Flood, by Stephen Baxter
This is a damn scary book.
Stephen Baxter’s depiction of the rise of the sea across the planet over a period of thirty six years, from 2016 to 2052, has its roots in Spain in 2011, when five workers are kidnapped by religious extremists, the years of torture and abuse allowing them to form a close bond. The novel itself starts as the four surviving hostages are released into the safekeeping of AxysCorp operatives.
Lily Brooke is a USAF pilot, Gary Boyle works as a NASA research scientist), and Piers Michaelmas is a British military officer; Helen Gray was raped by a kidnapper and gave birth to a daughter, Grace, whilst incarcerated. All agree to stay in touch, help each other out, and look after Grace when called upon; these complicated relationships form the backbone of Flood’s vast apocalyptic storyline and mirror the manipulative political and economic machinations of the world’s leaders and mega-rich as they struggle to manage their populations in the face of impending disaster.
The Company, by K.J.Parker
After a trilogy of superlative trilogies, the personally elusive K.J. Parker has turned his distinctive talents to his first standalone novel. InThe Company, many of Parker’s familiar themes and precoccupations are explored: we have characters who are unable to break free of their origins; we have subterfuge and deceit at the heart of apparently strong relationships; we have self-deception on a grand scale and breathtakingly ruthless pragmatism. With not a shred of magic to be seen, this is a fantasy that’s all about character and motivation, and this being Parker there’s also the obligatory fascination with things to make and do.
Teuche Kunessin has finally left the army with the rank of General; returning to his home of Faralia to less than a hero’s welcome. It’s a while since the war ended, against an unspecified enemy, and Teuche has been keeping himself busy – to be more specific, he got himself promoted to the rank of general and set about engineering the situation that he’s about to explain to his four former comrades-in-arms – to whit, that he has ’stolen’ an uninhabited island, a former army base, and intends to go and live the simple life out there. Teuche wants his friends to come with him. Together, they were part of an elite squad of ‘linebreakers’ in the war, and there are no people Teuche would rather have with him: as the feared A Company, Aidi, Muri, Kudei and Alces fought and bled at his side, doing a difficult job where they were not expected to survive, and he wants them at his side again.
Engleby, by Sebastian Faulks
It’s hard for me to review Engleby without coming over all autobiographical – because just like Faulks’ protagonist, Mike Engleby, and like Faulks himself, I went to Cambridge University. That means I get the thrill of recognition when reading about the narrator’s student years, his experiences around the town, and so on. Curiously, Engleby never refers to Cambridge by name (it’s simply “an ancient university”), but his deliberate mis-naming of certain locations in the city (the pub where Crick and Watson first announced the discovery of DNA is arbitrarily renamed from the Eagle to the Kestrel) provides an early clue as to his unreliability. If we can’t believe his grasp of such basic details, how can we believe him about anything else? This aspect of the narrative turns out to be a crucial one.
Engleby is a narrator deliberately designed not just to be unreliable but to be unlikeable as well: he’s an intellectual snob, an habitual thief, a prolific consumer of booze and drugs, a loner to his very core. To set against this when weighing up his character, we learn about his working class childhood, the death of his father while he’s fairly young, his traumatic time at public (i.e. private) school. On reflection, the cumulative effect of these revelations and discoveries was to make me feel somewhat manipulated by Faulks – he’s trying to make Engleby as difficult to like as possible, yet gets readers to root for him in spite of themselves. Annoyingly, it’s a trick that does work – despite his anti-social tendencies, his lack of self-awareness, his arrogance and his aloofness, Engleby is, if not likeable then at least worth listening to.
Warning: spoilers ahead
The Name of the Wind (Kingkiller Chronicle 1), by Patrick Rothfuss
There’s probably never been a more difficult time to make your fantasy debut than right now: with an array of writers forging off in new and interesting directions, and others working along more classical lines in the best traditions of the genre, it must be difficult to decide whether to stick with tried and trusted or attempt to break the mould. With his debut novel, Patrick Rothfuss has demonstrated that for a writer who has the right combination of storytelling skills and imagination, there’s no need to break anything, and The Name of the Wind is a very fine advertisement for what fantasy can and should be.
Set in a backwoods inn, at a time when the world seems beset by war and strife, The Name of the Wind consists primarily of one long, extended flashback. The innkeeper, you see, turns out to be a bit of a celebrity, a superstar hero who has retreated in to obscurity; not really the humble Kote, proprietor of a struggling inn, he is really Kvothe – known as the bloodless, killer of kings – a legend in his own lifetime. When the renowned scribe known simply as Chronicler arrives at the inn (via an encounter with giant demon spiders!), he persuades Kvothe to tell him his life story, and thus, peppered with occasional interludes, the majority of the book is taken up with Kvothe describing his experiences, in his own compelling words.
The Black Swan: The Impact of the Highly Improbable, by Nassim Nicholas Taleb
One of the most enjoyable publishing phenomena of the last fifteen years has been the rise of the popular science book. From maths to evolutionary biology, from economics to quantum physics, publisher’s catalogues are awash with titles that seek to explain the world and communicate a sense of wonder. As an entertaining fightback by the forces of a sceptical enlightenment against the pervasiveness of wishful thinking and anti-reason, this is to be welcomed.
One such populariser, Professor Richard Dawkins, is known for prickliness as much as for the uncompromising elegance of his work, so much so it is easy to forget he made his bones not by poo-pooing religious belief, but by sharing a sense of wonder that can only be appreciated by understanding the world around us. His early books in particular are jaw-droppingly good. Read more
Coward On The Beach, by James Delingpole
When George MacDonald Fraser died in February 2008, he left behind a huge, Flashman-shaped hole as enthusiasts found themselves bereft of their favourite “scoundrel, liar, cheat, thief, coward, and toady”. A vacancy for an unapologetic anti-hero has existed ever since.
One creator of likely replacements, Julian Rathbone, ruled himself out of the running by dying two weeks after Fraser. As for the rest, many historically-based novels are hamstrung by being too much in thrall to an adolescent love of the details of war. They may sometimes be well researched and even on occasion well written, but at heart these books are the grown-up cousins of all the useless, gung ho gulf war porn doing the rounds at the moment.
Where the Flashman books scored so highly was to allow those with a sense of embarrassment at their enthusiasm for all things historical, adventurous and military to have their historical, military adventure flavoured cake and eat it without guilt. This is because the Flashman novels while tremendous, rambunctious fun are also fantastically well-researched picaresque adventures, grand tours of the greatest hits of Victorian military history, written with wit, erudition and a healthy dose of well-honed cynicism and political astuteness. All of which is plenty to inoculate cognoscenti when looked at askance by readers of “serious” books.
Our Longest Days: A People’s History of the Second World War, edited by Sandra Koa Wing
The social research organisation Mass Observation was a fascinating idea – the aim was to record everyday life in Britain through the diaries of a panel of untrained volunteers, who were encouraged to talk about their daily lives as well as writing down details of conversations with other people, and even just stuff they had overheard. There is, of course, no scientific basis in such research – it’s not an opinion poll, and the nature of it means that the participants are not necessarily a cross-section of society. But the depth you get from the diaries, the numerous little details you pick up, the insights in to daily life, makes them a unique and wonderful source that are not afflicted by the tricks that people’s memories play on them. Our Longest Days is a collection of the best bits of MO diaries spanning the entire course of the Second World War, and it’s a real gem of social history. It was edited by Sandra Koa Wing, who died before publication at the shockingly young age of 28, and it also seems to be a fitting testimony to her work with the MO archives.
The Quiet War, by Paul McAuley
The Quiet War is my first experience with Paul McAuley, and it’s been an interesting and thought-provoking one, for a variety of reasons. Set in a far-future where an Earth ravaged by the effects of global warming is being painstakingly put back together through the use of advanced bio-engineering, and where the human colonists on the moons of Jupiter and Saturn are taking a divergent political and even evolutionary path, it amply fulfils SF’s traditional job of speculating about the future role of technologies in our lives and mankind’s place in the universe.
We follow a diverse group of key characters, spending more time with some than others: Cash Baker, crash-hot space fighter pilot; Sri-Hong Owen, a geneticist on Earth who owes her allegiance to the ruling family of Greater Brazil, one of the three main powers in the world; Loc Ibhrahim, a shifty diplomat also in the service of Greater Brazil; Dave 8, one of a series of cloned supersoldiers pioneered by Sri-Hong Owen; and Macy Minnot, a scientist on an Earth-based clean-up crew who specialises in regenerating lakes and rivers through the use of organically rich mud (which to his credit McAuley, biologist that he is, manages to make sound quite interesting).
Wolf of the Plains (Conqueror 1), by Conn Iggulden
I think historical fiction is perhaps the guiltiest of my guilty pleasures, the genre where I am most willing to accept indifferent writing in exchange for plots, characters and settings which expand my knowledge of a particular historical period, even if some of the history has been chopped around to fit the story. Having read Conn Iggulden’s Emperor series, about Julius Caesar, I wasn’t sure if I was going to enjoy him turning his attention to Ghengis Khan. In retrospect, his problem with the Emperor novels was that, however much the details of Caesar’s life are unknown to most, his sticky end is known to all (a similar problem is affecting Simon Scarrow’s Revolution series about Wellington and Napoleon). However, while most Westerners know who Ghengis Khan was, I bet there aren’t many who can tell you much more than ‘king of Mongol horde, rampaged all over Asia’. This allows the story to unfold with less pressure, and for me it makes it a much, much more satisfying read.
At the beginning of the story, the Mongols are divided in to a series of warring tribes, despite being ethnically homogenous – they fight each other and the Tartars on the vast plains of what is now Mongolia, with the vicious winters perhaps the most difficult enemy of all. The chief, or Khan, of the tribe known as the Wolves, is Yesugei, father to the child who will grow up to known as Ghengis Khan. As a boy, though, he is named Temujin, the second of six children, and as he grows he learns that he may one day inherit the leadership of the Wolves from his father. Before that can come to pass, when Temujin is twelve years old, his father is killed and his legacy is betrayed – Temujin, along with his mother, brothers and sister is cast out, not expected to last the winter.
Don’t Get Fooled Again: The Sceptic’s Guide to Life, by Richard Wilson
It’s good to be a sceptic, and as Richard Wilson demonstrates in his new book, far too few of us choose to use our critical faculties as often as we should. Our lack of scepticism starts with ourselves – we uniformly believe we are better looking than the average person, better drivers than the average person, more caring and giving than the average person, when common sense dictates we can’t all be (I mean, of course I am, but you know, in general, people just can’t be).
This lack of critical discrimination extends to all walks of life, and Wilson explores far more than just the gullibility of human beings: he looks at a number of areas of life where we would all benefit from more scepticism. There’s an excellent chapter on how the global tobacco industry created a ‘controversy’ that rumbled on for years when in actual fact there was a clear scientific agreement – PR firms and biased academics exploit the interest of journalists in stories with two sides to tell, because conflict is more interesting than consensus. There’s also the curse of relativism – the belief that all points of view are equally valid. While that may be true for opinions of a painting or a piece of music, it clearly can’t be when dealing with issues like the AIDS epidemic, issues that have measurable scientific truths at their heart – yet AIDS denialists have received far more airtime than they deserved due to unthinking relativism, and people have died as a result.
The Mammoth Book of Zombie Comics, edited by David Kendall
David Kendall’s latest Mammoth project, (his previous was the The Mammoth Book of Best War Comics) sees him compiling an enjoyable selection of zombie comics from the last twenty five years, plus one bona-fide classic, the source material of which was first published in 1938.
Kendall, (or the marketing crew at Constable and Robinson), posits that this is ‘the greatest gathering of the undead…’ and that within are ‘18 of the greatest zombie comics ever’; while this is certainly a bold claim it’s a debatable one, given the feverish zed-centric activity in the comic and graphic novel industries – most of which is of a higher quality than the stories here. In reality, Kendall has put together stories that are likely author-owned; unlike most of those currently being written for IDW, Image, Marvel, Boom Studios et al.
That said, there are some absolute gems to be found within this 455 page tome. Worth the price alone is a reprint of Robert E. Howard’s Pigeon’s From Hell. Worth it not only because the story is an amazing mix of horror, ghost, occult and zombie, which was first published in the May 1938 issue of Weird Tales, but also because of Scott Hampton’s stunning, stunning paintings. Read more
Bookgeek turns Moviegeek. Whatever next?
Bookgeeks’ very own king of horror, zombies and all things post-Apolcalyptic, Mathew F. Riley, has branched out from book reviewing and is now an official reviewer at the US-based genre film fan site Quiet Earth. Indulging in his taste for all things spooky and gory, he has already reviewed three films for them. Check out his thoughts about some of the movies screened at the recent UK gorefest Frightfest 08:
From the printed page to the silver screen, is there no end to his talents? We suspect not (unless zombies actually do take over the earth, in which case, by his own admission, he’d be stuffed).
Geek on.
Night of Knives, by Ian C. Esslemont
Like many fans of Steven Erikson’s amazing fantasy series The Malazan Book of the Fallen (now up to eight volumes of a projected ten), I was by turns intrigued and concerned when I learned that he was being joined by an accomplice in crafting novels set in the richly imagined and complex world of Malaz. As Erikson’s foreword to Night of Knives makes clear, Ian Cameron Esslemont was as much involved in the creation of the world of Malaz as he was, initially as a backdrop for role-playing games, then as a screenplay, and it was always the intention that they would both write novels set there – it’s just that Erikson has, for various reasons, enjoyed a considerable head-start. So this is not fan fiction, it’s not some kind of franchising operation; it’s a legitimate extension of the work started by Erikson when Gardens of the Moon was first published. Putting all that aside, the question must be: is it any good?
The answer is a qualified ‘yes’ – it represents a very readable addition to the Malazan canon. Readers of Gardens of the Moon will be aware of the complex back-story that unfolded before them as they read that book – the usurpation of the founder of the Malazan Empire, the Emperor Kellanved, and his assassin companion Dancer, by the Imperial Regent Surly, who claims the throne as Empress Lasseen. It quickly emerges that Kellanved and Dancer aren’t dead, but Ascended, having managed to assume rulership of one of the ethereal domains known as Warrens – they now rule Meanas, the Warren of Shadow. Effectively a prequel to Gardens of the Moon, Night of Knives takes place largely across one night, the night of the Shadow Moon, on Malaz Island, which is where the Empire began and from where it takes its name, but is now an irrelevant backwater. The challenge for Esslemont is that committed readers of the series will work out fairly early on which night this is, and thus know the outcome – so he has to find other ways to keep things interesting.
A Most Wanted Man, by John Le Carré
Despite the fact that he made his reputation writing about the duels between NATO intelligence agencies and their Soviet counterparts, no-one could accuse John Le Carré of failing to adapt to the end of the Cold War: with books like The Constant Gardener, Single & Single and The Mission Song (Bookgeeks review), he has explored international money laundering, the Russian mafia, corrupt pharmaceutical research in Africa and foreign involvement in the interminable civil wars of the Congo. Now, with A Most Wanted Man, we have his first true post-9/11 novel, an examination of the differing responses of Western intelligence agencies to the threats posted by Islamist terrorism.
The setting is Hamburg, present day. The lives of a Turkish family, Melik and his mother Leyla, are interrupted by the arrival of Issa, a scrawny refugee, on the run from the Swedish authorities and bearing the scars of torture from incarceration in a Turkish prison. Issa claims to be a devout Muslim, fleeing from the fighting in Chechnya, but parts of his story don’t stack up: he doesn’t speak the Chechynyan language, and aspects of his religious practice are distinctly awry. Troubled by the presence of this mysterious waif, Melik and Leyla contact asylum specialists Sanctuary North, and get Issa a lawyer to try and regularise his immigration status. Issa explains to his lawyer, Annabel Richter, that he carries in a pouch round his neck the means to access a bank account at the private bank of Brue Freres plc, which will enable him to pursue his dream of studying to be a doctor. Thus we meet Tommy Brue, last of his line, a banker to the wealthy and powerful, saddled with his father’s legacy in more ways than one. Read more
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