Ooh, another historical arbitrary read...

This time in the form of 'The Mortimer Seal' by Bill Bailey.

Yeah, not that Bill Bailey.

Not the author

Instead, this seems to be a book where two timelines become intertwined.  We have the current day, where a man called Eddie is looking to sell a heirloom, the Mortimer Seal of the title; we also have the story of Owain Glyn Dŵr, the Welsh revolutionary, at the very time that this heirloom was first produced.  How the stories intertwine and to what purpose I'm sure will be revealed.

While a little disappointed that this book isn't by comedian Bill Bailey, I can at least claim a geographical interest in this story.  It looks like much of it takes place in areas around Herefordshire and the Welsh border, where I grew up.  In fact, I have family who lived near Mortimer's Cross, which I'm assuming shares its roots with the titular seal.  My mum will watch a TV show just because she knows a location that features in it, even briefly; I think I feel the same sort of hometown loyalty in picking up this book.

The actual book

It will be interesting to see how the two distinct timelines match up, whether it is a supernatural time warp sort of novel or if the intertwined stories simply provide a psychological insight into the main character.  I'm not much of a history buff so I won't claim to know much about the time period or the struggle for Welsh independence.  I'll have to judge the book entirely on the quality of the storytelling rather than on how successfully the historical facts have been incorporated into the present day story.  This isn't always a bad thing: if you know too much about a subject, it can make it difficult to judge a fictional account of it.  You're too prone to spotting the errors to the point that the plot and characters can get lost.


My only real concern about this title is that it seems to have very little coverage online.  I can find it on Amazon but not any user reviews.  Waterstones isn't even sure that it can source this title.  Whether this is testament to it being a dreadful book or just indicative of it having a narrow potential readership, I'll be one of the few people who read it this year, or so it seems.  That's one of the great things about libraries: you never know what titles you might be able to pick up.

I'm hoping to get a good read out of this.  If nothing else, I should at least learn a bit more about my local history.

The dangers of hubris

This picture is jauntier than her books

It's funny how these things go.  I was really looking forward to this particular arbitrary read - 'MaddAddam' by Margaret Atwood - so, sure enough, I found plenty to dislike about it.  

As I mentioned in my preview, I've never been a diehard fan of Margaret Atwood but I did enjoy the first two books in this particular series.  In my humble opinion, both 'Oryx and Crake' and 'The Year of the Flood' are interesting and well-written examples of dystopian fiction, so I looked forward to seeing how the story concluded. 'MaddAddam' provides that conclusion, looking at the lives of the few people who survived the various plagues and disasters that ravaged the planet.  We follow their continuing attempts to survive, but also have some of the back story filled in.  It's hard to say much more without giving things away.  Suffice it to say, while there is a short blurb at the start of the book to remind you of what happened previously, you're probably best reading the other two novels first.

I was happy enough with the set-up of the plot, then, but had a few reservations about the quality of the writing. Although I did appreciate the first two books, there were some genre cliches that bugged me stylistically.  The overuse of 'clever' corporation names; innocent characters with annoyingly literal ways of speaking; excessive sexual violence: these often pop up in such works but Atwood's prose was mostly solid enough to allow me to overlook those features.

Not so with 'MaddAddam'.  It just read like this sentence: badly.

Where to start?  The scientific and technological corporations have the 'funny' names (CryoJeenyus is the one that stands out) and the Craker characters are so innocent that they have to have everything explained to them.  And I mean everything.  It is quite funny when they overhear someone shout “Oh fuck!” and are told that Fuck is a deity who watches over us, but there are only so many times you can read about stairs being explained, or meat, or death.  But the worst of it is the way that the story unfolds.  Rather than focusing on the present day, much of the story is told in flashback as Zeb explains to Toby what went on with him and his brother Adam.  Flashbacks are fine but this is chapter after chapter of the damned things, and it takes away all of the momentum from the novel.  After all, we know that Zeb isn't really in danger as he's the one telling the story. Duh.

It reaches the point where you start to feel like Zeb's narrative should be the main plot of the book, rather than just a subplot.  In fact, not much really happens in the linear narrative of this book at all.  A few people are rescued; a few bad people are killed; a few good people die along the way.  But almost all of those events are just tying up loose ends from the previous novel.  There is barely any distinct plot here.  And the ending, the very ending of this trilogy, the point that the three books have been building up to, is again told in hindsight, telling us what happened to these characters we were supposed to be engaged with offscreen, as it were, rather than directly and actively.  It makes the whole book feel...passive.

I'm not one to say that stories have to be linear or that all of the action has to be shown to the reader directly.  However, there needs to be an active story to give momentum to the writing: too many flashbacks make the whole thing seem inert and overly expositional.  After two very engaging novels, 'MaddAddam' felt like a flat ending to what had been a promising trilogy.  

My next arbitrary read has been chosen...

...and it is 'MaddAddam' by Margaret Atwood.

Hooray!  I'm on more familiar ground here.  While it was interesting to delve into the world of urban fantasy, I think I'm more likely to enjoy this particular outing.

'MaddAddam'

I've not always been an Atwood fan.  Like many young women, I first encountered her through 'The Handmaid's Tale'.  I could see what the book was aiming for but it didn't particularly grab me.  Maybe it felt too much like a fable, stopping me from engaging fully with the characters.  In recent times, I've had more luck with her books like 'Oryx and Crake' and 'The Year of the Flood', which is lucky considering that 'MaddAddam' is the last book in that particular trilogy.  It's been a while since I've read either of those two titles though, so I'm grateful to see that there is a brief recap at the start of the novel (it was only a sneaky peak, honest).

I like Atwood's dystopian tales because she writes them with a clear and stark style that helps to quickly and vividly set the scene.  Sometimes the post-apocalyptic worlds of such books can be too vague to fully imagine or so complicated that the author has to use excessive amounts of exposition to make their point.  However, I've always found Atwood's worlds easy to understand, with characters and settings established with the ease of other master craftsmen like Stephen King.  It's also nice to see these dystopian tales being told by an esteemed adult author, as this style of fiction has become increasingly aimed at the young adult market.  Since the success of the Hunger Games franchises (both book and film), tales of teenagers under threat in an uncaring world have become two-a-penny.  Atwood's work would probably sit well with a sophisticated YA audience but they are also written in a way that doesn't seem patronising or unsuited to an older reader.

As you've probably guessed, I have high hopes for this title.  I'm currently in the middle of a long but fascinating biography ('Dream Boogie' by Peter Guralnick about the excellent gospel and soul singer Sam Cooke) so it might take me a while to get to it, but I'm sure 'MaddAddam' is going to be a real treat.

'Fireborn' of frustration

I was pretty harsh about this book when I picked it off the shelf, certain that it just would not be my type of writing.  I don't often like being proven wrong but I wanted to be here; after all, there's not much fun to be had in reading a bad book.  Unfortunately, my instincts were correct and, while there were some aspects to admire, I was mainly underwhelmed.

For those who like the fantasy genre, 'Fireborn' has got a decent plot to it.  Emberly is a phoenix, a fire spirit who can take human form but also the form of a phoenix bird or pure fire itself.  She has lived many lives along with her phoenix counterpart Rory, and the reader gets a glimpse into some of these throughout the novel.  In this life, she works as a research assistant.  When her boss is murdered, she is dragged into a conspiracy involving vampires and her ex-boyfriend-cum-paranormal-detective Sam.  Although her death is not necessarily the end of her life cycle, she's not quite ready to give up this life just yet, but she'll have to fight for it.  

The last book I read before I started 'Fireborn' was 'The Night Eternal', the final book in Guillermo del Toro and Chuck Hogan's vampire trilogy.  I loved the way that story developed over the three books, although there were times when the description and dialogue were a little on-the-nose.  However, that was nothing compared to some of the writing here.  Keri Arthur is keen to get into the story fast, which means that the opening section sketches out the main characters and their supernatural aspects in pretty broad strokes.  Every conversation that introduces a new character forces the key points down the reader's throat; for example, the idea of Emberly and Rory being linked over numerous lifetimes wallops the reader around the head in some of their exchanges.  The insights into the phoenix way of life could have been tantalising and intriguing; instead, it feels like Arthur lacks faith in the reader's ability to put two-and-two together or to imagine anything that isn't spelt out in great detail.

The interactions between Emberly and her former lover Sam are the worst for this.  Almost every other paragraph involves the idea of him being 'dark' or containing 'darkness', until I was starting to wonder if Arthur was being paid per use of the word.  And his darkness is always related back to their former sexual past, which would be fine if it was done with some subtlety.  Again though, the reader is not trusted to remember his personality and their past relationship or to appreciate the significance of either from one page to the next.  The sex scenes are also pretty unsubtle, and all of the talk of shafts and clits seems to be there in a cynical attempt to take the books out of the hands of the Twilight market rather than to truly titillate.  Take out the sex and occasional swears and this would be classic teen fare.  Not a complaint – there are plenty of people who enjoy that genre – but Arthur's attempts to separate 'Fireborn' from it aren't entirely successful.

In all fairness, I would probably make some of these complaints about a lot of genre fiction; with a few notable exceptions, it's just not for me.  But for those who have enjoyed Arthur's previous works or who are more immersed in genre fiction than me, there may be plenty in 'Fireborn' to like.  If all else fails, there's always the 'darkness' drinking game to carry you through: take a drink every time she mentions Sam's darkness and you'll be blotto within ten pages.

Just a shame that I'm teetotal, I guess.

My first arbitrary read of 2015 is...

‘Fireborn’ by Keri Arthur.

Well, I suppose it was going to happen at some point. I’ve finally picked up the kind of book that I would never normally go anywhere near. Urban fantasy, apparently. It’s the first part of a fantasy series which, as far as I can tell, is going to be about a feisty supernatural heroine and contain all sorts of pseudo-intellectual musings about life and spirituality.

Maybe I’m being too harsh. Hmmm, the very first sentence is about dreams. Yeah, that sounds about right.

Look familiar?

I try not to be too snobby about reading. Granted, my BA and MA in English literature mean that I have read an awful lot of classic fiction, but I also read graphic novels, non-fiction and books by wrestlers.  There’s room in my life for books of all flavours. But working in a library can also make you cynical. Particularly in children’s fiction, there are some writers who seem to regurgitate almost exactly the same stories just under different covers. It’s a problem in some of the genre sections too. Obviously, there are incredible writers in all genres, but there are certain covers that make me suspicious. An attractive young woman in slightly exotic clothes on a black cover with a fantastical title? We have several dozen of those. And ‘Fireborn’ is one of them.

However, I am an explorer, navigating strange new fictional lands and potentially discovering a whole world of new delights. Sometimes exploring means traversing difficult terrain, and even the most unpleasant of journeys may provide an opportunity for a person to learn something new and interesting. So, with that in mind, I set forth with a heart full of courage and enthusiasm...

'Hamel, the Obeah Man' is finally done!

Considering I first picked up this book as an arbitrary read about two months ago, it is a great relief to finally be able to say that it is finished.  Not that I disliked it, but there is something about having a book sat on your shelf unread week after week that feels like silent condemnation and judgement.  Or maybe that's just me...

'Hamel, the Obeah Man'

My reading of the book did not start too promisingly.  I made the mistake of reading the blurb and it gave away more plot points than a bad Hollywood trailer.  So, with that minor irritation in mind, I read the first sentence - all eleven lines of it.  Our anonymous author sees no harm in piling semi-colon upon semi-colon until you end up with a sentence that practically finishes in a different postcode.  This book was first published in 1827 and I have read enough fiction from the period to be able to navigate these texts well enough, but this was a challenge even for me.  The language does it no favours either.  At one point, a central villain is "encumbered in his spatterdashes" (which is a wonderful use of language), and many characters are referred to using racial epithets like "Quadroon" or "Mulatto" (which is not).  It can certainly feel like a very alien text to a reader.

And yet, I quickly found myself enjoying it.  The story centres on a planned slave rebellion in Jamaica and the various people involved.  Most of the male characters are in the thrall of the white slave owner's beautiful daughter, Joanna, and various nefarious schemes are dreamt up to win her hand in marriage.  As with most Gothic-tinged texts, these machinations are often ludicrous, with characters disguising themselves, slandering their competition and swapping allegiances with each wind change.  It's all quite mad and ridiculous, but compelling with it.  If anything, the unique syntax and archaic vocabulary add to this effect, because it builds up the sense of a world very unlike our own.

It would be easy to slate the book based on the racial language used and some of the ideas presented, but there are elements of it that are quite admirable and forward thinking.  The white characters are never presented as superior to their black counterparts, with the white missionary Roland a complete scoundrel from start to finish.  The soubrette (maidservant) Michal has more agency than her white mistress, keeping her wits about her and showing bravery and loyalty throughout.  This book could almost be seen as a precursor to the sensation fiction that become popular later in the century, where women, ethnic minorities and characters with disabilities were often pushed to the forefront of the action.  As 'Hamel, the Obeah Man' does, sensation fiction also uses its outlandish plots to hint at the murky underside to middle-class polite society.  The book therefore manages to seem both of its time and a forerunner to the classic Victorian melodrama that followed it.  A surprise treat.