Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Source of book: We own this, but listened to an audiobook version narrated by Stephen Fry. Which is amazing. 

As I noted in my prior posts about Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone and Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, I did not read the books when they first came out. I was in my 20s, in law school, and not particularly interested in kid books at that time. My second kid devoured them during her Junior High years, and remains the kid most into them. 

In any case, they are arguably THE single most influential books for Millennials (as my wife pointed out), so I decided I should become familiar with them. 

One thing that has become apparent throughout is that the Millennial loathing of Il Toupee does in part stem from Harry Potter. Rowling was perhaps a bit too prescient about the way evil men co-opt otherwise decent people, for example. Likewise, many of my parents’ generation - at least the Evangelical ones - loathe the books. (This is one of my frustrations with my mom, for example, who pretty much got eye-rolled by my kids when she opined that they were “demonic.” No, she hasn’t read them - but the Evangelical Industrial Complex says they are bad, so….) I believe one significant reason for this is that Boomers have become, in their older age, very focused on authority - their authority, of course. And Harry Potter points out that authority, far from being infallible, is often wrong, dangerous, and even malevolent. Thus, Harry and his friends have to actually follow their own consciences, not dictates from those in power. And this terrifies many Boomers. 

 So, about The Prisoner of Azkaban, which is the third book in the series, here are my thoughts. As my Potter fan notes, the series gets more complex starting with the fourth book. The first three are a bit more formulaic. This certainly applies to this book, which adhered very much to the pattern of the first two. To quote my previous review:

It is easy to see significant plot parallels to the first book: the torment with the Dursleys, a visit to Diagon Alley, the trip to Hogwarts, conflict with Draco Malfoy, Quidditch, a nefarious threat hidden under Hogwarts, a visit to the forest, and so on. In that sense, it felt formulaic.

And yes, a lot of this applies, with just a few twists. The threat isn’t under Hogwarts this time, but in Ron’s shirt pocket, and the visit isn’t just to the forest, but to “Hogsmeade” as well. Instead of a magical object or creature, the threat is human. 

The book opens, as usual, with Harry tormented by the cruel Dursleys, followed by his escape. A notorious wizard, Sirius Black, has also escaped from the gulag of the wizarding world, Azkaban, and is said to be seeking to kill Harry. In the meantime, there is a new professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts - that cursed position previously filled by Voldemort stooge Quirrel, then amusing charlatan Gilderoy Lockhart (so sad to see him go - he was so fun). This time, it is Remus Lupin, who turns out to be a werewolf. (Really subtle name there, Rowling…) 

It would hardly be a spoiler to say that there is a big twist in the book involving Sirius Black, as this kind of a twist is also in the first two books.

There are some good moments in this book. I found professor Trewlany (who I am compared to occasionally…) to be good comic relief. The relationship between Harry, Ron, and Hermione continues to develop. I did feel like it missed a bit of the secondary characters this time, though. Other than arch-nemesis Draco Malfoy, the other students didn’t get much time on the page. I missed Neville and Ginny and George and Fred and the rest. Likewise, we get Lupin - who is a solid character, and the rare helpful professor - and Snape, but it feels like the rest of the Hogwarts faculty just makes cameos. 

The plot is pretty interesting, though. I continue to be impressed by Rowling’s look at the way human beings respond to power. For Pettigrew, he is willing to betray his friends because, as a coward, he is determined to throw in his lot with whomever he believes has the most power, and who will prevail. This isn’t so much physical cowardice (many of us avoid danger and fear pain), but moral cowardice. Pettigrew lacks any moral backbone, and doesn’t give a crap about the harm that others will suffer. For an interesting fantasy comparison, see Terry Pratchett’s character of Rincewind. Rincewind avoids danger (when the Fates let him, at least), and runs way all the time. And he whines and stuff. But he is never a turncoat. Perhaps this is because “don’t get killed” is a more morally defensible ethical position than “be sure to be on the side of the winner.” 

So far, the series has been an interesting case study in how humans turn evil, and I think Rowling does a good job with the psychology. Likewise, I think Harry is a well developed character. I wonder how the story would be from, say Hermione’s point of view, though. We get less of Ron and Hermione’s thoughts, although that is the limitation of the point of view in general. 

On a semi-related note, my second kid IS Hermione in personality. We tease her that she really does need a “time-turner” given the academic load she wants to carry - she is determined to graduate high school a year ahead and go to college early. (There is precedent in my wife’s family - there are some wicked-smart women in every generation.) 

I guess in summary, this book felt a bit like more of the same. Some good moments, imaginative ideas, but a bit too focused on plot and less on character than I would have preferred at this point in the series. It will be interesting to see where the next book takes things. 

She Kills Monsters by Qui Nguyen

She Kills Monsters is another of the offbeat productions that local theater, The Empty Space, puts on as part of its season. I was not familiar with it, but it sounded interesting - and the sort of thing my two eldest teens would enjoy, so we went. 

The basic premise is this: Agnes Evans is a young teacher reeling from the death of her parents and younger sister in a car accident. Going through their things, she finds a mysterious book written by her sister Tilly. This book turns out to be an “adventure” for Dungeons & Dragons that Tilly put together before her death. (As we find out later, Tilly had hoped someday to bring Agnes into her world using the adventure, although she expected to be alive and play along in person.) 

Agnes takes the book to the local D&D type store and enlists the seriously nerdy Chuck Biggs (“I’m big where it counts!”) to serve as dungeon master and walk her through the adventure. The adventure comes to life on stage, though, with Tilly and the other characters - and the monsters - portrayed by the actors. In the process, Agnes learns about the sister she never really knew - or cared to know. So, feels and things. But also monsters, sword fights, and a lot of humor. While the premise is inherently tragic, the play is a comedy, or at least a comedy-drama, and the laughs come early and often. 

The dramatic elements were kind of predictable. Brownie points if you guessed that Tilly’s sexuality would be a discovery, that Tilly was beloved by the marginalized kids but tormented by the popular girls, or that Tilly had a love/hate relationship with Agnes. More subtle was the handling of normal teen stuff. Tilly used the adventure to play out her own fantasies - and those of her friends. “Kaliope” (I can’t remember her actual name in the play, just the character) gets to overcome her disability. “Orcus” gets to be scary and powerful rather than hopelessly dorky. Tilly gets to cast her high school nemeses as “bosses” to be destroyed - and also Agnes’ innocent and unwitting boyfriend Miles. 

If the plot was a bit predictable, it was a serviceable vehicle for the humor, which was, in my opinion, the best part. Even my second daughter, who is pretty cynical (she was that way as a toddler, and teenhood hasn’t made her less so) laughed the whole way through. After all, D&D is fundamentally hilarious. As my older daughter said, if you think about it, the whole premise is pretty funny and ludicrous. That isn’t a bad thing. Fantasy is fun, and we humans have always had imaginations. The fact that the Society For Creative Anachronism exists is both amusing and awesome. So we both admire and laugh at things like D&D. 

The humor fell mostly into two categories. First was the general “dorks are funny, and non-dorks trying to be dorks are even funnier” kind of joke. The second was the fact that fantasy is a fertile ground for sexual innuendo. Then, combine dorkage with double entendres, and you have twice the fun. (Case in point, Chuck Biggs and “I’m big where it counts”: he is referring to his brain, but, well, you get the point.) 

I’ll just mention a few of the best jokes. The first is when Agnes is trying to figure out how to play the game, and keeps fighting against the dorkiness. She is expected to choose a proper name. She insists on using “Agnes.” Eventually, Tilly (in the game) tells Agnes to stop being such an asshat. The narrator then explains that “Thus she came to be known as ‘Agnes the Asshatted.’” From then on, whenever Agnes is in the game, she wears a beanie with “#ASS” on it. 

Another series of hilarious moments come when poor Miles walks in on Agnes and Chuck playing, and thinks they are cheating on him. Chuck makes it infinitely worse by his “explanation” which makes sense in the D&D world, but is naughty as hell in the real one. 

I also laughed when “Lillith” walked in, and Agnes takes one look and says, “What the HELL is she wearing?!” 

As usual, The Empty Space brought high artistic values to this play. The set was minimalist but effective. (Basically, a broken brick wall at the back, and paving stones resembling a D&D module painted on the floor. And a counter and two chairs.) The actors brought the usual intensity and commitment to the dialogue. 

The lead, Agnes, was played by Claire Rock. One reason I wanted to see this was that Rock was fantastic as Tybalt a few years ago. This time, playing the straight (on multiple levels) woman, she nicely captured the experience of a “normal” person jumping into D&D unprepared. 

As Tilly, Stevie Mcnabb was also compelling. I give her further bonus points for outstanding fantasy hair. 

Thor Reese (which, ironically, is a better fantasy name than his character, Chuck Biggs) was hilarious as Chuck. It can’t have been easy to deliver all those unintentionally funny lines with a straight face and an innocent air. Also, Reese’s bio in the program is outstanding:

Thor Reece (Chuck Biggs) was born in the back alleys of the city of Waterdeep. Thor learned the art of stealth at a young age. As a member of the deadly assassin group “All The King’s Players,” Thor did many unspeakable acts. In order to practice and hone his ability to blend in Thor would take on the task of assuming the identity of a common pastry chef. Soon Thor would move on and do battle with the army of zombies raised by the wizards of Thay. Finally, to complete his training in the art of blending in Thor would take on the role of a clothing merchant. With all of this training, Thor has truly become a force of nature in the battlefield and in all adventures he takes on.

Special mention to the others in the cast, TES regulars Cheyenne Reyes (Lillith), Jenna Fernandez (Kaliope), and Breanna Alcala (narrator and Vera, the world’s worst high school guidance counselor.) There were a number of new names in bit parts as well, plus a whole crowd of multipurpose monsters and villains. Well done, one and all.

  Lillith (Cheyenne Reyes), Kaliope (Jenna Fernandez), Agnes (Claire Rock), and Tilly (Stevie Mcnabb)

 

Agnes the Asshatted (Claire Rock) and Chuck Biggs (Thor Reese)

The hapless "redshirt" Steve (Connor Wilson), Miles (Richard Van Horne), and Vera, the world's worst guidance counselor (Branna Alcala)

This show runs this weekend as well, so if you are local, go out and see it. 

***

My history with Dungeons & Dragons.

I have mentioned a time or sixteen that I was raised somewhat Fundie. This is one area in which it manifested. My parents were really into Jack Chick and his propaganda tracts. (Among other things, they are anti-science and viciously anti-Catholic.) I wince when I see them at their house, and have had to have conversations with my kids about them. 

Anyway, Chick did a few on the supposed demonic nature of Dungeons & Dragons. The game would give you demons! It would make you commit suicide! It would make you nerdy! Okay, I made the last one up - and it is the only one that is true. Later, in law school, a friend explained how the game worked, and a light came on. It was nothing more than a sophisticated and highly imaginative social game that happened to contain elements of “magic.” Which was, I guess, witchcraft by definition. Ugh. So yeah, changed my mind once I discovered the facts. 

We have played a few adventures, set up by a couple of friends who are more into it than that. The kids had fun. It was cool. Thanks, Erik and Darren!

This does fall in the category of “outright lies I was fed by Fundies as a kid.” Which is one reason I really don’t believe a thing Fundies say anymore. 

Over Sea, Under Stone by Susan Cooper

Source of book: Audiobook from the library.

Since we listen to a lot of audiobooks during our road trips, I decided a few years back to use the Newbery Award list (including honor selections) for ideas for books I was not personally familiar with. This has been particularly useful for books published after the mid 1980s, since most of the contemporary ones were written after I stopped checking out children’s books from the library, and started on adult selections instead. Thus, while my kids may well have read some (such as The Tale of Despereaux), there are others that might not have caught their eye.

The path to our choice of Over Sea, Under Stone was a bit circuitous. Susan Cooper won a Newbery in 1976 for The Grey King, so I put that on our list. However, after requesting it from the library, I discovered that it is actually the fourth book in a series. And, if you know me, I like to DO THINGS IN ORDER. (Feel free to snicker.) Fortunately, our library system has the entire series on audiobook, so it was easy to pivot to start properly with the first book. 

Over Sea, Under Stone was published in 1965, and the sequels weren’t written until years later. This book, therefore, can stand alone easily - and apparently it is different in character from the others. Specifically, while all of them can be loosely classified as fantasy, Over Sea, Under Stone is more of a straight-forward mystery, lacking swords and sorcery except for a few brief allusions to the semi-mythical past. From what I can tell, the later books have more true fantasy in them.

The book features a trio of siblings, Simon, Jane, and Barney, who come with their parents on vacation to stay at a fiction Cornwall beach town. The Grey House is owned by an absent sea captain, who is a friend of Great-Uncle Merry, who isn’t actually a relative, but an old family friend who is also a respected academic.

While at the house, the children discover a passage to the attic, and there find an old telescope case containing an ancient manuscript. With the help of Great-Uncle Merry, they determine that the manuscript refers to the time of King Arthur, and may lead to the location of an artifact that just might contain magical powers. But there are others seeking it - and they are rather nefarious and ruthless. As “Gumerry” explains it, there has always been an eternal struggle between the light and dark, and while the light never wins, it never completely loses either, and the two sides remain in conflict.

As for the rest of the story, it can be summed up as a chase to see which side can decode the clues and find the artifact first. There are plenty of twists and turns along the way, and enough excitement to entertain.

I had a few thoughts while listening to this book. First, the whole “Yay Britain, Hail King Arthur, Celts are cool, good versus evil, repel the invaders” was sure a hell of a lot more fun when this book was written - or even in my own childhood. These days, there is just a bit too much of Nigel Farage and Steve Bannon coming to mind. It sucks when something fun and wholesome and entertaining gets co-opted by racists and xenophobes. It really is a shame, because the Arthur legends are still relevant and full of fascinating inspiration for stories. (Mark Twain certainly put his own twist on them.) I am sure in 1965, a mere generation after World War II, the idea of the Brits fending off the German (Saxon) invaders was morally less complicated. Now, with the same language repurposed to stir up hate against immigrants, it is hard not to wince just a little.

That said, there is absolutely nothing xenophobic in this book. The Arthur legend is used in its more metaphorical sense - even as the book assumes that Arthur was a real person. And, as any good metaphorical legend about good and evil, it pretty clearly identifies evil with the lust for power, and good with the benefit of all mankind.

Another thing that was striking about the book was its rather advanced use of language. To a degree, I think we tend to take this for granted in books for children these days, but many of the books from the past that we consider “children’s books” were actually for adults, while the simplistic and moralistic books for kids largely haven’t remained popular. The vocabulary is pretty extensive in this book, and the children are thoroughly believable, compared to the often angelic sorts you see in books of a certain era. Because of these traits, I actually guessed that it was written in the 1980s, until I looked up the date.

There are a couple of interesting facts about the genesis of the book. First, Susan Cooper originally wrote it in response to a contest by Edith Nesbit’s publisher - the contest was to write a “family adventure” in her style. While Cooper didn’t enter the contest, she turned her initial effort into this book. Also of interest is that the places described in the book, while fictional in name, strongly resemble an actual place which was a favorite vacation destination of hers.

The kids definitely approved of Over Sea, Under Stone, so we will be continuing with the series.

-F-a-u-s-t- Eric by Terry Pratchett

Source of book: Audiobook borrowed from my brother.

This book is the fourth in the Rincewind series. Previous installments:

The Colour of Magic

The Light Fantastic

Sourcery

See the end of this post for other Terry Pratchett books we have experienced.

***

Faust Eric is a bit different than the other Pratchett books we have listened to. For one thing, it is shorter. And yes, I checked, we did get the unabridged edition, narrated by the delightful Stephen Briggs. The short length isn’t necessarily a bad thing, though, because it is dictated by the story itself, which isn’t as episodic as some of the other books, and has a well defined arc. The other difference relates to this. While the Discworld is in general a parody of the Fantasy genre that also mocks such things as modern bureaucracy and human foibles, this book is a more specific parody: it is a sendup of the Faust legends, the Trojan war and The Odyssey, and Dante’s Inferno. If you, like me, enjoyed the originals, you will find the parody hilarious. My teen daughters had to read Homer for their freshman English class, so they got a bunch of the jokes there. Nobody has read Divine Comedy yet, though, so I suspect those went over their heads. But the book was still funny - even my 8 year old laughed.

So, here is the basic plot. As you may (or not) recall, the world’s most incompetent wizard, Rincewind, managed to get himself stuck in the Dungeon Dimensions at the end of Sourcery. His faithful servant and hatchet...well, chest… The Luggage, has followed him there. But how to get back?

[Side note here: in Diskworld cosmology, the Dungeon Dimensions are essentially the Underworld, more or less. Hell is part of the Dungeon Dimensions, but exists solely because some people believe they deserve to go there. So they do.]

As usual, Rincewind doesn’t make things happen; they just tend to happen to him.

Enter Eric Thursley, a 13 year old self-absorbed demonologist (imagine Trump’s ego married to Dr. Frankenstein’s hubris, and add some pimples…) who is trying to follow his grandfather’s footsteps and summon a demon from the underworld. Things go wrong, however, because Eric ends up summoning Rincewind instead.

Rincewind may not be good at magic, but he has a great self-preservation instinct. He sees through Eric’s disguise (as an old man) and tries to explain. The problem is, for some reason, Rincewind turns out to have provisional powers related to the laws of the universe that allowed him to be summoned.

Eric, being both a selfish and egotistical ass and having studied up a bit too much on the usual stuff to do when you summon a powerful supernatural being, demands that Rincewind grant him three wishes. (No points for guessing…) These are, naturally, (1) to be ruler of the world, (2) to meet the most beautiful woman in all history, and (3) to live forever. As everyone from Faust on down has discovered: be careful what you wish for - you might get it.

Rincewind protests, of course, that he cannot grant wishes by snapping his fingers - except that when he does, things happen. Eric gets his three wishes, and these form the three major episodes of the book.

First, he gets to be ruler of the world. Except, well, he experiences this through finding himself captured by a tribal society modeled more or less on the Aztecs. The problem is, their approach to the Ruler of the World(™) is kind of like the general approach to the gods in Discworld, where the gods are not so much worshipped, as blamed. So, when Eric is recognized as the Ruler, his fate is to be sacrificed to their god as punishment for basically fucking the world up badly. The god, Quezovercoatl, is a parody of Quetzalcoatl - look closely at the name for the bad pun… This goes awry, though, because the demon who is Quezovercoatl actually makes an appearance, and turns out to be all of six inches tall. (Which is why he has better success appearing to his followers in visions.) The Luggage accidentally squashes Quezovercoatl, which sets the Tezumen on the path to rejection of religion. I must say, this was a freaking hilarious sendup of religion - particularly the “The Gods Demand the Sacrifice of Someone Other Than Me” variety.

The second wish is, naturally, fulfilled when Eric gets to meet the Discworld equivalent of Helen of Troy. This is, of course, a central part of the Faust legend, and has been dealt with in interesting ways by other authors. Marlowe, for example, paraphrases Lucian with the immortal lines, "Was this the face that launched a thousand ships / And burnt the topless towers of Ilium?" This is, of course, ambiguous. Is Faust marveling at Helen’s beauty? Or disillusioned at how it has faded? Goethe makes the whole thing into a complex allegory of the meeting of classical idea and modernity. Perhaps one of the most intriguing - to me at least - is a fragment by C. S. Lewis, entitled After Ten Years. This was apparently a novel in progress that he died before finishing - and I wonder if it would have been an incredible remix of a classical legend along the lines of Till We Have Faces. (You can find this fragment in the collection The Dark Tower and Other Stories.) From what we have, it appears that Lewis envisioned Menelaus having to choose between the real-life Helen, her beauty faded after ten years - she is now middle aged - and a magical simulacrum created by the magicians. It is an interesting choice, to say the least.

Pratchett takes the same basic approach as Lewis, but, naturally, plays things for satire rather than philosophy. Eric gets to meet Helen - but she has decided to make the best of a bad situation, and has had several kids with Paris, is decidedly middle aged and chubby, and has the hint of a mustache. In addition to this idea, the best parts of this section include the utter failure of the Trojan Horse (except The Luggage saves history, so to speak…) and the scenes with the Discworld version of Odysseus, named “Lavaeolus,” that is, “rinser of winds” and thus a likely ancestor of Rincewind.

The third episode finds Rincewind and Eric at the dawn of time, where they meet The Creator (a parody of Pratchett himself), who is the subcontractor working on fabricating the Discworld. It dawns on Rincewind before it dawns on Eric: to “live forever” means to exist for all of the space-time continuum for Discworld. So Eric will need to wait for billions of years before life even comes into existence. It’s a lonely wait, particularly if you forgot to bring a book…

At this point, Rincewind convinces Eric to reverse the spell and send them both back to hell. Where a modern reformer has decided to put into practice the truth that even eternal torment is better than eternal boredom. The jokes in this section are funnier if you are familiar with Inferno, but are still pretty dang funny if you aren’t. (By the way, I could get a job in Pratchett’s hell easily - I’d be the guy showing the endless vacation photos…)

That’s your basic plot, and an overview of the fun. Except my version isn’t half as good as the original. You really should read it. Some have complained about this book as being boring. I found it to be the opposite - it really was funny. But then again, I rather enjoy Homer and Dante, so your mileage may vary.

***

The Terry Pratchett list:

Rincewind:

The Colour of Magic

The Light Fantastic

Sourcery

Tiffany Aching:

The Wee Free Men

A Hat Full of Sky

Wintersmith

I Shall Wear Midnight

Witches:

Equal Rites

Watch:

Guards! Guards! (Stupid abridged edition, which is an abomination.)

Non-Discworld:

The Carpet People

Dodger

Dragons at Crumbling Castle

Good Omens (with Neil Gaiman)

Children of Blood and Bone by Tomi Adeyemi

Source of book: I own this.

My wife found a signed copy of this book, and it was recommended to me by a few friends as well. I had intended it to be a second selection for Black History Month, but I wasn’t able to fit it in. However, I did put it on my nightstand, and eventually reached that stratum. 

I have kind of mixed feelings about the book, and mixed feelings about having mixed feelings. Let me start with the things I was disappointed in, and then look at the things I loved.

The first probably stems from the fact that I am (1) not a genre fiction person and (2) generally prefer characterization to action. Children of Blood and Bone is YA fantasy by genre, and shares many of the same characteristics of other books I have read within said genre. In particular, fantasy books often tend to be action driven - and full of tension, danger, and violence. Which, if that is your thing, that’s fine. It just isn’t mine. (On a related note, I am not into action or superhero movies.)

This also ties into an observation I have made about a few YA or children’s genre fiction books: the feel is a lot like a combination of a video game and a movie. If you look past the specifics of the world the author builds or the details of the action, you can see the way the movie would be shot, frame for frame - or find it super easy to imagine the video game. Two of the worst offenders in this sense are Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson in their Peter and the Starcatchers series - which, despite some fun moments, seem very much like book adaptations of a movie. I would likewise mention Brandon Mull’s Five Kingdoms series, which works as an audiobook for travel - the action keeps one awake - but reminds me so much of the NES games I watched my friends play as a child.

Children of Blood and Bone is not as fluffy as those others, but I did feel like it was built around a near-constant sequence of dangerous or violent set-pieces. In practice, a plot driven book like this doesn’t give the characters time or room to develop. Outside of the group of main characters, the other sentient beings have to be sorted (really fast, usually) into “enemies that will kill me if I don’t escape or kill them,” or “people who might assist me in my quest.” Or, perhaps, as in the rudimentary RPG games I preferred to those requiring hand-eye coordination: “good, evil, or neutral.” The plot twists therefore consist in new and dangerous circumstances plus a potential change of a character from evil to good and back.

This constant peril and action means that the book mostly lacks ordinary human interactions. (There is an exception in a couple of chapters two-thirds of the way through - which is a nice, if temporary relief.) I will concede that this is a natural result of the needs of the plot. Fleeing for one’s life doesn’t leave much room for social niceties. But it also is really draining for someone like me, who finds the constant tension, danger, and violence to be exhausting. It’s just a personality thing. And likewise, please do not expect me to be good at improvising a plan while fleeing for my life. That is most certainly NOT my particular skill set. Because of the dark plot, there really wasn’t any humor in the book, which I missed. Again, that’s my personality.

One more thing that kind of bothered me is the way the book ended. As in, the big climax took place, and we had...wait for it...two pages of epilogue to wrap it up. That’s it. Actually, that isn’t it. There was literally two sentences after the final big reveal. And both of those sentences give the main character’s reaction, but don’t actually explain much of anything.

Okay, okay, I’m sure there will be a sequel. (Actually a trilogy is planned. Will it be five books by the time it is done?) But still, I thought, “wait, what??!” at the end, when I flipped the page, and there was...nothing more in the book. It was very abrupt, and I had lots of questions afterward.

Alright, enough of the bad stuff. There was a lot to like in this book too. Adeyemi is Nigerian American (and all of 25 years old, so some of the flaws may just be the result of youth and stuff). She says she was inspired to write the book by the ongoing police brutality against African Americans - particularly the unarmed, the innocent, or young children. To this end, Adeyemi combined West African mythology, Yoruba language and culture, and metaphorical representations of current and past injustices.

The fictional world is divided into two classes of people. The Maji are those who can (or at least used to be able to) use magic. The Kosidan are the non-magical people, who have become the ruling class, and brutally oppress the Maji, who have lost their magical abilities. While all of the characters have dark skin, the Kosidan are described as being slightly lighter. In contrast, the Maji have grey hair, which is an easy tell as to their identity. In the aftermath of a cataclysmic war, the Maji have been enslaved, killed, and brutalized by the Kosidan, who are determined that magic itself must be exterminated.

It isn’t difficult to see parallels to the slave trade, Jim Crow, police brutality, and other realities of the American past and present. Adeyemi does a good job of keeping the analogies from becoming preachy allegories, which I appreciated.

I also thought that the world building was good. Personally, I could have enjoyed a little more time on background and a bit less on battles, but I recognize that I am not the target audience for YA fantasy. Adeyemi did give enough information to make sense of her world, which felt consistent, and not like a rip-off of other worlds. I would be happy to explore the world further. (Side note here: Adeyemi cited Harry Potter as an influence. I also found that series - the first two books at least - to be a bit heavy on action and light on description and characterization.) So I do give credit for a compelling world. The connection of magic to the gods, to objects, and to people was particularly interesting.

My favorite facet of the book, however, was the nuanced moral ambiguity. While the Kosidan are currently in power, and thus have the wherewithal to be the villains and oppressors, the history doesn’t leave the Maji innocent. There seems to have been plenty of brutality, violence, and hate on all sides, and both groups have a colorable claim to a right to defend themselves against the other group. Adeyemi has all three main characters (who take turns narrating the story) wrestle with the question of whether bringing magic back will be a good or bad thing. On the one hand, the Maji are correct that without some power to hit back against their oppressors, they will never be respected or treated with dignity. On the other, would they actually be less evil than the Kosidan if they gained power? Or would they be just as brutal and murderous? Human history suggests a rather pessimistic view of the possibilities.

Likewise, the idea of cooperation and equality is raised, but in practice has proven to be difficult to establish, let alone maintain. The idealists rarely win. On the one hand, I give great credit to the author for her treatment of these moral and practical problems. On the other, so I really have to wait for the rest of the trilogy for some sort of resolution? Will I have to read two (or more) additional books and wade through much more violence and brutality? Will she pull a George Martin and kill off everyone decent who isn’t already dead? And, I suppose most importantly to me, will the main characters be able to find enough moral clarity to actually follow through on a plan?

My concluding thoughts would be as follows: Children of Blood and Bone raises interesting moral questions, creates an interesting world, and has a fast paced plot. I think it is better written than average, but still remains in the category of genre fiction, rather than literary fiction. Your mileage, of course, will vary, as tastes and personalities differ. If you like fantasy, have a tolerance for brutality and violence, but want a book that isn’t just escapist fun, there is a lot to like in it. It is, however, pretty brutal. If you lean more toward character-driven, slower paced literature, you might, like me, find it emotionally tiring to read for extended periods, despite the parts I enjoyed.

***

Equal Rites by Terry Pratchett

Source of book: Audiobook borrowed from my brother.

This book is the third Diskworld novel, and the first in the “Witches” series. We have previously experienced the first three in the “Rincewind” series, and the first four in the “Tiffany Aching” series. The less said about the abridged edition of Guards, Guards, the better. If you want to read my thoughts on the other Terry Pratchett books we have read, here is the list:

Rincewind:

The Colour of Magic

The Light Fantastic

Sourcery

Tiffany Aching:

The Wee Free Men

A Hat Full of Sky

Wintersmith

I Shall Wear Midnight

Watch:

Guards! Guards! (Stupid abridged edition, which is an abomination.)

Non-Discworld:

The Carpet People

Dodger

Dragons at Crumbling Castle

Good Omens (with Neil Gaiman)

***

Equal Rites features a character, Eskarina Smith, who disappears from the series until reappearing as a rather unearthly character in I Shall Wear Midnight. I’m not sure quite why, but it is what it is. It does seem, however, that Tiffany Aching is in some ways what Eskarina might have become as she grew older.

Eskarina is an anomaly in the Diskworld: a female wizard. In the Diskworld universe, the number eight has magical properties. And, by the laws of magic, the eighth son of an eighth son will be a wizard. An elderly wizard named Drum Billet knows he is approaching death. (Like witches, most wizards know when they will die.) He finds what he believes to be the eighth son of an eight son, and passes his powers to the infant, leaving his staff behind. The only problem is, he forgot to check the sex of the baby, and the he turns out to be a she.

As she grows, Eskarina turns out to have wizard magic she cannot control, and this concerns the local witch, Granny Weatherwax (who would become a recurring character.) Granny decides to take Eskarina to Unseen University (where the wizards are trained), to learn how to use her powers. The journey takes up a good bit of the book - and it is obvious that an 8 year old girl with an attitude and unpredictable magical powers will be a tough assignment for Granny, who hasn’t left the village much before. Eventually, the story takes a turn to the Dungeon Dimensions, where Eskarina and a young wizard, Simon, have to figure out how to get back to the “real” world. I won’t spoil it more than that.

One of the things that struck me about this book is just how much Granny Weatherwax changes in the 20ish years between this book and The Wee Free Men. In this book, she is a rather ordinary village witch. She is wise, but illiterate and very provincial. She lacks the confidence and calm of the later books. Oddly, she also seems...older somehow. Clearly, she expands as a character as the series goes on, eventually becoming the unofficial head witch, with experience and knowledge extending far beyond her village. Perhaps this epic trip to Ankh-Morpork is the beginning of the expansion of her world and the start of her personal growth. It remains to be seen, I guess.

This audiobook was different from all the others we have listened to in that it has a female narrator: Celia Imrie. I had no idea who she is, but apparently she was a regular on British television and stage. Whatever the case, I thought she did a fine job. Considering the delightful Nigel Planer and Stephen Briggs are the gold standard for Pratchett, this was a tough gig. Particularly good, in my opinion, was the way she voiced the various wizards. They were different from each other, but shared a certain reedy stuffiness which was quite fine. She also gave Granny Weatherwax a more stereotypical witch voice than Briggs does in the later books - but the books themselves dictate a different tone. It was definitely an interesting set of choices that I thought was well done.

(On a not entirely unrelated note: Yes, this was the unabridged version of the book. I checked. Don’t settle for less.)

There are so many fabulous quotes in this book. I’ll share just a few.

‘If a thing’s worth doing, it’s worth doing badly,’ said Granny, fleeing into aphorisms, the last refuge of an adult under siege.

That one made me laugh out loud. It is way too true, and my kids presumably know it.

‘They say a little knowledge is a dangerous thing, but it is not one half so bad as a lot of ignorance.’

One of my all-time favorite Pratchett quotes. It has been discouraging to see knowledge and expertise so disrespected in our times.

As I noted, Granny Weatherwax is fairly inexperienced in things outside of her village in this book. Here is one exchange that shows the typical Pratchett turn of phrase.

‘You said there was some sort of teaching place?’ he hazarded.

‘The Unseen University, yes. It’s for training wizards.’

‘And you know where it is?’

‘Yes,’ lied Granny, whose grasp of geography was slightly worse than her knowledge of subatomic physics.

Likewise, while she can read and (sort of) write, she limits herself to the Almanac, rather than books. Until later in the story at least.

For the first time in her life Granny wondered whether there might be something important in all these books people were setting such store by these days, although she was opposed to books on strict moral grounds, since she had heard that many of them were written by dead people and therefore it stood to reason reading them would be as bad as necromancy.

And then, there is this scene where Esk wanders into a disreputable pub:

The landlord, whose name was Skiller, found himself looking directly down at a small child who seemed to be squinting.

‘What?’ he said.

‘Milk,’ said the child, still focusing furiously.  ‘You get it out of goats.  You know?’

Skiller sold only beer, which his customers claimed he got out of cats.

Or this gem, which is all too true, particularly here in California where people pay to get tans despite the fact that we have an abundance of sunshine.

He had the kind of real deep tan that rich people spend ages trying to achieve with expensive holidays and bits of tinfoil, when really all you need to do to obtain one is work your arse off in the open air every day.

Pratchett, even in his early work, is clearly a feminist. There are zingers throughout this book about the Patriarchy and those who support it.

If you were a boy I’d say are you going to seek your fortune?’

‘Can’t girls seek their fortune?’

‘I think they’re supposed to seek a boy with a fortune.’

Social commentary abounds, as in this depiction of the tribes which dominate the river trade, and have designated persons to do their negotiating.

Zoon tribes are very proud of their Liars. Other races get very annoyed about all this.  They feel that the Zoon ought to have adopted more suitable titles, like ‘diplomat’ or ‘public relations officer’.  They feel they are poking fun at the whole thing.

Religion doesn’t escape Pratchett’s teasing either, although he wasn’t completely hostile to it. Having had a bit too much experience with toxic and hateful religion myself, I think he is right about this one:

[G]ods were always demanding that their followers acted other than according to their true natures, and the human fallout this caused made plenty of work for witches.

And one final one, which I really wish I had thought of.

It is well known that stone can think, because the whole of electronics is based on that fact...

I am, of quartz, writing this on my computer, which is indeed a quite gneiss example...sorry. Couldn’t resist.

Equal Rites isn’t quite as funny as the Rincewind books, or as philosophically deep as Pratchett’s later books. However, still very enjoyable both as a story and as social commentary.

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets by J. K. Rowling

Source of book: We own all the Harry Potter books...but this one was the Stephen Fry audiobook version borrowed from a friend.

So, this year, I finally started working my way through the Harry Potter books. (You can read my thoughts on Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone here.) I figure that now that I have made it through the first two books, I can qualify as a proud member of Hufflepuff, rather than a muggle. 

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets was a fun enough read, although it felt a bit derivative. It is easy to see significant plot parallels to the first book: the torment with the Dursleys, a visit to Diagon Alley, the trip to Hogwarts, conflict with Draco Malfoy, Quidditch, a nefarious threat hidden under Hogwarts, a visit to the forest, and so on. In that sense, it felt formulaic.

On the other hand, there were some really great characters and moments. I am very sad that Gilderoy Lockhart had to leave Hogwarts, as he was thoroughly hilarious. (And all too realistic when it comes to narcissistic celebrities.) And all those alliterative book titles.

The use of the diary was also creative, and made for a fun puzzle. In general, I thought the ideas were intriguing and made for an interesting story.

It was nice to meet the Weasley family in this book. They are, in contrast to the Dursleys, a fundamentally decent family. Relatively poor, and decidedly “lower class” in the conventional sense (despite being pureblood wizards), they reject both the bourgeois social climbing of the Dursleys and the aristocratic snobbery of the Malfoys. In a sense, this is Harry’s first experience of true family.

I also liked Rowling’s choice to tackle racism head on in this book. Whether it is in the form of slavery (house elves) or casual exclusion (ghosts) or obsession with “blood purity” in the case of the Malfoys, this book takes a hard look at it. Harry, as the good guy, gets a reputation as someone who treats outsiders with kindness. Even though Dobby is annoying and ends up hurting Harry in his efforts to “protect” him, Harry nevertheless treats him well, and is rewarded in the end. Harry skips the feast to attend Nearly Headless Nick’s deathday party. He continues his friendship with Hagrid, even after he is led to believe that it was Hagrid who opened the chamber. And, of course, Harry stands up for the “mudbloods” at the school, including Hermione.

Things got quite interesting at the end, when Dumbledore has to break a promise. After making it clear that he would expel Harry and Ron if they broke any more rules, he decided that there were...exceptions. Given my own background, this is, of course, rank heresy. An authority figure was expected to always follow through on threats, no matter what, or risk losing the respect of the underlings. (Not that my parents exactly hewed to this.) But in real life, as Dumbledore realizes, the rules are less important than the truly important things. Saving Ginny was definitely a greater priority than following certain rules.

Also quite interesting was Dumbledore’s insistence that identity is formed by what we do, not by our birth. In Harry’s case, his choice to reject Slytherin and choose Gryffindor is what truly makes him a Gryffindor. In the same way, the fact that his background is quite similar to that of Tom Riddle doesn’t mean that he is destined to become another Voldemort. Our choices become our character.  

I think that both of these philosophical ideas contributed to the suspicion that Fundamentalist/Evangelical sorts had to the books. After all, the books are pretty subversive of authority and rules. The characters often have too choose to do the moral thing, rather than the correct thing. Authority is often incompetent or malevolent - and just plain wrong. And, as it turns out, our character isn’t really determined by how orthodox our beliefs or how carefully we follow the rules. It goes beyond that to the choices we make and how we choose to act toward others.

I do have one geeky quibble with the book. Rowling makes extensive use of classical mythology, and is generally reasonably accurate. In her creation of the basilisk, she makes a key error, which bothers me. I understand her choice to make the basilisk far larger than the classical version. Artistic license and all, I suppose. But the real error is in the description of how a basilisk comes to be. According to the book, a basilisk is hatched from a cockerell egg incubated by a toad.

No, no, NO! That’s backwards. A cockerell egg incubated by a toad gives you a cockatrice! For a basilisk, you need a snake or toad egg incubated by a cockerell. (To be fair, the two creatures have been confused before - including in past translations of the Bible, where obscure Hebrew words were “translated” to mean various mythological beings. But still.) Yes, I know this is a seriously nerdy complaint, but there you have it.

Fragile Things by Neil Gaiman

Source of book: Borrowed from the library.

We have already listened to a Neil Gaiman book this year, Neverwhere, so I ordinarily would have waited before reading more. However, my 14 year old second daughter is really into Gaiman right now. Okay, so she has loved him ever since we listened to Coraline a few years back. Anyway, she checked this book out, read it, and told me I should read it. When your teenager says that, well....

This book has some overlap with “M” Is For Magic, namely “October in the Chair,” “How To Talk To Girls At Parties,” “Sunbird,” and the poem, “Instructions;” but it also contains a number of more adult stories. The short stories and poems were mostly published previously in magazines or book anthologies. They span a wide range of genres, although they all are recognizably Gaiman within a few paragraphs at most. He has, shall we say, a style. I’ll stick to the format I used in “M” Is For Magic, and detail the short stories not in that former collection. There are also a number of poems, which range from fairly traditional to free verse. With the exception of “Instructions,” which is simply fantastic, the poems aren’t as good as the story, in my opinion.

A Study In Emerald

This is, as Gaiman puts it, Sherlock Holmes finds himself in an H. P. Lovecraft story. So some combination of the supernatural and aliens, but with a logical sleuth.

Forbidden Brides of the Faceless Slaves in the Secret House of the Night of Dread Desire

This one is a real gas. This person, who appears to live in a ghoulish fantasy world, keeps trying to write, as he puts in “realistic fiction on the human condition.” Except that his proper Gothic horror novel keeps getting “humor” thrown in - it starts sounding like a novel of manners from our world. Finally, a raven asks him the fatal question: “Do you enjoy writing it?” The answer, of course, is “no.” So he gives in and writes what he wants.

The young man shivered. He rolled the stock themes of fantasy over in his mind: cars and stockbrokers and commuters, housewives and police, agony columns and commercials for soap, income tax and cheap restaurants, magazines and credit cards and streetlights and computers…

“It’s escapism, true,” he said, aloud. “But is not the highest impulse in mankind the urge toward freedom, the drive to escape?”

I suspect Gaiman has gotten the equivalent of this as a result of his own dedication to fantasy, rather than “realistic” literary novels. But of course, good writing in any genre tells us things about human nature.

The Flints of Memory Lane

This one is a short ghost story. At least a sort-of ghost story.

Closing Time

This is story about a childhood memory, with a framing story of an old drinking club. Not necessarily Gaiman’s memory - although he says the places are real - but the memory of a character within the framing story.

Bitter Grounds

This is a rather bizarre tale. The narrator is reeling from a bad breakup, and is out on the road, essentially running away. He meets this guy who asks for a ride to meet a tow truck to tow his broken down car. When they get there, the guy has forgotten his wallet and briefcase. The narrator goes back for them, but when he returns, there is no sign of either the man or the tow truck. He tries to find information, only to discover the man is apparently some sort of anthropologist on his way to a conference. He is unable to contact the man, so he impersonates him at the conference. From there, things get progressively more odd, and even supernatural. A classic Gaiman sort of story.

Other People

An interesting short take on hell. After the physical tortures, the man experienced this:

Everything he had ever done that had been better left undone. Every lie he had told - told to himself, or told to others. Every little hurt, and all the great hurts. Each one was pulled out of him, detail by detail, inch by inch. The demon stripped away the cover of forgetfulness, stripped everything down to a truth, and it hurt more than anything.

And then, over and over again.

It was like peeling an onion. This time through his life he learned about consequences. He learned the results of things he had done; things he had been blind to as he did them; the ways he had hurt the world; the damage he had done to people he had never known, or met, or encountered. It was the hardest lesson yet.

There is a school of thought within Christianity that this is the process that one must undergo to become fit for heaven. We cannot enter as we are, with all our arrogance and pride - we must be purged in some way. My personal view is that many will choose to be annihilated rather than face this process.

Gaiman describes this as a Mobius story - and that is a great description.

Keepsakes and Treasures

This is a really dark story, about an orphan (or at least foundling) who gets involved in a particularly sick underworld. It has some pretty rough sexual content. The main characters of Smith and Mr. Alice also turn up in “The Monarch of the Glen,” which is kind of a short story sequel to American Gods.

Good Boys Deserve Favors

A short story about a brief childhood career as a double bass player. Or at least being a kid who carried a double bass around and tried not to make noise in the rests. Except for one magical improvised solo.

The Facts in the Case of the Departure of Miss Finch

Kind of a mystery ghost story.

Strange Little Girls

This is a collection of 12 short vignettes written to accompany Tori Amos’ album of the same name.

Harlequin Valentine

A story about Harlequin, the stock character from ancient drama.

The Problem of Susan

I had actually read this one previously. Gaiman takes on a seriously uncomfortable issue with The Chronicles of Narnia. C. S. Lewis seems to simply abandon Susan to a hellish fate, simply because she grows up and - it is strongly implied - becomes a sexual being, interested in boys and love and marriage. This really stuck in Gaiman’s craw, even though he loved the books as a kid. His response is both a, well, response, and a challenge in its own right. Very thought provoking.

How Do You Think It Feels?

Gaiman was asked to write a story for an anthology with gargoyles as a theme. Writing is a weird profession sometimes. This is a pretty sexual story, with an ambiguous ending.

Fifteen Painted Cards from a Vampire Tarot

If a vampire wrote vignettes for tarot cards, I guess. Honestly, my knowledge of Tarot is pretty non-existent, so I probably didn’t get most of the references.

Feeders and Eaters

This is a really creepy story about a flesh eating woman and the man devoted to her.

Diseasemaker’s Croup

A very short riff on snake oil “alternative medicine.” Humorous in the best Gaiman way.

In the End

A one-page imagining if the last book of the Bible was a mirror image of the first chapters of Genesis.

Goliath

Gaiman wrote this for the website of the soon-to-be-released film, The Matrix. It’s pretty matrix-y.

Pages From a Journal Found in a Shoebox Left Somewhere Between Tulsa, Oklahoma, and Louisville, Kentucky

The story is barely longer than the title. It is kind of a log of a search for a mysterious woman named “Scarlet.” Very atmospheric and vague, with no real resolution. Which is a classic modern short story. Also, another one written specifically for a Tori Amos related event. Apparently Gaiman and Amos are friends - which is one of those unexpected things you learn.

Inventing Aladdin

This one is a poem worth mentioning. It is a reference to The Arabian Nights, obviously. But it is also about Gaiman’s belief that stories, even ancient, retold stories, had their genesis in a real person.

The Monarch of the Glen

This is the one which is both a short story sequel to American Gods (which I haven’t read), and the return of Smith and Mr. Alice. It draws on the Beowulf story, but with a weird, modern, twist. Again, classic Gaiman, with its mix of legend, supernatural, and realistic.

One of the things I am struck with when it comes to Neil Gaiman is this: he has a someone disturbing knack for writing about the most horrible parts of human nature. I mean, he makes torture and cruelty come way too alive for comfort. But along with that comes an amazing sense of compassion - one that I find mostly lacking in the conservative/religious/uptight sorts that clutch their pearls about his sort of writing.

Just as an example, my Evangelical former tribe has been tying themselves in moral and ethical knots to try to explain why it is okay to take a racist and xenophobic approach to refugees. You know, things like separating families seeking asylum, putting kids in cages, and stripping the citizenship of people who did nothing wrong. In contrast, here is Gaiman on refugees. The simplicity of “it could be you” is basically a restatement of Christ’s commands. Do unto others. And yet, Gaiman, who isn’t “Christian” in the sense Evangelicals mean it, somehow manages to sound so much MORE like Christ than they do. Oh, and rather than xenophobic fear mongering and lies, he actually uses real facts. Why the F..K can’t Evangelicals show this kind of decency? I just don’t get it.

Anyway, this is an interesting book, with some worthwhile stories. Gaiman has an amazing imagination, his stories generally have something intriguing in them, and hey, my middle daughter loves them, and that is high praise indeed. My favorite still is The Graveyard Book - or maybe Good Omens, written with Terry Pratchett. But this one was good too.