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millennial_dandy's reviews
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The Drowned by John Banville
adventurous
dark
mysterious
tense
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
2.5
The Drowned was... not good. However, because John Banville is technically a good writer, I'll tack on an extra star for the lovely descriptive passages of rural Ireland.
This novel was presented as being a standalone, but it was definitely heavily advised by the two mystery series the characters were pulled from. This made it very difficult to get invested, since, like fanfiction, the attachment to the characters was assumed, and thus very little time was spent developing them.
That isn't, however, the reason I didn't enjoy this, and is also more the fault of the marketing team than of the novel itself.
The problems with the novel were diverse and resulted in a very miserable reading experience.
Frankly, the biggest problem I had with 'The Drowned' was the complete and utter fizzling out of the plot almost immidiately so that it went out very much with a whimper and not a bang. The only suspect is the guilty party, which is all but spelled out in neon straight away, and the motivation was so trite I almost couldn't believe a veteren mystery writer used it.
And then on top of that, we get a red herring thrown in right at the end that serves no purpose except to be deeply unpleasant.
In fact, unpleasant is probably the word I would use to summarize the vibe of this novel. The characters are all unpleasant, the circumstances around all of their interactions are unpleasant, the outcomes for a lot of the characters are unpleasant and vaguelly incoherant.
And then, to top it all off, the one central character of the novel that wasn't borrowed from the author's other two series randomly, and with no bearing on the plot, is a convicted pedophile. Ok, sure, you're writing a gritty mystery novel, the world does contain all sorts, alright, fine. Doesn't make the chapters from his perspective nicer to read, but alright, let's see where this goes.
Nowhere good.
The narrative bends over backwards to make us feel sorry for this guy for I daren't guess what reason. It's one thing to extend human empathy to someone deeply disturbed who has caused incredible harm, but it's another to build that same person up as sympathetic not in spite of such a crime, but <i>because</i> of it.
Before we know any of this, this character is built up as a meek social outcast, picked on by the local police when he just wants to be left alone to live out his days in solitude with his dog. <i>Why</i> frame this character that way? And then, we really lean into the 'let's all pity the poor man' framing later in the novel when he's accused of a crime he didn't commit (that, in fact, no one committed as it turns out).
And mind you, none of this matters because this guy has no bearing on the plot, simply existing within it as a sometimes POV character. So, again, I ask: why did we need this sympathetic framing and backstory? It made me uncomfortable for reasons extending beyond the borders of this story, I'll put it that way.
Indeed, there were a lot of unnecessarily uncomfortable things brewing within an otherwise uninspired plot. Why did the protagonist need to hook up with a married woman in her 4 year old son's bed? Why did there need to be such a huge age gap between the protagonist and his love interest and why did we need to keep emphasizing how young she was?
The vibes were rotten is what I'm trying to say, I guess.
I definitely do not feel the need to go anywhere near any other books by this author.
This novel was presented as being a standalone, but it was definitely heavily advised by the two mystery series the characters were pulled from. This made it very difficult to get invested, since, like fanfiction, the attachment to the characters was assumed, and thus very little time was spent developing them.
That isn't, however, the reason I didn't enjoy this, and is also more the fault of the marketing team than of the novel itself.
The problems with the novel were diverse and resulted in a very miserable reading experience.
Frankly, the biggest problem I had with 'The Drowned' was the complete and utter fizzling out of the plot almost immidiately so that it went out very much with a whimper and not a bang. The only suspect is the guilty party, which is all but spelled out in neon straight away, and the motivation was so trite I almost couldn't believe a veteren mystery writer used it.
And then on top of that, we get a red herring thrown in right at the end that serves no purpose except to be deeply unpleasant.
In fact, unpleasant is probably the word I would use to summarize the vibe of this novel. The characters are all unpleasant, the circumstances around all of their interactions are unpleasant, the outcomes for a lot of the characters are unpleasant and vaguelly incoherant.
And then, to top it all off, the one central character of the novel that wasn't borrowed from the author's other two series randomly, and with no bearing on the plot, is a convicted pedophile. Ok, sure, you're writing a gritty mystery novel, the world does contain all sorts, alright, fine. Doesn't make the chapters from his perspective nicer to read, but alright, let's see where this goes.
Nowhere good.
The narrative bends over backwards to make us feel sorry for this guy for I daren't guess what reason. It's one thing to extend human empathy to someone deeply disturbed who has caused incredible harm, but it's another to build that same person up as sympathetic not in spite of such a crime, but <i>because</i> of it.
Before we know any of this, this character is built up as a meek social outcast, picked on by the local police when he just wants to be left alone to live out his days in solitude with his dog. <i>Why</i> frame this character that way? And then, we really lean into the 'let's all pity the poor man' framing later in the novel when he's accused of a crime he didn't commit (that, in fact, no one committed as it turns out).
And mind you, none of this matters because this guy has no bearing on the plot, simply existing within it as a sometimes POV character. So, again, I ask: why did we need this sympathetic framing and backstory? It made me uncomfortable for reasons extending beyond the borders of this story, I'll put it that way.
Indeed, there were a lot of unnecessarily uncomfortable things brewing within an otherwise uninspired plot. Why did the protagonist need to hook up with a married woman in her 4 year old son's bed? Why did there need to be such a huge age gap between the protagonist and his love interest and why did we need to keep emphasizing how young she was?
The vibes were rotten is what I'm trying to say, I guess.
I definitely do not feel the need to go anywhere near any other books by this author.
The Wicked Bargain by Gabe Cole Novoa
adventurous
hopeful
mysterious
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? No
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
2.75
<b>2.75</b>
Oh, I so wanted to really like this.
For a novel that purports to be about pirates, there is stunningly little piracy in 'The Wicked Bargain.'
So, there's that right off the bat. We get some of the trappings: the outfits, the boat setting. And we're told many times that our protagonist, Mar, has a wildly successful pirate family and is themself an accomplished pirate. But we do not ever get to see this.
'The Wicked Bargain' also claims to be set in the Caribbean, and we get a lot of name-dropping of specific historical locations, but even by the author's own admission in their author's notes at the end of the book, they left out or altered so much of the historical timeline that I have no idea why they didn't just set it in a fictional world given that the veneer of historical accuracy and setting added nothing and in fact I know less than I knew before.
But frankly, this is YA Fantasy, so a lot of that nitpicking can somewhat be excused (by some). The pirate theme is just an aesthetic backdrop for the real tale: a Faustian bargain gone wrong, a ‘sins of the father’ sort of situation. The plot is that Mar has to rescue their father's soul from the Devil within 2 months. I think. We don't really circle back around to that until 2/3 of the way through.
In the interim, we follow Mar, orphaned and rescued by the one other pirate crew remaining in the Caribbean as they faff about and pretend they don't think the Captain's son, Bas, is hot.
'Why is Mar faffing about for 2/3 of the novel' one may ask. Well, that's because Mar has magical ice and fire powers but they don't want anyone to know about it because when they were a kid their magic got the best of them and they accidentally caused a volcano to erupt and destroyed their hometown. And also, there were some instances where people who saw them use magic called them a monster/demon and threatened their life.
As a result of this, they work very hard to suppress their magic even though doing so is physically painful and they also hide their magical markings by wrapping cloth around their arms and chest under their clothes so they can pass as 'normal'.
If you're thinking this seems like an allegory (albeit a clunky one) you'd be right except that Mar is both transmasculine and hella gay, so... wait, what's the point of the allegory? I dunno. And I don't think Gabe Cole Novoa knew either because Mar being trans matters...not at all.
Novoa tries to pretend that it matters by referencing Mar's chest binder from time to time, and even once or twice mentions that it's uncomfortable. But does it stop Mar from literally running around? No. Does Mar ever seem in danger of breaking a rib or hurting themself in any way when they have to go days upon days without taking it off? No. Is it convenient that Mar passes as a cis teenage boy 100% of the time no questions asked? Yes. Does all of this make them getting magical top surgery in the end feel incredibly limp rather than emotional impactful? Yes.
It's all very lame.
It actually brings to mind something that Booktuber Leah Nicole brings up in her video: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IbvP5sAIYgA&t=954s">The Problem with Black Books Addressing Race</a> about how oftentimes Black and POC authors themselves write whitewashed characters to appeal to/appease a presumed white audience. In other words: they write characters that aren't white in name only, but could be without much changing in the story.
I think that's what happened here. Mar could have easily not been trans and nothing significant about the story would have changed. And it's sad, because it was such a missed opportunity to explore how this character being trans would have/should have impacted their life in a situation where they suddenly feel like it's safer to live in stealth.
If we had gotten that story, some of the stakes would have felt higher. Mar binding for too long should have been dangerous. There should have been internal conflict about whether to prioritize their immediate physical safety over the risks of outing themself. If there had been, it also would have added tension to the question of whether or not Mar would make a deal with the demon side-character (who, incidentally, was a better representation of a non-binary character in almost every conceivable way) because it would have given a plausible reason for that deal to be tempting.
And none of these issues with Mar's identity even touch on the fact that trans or not, Mar was an incredibly unlikable character to have to follow around. This is an issue I have in general with books that do a tragic cold open: we don't get to see the character's personality before the tragedy happens, and so the aftermath is all we get. And in the aftermath of tragedy, most people are more likely going to be very sad, miserable, broken, and uninteresting versions of themselves.
The narrative <i>tells</i> us that Mar is witty and makes Bas laugh, but we don't <i>see</i> this happen, so why should we believe that? Why indeed should we believe that Bas likes Mar. Like, what about them moping around appealed to him exactly?
Just... Issues abounded.
It's readable enough if you don't apply any level of scrutiny, so as long as you don't think about any of it, it's... <i>fine </i>.
I am very determined to find good queer stories, but this wasn't it for me.
Oh, I so wanted to really like this.
For a novel that purports to be about pirates, there is stunningly little piracy in 'The Wicked Bargain.'
So, there's that right off the bat. We get some of the trappings: the outfits, the boat setting. And we're told many times that our protagonist, Mar, has a wildly successful pirate family and is themself an accomplished pirate. But we do not ever get to see this.
'The Wicked Bargain' also claims to be set in the Caribbean, and we get a lot of name-dropping of specific historical locations, but even by the author's own admission in their author's notes at the end of the book, they left out or altered so much of the historical timeline that I have no idea why they didn't just set it in a fictional world given that the veneer of historical accuracy and setting added nothing and in fact I know less than I knew before.
But frankly, this is YA Fantasy, so a lot of that nitpicking can somewhat be excused (by some). The pirate theme is just an aesthetic backdrop for the real tale: a Faustian bargain gone wrong, a ‘sins of the father’ sort of situation. The plot is that Mar has to rescue their father's soul from the Devil within 2 months. I think. We don't really circle back around to that until 2/3 of the way through.
In the interim, we follow Mar, orphaned and rescued by the one other pirate crew remaining in the Caribbean as they faff about and pretend they don't think the Captain's son, Bas, is hot.
'Why is Mar faffing about for 2/3 of the novel' one may ask. Well, that's because Mar has magical ice and fire powers but they don't want anyone to know about it because when they were a kid their magic got the best of them and they accidentally caused a volcano to erupt and destroyed their hometown. And also, there were some instances where people who saw them use magic called them a monster/demon and threatened their life.
As a result of this, they work very hard to suppress their magic even though doing so is physically painful and they also hide their magical markings by wrapping cloth around their arms and chest under their clothes so they can pass as 'normal'.
If you're thinking this seems like an allegory (albeit a clunky one) you'd be right except that Mar is both transmasculine and hella gay, so... wait, what's the point of the allegory? I dunno. And I don't think Gabe Cole Novoa knew either because Mar being trans matters...not at all.
Novoa tries to pretend that it matters by referencing Mar's chest binder from time to time, and even once or twice mentions that it's uncomfortable. But does it stop Mar from literally running around? No. Does Mar ever seem in danger of breaking a rib or hurting themself in any way when they have to go days upon days without taking it off? No. Is it convenient that Mar passes as a cis teenage boy 100% of the time no questions asked? Yes. Does all of this make them getting magical top surgery in the end feel incredibly limp rather than emotional impactful? Yes.
It's all very lame.
It actually brings to mind something that Booktuber Leah Nicole brings up in her video: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IbvP5sAIYgA&t=954s">The Problem with Black Books Addressing Race</a> about how oftentimes Black and POC authors themselves write whitewashed characters to appeal to/appease a presumed white audience. In other words: they write characters that aren't white in name only, but could be without much changing in the story.
I think that's what happened here. Mar could have easily not been trans and nothing significant about the story would have changed. And it's sad, because it was such a missed opportunity to explore how this character being trans would have/should have impacted their life in a situation where they suddenly feel like it's safer to live in stealth.
If we had gotten that story, some of the stakes would have felt higher. Mar binding for too long should have been dangerous. There should have been internal conflict about whether to prioritize their immediate physical safety over the risks of outing themself. If there had been, it also would have added tension to the question of whether or not Mar would make a deal with the demon side-character (who, incidentally, was a better representation of a non-binary character in almost every conceivable way) because it would have given a plausible reason for that deal to be tempting.
And none of these issues with Mar's identity even touch on the fact that trans or not, Mar was an incredibly unlikable character to have to follow around. This is an issue I have in general with books that do a tragic cold open: we don't get to see the character's personality before the tragedy happens, and so the aftermath is all we get. And in the aftermath of tragedy, most people are more likely going to be very sad, miserable, broken, and uninteresting versions of themselves.
The narrative <i>tells</i> us that Mar is witty and makes Bas laugh, but we don't <i>see</i> this happen, so why should we believe that? Why indeed should we believe that Bas likes Mar. Like, what about them moping around appealed to him exactly?
Just... Issues abounded.
It's readable enough if you don't apply any level of scrutiny, so as long as you don't think about any of it, it's... <i>fine </i>.
I am very determined to find good queer stories, but this wasn't it for me.
The Day of the Jackal by Frederick Forsyth
adventurous
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? No
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
2.5
<b>2.5</b>
<i>"His mouth tasted like a vulture's crotch."</i>
A classic of the 'man-lit' genre, 'Day of the Jackal' is an example of 'first doesn't always been best.' While it may well have pioneered aspects of the political intrigue thriller detective(ish) novels that came after it, on its own it's...not that good.
Granted, I am not the target audience for 'pew-pew', self-insert novels of this type (I learned that after reading a Clive Cussler last year), but even on a technical level, 'Day of the Jackal' is a flop. But it is a flop in a few interesting ways.
Number one on that list is the pacing. I can't think of many other books I've got under my belt where the pacing was this off. Breaking the novel into three sections ('Anatomy of a Plot', 'Anatomy of a Manhunt' and 'Anatomy of a Kill') seems like it should have helped, but it did not.
The first 90% of this novel is mind-numbingly slow, and grinds to an absolute stop when the main POV character and would-be assassin, the titular Jackal, goes to get a custom gun made. Nearly an entire chapter is dedicated to the excruciating back and forth between the Jackal and the gun-maker about the design of this gun. And it doesn't even matter, because according to the gun-fanatics in the reviews, it's not even a plausible gun, so it's not like this is a 'Moby Dick' let me explain the intricacies of whaling in minute detail type of situation. So why, <i>why</i> was it necessary to subject the reader to this? I can only imagine it was for Forsyth's own sadistic pleasure.
And then, after this slog of a plot finally (<i>finally</i>) reaches the climax we've all been waiting for: the assassination attempt, the entire novel wraps of so suddenly that if you blink, you'll miss it. As in: the climax, falling action, and resolution comprise the last 9 minutes of the audiobook, and I'm not even exaggerating. Insane.
So, that was the first problem. The second problem was a seeming indecision when it came to how/if to ground this story in reality. On the one hand, an immense amount of disbelief has to be suspended for the plot to make any sense. If you think about it even just a little bit, it is obviously neither clever nor plausible. Nothing, from the hiring of the assassin, to the assassin's plan, to the execution of that plan can withstand even an ounce of scrutiny. But hey, that could be find. This is, after all, an airport/beach read. However, Forsyth simply does not allow you to turn your brain off and just get swept up in the excitement because he keeps trying to make you believe this all makes sense through the amount of (unnecessary) procedural information he includes.
This flows into the third problem, which was that Forsyth did not seem to understand what about a plot hatched by the remnants of a French dissident paramilitary organisation to kill Charles de Gaulle, the President of France, would be interesting. First of all, the conflict between this paramilitary organization and the French President is built up only in broad strokes, and then falls completely out of the story, never to be referenced again, even though that should be the most interesting part of the set-up and a backbone of the plot. But no. We don't really get to know the dissidents or get an understanding of their motivations and we don't get to know de Gaulle at all, so there is zero tension around whether he lives or dies.
Then, halfway through the novel, we get introduced to the French detective who, after the assassination plot is uncovered, is tapped to discover the identity of the assassin and neutralize him before he can take a literal shot at the President. This should have been interesting, because while the Jackal is a lone gunman running around lawlessly, the detective has to operated within the bureaucracy and geo-political constraints of the times. Could be interesting, except that we already know exactly who the jackal is and how he wants to execute his plan, and so we just end up getting almost all the information twice, just through separate POVs (this was part of the reason why the pace was so glacially slow).
It genuinely feels like Forsyth is trying to give the reader two options for a self-insert fantasy: choose your fighter; the badass assassin or the clever detective and so they both flop in terms of characterization, though the detective character is slightly more fleshed out.
Truly, other than that, I cannot begin to guess why we even got the Jackal's POV at all, nevermind the text being dominated by it.
Overall, this was (and I cannot stress this enough) incredibly s l o w and oftentimes dull, with a conclusion that trips over itself in its haste to wrap things up as though the words themselves realize how lame the whole thing ultimately is.
There are other things that could be critiqued, like the fact that we're told about a million times how excellent and cool the Jackal is, only for him to...not be excellent or cool. Or, we could discuss the many subplots that are given an insane amount of screen time, only for them to be a small step towards catching up with the assassin. Or, we could talk about how the Jackal's plans always hinge on the person he's talking to be distracted or bad at their jobs. Or, we could talk about how the Jackal is just...a guy, but his mere presence is enough to cow all these top people in the criminal underworld.
But I think I've made my points.
That all being said, 'The Day of the Jackal' is a masterclass in all the things you should not do if you want to write an action thriller, so it does have that added value.
<i>"His mouth tasted like a vulture's crotch."</i>
A classic of the 'man-lit' genre, 'Day of the Jackal' is an example of 'first doesn't always been best.' While it may well have pioneered aspects of the political intrigue thriller detective(ish) novels that came after it, on its own it's...not that good.
Granted, I am not the target audience for 'pew-pew', self-insert novels of this type (I learned that after reading a Clive Cussler last year), but even on a technical level, 'Day of the Jackal' is a flop. But it is a flop in a few interesting ways.
Number one on that list is the pacing. I can't think of many other books I've got under my belt where the pacing was this off. Breaking the novel into three sections ('Anatomy of a Plot', 'Anatomy of a Manhunt' and 'Anatomy of a Kill') seems like it should have helped, but it did not.
The first 90% of this novel is mind-numbingly slow, and grinds to an absolute stop when the main POV character and would-be assassin, the titular Jackal, goes to get a custom gun made. Nearly an entire chapter is dedicated to the excruciating back and forth between the Jackal and the gun-maker about the design of this gun. And it doesn't even matter, because according to the gun-fanatics in the reviews, it's not even a plausible gun, so it's not like this is a 'Moby Dick' let me explain the intricacies of whaling in minute detail type of situation. So why, <i>why</i> was it necessary to subject the reader to this? I can only imagine it was for Forsyth's own sadistic pleasure.
And then, after this slog of a plot finally (<i>finally</i>) reaches the climax we've all been waiting for: the assassination attempt, the entire novel wraps of so suddenly that if you blink, you'll miss it. As in: the climax, falling action, and resolution comprise the last 9 minutes of the audiobook, and I'm not even exaggerating. Insane.
So, that was the first problem. The second problem was a seeming indecision when it came to how/if to ground this story in reality. On the one hand, an immense amount of disbelief has to be suspended for the plot to make any sense. If you think about it even just a little bit, it is obviously neither clever nor plausible. Nothing, from the hiring of the assassin, to the assassin's plan, to the execution of that plan can withstand even an ounce of scrutiny. But hey, that could be find. This is, after all, an airport/beach read. However, Forsyth simply does not allow you to turn your brain off and just get swept up in the excitement because he keeps trying to make you believe this all makes sense through the amount of (unnecessary) procedural information he includes.
This flows into the third problem, which was that Forsyth did not seem to understand what about a plot hatched by the remnants of a French dissident paramilitary organisation to kill Charles de Gaulle, the President of France, would be interesting. First of all, the conflict between this paramilitary organization and the French President is built up only in broad strokes, and then falls completely out of the story, never to be referenced again, even though that should be the most interesting part of the set-up and a backbone of the plot. But no. We don't really get to know the dissidents or get an understanding of their motivations and we don't get to know de Gaulle at all, so there is zero tension around whether he lives or dies.
Then, halfway through the novel, we get introduced to the French detective who, after the assassination plot is uncovered, is tapped to discover the identity of the assassin and neutralize him before he can take a literal shot at the President. This should have been interesting, because while the Jackal is a lone gunman running around lawlessly, the detective has to operated within the bureaucracy and geo-political constraints of the times. Could be interesting, except that we already know exactly who the jackal is and how he wants to execute his plan, and so we just end up getting almost all the information twice, just through separate POVs (this was part of the reason why the pace was so glacially slow).
It genuinely feels like Forsyth is trying to give the reader two options for a self-insert fantasy: choose your fighter; the badass assassin or the clever detective and so they both flop in terms of characterization, though the detective character is slightly more fleshed out.
Truly, other than that, I cannot begin to guess why we even got the Jackal's POV at all, nevermind the text being dominated by it.
Overall, this was (and I cannot stress this enough) incredibly s l o w and oftentimes dull, with a conclusion that trips over itself in its haste to wrap things up as though the words themselves realize how lame the whole thing ultimately is.
There are other things that could be critiqued, like the fact that we're told about a million times how excellent and cool the Jackal is, only for him to...not be excellent or cool. Or, we could discuss the many subplots that are given an insane amount of screen time, only for them to be a small step towards catching up with the assassin. Or, we could talk about how the Jackal's plans always hinge on the person he's talking to be distracted or bad at their jobs. Or, we could talk about how the Jackal is just...a guy, but his mere presence is enough to cow all these top people in the criminal underworld.
But I think I've made my points.
That all being said, 'The Day of the Jackal' is a masterclass in all the things you should not do if you want to write an action thriller, so it does have that added value.
The Eternal Husband by Constance Garnett, Fyodor Dostoevsky
dark
emotional
tense
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
5.0
<b>The Eternal Husband: 4.5 rounded up to 5</b
<i>"He had just grasped the cause of his sadness, that peculiar and unique sadness of his which had been tormenting him for several days in a row now, pestering him, God knew how terribly and God knew why, and refusing to leave him alone... But now he grasped it all, understood everything, and it was as obvious to him as the palm of his open hand. 'It's all the fault of that hat,' he muttered, in a flash of intuition." </i> (p.314)
'The Eternal Husband' is truly Dostoevsky at his best: a trim novel, very small in scope, that allows him to sink deep into the principle characters, their relationship, their diverse neuroses. And he also has the freedom in a novel where he isn't taking himself too seriously to be incredibly funny and lean into an almost absurdist humour that he does so well.
This novel delighted me, I was incredibly engaged, I never really knew where it was going or what would happen next, but then when we arrived at the conclusion everything fell into place and wrapped up with a cohesion and coherence he sometimes struggled with in longer, more serious works like 'The Idiot'.
In 'The Eternal Husband' we follow Alexei Velchaninov, a middle-aged man stuck in less of a mid-life crisis than a mid-life, anxiety-riddled rut. He's developed hypochondria and he's living as a quasi-agoraphobe when, through a series of events reminiscent of something from Gogol or Dostoevsky's own 'The Double', he is reacquainted with an old friend he hasn't seen in nearly a decade, Trusotsky. It's quickly revealed that this is in fact incredibly awkward for Velchaninov because he had an affair with Trusotsky's wife, who Trusotsky reveals has just died.
The rest of the story revolves around Velchaninov trying desperately to figure out whether Trusotsky knows about the affair and is dangling that over his head, or whether he doesn't know and simply wants to reconnect with an old friend. And all the while, Trusotsky becomes more and more manic and erratic, which comes to a head at the novel's climax.
Something interesting that complicates the dynamics between Velchaninov and Trusotsky is Dostoevsky's employment of homoeroticism. The characters very openly discuss whether or not Trusotsky is doomed to be an 'eternal husband' (Dostoevsky's poetic way of saying 'cuck') in part because he is himself in love with Velchaninov. He even drunkenly coerces Velchaninov to kiss him at one point:
<blockquote> "All of a sudden he blurted out: 'kiss me, Alexei!' 'You're drunk!' Velchaninov shouted, reeling back. 'So I am. But still you must kiss me. Go on, Alexei, do it!' [...] Suddenly [Velchaninov] bent down - for he towered a whole head over Trusotsky- and kissed him on the lips." (p.367-368)</blockquote>
Afterwards, Velchaninov reflects that there is perhaps something to the tension between them: <i>"It struck him as strange that he felt no anger whatever toward the man and that there was something quite different in his feelings, a sort of new impulse."</i>(p.391)
This element makes the stakes of the tension and intrigue feel a bit higher and more complicated in a way that really added a layer to an otherwise fairly straightforward plot about infidelity and betrayal.
Memorable, well-characterized pro- and an-tagonists, relatively fast-paced, good writing while remaining accessible. I'm honestly surprised this one seems to have largely fallen through the cracks because compared with some of his more famous offerings, 'The Eternal Husband' has a relatively low bar of entry while still being a good introduction to Dostoevsky's writing style, if not his loftier authorial preoccupations.
Highly recommend.
<i>"He had just grasped the cause of his sadness, that peculiar and unique sadness of his which had been tormenting him for several days in a row now, pestering him, God knew how terribly and God knew why, and refusing to leave him alone... But now he grasped it all, understood everything, and it was as obvious to him as the palm of his open hand. 'It's all the fault of that hat,' he muttered, in a flash of intuition." </i> (p.314)
'The Eternal Husband' is truly Dostoevsky at his best: a trim novel, very small in scope, that allows him to sink deep into the principle characters, their relationship, their diverse neuroses. And he also has the freedom in a novel where he isn't taking himself too seriously to be incredibly funny and lean into an almost absurdist humour that he does so well.
This novel delighted me, I was incredibly engaged, I never really knew where it was going or what would happen next, but then when we arrived at the conclusion everything fell into place and wrapped up with a cohesion and coherence he sometimes struggled with in longer, more serious works like 'The Idiot'.
In 'The Eternal Husband' we follow Alexei Velchaninov, a middle-aged man stuck in less of a mid-life crisis than a mid-life, anxiety-riddled rut. He's developed hypochondria and he's living as a quasi-agoraphobe when, through a series of events reminiscent of something from Gogol or Dostoevsky's own 'The Double', he is reacquainted with an old friend he hasn't seen in nearly a decade, Trusotsky. It's quickly revealed that this is in fact incredibly awkward for Velchaninov because he had an affair with Trusotsky's wife, who Trusotsky reveals has just died.
The rest of the story revolves around Velchaninov trying desperately to figure out whether Trusotsky knows about the affair and is dangling that over his head, or whether he doesn't know and simply wants to reconnect with an old friend. And all the while, Trusotsky becomes more and more manic and erratic, which comes to a head at the novel's climax.
Something interesting that complicates the dynamics between Velchaninov and Trusotsky is Dostoevsky's employment of homoeroticism. The characters very openly discuss whether or not Trusotsky is doomed to be an 'eternal husband' (Dostoevsky's poetic way of saying 'cuck') in part because he is himself in love with Velchaninov. He even drunkenly coerces Velchaninov to kiss him at one point:
<blockquote> "All of a sudden he blurted out: 'kiss me, Alexei!' 'You're drunk!' Velchaninov shouted, reeling back. 'So I am. But still you must kiss me. Go on, Alexei, do it!' [...] Suddenly [Velchaninov] bent down - for he towered a whole head over Trusotsky- and kissed him on the lips." (p.367-368)</blockquote>
Afterwards, Velchaninov reflects that there is perhaps something to the tension between them: <i>"It struck him as strange that he felt no anger whatever toward the man and that there was something quite different in his feelings, a sort of new impulse."</i>(p.391)
This element makes the stakes of the tension and intrigue feel a bit higher and more complicated in a way that really added a layer to an otherwise fairly straightforward plot about infidelity and betrayal.
Memorable, well-characterized pro- and an-tagonists, relatively fast-paced, good writing while remaining accessible. I'm honestly surprised this one seems to have largely fallen through the cracks because compared with some of his more famous offerings, 'The Eternal Husband' has a relatively low bar of entry while still being a good introduction to Dostoevsky's writing style, if not his loftier authorial preoccupations.
Highly recommend.
Suspicion by Julia Grice
adventurous
dark
tense
medium-paced
3.5
'Suspicion' isn't a novel that relies on shock, surprise, or twists to keep itself going: you pretty much understand immediately what is happening and what's going to happen. Julia Grice tries to throw in a pretty Ludacris third act twist that barely makes sense, but we didn't need that, and the narrative didn't really call for it. At least, not in the way it happens.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Horror is particularly adept at handling duality. That is to say, what you see is very rarely, if ever, what it's actually about.
On the surface, Suspicion is about a crazy killer brutally beating women in metro-Detroit to death in their homes, and he just might be the protagonist's handsome fiancé. This part of the plot is pretty by the numbers, but serviceable.
What <i>I</i> found interesting about it was <i>why</i> the protagonist was able to get sucked in by a guy who is so obviously a freak even without being a killer. Her best friend doesn't like him, her son hates this guy, but she stands by him even in the face of pretty clear evidence that he's 'The Basher.'
Why?
Well, because before the start of the story, she'd been dumped by her first husband after battling breast cancer and getting a partial mastectomy. And not only after all that, but <i>because</i> of that. As in: her then husband viewed her, in no uncertain terms, as damaged goods, claiming that her cancer had been hard on him too, and that seeing her sick and now having to live with her and adjust to the physical changes that illness resulted in was too much for him and he simply wasn't attracted to her anymore.
Horrible, ew, gross: I hate it.
But... is it unbelievable? I don't think so. There's an ugly truthfulness to a set-up like that that made this woman's depression-fueled desperation to believe in the first guy to give her positive attention after that believable and sympathetic.
And this is hammered in by Grice over and over again. Every time the protagonist gets a niggling feeling that something isn't quite right about this new relationship, she tells herself that, in a way, she owes him her loyalty because he's willing to; accept' the fact that she's this damaged, deformed, middle-aged creature with a rebellious teenaged son.
You really just wanted to shake this woman and tell her to get a grip, except that...well... there was a little bit of truth to her feelings and fears.
And that was the real horror of the story.
I also enjoyed the character arc her son got, and the ending (after an...<i>imperfect</i> climax) was actually pretty wholesome and thoughtful, and I can't begin to express how glad I was that it didn't involve this woman being rescued by some implied future love interest.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Horror is particularly adept at handling duality. That is to say, what you see is very rarely, if ever, what it's actually about.
On the surface, Suspicion is about a crazy killer brutally beating women in metro-Detroit to death in their homes, and he just might be the protagonist's handsome fiancé. This part of the plot is pretty by the numbers, but serviceable.
What <i>I</i> found interesting about it was <i>why</i> the protagonist was able to get sucked in by a guy who is so obviously a freak even without being a killer. Her best friend doesn't like him, her son hates this guy, but she stands by him even in the face of pretty clear evidence that he's 'The Basher.'
Why?
Well, because before the start of the story, she'd been dumped by her first husband after battling breast cancer and getting a partial mastectomy. And not only after all that, but <i>because</i> of that. As in: her then husband viewed her, in no uncertain terms, as damaged goods, claiming that her cancer had been hard on him too, and that seeing her sick and now having to live with her and adjust to the physical changes that illness resulted in was too much for him and he simply wasn't attracted to her anymore.
Horrible, ew, gross: I hate it.
But... is it unbelievable? I don't think so. There's an ugly truthfulness to a set-up like that that made this woman's depression-fueled desperation to believe in the first guy to give her positive attention after that believable and sympathetic.
And this is hammered in by Grice over and over again. Every time the protagonist gets a niggling feeling that something isn't quite right about this new relationship, she tells herself that, in a way, she owes him her loyalty because he's willing to; accept' the fact that she's this damaged, deformed, middle-aged creature with a rebellious teenaged son.
You really just wanted to shake this woman and tell her to get a grip, except that...well... there was a little bit of truth to her feelings and fears.
And that was the real horror of the story.
I also enjoyed the character arc her son got, and the ending (after an...<i>imperfect</i> climax) was actually pretty wholesome and thoughtful, and I can't begin to express how glad I was that it didn't involve this woman being rescued by some implied future love interest.
Content Warnings
Graphic: Child abuse, Violence
Moderate: Domestic abuse, Gore, Misogyny, Blood
The Women Could Fly by Megan Giddings
dark
mysterious
tense
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? No
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
3.25
'The Women Could Fly' is a great example of how important it is for an author to trust their readers. What could have been an excellent novel was hampered by too much exposition, and left me wondering who Megan Giddings wrote it for.
This is an author who is clearly very interested in looking at the intersections of gender and race and class, at the absurdities and contradictions within the subjugation of minority groups. So, for a novel so short, it was vast in scope. However, there was enough meat on the bones of the plot that it could have held itself up with fewer diatribes and more story.
Now listen, I'm a card-carrying 'woke' leftist, so my annoyance with Giddings's 'tell > show' approach had nothing to do with what she was saying and everything to do with the fact that as someone who already agreed with her and is familiar with things like intersectionality, with racialized womanhood, with the oppression of women under patriarchy I didn't need a 101 lesson in a fantasy novel, especially when it felt so redundant since the plot was already presenting these arguments for her.
In fact, the best parts were the plot threads that she allowed to exist without exposition. Our protagonist, Jo, being a bisexual woman in a world where unmarried women have to register with the state and who face potential charges of witchcraft was really interesting. It created such compelling tension when the person she fell in love with was a man. Her inner turmoil over whether or not she loved him because of who he was or because being with him made her life easier was incredibly gripping, and I genuinely wanted to know how that was going to be resolved. Especially when her love interest proves himself to be a perfectly likable person who was earnestly invested in her and in their relationship. Yet still, it was understandable why Jo felt weird about it. About the fact that within a straight relationship in this world he would always have power over her, even if he never used it.
The actual institution of witchcraft accusation and prosecution felt grounded and pretty well thought out, and I think the disconnect she depicted between 'witch hunts' and the reality of the witches being hunted made for a successful allegory for the persecution in the real world of other marginalized groups (the villainization and persecution of trans people certainly comes to mind...).
I thought it was a funny touch to include the irony and hypocrisy of the popularity of witchy aesthetics and witchy art in an anti-witch society. Very: we like the parts of you that can be capitalized off of, but not you as real people (very reminiscent of the commodification of Black art, especially music and street style).
Great stuff.
The magic was really interesting too. Again, because Giddings didn't spend so much time trying to explain the magic system and how it worked, it was something we simply got to experience through Jo's eyes, and that allowed it to feel a lot more whimsical and, well, magical. I liked that the spells were community-based, and that it was most dangerous to a wielder if someone tried to step out on their own. I thought it was neat that the witches themselves didn't completely understand how it worked or where it came from and were figuring it out as they went along. The idea that spell-casting involved a lot of scientific method style trial and error grounded it well without ever making it lose its wild essence.
Overall, there was nothing wrong with the plot, and I actually found the plot itself a lot more interesting even than what the blurb described, but it was everything else around it that dragged the reading experience down for me. The pacing was super off, especially towards the end, and it kind of felt like Giddings herself lost steam and suddenly just tacked 'the end' onto a rushed climax.
I really wish an editor or beta reader somewhere along the line had suggested scaling back significantly on the blunt moments of 'd'ya get it? You get it, right? Let me spell it out in case you didn't get it' because 'The Women Could Fly' really didn't need it, and it felt oddly amateurish for someone with a few novels under their belt already.
This is an author who is clearly very interested in looking at the intersections of gender and race and class, at the absurdities and contradictions within the subjugation of minority groups. So, for a novel so short, it was vast in scope. However, there was enough meat on the bones of the plot that it could have held itself up with fewer diatribes and more story.
Now listen, I'm a card-carrying 'woke' leftist, so my annoyance with Giddings's 'tell > show' approach had nothing to do with what she was saying and everything to do with the fact that as someone who already agreed with her and is familiar with things like intersectionality, with racialized womanhood, with the oppression of women under patriarchy I didn't need a 101 lesson in a fantasy novel, especially when it felt so redundant since the plot was already presenting these arguments for her.
In fact, the best parts were the plot threads that she allowed to exist without exposition. Our protagonist, Jo, being a bisexual woman in a world where unmarried women have to register with the state and who face potential charges of witchcraft was really interesting. It created such compelling tension when the person she fell in love with was a man. Her inner turmoil over whether or not she loved him because of who he was or because being with him made her life easier was incredibly gripping, and I genuinely wanted to know how that was going to be resolved. Especially when her love interest proves himself to be a perfectly likable person who was earnestly invested in her and in their relationship. Yet still, it was understandable why Jo felt weird about it. About the fact that within a straight relationship in this world he would always have power over her, even if he never used it.
The actual institution of witchcraft accusation and prosecution felt grounded and pretty well thought out, and I think the disconnect she depicted between 'witch hunts' and the reality of the witches being hunted made for a successful allegory for the persecution in the real world of other marginalized groups (the villainization and persecution of trans people certainly comes to mind...).
I thought it was a funny touch to include the irony and hypocrisy of the popularity of witchy aesthetics and witchy art in an anti-witch society. Very: we like the parts of you that can be capitalized off of, but not you as real people (very reminiscent of the commodification of Black art, especially music and street style).
Great stuff.
The magic was really interesting too. Again, because Giddings didn't spend so much time trying to explain the magic system and how it worked, it was something we simply got to experience through Jo's eyes, and that allowed it to feel a lot more whimsical and, well, magical. I liked that the spells were community-based, and that it was most dangerous to a wielder if someone tried to step out on their own. I thought it was neat that the witches themselves didn't completely understand how it worked or where it came from and were figuring it out as they went along. The idea that spell-casting involved a lot of scientific method style trial and error grounded it well without ever making it lose its wild essence.
Overall, there was nothing wrong with the plot, and I actually found the plot itself a lot more interesting even than what the blurb described, but it was everything else around it that dragged the reading experience down for me. The pacing was super off, especially towards the end, and it kind of felt like Giddings herself lost steam and suddenly just tacked 'the end' onto a rushed climax.
I really wish an editor or beta reader somewhere along the line had suggested scaling back significantly on the blunt moments of 'd'ya get it? You get it, right? Let me spell it out in case you didn't get it' because 'The Women Could Fly' really didn't need it, and it felt oddly amateurish for someone with a few novels under their belt already.
Beyond Illusions by Nina McPherson, Dương Thu Hương
emotional
reflective
sad
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
5.0
<i>"How could I have loved him like that?"</i> p.1
In languorous, sensuous prose that draws you in from the very opening lines, Duong Thu Huong crafts a complicated parable about the convictions we hold in our inner worlds, and what happens when they work against our best material interests. 'What are you willing to sacrifice (if anything) to live your truth?' she asks.
The plot itself follows Linh, who instantly falls out of love with her once beloved husband when she discovers he's been writing propaganda articles for the government despite having been a staunch defender of honesty in journalism in his youth. This betrayal of what he claimed to hold as a core value causes her to pull away from him emotionally, and then physically, and ultimately, she leaves him.
The two spend much of the rest of the novel wrestling with what their separation means for the future of their family unit, and in particular how the break between them impacts their young daughter. Is it ultimately better for their daughter to be with the parent who tells lies for a living but can financially support his child, or with the parent who stands strongly for the truth but can hardly even support herself on her teaching salary?
The situation grows in complexity when Linh starts up a very public affair with a famous composer, who, unlike her estranged husband, claims to be willing to speak truth to power. Claims he'd remain true to his art before he'd ever be true to the State.
However, unbeknownst to Linh, this composer has designs of his own, and a history of seducing and then tossing aside women. Things comes to a head when a relative of the composer's wife turns out to be in a position to return the composer to his former status within the establishment.
Meanwhile, Linh's increasingly isolated husband, Nguyen, faces a moral quandary head on when he is approached by his boss at the journal where he works to write a completely made-up story to save the reputation of a man accused of a heinous crime.
Throughout the text, Huong is constantly pitting these ideas of truth and honor against the realities of living in an authoritarian regime against each other. She seems to suggest that there is nuance to be found. The comfortable life Nguyen can provide for his wife and daughter is only possible if he writes propaganda articles. He argues that if he stood up to his boss on principle, he'd simply be fired and replaced with someone else, and the only thing that would change would be that his family would quickly become destitute. “How could we have survived if I had remained as pure as you wanted me to be?” (p.53) But even he has limits to what he's personally willing to lie about, though he only feels able to push back once he gives up the responsibility of providing for his daughter. Perhaps he's willing to put <i>himself</i> into poverty rather than bend his morals, but he wasn't willing to do that to his family.
Meanwhile, Linh, in pursuing a life of truth, ends up barely able to earn enough to live off of, often foregoing meals so that her daughter can eat. It is framed as irresponsible and prideful rather than strongly virtuous. One person classifies her pride as 'pathological.'
And of course, there's the irony of the man she has an affair with donning the aesthetics of moral conviction while secretly believing nothing of what he says, and abandoning it as soon as it's expedient to do so because his dislike of the regime was based on spite rather than stemming from an axiomatic belief.
In a strange way, considering the ages of the people involved, ‘Beyond Illusions’ is a coming-of-age story. Linh is constantly classified as very naïve and sheltered in an almost infantilizing way. Some analyses of the novel suggest that she is a stand-in for all Vietnamese people who grew up when revolution was in the zeitgeist and had earnest if ultimately unrealistic, idealized notions of what the new Vietnam could be. Is then the composer an allegory for the Communist Party, reeling these young people in by (in this case literally) seducing them with empty promises of rightiousness? Is Linh's story an allegory for the realization by Vietnam's youth that their dreams of a brave new world were based on lies?
Maybe.
Read and find out.
The novel ends on the somber, but quietly optimistic note that while the only person materially rewarded for their behavior is the composer, both Lihn and Nguyen walk away from the dissolution of their marriage into a life...beyond illusions.
In languorous, sensuous prose that draws you in from the very opening lines, Duong Thu Huong crafts a complicated parable about the convictions we hold in our inner worlds, and what happens when they work against our best material interests. 'What are you willing to sacrifice (if anything) to live your truth?' she asks.
The plot itself follows Linh, who instantly falls out of love with her once beloved husband when she discovers he's been writing propaganda articles for the government despite having been a staunch defender of honesty in journalism in his youth. This betrayal of what he claimed to hold as a core value causes her to pull away from him emotionally, and then physically, and ultimately, she leaves him.
The two spend much of the rest of the novel wrestling with what their separation means for the future of their family unit, and in particular how the break between them impacts their young daughter. Is it ultimately better for their daughter to be with the parent who tells lies for a living but can financially support his child, or with the parent who stands strongly for the truth but can hardly even support herself on her teaching salary?
The situation grows in complexity when Linh starts up a very public affair with a famous composer, who, unlike her estranged husband, claims to be willing to speak truth to power. Claims he'd remain true to his art before he'd ever be true to the State.
However, unbeknownst to Linh, this composer has designs of his own, and a history of seducing and then tossing aside women. Things comes to a head when a relative of the composer's wife turns out to be in a position to return the composer to his former status within the establishment.
Meanwhile, Linh's increasingly isolated husband, Nguyen, faces a moral quandary head on when he is approached by his boss at the journal where he works to write a completely made-up story to save the reputation of a man accused of a heinous crime.
Throughout the text, Huong is constantly pitting these ideas of truth and honor against the realities of living in an authoritarian regime against each other. She seems to suggest that there is nuance to be found. The comfortable life Nguyen can provide for his wife and daughter is only possible if he writes propaganda articles. He argues that if he stood up to his boss on principle, he'd simply be fired and replaced with someone else, and the only thing that would change would be that his family would quickly become destitute. “How could we have survived if I had remained as pure as you wanted me to be?” (p.53) But even he has limits to what he's personally willing to lie about, though he only feels able to push back once he gives up the responsibility of providing for his daughter. Perhaps he's willing to put <i>himself</i> into poverty rather than bend his morals, but he wasn't willing to do that to his family.
Meanwhile, Linh, in pursuing a life of truth, ends up barely able to earn enough to live off of, often foregoing meals so that her daughter can eat. It is framed as irresponsible and prideful rather than strongly virtuous. One person classifies her pride as 'pathological.'
And of course, there's the irony of the man she has an affair with donning the aesthetics of moral conviction while secretly believing nothing of what he says, and abandoning it as soon as it's expedient to do so because his dislike of the regime was based on spite rather than stemming from an axiomatic belief.
In a strange way, considering the ages of the people involved, ‘Beyond Illusions’ is a coming-of-age story. Linh is constantly classified as very naïve and sheltered in an almost infantilizing way. Some analyses of the novel suggest that she is a stand-in for all Vietnamese people who grew up when revolution was in the zeitgeist and had earnest if ultimately unrealistic, idealized notions of what the new Vietnam could be. Is then the composer an allegory for the Communist Party, reeling these young people in by (in this case literally) seducing them with empty promises of rightiousness? Is Linh's story an allegory for the realization by Vietnam's youth that their dreams of a brave new world were based on lies?
Maybe.
Read and find out.
The novel ends on the somber, but quietly optimistic note that while the only person materially rewarded for their behavior is the composer, both Lihn and Nguyen walk away from the dissolution of their marriage into a life...beyond illusions.
22 Malaysian Stories by Lee Kok Liang, Lloyd Fernando
emotional
reflective
sad
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
4.0
<b>3.75 rounded up to 4</b>
<B>~List of full contents below~</B>
<center><i>"Believe in what you believe enough to change yourself."</i> (p.228, from 'Ibrahim Something' by Lee Kok Liang) </center>
Short story collections tend to fall into the trap of leaving a reader feeling somewhat neutral just by the very nature of the genre. Unless the theme of the collection has completely missed the mark, I tend to find the ones I pick up to comprise of a few highs and a lot of fine but forgettable stories.
This collection, 'Twenty-Two Malaysian Stories', has the added layer of including 13 different writers so as to act as a survey of Malaysian authors writing in English at the period of its publication (the late 1960s). This makes it even more unlikely for every story to be a hit.
That being said, the editor, Lloyd Fernando, did an excellent job putting this collection together. The authors come from a range of backgrounds (men and women from all over the country, from different lines of work, some have poetry backgrounds, some have a long writing career, some are newer), and have very different points of few, but the wistful melancholy of the Malaysian zeitgeist of the 1960s ties everything together.
As a survey of Malaysian writers, this collection is supremely successful at introducing talented writers to an audience who otherwise might not know where to begin in searching out Malaysian authors. And even if no one author stood out enough to a reader to make them search out their other work, such a reader would still come away, as I did, with a very clear idea of what Malaysia was like at the time, how culture there was evolving, and within what context that evolution and the anxieties and turmolt that come with it existed.
I was delighted that the writer I connected with the most, Lee Kok Liang, was given the most space in the collection. From his first story, 'Return to Malaya' I was completely absorbed in his point of view, and the tactile nature of his writing style sucked me in every time. They seem to be rather hard to find here in the west, but I'm determined to get my hands on a copy of one of his novels or short story collections because I want more of that.
Other standouts for me were 'Everything's Arranged' by Siew Yue Killingley and 'Accident' by Maureen Ten.
<b>Table of Contents</B>
<b>1.</b> Lee Kok Liang: 'Return to Malaya', 'It's All in a Dream', 'When the Saints Go Marching', 'Just a Girl', 'Birthday', 'The Glittering Game', 'Ibrahim Something'
<b>2.</b> Kassim Ahmad: 'A Common Story'
<b>3.</b> Siew Yue Killingley: 'A Question of Dowry', 'Everything's Arranged'
<b>4.</b> Yap Kok Keong: 'A Family Quarrel'
<b>5.</b>Lim Beng Hap: 'Tricked Again', 'Poonek'
<b>6.</b>S. Kon: 'Inheritance', 'Mushroom Harvest' (this is the only sci-fi/dystopian story)
<b>7.</b>Shirley Lim: 'Journey'
<b>8.</b> Awang Kedua: 'A New Sensation'
<b>9.</b>Chua Cheng Lok: 'Down by the Sea'
<b>10.</b>Goh Poh Seng: 'The Temple Bells'
<b>11.</b>Mary Frances Chong: 'The Jade Bracelet'
<b>12.</b>John Machado: 'Passing Through'
<b>13.</b> Maureen Ten: 'Accident'
<B>~List of full contents below~</B>
<center><i>"Believe in what you believe enough to change yourself."</i> (p.228, from 'Ibrahim Something' by Lee Kok Liang) </center>
Short story collections tend to fall into the trap of leaving a reader feeling somewhat neutral just by the very nature of the genre. Unless the theme of the collection has completely missed the mark, I tend to find the ones I pick up to comprise of a few highs and a lot of fine but forgettable stories.
This collection, 'Twenty-Two Malaysian Stories', has the added layer of including 13 different writers so as to act as a survey of Malaysian authors writing in English at the period of its publication (the late 1960s). This makes it even more unlikely for every story to be a hit.
That being said, the editor, Lloyd Fernando, did an excellent job putting this collection together. The authors come from a range of backgrounds (men and women from all over the country, from different lines of work, some have poetry backgrounds, some have a long writing career, some are newer), and have very different points of few, but the wistful melancholy of the Malaysian zeitgeist of the 1960s ties everything together.
As a survey of Malaysian writers, this collection is supremely successful at introducing talented writers to an audience who otherwise might not know where to begin in searching out Malaysian authors. And even if no one author stood out enough to a reader to make them search out their other work, such a reader would still come away, as I did, with a very clear idea of what Malaysia was like at the time, how culture there was evolving, and within what context that evolution and the anxieties and turmolt that come with it existed.
I was delighted that the writer I connected with the most, Lee Kok Liang, was given the most space in the collection. From his first story, 'Return to Malaya' I was completely absorbed in his point of view, and the tactile nature of his writing style sucked me in every time. They seem to be rather hard to find here in the west, but I'm determined to get my hands on a copy of one of his novels or short story collections because I want more of that.
Other standouts for me were 'Everything's Arranged' by Siew Yue Killingley and 'Accident' by Maureen Ten.
<b>Table of Contents</B>
<b>1.</b> Lee Kok Liang: 'Return to Malaya', 'It's All in a Dream', 'When the Saints Go Marching', 'Just a Girl', 'Birthday', 'The Glittering Game', 'Ibrahim Something'
<b>2.</b> Kassim Ahmad: 'A Common Story'
<b>3.</b> Siew Yue Killingley: 'A Question of Dowry', 'Everything's Arranged'
<b>4.</b> Yap Kok Keong: 'A Family Quarrel'
<b>5.</b>Lim Beng Hap: 'Tricked Again', 'Poonek'
<b>6.</b>S. Kon: 'Inheritance', 'Mushroom Harvest' (this is the only sci-fi/dystopian story)
<b>7.</b>Shirley Lim: 'Journey'
<b>8.</b> Awang Kedua: 'A New Sensation'
<b>9.</b>Chua Cheng Lok: 'Down by the Sea'
<b>10.</b>Goh Poh Seng: 'The Temple Bells'
<b>11.</b>Mary Frances Chong: 'The Jade Bracelet'
<b>12.</b>John Machado: 'Passing Through'
<b>13.</b> Maureen Ten: 'Accident'
Yu-Gi-Oh!: Duelist, Vol. 8: Yugi vs. Pegasus by Kazuki Takahashi
adventurous
mysterious
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
4.0
<i>"Ha Ha Ha! My brother and I are flying out of here in our private helicopter! Too bad <b>you</b> don't have one...losers!"</i>
Finally, we have arrived at the end of the Duelist Kingdom arc: the match between Yami Yugi and Pegasus.
One of the things I really think the anime adaptation failed to get right was the balance between goofy and sinister that made Pegasus such a good villain in the manga. Like, yes, he's super charismatic, but he's also incredibly intimidating and ruthless, and the stakes of this duel are incredibly high. Excellent set-up for a finale.
Yes, the 'Pegasus can use the Millennium Eye to read his opponent’s mind' bit is a little repetitive at this point, but at least the payoff of Yami Yugi/Yugi figuring out how to get around it is satisfying since it relies on the unique property of their two minds in one shared body. That being said, all the magic shenanigans mean that this duel isn't really about strategy in the same way many of the other duels have been, so to keep it interesting, we need some good visuals, some banter, and we do get that.
That being said, the emotional climax of the arc really is the Yami-Yugi/Kaiba re-match, so everything after that, including this duel, feels like falling action leading to the resolution of Pegasus's defeat. And even that defeat feels limp given that the second he loses, Pegasus just kind of slumps in his chair and sighs and says: "My men will get your prize ready, don't worry." And then we immediately go into the exposition of Pegasus's motivation for throwing the tournament.
We are reminded that the entire thing was really about Pegasus gaining control of Kaiba Corporation, and it's finally revealed that the reason this was something he wanted to do badly enough to go to all this trouble is because he wanted to be able to combine the power of the Millennium Eye with Kaiba's Solid Vision technology to create a life-like hologram of his dead girlfriend/fiancée, Cyndia.
Ok, great, I can get behind this as a motivation. Not sure what is added by getting this reveal at the end rather than up front, but sure. He goes on to quasi wave away his own incredibly villainous and sadistic behaviour by blaming the 'evil intelligence' possessed by the Millennium items.
Yeah, no, I'm not buying it.
But Yami Yugi is more interested in hearing about the Millennium Items than pointing out the lameness of this excuse, so Pegasus explains how he came to have the Millennium Eye, which involved a trip he took to Egypt, where he met Shadi, and then is ultimately 'tested' and chosen to wield the Millennium Eye.
And that's basically that on that.
Bakura summarizes the collective feeling they all ultimately have about this little adventure by saying: <i>"Pegasus is unforgiveable...But I feel sorry for him because of how he got the Millennium Eye." </i>
Well, <i>I</i> don't, but I suppose no one asked me...
Finally, everyone whose soul was captured by Pegasus is restored, and we get a very sweet reunion between Kaiba and Mokuba, cementing their storyline as the true emotional core of the arc. Yami Yugi comments that Mokuba was the final piece Kaiba needed to complete the "puzzle of his heart" that served as his penalty game after losing to Yami Yugi at the end of 'Death-T'.
But we abruptly cut away from this for one page to show that while everyone else gathered outside the castle, Yami Bakura stayed behind and forcibly and grotesquely removed Pegasus's Millennium Eye, saying <i>"two down...five to go"</i> -- a sort of reminder that there is a bigger over-arching plot going on in the background that we still don't completely understand.
Is Pegasus dead as a result of this? I think that's kind of the implication, but it's not clear.
But who cares, really? We're back with the gang outside, and Mokuba has offered everyone a ride back home in his and Kaiba's helicopter. Kaiba grudgingly agrees, saying that makes them even after Yami Yugi saved Mokuba, but declaring their battle isn't over yet, and that the next time he'll beat Yami Yugi in a 'true' duel.
And that's how we leave things until the story picks back up in Volume 9.
Compared with the original, pre-Duel Monsters-centric arcs, Duelist Kingdom is definitely more cohesive, but I do kind of miss how unhinged 'Season Zero' could be. However, in terms of storytelling, this arc is definitely stronger, and really hits its stride with Battle City, so I'm looking forward to it!
Finally, we have arrived at the end of the Duelist Kingdom arc: the match between Yami Yugi and Pegasus.
One of the things I really think the anime adaptation failed to get right was the balance between goofy and sinister that made Pegasus such a good villain in the manga. Like, yes, he's super charismatic, but he's also incredibly intimidating and ruthless, and the stakes of this duel are incredibly high. Excellent set-up for a finale.
Yes, the 'Pegasus can use the Millennium Eye to read his opponent’s mind' bit is a little repetitive at this point, but at least the payoff of Yami Yugi/Yugi figuring out how to get around it is satisfying since it relies on the unique property of their two minds in one shared body. That being said, all the magic shenanigans mean that this duel isn't really about strategy in the same way many of the other duels have been, so to keep it interesting, we need some good visuals, some banter, and we do get that.
That being said, the emotional climax of the arc really is the Yami-Yugi/Kaiba re-match, so everything after that, including this duel, feels like falling action leading to the resolution of Pegasus's defeat. And even that defeat feels limp given that the second he loses, Pegasus just kind of slumps in his chair and sighs and says: "My men will get your prize ready, don't worry." And then we immediately go into the exposition of Pegasus's motivation for throwing the tournament.
We are reminded that the entire thing was really about Pegasus gaining control of Kaiba Corporation, and it's finally revealed that the reason this was something he wanted to do badly enough to go to all this trouble is because he wanted to be able to combine the power of the Millennium Eye with Kaiba's Solid Vision technology to create a life-like hologram of his dead girlfriend/fiancée, Cyndia.
Ok, great, I can get behind this as a motivation. Not sure what is added by getting this reveal at the end rather than up front, but sure. He goes on to quasi wave away his own incredibly villainous and sadistic behaviour by blaming the 'evil intelligence' possessed by the Millennium items.
Yeah, no, I'm not buying it.
But Yami Yugi is more interested in hearing about the Millennium Items than pointing out the lameness of this excuse, so Pegasus explains how he came to have the Millennium Eye, which involved a trip he took to Egypt, where he met Shadi, and then is ultimately 'tested' and chosen to wield the Millennium Eye.
And that's basically that on that.
Bakura summarizes the collective feeling they all ultimately have about this little adventure by saying: <i>"Pegasus is unforgiveable...But I feel sorry for him because of how he got the Millennium Eye." </i>
Well, <i>I</i> don't, but I suppose no one asked me...
Finally, everyone whose soul was captured by Pegasus is restored, and we get a very sweet reunion between Kaiba and Mokuba, cementing their storyline as the true emotional core of the arc. Yami Yugi comments that Mokuba was the final piece Kaiba needed to complete the "puzzle of his heart" that served as his penalty game after losing to Yami Yugi at the end of 'Death-T'.
But we abruptly cut away from this for one page to show that while everyone else gathered outside the castle, Yami Bakura stayed behind and forcibly and grotesquely removed Pegasus's Millennium Eye, saying <i>"two down...five to go"</i> -- a sort of reminder that there is a bigger over-arching plot going on in the background that we still don't completely understand.
Is Pegasus dead as a result of this? I think that's kind of the implication, but it's not clear.
But who cares, really? We're back with the gang outside, and Mokuba has offered everyone a ride back home in his and Kaiba's helicopter. Kaiba grudgingly agrees, saying that makes them even after Yami Yugi saved Mokuba, but declaring their battle isn't over yet, and that the next time he'll beat Yami Yugi in a 'true' duel.
And that's how we leave things until the story picks back up in Volume 9.
Compared with the original, pre-Duel Monsters-centric arcs, Duelist Kingdom is definitely more cohesive, but I do kind of miss how unhinged 'Season Zero' could be. However, in terms of storytelling, this arc is definitely stronger, and really hits its stride with Battle City, so I'm looking forward to it!
Yu-Gi-Oh!: Duelist, Vol. 7: Heavy Metal Raiders by Kazuki Takahashi
adventurous
mysterious
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
3.5
<i>"Yugi...There are two ways of losing! A loss where everything truly ends...and a loss which is just a step on the road to victory. I <b>will</b> become stronger from this loss!"</i>
Duelist, Vol.7 is comprised wholly of the Duelist Kingdom semi-finals: Yugi vs. Mai and Joey/Jounouchi vs. Bandit Keith.
Needless to say, Yugi's duel against Mai is infinitely more interesting than Joey/Jounouchi's duel against Bandit Keith.
In the match between Mai and Yugi, we get to see Mai really shine both as a duelist and as a character. Yugi allows Yami Yugi to take over and duel, but Yami is in large part distracted by Pegasus and unable to concentrate. Even though this results in Mai taking a strong lead, she's frustrated by the fact that her opponent is barely paying attention. She accuses him of being too arrogant to pay attention to the opponent in front of him; too certain of his own victory to pay her any mind.
Ultimately, she realizes that part of Yami/Yugi's hang-up are the feelings of doubt that still linger after being defeated by Kaiba in volume 5, and there's a lull in the duel as Mai describes what Duelist Kingdom has taught her about herself, and the lessons she's learned since losing to Joey/Jounouchi. Her main takeaway was that there can be courage in accepting defeat. And that only by accepting losing as an option when you step into the arena can you develop strength as a player.
This unlocks something in Yami Yugi who, in a moment of introspection, realizes that the reason he was willing to risk Kaiba's life in their duel was because he was afraid to lose, whereas Yugi had the clarity to realize that sometimes losing is better. Great character development moment for both of the Yugis, and the first time we get the acknowledgement that Yugi has a strength that his ostensibly stronger, more talented half still needs to develop.
It's a bit of an extension of the discussion of winning and losing that we got before, but it's such a central message of the series it's unsurprising Takahashi would really try to hammer it home. If you read the Yu-Gi-Oh! manga, you <i>will</i> walk away understanding that losing does not make you a loser, but sometimes winning does if you don't win in the right way. I've said it before and will say it again: given the target demographic for Yu-Gi-Oh! this is such an important message to convey, and even if it can be on-the-nose and a little bit cheesy, I'm glad this was done in such a methodical and consistent way, and that it's a message the protagonist struggles to embody and take on.
Anyway, getting back to the dueling, once Mai gives her pick-me-up speech, Yami Yugi is back in it and prepared to put his all into the match. With his full heart in it, he's able to turn the tables and defeat her to earn a place in the finals.
I still think having her surrender rather than lose outright was an odd choice. It's not <i>inconsistent</i> with the message that winning isn't all-important, but she also could have just lost to Yami Yugi and that still would have come through.
Finally, Joey/Jounouchi faces off against Bandit Keith in easily the least interesting duel in the entire arc. Not only is it obvious that Joey/Jounouchi is going to win, Keith isn't charismatic enough as a villain to make it fun to read even knowing the outcome. We get a back story about Keith that literally I defy anyone to claim they care about, and on top of that, his deck is also very meh.
Sure, we get to see how Joey/Jounouchi has grown as a duelist and actually strategize rather than relying on luck, but it's still a very forgettable duel that just serves to kill time before the match between Yami Yugi and Pegasus.
Duelist, Vol.7 is comprised wholly of the Duelist Kingdom semi-finals: Yugi vs. Mai and Joey/Jounouchi vs. Bandit Keith.
Needless to say, Yugi's duel against Mai is infinitely more interesting than Joey/Jounouchi's duel against Bandit Keith.
In the match between Mai and Yugi, we get to see Mai really shine both as a duelist and as a character. Yugi allows Yami Yugi to take over and duel, but Yami is in large part distracted by Pegasus and unable to concentrate. Even though this results in Mai taking a strong lead, she's frustrated by the fact that her opponent is barely paying attention. She accuses him of being too arrogant to pay attention to the opponent in front of him; too certain of his own victory to pay her any mind.
Ultimately, she realizes that part of Yami/Yugi's hang-up are the feelings of doubt that still linger after being defeated by Kaiba in volume 5, and there's a lull in the duel as Mai describes what Duelist Kingdom has taught her about herself, and the lessons she's learned since losing to Joey/Jounouchi. Her main takeaway was that there can be courage in accepting defeat. And that only by accepting losing as an option when you step into the arena can you develop strength as a player.
This unlocks something in Yami Yugi who, in a moment of introspection, realizes that the reason he was willing to risk Kaiba's life in their duel was because he was afraid to lose, whereas Yugi had the clarity to realize that sometimes losing is better. Great character development moment for both of the Yugis, and the first time we get the acknowledgement that Yugi has a strength that his ostensibly stronger, more talented half still needs to develop.
It's a bit of an extension of the discussion of winning and losing that we got before, but it's such a central message of the series it's unsurprising Takahashi would really try to hammer it home. If you read the Yu-Gi-Oh! manga, you <i>will</i> walk away understanding that losing does not make you a loser, but sometimes winning does if you don't win in the right way. I've said it before and will say it again: given the target demographic for Yu-Gi-Oh! this is such an important message to convey, and even if it can be on-the-nose and a little bit cheesy, I'm glad this was done in such a methodical and consistent way, and that it's a message the protagonist struggles to embody and take on.
Anyway, getting back to the dueling, once Mai gives her pick-me-up speech, Yami Yugi is back in it and prepared to put his all into the match. With his full heart in it, he's able to turn the tables and defeat her to earn a place in the finals.
I still think having her surrender rather than lose outright was an odd choice. It's not <i>inconsistent</i> with the message that winning isn't all-important, but she also could have just lost to Yami Yugi and that still would have come through.
Finally, Joey/Jounouchi faces off against Bandit Keith in easily the least interesting duel in the entire arc. Not only is it obvious that Joey/Jounouchi is going to win, Keith isn't charismatic enough as a villain to make it fun to read even knowing the outcome. We get a back story about Keith that literally I defy anyone to claim they care about, and on top of that, his deck is also very meh.
Sure, we get to see how Joey/Jounouchi has grown as a duelist and actually strategize rather than relying on luck, but it's still a very forgettable duel that just serves to kill time before the match between Yami Yugi and Pegasus.