Books 2010
Silent on the Moor – Deanna Raybourn
Am really looking forward to more of these mock-Victorian intrigues – a good first-person narrative with an entertaining and engaging voice, combined with a rather dashing foil in the form of part-gypsy Nicholas Brisbane made for something I couldn’t put down.
Silent in the Sanctuary – Deanna Raybourn
See above, really, but with a windswept setting and underground mines.
The Tunnel Behind the Waterfall – William Corlett
The third in the quartet of books about William, Mary and Alice, who go to stay with their uncle Jack at Golden Valley only to pick up where they left off with the alchemist magus who haunts the house in various guises. Above-average by a long shot, and Quercus tells me that I am quite like Phoebe.
The Door in the Tree – William Corlett
Second of this quartet; found this one a bit draggy, perhaps because of the animal-baiting theme, which slightly put me off, but overall a good sequel and v. necessary if you’re going for the whole lot, of course.
Poison Study – Maria V. Snyder
Hadn’t heard of this one before, but bought it when given money to spend on books at Chrimbly; if you’re familiar with Trudi Canavan’s Dark Magician trilogy (the first of which is here) and enjoyed those, then this one is probably a safe bet. There are I think three of them, but I’ve only read the first thus far; if I come across the others for a suitably paltry sum, I’d probably buy them too.
What Angels Fear – C. S. Harris
Another mock-Victorian murder thriller effort, which I enjoyed apart from the gratingly anachronistic phrases which popped up with alarming frequency; of course, predictably, I can’t call any to mind, but it was the equivalent of an English duke of nineteenth-century origins telling his friends that he figured he’d go get a beer now. Spoiled the effect for me, and sort of jolted me out of the book’s world, without wishing to sound wanky, which was a shame, because I quite liked the lead character.
Raising Our Children, Raising Ourselves – Naomi Aldort
The usual hippy parenting stuff that I go in for – lots of strategies for better communication without resorting to parental strictures, and some useful ideas about it all being a two-way street.
The Ninth Stone – Kylie Fitzpatrick
Despite rubbishy reviews on Amazon, gave this one a bash with that Chrimbly money; I found it entertaining, despite worrying that one of the younger characters might not last out the book (I hate things where children get bumped off or whatever; I am officially an old softy). Did wish that one of the main characters hadn’t died so early on; thought it might have worked better had she lived, but hey. The idea of stones as part of a spiritual connection to the gods and goddesses of the unseen world was fascinating, as was the idea of differently coloured diamonds; I had no idea such things exist (if indeed they do).
Oooh, see above for my having problems with things where children are hurt/killed. But still, a v. g. read which I sat up stupidly late reading.
The Iron Horse – Edward Marston
Pretty tripe-ish, and, although it wasn’t the story’s fault, this edition was full of typos – literally dozens of them – which made for a distracting read.
Pilgrim’s Rest – Patricia Wentworth
Really liked this 1940s sleuthing stuff – haven’t come across them before, but shall try to do so again.
The Angel’s Game – Carlos Ruiz Zafón
Hoovered this up, but finished it feeling oddly unsatisfied. I think I just missed something in it, fundamentally, and was left thinking, ‘wait… what just happened?’ Zafón does a very good line in quietly disturbing, impending-doom-type scenarios, to judge from this and the first of his that I read (The Shadow of the Wind), though I now wonder if he can do otherwise, and the murky streets of Barcelona made for an excellent backdrop to this dark fairytale.
Second installment of this ‘Study’ malarky; enjoyable enough, though as with the Dark Magic whatsits to which I compared it above, I found myself missing the first setting, and the relationship between our heroine and her chap was for the most part missing, which, it having been a major feature of the first book, seemed a little frustrating. I’ll probably read the third one, that said.
The Day of the Triffids – John Wyndham
I love the way Wyndham writes; his prose is ridiculously easy to get through, and he sucks me into each world of his creation with ease and speed each time I read something of his; this one was no exception. You may have seen film versions of this, but nothing beats the original for the sheer sinisterness of the original concept.
See above, basically, but, for me at least, minus the sinisterness, other than in relation to the kidnapping towards the end.
Their Eyes Were Watching God – Zora Neale Hurston
I found the phonetic language a bit distracting here – I get the approach, in that it certainly gave a strong impression of the ways in which these characters use language, and how they relate to it, but I still found it difficult to read, and that distracted me from the actual plot initially. Despite this, I enjoyed reading this one (and I’m not really a Modern American Significants kind of reader, as my normal superficial nonsense will show); for me, though, Alice Walker’s The Temple of My Familiar remains the winner in this area (and yes, I am aware that I’ve just shoveled vast swathes of unrelated fiction into one little pigeonhole; I’ve been committing such atrocities against literature of all shapes and sizes for years, so I’m not about to stop now).
The Law and the Lady – Wilkie Collins
I love Wilkie Collins. Full stop. He is great. For Victorian mystery whatsits, you just can’t beat him, and I prefer him to Dickens. *ducks* This was another humdinger – lots of intrigue and whatsit, and a rather personable first-person narrator to boot.
Her Fearful Symmetry – Audrey Niffenegger
I couldn’t put this down, much to my surprise – the concept of it didn’t hook me in in the way that The Time-Traveller’s Wife did, but it grew on me, little by little, as I realised what was coming. I particularly liked Niffenegger’s handling of the boredom of death, and the realisation that, actually, this might be it, in terms of excitement, was both exhilarating and depressing. I do wish, though, that she could write an unalloyed happy ending. Go on, go on, go on. Etc.