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The Scent of Shadows by Vicki Pettersson (2007)

In every major city, there are twelve people in each generation who form the Light troop of the Zodiac, individuals with extraordinary abilities of strength, healing and so forth, whose mission is to battle their Shadow counterparts, maintaining peace and balance. Casino heiress Joanna Archer discovers she is the First Sign of the Zodiac troop of Las Vegas, destined to lead them to victory over the Shadows -- and that her real father is the supernatural entity who leads Vegas's Shadow troop...

I may not have implied it very well in that synopsis, but this is actually pretty good -- better than many a book of its genre that I've previously encountered. This is mainly down to unexpected twists in plot and character that set things up nicely for the ongoing series. I wouldn't quite list it as a must-read (the second half lets the book down a bit), but it's worth a look if it sounds interesting to you.

Cone Zero: Nemonymous Eight (2008)

The latest instalment of Des Lewis's 'megazanthus' (magazine/anthology) Nemonymous, which prints its stories without author credits (instead, they'll be given in the next volume) -- though the writers are listed on the back cover. The anonymity didn't actually make much difference to me, because only one writer's work was familiar to me -- John Grant (

realthog), and I think I've guessed which story is his -- and it doesn't really matter anyway, because Cone Zero is an excellent selection of stories. There are sentient domestic appliances on the run from humans; strange artworks, one depicting an orphan's mother and a large metal cone, the other incorporating a cone whose dimensions are zero (most of the stories reference the book's title in some way); mysterious houses, even entire worlds that aren't what they seem to be. With only a few missteps, I'm as sure as I can be that this will be one of the best anthologies of the year.

 

And my full-length review of Cone Zero is now online at Serendipity -- what's more, it's my hundredth published review. After five years of reviewing, I'm very pleased to have reached that milestone. (For the curious, the other 99 are over here.)

American Gods by Neil Gaiman (2001/4)

Shadow has come to the end of three years in prison and is looking forward to reuniting with his wife Laura; but, just as he's about to be released, he learns that she died d in a car crash that morning. The bottom having fallen out of his life, Shadow ends up working for Mr Wednesday, who is travelling across America to gather together the old gods who came across with their peoples, in preparation for the coming showdown with the new gods of technology, media and the modern world...

This was my second time reading Gaiman's vast opus, only this time it was the paperback reprint, which (says the introduction) is 12,000 words longer than the original hardback. What hadn't crossed my mind is that 12,000 words isn't actually that much when compared to the several-hundred-thousand words of the original text, so I didn't actually notice the extra length. Besides, I'd forgotten a lot of the details in the seven years since I first read American Gods, so it was very much like reading an unfamiliar book.

And it was a book I enjoyed reading very much. The pages flew by, despite the novel's great length. I particularly liked the way that Gaiman wove his gods (some familiar to me, many not) into the fabric of contemporary America with just enough magic to give them weight and mystery, without overdoing it. The plot has an unusual, raggedy structure, full of diversions; which might be infuriating in less capable hands, but worked perfectly here. Gaiman even manages to create a main character who comes across simultaneously as a cipher and a complex individual -- and, furthermore, it works. I'd pick out individual episodes, but it's the experience of reading American Gods as a whole that looms largest in my mind. An excellent book to immerse yourself in.

The Road Home by Rose Tremain (2007)

This is the story of Lev, an economic migrant who travels to London from Eastern Europe (his country is never named, and may even be fictional; perhaps this is meant to suggest that we Brits tend to lump the countries of Eastern Europe together, rather than thinking of them as individual nations). His aim is to facilitate a better life for his mother and daughter back home (his wife having died of cancer previously), but he finds that it's not going to be as simple as he might have imagined. Eventually, though, he is able to rent a decent room, and lands decent work in a restaurant kitchen, where he meets -- and takes a shine to -- a fellow employee, Sophie. Then life and love take a turn for the worse, and Lev has to leave London, ending up picking asparagus in Suffolk, where he has the Great Idea that might transform the fortunes of his family -- if he can make it a reality.

I liked The Road Home, especially the earlier parts, where Lev is finding his feet. Tremain shows how difficult it is for him, how an intelligent person with an eventful life can be reduced to just another immigrant in the eyes of people in a country where he doesn't speak the language. There's one scene I found particularly telling, where Lev meets some of Sophie's friends, a parodically pretentious artsy set, who are discussing a new play one of them has written about 'the extreme forms desire can take'. The playwright comments that his art is intended to shock, and Lev's reply indicates that he knows what real shock is -- but his opinions are dismissed out of hand. Yet the situation is not presented as simplistically as this may imply: Tremain is clear that Lev's life back home was hard, and that he had good reason to seek to improve his family's lot -- but there are no easy options for doing so.

The Road Home is not entirely successful: I suspect that the events of the novel would happen over a longer time-scale in real life than they do in the book. And I think Tremain idealises Lev's experience a bit too much towards the end. Still, I found this a good read overall.

44. New Horizons, issue 1 (2008)

First issue of the new fiction magazine published by the British Fantasy Society. I'm not clear what the difference is meant to be between this and the BFS's more established fiction title, Dark Horizons (then again, I haven't read an issue of Dark Horizons properly in quite a while!), but you might get an idea from knowing that New Horizons is put together by Andrew Hook of Elastic Press (and if the name is unfamiliar, I do recommend seeking out some Elastic Press books). Anyway, there is some good stuff in this issue, such as Harvey Raines's story about a man who gains the ability to re-imagine his city as he sees fit (apart from a pair of tower blocks that remain stubbornly in place); David Barnett's mystery in which people start believing they're fictional characters; and a typically idiosyncratic tale from Allen Ashley about relationship woes against a background of water shortages and visiting aliens.

45. ChiZine, issue 37: July-September 2008

Latest issue of an online dark fiction magazine. I don't want to say too much about this as I'm reviewing it for The Fix, but you will find: a shaman who helps a general gain power, making increasingly difficult demands in the process; a couple waiting up for their son, who may not be human; and the disorientating story of a prisoner who can hear everything (even thoughts) but say nothing.

46. The Bridge of San Luis Rey by Thornton Wilder (1927)

In 18th-century Peru, a bridge collapses, sending five people to their deaths. The book pieces together the lives of the victims as a monk tries to find some reason for their fates. I read this book for my reading group, and would not have read it otherwise. I've very little to say about it, as it's one of those books I just didn't mesh with and didn't get.

A Kestrel for a Knave by Barry Hines (1968)

This month, the 50bookchallenge community is challenging its members to revisit an unloved book from school. A Kestrel for a Knave was the very first topic I studied in GCSE English. I can still remember the title of the essay I wrote on it ('Discuss the presentation of three of Billy Casper's teachers'), and that the essay covered ten handwritten sides of A4; contained too many extended sections of quotation; and introduced all the supporting evidence in the same way ('Barry Hines shows us this...').

Why I never got along with this novel, I'm not sure. It's probably because, at the time, I was heavily into reading fantasy (I still am, but not to the exclusion of almost all else!), and Hines's book is pretty much the opposite of that. It is the story of Billy Casper, a young lad living in a South Yorkshire mining town. His father has left home, his older brother is a bully, and his mother has no time for Billy, being more occupied with a string of affairs. School is no better: Billy can barely read or write, is often picked on by the other boys, and the teachers (with the exception of one) treat him as a no-hoper. Although he's about to leave school, Billy has no idea what he'll do next. But there's one good thing in the boy's life: Kes, the kestrel Billy has trained himself and is highly adept at handling.

Writing that has made me think of another reason I may not have been keen on A Kestrel for a Knave -- it is pretty miserable. I wasn't alone in my opinion of the book at school -- even one of the other English teachers didn't like it that much -- but I wanted to give it another chance. I like to think I've grown as a reader in the last ten-and-a-bit years, so perhaps I'd get more out of the novel this time.

And so... Well, there's been no great conversion; but I do appreciate the book more than I did. I appreciate it as a study of a character who's been prevented by circumstances from making the most of (or perhaps even recognising) his talents. And perhaps it's not quite as miserable a novel as I once thought. But there's nothing cosy about it: as Hines says in his afterword, Billy is 'more Artful Dodger than Oliver Twist' -- when the world kicks him, he kicks right back. And Barry Hines shows us why.

Banquet for the Damned by Adam L.G. Nevill (2004)

Musician Dante Shaw travels to Scotland's oldest university city, St Andrews, to work as a research assistant for a reclusive academic (who wrote a book on the occult that Dante would like to use as the basis for a concept album), but increasingly comes to believe that he has been lured there under false pretences. Meanwhile, some students in the city are experiencing night terrors -- and meeting gory ends at the hands of something soon afterwards. Then Dante starts to have bad dreams...

I thoroughly enjoyed this book. It's such a smooth read (something I appreciated all the more because I was grappling at the same time with another book -- now abandoned -- which was a real chore), but it's not a slight one, far from it. Yes, there are gory passages, but they're only intermittent, and balanced out by the creeping atmosphere. And perhaps the greatest horror is nothing supernatural, but the way circumstances force Dante into committing a heinous act of his own.

Banquet for the Damned was originally published as a limited edition hardback by PS Publishing. I was reading it in the new mass-market paperback edition, an edition I think the book very much deserves.

A Dick and Jane Primer for Adults edited by Lavie Tidhar (2008)

I don't know whose idea this was, but I hope that person has more of them, because this latest book from the British Fantasy Society is inspired. It is, as the title suggests, an anthology of adult stories inspired by the Dick and Jane series of basal readers. And I don't mean 'adult' in the sense of 'laden with innuendo' -- what I find most impressive is the sheer variety of approaches, and how successful they are (I'd say only one out of the ten stories didn't really work for me).

Some contributors write in the style of a Dick and Jane book: Adam Roberts tells a science fiction story with a frightening twist; James Lovegrove's piece is the blackly comic tale of a journalist interviewing a cannibal; Marion Arnott uses the veil of childhood innocence to write effectively about a darkness in the adult world. Other writers take a different tack: Conrad Williams weaves the characteristic vocabulary and structures into his poignant story about the search for a lost mother; Chris Butler considers what might happen when Dick and Jane grow up.

This is a group of stories that would surely never have been written were it not for this anthology. But I'm delighted that they were.

An Alternate History of the 21st Century by William Shunn (2007)

A chapbook collection of six science fiction stories from the publishers of Electric Velocipede magazine. I liked this very much: there's a strong theme running through the book that change (and scientific and technological change in particular) can bring both benefits and drawbacks (perhaps at the same time), which create choppy waters for us to navigate. So, there are pieces like 'Kevin₁₇', which examines the effects of an experiment on both its cloned subjects and the lead scientist conducting the research (who has the best of intentions, but his methods can be -- and are -- questioned); and 'Observations from the City of Angels', in which a man volunteers to have his life broadcast online, but starts to wonder whether it's really worth all the money he's being paid for his trouble.

Cop Hater and The Mugger by Ed McBain (1956)

When I come to think of it, I don't read a lot of police procedurals, but I've heard great things about Ed McBain's '87th Precinct' novels; so, when I saw this omnibus of the first two in a discount bookshop, I thought I'd give it a go. And... well, I'm not sure. McBain's prose (especially his descriptive passages) can be excellent; it's the mysteries themselves that I'm undecided about.

The titles of the two novels sum up their plots: in the first, someone is shooting officers of the 87th Precinct dead; in the second, a purse-snatcher is at large -- one who goes too far, leaving a woman dead. The solutions to these mysteries are fine; it's just that they seemed to me to be solved almost entirely in the last few pages... Reading that back, it sounds a really naive complaint (because aren't most mysteries like that?); but that was my reaction when I'd finished -- that one minute we were nowhere near cracking the case, and the next minute it was all solved, without enough sense of build-up. Perhaps I'm not appreciating how the police procedural genre works; perhaps the later 87th Precinct novels (of which there are over fifty) are different -- I don't know.

One thing that did strike me about these novels was how contemporary they seemed. I've read two other books this year that date from the 1950s (I am Legend and The Broken Sword); and I didn't have to keep reminding myself that they were fifty years old, as I did with these books of McBain's. Not that I could mistake them for contemporary works -- things like the street slang used made sure of that -- but there was often just a little jarring moment of realisation all the same. Since McBain continued to write 87th Precinct novels into the present decade, I'm curious to know whether the setting remained in the 1950s, or whether it mirrored the passing of time.

Interzone, Issue 217: August 2008

There's a quality bunch of stories in this issue of Britain's longest-running science fiction magazine. I liked all six of them, but to pick out three in particular:

'Comus of Central Park'. by M.K. Hobson: a plan to take revenge on a horrid New York socialite goes wrong, leaving a faun moving through her social circle and, er, 'livening up' a few parties. Very funny indeed.

'The Two-Headed Girl' by Paul G. Tremblay: Veronica, as the title suggests, has two heads; what's more, the second one keeps changing into the heads of famous characters (real and fictional). The girl has been driven out of school by bullying, and is now feeling stifled. This story pulls off the neat balancing act of being both strange and moving, without compromising on either.

'Africa' by Karen Fishler: the two Guardians are faced with a request to visit the planet by the last members of Expelled humanity -- but the Guardians' very purpose is to prevent the Expelled from ever repopulating Earth. Though set in the far future, this is very much about the relationship between a father and son, and what happens when a woman comes between them.

Full review now publsihed in The Fix here.

Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen (2006)

When his parents are killed in an accident, Jacob Jankowksi is forced to abandon his studies in veterinary science. He jumps aboard a passing train at random one night, and finds himself in a travelling circus. He becomes the company's vet, falls for a married woman, and discovers how harsh circus life can be. (The cover blurb ends, 'Where falling in love is the most dangerous act of all...' -- which got some gentle mocking from the members of my reading group.) Seventy years later, in the present day, an old Jacob reflects on those days to escape the drudgery of life in the nursing home -- and another circus comes to town.

Well, I quite enjoyed this: it goes through a range of tones -- it's a romp in some places, very serious in others -- yet is always engaging. I lost track of some of the (numerous) minor characters, but that was by no means a problem; and the ending, which made me chuckle, was just right.

Here's a strange thing, though: the Author's Note at the end reveals that many of the incidents in the novel are based on real events -- and I found them more interesting when Gruen wrote about them as anecdotes in her afterword than when I encountered the same incidents in the story. Why this should be, I'm not sure; perhaps I'll put it down to one of my quirks as a reader...

Gods Behaving Badly by Marie Phillips (2007)

Jolly little piece of fluff that ends up as something quite different from what it begins as. The Greek gods are living in present-day London, but have dwindled in power and have to make ends meet: so, Artemis walks dogs for a living, Apollo is a TV psychic, Aphrodite has a premium-rate chat line, and so on. Thanks to one of Eros's arrows, Apollo falls in love/lust with frumpy cleaner Alice. She, however, is in love with Neil (the feeling is mutual, unbeknownst to either to them), and rejects the god's advances -- but Apollo is affronted, and seeks revenge as only a son of Zeus can...

At first, it seems as though Gods Behaving Badly is just going to be a romp; then, halfway through, something happens that gives the book a whole new dimension. It loses a certain amount (though by no means all) of its humour (the very beginning of the novel had me laughing out loud, but the rest wasn't as amusing), though the plot gets more interesting. I can't honestly say that the book does much more than pass the time -- but it's a good book for passing the time.

Diet Soap, Issue 2 (2008)

The second issue of a fiction, non-fiction and poetry magazine that seeks to (quoting from its website) 'challenge or explode preconceptions' and 'defy genre distinctions'. Each issue has a theme, and this one's is 'sex and gender'. Personally, I didn't find it quite so provocative, but there's some good stuff in there. The best stories may actually be the shortest, 'Dream Date' by Chelsea Martin and 'Peach' by Ginnetta Correli, both three pages each and both dealing elliptically with women who are left behind in both love and life. In the former, a woman finds herself excised from a relationship without being sure just how it happened; in the latter, it's the protagonist's friends who have all the fun. Both these pieces have an oblique style that wonderfully balances and highlights the cold reality of their events. Speaking of cold reality, there's also 'Stitching Time' by Stephanie Burgis, a historical piece about farmers' wives in northern Michigan who are taken away to an asylum for 'treatment' if they struggle with the isolation. It's a very disturbing story, perhaps all the more so for the economy of its prose.

Full review now available on The Fix here.

Life Expectancy by Dean Koontz (2005)

My first Koontz novel, and I am not quite sure what to make of it. As he lies dying, Josef Tock's daughter-in-law is about to give birth. The old man predicts that terrible things will happen on five particular days in the child's life, and then dies -- at the very same moment that Jimmy Tock comes into the world. Since Josef correctly predicted other details, such as Jimmy's birth weight, the family takes seriously his prophecy of the five days -- and they are right to do so. As Jimmy's life progresses, misfortune does indeed befall him on those days, though not necessarily in ways that he expects; in particular, the murderous clown Konrad Beezo, who went on a killing spree in the hospital on the night of Jimmy's birth, casts an increasingly long shadow over his life.

The problem with Life Expectancy is that all the principal characters come across as whimsical, larger-than-life creations, rather than anything resembling real people. The main antagonists, Konrad Beezo and his son Punchinello, are unhinged individuals with concerns that would seem almost comedic (such as a grudge against aerialists), had the two of them not had a propensity for killing anyone without a second thought, seemingly for no particular reason. These characters would work fine -- the horror and thriller genres are, of course, full of such extraordinary and outlandish enemies -- if they were pitted against ordinary, down-to-earth folks. But they're not: Jimmy Tock is an awkward, shambling 'lummox', who's also erudite; indeed, his family of bakers and pastry chefs are all wordy, and they're all the kind of people who can eat anything without putting on weight. Oh, and Jimmy likes festooning his house with Christmas decorations in the six weeks after Thanksgiving... sometimes it feels as though Koontz is loading Jimmy with traits and characteristics whenever it suits his story. Lorrie, the girl who wanders into Jimmy's life at random, is also extraordinary: witty and beautiful, she is no less than Jimmy's ideal woman.

All well and good, but the effect is to push the characters out of reality (the background has similar problems, as Jimmy and Lorrie gain support from their community to a degree that frankly stretches credibility to its limits) -- which numbs the impact (on the reader) of the harsh events they live through. And Jimmy's observations on life often come across as cloying sentimentality, because it doesn't feel like a real person saying those things. Some of Koontz's writing is very good, good enough to make me think I should take a chance on another of his books; but it would have to be more grounded, because I struggled at times to take this one seriously.

The Fade by Chris Wooding (2007)

In the midst of battle, Orna, a member of the elite Cadre, is ambushed, and her husband killed, by the enemy Gurta. Put to work in the fortress of Farkaza, what keeps her going is the thought of escaping and finding her son Jai, who's fighting in the war (though Orna believes he never really wanted to). Falling in with a disparate group of prisoners, Orna hatches a daring plan to escape -- which succeeds. Her journey home takes her to the surface (most of this moon's inhabitants living underground) and the brink of death; before she must get to the bottom of a conspiracy -- because somebody betrayed the location of her party to the Gurta, and Orna is out for revenge...

This is the first book I've read by Chris Wooding, and I liked it -- but I didn't love it. Wooding is good with action and description, and his choice of street-smart first-person narration is interesting when contrasted with the outlandish nature of his setting. He creates a complex character in Orna, and poses thoughtful questions about right and wrong. But the author is less skilled at generating interest in his characters' political machinations, which is problematic because the plot hinges on them; his final showdown verges on the melodramatic; and The Fade just lacks the extra zing that would really make it stand out. It's a solid effort -- certainly better than a good many fantasies out there -- but it's not essential reading.

Abyss & Apex, Issue 26: 2nd Quarter 2008

Since I'm now allowing electronic publications in my count, I'll include this science fiction and fantasy webzine. Five stories, the pick of which are 'Disarm', Vylar Kaftan's examination of fighting back against a 'benevolent dictatorship' of aliens; and Larry Hodges' 'Ghosts of Cretaceous Park', the comic tale of a nasty real estate developer getting his comeuppance thanks to a dinosaur's ghost. One is thoughtful, the other more light-hearted, but both reach their intended targets.

Also in this issue, but not quite as good (though still worth a look): 'One Wicker Day', Andew S. Fuller's story of a mysterious new funeral service (which is more distant from the reader than it really ought to be); 'Wolfling', Laura Anne Gilman's exploration of what it is to be born 'normal' in a world of people with special powers (whose main problem is that its theme is overfamiliar); and "Xenosomnambulism", Lawrence M. Schoen's tale of a student who holds the key to linking Earth with an alien world (a romp that's jolly enough but lacks that extra something to really make it shine).

EDIT: Full review now available here.

Postscripts, Issue 14 (Spring 2008)

Here is an example of arbitrary rules coming back to biite me. When I started out blogging about my year's reading, I set myself a number of rules, one of which was that I wouldn't count electronic publications, no matter how long they were. I made up that rule on a whim, because I didn't expect to be reading any electronic publications of any significant length. But things have turned out to be different, and what do I do under my rules with this, which I started reading in electronic form and finished reading in print? Simple: I admit that the rule was a silly idea in the first place, and scrap it from now on. Technically, Something Wicked should now belong in my count; but I think I'll keep the numbering as it is, and that magazine can be an unofficial 'number 26a' .

Anyway, this is the latest issue of Postscripts, the magazine of Peter Crowther's PS Publishing. One of the great things about this magazine is that you can never quite be sure what you'll get (apart from a substantial amount to read -- 144 pages in this issue). It's like (in fact, it pretty much is) having someone knowledgeable and trustworthy present you with a bunch of stories you might like. (Chances are, of course, that you won't like all of them; but I think that's less important than the variety and the opportunity to read something you might not otherwise come across.)

My particular favourites in this issue? 'Island Tales', Jeff VanderMeer's 're-imagining' of four folktales from Fiji, Hawaii and the Philippines; it's as compelling as any telling of folktales that I've read. "Something Borrowed, Something Red" by William Alexander, which evokes the creepy atmosphere of what it might be like to live with the threat of changelings who would take away your child if they had the chance, changelings who have their own rules that they know but you don't. And, best of all, 'The Ghosts We Have Become' by Paul Jessup which, in just seven pages, combines an elegant weirdness with so much about the various damaging effects of warfare. It's a story that grows in my mind the more I think about it.

Summer Knight by Jim Butcher (2002)

So I was on the train, with a book I wasn't sure I'd like. I duly gave it a hundred pages, then decided life was too short (and no, this wasn't a dream), and turned instead to the other book I'd taken with me as a back-up -- Summer Knight.

The Dresden Files are my current favourite 'palate cleansers' -- that is, books I can rely on to be enjoyable and (relatively) quick reads, in between the other stuff. It's strange: although that other book wasn't the worst-written I have ever read, I've never been so glad to start reading something by a writer who knew how to achieve the effect he wanted. And so I was back in the world of wizard-for-hire Harry Dresden.

In this, the fourth entry in the series, Dresden is 'hired' (or , more accurately, bound) by the Queen of the Winter Court of the faeries to investigate a death which proves to have implications for relations between the two Sidhe courts, which may in turn threaten the entire world -- and, wouldn't you know it, someone's after Harry again?

One thing that concerns me about these long series that build up an elaborate background is that they'll get too big for their own good. For example, thus far in The Dresden Files, there's been mention and/or appearances  of Red, White and Black Courts of vampires; Summer and Winter Courts of faeries; the White Council of wizards; and that's just what I can remember off the top of my head. The plot of Summer Knight draws quite heavily on this background, and at times I did wish for a good ol' supernatural mystery without all the embellishments. Yet I also couldn't help being charmed by some of Butcher's twists on the material (the queen-in-waiting of the Winter Court is a girl with dreadlocks and a T-shirt that reads 'OFF WITH HIS HEAD'); and the story itself was as entertaining as ever -- just as I'd expected when I took it with me on the train journey.

Here we have two character studies with very different settings -- and I think one puts the other firmly in the shade.

28. One Story, Issue 101: 'Familial Kindness' by Kirsten Sundberg Lunstrum (2008)

Alma and Sara were sisters who led very different lives: Sara married Charlie, moved to Indiana, and severed most of her ties to Alma, who stayed in the family home even after their parents died. Now Alma's daughter Lovisa (the father is a nameless fling from years before) is getting married; Sara has died from cancer, but Alma invites Charlie (whom she hasn't seen for thirty years and is not too bothered about seeing again) out of courtesy. The story begins as Charlie arrives at Alma's house, and the subsequent thirty pages are essentially them (particularly Alma) reflecting on the choices they've made in life.

I haven't much else to say about 'Familial Kindness', unforturnately. It's not a bad story by any means; but it didn't really grab me, or stay in my mind. The characterisation is fine; the story just doesn't... say as much (overtly or otherwise) as I;d have liked.

29. One Story, Issue 102: 'What the World Will Look Like When All the Water Leaves Us' by Laura van den Berg (2008)

Perhaps the best explanation is a comparison, because I found this story to be much richer. Celia (who must be in her late teens or thereabouts as the story begins) has ambitions to be a professional swimmer; but her mother June, a primatologist, keeps dragging her off on her study expeditions. The latest is to Madagascar, to test June's ideas about the relationship between lemurs and reforestation -- but the relationship between mother and daughter will also be tested, and to the limit.

Van den Berg's depiction of the two women is acutely observed: June is a larger-than-life character, whose life is so dominated by her work that everything else comes second -- including Celia and, ironically, the real point of the work; June seems to care more about using her work to validate herself than about the fate of the animals she studies. As for Celia, it's no surprise that she doesn't share her mother's passion for science when June insists on drumming into her pointless lists like famous scientists who committed suicide ('she said I needed to understand the toll answering important scientific questions could take on a person' -- and, oh, how June demonstrates that toll in her own way). It's great to see the daughter break free and start finding her own way over the course of the story.

I read in the back of the magazine that Laura van den Berg has a story collection coming out next year. If only it weren't such a long time away.