This has been a slow month so far with new books, as I have been pretty frenetic with life and work commitments. I've read one of the Stella Prize shortlisted books (Cactus Pear for My Beloved) which I reviewed here, and also one pretty average mystery novel that I haven't reviewed, but other than that, I've only finished these two spec fic books. I've just started (and will finish and be reviewing!) another Stella nominee, Translations, and am wending my way through the Terry Pratchett official biography which will definitely get finished this month, which will make six. However, that might end up being all she wrote given the timetable of the next 12 days, which includes both a heavy workload and a higher than average volume of social engagements. Ahhhh well, not every month can be *all* about books...
Of these two, I would recommend the first to fantasy and fairytale fans without hesitation, but the second (the classic - a Booker nominee that I somehow missed when it was hot!) only to dystopia fans who are feeling mentally strong.
I like nothing better than a well-formed novella, so this lyrical little fairytale x murder ballad really hit the spot for a quick, enjoyable read over breakfast and elevenses. I loved the bond between the two sisters, the relatively simple but still mysterious conception of magic, the relationship between Rin and Esther, the fuzzy but engaging sketch of Arcadia / fairyland, and the satisfying denouement.
I particularly liked the way magic is represented as "grammar", a kind of language of the world, and I thought that tied in beautifully with the almost singsong quality of the prose. This passage from the first page gives the feel:
"There was a time when grammar was wild - when it shifted shape and unleashed new forms out of old. Grammar, like gramarye, like grimoire. What is magic but a change in the world? What is conjugation but a transformation, one thing into another? She runs; she ran; she will run again."
My only criticism, and it's not really a criticism at all, is that I would have liked it to be 20 pages longer, so the intriguing Agnes Crow could have had more page-room and her story be better built out. When the worst thing you can say about a book is "it finished too quickly", that's pretty high praise. 8.5/10 for me.
Although this book was released in 2005 (the year it shortlisted for the Man Booker) and is widely considered to be a classic of the non-environmental dystopia genre, I had somehow managed to never read it until now. I think it is due to 2003-2011 being a bit of a cultural dark spot for me, as those were the years that I had three babies and therefore was in the trenches with infants / toddlers / pre-schoolers.
I'm not entirely sure what inspired me to catch up on this one now, but wow, I am glad I did. This book is all of the following: poignant, disturbing, enraging, upsetting, and achingly sad. It is also, in my view, a masterclass in both the slow reveal and in the critical importance of voice in making a dystopian story hit right. It's also a straddler of genres, being both literary fiction and also science fiction, and it carries off both missions incredibly well.
Kathy, the narrator and one of three key protagonists (the other two are her best friends - although their relationships are complicated - Ruth and Tommy) unfolds a story built around memory, intuition and gradual discovery. I read it with a growing sense of dread and incredulity as the plot came into focus and the role of Hailsham (the residential school the three attended) and its students became clearer. Like, I suspect, most readers, I had already worked out the horrific truth before the formal reveal by Miss Emily (the former principal of Hailsham), but the starkness of her words absolutely floored me and is still running circles in my brain.
I don't want to give any major spoilers, because the growing awful awareness of what is going on - we develop our understanding just as Kathy does, heightening our deep engagement with her - is one of the great strengths of the book. I will say, though, that this book made me question in a very profound way the ethics that underlie who we define as people, and the limitations on those to whom we extend rights and recognise their interests as having value. This might be a minor spoiler in a way, but I think it can be considered an Omelas problem writ large (Le Guin fans will get it!) It really asks us to consider to what extent a society, or a world, whose health and happiness is built on the exploitation and explicit, by-design suffering of an underclass (however defined) can last, and perhaps more importantly, if it even should. 8.5/10 for me.
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