Women’s History Month series
Links to interviews (and transcripts) with Melbourne women who protested against the Vietnam War and the National Service Act.
(list continues below)
Continue reading →A Sorceress Comes to Call
Read via NetGalley. It’s out in August (sorry).
My experience of reading this went like this:
– Got the email that I was approved to read this.
– Thought, “oh, I’ll just download that so it’s ready to read.”
– Thought, “oh, I’ll just start it to see what it’s like.”
– A few hours later, thought, “oh. Now I’ve finished it and I no longer have a Kingfisher novel to look forward to.”
So that’s my tragedy. Of course, I DID get to read it in the first place, so it’s not MUCH of a tragedy.
This book is, unsurprisingly, fantastic. I adore Kingfisher’s work and this is another exemplar. Cordelia’s mother is able to literally control her body – she calls it ‘obedience’ – and as a result, even when she is in control of herself, Cordelia is always on her best behaviour. She has no other family, and no friends except for Falada, the horse, and the passing acquaintance of a neighbouring girl. She has no control over anything – doors are never to be closed in their house – and all she expects of the future is that she will marry a rich husband: so her mother has told her.
Things begin to change when her mother’s current ‘benefactor’ decides to stop seeing her, and providing for her. In order to remain in the style to which she is accustomed, Cordelia’s mother decides to find herself a rich husband, both so that she herself will be looked after and to aid in the effort to marry off Cordelia. This brings the pair into the orbit of Hester and her brother, a rich squire. Through the mother’s machinations, they come to stay at the squire’s house, and Cordelia’s mother sets about wooing the squire. Meanwhile, Hester gets to know Cordelia, and… well. As you might expect, there are ups and downs and revelations and terrible things happen and, eventually, most things turn out okay.
The writing is fast-paced and glorious. The characters are utterly believable. Apparently this is a spin on “The Goose Girl” but it’s not a tale I know very well, so I can’t tell you where Kingfisher is being particularly clever in that respect. But it makes no difference; this is a fabulous novel and Kingfisher just keeps bringing the awesome.
Lady Eve’s Last Con, Rebecca Fraimow
Read via NetGalley. It’s out in June 2024.
I was convinced that this must have been a second in a series – even when I was a third of the way through – but it turns out that the author has just set up a truly impressive amount of backstory for this one to happen. I mean, I know most good stories have their backstory, but this one REALLY felt like I was being given the “in case you don’t remember what happened in the last book” spiel.
Ruth is a con artist. Her latest con is playing Evelyn Ojukwu, shy and slightly naive debutant, with the aim of catching the eye – and hopefully a promise of marriage – from the incredibly wealthy Esteban. But she has no intention of marrying him: instead, it’s all about the money… and here’s where the backstory comes in: because Esteban done Ruth’s sister wrong, and this is a revenge game. The fact that Esteban has an awfully attractive, Don Juan-esque, half-sister is a complicating factor that Ruth hadn’t expected.
The book is set an unspecified long time in the future; humanity has spread to many different planets and systems (it took me until maybe halfway through to realise that this book was actually set on a satellite of Pluto). The details of how all of that side works are fuzzy and irrelevant. The distances involved, though, are a significant factor – there’s no super-fast communication between planets, for instance, and the lag is a critical one for both personal and business reasons, which Fraimow uses well.
I am amused by the idea that partner-catching would still be as much of a big deal in this sort of society as it’s portrayed to be in Regency England, and that the class issues are just as real. Because that’s basically what this is – it’s a Regency-like romance, with space travel and artificial gravity. It’s fluffy (that’s a positive term!) and light-hearted, with the nods to substance that show the author is quite well aware of what they’re doing, thank you very much. If you need something enjoyable, with a bit of tension and drama but the comforting knowledge that things will turn out ok, even if it’s not clear how, this book is what you need.
Shakespeare’s Sisters, Ramie Targoff
Read via NetGalley. It’s out now.
I’m here for pretty much any book that helps to prove Joanna Russ’ point that women have always written, and that society (men) have always tried to squash the memory of those women so that women don’t have a tradition to hold to. (See How to Suppress Women’s Writing.)
Mary Sidney, Aemilia Lanyer, Elizabeth Cary and Anne Clifford all overlapped for several decades in the late Elizabethan/ early Jacobean period in England – which, yes, means they also overlapped with Shakespeare. Hence the title, referencing Virginia Woolf’s warning that an imaginary sister of William’s, with equal talent, would have gone mad because she would not have been allowed to write. Targoff doesn’t claim it was always easy for these women to write – especially for Lanyer, the only non-aristocrat. What she does show, though, is the sheer determination of these women TO write. And they were often writing what would be classified as feminist work, too: biblical stories from a woman’s perspective, for instance. And they were also often getting themselves published – also a feminist, revolutionary move. A woman in public?? Horror!
Essentially this book is a short biography of each of the women, gneerally focusing on their education and then their writing – what they wrote, speculating on why they wrote, and how they managed to do so (finding the time, basically). There’s also an exploration of what happened to their work: some of it was published during their respective lifetimes; some of it was misattributed (another note connecting this to Russ: Mary Sidney’s work, in particular, was often attributed to her brother instead. Which is exactly one of the moves that Russ identifies in the suppression game). Some of it was lost and only came to light in the 20th century, or was only acknowledged as worthy then. Almost incidentally this is also a potted history of England in the time, because of who these women were – three of the four being aristocrats, one ending up the greatest heiress in England, and all having important family connections. You don’t need to know much about England in the period to understand what’s going on.
Targoff has written an excellent history here. There’s not TOO many names to keep track of; she has kept her sights firmly on the women as the centre of the narrative; she explains some otherwise confusing issues very neatly. Her style is a delight to read – very engaging and warm, she picks the interesting details to focus on, and basically I would not hesitate to pick up another book by her. This is an excellent introduction to four women whose work should play an important part in the history of English literature.
The Seven Wonders of the Ancient World
I received this book to review at no cost, from the publisher Hachette. It’s out now (trade paperback, $34.99).
As someone who has been keen on ancient history since forever, of course I was intrigued by a new book on the seven ancient wonders. And I’ve also read other work by Hughes, and enjoyed it, so that made me doubly intrigued.
Before I get into the book: of course there is controversy over this list. Hughes acknowledges that, and goes into quite a lot of detail about how the ‘canonical’ list came about – the first surviving mention of such a list, why lists were made, what other ‘wonders’ appeared on such lists in the ancient world of Greece and Rome, as well as what other monuments could be put on such a list were it made today. I appreciated this aspect a lot: it would have been easy to simply run with “the list everyone knows” (where ‘everyone’ is… you know), but she doesn’t. She puts it in context, and that’s an excellent thing.
In fact, context is the aspect of this book that I enjoyed the most. For each of the Wonders, Hughes discusses the geographical context – then and now; and the political, social, and religious contexts that enabled them to be made. This is pretty much what I was hoping for without realising it. And then she also talks about how people have reacted to, and riffed on, each of the Wonders since their construction, which is also a hugely important aspect of their continuing existence on the list.
- The Pyramids: the discussion of the exploration inside, by modern archaeologists, was particularly fascinating.
- The Hanging Gardens of Babylon: the discussion of whether they even existed, and if so where, and what ‘hanging’ actually meant, was intriguing.
- Temple of Artemis: I had no idea how big the structure was.
- Statue of Olympia: I had NO idea how big this allegedly was.
- Mausoleum of Halikarnassos: NOT HELLENIC! Did not know that.
- Colossus of Rhodes: also had no idea how big it allegedly was, nor the discussion around its placement.
The Practice, the Horizon, and the Chain
Read via NetGalley and the publisher, Tordotcom. It’s out in April 2024.
To be honest I don’t even know where to start with reviewing this novella.
To say that it’s breathtaking is insufficient. I can say that it should be on every single award ballot for this year, but that only tells you how much I admired it.
I could try and explain how it explores ideas of slavery, and the experience of the enslaved; ideas of control, and social hierarchy; about human resilience and human evil. Draw connections with Ursula K Le Guin’s “The Ones who Walk Away from Omelas,” and probably a slew of stories that connect to the Atlantic slave trade and which I haven’t read (mostly because I’m Australian).
There are odes to be written to the lyricism of Samatar’s prose, but I don’t myself have the words to express that. Entire creative writing classes would benefit from reading this, and sitting with it, and gently prying at why it works the way it does.
I could give you an outline? There’s a fleet of space ships, and they’re mining asteroids, and mining is dreadful work so you know who you get to do the dreadful work? People that you don’t call enslaved but who are indeed enslaved. There’s an entire hierarchy around who’s doing the mining in the hold, and who’s a guard and who’s not a guard, and the people at the top have convinced themselves there’s not REALLY a hierarchy it’s just the way things need to be. Sometimes someone from the Hold is brought out of the Hold, and then has to learn how to be outside of the Hold… and then someone starts to see through the system, and maybe has a way to change things.
The outline doesn’t convey how powerful the story is.
I should add: the main characters are never named.
Just… everyone should read this. It’s not long, so there’s no excuse! But it will stay in your head, and it will punch you in the guts. In the good way.
These Fragile Graces, This Fugitive Heart
Read via NetGalley and the publisher, Tachyon. Out in March 2024.
A completely believable, dystopic Kansas City where the police and everything else are basically run by corporations and only for the rich (cue an Australian rant about modern USA, if you please).
An anarchic commune that’s attempting to be a place where people feel safe, and are allowed to be what and who they want – and which really gets up the nose some rich people.
A trans woman, Dora, who used to live in said commune, and left over differences of opinion about security, and has been making her way for the last few years as a security consultant.
And Dora’s ex-girlfriend, still living in the commune, who is found dead – allegedly of an overdose, but Dora discovers evidence of foul play.
This is a fast-paced thriller novella (novelette? not sure) that I devoured very quickly. Dora is complex, driven, committed, sometimes bitter, and absolutely determined to get answers, even when that might hurt herself or other people. The setting is believable and horrifying, drawn with broad strokes but enough detail that you can see Wasserstein has put a lot of thought into it; and it makes me wonder what modern KC-dwellers think of it, and if they can see the places she describes. It works as a thriller – there are twists and reveals – and just overall it’s very clever. Hugely enjoyable, and I look forward to seeing what else Wasserstein has up her sleeve.
Bespoke and Bespelled
I read this courtesy of NetGalley. It’s out now.
Marnie is:
- a New Zealander,
- living in LA, because she is
- working as a costume supervisor, and
- a stitch-witch: fabric loves her and wants to make her happy.
She is also: - 41,
- ‘generously proportioned’,
- currently single, and
- bi (or pan? unclear).
As the story opens, the show she’s working on has finished, and Marnie is hoping for a position not just as a costume supervisor, but as a designer. And so when a position comes up back home, adapting one of her favourite fantasy series for the big screen, she agrees.
Note: the little nods to what LOTR did for NZ are a delight.
Basically the story is about Marnie on the film set, dealing with a) her attracting to the leading man, and b) weird occurrences that have plagued the filming since it started in NZ, and which begin to seem like they’re not random or natural.
Coming to Healey off the back of the Olympus Inc books, this is exactly what I was hoping for. Cosy, comfortable, fast-paced: I read it in one evening and I have no regrets.
Deliciously Ella: Healthy made Simple
I was sent this book by the publisher, Hachette, at no cost. It’s out now; $34.99.
I had heard of Deliciously Ella, but have never seen the original book nor made use of the website. This is my first encounter with Ella Mills. And the first thing I should note here is that this book is not designed for me. I don’t need convincing that eating vegetable is a good idea, and I loathe the word “wholefoods”. While I know that all cookbooks are in some way aspirational, and advocating some sort of lifestyle (yes, yes, thinking about Nigella…), the sort of lifestyle being shown here is definitely not for me. There’s a lot of beige, a lot of jewellery while saving up food… and I rather object to using your kids as props in your book.
So, yes, I was rather suspicious going in, I’ll admit. However, the premise of the recipes themselves is one I can get behind: 30 minutes or fewer for every dish, no more than 10 ingredients, and no more than 5 steps for each dish. There’s absolutely a place for that sort of cooking, and if you can show me some clever combinations of ingredients, then I am 100% here for it.
The good:
- avocado and butter lettuce salad with a crunchy protein topping: Ok, I object to the ‘protein’ in the name, but I’ve now made this several times and I’m keeping it. Basically, avo and soft lettuce, with oil and Dijon dressing, and then toasted chickpeas, sunflower seeds, and pepitas on top. Genuinely delicious.
- 15-minute black dahl: some lentils, tomato paste, coconut cream and curry powder blitzed together, and then cook that with more lentils and onion and spinach. I was pleasantly surprised.
- creamy paneer-inspired tofu: look, I just made this with paneer. Spices and tomato and spinach and paneer. It was fine.
… there are a few other recipes in here I could imagine making, but the reality is that for me, there was really nothing new. If you were just starting out on the idea that you might want to cook for yourself, and wanted to make things that were fast and easy and you were pretty sure were healthy, then this would be a really great book. Also, lunches where you’re pickling onion?? Where the prep time is 15 minutes?? And the TIP is that you can make it a ‘packed lunch’? I know lots of people are working from home still, but surely that’s unrealistic.
I will note that I object to the inclusion of breakfasts in a book like this. Yes they’re “prep ahead” but that just means that you’re adding yet another thing to your to-do list for the night before, when this book is selling time-saving as one of its advantages. Suggesting that breakfast must include something you’ve made, rather than cereal or what have you, is a bit frustrating. Still, at least it does include a few treats, like biscuits, so it’s not completely on the ‘no fun food’ train.
Power to Yield and other stories
Bogi Takács (link to eir review site) sent me a copy of eir book, and I’m totally stoked I got my (electronic) hands on it. (This is eir personal site.)
Takács writes in a variety of styles across these stories. Some are fantastical, some more science-y, and many refuse classification. There are a few themes that recur: the question of identity – how we think about our own, what it informs it, how it changes the way the world approaches us – was what stood out the most, to me. There’s also a lot of questioning of authority and power, in terms of who has it, how it’s used, how it can or should be controlled/mitigated/ challenged. All of which is show that Takács doesn’t shy away from being provocative – but it’s never about just being provocative: there’s a purpose to it, because at heart it feels to me (an educator) that e is an educator – educating people about how the world and people do, could, and perhaps should function, through eir fiction. Which is not to say that the stories feel in the least bit didactic, or preachy, or anything like that! It’s more the vibe I took away from the collection as a whole.
A few favourites, not exhaustive:
“A Technical Term, Like Privilege” – not the sort of story I expect to be grabbed by, because it does have body horror as a fairly integral idea (this is me avoiding phrases like “I was absorbed by this story” because… well, story-reasons). However, the way Takács uses the issues of class and other privilege as part of the discussion is totally up my alley, and works brilliantly.
“Power to Yield” – I haven’t read any of Takács’ other Eren stories (except those collected here), so there were a few moments where I felt a bit adrift; nonetheless, it didn’t actually take away from my appreciation of the story and the characters. As with “A Technical Term,” this has more violence/ bodily harm than I would generally expect a story that I was moved by to include. But it does, and I was moved; this is a story that will stay with me a for a long time. How to build a new society, how to deal with what’s left from the old society, how to balance the needs/the good of the few and the whole… Takács doesn’t offer any easy answers to such questions, but it’s brilliant to see them confronted.
“Folded into Tendril and Leaf” – another one that includes bodily harm and warfare, and now I’m seeing an unexpected pattern! Anyway: magic, love, identity, dual perspectives; this is brilliant.
I read this collection quite slowly, because many of the stories require thinking and reflection and I didn’t want to short-change them, or myself, by simply powering through. Some of them are quite heavy in terms of the issues discussed (violence, various types of discrimination), and some are on the denser side in style (in a good way!), so ditto on the short-changing.
The Quiet Revolution of Caroline Herschel
I’ve read a bit about Caroline Herschel, often in the context of “here are women who did important things in science who don’t get enough recognition.” She was one of those women who helped a man get lots of science done – in her case, her brother William: she was his assistant for much of his observing life, writing down his observations and helping with his frankly unwieldy telescopes, as well as keeping house for him for many years until he married – and then his wife had money so they had more servants. All of those things are immensely important and often get overlooked; no one is able to do science on the scale of William Herschel, or Robert Boyle, or Charles Darwin, without an immense amount of assistance: usually either female, lower class, or both. Hence why that assistance is often overlooked, because the European narrative in particular is much happier with the ‘great man’ theory.
To leave Caroline’s story at that, though, is to do her an immense disservice. She was an astronomer in her own right, discovering eight comets (two of which she wasn’t the official discoverer, because someone else got there first, but she didn’t know about that when she found them). She also contributed observations to William’s immense catalogue of the ‘nebulous’ stars. In the late 1700s, most people assumed that that ‘cloudy’ or nebulous patches in the sky were simply stars that contemporary telescopes couldn’t resolve. William used the largest telescopes of the time to realise that actually, some of those areas actually couldn’t be resolved – they really did look cloudy – and suggested that maybe some of those areas were where stars were born. (He also discovered Uranus – the first planet to have been discovered by a human, rather than seen naked-eye, which is what shot him to fame.) Caroline personally observed and described some of the Herschel catalogue.
And then there’s the other scientific tasks she undertook, which might be easy to skim over because they don’t seem that sexy. She worked for years on a massive index and catalogue of stars, using the main one available in English: double checking for errors, making it systematic, and so on. Not glamorous, requiring hours of probably boring labour, required a great deal of knowledge – what an amazing contribution to astronomy.
Anyway, the biography: is not entirely what I was expecting! It focuses largely on a decade in the middle of Caroline’s life, her most scientifically productive – and a decade for which she destroyed her dairy entires and never discussed in either of the two memoirs she produced later in life. There’s a lot of speculation for why this might be; most people conclude that it’s because she wrote some bitchy stuff about her new sister-in-law and that this didn’t fit her self-image as meek, self-effacing, and doing everything for family. It’s a fascinating question and one that will almost certainly never be resolved. So Winterburn has used letters, information from journals, and references in other places to reconstruct those lost years, and in doing so to highlight just how phenomenal Caroline was as a scientist. While she wasn’t the first women to be paid to do science – lots of other women were doing ‘science’, it just wasn’t usually called that – she was the first English woman to have a royal pension for doing science, and that’s very damn impressive.
There are oddly repetitive bits throughout the book, where Winterburn repeats ideas or phrases that have just been laid out a paragraph or two earlier; and the book can’t solely concentrate on the one decade, because the reader needs greater context for Caroline’s life – so it’s not without flaws. There’s also a frankly odd emphasis on the events of the French Revolution; while it certainly had a huge impact on some of the people Caroline and her brother corresponded with, it didn’t actually seem to have a direct impact of Caroline, living in England – she wasn’t obviously a supporter of either Burke or Paine (anti or pro the revolution), so I was confused by how many ink was spent discussing those foreign events. Nevertheless, overall I really enjoyed this, and am immensely pleased to know more about Caroline. To the point where I’m considering the so-called Herschel 400 as an observing list.
Randomly Yours, Alex 