It's been a few years since I read The Cloud Pavillion, so it seems appropriate that Laura Joh Rowland included a bit of a time skip between the two books. Sano Ichiro has spent the two years since we last saw him demoted to his prior position as the Emperor's investigator and remaining on guard against Chamberlain Yanigasawa's attacks. He feels his downfall is inevitable though, because Yanigasawa's son Yoritomo (the Emperor's current favorite) has changed from unwilling to enthusiastic partner in his father's plots. To protect the family, Reiko has begun to search for a wife for their 12-year-old son, Masahiro, but Sano's precarious political position has made most families wary of forming an alliance with the Ichiro family.
Then fate hands Sano a case that can save him - or send him into exile and leave his wife and children dishonored. The Emperor orders him to investigate the case of the 47 Ronin, 47 men who cold-bloodedly murdered the man they claim caused their former master's dishonor and execution. As Sano interviews the Ronin and other witnesses, Rekio interviews the wife and mistress of the Ronin's leader. Every witness has a separate story, and none of them are completely accurate. The Ronin's Mistress is a satisfying mystery, with plenty of plot twists which lead to a well-crafted action scene. My only complaint is that (again), Sano's deputy Hirata's mystical powers form a less than compelling subplot, and one that I suspect will drive the next book in the series.
Monday, January 18, 2016
Sunday, December 20, 2015
Pioneer Girl
I remember growing up and wondering why the Little House books were listed as fiction. After all, weren't they the author's multi-volume autobiography? Well, no, they're "inspired by a true story" with the messier parts of Wilder's youth downplayed (or outright omitted) for the juvenile audience. More than 80 years after the fictional Laura first appeared, Pioneer Girl gives us Wilder's original, adult-aimed memoir, with copious notes and a detailed introduction.
There's been some controversy over whether Wilder actually wrote the books under her name. Her daughter, Rose Wilder Lane, acted as her editor and was known as a ghostwriter as well as being a fiction author in her own right; Laura never graduated from high school. Pioneer Girl should quiet some of the naysayers. Laura had written regular newspaper columns for twenty years before beginning her memoir (many of these were collected in Little House in the Ozarks), and although it's less polished, many sections of Pioneer Girl track closely to their fictional counterparts. Hill also describes the editorial back-and-forth between mother and daughter, with Lane making suggestions based on her knowledge of the fiction market and Wilder often rejecting them - because they're not right for this particular story.
Since I've read the Little House books enough to have memorized long passages and have also read a few biographies of Wilder, not much of the story was new to me. What was different, though, was the tone. Wilder's juvenile version isn't particularly sentimental, but her real life was more chaotic and occasionally violent. Husbands drag their wives around by their hair, a drunken man accidentally sets his breath on fire and dies, and while working as a companion to a semi-invalid woman, teenage Laura finds herself in a situation that was most likely (she doesn't go into detail) an attempted rape. It's a far cry form the Little House books (and even further from the saccharine TV series).
Hill's notes provide historical context and help organize Wilder's occasionally out-of-order (or simply inaccurate) memories of her childhood. They also describe DeSmet as a booming railroad town. Wilder's last two volumes hint at the town's rapid growth, but for the sake of simplicity, she doesn't introduce many new characters. Hill provides brief biographies of Wilder's teachers and classmates, as well as describing the town's active social life. The Whirl of Gaiety described in Little Town on the Prairie wasn't a single winter but a brief illustration of an organized and long-running social scene. The town had a roller rink and frequent dances by the time Laura was a clothes-conscious teenager. Religious life (fairly central to the books) was more complex as well. Wilder portrayed the town as single-sect, but in addition to the Congregational church the Ingallses attended, there was a Baptist church and a Catholic church (where Mary Power taught Sunday school), and Rev. Brown, well, claim-jumped the DeSmet church (another minister had been authorized to start it). For me, Hill's notes were the highlight. They're about as long as the main text, so I read Wilder's work first (glancing at the notes if they seemed necessary to understand the narrative), and then read the notes.
There's been some controversy over whether Wilder actually wrote the books under her name. Her daughter, Rose Wilder Lane, acted as her editor and was known as a ghostwriter as well as being a fiction author in her own right; Laura never graduated from high school. Pioneer Girl should quiet some of the naysayers. Laura had written regular newspaper columns for twenty years before beginning her memoir (many of these were collected in Little House in the Ozarks), and although it's less polished, many sections of Pioneer Girl track closely to their fictional counterparts. Hill also describes the editorial back-and-forth between mother and daughter, with Lane making suggestions based on her knowledge of the fiction market and Wilder often rejecting them - because they're not right for this particular story.
Since I've read the Little House books enough to have memorized long passages and have also read a few biographies of Wilder, not much of the story was new to me. What was different, though, was the tone. Wilder's juvenile version isn't particularly sentimental, but her real life was more chaotic and occasionally violent. Husbands drag their wives around by their hair, a drunken man accidentally sets his breath on fire and dies, and while working as a companion to a semi-invalid woman, teenage Laura finds herself in a situation that was most likely (she doesn't go into detail) an attempted rape. It's a far cry form the Little House books (and even further from the saccharine TV series).
Hill's notes provide historical context and help organize Wilder's occasionally out-of-order (or simply inaccurate) memories of her childhood. They also describe DeSmet as a booming railroad town. Wilder's last two volumes hint at the town's rapid growth, but for the sake of simplicity, she doesn't introduce many new characters. Hill provides brief biographies of Wilder's teachers and classmates, as well as describing the town's active social life. The Whirl of Gaiety described in Little Town on the Prairie wasn't a single winter but a brief illustration of an organized and long-running social scene. The town had a roller rink and frequent dances by the time Laura was a clothes-conscious teenager. Religious life (fairly central to the books) was more complex as well. Wilder portrayed the town as single-sect, but in addition to the Congregational church the Ingallses attended, there was a Baptist church and a Catholic church (where Mary Power taught Sunday school), and Rev. Brown, well, claim-jumped the DeSmet church (another minister had been authorized to start it). For me, Hill's notes were the highlight. They're about as long as the main text, so I read Wilder's work first (glancing at the notes if they seemed necessary to understand the narrative), and then read the notes.
Sunday, November 29, 2015
The Hidden Brain
We function on autopilot. Our brains have to take in and analyze so much that if we we had to think about everything, we'd be paralyzed. Imagine having to think about how to walk, how to drive a car, how to act in a social situation. In those situations, the Hidden Brain takes over, and the effects are much more consequential than we think.
Shankar Vedantam uses a series of news stories and individual narratives to illustrate studies showing how autopilot affects us on both a small and large scale. It affects our choice of partner (and how we see ourselves in that relationship), whether we'll survive a disaster, the accuracy of a witness's identification of an alleged criminal, how access to guns increases the chance of suicide, and who we'll vote for in a presidential election. He also explains how our hidden brains, programmed to stick to the average/normal situation, both cause discrimination and make it harder to stamp out. That helps explain why what I thought of a critical mass of women studying computer science when I was an engineering undergrad in the late 80s/early 90s turned out to be a peak - pop culture showed almost exclusively male geeks, so 13-year-old girls in 1992 who wanted to become engineers received more, not fewer, raised eyebrows than I did in 1982, and why I Look Like an Engineer is important.
Abracadaver
I think I'll put the Sergeant Cribb mysteries into the "commute book" category. They're light, entertaining, but not too taxing at 7 am or so engrossing that they can't be put down when I pull into the station after 20 minutes. Abracadaver fits the mold - an entertaining trip backstage at Victorian music halls where performers' careers are being murdered by sabotage. Sergeant Cribb decides to investigate so he and Constable Thackery are watching from a box when the strongman's bulldog attacks him. They help him to his rented room, only to disappear the following day. They find him, along with the other disgraced performers, preparing for their return to the stage in an 'after hours' show for the elite; a show which ends in death. Cribb eventually solves the crime, and I found both the identity and motive of the murderer unlikely. I still enjoyed Abracadaver for the same reasons I enjoyed the previous installments in the series. Peter Lovesy amusingly depicts a segment of the Victorian entertainment world.
Saturday, November 14, 2015
The Young Victoria
When Princess Charlotte died hours after giving birth to a stillborn son, George III, father of eleven, had no legitimate grandchildren. Since Charlotte was the unlikely result of the single night her mutually repulsive and repulsed parents spent together and the king's surviving daughters were in their 40s and 50s, it fell to the king's sons to renounce their mistresses, find wives, and save the kingdom.
Edward, Duke of Kent won the race. He married his niece's widower's widowed sister (European family trees didn't branch much) and died eight months after the birth of their daughter Alexandrina Victoria. It wasn't a promising start for the woman who would eventually rule half the world. The Duchess of Kent was an avaricious, controlling woman who slept in the same room as her daughter, insisted on reading all of the princess's diaries and correspondence, and fell in with an even more manipulative courtier, John Conroy. Victoria later described her childhood as dull and unhappy, and despite being the heir presumptive to the throne she spent most of those years isolated and desultorily educated, with only her governess able to act as companion or confidant. As she approached 18, Conroy and her mother tried to force her to sign a document postponing her majority until age 21 and therefore allowing them to act as regents. When that failed, they began to spread rumors that Victoria was not mentally capable of ruling. That failed as well, and when William IV died shortly after Victoria's 18th birthday, she began what was to be a 64 year reign. Her first act as queen was to banish her mother from her bedroom.
Plowden does a good job of describing the dull and surprisingly vulgar world that shaped the woman who loaned her name to prudishness. George III's sons made Randy Andy and Bad Boy Harry look like a amateurs (just imagine what modern tabloids would have done with the dozen FitzClarences), but his granddaughter became associated with families covering furniture legs to avoid scandal. I'd read that Victoria wasn't the prude, it was Albert and she fell under his spell. That's probably true to some extent, but even her happy marriage was influenced by her mother. Even as a Queen Regnant, as a single woman she couldn't attend functions without a chaperone of appropriate social rank. Since the only person of rank was her despised mother, she married her cousin Albert rather sooner than initial planned.
Edward, Duke of Kent won the race. He married his niece's widower's widowed sister (European family trees didn't branch much) and died eight months after the birth of their daughter Alexandrina Victoria. It wasn't a promising start for the woman who would eventually rule half the world. The Duchess of Kent was an avaricious, controlling woman who slept in the same room as her daughter, insisted on reading all of the princess's diaries and correspondence, and fell in with an even more manipulative courtier, John Conroy. Victoria later described her childhood as dull and unhappy, and despite being the heir presumptive to the throne she spent most of those years isolated and desultorily educated, with only her governess able to act as companion or confidant. As she approached 18, Conroy and her mother tried to force her to sign a document postponing her majority until age 21 and therefore allowing them to act as regents. When that failed, they began to spread rumors that Victoria was not mentally capable of ruling. That failed as well, and when William IV died shortly after Victoria's 18th birthday, she began what was to be a 64 year reign. Her first act as queen was to banish her mother from her bedroom.
Plowden does a good job of describing the dull and surprisingly vulgar world that shaped the woman who loaned her name to prudishness. George III's sons made Randy Andy and Bad Boy Harry look like a amateurs (just imagine what modern tabloids would have done with the dozen FitzClarences), but his granddaughter became associated with families covering furniture legs to avoid scandal. I'd read that Victoria wasn't the prude, it was Albert and she fell under his spell. That's probably true to some extent, but even her happy marriage was influenced by her mother. Even as a Queen Regnant, as a single woman she couldn't attend functions without a chaperone of appropriate social rank. Since the only person of rank was her despised mother, she married her cousin Albert rather sooner than initial planned.
Tuesday, November 10, 2015
When Everything Changed: The Amazing Journey of American Women from 1960 to the Present
No one objects to my wearing trousers.
That sounds silly, doesn't it? But in 1960, Lois Rabinowitz tried to pay her husband's parking ticket while wearing slacks and the judge threw her out of the courtroom. The judge later lectured Mr. Rabinowitz on what he should do to control his wife. 55 years ago, in a world we'd mostly recognize, and a woman couldn't wear pants to traffic court. It's a small victory, but I think that's why Gail Collins chose to open When Everything Changed with that story. We've made great (although not complete) advances in women's place in society, but some of the "little things" have major day-to-day impact.
From 1960, Collins travels to 2008, blending oral and traditional history to illustrate how American women fought against discrimination within the Civil Rights movement, earned the right to have unchaperoned (and co-ed) dorms, made inroads into professions other than teaching and nursing, forced and dealt with changing standards of beauty and fashion, became able to hold credit in their own names, died for their country, and pushed towards more a equal division of home duties and codified family support. Collins's tone is a bit more serious than in her New York Times columns, but still very enjoyable, and she allows both famous and ordinary women to tell their own stories. It's definitely worth reading (although because of its structure, hard to review).
That sounds silly, doesn't it? But in 1960, Lois Rabinowitz tried to pay her husband's parking ticket while wearing slacks and the judge threw her out of the courtroom. The judge later lectured Mr. Rabinowitz on what he should do to control his wife. 55 years ago, in a world we'd mostly recognize, and a woman couldn't wear pants to traffic court. It's a small victory, but I think that's why Gail Collins chose to open When Everything Changed with that story. We've made great (although not complete) advances in women's place in society, but some of the "little things" have major day-to-day impact.
From 1960, Collins travels to 2008, blending oral and traditional history to illustrate how American women fought against discrimination within the Civil Rights movement, earned the right to have unchaperoned (and co-ed) dorms, made inroads into professions other than teaching and nursing, forced and dealt with changing standards of beauty and fashion, became able to hold credit in their own names, died for their country, and pushed towards more a equal division of home duties and codified family support. Collins's tone is a bit more serious than in her New York Times columns, but still very enjoyable, and she allows both famous and ordinary women to tell their own stories. It's definitely worth reading (although because of its structure, hard to review).
Friday, November 6, 2015
Captive Queen
I have no illusions about Henry II's and Eleanor of Aquitaine's ruthlessness. They were both brilliant and ruthless politicians. What I can't imagine was that either one of them was petty. Sure, they'd stab you (or each other) in the back, but for grander reasons than Alison Weir presents in Captive Queen. Weir begins this, her third novel at the ceremony where Eleanor's husband Louis VII of France recognizes Henry's father Geoffrey as Duke of Normandy. Their attraction is overpowering and Eleanor soon convinces Louis to ask for an annulment. Eleanor and Henry marry and initial form a strong political partnership, but that disintegrates as he forms a close friendship with Thomas Becket. As their marriage disintegrates, Eleanor and Henry both manipulate their children (who need little prompting) to view the other parent as an enemy. Eventually, Henry imprisons Eleanor for her role in their sons' revolt and she spends sixteen years as a prisoner.
We all know the story, through both fact and fiction, so it's the presentation that counts. The Lion in Winter portrays the two as brilliant sparring partners enduring a family Christmas. Sharon Kay Penman's Plantagent books use 1300 pages and shifting narrators (including all four of their surviving sons, one daughter-in-law, and several advisors both real and fictional) to paint a more nuanced picture of Henry and Eleanor than Alison Weir has managed here. Alison Weir is one of my favorite non-mystery writers, and I enjoyed Captive Queen, just not as much as the author's prior work and other books on the subject, Maybe it's because Eleanor and Henry are too grand for a single 400-page novel. Cramming their entire lives into a single volume turns grand gestures petty.
We all know the story, through both fact and fiction, so it's the presentation that counts. The Lion in Winter portrays the two as brilliant sparring partners enduring a family Christmas. Sharon Kay Penman's Plantagent books use 1300 pages and shifting narrators (including all four of their surviving sons, one daughter-in-law, and several advisors both real and fictional) to paint a more nuanced picture of Henry and Eleanor than Alison Weir has managed here. Alison Weir is one of my favorite non-mystery writers, and I enjoyed Captive Queen, just not as much as the author's prior work and other books on the subject, Maybe it's because Eleanor and Henry are too grand for a single 400-page novel. Cramming their entire lives into a single volume turns grand gestures petty.
Death in the Floating City
As much as I've enjoyed Tasha Alexander's Lady Emily mysteries, I have to admit that they're a bit uneven. They're always fun, but sometimes the mystery is a bit forced or the subplots aren't fully integrated into the story. Death in the Floating City has none of those faults - it's her best book since Lady Emily's debut in And Only to Deceive. Alexander uses the same literary construct (a parallel story told through a diary), and uses it well.
Lady Emily Hargraves grew up with Emma Callum. Their mothers were friends, and Emma made Emily's life miserable. Emma eventually scandalized society by eloping with a Venetian Comte, and as the story opens, she's showing Emily and her husband Colin the jeweled and blood-encrusted dagger found in her father-in-law's chest. Emma can't (or won't) trust the local authorities, so calling Emily is her only option. Emily agrees, and soon meets scholar and bookseller's daughter Donata Caravello. Donata serves as Emily's guide through Venice, teaching her the social rules and multi-generational feuds of Venice. Interspersed with Emily's 19th Century investigations are chapters of Besina Barozzi's and Nicolo Vendelino's 16th Century romance. Though passionately in love (with each other and with Dante), they belong to feuding families so their love is clearly doomed.
Alexander sprinkles enough clues in both the main story and the historical romance for the reader to solve the mystery shortly before the killer is revealed, so the book works as a mystery. Death in the Floating City shines, however, as a novel. The author's descriptions of Venice made me not only want to visit but to time travel so I could see what Emily saw, and there's some interesting commentary in the four romances (two "society" and two "doomed") portrayed in the book. She also provides a bittersweet ending where the killer faces justice and a centuries long feud ends, but Emily once again faces a loss.
Wednesday, November 4, 2015
The Beast
Faye Kellerman excels at mixing horrific crimes with domestic bliss which still manages to be believable. The Beast lays a nostalgic gauze over both, as old friends contemplate moving on. Peter and Rina's children are grown (even their sort-of foster son Gabe Whitman is at Julliard or touring most of the time), as is Marge Dunn's daughter, and even Scott Oliver seems to have settled down. This is where I expected the series to shift to Cindy Decker Kutiel, but more on that later.
The Beast features Kellerman's weirdest crime. A reclusive billionaire has died in a seedy apartment with a full grown tiger. The tiger turns out to be a red herring; the late Hobart Penny was shot, not mauled, and Penny was a sexually violent sadist. Kellerman gives us enough clues and misdirection to solve the mystery right before Decker arrests the culprit and manages (barely) to avoid the level of creepiness that led me to stop reading her husband's books. The plot worked, but felt a bit forced at times, although the scenes at a barely legal animal preserve were interesting and engrossing.
Kellerman's domestic scenes, perhaps intentionally, are almost wistful. Peter's tired of LA, tired of large crimes, but not ready to retire. Marge Dunn's long distance relationship is moving towards marriage. Both detectives are searching for jobs in smaller departments. Those scenes feel like conversations with old friends, where not everything actually has to be said. There's a sad tinge, though, to the conversations because the next book won't include the same team. The domestic scenes aren't perfect - Gabe's scenes with his girlfriend Yasmine feel like a set up for a future plot, and I'm somewhat disappointed that Cindy's husband is entering medical school (he's a nurse practitioner, an important job that doesn't get enough popular notice or respect). Overall, though, it's a slightly better than average installment in a series that has never slumped, with a nostalgic feel that makes me want to binge-read the series from the beginning.
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