Max Adams: Aelfred’s Britain Max Adams is an archaeologist and writer specialising in Early Medieval Britain (that is, between the departure of Rome in 410, to the Norman Conquest) . His other books include The First Kingdom (on the early English Settlements); The King in the North (on the life and times of Oswald of Northumbria) and In The Land of Giants (a travel journey through the early Medieval landscapes of Britain. Aelfred’s Britain deals with the Viking Age, between the very end of the eighth century and the middle of the tenth, when the very beginnings of what we might recognise as English, Scots and Welsh identities were forged in response to the depredations of the Danes and the Norse. He tells a compelling story from archaeology and written sources — the often partial accounts of the Anglo Saxon Chronicle and others — to draw a picture of how a countryside of scattered farmsteads slowly evolved into villages and small towns; how early medieval ideas of rule and kingship were rather different from what later nationalist ideas of history would paint; and most of all how the politics, wars and economics of early Medieval Britain were shaped by the landscape, of navigable rivers criss-crossed by the network of Roman roads and earlier cross-country routes. This is important, given that the modern world, with its concentration on cities and fast routes by road, rail and air, ignores the landscape altogether. There is one telling passage in which Adams reveals that an archaeological site of interest is now obscured by a modern motorway interchange. An ancient sense of place has been destroyed by the needs of people to go somewhere else. The lives of people in what we used to call the ‘dark ages’ were indeed dark, forever scarred by endemic violence and disease. Yet, at the same time, one can’t help but feel a little nostalgic.
Barbara Davis: The Echo of Old Books Ashlyn Greer, child of uncaring parents, divorced from a philandering husband, sees herself as a victim of circumstances. She does, however, have a gift — she can tune in to the emotional states of the owners of books that come into her rare book store. Over the course of a couple of weeks, two books come in that vibrate her antennae off the scale — books without authors, publishers or any bibliographical details whatsoever. It turns out that each book tells one side of a doomed love affair in wartime America. The novel tells the story of how she tracks down the mysterious authors. It was a good enough listen, though I found the voice of the actor who played the female protagonist, Belle, rather prissy. But I feel that I was sold this under false pretences. I was expecting more of Ashlyn’s preternatural abilities, when these were really an excuse to get into a stock romantic melodrama. I can see that lots of people will love this, but I expect I am not the target audience. Apart from one thing — the book hits hard at the antisemitism of Ford, Lindbergh and their circle in 1940s America, and ends with a Hannukah party, something that is mainstream in America but probably wouldn’t have much traction in contemporary Britain, where the attitude to Jews among the literati is, it’s fair to say, ambivalent.
(various authors): The Winter Spirits: Ghostly Tales for Frosty Nights There’s nothing like an anthology of short stories to introduce you to new authors and get you out of a reading rut. This was a festive gift from Mrs Gee and what a treat it was. It contains one creepy spiderwebb’d tale each from twelve authors. Each tale is an absolute gem and just wonderful for reading next to a fireplace when the weather grows dark and chill beyond the window-pane, and when you know you’ll have to fumble up creaking, darkened stairs to bed, chased by shadows, accompanied by your own dread thoughts, and a candle. I must have been sleeping under a rock for years, or reading different things, for none of the authors was known to me, yet the biographical notes show that all are more or less buried under the weight of awards, plaudits and laurels of all kinds. My favourites (it seems invidious to single any of them out, they were all so good) were The Gargoyle by Bridget Collins; Ada Lark by Jess Kidd; and Carol of the Bells and Chains by Laura Purcell. Each one was suitably wintry and Gothick. I’ll be looking up the oeuvres of all these authors separately, as well as all the others I haven’t mentioned. But the standout (for me) was The Salt Miracles by Natasha Pulley, about mysterious happenings among contemporary pilgrims to a remote Hebridean island sacred to an ancient saint, That wasn’t Gothick at all, but like all good weird tales, it sticks in the mind. The biggest mystery, for me, is that the anthologists of this wonderful collection have remained anonymous…
Matt Haig: The Life Impossible The world has completely closed in around lonely, retired, twice-bereaved maths teacher Grace. Straitened by routine, sadness and crushing self-doubt, her world is turned upside down when she receives a letter from a lawyer saying she’s been remembered in the will of a fellow teacher with whom she’d worked many years before. The bequest is a small house in Ibiza. Arriving at the house, she finds it sad and neglected. But somehow, she’s expected. There is a reason why she was chosen to inherit this house, and come to Ibiza, for in her lies the ability to save Ibiza from the clutches of profit-hungry developers keen on despoiling the natural beauty of the island. The abilities include such things as – I am not joking – precognition, telekineses, and communion with an alien intelligence. Now, I love Matt Haig, who adds a spice of magic to what would otherwise be tales of the everyday. But this one was, I think, a little over-egged. Think of Shirley Valentine with extra Woo.
Natasha Pulley: The Mars House Natasha Pulley wrote one of my favourite stories from The Winter Spirits (see above) so I pulled this one down off Audible for a listen. She’s written many books — her first novel was The Watchmaker of Filigree Street, a Victorian steampunk fantasy, more on which later. The Mars House, is, perhaps surprisingly, SF. And it’s really rather good. January is the principal dancer in the Royal Ballet at Covent Garden in London. London is flooded, a consequence of climate change, but Londoners are enjoying their new Venice. Until, that is, the floods eventually drive January out and he flees to the colony of Tharsis, on Mars, as a refugee. But refugees from Earth, having three times the strength of a naturalised Martian, have to be confined in body-cages that ramp down their strength so they won’t injure Martians by accident, and have to work in dirty, heavy jobs. January is a labourer in Tharsis’ water factory. By chance he meets Senator Aubrey Gale, a politician on the make, and — one thing leading to another — he ends up as their official consort. After that he gets sucked in to a grand political intrigue. Tharsis is sponsored by China, but is growing apart from it. Tharsese is a strange mixture of Mandarin with Russian and English (there is a lot of interesting exposition on language). The tensions between Mars and Earth throw Aubrey and January into a deadly Great Game. I enjoyed it hugely. The science is more-or-less okay, but what’s key here is the the social mores of Mars. Martians have abolished gender, so they are all ‘they’ (which I found confusing, because I had to keep checking that the author wasn’t referring to more than one person), and androgynous. Separate ‘male’ and ‘female’ genders are only for animals. What stands out is Pulley’s style, which is gentle, bright, breezy, witty, affectionate and very funny. I suppose that her humour is British (as are some of her cultural referents) and this might be off-putting to some, or even misconstrued. I was amazed, for example, to see that she’s attracted the fury of social-justice warriors (SJWs) on Goodreads. She’s a misogynist! (There is only one overtly female character, and she appears near the end). She is guilty of cultural misappropriation! (A white Englishwoman discussing Chinese language and history). She is even — gasp — a Zionist! (Because there’s an AI that has an Israeli accent). Oh, how dismal. I expect that SJWs will prefer Babel by Rebecca F. Kuang (reviewed here) in which social justice warfare comes to the fore and (in my opinion) spoils the story.
