Starcross by Philip Reeve
You know, if more boys’ adventure stories were about Victorians in space with bossy, propriety-obsessed sisters in love with space pirates turned spies, I might read more of them. But scifi-for-kids supposedly doesn’t sell. Just like Asian fantasy and adventures starring teenaged girls, because only boys read adventure stories, and boys won’t read about girls.
Written in what I can only call a hilarious satire of the writing of the time, and including footnotes that are often long and possibly irreverent, this is the second of Reeve’s books about the spacefaring Victorian, Art Mumby, his stuffy sister, Myrtle, and Myrtle’s sometime-Suitor, Jack Havock, former space pirate. Invited to Starcross, hailed as the best sea-side resort on the asteroid belt, the Mumbys arrive only to find themselves caught up in spies, planned revolutions, time travel, and mindaltering hats.
There’s an extreme colonial mindset to many of the characters, but I honestly can’t glean Reeve’s own thoughts on colonialism from the books, thanks to the absurdities of the delivery. Reeve isn’t really concerned as much with careful explanations of how Victorians ended up with houses that fly through space and space travel altering history as he is with the fact that Victorians have houses that fly through space. When Reeve does explain things, it’s so out there that you have to wonder if Art just made it up off the top of his head.
There are plenty of “ZOMG! Plot developments!” and I rather wonder if some will stick. Art’s voice is surprisingly engaging given that he’s essentially written as an annoying kid brother, and Myrtle continues to thrive when taken out of her properly ordered comfort zone. Jack, I admit, still rather baffles me, and I keep thinking he needs to get his act together soon. And French spies and millennia-old Victorian mothers are awesome.
And now I will stop spamming (even for me) for today. (Trying to post on all my reading for the year by the actual end of the year.)
Written in what I can only call a hilarious satire of the writing of the time, and including footnotes that are often long and possibly irreverent, this is the second of Reeve’s books about the spacefaring Victorian, Art Mumby, his stuffy sister, Myrtle, and Myrtle’s sometime-Suitor, Jack Havock, former space pirate. Invited to Starcross, hailed as the best sea-side resort on the asteroid belt, the Mumbys arrive only to find themselves caught up in spies, planned revolutions, time travel, and mindaltering hats.
There’s an extreme colonial mindset to many of the characters, but I honestly can’t glean Reeve’s own thoughts on colonialism from the books, thanks to the absurdities of the delivery. Reeve isn’t really concerned as much with careful explanations of how Victorians ended up with houses that fly through space and space travel altering history as he is with the fact that Victorians have houses that fly through space. When Reeve does explain things, it’s so out there that you have to wonder if Art just made it up off the top of his head.
There are plenty of “ZOMG! Plot developments!” and I rather wonder if some will stick. Art’s voice is surprisingly engaging given that he’s essentially written as an annoying kid brother, and Myrtle continues to thrive when taken out of her properly ordered comfort zone. Jack, I admit, still rather baffles me, and I keep thinking he needs to get his act together soon. And French spies and millennia-old Victorian mothers are awesome.
And now I will stop spamming (even for me) for today. (Trying to post on all my reading for the year by the actual end of the year.)