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. 

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.

***

Nightbird by Alice Hoffman

Source of book: Audiobook from the library

I can’t even remember how this book ended up on our list. I am guessing it was off an article on recent children’s books back in 2015, because it isn’t on our Newbery list. However, on the list it was, and it worked for our traveling audiobook series. 

 

The basic setup of the book is a Magic Realism sort of plot. Young “Twig” Fowler lives with her mother in the small town of Sidwell, Massachusetts. Okay, not just with her mother. Her older brother James lives with them, but nobody knows he exists. Back 200 years ago, a failed romance between one of their ancestors and a young witch named Agnes Early led to a curse put on the Fowler men: they all grow wings.

Then, the descendants of Agnes Early’s family move back to her old cottage, and Twig becomes friends with Julia. When Julia’s older sister, Agate, discovers and falls in love with James, they all decide to try to figure out how to break the curse. Oh, and there is also a forest that is habitat for endangered owls and a subplot around the attempts to develop the woods. And a bit about Johnny Appleseed.

I would characterize Nightbird as decent, but not spectacular. The plot isn’t the most compelling, and there are some holes in the resolution of various issues. The best part by far, however, was the portrayal of the friendship between Twig and Julia. Twig has been isolated for years because of the secret, and she finds herself both desperate for a friend and yet terrified of actually becoming vulnerable. Fortunately, Julia is persistent and doesn’t play catty games.

The other friendships are intriguing. There is a longstanding relationship between Twig’s aunt, the town historian, and an ornithologist. Are they just friends? Maybe a bit more? The romance between Agate and James, although only a small part of the story - we never really see it from their perspective - is also fairly believable. Finally, the friendship that develops between Colin and Twig seems promising. Alas, the book is too short to really flesh that one out, and one is left wondering how the book would have gone if less time had been spent on the curse and the mystery of its origin, and more on just the friendships.

I’m not really sold on the audiobook version, narrated by Jenna Lamia. I realize the main character is fairly young, but I guess I am used to voices with a little more heft in my 12 year olds. (My wife and daughters have always had deeper - and more assertive - voices.) Not a bad job, just not my favorite.

This book was pleasant, and had its moments, so I would say it is a worthy addition to a reading list. However, reading it back to back with Richard Peck, it seemed a little less so by comparison.  

I Shall Wear Midnight by Terry Pratchett

Source of book: Audiobook borrowed from my brother

Since first discovering Terry Pratchett less than five years ago, he has become one of our favorite authors. His imagination, social commentary, and strikingly complex and nuanced ethical dilemmas make for enjoyable yet deep books. And he does it all with brilliant humor and an empathetic touch.

Here are our previous selections:

Discworld Novels

The Wee Free Men

A Hat Full of Sky

Wintersmith

The Colour of Magic

The Light Fantastic

Guards! Guards (stupid abridged edition &#$*@!)

Non-Discworld Novels and Short Stories

Dodger

Good Omens (with Neil Gaiman)

The Carpet People

Dragons at Crumbling Castle

***

This book is #4 in the Tiffany Aching series - and you really should read them in order. Tiffany is a young witch (which in Discworld means she does magic - but mostly fills the role of nurse/midwife/social worker in her community.) In the first book, The Wee Free Men, she is a child, and has to deal with a child-appropriate challenge: keeping the queen of Fairyland out of the real (disk)world, and incidentally rescuing the local baron’s son. She then is able to train to be a full-fledged witch.

In the second book, A Hat Full of Sky, Tiffany is a bit older, and has a more complex and grown up problem. A “hiver” tries to take over her mind, and she must fight it off while trying to learn her craft. The ethical dilemma involves pride and empathy and what it means to be a witch.

The third book, Wintersmith, has Tiffany older still, and further along in her training. In a bit of a metaphor for puberty, she ends up inadvertently involved with the Wintersmith, the spirit of winter. While figuring out how to correct her mistake and allow spring to return, she also has to help extricate another witch in training (the delightfully mean-girl Anagrama) from problems of her own making. In essence, Tiffany has to learn leadership.

In this book, I Shall Wear Midnight, Tiffany is nearly 16, and is working as a witch in her native Chalk Country. The old baron is dying, his son Roland is engaged to a girl Tiffany dislikes (in part because she had feelings for Roland, a local teen girl miscarries after her father beats her nearly to death. Oh, and the ancient incorporeal embodiment of a notorious witch hunter known as the Cunning Man has returned, and is hunting Tiffany. Just another day in Discworld…

I Shall Wear Midnight has significantly more “adult” themes than the earlier books in the series. And by “adult,” I don’t mean smut. The themes do often involve sex, as do some of the jokes (and I mean that in the best possible way), but nothing is for titillation: these are adult problems that require maturity to address appropriately. So, Tiffany has to figure out how to protect a victim of domestic violence - and protect the perpetrator from being lynched by the mob. She has to navigate her own romantic feelings - and her own dark side - while doing the right thing for others and for her village. She has to figure out how to handle the issue of teen pregnancy and love. And she has to deal with a false accusation against her, and the creeping spirit of hatred that threatens to destroy her - and all that is good.

This time, she has to do it alone. At least mostly. The other witches can’t really help her here, except with advice; and indeed, they are poised to kill her if she succumbs to the Cunning Man. At least she has the Wee Free Men on her side, even if they cannot fight this battle. And she has the incorruptible Preston, who believes in her even when the lies about her threaten to fool everyone else.

Since the plot is a lot of fun, I won’t spoil any more of it than I have to.

I was particularly struck by how applicable to our present political moment this book is. There is a fantastic quote near the end, when Tiffany confronts the Cunning Man.

“Your power is only rumour and lies, she thought. You bore your way into people when they are uncertain and weak and worried and frightened, and they think their enemy is other people when their enemy is, and always will be, you – the master of lies. Outside, you are fearsome; inside, you are nothing but weakness.”

Pratchett really nails it here. The Cunning Man is no longer a person - he is just an idea: those rumors and lies that turn humans against each other. His spirit lives on in those like Le Toupee who stir up racial hatred against immigrants, refugees, and those outside our tribes. It is a spirit which is contrary to teachings and example of Christ, and it is ironic that Pratchett, who was not religious, had a better handle on this than a shockingly high number of Christians in this country.

There are so many marvelous quotes in this book - Pratchett writes like a human quote generator. Let me mention some of my favorites, starting with these two:

“Evil begins when you begin to treat people as things.”

My wife marched at the local women’s march last month carrying that quote on a sign. This is one of Granny Weatherwax’s pearls of wisdom. The second quote is related:

“People aren't just people, they are people surrounded by circumstances.”

That’s the problem with oversimplification - particularly when it comes to poverty. It is why giving people moral lectures doesn’t help - and tends to make things worse. The circumstances are important, and you can’t just look at people in isolation from them.

And then, there is this quote, which is pretty apropos to our times as well as to the Cunning Man and his ideas:

“And there are those who would rather be behind evil than in front of it.”

Pratchett also expresses what many of us who long for a better, more just world feel, both about the past (which isn’t the glorious golden age people wish to imagine) and the future.

“There have been times, lately, when I dearly wished that I could change the past. Well, I can’t, but I can change the present, so that when it becomes the past it will turn out to be a past worth having.”

Or this one, about life and death - Pratchett has so many fine quotes on these topics:

“One day all of us will die but - and this is the important thing - we are not dead yet.”

Don’t think for a moment, however, that this book (or any Pratchett book) is dark and serious. Pratchett simply overflows with good humor and wit both smart and silly.

“Roland was staring at Tiffany, so nonplussed he was nearly minused.”

“Behind her, Preston grunted and said, "I know it's not the right thing to say to a lady, miss, but you are sweating like a pig!"

Tiffany, trying to get her shattered thoughts together, muttered, "My mother always said that horses sweat, men perspire, and ladies merely glow..."

"Is that so?" said Preston cheerfully.

"Well, miss, you are glowing like a pig!”

The Wee Free Men, aka the Nac Mac Feegles, are hilarious whenever they appear. Some of the best lines belong to Daft Wullie, who is not, shall we say, the sharpest tool in the shed.

“I may be daft but I'm no' stupid!” he protests. But then, after really inserts his foot in his mouth:

Rob Anybody clearly noticed this, because he turned to his brother and said, “Ye will bring tae mind, brother o’ mine, that there was times when ye should stick your head up a duck’s bottom rather than talk?” Daft Wullie looked down at his feet. “Sorry, Rob. I couldna find a duck just noo.”

Pratchett rarely passes up a chance to make a mildly naughty joke either - in good British taste, naturally. I liked this exchange:

“‘Arse’ is a traditional usage—nothing to be ashamed of.” The Baron nodded. “It has a commendable grown-up sharpness to it. ‘Ass,’ on the other hand, is quite frankly for spinsters and little children.” Tiffany turned the words on her tongue for a moment and said, “Yes, sir. I think that is probably the long and the short of it.”

I’ll finish with a couple from Tiffany, in her less than charitable moments. Throughout the book, she struggles with the thoughts that the Cunning Man puts in her head, and doesn’t always quite win the battle. About her rival (who later turns out to be not all that bad):

“Letitia! What a name. Halfway between a salad and a sneeze.”

And, about Letitia’s genuinely appalling mother (who both gets a comeuppance and turns out to be more a complex and troubled person than a true villain):

“Well, child? Aren't you going to try to turn me into some kind of unspeakable creature?”

“I don't think I shall bother, madam, seeing as you are making such a good job of it yourself!”

Perhaps that is the theme to take away from the book, though. People are surrounded by circumstance, and are rarely pure good or pure evil. They are complicated, and navigating through life requires learning to read them. And being a decent person requires rejecting the hatred of the Cunning Man, and rejecting the urge to turn our fears and weakness into harming others.

My second daughter is particularly fond of this book out of all of the Pratchett books we have read. I have to concede that it is indeed a good one. However, it makes the most sense if you read the others in the Tiffany Aching series first, so you understand her history and how she came to be who she is.

***

Just a note of caution on the audiobooks: For reasons that are entirely lost on me, somebody decided that Pratchett needed to be shortened, and made a series of abridged audiobooks read by Tony Robinson. In the process, much of what makes Pratchett delightful is lost. The detail, the language, the wit. DO NOT BOTHER WITH THESE! THEY SUCK! And I hope there is a circle of hell for book abridgers in general. Blah!

Instead, look for one narrated by Stephen Briggs, if possible. (Nigel Planer is also good.) Briggs was a good friend of Pratchett’s and they collaborated on a number of projects. Briggs is a fantastic reader in general, and and particularly good at the Wee Free Men and Anagrama.

The Book of Three by Lloyd Alexander

Source of book: Audiobook from the library, but we own this one too.

A couple of friends have been urging me to read this book - and the series - for some time. When I brought home the audiobook, I discovered that my kids had already read it. Well, the older ones, at least, and in particular, my second daughter who has introduced us to a lot of cool books about mice and more, rather liked the book.

I’m not quite sure how I missed these books as a kid. After all, they were written in the 1960s, not the 2000s like a lot of the books I never read. They also seem like the kind of thing I would have read. Somehow, I never discovered them.

Anyway, this book is the first in the Pyrdain Chronicles, a five book set. They are set in a fictional kingdom, which the author says might, not coincidentally, resemble Wales, but should not be used as a guide for tourists. Some of the characters are historical/legendary, others are fictional but are drawn from the Mabinogion (which meant that I was somewhat familiar with them from Bulfinch’s Mythology), and others are Alexander’s own creation. The one disadvantage of the quasi-Welsh setting is that the names are difficult to spell, and murderous to pronounce. Kudos to audiobook reader James Langton for keeping his tongue untied throughout.

The book draws on many elements of mythology (and yes, the monomyth is definitely here…), including the hero with a mysterious parentage (which we presumably learn in a later book), the power of knowing someone’s name, the magical elder, and the general fantasy types and objects. However, despite the familiarity, the story itself is well told, has memorable characters, and made for a good traveling book.

Taran is the protagonist, the young and green boy on the verge of manhood who must come of age. His companions eventually include the half human half animal Gurgi, whose skills of alliteration and groveling are expert level; the young woman, Eilonwy, who has a sarcastic edge and definitely is not the damsel in distress; and Fflewddur the king-turned-bard whose magic harp breaks strings whenever he stretches the truth. And then there are the supporting characters, from the semi-historical warrior prince Gwydian to the animal whisperer Medwen, to the world’s only oracular pig, Hen Wen.

Because we listened to this book back to back with The Light Fantastic by Terry Pratchett, it was fun to contrast the two styles. Both are fantasy, and both involved a quest of sorts. The macguffins were different: Taran must warn of an invasion, while Rincewind the incompetent wizard must return the spell that is lodged in his head. But both characters are in way over their heads. Pratchett is definitely aiming for an older audience, at least young adults, with pointed satire and a few risque allusions. Alexander, on the other hand, is straightforward children’s literature, with adventure, humor, and themes suited to those ages. Both were enjoyable in their own ways. And my kids, of course, tend to enjoy books for various ages, and tolerate fairly adult books. (Case in point: we also listened to A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, and my 11 year old son in particular loved it.)

One disappointment was that the title (which refers to a mysterious book) seems to have little to do with the book itself. The book appears at the beginning and end, but is never really explained, and plays little role in the story. One wonders if an editor picked the title as being catchy rather than being the best title. This is no knock on the story itself, just the choice of the title. I also wonder if the mysteries will unfold later in the series - there are a number of unanswered questions.

We may have to locate the rest of the series, either in audiobook or in printed form, as we enjoyed listening to this one.

 

M is for Magic by Neil Gaiman

Source of book: Audiobook from the library

My kids have really loved the two previous Neil Gaiman books we have listened to: Coraline and The Graveyard Book. They requested I find another one if possible. 

M is for Magic is a collection of short stories. Our library put it in the Young Adult section, and I can see why. Two of the stories are definitely more YA than Children’s stories. Depending on the specific parents and kids, of course. My kids have had their sex education, and I do not freak out if there are references to body parts and periods and making out. Your mileage may vary. The rest of the stories are generally suitable for kids, although a couple are pretty creepy. Which is a plus for my kids.

As I have done for some previous collections, I’ll review the individual stories one at a time.

“The Case of the Four and Twenty Blackbirds”

The best way to describe this one is as a nursery rhyme sendup of hard-boiled detective fiction. “Little” Jack Horner is the detective, hired to find out who killed Humpty Dumpty. Yeah, this probably has been done before, but Gaiman handles it with skill, getting both the atmosphere and the quirky details of the nursery rhymes right.

“Troll Bridge”

This one is definitely YA. It is also a bit of a dark tale, about a troll that wants to eat the narrator’s life. I would say it is very Neil Gaiman, however, to find a way of capturing the longing of childhood for a long and good life ahead and the teenage desire to be with the opposite sex, using fear and a troll to make them more real. It’s one of the things I really like about Gaiman: his ability to use the fantastic and the unworldly to make sense of the very real psychology of us humans. It is the use of fantasy in the best possible way, not as a mere escape from reality but as a way to make the real more real and more understandable.

“Don’t Ask Jack”

This is a very short about a sinister toy - and also the passage of time. The evil Jack-in-the-Box is disliked by everyone, from the toys to the children who would otherwise play with him. So he sits in the corner of the old house. As time goes by, the children grow up, have families and problems, and grow old. A good example of how to distill an idea into a very few short pages.

“How to Sell the Ponti Bridge”

This story is firmly in the tradition of the Tall Tale, and also a nod to Washington Irving’s  Knickerbocker Club. The members of the club in this case are intergalactic scam artists, who gain membership through their ingenious schemes to separate marks from their money. In this story, an elderly member tells the tale of how he sold the “Ponti Bridge,” a fictional bridge made of jewels held together by magic. (Ponti is of course a reference to the Italian word for bridge, and the bridge itself seems related to landmarks in the Arabian Nights.)

The twist in this case is exactly how the scammer manages to profit off of a bridge that everyone knows is owned by the government - and sells his scam to highly educated and knowledgeable victims by leveraging their greed.    

“October in the Chair”

There is a story within a story in this story. The framing device is a scene in the forest where the personifications of the months tell tales as part of a tradition. The seasons are given personalities to match their, well, personalities. Eventually, October, who is presiding, gets to tell his tale, and that is the one we here. I believe this story was written before The Graveyard Book, and it presages some of the ideas in the latter. A boy runs away from a home he is not welcome in (yet another lonely kid in a Gaiman book…) and ends up making friends with a boy in a graveyard. The boy is, naturally, a ghost. Unlike in The Graveyard Book, there is the implication that in order to join the ghosts, the boy must become dead himself. The story ends before it is resolved, leaving the other months unsatisfied with the ending.

“Chivalry”

This is one of the two best (in my opinion) stories in the collection. The elderly Mrs. Whittaker, resident of a sleepy town in England, has her routine and her carefully ordered life and is content. And then, one day, she is shopping as usual at the local thrift store, and calmly notices that the Holy Grail is there, next to the other bits of bric-a-brac. She buys it, and places it on the mantle between a picture of her late husband, and a china basset hound.

Not too long after, Sir Galaad (Gaiman’s spelling) shows up, very polite and all, looking for the Grail. At first, she won’t let him in. He is, after all, a stranger and a man and all. However, after she asks for ID, and he produces his commission from King Arthur showing he is on a “high and noble quest,” she lets him in. (The ID was, after all, much more official looking than a silly card with a photo on it.)

Galaad wants to repossess the Grail, but Mrs. Whittaker really, really likes how it looks in her collection, and is loath to part with it. Galaad offers gold, but she isn’t impressed.

Later, however, having quested and travelled the world, he returns with three treasures: the philosopher’s stone, a phoenix egg, and the apple of life. This proves to be enough to tempt Mrs. Whittaker - mostly. She decides that the stone and the egg will be exchanged for the grail - two for one is a good deal, and the new additions will fit her collection. However, the apple, and its promise of renewed youth frightens her. While she remembers her youth with pleasure, she decides she would rather remain as she is - an old lady with her mundane, everyday life.

I loved the gentle humor of this story, and its treatment of old age. Gaiman is nowhere near pessimistic in this story, and grants age a realism and dignity that it deserves.

“The Price”

This one is a creepy horror story about a cat that adopts the narrator - and turns out to have a secret life fighting off the Devil at night.

“How to Talk to Girls at Parties”

This is the other YA oriented story. The narrator is friends with another high school aged boy. While the narrator is shy and awkward around girls, his friend is a true man-about-town, who has girls at his beck and call whenever he wants. The two friends decide to go out and crash a party in the neighborhood, but discover that it is, well, a bit unusual. At first it seems pretty normal. A bunch of young people, some underaged drinking, and snogging. Except that as the narrator starts actually talking to the girls, he finds out that they are, well, foreign. And not in the sense of exchange students from the continent, but as in from other worlds. The conversations become increasingly bizarre, until his friend - who had been trying to make out with the prettiest girl - comes down in a panic, and they flee.

You can read the whole story here, on Gaiman’s website. The story is certainly an interesting twist on the fear of girls at a certain age - and the way they seem to be from a different planet.

“Sunbird”

“Sunbird” is my other favorite story in the collection. The story was written for Gaiman’s daughter, and is “in the style of” science fiction writer R. A. Lafferty, supposedly. (I’ve never read Lafferty, so I would have no idea.

The Epicurean Club is devoted to eating everything possible. New tastes are all, and they have sampled everything from endangered species to flash-frozen mammoth and mastodon from thousands of years ago. And they are now suffering from ennui. It has all been eaten, all tasted, and there is nothing but boredom awaiting.

The oldest member, however, has a suggestion: they should travel to Cairo, and eat the Sunbird in Heliopolis. A few of the other members have a vague premonition of doom about the whole thing, but they can’t figure out why. What is the Sunbird, and why is it not mentioned in the minutes of the Club? And why is there a page missing which appears to have been burned? And, for that matter, why is the oldest member continually eating coals?

I won’t spoil the ending, but it is delightful.

“The Witch’s Headstone”

I won’t say too much about this one. It was made, nearly word for word, into a chapter in The Graveyard Book, which I reviewed earlier this year. In fact, don’t bother reading this story, just go straight to the full length book.

“Instructions”

This final one is a poem. It is a collection of advice for navigating a fairy tale or myth or legend. Throughout are references to tropes from the world of fantasy - including Gaiman’s own stories. You can find an annotated version here. 

As with the other audiobooks by Gaiman that we have listened to, the author himself narrates. Gaiman is delightful to listen to, and has a pleasant yet creepy voice. The title of the collection is a tribute to Ray Bradbury, and his collections R is for Rocket and S is for Space. Gaiman was an avid reader of short stories as a child, and Bradbury was one of his favorites.