Reading Diary: 17 August-23 August

Descendant of the Crane, by Joan He: This ancient Chinese-inspired fantasy novel isn’t my usual fare, but it’ll be somebody else’s cup of tea, without question. Princess Hesina’s father, the king, has just been killed, and she is determined to find out by whom. But with a wily Minister of Rites, a kingdom so terrified of magic that it slaughtered all (spoilers: not quite) of its “sooths” three centuries ago, and invasion threats from the neighbouring country of Kendi’a, finding the murderer is the least of Hesina’s problems. This, in turn, presents the reader with a problem: there are so many plot strands fighting for primacy that it’s difficult to know where to place one’s attention and investment, and He’s characters, while endearing, also perform a lot of cliched actions. Hesina is constantly blushing, gasping, fighting for breath, inwardly cursing, feeling her throat constrict, and so on. (A lot of this overcooked rhetoric is respiratory, now that I think of it. I wonder why authors go for it so often?) The characters’ reactions frequently slow the pace of the action; when the dead king’s tomb is opened, whole paragraphs go by in lavish descriptions of bafflement before we’re told what Hesina and her peremptory love interest Akira are actually seeing. It’s a lot of fun–it reminds me forcefully of the fantasy novel I spent much of my pre-teen years writing, which was sort of equal parts Tolkien, Pierce and Pascal–and it sets up a sequel, which I wouldn’t spurn if it was offered to me, but there’s definitely a sense of too much material, not quite tightly enough controlled.

The Searcher, by Tana French: A new French novel is always cause for celebration. The Searcher (out in November; my copy is from Netgalley) continues her move away from the traditional cop protagonists that characterized her first six books, although it’s kind of a lateral move: here, our investigator is an ex-policeman and an American ex-policeman at that, Cal Hooper, formerly of the Chicago PD. Chicago is fairly notorious for police violence, and Hooper’s experience reflects both the truth and the nuance of that: he has never killed an unarmed young black man, but an incident where his partner nearly does so is ultimately what pushes him into early retirement. A divorce and a move to rural Ireland later, he hopes to find peace and quiet in the country, but is instead recruited by a young kid, Trey, whose brother Brendan has gone missing, and who demands that Cal find out where Brendan is.

The Searcher is as beautifully written as all of French’s books, but what it lacks, for want of a better word, is a sense of intoxication. This is not necessarily a bad thing. The professional detectives in her early books love their job, they live and breathe it, and that sense of drive, passion, righteousness, infuses their appreciation of the world around them and of human relationships within it. As French’s career has matured, her characters’ perceptions have too. Cal isn’t quite the hard-bitten cynic he considers himself, but his understanding of social dynamics, of how we fit in with each other, has less flash and snap than, say, Cassie Maddox’s or even Scorcher Kennedy’s; more resignation and determination. It’s a mystery novel for grownups, this–which isn’t to say that it’s excessively violent or disturbing, but rather that both French and her characters are increasingly interested in how to behave when the right thing and the correct thing are not the same. (Cal and Trey have a fantastic conversation about the difference between etiquette, manners and morals that sums up what I think French is getting at throughout the entire book.) A really promising turn for her. I can’t wait to read more.

In Praise of Shadows, by Junichiro Tanizaki: A rather lovely little essay on aesthetics (sort of, I guess?), clocking in at well under 100 pages but published on its own by Vintage Classics. Tanizaki was a 20th-century Japanese novelist who produced, amongst other things, the magnificent The Makioka Sisters, which has always reminded me very strongly of Jane Austen’s work, with its similar cultural context of a high value placed on reputation, limited economic options for middle-class women, and a codified (and coded) set of behaviours, from which deviation cannot be tolerated by polite society. In Praise… is a different beast: here, Tanizaki explores the distinction between a Western prioritization of light (specifically electric light) in design, and a traditional Japanese preference for “the pensive lustre” over “the shallow brilliance”. His arguments are both wide-ranging (he touches on toilet design, the unique properties of jade, why Japanese cuisine really must be eaten by candelight to be properly appreciated, and the allure of half-hidden women in old-fashioned brothels, amongst many other things), and intriguing in their engagement with cultural imperialism: he posits, for instance, that technologies such as mass-produced paper and modern interior lighting would look completely different worldwide had they been invented by the Japanese instead of Westerners (and mainly Americans). It’s a thoughtful and surprisingly profound piece of work; I’m glad I picked it up on a whim.

The Picture of Dorian Gray, by Oscar Wilde: This tale of corruption, scandal and decadence is one of those books I constantly thought I’d read (and everyone else seemed to have done in school) but hadn’t actually, until this week. The Penguin clothbound edition is good because it contains the introduction by Robert Mighall from the paperback, which dwells on Wilde’s revisions between the original publication (in Lippincott’s Magazine in 1890) and the slightly longer printed-book version (1891). These were largely made in order to tone down the overt homoeroticism of the original material, which, I have to say, is blatant if not absolutely screaming. Basil Hallward, the painter who becomes obsessed with Dorian’s physical beauty, speaks repeatedly of “adoring” him, of being “jealous” and “romantic”; the Mephistophelean Lord Henry Wotton, who turns both Dorian’s head and his soul, mocks Hallward’s devotion in terms that render it explicitly romantic, but clearly desires erotic domination over Dorian himself, and encourages the latter to practice that same domination on other impressionable young men. The interpolated revenge-plot material focusing on James Vane is not especially interesting or good (it feels like the third-rate subplot of a Dickens novel; all the big ones have got one of those), and the scenes in high society… well, I tend not to like those even in Wilde’s plays; here they strike me as simultaneously silly and mean-spirited. The supernatural element of the book (the whole portrait scapegoat thing) is actually the least dwelt-upon, since Wilde is really more interested in philosophizing upon Art, Morals, and the relationship between the two (in Wilde’s ideal world, none). Divertingly grotesque, though.

Darkness at Noon, by Arthur Koestler: I had a rather rough afternoon on Friday and a friend suggested I pick up a YA fantasy novel, which usually soothes and resets me; when I told her I was halfway through this, she described it as “almost laughably the opposite” of soothing, which is true. It takes place during the Moscow show trials of 1936-8, during which Stalin purged most of the historic leadership of the Communist Party—”purge” being a light word for imprisonment, solitary confinement, torment, humiliation, forced confession, and execution. The protagonist here is Rubashov, an Old Bolshevik who has done some bad things in his time but who has become disillusioned with Soviet propaganda and ideology as a result of Stalin’s rule, and who is consequently imprisoned. Much of the novel is about Rubashov’s own struggle to determine whether he was right or wrong in his dedication to the Revolution as a younger man: if he was right, the only validation he’ll receive is from posterity, decades after he’s gone; if he was wrong, as he puts it, “I’ll pay.” And pay he does, in the end, as we know he will right from the beginning. The intimacy Koestler achieves in charting his psychological journey, however, is exceptional, disturbing, and moving. The evocation of prison—and particularly the solidarity shown between prisoners, even those who thoroughly disagree with each other ideologically—is perhaps the strongest part of a very strong book: the scenes where Rubashov and his neighbour in cell 402 tap out messages to each other, where Rubashov is initiated into the prison tradition of hammering on one’s cell door in percussive salute each time a fellow inmate is taken away for execution, and where finally Rubashov and 402 have their last conversation, will haunt me for a long time.


15 thoughts on “Reading Diary: 17 August-23 August

  1. The Searcher sounds so interesting! As you know, I thought The Wych Elm was very good but didn’t measure up to the heights of French’s Dublin Murder Squad novels. I suspect I’ll react similarly to The Searcher (I think I know what you mean by ‘the flash and snap’ of most of her Murder Squad narrators, and I also think that was missing in The Wych Elm), but I’m still super excited to read it because I know she can’t actually write a bad book.

    Theoretically, I want to read a fantasy novel that isn’t tied to European traditions, but I keep on running up against the fact that I’m not really a fantasy fan and I can’t cope with high fantasy at all. (I basically want A Song of Ice and Fire, but not set in yet another fantasy Europe.) For that reason, it sounds like Descendant of the Crane wouldn’t work for me either.

    1. Yes, I think the Dublin Murder Squad has a kind of pyrotechnic appeal that her later books haven’t, but I do think that’s perhaps down to the maturing of her style and ideas. It leaves the books a little flatter, but as you say, she can’t write a bad one.

      Haha! I’m not much on high fantasy either, since so much of it feels cod-Tolkeinian, but I do very much like books with fantasy elements in them – Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, for instance, or China Mieville’s work. They generally feel more sophisticated, too. Black Leopard Red Wolf is a great non-Eurocentric fantasy but it’s VERY high and very long and quite confusing in bits; you have to be willing to just give in to confusion, which is something I always struggle with.

      1. Yes, I also liked Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell a lot (though I’m a Mr Norrell sympathiser and still feel he was very hard done by!) and I love Mieville, but tend to feel he’s a more speculative writer. I admire Marlon James’s work but I really struggled with confusion in A Brief History of Seven Killings so I’d be hesitant to pick up something else that has the same issue, even though I love everything I’ve heard him say about what he’s doing in Black Leopard Red Wolf.

  2. I’m still trying to get back to French’s Wych Elm, the beginning of which I found so disturbing I haven’t got past the first 50 pages. I do have a copy of The Searcher but I’ve been leaving it until nearer the publication date. Perhaps I’ll try that one first and then go back and see if I can reboot on the earlier novel.

    1. I would say The Searcher is much less overtly disturbing—there’s one incident that people of a tender disposition will probably find upsetting, but I know what you mean about that queasy disorientation at the start of The Wych Elm and I didn’t get that same feeling here.

  3. I was not a huge fan of The Wych Elm, so am somewhat sad that Tana French is not revisiting her Dublin squad, but of course will still be reading this new book. She is always one to watch. Darkness at Noon is a fantastic book, and I’m surprised that it’s not experienced more of a revival lately (unsurprisingly, I read a bootlegged version of it during Communist times in Romania in my very early teens).

    1. I know, it’s a bummer, but I wonder if it’s a deliberate permanent move on her part–it definitely feels like it. Darkness at Noon is extraordinary and is probably well overdue a renaissance; so much of it felt deeply relevant.

  4. Descendant of the Crane sounds fun. I don’t know if I would read it but I’m always excited when fantasy novels are based outside of the Western mythology.

    1. Yeah, same! There are some others I’d like to pursue (Empire of Sand by Tasha Suri, for instance, and God’s War by Kameron Hurley).

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