With the ghost of Douglas Adams peering over his shoulders, author Andrew Gillsmith sets his warp drive to the max and brings us another fast-paced scWith the ghost of Douglas Adams peering over his shoulders, author Andrew Gillsmith sets his warp drive to the max and brings us another fast-paced sci-fi romp in his *Planet Gallywood* series. The story is told by an intergalactic writer whose congenial 'come-hither' style of narration treats us as if we were old friends.
After their escape from the doomed planet of Rexos-4 (in the first book), Elvie Renfro, adoptive mother of Gus Tfliximop, the most famous child in the galaxy, has set up home on BH-90120 (clever!), an ostentatious planet known for its blinged-up boulevards and its potty-mouthed macaws. The plot centres on a fiendish plot to kidnap the chosen child. Readers of the first instalment will not be at all surprised to discover that 'Cruella de Vil' TV exec, Betty Neezquaff, has her DNA all over this.
In true Gillsmith style, the caper is liberally sprinkled with avant-garde ideas and innovative wordplay. I genuinely laughed out loud at the mere mention of a Stanley Codswallop and also welcomed the introduction of a singing chimney sweep whose extravagant use of Cockney rhyming slang instantly put me in mind of the Artful Dodger high on crack cocaine. I loved Dick 'Cor Blimey' Van Dyke's character in Mary Poppins, so this was right up my street.
I must confess that the humour, at times, was a little too juvenile for my taste, but then so was 'The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy' when I watched it as a hard-bitten teenager, so please take no notice. That aside, there was much to love about a boisterous and philosophical escapade which included a swarm of talking flies, a space mafioso, a nanny dog with a passion for chimney sweeps, and a very pleasing nod to Yoda.
Great knockabout fun for sci-fi fans. I really enjoyed it!...more
"Optimism had all but vanished from Rexos-4 millennia before, when one of Gumpilos’s ancestors had calculated that the planet would be obliterated "Optimism had all but vanished from Rexos-4 millennia before, when one of Gumpilos’s ancestors had calculated that the planet would be obliterated by a rogue star on a quite specific date in the then-distant future. That date was now a mere nine months away…"
The lugubrious inhabitants of Rexos-4, a doomed planet in a distant star system, are completely oblivious to the fact that their daily exploits are being broadcast to a galaxy-wide TV audience numbering several billion. But cometh the hour, cometh the man. From within this outlying biosphere of malcontents, layabouts and doomsayers, there exists one shining light; a virtuous citizen by the name of Gumpilos Tfliximop (try saying that when you've had a few tequilas), who - to the disgruntlement of his peers - happens to be an incurable optimist. So, when Gumpilos's heart is stolen by uncongenial barista, Cniphia Obgulagong (who wouldn't ordinarily give such a nonentity the time of day), I just knew that this was shaping up to be a whole lot of fun!
Rather bonnily, Gumpilos speaks like Bertie Wooster, which further enhanced his likeability factor, and he remained my favourite character throughout.
Author Andrew Gillsmith succeeds in bringing together a whimsical and philosophical sci-fi yarn with enough laugh-out-loud moments to amuse even the most obdurate of sourpusses. This is a novella that would appeal to fans of Douglas Adams, Terry Pratchett and Kurt Vonnegut. Added to the mix, and wonderfully depicted, is the villainess (are we still allowed to say villainess?) of the piece; cutthroat TV executive, Betty Neezquaff (think Cruella de Vil-meets-Anna Wintour).
It soon becomes clear that Gillsmith is in possession of a fully-functioning moral compass. In the most agreeable of ways, and amidst a maelstrom of rambunctious gaiety, he rails against climate change deniers, nihilists, anarchists, and conspiracy theorists. Irrespective of this being a fanciful book that doesn't take itself too seriously, it does nevertheless carry a very serious message.
There was never a dull moment; the story was innovative and highly entertaining. And I won't be giving too much away by saying that the ending caught me by surprise to the extent that it brought a lump to my throat. Bravo, Andrew Gillsmith!...more
"The greatest disgrace of humankind is the failure of the strong to protect the weak. We don't need monsters. We are the monsters." —Jess Kidd, The"The greatest disgrace of humankind is the failure of the strong to protect the weak. We don't need monsters. We are the monsters." —Jess Kidd, The Night Ship
Ahoy there, me hearties! Arrr! Any landlubber who knows me knows that this swashbuckler is a huge fan of Jess Kidd's figurative writing and that I have lovingly devoured each of her previous delights. So, with my mainsail hoisted, I set off for the Dutch East Indies with a sextant in one hand and Cap'n Kidd's book in the other.
Inspired by real events (the sinking of a Dutch merchant ship, The Batavia off the coast of Australia in 1628), the story unfolded slowly … knowingly … teasingly … deliciously. "Someone polish my barnacles!" I shouted. "This has five stars written all over it!" The story is told across two timelines: In 1628, Mayken, a nonconformist girl, finds herself on a ship where dark folklore and omens gather like clouds. In 1989, Gil, a nonconformist youngster, finds himself on a haunted fishermen's island off the coast of Australia.
To begin with, this was a "shiver me timbers and bite your fingers off" kind of book. It was foreshadowed and back shadowed up to its briny armpits and I was loving every bit of it! With echoes of Moby Dick, Mutiny on the Bounty and The Creature from the Black Lagoon thrown in for good measure, I was all hands on deck, keen to see which unimaginable wonders lay beyond the horizon.
Alas, despite its resplendent start, the book ran aground towards the end. The promise of dark magical realism, unimaginable wonders and a nightmarish sea monster never really materialised and the story just fizzled out like a damp squid squib.
Because I absolutely loved where it was going before everything capsized into dullness, and because I'm a fan of Jess Kidd's poetic prose, I'm still going to award it four stars. But her debut novel, Himself, is far better, in my humble opinion.
My nautical star-rating system. ***** "Ship-shape and Bristol fashion." **** "Land ahoy!" *** "Aye, aye, Cap'n!" ** "Walk the plank, you scurvy dog!" * "Abandon ship!"...more
Plots, Protags and one Pandemic, by Kevin Ansbro (My year in books)
2020 has been a difficult year for almost everyone on the planet - even for some of Plots, Protags and one Pandemic, by Kevin Ansbro (My year in books)
2020 has been a difficult year for almost everyone on the planet - even for some of the Covidiots, bless them - but the Goodreads family has still been able to safely congregate during lockdowns, our social distancing knowing no bounds. I'm hopeful for a bright tomorrow. Our battered ship has been taking on water for quite some time, and the crew are restless, but a tiny sliver of land can be seen on the distant horizon... : )
I want to give special thanks to my fabulous buddy readers: Kimber, Collin and Nat, and also to Peter, Cheri, Leila, Fran, Beverly, Lori, Paul, Asma, Ceecee, Blair, Lars, Marialyce, Julie, Jason, Glenda, Daniel, Anthea, Marc, Susan, Nigel, Alexandra, Donnelle, Amy, Melanie, Laysee, Sara, Jennifer, Kim, etcetera, etcetera, for their kind support. x
Here is my year in books. The average rating was 4.4, so I'm not quite the curmudgeon I sometimes appear to be! ; )
Whimsical and wonderful! Fans of A Gentleman in Moscow will adore this stylish little story. Something of a modern-day fairy tale, pixie-dusted witWhimsical and wonderful! Fans of A Gentleman in Moscow will adore this stylish little story. Something of a modern-day fairy tale, pixie-dusted with Towles' inimitable finesse. *Free to read here*
I'm indebted to Cheri (Goodreads royalty) for nudging me in its direction. Cheri's review...more
For those of us who revere his writing, the author who brought us Captain Corelli's Mandolin treats us to an all-embracing collection of fanciful shorFor those of us who revere his writing, the author who brought us Captain Corelli's Mandolin treats us to an all-embracing collection of fanciful short stories that traverse the globe. I say 'revere'. Louis de Bernières has, for a long time, held a special place in the library of my heart and has even been a huge influence. Sadly, he has lost his mojo of late, so I was crossing my fingers, eyes and legs for this one.
It began with an enchanting intro: the author reminisces about a grandfather who knitted his own socks and cheated at croquet; also a grandmother whose hobbies included flower-arranging and social climbing. He goes on to ruminate about seeing white dog poo in bygone years. How come you don't see it anymore? It's as much a mystery to de Bernières as it is to me!
The stories often showcase our human fallibility and feature a mèlange of falls from grace, hopelessness, hubris, awkwardness and selfishness, all glazed with Louis' wry, often irreverent, humour (none of that priggish, sanctimonious, schoolmarmish nonsense). I was also delighted to see a fleeting return to his magnum opus; a clever morality tale where Günter Weber, a young 'orders must be obeyed' German lieutenant from Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, returns to the house of Doctor Iannis and his daughter, Pelagia. I was furthermore delighted to see that Louis had thrown in a few magical realism stories to reward any diehard fans of his South American Trilogy. Other notable yarns were The Deposit, a wonderful feelgood story, and A Day Out For Mehmet Erbil, a poignant 'lost in translation' piece involving a Turkish collector of soft drinks cans and an English botanist, which made me want to plunge into the story so I might find them a translator! The closing story, A Night Off for Prudente de Moraes threw me a line so funny that the laugh left my throat before my fat lips had any chance to react, causing them to do that vibratory "pwwrrubrurrbbhh" noise that horses are prone to do! : )
I enjoyed this diverting collection of short stories, even though I anticipated many of the endings. For me, Louis hasn't quite recaptured his mojo; he is a tamed-down version of his former self, though I doubt he'd be worried about what I think as he rides his golden unicorn across the elegantly-landscaped grounds of Château de Bernières! 3.5, rounded up to 4...more
"The devil went down to Georgia Moscow, he was looking for a soul to steal." —Primus
Phew! I needed a margarita after finishing The Master and Ma "The devil went down to Georgia Moscow, he was looking for a soul to steal." —Primus
Phew! I needed a margarita after finishing The Master and Margarita! What a magnificent, turbulent read! This extravagant Russian allegory is an adult 'Alice in Wonderland' bursting at the seams with mischief, darkness and rambunctiousness. The ghosts of Faust and Dante must have sat on the author's shoulders as he worked tirelessly on this masterpiece. In short, this book was made for me! Come down from the heavens, Mikhail Bulgakov, and give me a hug, my brother from another мамочка. I'm so glad we found each other!
The Devil and his motley crew breeze into 1930s Moscow and begin to wreak havoc by reading people's minds, decapitating citizens and throwing an astonishing stage show that scandalises the local glitterati. To give you some inkling of what we're dealing with here, one of Satan's sidekicks is a talking cat the size of a pig, who is always in the thick of things (Bulgakov was evidently writing magical realism before Gabriel García Márquez was even born). The humour is riotous and the badinage so hilarious that I was holding my ribs, kicking my legs and Cossack dancing around the room!
In tandem with all of this magic and mayhem (please bear with me, dear reader) is a travel back in time to the trial and eventual crucifixion of Jesus of Nazareth. These subplot scenes are written in a completely different hist-fic style and are amazingly cinematic. The author's juxtaposition of the supernatural and the real is a constant stratagem throughout. It would take me all day to discuss the symbolism that underpins this incredible book, so I won't bore you with every detail. Suffice to say that Bulgakov sets out to satirise the Stalinist regime he was oppressed by (was Orwell's Animal Farm inspired by this novel?) and the Devil is on hand to mete out an extreme brand of either punishment or reward to whoever displeases or pleases him (human cowardice is what really gets his goat). The underlying parable jumps about all over the place – and sometimes out of windows on a broomstick! Heck, there is even a Magritte-style talking suit! I'd be lying if I said I'd grasped the significance of all of the author's philosophical analogies, but I certainly had a lot of fun trying.
I loved this book; really loved it. And it's incredible to think that The Master and Margarita was fashioned in the 1920s. It was years ahead of its time and is like no other novel I've ever read.
Clearly, this book wouldn't be for everyone, but if you like your literature dark, magical, intellectual, thought-provoking and absurd, then you should find room for it on your shelves.
This was a buddy read with my wonderful magical realism friend, Kimber Silver.
"Russia reminds me of the pomegranate before it went rotten." —Zoya Jachmenev
Eighty-year-old Georgy Jachmenev, an obstinate man not given to frivol"Russia reminds me of the pomegranate before it went rotten." —Zoya Jachmenev
Eighty-year-old Georgy Jachmenev, an obstinate man not given to frivolity or casual pleasantries, is troubled by his past. Having escaped the horrors of the Bolshevik rebellion in his Russian homeland, he finds employment and sanctuary within the indexed walls of The British Museum Library. Decades later, no one could possibly imagine that this secretive killjoy did something so selflessly heroic back in 1916 that it earned him a placement of trust within the gilded confines of the Tsar's palace.
Without even allowing me the chance to belt out a thunderous chorus of a ...more
Though I've only thus far experienced two years in solitude, rather than the full one hundred, I felt it was time to treat myself to a Gabriel García Though I've only thus far experienced two years in solitude, rather than the full one hundred, I felt it was time to treat myself to a Gabriel García Márquez pick-me-up (he is, after all, one of my top three literary idols).
But, alas, the stories herein were initially aimless and bereft of structure. I'll even go so far as to whisper it here... they really weren't very good at all.. : ( Rather than the silky smooth magical realism for which 'Gabo' is venerated, these were esoteric and Kafkaesque, but in a ham-fisted, experimental kind of way. After scratching my head long enough to invite splinters, I did some research and discovered that the stories had been planted in chronological order. A-ha! Thought I. So he was evidently finding his feet as he transitioned from journalist to author… That explains it! He was still scrabbling in the foothills on his ascent to greatness.
And soon enough, joy of all joys, the tales grew in artistry and stature. Here at last was the unquenchable creativity and authorial control that I'd come to expect from the Colombian maestro. The sky above me burgeoned into the most handsome of blues and all was right with the world. A pretty nightingale flew down from a tree and perched upon my shoulder, at which point we launched into a tuneful duet that brought creatures running from the forest just to listen to us. So entranced were they by our intonation that they favoured us with rapturous applause as soon as the last word was sung. "Hooray for Kevin and the sweet-sounding nightingale!" they cheered. "And hooray for Gabriel García Márquez and his wonderful collection of short stories!"...more
Ahoy there, me hearties! All hands on deck! Cap'n Kevin here, and I've been reading John Boyne's Mutiny on the Bounty, so I have! Arrrrh!
Now then, althoAhoy there, me hearties! All hands on deck! Cap'n Kevin here, and I've been reading John Boyne's Mutiny on the Bounty, so I have! Arrrrh!
Now then, although I revere Boyne's flamboyant writing, this was not one of his best, in my humble opinion.
Our story begins with a scene straight out of a Dickens novel: Artful Dodger-esque street urchin, John Jacob Turnstile, knows that money doesn't grow on trees and therefore needs to pick a pocket or two. Yess! This is bloomin' luvverly, thought I, breaking into a rousing chorus of ♬Consider Yourself♬ from Oliver! Needless to say, Turnstile (truly a lovable rogue) is caught red-handed and ends up in the long arms of the law. To avoid a harsh jail sentence he is offered a working position on HMS Bounty and finds himself valet to none other than Captain William Bligh. Naturally, and without delay, I spliced my mainbrace with a tot of rum and hoisted my mainsail. "Come on, John Boyne, you lovable landlubber!" I bellowed into the salty wind. "Enthral me with a dazzling escapade on the very highest of seas!"
Sadly, it wasn't to be. What ensued was a boys'-own adventure that remained far too frisky for my liking (and I like frisky). Boyne plays fast and loose with the language of the day, slipping into modern-day vernacular with alacrity and depicting Tahitian natives as having such a perfect command of the English language that I wondered if they'd enrolled on one of those Rosetta Stone language courses. Example (native girl to Turnstile): "You employ a man to live with horses?" : )
Anyone familiar with my reviews will know that I'm a huge fan of John Boyne's work. Consequently, I fully expected this book to rattle my crow's nest and shiver my timbers. Although extremely excited by its Dickensian beginning, the story didn't move through the gears and I wasn't at any point imbued with a sense of trepidation. In summary, it was a rollicking good read that needed a bit of a rethink.
"I think ladies rather love cocky gentlemen." —Wendy
This is an additional scene to the Peter Pan story, written by Barrie himself. Peter seeks out "I think ladies rather love cocky gentlemen." —Wendy
This is an additional scene to the Peter Pan story, written by Barrie himself. Peter seeks out Wendy several years later but is disappointed to find that she's now a married housewife and all grown up. Infused with symbolism and metaphor, Barrie has tried to square a circle by adding some adult gravitas, but the scene was pulled from the stage production that it was intended for.
Thanks to Petra for the internet link to this ten-minute read: Petra's review
Oh, come on, Goodreads! : ) Inviting an author to review his own book is like asking a fox to look after your hens! It beggars belief, it really does, aOh, come on, Goodreads! : ) Inviting an author to review his own book is like asking a fox to look after your hens! It beggars belief, it really does, and I don't approve of it one bit. No, siree! My inner voice beseeched me to do the ethical thing and award this dreary offering just one humble star, that I may be a beacon for all that is good and virtuous in this conceited world. Then I told myself to stop being such a crybaby and fill it up to the top! So I did! : )...more
What a great start to a book! A dead Tasmanian mother returns to her family two days af"Everything changes, nothing perishes." —Ovid, Metamorphoses
What a great start to a book! A dead Tasmanian mother returns to her family two days after they'd spread her ashes, and no-one bats an eyelid. This phenomenon isn't unusual within the McAllister clan, for a procession of deceased relatives routinely reappear, albeit amalgamated into the flora, fauna and flotsam of the locale in which they were scattered. Yes! Yes! YES! I was seduced by Robbie Arnott before he'd even bought me flowers. This is an earth, wind and fire kind of book and I was up and ready to groove tonight! For some strange reason, the mythical, folklorish inception of this story put me in mind of the nymph, Daphne, turning herself into a tree so she could evade the lustful advances of Apollo. I love shapeshifters.
Magical realism, if done well, is my favourite genre and Arnott's avant-garde storytelling is backed up with picturesque descriptions of the wild Tasmanian landscape: glistening green gorges, thistle fields, hateful gorse, mudflats and reedy wetlands; whale spray rising from the ocean, beneath a clotted sky.
This, my fellow bookaneers, is an author whose imagination outshines most others'.
Now, this doesn't mean that I was totally won over… The story takes too many routes and becomes lost in the Forest of Fabulism that Arnott has planted. Not only that - why, oh why was the dialogue italicised? And there weren't any blimmin' speech marks either (one of my pet peeves). This ill-considered modus operandi frustrated me from start to finish. I felt as if I was bearing witness to a coven of superhumans who could all communicate telepathically with each other.
The good news is that Arnott's inventive imagery and extravagant storytelling continued to delight me throughout. He conjures up a wealth of extraordinary characters: salt-rinsed fishermen, census-friendly families (now that is a genius line), a flinty, androgynous kickass female detective and the world's finest coffin maker (who was a hoot!). The author even presents us with a Moby Dick-style trope involving a wombat farmer's maniacal quest to kill a malevolent cormorant.
The biggest compliment I can give Robbie Arnott is that his spellbinding book is like nothing I've ever read. And that, dear reader, is a very fine achievement!
"This is my quest, to follow that star. No matter how hopeless, no matter how far." —Impossible Dream, Man of La Mancha
Anyone who has read my revie"This is my quest, to follow that star. No matter how hopeless, no matter how far." —Impossible Dream, Man of La Mancha
Anyone who has read my reviews (you crazy fools) will know that Sir Salman Rushdie has long been one of my literary heroes and that I feel he has lost his magic touch of late (we wants it, we needs it, nasty hobbitses!)
Happily, this devil-may-care, genre-bending, post-modernist fable marks a welcome return to form. That said, Rushdie has never quite been able to summon the artistry that guided him to write Midnight's Children In a present-day twist to de Cervantes' Don Quixote, our bewildered anti-hero is one Ismail Smile, an Indian chap with retreating mental powers who binge-watches 'Housewives From Wherever' and any other daytime crap that takes his fancy. Inspired by 'The Bachelorette' TV show, his Quixotic quest (some might call it stalking) is to zealously pursue a beautiful television personality - namely, Miss Salma R - daughter of a former Bollywood actress with whom he is unwholesomely infatuated. So he reinvents himself as Quichotte, the gallant knight in pursuit of her Grail. The magical realism that brought Rushdie fame comes to the fore when Quichotte wishes upon a meteor shower and Hey Presto! a fifteen-year-old monochrome-skinned boy (his Sancho Panza) materialises in his car.
Rushdie has long been one of the most accomplished writers on the planet and not only is it business as usual, his wascally wabbit wambunctiousness is also still evident. It's true that he requires of the reader a high degree of concentration, incorporating elements of the parodic, of satire and studious pastiche. My feeling is that he is perhaps trying too hard and has become a little too self-indulgent. To add to all of the cleverness swashing around, we discover that this is actually a story within a story (a "mise en abyme") written by Indian author, Sam duChamp (Rushdie himself, one would assume). Salman is one of the few highbrow authors who is also fluent in emoji-speak; an Oscar Wilde for the fake news/Carpool Karaoke/Twitflix generation.
Let it be said that the concept is out-of-this-world genius and that this is a reality TV/scholarly/social commentary dreamscape of a novel, the likes of which I haven't seen. Although Mr Rushdie is one of my literary gods and greatest influences, I found his exuberant wordplay and pop culture references to be so bountiful that, on this occasion, it stemmed the flow slightly, making for a sluggish read.
I missed the irreverent, impish humour that bejewelled the pages of Midnight's Children but applaud the great man for creating his own unique brand of literature (just as Cervantes did all those centuries ago). Even at the grand age of 72, Salman is still pushing the boundaries and I conclude that, even though he's no longer firing on all cylinders, the irrepressible word-tickler has conjured a sophisticated yet playful novel that outshines most of this year's humdrum offerings
In his own words, Rushdie seeks to encompass the multiplicity of human life. He has certainly achieved that!...more
"Whatever happens, I'm a man. But I'm a man with a soft dick…" (Not my words, but those of Ajo Kawir, the main character in the book).
Javanese teen"Whatever happens, I'm a man. But I'm a man with a soft dick…" (Not my words, but those of Ajo Kawir, the main character in the book).
Javanese teenager, the aforementioned Ajo Kawir, is forced to witness an act of barbarism that mentally scars him, condemning him to a life blighted by erectile dysfunction. His limp penis thereafter nestles like a newly-hatched bird, insignificant in size and in perpetual slumber. Even a photograph of a bikini-clad woman with thick armpit hair (one of his predilections) can't wake the poor thing and it continues to resemble a little lump of ginger root. The extreme frustration caused by this unfortunate malfunction leads Ajo to become a fearsome fighter of some notoriety.
Eka Kurniawan's brutal-yet-fantastical tale hurtles along at breakneck speed and the Tarantino-esque incidences of pulpy violence come thick and fast. The story defies easy categorisation: imagine an Indonesian nod to spaghetti Westerns, influenced by the magical realism of Gabriel García Márquez, and you would be in the right ballpark. Ajo is not without principles and sets out to punish a local mob boss for sordidly taking advantage of one of his female tenants. First, he has to get past Iteung, the gangster's female bodyguard; the sort of gal who would beat a man black and blue before leaving his mangled body in a ditch. A bloody, bone-crushing fight ensues, which leaves Ajo head-over-heels in love with his beautiful adversary. I will give you fair warning that the tale contains scenes of violence against women which are sure to offend. I rather think that the author is trying to show the real-life brutality that females can sometimes suffer at the hands of misogynistic men in a male-dominated backwater. He counterbalances this by ensuring that the perpetrators get their just rewards and by casting a kickass female as one of the main protagonists. Aside from the macho posturing, there is a tenderness to this outlandish story: Ajo, beneath his combative exterior, is selfless and full of compassion. Themes of love, honour and loyalty drive the narrative.
Despite my enjoying every minute of this thrill ride, I concede that it does misfire at times. Kurniawan tries to emulate Márquez but doesn't quite possess the lyrical artistry of the great man. The story is unashamedly ribald and bursts at the seams with pantomime villains and dark humour. It held my attention throughout., but then I'm not at all of a delicate disposition and thoroughly enjoyed seeing scores being settled.
Does Ajo Kawir ever find true love and does he finally rise to the occasion? Well, you would have to read the book…...more
"The bond between a mother and her child is the only real and purest bond in the world…" —Ama H. Vanniarachchy
Esperanza Diaz, a beautiful, deeply "The bond between a mother and her child is the only real and purest bond in the world…" —Ama H. Vanniarachchy
Esperanza Diaz, a beautiful, deeply religious Mexican widow is mourning the unexpected death of daughter Blanca when an apparition of San Judas Tadeo – the patron saint of lost causes – appears in the grease of her oven's glass door. To Esperanza's astonishment, the greasy saint informs her that, despite what the authorities have said, Blanca is very much alive! Furnished with this earth-shattering nugget of information, Esperanza does what any sensible mother would do after listening to their oven door, she sets off for some of the seediest brothels in Mexico, imagining that her sweet Blanca might have been abducted and sold into prostitution.
I cannot begin to tell you how much I enjoyed this captivating escapade. Indomitable Esperanza is as irresistible to the reader as she is to everyone she meets – even her Catholic priest, despite his life of abstinence, falls in love with her. And so will you. Esperanza's one-woman quest is as humorous as it is heroic. The unassailable love she has for her daughter is deeply affecting and transcends any thoughts she has for her own safety. You will find yourself rooting for her every step of the way. The story has a Gabriel García Márquez flavour to it, but I would term it as magical realism-lite, rather than full-blown magical realism. Whereas Márquez turns the leaf of reality upside down, so we can see what's on the other side, author María Amparo Escandón gently sprinkles her pixie dust onto the narrative so that real life becomes more enchanting than it actually is.
Wonderful Esperanza is a walking paradox. On the one hand, she is wide-eyed and innocent; a small-town señora immersing herself into a perilous world that she knows nothing about. On the other, she is nobody's fool and knows how to secure an advantage. Her naivety is endearing, her optimism meritorious.
The story is extravagant, rather than outlandish, and will certainly bring a big smile to your face.
So, if you want a break from the tedium of those humdrum books you've recently wasted your time on, then grab this sparkling story with both hands and get into it without delay. You'll thank me for it. : )...more
Nonentity pencil pusher, George Orr, increasingly worried tha"The dream is the aquarium of night" —Victor Hugo
Oneirophobia: noun. A fear of dreams.
Nonentity pencil pusher, George Orr, increasingly worried that his dreams can alter past and present reality, has therefore become afraid to dream. Caught using another person’s pharm card to obtain drugs to keep him awake, he’s referred to narcissistic psychiatrist, Dr William Haber, for an innovative course of dream therapy. The book started brightly and the first chapter promised much, a nice run of assonance feeding proceedings: jellyfish, abyss. Then, to further reinforce Le Guin’s writing credentials, some beautiful imagery: …the moondriven sea. A-ha! A sci-fi author fond of her literary devices. We bonded almost immediately! Sadly, the second chapter became mired in some stodgy science stuff that had me glazing over for a while … s-states, d-states, v-c induction, blah, blah, blah. I’m not in the least bit techy (I still use an abacus and a sextant) and, man, I was beginning to get bored!
But, happily, things improved dramatically. Doctor Haber asks Orr to don a trancap which is wired to a dream machine that monitors his sleeping thoughts and right off the bat this seemingly unremarkable patient ruffles the psychiatrist's clinical countenance by effecting an outlandish happenstance. But Haber is a man who wants full control over his human guinea pig/rhesus monkey/goose that might lay a golden egg, and seeks to confuse Orr's grasp of reality with the deployment of some devious misdirection. Orr is the underdog we are all rooting for; his innate goodness is in sharp contrast to Haber’s artfulness and so the story becomes somewhat parabolic. More than a few sessions continue and, after another bout of assonance (saddles, hobbles; slogging, plodding; Brownian, roundian), an astonishing event unfolded before my mind’s eye in glorious Technicolor. An event so monumental, so Orrsome that it had me bouncing up and down in my seat! "Bravo, Ursula Le Guin!" I shouted in honour of her memory. "THAT was STUPENDOUS!"
In due course, Orr's God-like powers run amok and all manner of crazy things start to occur, notably the introduction of dreamt-to-life aliens whose tentacles 'retract like a carpenter's flexible rule'. Now I've often been told that I don’t know my arse from my elbow, and that I often talk out of my arse... WELL, the aliens in this story ALL talk out of their elbows, so if Earth is ever invaded for real, we'll get along famously!
I'm delighted to say that the book is really well written. I purred over much of Le Guin's prose and marvelled at the ingenuity of her fascinating story. I loved the graceful, esoteric ending but, because Le Guin kept ploughing the same doctor/patient furrow throughout, and because of the tedious science bits, I’ve deducted one star. But, overall, this was a marvellously entertaining read that lovers of old-skool sci-fi will revere! I loved it!
Big thanks to my supercool sci-fi pal, @Apatt, for recommending this cracking story, and also to @KimberSilver for agreeing to be my buddy reader....more
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