![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wilderthanTooth and Nail (Ian Rankin)
I don't enjoy these books as much as I did the first time reading them. I guess I know a bit more about crime fiction now; I'm a bit more aware of the tropes and influences. In any case, Tooth and Nail takes Rebus out of Edinburgh, to London. Rankin's got his finger firmly on the pulse of the Edinburgh he knew then, and it shows in the atmosphere of the first two books. Setting a book in London didn't do it for me, really.
I like that Rebus isn't made out to be perfect in any way, and that we get to know him a bit as a character, but I don't find him terribly... engaging, and I don't feel convinced by his relationship with (in this book) Lisa. Appreciation for a pretty face and good body, yes, but falling into bed together like that... Hm.
Anyway, there are two stories in this running parallel and occasionally crossing: the story of the murderer, the Wolfman, and the story of Rebus' daughter's boyfriend, a highly unsuitable kind of guy (at least in Rebus' view). Neither of these were incredibly engaging for me: crime fiction is full of serial killers like Wolfman, and literature in general is full of daughters with unsuitable men. They're woven together believably, but... Nothing special.
Entertaining enough to read, though, and the clues are all there for you to follow and figure out for yourself if you want to.
Strip Jack (Ian Rankin)
Strange to say, this book is the Rebus book that stuck in my head the most since I first read them, several years ago. I think the idea of it, peeling back the layers to expose the real Jack, got into my head and stayed there. And I played the card game that's used as a metaphor when I was a kid.
Relatively easy to read, and with some interesting touches -- like the man in the psychiatric ward who asks Rebus to touch the earth for him. Interesting thoughts. And finally, no homosexuality in it anywhere, in any way. Which seems odd for me to say, but LGBT issues seem tangled up in the problems of the first three books: Reeve's attachment to Rebus in Knots & Crosses; the male prostitutes in Hide & Seek; Chambers' gender issues in Tooth & Nail. It's a relief not to have that in this book.
Wild Seed (Octavia Butler)
This book wasn't as good a match for my mood as N.K. Jemisin's The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms, but it didn't suffer for being read immediately after it. It's an interesting concept: a being that might as well be a god, moving from body to body, amoral and utterly self-serving, trying to breed others like him so he won't be alone, and a being who is also immortal, or close to it, nurturing families so she won't be alone. The two of them are entirely different: Anwanyu loves the people she finds and treats them well, no matter what, and she has children and cares for them not as means to an end, but as ends in themselves. Doro is merciless, regarding people only as long as they serve his purpose. We're clearly meant to sympathise with Anwanyu, as she's the closest to what we can understand, but Doro has his moments too, at least for me. His loneliness is something I can understand.
The different abilities, and the difficulty in producing them, in people surviving them, and how many ways they can go wrong, rings true to me. It's discomforting to read about people being bred like cattle, without real dignity, but sometimes you kind of share in Doro's frustration that it isn't turning out the way it should.
Because of the immortal nature of the two characters, they're the only ones that exist throughout the novel, but there are one or two others worth sympathising with, mostly (for me) Isaac and Thomas, despite how short-lived Thomas is.
The style of the writing is deceptively simple, but there's a lot to think about. It isn't mindless brain candy, despite being easy to read.
The most unsatisfying thing about it is the ending. I'm aware this is the first book in its timeline, not the only book, but the end is an uncomfortable compromise that leaves Anwanyu still not quite doing what she feels is right, which is a disappointment.
The Haunting of Hill House (Shirley Jackson)
I'm glad I didn't read The Haunting of Hill House while alone in my flat, which I was unreasonably scared by as it was! It's a creepy story, though it leaves it open to interpretation whether it's all caused by psychological breakdown or by actual malevolent spirits in the house. The creep factor is done quite well, I think. There's enough tension to make it feel unsettling, but things aren't described so clearly that they lose the element of imagination that makes them powerful -- when something is described clearly, the reader can't put their own interpretation on it, can't imagine what would be most frightening to them. When it's left to the imagination in places, like this, you can imagine whatever is most frightening to you... What is frightening to me might seem ridiculous to you, after all.
The characters are, at first, likeable enough: I like Eleanor's dreaminess, and I like her imagined little stories. I liked the banter, at first, and how all of them later developed tensions, little bitchinesses... The way they relate to each other feels realistic for the circumstances. By the end, I'm not sure I like anyone very much, but I found that -- in this case -- interesting, rather than repellent.
It's definitely interesting to read this having already read other things obviously influenced by it -- Sarah Waters' The Little Stranger, for example. It's a resonant sort of story: people seem to want to make their own version.
I don't enjoy these books as much as I did the first time reading them. I guess I know a bit more about crime fiction now; I'm a bit more aware of the tropes and influences. In any case, Tooth and Nail takes Rebus out of Edinburgh, to London. Rankin's got his finger firmly on the pulse of the Edinburgh he knew then, and it shows in the atmosphere of the first two books. Setting a book in London didn't do it for me, really.
I like that Rebus isn't made out to be perfect in any way, and that we get to know him a bit as a character, but I don't find him terribly... engaging, and I don't feel convinced by his relationship with (in this book) Lisa. Appreciation for a pretty face and good body, yes, but falling into bed together like that... Hm.
Anyway, there are two stories in this running parallel and occasionally crossing: the story of the murderer, the Wolfman, and the story of Rebus' daughter's boyfriend, a highly unsuitable kind of guy (at least in Rebus' view). Neither of these were incredibly engaging for me: crime fiction is full of serial killers like Wolfman, and literature in general is full of daughters with unsuitable men. They're woven together believably, but... Nothing special.
Entertaining enough to read, though, and the clues are all there for you to follow and figure out for yourself if you want to.
Strip Jack (Ian Rankin)
Strange to say, this book is the Rebus book that stuck in my head the most since I first read them, several years ago. I think the idea of it, peeling back the layers to expose the real Jack, got into my head and stayed there. And I played the card game that's used as a metaphor when I was a kid.
Relatively easy to read, and with some interesting touches -- like the man in the psychiatric ward who asks Rebus to touch the earth for him. Interesting thoughts. And finally, no homosexuality in it anywhere, in any way. Which seems odd for me to say, but LGBT issues seem tangled up in the problems of the first three books: Reeve's attachment to Rebus in Knots & Crosses; the male prostitutes in Hide & Seek; Chambers' gender issues in Tooth & Nail. It's a relief not to have that in this book.
Wild Seed (Octavia Butler)
This book wasn't as good a match for my mood as N.K. Jemisin's The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms, but it didn't suffer for being read immediately after it. It's an interesting concept: a being that might as well be a god, moving from body to body, amoral and utterly self-serving, trying to breed others like him so he won't be alone, and a being who is also immortal, or close to it, nurturing families so she won't be alone. The two of them are entirely different: Anwanyu loves the people she finds and treats them well, no matter what, and she has children and cares for them not as means to an end, but as ends in themselves. Doro is merciless, regarding people only as long as they serve his purpose. We're clearly meant to sympathise with Anwanyu, as she's the closest to what we can understand, but Doro has his moments too, at least for me. His loneliness is something I can understand.
The different abilities, and the difficulty in producing them, in people surviving them, and how many ways they can go wrong, rings true to me. It's discomforting to read about people being bred like cattle, without real dignity, but sometimes you kind of share in Doro's frustration that it isn't turning out the way it should.
Because of the immortal nature of the two characters, they're the only ones that exist throughout the novel, but there are one or two others worth sympathising with, mostly (for me) Isaac and Thomas, despite how short-lived Thomas is.
The style of the writing is deceptively simple, but there's a lot to think about. It isn't mindless brain candy, despite being easy to read.
The most unsatisfying thing about it is the ending. I'm aware this is the first book in its timeline, not the only book, but the end is an uncomfortable compromise that leaves Anwanyu still not quite doing what she feels is right, which is a disappointment.
The Haunting of Hill House (Shirley Jackson)
I'm glad I didn't read The Haunting of Hill House while alone in my flat, which I was unreasonably scared by as it was! It's a creepy story, though it leaves it open to interpretation whether it's all caused by psychological breakdown or by actual malevolent spirits in the house. The creep factor is done quite well, I think. There's enough tension to make it feel unsettling, but things aren't described so clearly that they lose the element of imagination that makes them powerful -- when something is described clearly, the reader can't put their own interpretation on it, can't imagine what would be most frightening to them. When it's left to the imagination in places, like this, you can imagine whatever is most frightening to you... What is frightening to me might seem ridiculous to you, after all.
The characters are, at first, likeable enough: I like Eleanor's dreaminess, and I like her imagined little stories. I liked the banter, at first, and how all of them later developed tensions, little bitchinesses... The way they relate to each other feels realistic for the circumstances. By the end, I'm not sure I like anyone very much, but I found that -- in this case -- interesting, rather than repellent.
It's definitely interesting to read this having already read other things obviously influenced by it -- Sarah Waters' The Little Stranger, for example. It's a resonant sort of story: people seem to want to make their own version.
