Entertaining!

I liked this but had the same issues that a lot of other readers had, slow pacing in parts and the ship battle I got a bit lost and couldnt visualise what was happening. I love the villian and the heroes and the anti hero and looking forward to reading more about the characters past and future whenever that may be, didnt realise when I started this book that it was written five years ago and no sequel yet.

Also what the heck is a windlass and why don't I remember reading about it in the book.

A day late (though hopefully not a dollar short), here's my "second bingo week" summary; and it's a summary of a much better week than the first one turned out to be.  (So, yey!)  For one thing this is due to the books, all of which were either outright winners or at least enjoyable on some level or other; for another, even though I finished the week with a fairly lengthy read AND RL was running really major interference, I managed to keep it to an average of one book per day, as a result of which -- and as importantly, due to the way the bingo calls have been coming in -- I've now got several sets of multiple "called and read" squares in a row or column (two of which, also with all five squares marked "read").  Obviously, even three squares marked "called and read" in a row don't necessarily mean I'll be in for a bingo anytime soon, but that one is down to the bingo gods.  All I can do is go on reading ...

The Books

Peter Ackroyd: Hawksmoor

The second bingo week's first book, and for the longest time it was on a solid track for a 4 1/2 or even 5-star rating.  Tremendously atmospheric, with London (both 17th century and present day) not so much merely setting but additional character and two timelines tantalizingly mirroring and winding around each other like the two strings of a double helix.  From early on, this is also a book that knows very well just how clever it is, but during the first  90-95% that doesn't matter a jot ... until it does in the end and Ackroyd takes "clever" a step too far into the symbolic, as a result of which the ending is seriously deflating.  What a pity that he proved unable to contend himself with an actual dénouement (however cleverly constructed and meaningful) and instead chose to let narrative lift off and take flight straight into the ether instead.  Still, for the vast majority of its contents, definitely a recommended read -- and the beginning in particular, set in the days of the 1665 plague and tying together the plague, a satanic cult, church construction and murder (mirrored by present-day murders in the same churches), definitely packs a punch.

Patricia Wentworth: Eternity Ring

Another book off to a great start; if for no other reason than the fact that we get to meet Frank Abbott's family and learn why he didn't become a lawyer -- as had initially been his chosen career path -- but a policeman instead.  (Wentworth takes us back to Frank's family home in a much later installment of the series, The Fingerprint, which I had already read before moving on to this one, but that only made it feel even more of a priority to finally catch up with this story as well.)  It felt good to be back in Miss Silver's (and Frank Abbott's) world in one of the final novels from the series that I had / have yet to read, and it was cruising along nicely and could easily have earned a higher rating, too ... if it hadn't been for the fact that (1) the murderer is fairly easily to deduce by process of elimination and by looking at it from the perspective of where Wentworth herself, as a writer, was likely going to want to take this book's plot; (2) the conflict besetting the married couple at the heart of the novel feels terribly manufactured (first because during 99% of the book it isn't explained at all, and then because the explanation, when finally offered literally on the very last pages, comes across as ridiculously contrived); and (3) the heroine is exhibiting serious bouts of TSTL behaviour both in connection with the aforementioned conflict and in the moments immediately preceding the big reveal.

Bob Berman: Earth-Shattering

Neither as "epic" nor as "profound" as the blurb promises, and definitely higher on the "popular" than on the "science" part of "popular science writing".  Based on his style of writing, I can very well imagine Berman as a personable guide at his local observatory or as a host of popular radio science programs; the problem is that what sounds approachable in dialogue and oral explanation just comes across as chatty in writing.  (This gets better once the book has left the opening chapters behind, but it never goes away entirely, and arguably the Big Bang -- which is the subject of the first single-topic chapter, i.e., chapter two -- should be the last subject you want to approach with that much of a casual attitude.  For purposes of the audio version, it definitely also does not help that the casualness factor is virtually automatically enhanced in oral performance -- which isn't necessarily down to the narrator; it's just in the nature of the beast.) 

In fairness, astronomy, nuclear and astrophysics will never be my strongest subjects, so as far as the actual depth of topical penetration went, it may have been a blessing in diguise that the book didn't do much more than give an overview of the various types of cataclysms and in so doing, rarely did more than scratch the surface.  (Then again, I tend to acquire both a quicker and a more profound grasp of any topic presented to me both at greater length and in greater depth than here.)  Eitiher way, this was enjoyable for what it was or turned out to be, but IMHO it's seriously being oversold in the blurb -- the author himself also seems to be quite the efficient self-promoter -- and I think it's at least also fair to wonder what medical and man-made events such as the medieval plague epidemics and WWII are doing in a book explicitly setting out to deal with astrophysical and earth-bound types of physical cataclysms.

Fredric Brown: The Dead Ringer

Brown's second Ed & Am Hunter novel and the book that, thanks to Tigus's generous gift of last year, has been pencilled in for precisely this square ever since.  I truly enjoyed my return to the Chicago and Midwest of the Classic Noir era -- Brown's writing and plot construction easily stands up to that of the likes of Chandler and Hammett, and despite their less-than-bed-of-roses life experience both of his heroes are decidedly less cynical than Messrs. Marlowe and Spade, which makes for an interesting change from the classic noir approach. 

In this particular book, it also plays out to great effect that Brown knew the mid-20th century carney world from the inside -- from the start, the setting with all of its bizarre characters and attractions and its very own language (carney talk) comes alive in a way it only can if described by someone who once used to walk the walk himself.

Michael Gilbert: Smallbone Deceased

In my travels in the world of classic crime fiction, one of my truly overdue reads -- a book rightly renowned for its dry sense of humor and truly unique way of disposing of a body.  If you ever thought a crime novel set in a law office specializing on wills, trusts and property law is bound to get mired in the dust of legal lingo and technical details, think again.  Given this mystery's setting and the murdered man's position, the motive for the murder isn't hard to guess (though not all of the details are equally obvious), but thanks to the understated irony of Gilbert's writing, this is deservedly one of the novels that have endured and can still be enjoyed in an era when lawyer's deed boxes are long since a thing of the past.

Side note: Treat yourself to the print edition, not the Michael Mcstay audio -- Mcstay's preferred style of narration consists of hurling rapidly mumbled bursts of speech at the reader, which makes following his performance decidedly more of a chore than it reasonably ought to be.

Anthony Rolls: Scarweather

Quite a change of pace compared to the author's Family Matters, the first book by Rolls that I read -- but if the two books have one thing in common, it's a sense of the unusual and extraordinary, and an incurable urge to pour the acid of satire on experts (self-appointed and otherwise) and on society's habit of treating them, and each one of their pronouncements, as holy cows -- as sages whose every word must be weighed in gold and not under any circumstances be questioned.  In Family Matters, it's doctors, chemists and forensic experts (who are bamboozled by an onslaught of unlikely medical coincidences in connection with a death occurring in the context of a breakdown of a marriage); here it's archeologists.  There is no way this book can be fairly summed up without spoiling half the plot, but if you should decide to tag along with the narrator and his Holmesean scientist friend, you're in for quite a ride ... even if somewhere between the 50% and the 75% mark you'll probably have quite a good idea of what will be waiting for you at the end of the journey.

Jim Butcher: The Aeronaut's Windlass

The week's longest read and, perhaps surprisingly, not its best one.  To start with the plus side, this novel's most interesting characters (and its single most outstanding feature) are the cats -- not merely Rowl, the feline protagonist, but all of them; not least also Naun, the giant black tomcat leader of a tribe of street (or rather, tunnel) cats whose character constituted my reason for attributing this book to the "black cat" bingo square.  (Rowl is a ginger.)  Butcher really "gets" cats, and their scenes come across as both laugh-out-loud funny and entirely authentic.  Needless to say, almost all of the cats in this book are completely badass -- Rowl first and foremost.  If the rest of the book had lived up to the cats, unquestionably this would have ended up straight on my "favorites" shelf.

Unfortunately, that was not to be.  And it's not the fault of the human characters, either -- particularly the three young women, Bridget, Gwen(dolyn) and Folly, as well as Captain Grimm (the eponymous aeronaut) and Gwen's cousin Benedict -- but Butcher's own approach to storytelling.  (Which, incidentally, also makes me even more wary about his Dresden Files series than I had been before reading this book.)  The main characters in The Aeronaut's Windlass are fine, and if Butcher had given them (and me) different stuff to work with, I'd be eager to follow them on their future adventures.  As it is ... well, let's just say the jury is still out on that one.

For one thing, the world building here is not anywhere near as innovative as blurb writers and five-star reviews want to make you believe: Heaven knows I'm not the most ardent reader of speculative fiction, and if even I recognize some the stuff cribbed from elsewhere, there's bound to be a lot more that I didn't see.  (Seriously, Mr. Butcher -- Habble Landing as a place name and The House of Lancaster as one of the ruling families?  Geez, I thought George R.R. Martin was derivative, but are we into the derivative of a derivative now?  And a Discworld style guild system (only minus the satire)??  Be glad you're not being sued by the estate of Terry Pratchett.) 

Similarly, Captain Grimm and the whole aeronautics thing -- warfare, tactical battle  manoeuvers, ship construction and equipment, even down to the details of (aero)nautical language included -- are straight out of Patrick O'Brian's Master and Commander and C.S. Forester's Horatio Hornblower series: Replace aeronautics (obviously, with the sole exception of aerial ascents and descents) by early 19th century / Napoleonic Wars seafaring craft, ships, and language, and that is precisely what you get.  Grimm himself, too, is so obviously a cousin to Hornblower in his more mature years and to his former Captain Pellew -- and Grimm's Predator a near-identical twin of Jack Aubrey's HMS Surprise (plus the whole "privateer" subplot / past so obviously built on O'Brian's Letter of Marque, as well as, incidentally, Rafael Sabatini's Captain Blood) -- that Forester's and O'Brian's (and Sabatini's) estates should, by rights, be asking for a share of the royalties as well.  To be fair, from the book's descriptions this was the one aspect I had expected -- just don't please anybody tell me that this is anything even close to original. 

Finally, while I did appreciate the whole "cinder spire" idea, and I seriously also appreciate the absence of any sort of infodumps, I would have liked to find out a lot more, over the course of the book, what happened to make Earth's "surface" world an uninhabitable wilderness and caused "the Builders" generation to construct the spires to begin with -- and I'm also not entirely clear how you get to square an alleged "democracy" (this is the exact term actually used) with a de-facto king (called Spirearch) who is quite obviously much more than merely a representative figure and wields true power.

My other gripes tie into those that I have with a lot of speculative fiction (especially sci-fi, as well as George R.R. Martin's Song of Ice and Fire series), so this may be an instance of "it's not you, book, it's me" -- but anyway, the book's plot essentially consists of an incessant series of incidents of armed combat (aeronautic and on terra firma / the spires alike), every single one of which incidents goes down according to the tried and true formula of "hero(es) drawn into fight by overwhelming enemy force -- hero(es) bravely stand their ground in the face of impossible odds -- after a while enemies seem to get the upper hand after all -- and a millisecond before it all goes pear-shaped for good salvation for hero(es) comes from unexpected quarters".  Sorry, but this sort of stuff flat-out bores me every time it's served up more than once to begin with (preferably only at a book's point of climax), and that is true even more if the entire plot of a 700+ page book consists of little else.  (And it is even more true if I can anticipate the precise person or group providing the last-minute rescue -- even if not also the precise manner -- at least a chapter or two in advance, as was invariably the case here.)

On a related note, "surviving impossible odds in battle" also seems to be the only thing accounting for whatever character growth we seem to be seeing in this book; especially with regard to the younger main characters, particularly the young women, all of whom are inexperienced recruits and barely out of their teens.  OK, so Gwen has her moment of "how do I go back from all this warfare and combat to ordinary everyday civilian life" at the end of the book, and that was another moment I truly appreciated.  I just would have wished there had been more of this, instead of our protagonists incessantly rushing from one fight to the next -- and I would also have wished there had been some experiences for them to grow on outside the fighting stuff, as there are (aplenty) in the Hornblower and Aubrey / Maturin books.

Long story short, it's a miracle this book hasn't been made into a movie yet -- there's plenty of things going "boom" with a vengeance, the CGI department would have a field day, and there are also plenty of great characters to root for, both feline and human.  And who knows, I might even watch that movie.  But the whole thing is also so similar to the movies that made me essentially stop caring about any new blockbuster releases years ago that I'm not sure whether I ultimately would go and see it.  And I'm not sure I'm going to be reading the sequel to this book, either ... even though Rowl (and Naun) might eventually tempt me to do so after all.

The Card

... as of today:

Wow; just over a week shy of being marked "in progress" 3 months. Telling.

Butcher can write, can make fascinating characters, etc. BUT... this isn't my bag. The characters were all interesting, the plot...interesting...ish..., the world building...? Eh. I really don't care much for distopian/steampunkish/alternate reality sorts of settings. There are a lot of reasons for this - authors mostly seem to get so caught up in showing us how weird and fantastical their idea is that they forget the story being one...

In this case, there were soooo many threads it came off somewhat soap opera-ish. I mean; they all came together to a...somewhat...satisfying end... Somewhat. But in the meantime, you were all over the place, because the party started in multiple places, came together, broke off in multiple directions, loads of shit happened, some regrouped... There was an awful lot of keeping up with who was where and with whom. Add the length of the book, and my having places to go and people to annoy, and it translates to me having to just sit myself down and read the %#$@@ book, if only so I can move on.

And I still have no idea where this is, how it came to be, or...anything. Will I read the next? Maybe. probably won't buy hardcover unless I find it in the bargain section though. Might just check the library.

„His Dark Materials“ von Philip Pullman ist einer der Kinderbuchklassiker unserer Zeit. Die Trilogie gewann zahlreiche bedeutende Preise, wurde für Film, Fernsehen und die Bühne adaptiert und erzielte in den USA ähnliche Verkaufszahlen wie „Harry Potter“. Die drei Bände „Northern Lights“, „The Subtle Knife“ und „The Amber Spyglass” wurden von 1995 bis 2000 veröffentlicht. Obwohl die Geschichte somit über 20 Jahre alt ist und zeitlich genau in meine Kindheit fällt, wuchs ich nicht mit ihr auf. Ich entschied, die Lektüre als Erwachsene nachzuholen und erwarb diesen wunderschönen Sammelband.

In einem Paralleluniversum, in einer Welt, die der unseren ähnlich und doch ganz anders ist, wächst Lyra unter den Gelehrten des Jordan College in Oxford auf. Stets begleitet von Pantalaimon, ihrem Seelengefährten und Dæmon, verbringt sie ihre Kindheit unbeschwert in den verwinkelten alten Gemäuern. Mit ihrem besten Freund, dem Küchenjungen Roger, erlebt sie so manches Abenteuer in den verstaubten Gängen und auf den erhabenen Dächern des Colleges. Ihr mangelt es an nichts. Lyra ist glücklich. Doch ein Schatten droht, ihr Glück zu verdunkeln. Besorgte Gerüchte erreichen Oxford. Ängstlich flüstert man von den Gobblern, die durch das Land ziehen und wahllos Kinder rauben. Lyra schwört, sich niemals stehlen zu lassen und plant bereits ihren heroischen Kampf gegen die Entführer. Es trifft jedoch nicht sie, sondern Roger. Wild entschlossen, ihren besten Freund zurückzubringen, schließt sie sich den Gyptern an, dem fahrenden Volk, das auf den Flüssen Englands zuhause ist und ebenfalls Kinder an die Gobbler verlor. Es ist der Beginn einer fantastischen Reise, während derer Lyra Freundschaft mit Panzerbären, Hexen und mutigen Abenteurern schließt, die Grenzen ihres Universums hinter sich lässt und das Zünglein an der Waage eines gewaltigen Krieges um das Schicksal aller Welten sein wird.

Ich bin der einsamste Mensch der Welt. Ich glaube, ich bin die einzige Person auf diesem Planeten, die „His Dark Materials“ nicht bezaubernd fand. Vielleicht stimmt etwas nicht mit mir. Ich bin fest davon ausgegangen, dass ich die Geschichte mögen würde, ich hatte überhaupt keine Zweifel daran. Pustekuchen. Was ist da nur schiefgegangen? Ich bin erschüttert. Ich verstehe nicht, wieso ich keinen Zugang zu der Trilogie fand, obwohl ich mich anstrengte und abrackerte, immer wieder Anlauf nahm, mir der Rhythmus der Geschichte jedoch verschlossen blieb, sodass ich nie in ihr ankam. Mir fehlte der magische Sog, der so viele Kinderbücher auszeichnet. Ich konnte mich mental nicht in Philip Pullmans Multiversum hineindenken und war nicht fähig, Beziehungen zu den Figuren aufzubauen. Stattdessen erschien mir das gesamte Werk langatmig und zäh wie eine alte Schuhsohle. Es kam mir vor, als hätte sich Pullman nicht entscheiden können, ob er nun ein abenteuerliches Kinderbuch oder eine theologisch-philosophische Abhandlung schreiben wollte. Der Autor wurde für den angeblich anti-religiösen Ton der Romane scharf kritisiert, besonders von der katholischen Kirche in den USA. Wie irgendjemand auf die Idee kommen kann, „His Dark Materials“ als anti-religiös zu bezeichnen, entzieht sich meinem Verständnis. Natürlich ist es ein kontroverses Werk, das sich von den Lehren der christlichen Kirche distanziert, demzufolge lautet der richtige Begriff allerdings anti-institutionell, keinesfalls anti-religiös. Pullman bespricht zahlreiche religiöse Motive und betont die schlichte Schönheit des Glaubens, wird er nicht vom Klerus gesteuert und beschnitten. Intellektuell und theoretisch weiß ich diese Herangehensweise als faszinierend zu schätzen – praktisch und emotional blieb sie mir leider völlig suspekt. Ich konnte mit dem Auftauchen von Engeln, einer göttlichen Vaterfigur und der Verarbeitung des biblischen Sündenfalls überhaupt nichts anfangen. Es war mir alles zu viel, zu gewichtig und zu symbolisch. Ich vermisste Leichtigkeit, Spannung und Witz, war von der verbissenen, künstlichen, geballten Kritik der Geschichte abgeschreckt. Ich quälte mich mühsam durch die Lektüre und sah nur selten einen Lichtblick. Beispielsweise mochte ich das Konzept der Dæmons als ausgelagertes, externes Stück der Seele eines jeden Menschen, hätte dieses aber ohne die Einleitung meiner Ausgabe wohl nicht oder erst spät verstanden. Auch sympathisierte ich mit vielen Figuren, war von ihrer jeweiligen Rolle in der Geschichte jedoch nicht begeistert. Der Panzerbär Iorek Byrnison und der Aeronaut Lee Scoresby sind tolle, liebenswerte Charaktere, doch ihre Beziehung zur Protagonistin Lyra, die ich ohnehin nicht mochte, konnte ich nicht nachvollziehen. Es war wie verhext: ich entdeckte in „His Dark Materials“ einiges, was mir für sich genommen gefiel, nur im Rahmen der Geschichte überzeugten mich diese Elemente nicht und halfen mir nicht, mich durch diesen dicken Wälzer zu kämpfen.

Am Ende einer enttäuschenden Kinderbuch-Lektüre stellt sich natürlich immer die Frage, ob die Geschichte auf mich anders gewirkt hätte, hätte ich sie gelesen, als ich noch zur Zielgruppe gehörte. Im Fall von „His Dark Materials“ glaube ich das nicht. Ich wäre zwar nicht in der Lage gewesen, die vielen kritischen Nuancen der Trilogie zu benennen, aber ich hätte wahrgenommen, dass da etwas zwischen mir und der Geschichte steht. Ich bezweifle stark, dass ich im Alter zwischen 6 und 11 Jahren Spaß mit Lyras Abenteuern gehabt hätte, weil sie eben einfach nicht abenteuerlich genug geschrieben sind. Ein Kinderbuch, das lediglich von Erwachsenen verstanden werden kann, verfehlt meiner Meinung nach das Ziel. Nun gut. Es hat nicht sein sollen. Das ist sehr schade und ich bin immer noch völlig perplex, wie sich diese Lektüre für mich gestaltete, doch damit muss ich jetzt leben. Es ist ja nicht meine erste unpopuläre Buchmeinung, die ich in Zukunft beständig verteidigen muss. Ich habe Übung darin, der einsamste Mensch der Welt zu sein.