Ocean: A History of the Atlantic before Columbus
I read this courtesy of the publisher and NetGalley. It’s available now.
Broad sweeping history like this, even when done well, is both very intriguing and enjoyable to read, and occasionally frustrating. As long as you know what you’re reading, you can get around that.
To get the frustrating bit out of the way: the book focuses almost entirely on the European experience. It touches briefly on Africa, and even more briefly on the Americas, but largely through a European lens. Now, I am sure that this is partly a dearth of written records – but a significant portion of the book is about pre-history and/or relies on archaeology, so that doesn’t hold as a reason. I would have less of a problem with this if the book itself made clear it was “the European Atlantic,” but it doesn’t.
So, on the understanding that this book is largely about the European experience of the Atlantic before Columbus sailed across it, this is a pretty good book! It’s a survey, so it covers an enormous swathe of time and, within the European bounds, a broad range of cultures too – which does mean it doesn’t have really nitty-gritty detail, but that aspect is entirely expected.
Having recently visited Skara Brae, on Orkney, I was delighted to discover a section on that site, and to learn more about what it reveals of how Neolithic folks used the ocean. Haywood covers what we can know about how humans have eaten from the ocean (isotopes in bones, how amazing), as well as – when the literary sources exist – how they thought about it, used it in myths and stories, and so on. And then of course there’s sailing, for a variety of reasons and in a variety of vessels.
I left this book intrigued by the different ways people have used this ocean over time. I generally enjoyed Haywood’s writing style, and think this is accessible to the general reader.
The City in Glass
I am relatively new to Nghi Vo and now I want to read pretty much everything she has ever written.
There is so much that is enchanting about this book.
I love the idea of an immortal being having a long-term connection to, basically a relationship with, a particular place and group of people. What that looks like over a long period of time is a key part of what Vo is looking at here. I think connection to place is something that we don’t talk about enough.
And then there’s the fact that the main protagonist is called a demon, while the antagonist is an angel… nice work on the challenging expectations and flipping conventions, Vo.
The writing itself is also just a delight. This was such an easy book to read – it was so easy to just KEEP reading, to be sucked into the world and desperately need to know what was going to happen. This is always a good sign.
I remain delighted to have read this.
The Mercy of Gods
Read courtesy of NetGalley and the publisher. I will admit to a little trepidation when I saw this was coming. I’m a major fan of The Expanse series; there’s always that mix of excitement for new work from a favourite author (combo, in this case), and worry that new work will not compare to the old. What if the first stuff was a result of thinking and planning for their whole life, and now they are doing stuff with less preparation?
Happily, my fears were completely and utterly unfounded. This book is wildly imaginative, the characters are flawed and complex and compelling, and I am already psyched for the next one. Which is probably in at least a year, so that’s going to be so very frustrating.
Humans live on Anjiin. They haven’t always been there, but they have no history to explain how or why or even really when they arrived. But they’re doing very well in terms of arts and sciences and general life standards. They have a highly structured society, which isn’t great for everyone, but people deal with it as people always do. Dafyd works in a team that has recently made a major breakthrough: they have figured out a key step in integrating the two sets of biology on Anjiin. Because this is the clue as to humanity not being indigenous to Anjiin: there is the biology that seems related to humanity, and there is… everything else. And ne’er the twain shall meet. Until now.
At this point, it seems like the story will be about science and scientific rivalry. Which is all well and good. But then something is spotted on the edge of the heliosphere, and it turns out to be aliens, who do dreadful things to Anjiin and then collect a bunch of humans and take them… somewhere else. At which point the story becomes something else entirely. There are a whole range of aliens under the dominance of the Carryx, and humans are now one of them; they have to figure out what that means, on a personal and collective level. There are (unsurprisingly) a range of responses – and it’s in this that Corey shows a deep and compassionate understanding of humanity. I don’t agree with all of the ways various characters respond – and I’m not meant to – but I do understand why they act like they do.
It’s a first book in a series, so the ending is in no way a finale. It’s absolutely a prologue to what’s to come – indeed, the opening of the book, written by a Carryx, already says that Carryx interaction with humanity is going to have unexpected and catastrophic consequences. Exactly how will that happen? No idea! Need the rest of the series to figure that out!
History in Flames: the Destruction and Survival of Medieval Manuscripts
Read via NetGalley. It’s out in August 2024.
This book is highly engaging, thoughtful, sometimes depressing, and overall wonderful.
It’s also occasionally snarky. To whit: “On 19 July 1870 France declared war on Prussia (this was a time when states still officially declared war).”
One of the things that people who have never studied history don’t really think about is just how much we don’t know about the past. And that that lack is not for want of trying, but because the sources simply aren’t available. And that sometimes, that lack isn’t because people in the past didn’t bother to record it, but because the sources have been “lost”. Sometimes “lost” means the sources succumbed to time and the environment; sometimes folks re-used the medium for other purposes (binding other books, or for bullet casings – which makes me weep). And sometimes, as in the focus of this book, they are destroyed when humans destroy archives and libraries during military campaigns. The examples are from France, Ireland, Italy and Germany – he is frank, in the introduction, about the focus being narrowly European and medieval; that’s his area, after all.
The book starts with an overview of how we know what we know – a good reminder for the expert, an easy intro for the novice. It then uses one of the most famous European examples of how narrowly some of our information has avoided being lost: the manuscript of Beowulf, whose story gives me nightmares every time I read it (one manuscript, nearly lost several times… we were THIS CLOSE to not having Grendel and Grendel’s mother and MY GOODNESS imagine how different European literature would be).
The meat of the book is in four chapters that focus on four specific case studies – four instances of the military destroying archives or libraries. In two cases, Bartlett focuses on one significant object that was lost in the destruction, as a specific example of what we used to have; in the other two, he focuses on the entire oeuvre that was destroyed, and what that means for our knowledge of an era. So each chapter has an explanation of why folks were fighting, and why the specific place (Dublin, Chartres) was affected; then discusses what was in the library/archive – how and when it was made, why it was important, how it got to be in that place. And then the process of destruction (being blown up from the inside; bombs dropping from above).
All of that is what I expected from the title, and the overview. What I had overlooked is that the subtitle also says “and Survival”. So each chapter also includes how scholars tried to save the information otherwise lost: finding examples of transcripts, lithographs, and photographs of the now-destroyed work; finding copies of letters and so on in other archives; and so on. Within the horror, therefore, at losing an enormous swathe of Irish medieval history or the largest Mappa Mundi, there is a small amount of joy and gratitude at how people tried to mitigate the loss. And that makes me very thankful.
This is an excellent book for the reader who has a keen interest in medieval history; for those interested in the construction of knowledge; and for those with a broad general interest in history. I loved it.
The Book Eaters, Sunyi Dean
How, exactly, did I manage to miss reading this when it first came out? I am bemused, because this is exactly the sort of thing I should have been all over.
Well, thanks to the Hugo packet I have finally devoured it.
Book eaters are exactly what they sound like: they are people who look human, but who rather than eating human-food eat, well, books. (Most of them anyway: there are also a few who eat, uh, minds. So it’s a bit zombie-ish (but not).) These folk live in our world but generally have no interaction with humans – they’re a very insular community, necessarily. They’re also a community on the wane; women tend to have a maximum of two children, and some will have none, for health reasons. An intensely patriarchal society as well, women are moved around and married where needed – and, key to this story, kept separate from their children after about the age of 3.
Devon experiences exactly this life: growing up she is treated as a princess, as the only daughter in the house; she is married off, to act as a brood mare basically. However, she is a feistier woman than the men in her life expect, and when her son is born a mind-eater… well, things go a bit sideways, frankly.
The story is told across two periods, in parallel: Devon growing up, and Devon in the now, living in hiding with her son. Eventually, of course, the past catches up with the present, and we understand exactly how Devon has got to this point. So while we certainly start sympathetic to Devon, our appreciation and horror at what she has endured deepen steadily and relentlessly: Dean gets the pacing just right, with a steady revelation of more and more terrible things committed both by and against Devon.
A story of mothers and children, families both blood and found; highly enjoyable, with compelling and fascinating characters, and a plot that REALLY works.
Troy, by Simon Brown
I bought this, I think, at one of my first Swancons – I know I bought it direct from Russell, and Ticonderoga. I don’t know if Simon Brown was there, but for some reason I think Sean Williams was? I did discover that I have a a page with signatures from all of the contributors – also including Garth Nix, who wrote the delightfully whimsical introduction – so that’s pretty cool.
All but one of these stories have direct or indirect connections to the Trojan cycle; the exception is an interesting enough story, but one that I do rather wish wasn’t included, because it feels quite jarring to come across (and it’s about troubling Catholic priests, which is not exactly an enjoyable topic). Some of the stories use the issues of war and trauma; others confront the sheer length of time involved with the cycle.
My favourite story is “The Masque of Agamemnon,” for a lot of reasons. First, the title is clearly brilliant. Second, it combines SF elements – AI and space ships – with the Trojan story in delightfully clever ways. Third, it manages to get into some of the key issues and relationships of both the original stories and the ways in which it’s been dealt with since. Also the final line is hilarious.
I have no idea whether this can still be bought anywhere, but I hope so.
Mexico in Your Kitchen: Mely Martínez
I received this book from the publisher, Rock Point (part of the Quarto Publishing Group), at no cost. It’s available now, $45.
I’ve been making my way through this book for… a while now. But: life. Anyway! Now I’ve made enough of the recipes to be able to say that yes, this is a cookbook I’ll be keeping; there are several recipes that I expect will become staples.
How I got to now without a Mexican cookbook in my house is something I can’t quite believe, but here we are. I’ve made bits and pieces, but just by looking recipes up after having something particularly good at a restaurant. Oh, and one of my lockdown purchases was a tortilla press, at a time when a local Mexican supplier had a deal on (press + 3x1kg bags of corn meal). So I’ve now been inspired enough that I have bought more corn meal, Mexican oregano, some dried chillies, and Mexican chocolate…
The first thing to know before you rush out to buy this as your first Mexican cookbook is that it is Martínez’ second book. This means that it does not include some of the more basic, fundamental recipes; she includes a list of the recipes from that first book, and it’s things like tortillas, Frijoles Refritos (Refried Beans), and Pico de Gallo. So if you want the very basics, I suspect it’s actually a good idea to get that first book (The Mexican Home Kitchen), which I don’t personally own but I assume is as good as this one.
Martínez starts with an overview of Mexican food customs, and then – ever-useful for folks looking to cook outside of their usual customs – “The Mexican Pantry”. This section doesn’t just explain foods that the reader may be unfamiliar with (in my case, nopales); it also talks about how particular foods (eg carrots) are used in Mexican cuisine. There’s an entire section on Peppers; living where I do, many of these are inaccessible, but it was useful to see which are hotter than others, so I can make adjustments as necessary.
So, things I have made!
- Chilquiles: actually a breakfast food, but we had it for dinner. Fried tortillas, avocado, refried beans, a tomato salsa… this was totally delicious.
- Papas con Chorizo (chorizo with potato): hilariously, thanks to a mistake with my butcher, I did not get my chorizo… so I made this with bacon instead. And it was fine, but it would be better with chorizo.
- Chilorio: pork shoulder, simmered for an hour, then cooked with a sauce made from peppers and various spices. Super tasty, super easy; almost a breakfast, but this Anglo-Celt can’t come at that.
- Spicy Pork Short Ribs: didn’t make this with short ribs, because this isn’t a common cut in Australia, as far as I can tell (at least not in my area). But it was delicious nonetheless: simmering the pork and then frying it in its own fat is intriguing and excellent.
- Tuna empanadas: delicious also! Empanadas are very easy!
- Tilapia a la Veracruzana: I don’t think we have tilapia, so I used rockling. Fish, capers, olives, tomato… you’re not really going to go wrong.
- Enfrijoladas: same deal as enchiladas, but the sauce is made with beans (frijoles), rather than a tomato or pepper sauce. The things you learn! Stuff tortillas (cheat and use bought wraps) with (store-bought) roast chicken, top with a black bean sauce and avocado… fancy as! And super tasty.
… and there are still more I haven’t made yet. Recipes are generally well written, with clear instructions and times. Photos aren’t the most stylish I’ve ever seen but they do convey what the end result should look like. I’m looking forward to a lot more Mexican in my life. (Anything to facilitate more avocado.)
The Last Binding, Freya Marske
Why haven’t I read these earlier? Look, I just have a lot of books on my TBR pile. This first book didn’t immediately jump out at me when it was published – I don’t know why – and so, although I occasionally heard about them as they got published, they just didn’t get to the top of the pile. (Slight spoilers below, largely in terms of who gets romanced.)
But the final book was published last year, and the trilogy has been nominated for the Best Series Hugo, and thanks to the enormous generosity of the publisher the whole trilogy was in the Hugo packet. And so, finally, I have now read the whole trilogy. One book straight after the other. Because, turns out, this is a really great series. What a surprise.
Marske writes of an England where the magical live unknown but side by side with the unmagical – which is similar to what Celia Lake does, but Marske doesn’t have the magical largely keep to themselves; there are nobles with magic who sit in the House of Lords, for instance. But most unmagical don’t know that magic exists; when they do find out, it’s described as ‘unbushelling’,
which has a great explanation behind it as a term. As the first book opens, an unmagical man (Robin) has landed an unexpected civil service job, liaising between the magical and the Prime Minister… but he doesn’t know about magic. His predecessor is missing, and he assaulted for unknown reasons; so he ends up working with magic-user Edwin, and others, to figure out what’s going on. Which turns out to be a whole conspiracy, of course, and unravelling which becomes the trilogy. At the same time, Robin and Edwin are falling in love. Which is a whole delightful thing, but did I mention this is the first decade of the 20th century? So it’s also a rather dangerous thing, given the laws at the time. This is a fantastic introduction to the series, giving all the necessary information about magic etc without ever losing the fast pace.
The second book takes place entirely on a ship – so it’s not quite a locked-room mystery, although there are indeed a lot of locked rooms; but there are a limited number of people to do things and a limited number of places for them to happen, which puts all sorts of intriguing boundaries on the author. This time the key characters are Robin’s sister and the dashing Violet, who enjoys being entirely outrageous. A different pace from the first one – partly that’s the ship, partly it’s already knowing about magic and the conspiracy – but nonetheless the consequences are real.
Finally, A Power Unbound – I had realised who one of the likely romance partners would be, in this book, halfway through the second. And I wasn’t overly enthused, I have to say, because his particular style of cynicism isn’t one I love. And the relationship that’s portrayed in this book also isn’t one I enjoyed as much as the first two; I am not as comfortable with how they interact. It’s a dom/sub relationship, and Marske is very clear
about the pair having boundaries and consent; the play-acting at making use of unequal power isn’t something I enjoy. This is very much a me thing, though; and the relationship does develop, as the others have, in interesting ways. Aside from the romance, the plot ratchets up the consequences of the conspiracy and quickens the pace and basically makes this a tremendous finale to the trilogy. A lot of secrets are drastically revealed, issues dealt with, relationships both restored and complicated – Marske really knew what she was doing.
This trilogy will be high on my Hugo ballot, and I am excited to read Marske’s new book this year.
The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks
I saw this film a long time ago – maybe it was on TV? – and ever since then “I should read the book” has been vaguely in my head. I’ve finally done so because someone else, in my book club, nominated it as one of our books. Sometimes it really does take that external influence. And I’m so glad I did because this really is a great book, and an amazing story.
The basics of the Henrietta Lacks story are that she was an African-American woman who, in 1951, was diagnose with cervical cancer. Doctors took a sample of the cells of the cancer, as was standard; they were sent to a lab that was doing some early work on trying to get cells to live in petri dishes (basically). For whatever reason, her cells were the first to prove functionally immortal: they did not die as every other human cell did, but reproduced… and kept reproducing… and, after a fairly short while, HeLa cells were being used all over the world for a variety of biomedical research.
Lacks, meanwhile, died. She had not been told her cells were being cultured; her family were not told either. Eventually, the family found out – there’s a whole story about how it was revealed who these cells that revolutionised the world came from – and it wasn’t an easy thing for them, for a whole bunch of reasons.
This book would be interesting if it were just the straightforward (well, as straightforward as it could be) story of Henrietta and her cells. But that’s all this book does. Instead, there are really three stories.
There’s the story of Henrietta herself. This is necessarily brief: she only lived to 30, there’s not a whole of sources, and she lived a difficult, but fairly straightforward, life: not a lot of education, married and having children young, not working outside of the home – then sick, and dying. Skloot writes about her life with compassion and, honestly, love; she doesn’t moralise or condemn, she doesn’t go all ‘woe what a tragedy’ in that fake ‘oh how hard things were’ way that some people might.
There’s the story of Henrietta’s cells, and the larger scientific story around it. This, too, is fascinating; the attempts at culturing cells, the fear felt by society about what might happen with such cells… and then there’s all of the ethical issues, too, about whether tissues outside of the body are still the property of the person who grew them. And this is tied into larger questions of American medical history around the white scientific establishment and Black bodies, which is of course a whole thing itself.
And thirdly, there’s the story of the Lacks family. Skloot doesn’t try to keep herself out of the story; in fact, she is very present, as she tries to get in touch with the Lacks children, to learn their part of the story. The children – in particular, the only surviving daughter, Deborah – are reticent, for a lot of good reasons. But they gradually come to trust Skloot, and Deborah takes part in a lot of Skloot’s research; the story of their time together, learning about Henrietta (and the eldest daughter, who died as an adolescent) is a vital part of the story: about Henrietta as a human woman, about the consequences of medical decisions, and about the lives of African-Americans in the last half of the twentieth century.
This is one of the best science history books I’ve ever read.
The Knife and the Serpent, Tim Pratt
I read this courtesy of NetGalley and the publisher. It’s out in a week! (Mid-June 2024.)
My first Tim Pratt novel! And yes, I can see why he’s so popular. This novel is a wild ride.
There are two points of view in the novel, which start off separate and then – inevitably – become intertwined. The first is Glenn, whose story begins with the sentence “This is how I found out my girlfriend is a champion of Nigh-Space.” Glenn is having a perfectly normal life when he hooks up with Vivian – Vivy – and finds himself falling in love, getting matching tattoos, and having the best kinky sex of his life; the dom/sub relationship is, he points out, important for understanding how they interact over the rest of the epic tale he’s telling. Which involves learning that there are multiple planes of existence, there are groups who would like to extend their control over as many as possible, and that Vivy works for one of the groups attempting to just let planets get on with being themselves, rather than ruthlessly colonised.
The second is Tamsin, who gets home one day to a weird business card stuck in her door, and then finds out that her grandmother has been murdered. With no other family around, Tamsin is responsible for dealing with the estate; when she gets to her grandmother’s house, things go very peculiar, to the point where she learns – from her embarrassing ex-boyfriend no less – that she is not actually from Earth but from a planet on an adjoining plane, and there are people who would like to use the door that allows such travel thankyouverymuch. She herself goes through the door, back to her original home, where her family – originally one of the ruling families on their planet – had been eliminated when she was a baby. You might be able to guess where it goes from here.
Eventually the two stories coincide, there are some battles and a fair bit of sneaking, a snarky spaceship compelled to wear a human suit for a while, trust issues are revealed and discussed, people’s true natures are revealed, and so on.
This book is a lot of fun. I had been very worried that this would turn out to be the start of a series – it so easily could be! There are so many planets and potential enemies! – but no, it’s a standalone, and while I think it did wrap up a bit quickly, it was also quite a satisfying conclusion. All in all, definitely worth reading.
Randomly Yours, Alex 