PREMISE: I admit, I generally copy this premise shit from Goodreads. No point me reinventing the wheel. I also do that because it’s a professional summary of the book and something that I wouldn’t be able to get anywhere near in terms of quality. However, I realise that’s such a cop out and in my attempt to produce a professional blog of all my own shite writing and perspectives, I’ve decided to do it all myself. Which basically means if you have even a passing interest in the book I’m talking about, go to Goodreads for a better summary of it because I’ll have likely fucked it up.
So, this book; two related, converging stories set a few hundred years apart, told using a stunningly clever and gorgeous variety of media (text, pictures, drawings, maps etc.).
I have a dream. That one day my one little daughter will walk into Waterstones or Foyles or Barnes & Noble and not see a Romantasy section full of similar-looking novels with beautifully designed covers and gloriously curly fonts but rather a shelf with the title ‘Original Novels’ and under which sits copies of this book and S and House Of Leaves and Maxwell’s Demon and XX and hopefully a raft of other novels that have some originality about them.
To quote the kids of today, this kind of book is my jam. Particularly when it’s done as well as this. That’s the thing with books like this; there’s so much thought gone into the story, the design, the individual elements to be added, how it all hangs together etc. It becomes a real experience to read. It won’t be for everyone. One man’s Donald Duck is another man’s Donald Trump (aside from the fact that one is a laughably fucking idiotic clown of a cartoon character and the other is a duck).
In fact, this book is everything Trump isn’t; it’s intelligent, eloquent, thoughtful, interesting, fantastic to look at and something that adds to society that we can be grateful for.
PREMISE: Two kids steal two horses from the town’s local asshole and he and his equally assholey sons go after them.
That’s it. That’s all I’m putting. Well, that probably won’t be true by the time I’ve finished writing this bit. I never plan that far ahead. In fact this very sentence I’m writing now I had no idea at all five minutes ago that I’d be writing it. Although I guess I’ve just summed up the very action of writing. I wonder if Mark Z. Danielewski (MZD from now on) writes that way or whether he knows exactly what each line, sentence and paragraph is going to say. Because man, can he write. And this novel is 1200 pages long and – perhaps strangely for MZD, based on his previous books – aside from one page, this is all solid, full-page writing, so he’s written a lot.
More than any other book I’ve written about on this blog, this is the most difficult to fully elucidate why I recommend it, without spoilers. And without contradicting myself at every turn. Because it’s fair to say that this won’t be for everyone. It’s painfully slow paced, but in a good way. Like the pain you get when you’re having a tattoo done. Oddly addictive. It’s self-indulgent in places but so intelligently well-written that that self-indulgence is so enjoyable. It’s frustrating in a few places too when the story goes off on a tangent that changes the pace somewhat, but you end up just being excited as to where it’s now going. This is a story that most writers would have told in 200 pages. Or 400 pages with a bit of padding. Or 600 pages with a shed load of backstories, plus extra padding. Or 800 pages with a shed load of backstories, extra padding plus a couple hundred pages of inane rambling. Or 1000 pages with all of the above plus pictures every 4 pages. That MZD has told this story over 1200 pages and yet still made it so unbelievably readable is some sort of miracle.
You know what I think this book is? It’s a book that contains a story which you read because you love writing. Or the form of writing, the art involved, the actual act and skill of creating a story, a novel and a book. There’s essentially nothing unique or different about the story itself; it’s all about how the story is told and how, as a reader, you approach and enjoy how it is being told. That’s the bit that I recommend.
In my usual way, I’m going to finish by referencing a Goodreads review – just the one as it’s pretty breathtaking in it’s level of utter dumbfuckery. It’s posted by Roy, who hasn’t included a picture of himself as it’s more than likely he’s got multiple facial features more than the rest of us as a result of decades of familial inbreeding. Here’s a couple of lines from the Royster:
“Every female character is intelligent and flawless, with most of them insufferable with their attitudes towards the male characters, who are all eventually portrayed as pathetic, cowardly and/or terrible father figures. It’s nauseating to see in modern media that the only way female characters can be strong is by putting down and insulting white male characters. The only male character that doesn’t suffer from this is the effeminately written character of Kalin.”
Yep, Roy’s gone the misogynistic, racist route. And incorrect as well. Every female character is not flawless (did you even read the scenes with Allison and Sondra? I’m assuming not as you got one of their names wrong) and quite how you’ve read MZD’s portrayal of Kalin as effeminate I’ve no idea. I’d like to see you do what Kalin did in this story. Still, I’m too mature than to poke fun at a stranger this way so I’ll just finish by saying that Roy is clearly an old white guy with a small willy.
PREMISE: The year is 1873, and a bison hunter named Samson travels the Kansas plains, full of hope for his new country. The year is 1975, and an adolescent girl named Bea walks those very same plains; pregnant, mute, and raised in extreme seclusion, she lands in an institution, where a well-meaning psychiatrist struggles to decipher the pictures she draws of her past. The year is 2027 and, after a series of devastating storms, a tenacious engineer named Paul has left behind his banal suburban existence to build a floating city above the drowned streets that were once New Orleans. There with his poet daughter he rules over a society of dreamers and vagabonds who salvage vintage dresses, ferment rotgut wine out of fruit, paint murals on the ceiling of the Superdome, and try to write the story of their existence. The year is 2073, and Moon has heard only stories of the blue planet–Earth, as they once called it, now succumbed entirely to water. Now that Moon has come of age, she could become a mother if she wanted to-if only she understood what a mother is. Alone on Mars with her two alien uncles, she must decide whether to continue her family line and repopulate humanity on a new planet.
I absolutely loved this book. So much so, that it’s made it into my Hall of Fame. But before I get to why and spurt a load of superlatives to back it up, let’s hold hands and have a quick skip through the Goodreads 1-starrers’ garden. Some corkers for this one:
Torza couldn’t be arsed to finish the book but wanted to add a one-star review anyway, and said, “didnt finish it. idk, maybe it was good, but the multiple child pregnancies was kinda putting me off.” There was one and it was fairly important to the plot. Colleen Carroll (4 lots of double letters in that name…lazy-ass parents…there’s plenty of other letters out there) continued with the ‘let’s make up some bullshit about this book’ by referencing the “obvious/probable forced alien impregnation of a 14 year old”, which didn’t happen. At all. Anywhere in the book. Two reviewers mentioned the term ‘TERF’, suggesting that the author, Erin Swan has an issue with transgender people. Where the fuck they got this from I’ve no idea as there are no transgender characters in the book. Unless that was their problem, in which case they can fuck right off. Why does every author who doesn’t include a trans character get accused of being anti-transgender? For fuck sake.
My favourite review, however, was this baby by Coastalshelf (obviously has an even more embarrassing name than my middle one): “Found the focus on women as vessels for childbirth extremely off-putting”. Ho-lee-shit. This is a book that spreads across centuries and features characters that are related to each other. The only way for that to happen is for women to give birth. That’s not my opinion, that’s just a fact. You know, Coastalshelf, like your mother did to bring you into the world. Women ARE vessels for childbirth, thankfully. Otherwise none of us would be here. Coastalshelf, you’re a fucking moron.
This book is staggeringly good. Absolutely beautifully written, a complex, inter-weaving story with a gargantuan scope. And this is the author’s first book. Mind-blowing…
PREMISE: Sixteen-year-old Odile is an awkward, quiet girl vying for a coveted seat on the Conseil. If she earns the position, she’ll decide who may cross her town’s heavily guarded borders. On the other side, it’s the same valley, the same town–except to the east, the town is twenty years ahead in time. To the west, it’s twenty years behind. The towns repeat in an endless sequence across the wilderness.
When Odile recognizes two visitors she wasn’t supposed to see, she realizes that the parents of her friend Edme have been escorted across the border from the future, on a mourning tour, to view their son while he’s still alive in Odile’s present. Edme –– who is brilliant, funny, and the only person to truly see Odile –– is about to die. Sworn to secrecy in order to preserve the timeline, Odile now becomes the Conseil’s top candidate, yet she finds herself drawing closer to the doomed boy, imperiling her entire future..
Yesss. Re-read that first paragraph above – a town that repeats across endless valleys in 20-year gaps. What’s not to like about that idea? Books like this hit my g-spot. If you Google it, someone somewhere will call this type of novel ‘speculative fiction’, although I’m pretty sure the definition of ‘fiction’ is that it’s speculative, otherwise it would be fact. But I get the pigeon-holing and actually I’m grateful for it as it allows me to Google ‘speculative fiction’ and discover books like this. What’s even better about this one is that there’s a really beautiful story being told within the construct of the valleys and the time difference. A great book to get lost in.
PREMISE: Orphaned, raised by wolves, and the proud owner of a horned pig named Merlin, Weylyn Grey knew he wasn’t like other people. But when he single-handedly stopped that tornado on a stormy Christmas day in Oklahoma, he realized just how different he actually was.
That tornado was the first of many strange events that seem to follow Weylyn from town to town, although he doesn’t like to take credit. As amazing as these powers may appear, they tend to manifest themselves at inopportune times and places. From freak storms to trees that appear to grow over night, Weylyn’s unique abilities are a curiosity at best and at worst, a danger to himself and the woman he loves. But Mary doesn’t care. Since Weylyn saved her from an angry wolf on her eleventh birthday, she’s known that a relationship with him isn’t without its risks, but as anyone who’s met Weylyn will tell you, once he wanders into your life, you’ll wish he’d never leave.
Thank you, Goodreads, thank you. I know I should stop going on there and actually be creative and original enough to come up with new and exciting perspectives on these books I read, but why bother when Goodreads is such a fertile ground for such absolute tosspots? And there’s a word I’ve not used in a few decades…
Again, let me reiterate that I’m not having a go at people who don’t like the book. All those 1-stars from people who just didn’t like it are all fair enough. We don’t all like everything. One man’s Jimmy White is another man’s Jimmy Saville. No, I like to search through and find the complete twat muffins that bask in the joy of anger and negativity. Oh, and utter stupidity.
Talking of which, let’s start with Patricia who came up with one of my favourites straight away: “A little far fetched” stated Patricia. No fucking shit, Sherlock…it’s a fictional fantasy book. I can picture you watching Star Wars: “Seriously…how many robots do you know that are fluent in 6 million forms of communication? Ridiculously inaccurate”.
Barbara Shoop (stupid fucking name) gave it 1 star after only reading 18 pages. Well done Babs, you really hung in there. Alberta gasped “Finished, but barely”. How do you barely finish a book? Do you physically struggle to turn over the last few pages? Crabbymama (assuming that’s a reference to her lady garden) started her short and pointless review with “Worst Superhero book ever”. WTF? That’s like commenting that Cujo was a poor guide dog. This wasn’t a superhero book, Crabster.
Jennifer, a native of Montana where the book is set is “sick of others writing what they think Montana is like” and lumps Yellowstone in with this. She goes on to say (about wolves, which feature heavily in the book) “Wolves are savage animals! Ask the ranchers in the northwest! They kill just to kill! Not just for food which is what some would like you to believe. Look up wolves kill over two hundred sheep in one night eastern MT, leave them lying dead”. This may come as a shock to you Jen-babe, but this book is fiction. None of it is true. That’s what the word fiction means.
My favourite ‘review’ by far is from Scott, who wrote this baby: “This book was utter crap. Most people who would share my opinion probably would not bother to pick up this book in the first place, so my one-star review is a minority opinion here”. The level of big-headed fuckery on display here is astounding. What I think Scott is trying to say is that all the people who are exactly like him (i.e. opinionated wankers) are too smart to pick the book up in the first place, but if they did and then read it, hated it like Scott does and then reviewed it, would also give it a 1-star rating, hence increasing the number of 1-star reviews and their relative percentage against the 2-, 3-, 4- and 5-star reviews so that that percentage would actually be accurate, and not currently skewed as Scott thinks it is due to normal and sane and people not having read it, hated it and 1-star reviewed it. You with me? In summary, Scott hates the book so much that he thinks others exactly like him would also hate it. What Scott is likely forgetting is that there’s not too many twats like him and therefore the numbers are all about right.
As I think with all books, you might like it, you might not. I loved it; loved the story, thought the writing was beautiful, was able to suspend my disbelief for long enough to realise it’s a fantasy story and very likely not true and thought the book was pretty magical if I’m honest.
PREMISE: A diary, written in 1912 by a Lutheran pastor is discovered within a wall. What it unveils is a slow massacre, a chain of events that go back to 217 Blackfeet dead in the snow. Told in transcribed interviews by a Blackfeet named Good Stab, who shares the narrative of his peculiar life over a series of confessional visits.
Look at me, being all professional and writing this literally straight after I’ve finished it. It’s almost like I do this shit for a living. I say ‘straight’…it’s been 24 hours or so. I kind of like to let a book settle in after I’ve finished it. Like letting a big meal go down before I hit the gym or go out fell running. Hahahaha…like I do either of those things. But I do like to digest a book (like a big meal or a solitary scotch egg) and kind of figure out how much I liked it and why. And when books are as tasty as a scotch egg (your bog-standard scotch egg that is, none of this artisan shit where they make it with black pudding or chorizo) they are worth savouring.
This one was actually a slow-burner for me and, weirdly, I find myself thinking about it now much more than I did whilst I was reading it. It’s fantastically written, but understanding a lot of the language – particularly the native American terms – is all part of that slow burn. It’s probably not for everyone as it’s graphically violent and, ultimately, is a horror story at heart but it’s vastly different from any horror story (and most non-horror stories) I’ve read and I really enjoyed it.
PREMISE: Leigh grew up in Rotterdam, drawn to the waterfront as an escape from her unhappy home life and volatile father. Enchanted by the undersea world of her childhood, she excels in marine biology, travelling the globe to study ancient organisms. When a trench is discovered in the Atlantic ocean, Leigh joins the exploration team, hoping to find evidence of the earth’s first life forms – what she instead finds calls into question everything we know about our own beginnings.
Her discovery leads Leigh to the Mojave desert and an ambitious new space agency. Drawn deeper into the agency’s work, she learns that the Atlantic trench is only one of several related phenomena from across the world, each piece linking up to suggest a pattern beyond human understanding. Leigh knows that to continue working with the agency will mean leaving behind her declining mother and her younger sister, and faces an impossible choice: to remain with her family, or to embark on a journey across the breadth of the cosmos.
You ever read a book where every word feels important? Not just well thought out or well written, but actually critical to the story in a way that kind of carries a gargantuan weight. That’s what Martin MacInnes does. Across all three books he’s written he has a way of writing that is not just addictive in terms of the prose and the beauty of reading but somehow it’s as if every single word is of vital significance.
Unlike me, as I clearly can’t even explain why I like something. Good job I don’t do this book review (not that these are reviews) shit for a living. I’d have been sacked long ago.
I loved MacInnes’ first two books but this felt like a real step up and I think of it within a bracket of books I’ve read that have something cerebral, wondrous and magical about them. Very much looking forward to book no.4.
PREMISE: Walker, a young Canadian recently demobilised after war and his active service in the Normandy landings and subsequent European operations. Suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, and unable to face a return to his family home in rural Nova Scotia, he goes in search of freedom, change, anonymity and repair. We follow Walker through a sequence of poems as he moves through post-war American cities of New York, Los Angeles, and San Francisco.
I have a thing for poetry, albeit an annoyingly fleeting one that comes and goes every few years. For example, around five years ago I decided to start a poetry blog containing a few poems I’d written and was writing at the time for no reason whatsoever. So I did this – https://davegoldingpoetry.wordpress.com/ – and have done nothing more with it since. A true artist…
Similarly, I haven’t read any poetry since reading this book and now I’m talking about it here I can’t understand why I don’t do more of both. There’s something pretty magical about stories being told through poetry and The Long take is a fantastic example of that. Note to self (which I hope to remember and do a lot more with than my poetry blog): find more of this stuff out there and enjoy.
PREMISE: January 1937. Clouds of war are gathering over a fogbound London. Twenty-eight year old Jack is poor, lonely, and desperate to change his life, so when he’s offered the chance to join an Arctic expedition, he jumps at it. Spirits are high as the ship leaves Norway: five men and eight huskies, crossing the Barents Sea by the light of the midnight sun. At last they reach the remote, uninhabited bay where they will camp for the next year, Gruhuken, but the Arctic summer is brief. As night returns to claim the land, Jack feels a creeping unease. One by one, his companions are forced to leave. He faces a stark choice: stay or go. Soon he will see the last of the sun, as the polar night engulfs the camp in months of darkness. Soon he will reach the point of no return–when the sea will freeze, making escape impossible. Gruhuken is not uninhabited. Jack is not alone. Something walks there in the dark…
I reckon horror is the toughest genre to write. That is, if you’re writing horror to scare people that is, rather than shock them. Any idiot can write something down that shocks people and nowadays violence is pretty much everywhere so to really shock with brutality and gore you have to go to extreme extremes, but to properly scare (or at the very least, make someone feel uneasy) with words alone is a toughie. Michelle Paver without doubt knows how to do that and, for me, Dark Matter is still her best book. Beautifully written, completely absorbing and is genuinely unsettling throughout.
PREMISE: Harry August is on his deathbed. Again. No matter what he does or the decisions he makes, when death comes, Harry always returns to where he began, a child with all the knowledge of a life he has already lived a dozen times before. Nothing ever changes. Until now. As Harry nears the end of his eleventh life, a little girl appears at his bedside. “I nearly missed you, Doctor August,” she says. “I need to send a message.” This is the story of what Harry does next, and what he did before, and how he tries to save a past he cannot change and a future he cannot allow.
Claire North is a genius in my eyes. Not only is she a fantastic writer and storyteller but she comes up with just the best story ideas; a man who lives multiple lives, a person who can move between bodies just by touching them, a girl who nobody can remember, the Harbinger of Death. She also has such a ‘smooth’ way of writing, which I realise is just a fancy way of saying that she’s a really good writer. I mentioned it in a previous post; some writers words you can just swallow like soup whereas others might contain a few small croutons or large chunks of Ryvita. Ultimately tasty but might take a bit of work to get there. Claire North to me is the Heinz Oxtail of writers. Gloriously good.
Portable Wonderland 