Book Reviews: Two books that weren't quite what I'd hoped

This is such a hard one for me to review, because it was almost like reading two different books in one - one that I loved and would have given 8.5-9/10 easily, and one that I found dreary and pointless and would've struggled to rise to 4/10. Probably the best way to do it is to go through which elements I thought worked (in some cases, brilliantly) and then which elements I thought let it down.

The Good: Premise, Wittiness, Parodic Analogies, (Some) Philosophical Referencing

As an idea, this book is an absolute cracker - two graduate students in magick follow their dead professor to Hell to ... (well, ostensibly to rescue his soul, but it's not quite that). The set-up for Hell, which also draws on many philosophy and theory insertions, is based on several cultures' representations of hell over time and incorporates the "nine courts" model, where souls have to free themselves from whichever sins they have been prone to (each sin represented by a court) before being readied for reincarnation.

These are GREAT ideas, and it's an incredible premise for a fantasy quest narrative. And the first third of the book absolutely slaps, both because the premise is so good, and because it is where the book leans most heavily into another strong suit area - the parodic analogisation of Hell to academia, particularly early academic careers. The court of Pride being a university library where souls labour endlessly to produce dissertations that will pass muster is genuinely funny and highly recognisable to anyone who's had even a passing acquaintance with academic life. The list of sins of pride that have landed souls in this court had me actually snorting with laughter:

"That one there, he rejected submissions if they hadn't cited his own work.

That one there gave eighty-two presentations on Goethe.

That one likes to remind folks that Dartmouth is in the Ivy League ...

Now, that one published self-help productivity books.

Calls himself a Communist, but hasn't read Das Kapital.

Recites pi to show off.

Has more of a comment, not a question.

Wouldn't accept papers written in the first person.

Turned his exam papers over very loudly.

Still asks people what they got on their A-levels.

Still tells people what he got on his A-levels.

Made his wife call him Doctor. He's a medievalist, mind you..."

In short, from the start of the book until when we exited the second court (Desire), I was super into it and thought this was going to be a stunner. I liked the referencing and the theory and philosophy call-outs (I know a lot of people found it pretentious on this score, but pretentiousness never bothers me if it's intelligent).

The Imperfectly Executed: Structure, Story

The structure of this book is odd, and not always good-odd. The premise should have allowed for a clean progression from court to court as an organising principle, and indeed, at first it seemed that this would be what happened, but that really falls apart after Desire, and there is then a lot of formless wandering around that really slows the roll on engagement and immersion as a reader. This, plus the introduction of a few story elements that felt extraneous and kind of dull, really did not serve the book well. The introduction of the Kripkes as big-bads was so weird from a story perspective that it baffled me all the way to the denouement, for example, as did the little side journey with Getrude in Dis.

The Just Plain Bad: Character Work, Pacing, Relationship-Building, Resolution

Kuang is not noted for her character work, and this book is no exception. Alice Law and Peter Murdoch, the main characters, are curiously affectless and non-compelling, despite being given a lot of detailed backstory development. Similarly, Jacob Grimes, their erstwhile professor, is somehow both vividly drawn and still a slightly ridiculous caricature. I neither liked nor cared about Alice, and while I found Peter quite likeable in a mild sort of way, I also didn't care what happened to him, which meant the stakes were in the floor. The enemies-to-lovers plot between them was actually cringeworthy - so awkward and forced and unnatural, it did not work for me even slightly. I quite enjoyed some of the minor characters (especially Elspeth, by far the best person in the book and the one who actually deserved a happy ending), but it wasn't close to enough to save the book on this front.

The other serious weakness was pacing. The first third of the book moves along at a tidy clip, with good story progression at what feels like an appropriately accelerating tempo. But then ... nothing, nothing, desert, desert, boats, more nothing ... BIG THING OUT OF NOWHERE ... nothing, nothing, a lot of navel-gazing, at this point I'm losing my own will to live, city, weirdoes, FINAL BATTLE, quickracetolastcourt END. It was so scattered that I couldn't follow the pacing logic at all.

So in summary - this was an oddly disappointing book, because the premise was brilliant, the philosophy was great, and Kuang can write, so it should have been a stunner, but it just wasn't. I'm still glad to have read it and would read the first third again very readily, but on balance, 6/10 is where it's gonna have to stay.

Josephine Tey's The Daughter of Time is one of my all-time favourite mystery novels, and so I am always predisposed to like her other books, but this one ... it hasn't aged superbly, let's say. I know it's a book that's widely lauded as a classic, but on this first read, that's not the impression it made on me.

It's not a murder mystery, and the puzzle to be solved is more of a why-and-where rather than a who, and as puzzles go, it's fine - not outstanding, but reasonably challenging. 

That said, the vitriol and misogyny directed at the antagonist, especially by our so-called heroes, is quite jarring and frankly a bit upsetting; hearing a middle-aged genteel woman and a young male lawyer brutally fantasise about beating a 15 year old working class girl within an inch of her life is really unpleasant, regardless of the precipitating circumstances. 

Tey's attachment to the idea of hereditary is also fully on display in this work, in ways that do not redound to her credit - light blue eyes are a sign of moral degeneracy - really?? A mother with "loose morals" will have a daughter with same even if the child is not raised by her - seriously??

I was also completely unsold on the whiffy Tory extremism and disdain for both working class people and the postwar changes in British society that permeated the text. The tragedy of a middle aged, middle class woman (who does not work!) having to *cook her own meals* and *manage her own household* (still, mind you, with a cleaner in a few times a week to do "the rough") was not compellingly sad to me, a contemporary middle aged middle class woman with a fulltime job and a full household who has always done the household cooking and shared the household cleaning and management with my partner and children.

The resolution was probably read as morally satisfying to readers at the time of publication, but was, to me, cold as ice, and not a complete answer. We certainly get full closure on the what and where, but none on the why - why do it at all, why pick on this particular household etc. The half-gestures Tey makes towards psychobabbly answers are non-compelling and incomplete, and I think this is because the one mind she is actually disinterested in is that of the antagonist.

Overall, both a weaker story than Tey usually writes, and a tonally jarring read for me. Certainly not one I'd revisit. 4/10.