The Practice, the Horizon, and the Chain
Read via NetGalley and the publisher, Tordotcom. It’s out in April 2024.
To be honest I don’t even know where to start with reviewing this novella.
To say that it’s breathtaking is insufficient. I can say that it should be on every single award ballot for this year, but that only tells you how much I admired it.
I could try and explain how it explores ideas of slavery, and the experience of the enslaved; ideas of control, and social hierarchy; about human resilience and human evil. Draw connections with Ursula K Le Guin’s “The Ones who Walk Away from Omelas,” and probably a slew of stories that connect to the Atlantic slave trade and which I haven’t read (mostly because I’m Australian).
There are odes to be written to the lyricism of Samatar’s prose, but I don’t myself have the words to express that. Entire creative writing classes would benefit from reading this, and sitting with it, and gently prying at why it works the way it does.
I could give you an outline? There’s a fleet of space ships, and they’re mining asteroids, and mining is dreadful work so you know who you get to do the dreadful work? People that you don’t call enslaved but who are indeed enslaved. There’s an entire hierarchy around who’s doing the mining in the hold, and who’s a guard and who’s not a guard, and the people at the top have convinced themselves there’s not REALLY a hierarchy it’s just the way things need to be. Sometimes someone from the Hold is brought out of the Hold, and then has to learn how to be outside of the Hold… and then someone starts to see through the system, and maybe has a way to change things.
The outline doesn’t convey how powerful the story is.
I should add: the main characters are never named.
Just… everyone should read this. It’s not long, so there’s no excuse! But it will stay in your head, and it will punch you in the guts. In the good way.
The Quiet Revolution of Caroline Herschel
I’ve read a bit about Caroline Herschel, often in the context of “here are women who did important things in science who don’t get enough recognition.” She was one of those women who helped a man get lots of science done – in her case, her brother William: she was his assistant for much of his observing life, writing down his observations and helping with his frankly unwieldy telescopes, as well as keeping house for him for many years until he married – and then his wife had money so they had more servants. All of those things are immensely important and often get overlooked; no one is able to do science on the scale of William Herschel, or Robert Boyle, or Charles Darwin, without an immense amount of assistance: usually either female, lower class, or both. Hence why that assistance is often overlooked, because the European narrative in particular is much happier with the ‘great man’ theory.
To leave Caroline’s story at that, though, is to do her an immense disservice. She was an astronomer in her own right, discovering eight comets (two of which she wasn’t the official discoverer, because someone else got there first, but she didn’t know about that when she found them). She also contributed observations to William’s immense catalogue of the ‘nebulous’ stars. In the late 1700s, most people assumed that that ‘cloudy’ or nebulous patches in the sky were simply stars that contemporary telescopes couldn’t resolve. William used the largest telescopes of the time to realise that actually, some of those areas actually couldn’t be resolved – they really did look cloudy – and suggested that maybe some of those areas were where stars were born. (He also discovered Uranus – the first planet to have been discovered by a human, rather than seen naked-eye, which is what shot him to fame.) Caroline personally observed and described some of the Herschel catalogue.
And then there’s the other scientific tasks she undertook, which might be easy to skim over because they don’t seem that sexy. She worked for years on a massive index and catalogue of stars, using the main one available in English: double checking for errors, making it systematic, and so on. Not glamorous, requiring hours of probably boring labour, required a great deal of knowledge – what an amazing contribution to astronomy.
Anyway, the biography: is not entirely what I was expecting! It focuses largely on a decade in the middle of Caroline’s life, her most scientifically productive – and a decade for which she destroyed her dairy entires and never discussed in either of the two memoirs she produced later in life. There’s a lot of speculation for why this might be; most people conclude that it’s because she wrote some bitchy stuff about her new sister-in-law and that this didn’t fit her self-image as meek, self-effacing, and doing everything for family. It’s a fascinating question and one that will almost certainly never be resolved. So Winterburn has used letters, information from journals, and references in other places to reconstruct those lost years, and in doing so to highlight just how phenomenal Caroline was as a scientist. While she wasn’t the first women to be paid to do science – lots of other women were doing ‘science’, it just wasn’t usually called that – she was the first English woman to have a royal pension for doing science, and that’s very damn impressive.
There are oddly repetitive bits throughout the book, where Winterburn repeats ideas or phrases that have just been laid out a paragraph or two earlier; and the book can’t solely concentrate on the one decade, because the reader needs greater context for Caroline’s life – so it’s not without flaws. There’s also a frankly odd emphasis on the events of the French Revolution; while it certainly had a huge impact on some of the people Caroline and her brother corresponded with, it didn’t actually seem to have a direct impact of Caroline, living in England – she wasn’t obviously a supporter of either Burke or Paine (anti or pro the revolution), so I was confused by how many ink was spent discussing those foreign events. Nevertheless, overall I really enjoyed this, and am immensely pleased to know more about Caroline. To the point where I’m considering the so-called Herschel 400 as an observing list.
Flavour, by Sabrina Ghayour
This book was sent to me by the publisher, Hachette, at no cost. It’s out now, RRP $45.
I have reviewed three of Ghayour’s previous cookbooks, and own all of them. I am confident to say that if I was only allowed to own one writer’s cookbooks, I would be incredibly sad AND I would choose Sabrina Ghayour.
As with all of her books, this one is laid out beautifully and the accompanying pictures are appropriately mouth-watering. Few of the recipes have really extensive ingredient lists; Ghayour is definitely in favour of simplicity and being straightforward. Where there is a longer list, it’s generally herbs and spices, most of which I would regard as accessible in Australia. There are a few points where there’s a translation necessary for Australian audiences – I believe pul biber is usually sold as Aleppo pepper here; and when Ghayour calls for “four preserved lemons”, she does not mean four of the my one-doesn’t-fit-in-your-palm homemade preserved lemons. Ghayour has continued here something I’ve loved from the last couple of books: a suggestion or two of what you might serve with the present recipe – a salad to go with a meat dish, for instance. I love that she has given thought to which flavours complement one another.
The chapters include Salads; Little bites and Savoury treats; Meat, poultry, Fish and Seafood; Vegetables and Pulses; Pasta, Noodles and Grains; and Sweet. Recipes are clearly marked Vegetarian and Vegan.
Things I have made:
- Dried Lime and Spice Marinated Lamb chops – I used steak, because I just cannot be having with chops. I had never blitzed dried limes before but they are a flavour BOMB and this was absolutely delicious.
- Lamb, Dried Fig and Preserved Lemon Tagine – going on high rotation. Love a good casserole, and the flavours are fresh and unctuous.
- Crispy Sticky Harissa Lamb – also delicious. Honey, rose harissa (I bought some because of Ghayour, and it’s great!), rice vinegar, soy and cornflour for the sauce.
- Pan-fried Salmon with Barberry Butter – I have barberries because of a meatball recipe or two, but this is another excellent way to use them.
- Root Vegetable, Chickpea, Feta and Barberry Tart – O.M.G. This was amazing. I think we ate it for three? four? meals in the week. Filo pastry, parsnip, carrot (I didn’t use celeriac – I don’t think it’s that accessible here). This is AMAZING and I LOVED IT. SO EASY.
- Creamy Spiced Sausage Pasta – the creaminess is from mascarpone, which I was surprised by and it was really good. You get the sausage out of its casing, which is always the best way to use it, and then it’s tomato and spice and the mascarpone.
- Harissa, Tahini and Lamb Spaghetti – another to go in high rotation. I was surprised by the harissa and tahini together, but it was brilliant.
- Mushroom Spaghetti with Creamy Pistachio and Garlic Sauce – yes, I know, it’s boring but this is another banger. The creaminess is from tahini again, and it works amazingly with the pistachio. I added some snow peas and asparagus, because I have an abundance, and used noodles instead of spaghetti because I had none.
I haven’t made any of the sweets yet, but I am eyeing off a few; and there are several other recipes that I already know I want to make. This is a great cookbook.
84K, by Claire North
I thought that, because I had read the first two books in Claire North’s Songs of Penelope series, that I had a handle on what Claire North’s writing was like.
Ha ha ha.
Ha ha.
Yeah no, turns out. 84K has been on my TBR list for a long time, and I was killing time in the library recently when I saw it just sitting there. So, fate dictated that I must pick it up. And I started reading it, and … oh my.
This is completely different from Songs of Penelope, is the first thing to say. People who go from this to ancient mythological Greece must have their heads spin, because doing it in the reverse did so to me.
This is not-too-far future England; this is nightmarish capitalism, business and government together, with basically no difference between them, and the literal end-point of the idea of human resources. Justice is privatised beyond even what the USA currently does; every crime has a cost, determined by accountants based on the societal worth of the victim (she was trash) and the perpetrator (he has a very promising swimming career ahead of him). This is people refusing to see what has been done to their society, in their name, while they get some personal gain from it; and just occasionally someone saying Enough.
This was a hard book to read, mostly for the subject matter. It’s not entirely unrelenting but it’s pretty close. North is doing a lot here, and really, really wants you to think about what’s happening. I can imagine this being compared to The Handmaid’s Tale and other stories that project from current events, and take political horror to its grim logical conclusion. It’s a totalitarian society where most people don’t realise it; it’s business being far more important than humans; it’s the personal cost of defying a society where most members don’t see a problem. And those things just don’t feel that far away anymore.
It’s also occasionally hard to read from a structural point of view; again, Songs of Penelope did not prepare me for a non-linear narrative structure. There, it really wouldn’t have worked; here… well. North is a poet; she is a skilled weaver of stories; she layers meaning on meaning and idea on idea so that by the time the story brings you back to the starting point, you’ve got so much knowledge and awareness of what’s going on that you’re close to bursting.
This is a phenomenal book. It deserved all of the accolades. (I’m still glad I read Songs of Penelope first.)
Rosalind’s Siblings – anthology
I heard about this anthology c/ Bogi Takács, the editor, and the premise immediately grabbed me (also I trust Bogi’s sensibility). It can be bought here.
The premise here – as the subtitle says – is speculative fiction stories about scientists who are marginalised due to their gender or sex, in honour of Rosalind Franklin – a woman whose scientific discoveries were key to the unravelling of DNA, but who never received the recognition that Watson and Crick did in their own time.
In Takács’ introduction, they note that the stories don’t take a simplistic view of science; there are stories where science is generally a positive force, and stories where it’s not. There are a variety of different sciences presented, a variety of ways of doing science, and a variety of contexts as well. There’s also a range of characters, across gender and and sexuality and neurodiversity and experience and ethnicity and everything else. This reflects the authors themselves, who are also really diverse. The stories, too, vary in their speculative fiction-ness; near-future, far-future, magical realism, on Earth or in the solar system or far away. There are two ‘trans folk around Venus’ stories, as Takács rather amusedly notes – and they are placed one after the other! – but they’re so different that I’m not sure I would have clicked to that similarity without having been made aware of it from the introduction (stories by Tessa Fisher and Cameron Van Sant; they’re both a delight).
As with all anthologies, I didn’t love every single one of these stories – that would be too much to expect. But there were zero stories where I wondered why an editor would include it, and all of them fit the brief, so those are pretty good marks. DA Xieolin Spires’ “The Vanishing of Ultratatts” was wonderful and hinted at an enormous amount of worldbuilding behind the story. Leigh Harlen’s “Singing Goblin Songs” was a delight, “If Strange Things Happen Where She Is” (Premee Mohamed) has gut-wrenching timeliness (science in a time of war), and “To Keep the Way” (Phoebe Barton) utterly and appropriately chilling.
Below the Edge of Darkness, Edith Widder
I heard Edith Widder on Unexplainable – one of my very favourite podcasts, such that I went back and listened to the year’s worth of episodes that happened before I found them (c/ Gastropod, another of my very favourite podcasts). She talked about deciding to use red light rather than white light when exploring the mid ocean and how that was a new thing, when she suggested it, and I was both boggled and entranced. I love me a good deep-sea exploration story, so when I discovered that the library had her book, I grabbed it.
I realise that the subtitle is “a memoir of…” but I didn’t realise that this was actually a memoir – that is, there’s more about her personal life than I had expected. Which isn’t a problem, it simply surprised me. Pretty much everything she talks about from her personal life is tied to her professional life, so in that sense it is very much a memoir rather than an autobiography: we don’t learn everything about her childhood, just about the very dramatic events that led her to eventually study bioluminescence and marine biology.
(Yes, I was one of those children who thought being a marine biologist would be cool. Yes, I thought it would involve whales and dolphins rather than plankton. No, I don’t love boats that much.)
Widder has been a leading light (heh, heh) for many decades in studying bioluminescence, and in figuring out how to video critters in the mid ocean – the largest living space on the planet – without actually interfering with their natural behaviour. If you’re interested in giant squid, you may actually already know of her: she’s responsible for the first footage of one underwater. She discusses a lot more than that, of course – ups and downs in research, things not going as planned, and generally learning really cool stuff about the place we know the least about on our planet. It’s nearly a cliche that we have better maps of the back side of the moon than of the depths of the ocean… but it’s true.
This book is awesome. The one thing I will say is that she does occasionally go on environmental tangents that feel disconnected from the rest of the chapter. Don’t get me wrong, she’s absolutely right and the book is absolutely the right place to be making the points (because I know she says it elsewhere as well). It just didn’t flow as seamlessly as it might have, which was a bit jarring overall. Nonetheless, it is generally really well written, and Widder has a brilliant sense of humour which often comes out in her footnotes. My very favourite is in discussion of the comparison of eye size, when she gives metric measurements for a giant squid’s eyes (30cm), and then says that in “American units” that’s 1/5 Danny DeVito’s height.
Highly recommended for my fellow science nerds, and fans of ocean science in particular.
Tusks of Extinction, Ray Nayler
Read courtesy of NetGalley and the publisher, Tordotcom. It’s out in January 2024.
I had read and loved Nayler’s The Mountain in the Sea, so it was a no-brainer that I should want to read this novella. There are some similarities between the two, and a whole lot of differences.
Most importantly, it’s fantastic.
I hadn’t read the blurb before diving in – why would I, when I had high expectations? I assumed it was going to be about elephants, or maybe mammoths, and honestly that was enough. So yes, it’s about mammoths – although not quite as I expected. Nayler dives into the thorny questions around what it might mean, and require to bring mammoths back from extinction: in terms of science (although it’s not overly science-heavy; it’s only novella-length, after all), in terms of mammoths learning how to BE mammoths, and in terms of the human reaction as well. In particular, the focus is on poachers, beginning with elephant poachers and the people attempting to thwart them in various parts of Africa.
There’s a lot of humanity, there’s a lot of animal conservation, there’s a lot of scientific consideration. It’s provocative in the best way – no devil’s advocate crap, but raising important issues that don’t have simple answers. Well-written and engaging, this is a further evidence that Nayler is someone to keep watching out for.
Ares Express, by Ian McDonald
When I read Desolation Road I had no idea that I was reading a companion novel to Ares Express. Happily, it doesn’t matter what order you read them in – there’s no spoilers, and only one character in common… who is fairly central to the plot of both, but in ways that work separately for each novel.
Every time I read a new McDonald novel I’m reminded of just how awesome a creator he is. Here, the focus is a young woman born to a train family – they drive trains around Mars, and everything about the family is focused on the train. It’s a weird mix of a society, because it’s clearly technologically advanced – or at least, there are aspects of that, since they’re living on a terraformed planet and they have various tech things that don’t exist for us. At the same time, though, there are archaic aspects to the human side, including, sometimes, arranged marriage. Such is the future looming for Sweetness Octave Glorious-Honeybun Asiim 12th, and she is not having it. And so begins an adventure across Mars that will eventually have enormous repercussions.
The way McDonald gradually reveals his vision of this future world is masterful. There’s enough, early on, to understand the basics of society… and then slowly, slowly, enough of the history of the place is revealed that the reader’s vision is broadened. It’s looking through a keyhole vs eventually looking through a door. But not stepping through that door – there are still lots of tantalising bits that aren’t fully explained, which just makes it all the richer.
Sweetness is a great focal character: young, impetuous, smart, unafraid of challenges and usually willing to admit when she needs help. I would have been happy with an entire novel focused on her. But McDonald adds Grandmother Taal, and I love her to bits. Old ladies being feisty, taking up the slack when the younger generation is being a bit useless, fearless and clever and willing to meddle: she’s everything I love.
One of the great things about writing a middle-future novel where there’s been some loss of tech for whatever reason is that, despite being over 20 years old now, it still gets to feel vital and believable and not at all outdated. Ares Express is magnificent.
Someone in Time (anthology)
I am late to the party… however, not SO late, because this just won the British Fantasy Award! Which it absolutely deserves.
I’m sure there are some readers who would avoid this because “they don’t read romance” (hi, I used to be one of those). The reality though is that you do; there’s almost no story – written or visual – that doesn’t include romance somewhere in its plot. What I have learned about myself is that I rarely enjoy what I think of as “straight romance” – that is, stories where the romance is the be-all of the plot; they just don’t work for me, as a rule. What I love, though, is when the romance is absolutely integral to the story and there’s a really fascinating plot around it. Every single one of these stories does that.
As the name suggests, this is set of stories involving romance and some sort of time travel. It’s a rich vein to mine, and every single one of these stories is completely different. Sometimes the time travelling is deliberate, sometimes not; sometimes the ending is happy, other times not; some are straight, some are queer; some pay little real heed to potentially disrupting the historical status quo; some have easy time travel while others do so accidentally; sometimes the time travel happens to save the world, and sometimes it’s about saving a single person. Sarah Gailey, Rowan Coleman, Margo Lanagan, Carrie Vaughn and Ellen Klages (a reprint) wrote my favourite stories.
And then there’s Catherynne M Valente’s piece. I did love every single story in this anthology; Valente’s story is breathtakingly different in its approach to both structure – eschewing linearity – and theme: the romance is between a human woman and the embodied space/time continuum. Hence the lack of linearity. It’s a poignant romance and sometimes painful romance; it also confronts the bitterness of dreams lost, the confusion of family relationships, the beauty of everyday life, and the ways in which even ordinary people don’t really live life in a straight line, given the ways our memories work (Proust, madeleines, etc). This is a story that will stay with me for a long, long time.
Herc – a novel
Read courtesy of NetGalley. It’s out at the end of August.
I am bored by Hercules as a hero. But as a character in other people’s lives – as a messy, complicated, often unheroic, flawed, and realistic person – I am THERE.
The man named Heracles by his parents (who then changes his name to Hercules (which is a cute way of getting around the Greek/Roman thing) because reasons) never speaks to the reader in Herc. Instead, it’s all the people around him who tell his – and their own – story, from birth to death: father, brother, sister, nephew, cousins; wives; lovers (male and female); cousins; others met along the way. This variety showcases the different ways that people interact with the man. Some love him, while others hate him. Some continually forgive his flaws, while others are unable to.
Hercules rarely comes across well. He is strong – but he has little idea how to mitigate that strength around ordinary people, and even seems unaware of what he’s capable of. He is aware of the terrible crimes he has committed – killing his music teacher as a child, murdering his first wife, Megara, and all their children, amongst other things – and accepts that there needs to be consequences… and yet. And yet he is still seen as a hero, by those outside of his immediate circle, and indeed often by himself. And yet he seems to largely get away with being terrible. And the book does not forgive him for that.
This story dives deep into the consequences of Hercules’ actions for those around him and it is pointed, it is complex, and it is deeply thoughtful. I would read more in this style any day of the week.
Randomly Yours, Alex 