The second third of Islandia suffered middle book syndrome even though it’s not actually a middle book. Yet it is the middle of this book. The first third had elements of a travelogue, a natural history explorer, a diplomat and unrequited love. The second half included the climax of the diplomatic crisis but replaced unrequited love with a rebound romance and the consequences of isolationism. The protagonist’s predicament becomes more interesting and intriguing as he begins the return journey back from the brink of near total Islandiaic immersion or immolation.
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Dorna, I had a marvelous visit with Natanna and the Hyths on my way back to The City. Yet I pine for the beauty of Dorn Island. You have encouraged me to avail myself of all my opportunities. Warmest regards, John (Ch. 16, The Hyths and The City)
My favorite thing about streaming a series is not having to wait a week between episodes, especially when you are coming late to the party. I do occasionally binge watch, but usually no more than four (4) episodes at once. I have limited myself to two (2) episodes a night of The Man in the High Castle with a solo sandwiched between allowing me to complete five (5) episodes this week. And I must say I am hooked.
It’s been years since I read PKD’s novel but even with my vague recollections I’m riveted by this production. I’ve pulled out my ebook edition to reread, but that won’t prevent me from continuing on with the rest of season one. There’s a reason PKD has so many adaptations. If you haven’t read anything by him, I highly recommend him.
The second series we started watching this week was Humans(stylized with an upside down A). I decided to watch this series based on an article I read months ago that stated if you really want to experience a robot rebellion, try Humans instead of or in addition to Westworld. I very much enjoyed Westworld, especially the cinematography, production quality, story and acting, which sets a very high bar for Humans to meet.
Meeting violence with violence doesn’t show strength: it inspires more violence.
I’ve been reading a lot if World War One and Two books lately, most recently The Seamstress. It reminds me we must never forget and never repeat the evils of yesteryear.
And yes I’ve read PKD’s Man in the High Castle. I wish I could watch the series but I’m not a subscriber of that ‘evil’ empire. 🙂
Somber thoughts today.
Posted from WordPress for Android via my Samsung smartphone. Please excuse any misspellings. Ciao, Jon
As other reviewer(s) have noted, this ends up being a one-man show almost exclusively – Marcellinus, the Praetor of the XXXIII Legion, marching west across the Appallacians towards the mighty Mississippi years before Horace Greeley penned the phrase “Go West, young man.” The Romans, and their Norse scouts, encounter various Native Americans with startlingly advanced technology for a stone-age culture lacking even the wheel*.
Marcellinus is the only truly fleshed out character. All others – Romans, Norsemen, Native Americans – are barely cardboard cutouts in comparison. Some of the Cahokians, in the latter half of the book, get more interesting, but not by much.
In the beginning, there were only Two Princes – Oken and Mabruke, apprentice/journeyman and master spies of the Egyptian Empire, an empire that never fell and where Cleopatra didn’t kiss an asp. The offspring of Caesar and Cleopatra multiplied and prospered across the centuries, bringing us to the golden age of culture and civilization we normally associate with the Victorian era. Never fear, Victoria and Albert have their parts to play in the political theater bubbling across Europe and between the two Empires of the Old and New Worlds.
And that’s where our Third Prince, Viracocha, makes his dramatic entrance, as a member of the royal family of the Inca/Aztec Empire of the New World. Logically, to the author at least, if Spain never rose to prominence, then the South American continent wouldn’t have been invaded and devastated by the Conquistadors. Instead, they flourished and prospered just as their Egyptian peers did in the Old World.
Written in the 30s, during the depths of the Depression, before World War II, this dystopian classic paints a grim picture of America’s fall into it’s own flavor of fascism. Some of his assertions stretched my belief nearly to the breaking point, most notable being the seemingly easy evaporation of two of our three branches of government after the League of Forgotten Men rise in power and seize the executive branch.
The novel follows the life of Jessup Doremus, an elderly (nearly retirement age) editor of a small town Vermont newspaper, uniquely positioned to lead us down the slippery slope of disappearing civil liberties and rising paranoia among the citizenry. The evils promulgated by petty near-thugs upon strangers, neighbors, friends and family … almost indiscriminately … all as an exercise in absolute power (as far as I could tell).
Not a comforting read, except for a brief glimpse of hope at the end. I can understand the shock value it would have had when it was published. I’m glad I read it, and even more glad none of it has proved prophetic for America … yet.
I read this novel as one of the suggested readings for my local library’s adult winter reading program called ‘Altered States’ and blogged about my reading journey.
I struggled a bit with PKD’s prose, which at times staggered about like an alcoholic or drug addict and/or a mentally ill person rambling about their innermost incoherent thoughts. But an occasional brilliance burst through the befuddlement to guide me back if I strayed too far off course.
Written almost twenty years after World War II, PKD presents us with an America divided up as spoils of war between the Japanese Empire and Nazi Germany. He portrayed a believable view of American life under two fascist regimes. I surprised myself by feeling empathy not only for the victimized Americans (including Jews hunted to extinction, Blacks reduced to slaves, and other insidious persecutions of non-Aryan races), but also the Japanese, some of whom begin to see the writing on the wall.
I couldn’t help but compare the Oracle (aka as the I Ching or Book of Changes) to the Cosmological Interventionists represented by two out-of-control orphaned Blitz children in Willis’ Blackout/All Clear. It’s a stretch, but the conclusion of both novels left me with the same intriguing warm fuzzy feeling.
I read this novel as one of the suggested readings for my local library’s adult winter reading program called ‘Altered States’ and blogged about my reading journey.
Back in mid to late January, I reviewed the suggested reading list for the Altered States reading program promoted by the Kansas City Public Library. Many familiar titles popped out at me like Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451, Golding’s Lord of the Flies, Twain’s A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court and PKD’s The Man in the High Castle. The more modern (recently published) offerings I’d seen making the rounds of the GoodReads book clubs over the past couple of years, titles like McCarthy’s The Road, Bacigalupi’s The Windup Girl, Chabon’s The Yiddish Policeman’s Union (currently in a run-off poll at the SciFi & Fantasy Book Club for our March 2011 selection), Priest’s Boneshaker and Moore’s The Watchmen.
With limited reading time, and way too many book clubs to keep up with, I quickly eliminated the two books I’d already read: Fforde’s The Eyre Affair and Clarke’s Jonathon Strange & Mr. Norrell (see my GoodReads reviews below). I visited my local used bookstore twice and found a copy of Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451, Twain’s A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court and Golding’s Lord of the Flies. I found a public domain ebook version of London’s The Iron Heel. I placed a hold on Lewis’ It Can’t Happen Here and PKD’s The Man in the High Castle. I’ve read two of those five, and started a third one, with the other two waiting patiently on my shelf at home.
Of the remaining suggested titles, I plan to read Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale (because I should have a long time ago) and Roberts’ Pavane (because it sounds interesting and more remote from my own times).
I read The Iron Heel and Connecticut Yankee simultaneously, an experience I’m not soon to forget. I may someday re-read Twain’s novel, but I find myself wishing I’d passed over London’s weak attempt at novelizing a political tract (see my review below and click through to see the comments of other GoodReads readers and reviewers). The KC Library’s blurb on it just doesn’t do it justice (tongue firmly in cheek):
Considered the first modern dystopian novel, The Iron Heel is presented as the fictional autobiography of American revolutionary Avis Everhard and her struggles against the Oligarchy, a group of robber barons that co-opted the U.S. Army and forced the middle class into serfdom. The narrative is complemented by sometimes extensive footnotes written from the perspective of a future scholar and descendent of the revolution inspired by Everhard. The Iron Heel proved a strong influence on George Orwell as he wrote 1984.
Another comparatively similar novel, but better written, Lewis’ It Can’t Happen Here shows a chilling and plausible turn of events in 1930s America. I’m only a few chapters into it, but I can’t wait to continue reading it. You can follow along with me via my status updates here and eventually read my review once I finish (all on the same page for easy navigating).
I hope to finish all these novels prior to the end of the Altered States reading program. Either way, I’ll post an occasional travelogue here as a I journey through the Warped Zone of dystopian, apocalyptic and alternate reality/history fiction.
A wonderful thing happened on the way to The Eyre Affair; I read Jane Eyre. For that alone I will be eternally grateful.
Otherwise, it was an enjoyable but forgettable mystery set in a chaotic vortex of genres spanning paranormal, science fiction, alternate history, and time travel. At one point, it even reminded me of Butcher’s Dresden series.
The puns, literary references and alternate history gaffs intrigued me and sparked quick forays of research to confirm or deny my suspicions.
I have the sequel Lost in a Good Book waiting in the wings to see what happens Next.
This novel was rich on many levels. It was fantasy, for it had magic and fairies, but it was also historical fiction, possibly even an alternate history of Britain during and shortly after the Napoleonic Wars. It’s pacing matched that of the times, sedate and thoughtful, rich in detail and characters.
Gilbert Norrell is a miserly magician of Yorkshire who hoards any and all books of magic he can get his hands on. His first act of magic in the novel actually results in the dissolution of a society of theoretical magicians in York for the sole purpose of making himself the only magician in Britain.
Jonathan Strange is an idle gentleman who stumbles upon his talent for magic and like a moth to the flame, flies to Mr. Norrell, the only source of magical information, and becomes his pupil. Their association lasts for several months until Strange surpasses Norrell in inventiveness and intuition and Norrell sends him to assist the army in Spain.
In Spain, Strange eventually becomes indispensable to Lord Wellington, initially by providing magic roads for the British Army to use which disappear back to a morass of mud just in time for the French Army to get bogged down in. Finally, Strange’s magic turns the tide of the Battle of Waterloo and thus ends the reign of Emperor Bounaparte.
Three background characters are pivotal to the story. The first is Emma Wintertowne, who eventually becomes Lady Pole after marrying Sir Walter Pole. But only after she is resurrected by Mr. Norrell with his second and most famous act of magic. But Norrell bargains away half of Emma’s life to the fairy he summoned to ressurect her, a fairy gentleman we know only as “the gentleman with the thistle down hair.” This resurrection reults in the enchantment and imprisonment of Lady Pole in the fairy hall of Lost-hope, doomed to dance and endless balls or participate in pointless processions.
The second supporting character also enchanted by the fairy gentleman is Sir Walter’s butler, a black man named Stephen Black. The fairy took a queer liking and attachment to Stephen and forced him to attend the same balls and processions that Lady Pole suffered. Both Lady Pole and Stephen were returned to the real world each morning, but they both suffered exhaustion and distraction from living a double life, which both were prevented from relating to others of their predicament.
The third enchanted and most tragic figure was Strange’s wife, Arabella. Because Arabella struck up a friendship with the ailing Lady Pole, she came into the sphere of the gentleman with the thistle down hair. He immediately sought to enchant her permanently to the halls of Lost-hope. With Stephen’s reluctant assistance, he was able to pull Arabella into fairy, seemingly causing her to perish to her family and friends.
Strange was nearly mad with grief but was eventually persuaded to take a long holiday on the continent, where he met another English family, the Greysteels. It seemed he was on the path of a second marriage to Flora Greysteel, when he discovered a pathway to fairy, stumbling upon the hall of Lost-hope and learning of the fates of Lady Pole, Stephen and his wife, Arabella. The rest of the novel is Strange’s struggle to free the women. As we learn later, Stephen breaks his own and Arabella’s enchantments when the opportunity presents itself.
Two of the most interesting supporting characters were Mr. Childermass, Mr. Norrell’s strangely independent servant, and Vinculus, a seedy street sorcerer of London, run out of town by Mr. Norrell thanks to the efficient efforts of Mr. Childermass. Both of these characters provide some of the most colorful scenes and plots to the novel.
And in the background, every present in the sky, on the wind or sleeping in the stones, is the Raven King, a mythic being from Britain’s past, a king who reigned in Northern England, in fairy and in Hell. He is vital and instrumental in the return of English magic.
The ending was sad and somewhat tragic, but not unexpected.
If you enjoy historical fiction, especially of the early 19th century, you will enjoy this novel and savor it for many hours, especially curled up by the fire with a warm cup of tea.
Dystopian, or very dated alternate history, which drowned me in Marxism and the evils of capitalism as viewed through the lens of the very early 20th century. My perspective, a century later, shows many of these ills have been legislatively remedied. Not much of a story or plot, no real character growth; mostly essay or lecture on socialism, topped off with stomping feet, neo-terrorism and the beginnings of a non-nuclear Cold War.
