect – and also, that is not a problem for me, thus: I am not the audience for this book.
Sometimes the book’s purpose seems to be celebrating the joy that is reading, and this is one that I fully get behind (obviously). But the slides into didacticism – here are reasons for why reading is good for you! – felt very off-putting in that context.
The book is at its best when the author presents a sort of book biography. The books that have made an impact on her life, the times reading has helped her cope with difficult times in her life, and so on. I did also like the way she points out what reading a variety of books – bestsellers and not, short and long, staying within your preferred topics and venturing further afield – can be like. And yet… it also felt a bit pretentious. Again, maybe that’s me and my personal hang-ups, and maybe I still feel defensive about my preferred genres. But almost every book mentioned was a “classic” and there aren’t many books that could be called recent (aside from Murakami… and see “classic”). Pretty much all of the fiction is realist. And then there’s the dismissal of ebooks, conflating “reading online” with “reading electronic books”. And yes, perhaps many people do consume ebooks differently from how they read paper books. But many of us don’t.
Anyway. As noted, this is not a book for me. I hope it finds an English-language audience; I just don’t know who they will be.
Frostbite, by Nicola Twilley
I came to this book because I am a fan of the podcast Gastropod, and Twilley is one of the hosts. She’s an immensely engaging host there, and she’s also an immensely engaging author. Her interest in and passion for “food through the lens of science and history” (the podcast’s tagline) comes through here: the history, present, and future of refrigeration and its connection to food is told thoughtfully, clearly, and with honest acknowledgement of the issues as well as the benefits.
One of the things I hadn’t really expected, but should have given the podcast, is just how much time Twilley spent actually experiencing the things that she discusses. She works some shifts in cold storage warehouses! She visits farms and factories! She goes to China and Rwanda as well as all over the US! And she has clearly talked to A LOT of people about all of the issues.
A fairly big focus of the book is the development of artificial refrigeration for food: the reasons for its necessity and the various people who were involved in trying to do so, the things they tried and how often they failed. I had no idea that people thought it would be ear impossible, but Twilley lays out the reasons for why it was so very hard and honestly I ended up surprised that it happened at all.
The bit that I found quite distressing was the reality of how much space is used for cold storage, and its environmental impact. But Twilley also points out how important refrigeration can be for things like reducing food wastage – one of the things I like about her reporting is that it’s not just two-sides-ing for the sake of it, but is looking at the issues very clearly and thoughtfully.
It’s a great book. Definitely one for people who are interested in how processes that we absolutely take for granted actually work.
(One thing to note, for those of us not in the USA: the book does use Fahrenheit throughout, which meant for me that I have no idea what the temperatures she’s referring to actually feel like.)
A Forest, Darkly, by A.G Slatter
Read courtesy of NetGalley and the publisher, Titan. It’s out in February 2026.
The short version is that I like everything Slatter writes, and this was no exception. If you’re interested in reading complex characters, fascinating worldbuilding and plots that feel familiar and then go in entirely unexpected directions, with a “this feels like a fairytale but WOAH” vibe, then she is definitely one for you to look out for.
This is very loosely a version of Red Riding Hood, but I promise you have absolutely no idea what’s going on with any of the characters from my having said that. The central figure is a witch – I could say she’s a good witch, but that’s way too patronising and shallow and, well, inaccurate. She’s trying, ok? She’s not a witch who’s looking to eat children. There are, though, a significant number of children in the book, to whom some unpleasant things do happen. There’s also a blacksmith, and some non-humans, and a forest.
Mehrab, the witch, has been getting on well enough in her little cottage in the forest, far away from any signifiant towns. The nearest village is also far enough away that getting there requires a conscious choice, and anyone coming to her is doing so deliberately. One day, Fenna – the woman who brought Mehrab herself to this cottage, and who has brought other girls to stay there over the years – brings Rhea to her: the girl is a witch, and is on the run. Part of the novel is about Mehrab and Rhea figuring out how to be around each other.
A mother and father arrive at the cottage soon after Rhea; their little girl went missing a few days ago, and they ask for Mehrab’s help to find her – but she has no luck. And then the girl arrives home some weeks later… but seems to be different. Part of the novel is about figuring out what’s going on with Ari, and other children too.
Mehrab’s past is very mysterious; she gives little away to Rhea, or the reader. The gradual revelation of why she was herself on the run when Fenna brought her to this forest, and why she makes the particular choices she does, is a thread running through the entire novel.
I loved everything about this novel.
The novel is within Slatter’s Sourdough universe, but there is absolutely no need to have read anything that comes before; there’s reference to a couple of characters from other novels but they’re very much just as background, in the way that a complex world will always have background. However, if you’re already a fan, REJOICE! It’s always good when there’s a new one.
Randomly Yours, Alex 