Extreme ends of the spectrum - joy and rage
Yesterday I actually woke up at a normal human hour (this was corrected today, when I woke up at an hour we shall not mention). It was all one could ask of a Saturday morning. I fed the cats and worked my way through a pot of tea while curled up on the couch in my bathrobe, reading Psmith, Journalist while two cats lay on me and purred.
Psmith, Journalist is the sort of thing I should like to see adapted for the small screen, although possibly not until a time when madness stops reigning at the BBC. It's ridiculous and fun and, startlingly, full of action - boxing, gang wars, the titular character getting roughed up and shot at while trying to escape gangsters.
I am also just generally in favour of people being made aware of the glory that is Psmith.
But, as we know, we cannot allow this sort of unconstrained joy to reign unchecked, so, I suspect, it is finally time to delve into that generator of unconstrained rage: Duainfey.
I picked this up on one of my worryingly frequent trips to the bookstore. I gave it a look because I'm familiar with the spousal duo of Sharon Lee and Steve Miller from their Liaden books - which, at least later on in the series, manage to be a delightful blend of romance and intergalactic intrigue, despite some notable flaws. Duainfey looked to be embarking in the fantasy direction and, as Lee and Miller are hardly known for their /hard/ science fiction, I couldn't see why this would be problematic. The cover copy suggested a regency England sort of setting, with a girl, unremarkable except for being crippled, torn between her heart's desires and dreams and her duty to her family and society, and a fairy courtier, and a romance blooming between the two that would lead to political strife and conflict.
I have a definite weak spot for fantasy that's set in less Tolkienesque worlds, and I enjoy a well-done romance as much as I hate a poorly developed romantic-subplot. Aside from the title and a rather hideous cover, Duainfey seemed like the perfect comfort read.
It wasn't. It really, really wasn't. And while I don't mind being misled by cover copy as long as I get something enjoyable, what I ended up with was anything but. Not only was it muddled, what passed for the plot drawn out to ridiculous proportions (nowhere on the cover, back, or the inside pages does it indicate that this is the /first of a series/ God help me), but a large portion of the novel gave me the uncomfortable sensation that I was getting an unasked for voyeuristic look at the authors' sexual fantasies.
In a work: urk.
Want an actual review? Take a peak under the cut.
Duainfey by Sharon Lee and Steve Miller
Rebecca Beauvelley is a ruined gentlewoman in what is either an alternate fantasy historical England or some kind of strange so far in the future that the past has come around again space colonized New New England (it's never explained). Never much to look at, Becca's reputation was permanently damaged when she allowed herself to go out driving with a young man without a chaperone. The young man was drunk, resulting in an accident that killed the young man and permanently crippled Becca's arm (it's never explained how - aside from that it's crippled - or why or ... anything, but it doesn't really work and it may or may not be hideous to look at.) So it's a great relief to everyone when Becca's father finds a suitably titled man willing to marry her - it gets the ruined Becca disposed of and leaves her parents free to give her younger, fabulous sister the introduction to society that she deserves.
But shortly before Becca is scheduled to marry her fiance - a much older man with a gambling problem and a temper, who lives far from Becca's homeland - a party thrown by her mother is attended by a fairy lord named Altimere, who's enchanted by Becca, shows her two possible futures, and convinces her to elope with him and avoid a hard, painful life with her cruel fiance.
Altimere, however, keeps much to himself, and it quickly becomes apparent that, as useful as Becca is, and as genuine as his feelings seem to be for her, her life with Altimere is different, but it is by no means an improvement over what she had, or coudl have had, as Altimere is obsessed with political intrigues at the fairy court that Becca can't begin to understand.
Even writing up my own plot summary, it doesn't sound awful, but things move so damn /slowly/. It's about a hundred and fifty pages (of a five-hundred page novel) before Becca and Altimere elope. They reach Altimere's home about a hundred pages after that. And from that point on, Becca's story enters a state of inertia and sexual unpleasantness, where she has even less control over her own life than she had when living with her parents, and does even less to try and find a way out. I have never read a novel with a less active protagonist. Things just /happen/ to Becca, and the bulk of the time, she not only doesn't /react/, she frequently doesn't even /think/ about reacting. It's this frustrating, slow, drawn out mess of /nothing/ with such palpable sexual overtones (even when there aren't any sex scenes - and there are /definitely/ sex scenes) that it's hard not to be repulsed by the way Lee and Miller are portraying this character, handling her, robbing her of self.
It might be worth it if there were a proper conclusion - if, at the end, Becca found some inner strength and took control of her actions, her life, her destiny. But she doesn't, because there isn't even an ending. Duainfey, in its plot development, is the embodiment of one of the most frustrating habits of the fantasy genre, one of the things that causes its stagnation and has readers drifting away from it - a novel that's part of a series and not only fails to be self-contained, but fails to even /pretend/ to be offering you a conclusion.
Lee and Miller waste - and, as there isn't payoff to a single thing in Duainfey, it is definitely waste - pages and pages and /pages/. They introduce characters connected with Becca - her younger sister, her sympathetic older brother, her well-meaning mother, her distant and harsh father, her best friend and recently married cousin, her herbalist teacher, a young male friend who may harbour tender feelings for Becca himself - and while none of these characters may be anything new, they're all given such attention that you expect them to be /important/, to show up again, at least in the end. But once Becca elopes wiht Altimere, that's it. They never show up again, they're rarely thought of. In the hands of better writers, or even writers who simply took more care, the cast of characters Becca leaves behind so thoroughly, and their absence in the rest of the book, could be used to create a definite sense of loss, of alienation from the familiar, but it feels less like a narrative tool and more that they just ... dropped all these characters. Perhaps Lee and Miller are planning on bringing them back in later books. Fine ... if "Perhaps Lee and Miller are planning to [blank] in later books" isn't an excuse that could be applied to /every other flaw in the book/.
A lot of time is spent going on about Becca's gift as a gardener, her studying the arts of a herbalist under an old woman in the village, and, in particular, about the plant that gives the book its title. Why? I don't know. Becca barely has contact with nature once in Altimere's company. Perhaps it's going to be explained in later books.
What is Altimere doing? Becca doesn't know and the reader doesn't know. Presumably it'll be brought up in something resembling actual detail in later books.
Partway through the book, a second narrative is introduced, about a fairy man trying to recover after being held captive by a human who wanted to know the secret of their power. There's some hints of some sort of political intrigue and some allusions to the relations between the fairies and the humans nad their differences, but the character's narrative never connects with Becca's in the slightest way. MAYBE THEY'LL MEET UP IN A LATER BOOK.
And so on.
It's like the world's longest prologue. It's like the world's longest prologue interspersed with another novel entirely (or possibly the prologue for another novel entirely). It's sloppy writing, it's amateur, and the only reason it isn't flat out boring is that the repulsive use of sex, the complete removal of autonomy from the main female character. There's a lack of world building, a lack of answers, alack of ... everything that makes a novel worthwhile.
I don't only fail to understand how the authors could have thought this was a work worthy of being published - I can't understand why a /publishing house/ would let this kind of poorly put together dreck hit the shelves. I'm not sure I've ever regretted purchasing a book as much as I regret purchasing Duainfey.
I'd say I've never been so disappointed in an author before, but while I've enjoyed a number of Lee and Miller's books, there have also been several (particularly the atrocious Carpe Diem, which seemed to be about anything but, and had me choosing to read my legal readings instead of getting further in it) that were clunky, cliche ridden, and poorly paced. I just thought Lee and Miller had moved beyond those early-novel problems. They haven't just reverted to the flaws of their earliest works - they've taken a giant, unbelievable leap backwards.
I cannot recommend this book to /anyone/. It's just ... devoid of redeeming qualities.
Psmith, Journalist is the sort of thing I should like to see adapted for the small screen, although possibly not until a time when madness stops reigning at the BBC. It's ridiculous and fun and, startlingly, full of action - boxing, gang wars, the titular character getting roughed up and shot at while trying to escape gangsters.
I am also just generally in favour of people being made aware of the glory that is Psmith.
But, as we know, we cannot allow this sort of unconstrained joy to reign unchecked, so, I suspect, it is finally time to delve into that generator of unconstrained rage: Duainfey.
I picked this up on one of my worryingly frequent trips to the bookstore. I gave it a look because I'm familiar with the spousal duo of Sharon Lee and Steve Miller from their Liaden books - which, at least later on in the series, manage to be a delightful blend of romance and intergalactic intrigue, despite some notable flaws. Duainfey looked to be embarking in the fantasy direction and, as Lee and Miller are hardly known for their /hard/ science fiction, I couldn't see why this would be problematic. The cover copy suggested a regency England sort of setting, with a girl, unremarkable except for being crippled, torn between her heart's desires and dreams and her duty to her family and society, and a fairy courtier, and a romance blooming between the two that would lead to political strife and conflict.
I have a definite weak spot for fantasy that's set in less Tolkienesque worlds, and I enjoy a well-done romance as much as I hate a poorly developed romantic-subplot. Aside from the title and a rather hideous cover, Duainfey seemed like the perfect comfort read.
It wasn't. It really, really wasn't. And while I don't mind being misled by cover copy as long as I get something enjoyable, what I ended up with was anything but. Not only was it muddled, what passed for the plot drawn out to ridiculous proportions (nowhere on the cover, back, or the inside pages does it indicate that this is the /first of a series/ God help me), but a large portion of the novel gave me the uncomfortable sensation that I was getting an unasked for voyeuristic look at the authors' sexual fantasies.
In a work: urk.
Want an actual review? Take a peak under the cut.
Duainfey by Sharon Lee and Steve Miller
Rebecca Beauvelley is a ruined gentlewoman in what is either an alternate fantasy historical England or some kind of strange so far in the future that the past has come around again space colonized New New England (it's never explained). Never much to look at, Becca's reputation was permanently damaged when she allowed herself to go out driving with a young man without a chaperone. The young man was drunk, resulting in an accident that killed the young man and permanently crippled Becca's arm (it's never explained how - aside from that it's crippled - or why or ... anything, but it doesn't really work and it may or may not be hideous to look at.) So it's a great relief to everyone when Becca's father finds a suitably titled man willing to marry her - it gets the ruined Becca disposed of and leaves her parents free to give her younger, fabulous sister the introduction to society that she deserves.
But shortly before Becca is scheduled to marry her fiance - a much older man with a gambling problem and a temper, who lives far from Becca's homeland - a party thrown by her mother is attended by a fairy lord named Altimere, who's enchanted by Becca, shows her two possible futures, and convinces her to elope with him and avoid a hard, painful life with her cruel fiance.
Altimere, however, keeps much to himself, and it quickly becomes apparent that, as useful as Becca is, and as genuine as his feelings seem to be for her, her life with Altimere is different, but it is by no means an improvement over what she had, or coudl have had, as Altimere is obsessed with political intrigues at the fairy court that Becca can't begin to understand.
Even writing up my own plot summary, it doesn't sound awful, but things move so damn /slowly/. It's about a hundred and fifty pages (of a five-hundred page novel) before Becca and Altimere elope. They reach Altimere's home about a hundred pages after that. And from that point on, Becca's story enters a state of inertia and sexual unpleasantness, where she has even less control over her own life than she had when living with her parents, and does even less to try and find a way out. I have never read a novel with a less active protagonist. Things just /happen/ to Becca, and the bulk of the time, she not only doesn't /react/, she frequently doesn't even /think/ about reacting. It's this frustrating, slow, drawn out mess of /nothing/ with such palpable sexual overtones (even when there aren't any sex scenes - and there are /definitely/ sex scenes) that it's hard not to be repulsed by the way Lee and Miller are portraying this character, handling her, robbing her of self.
It might be worth it if there were a proper conclusion - if, at the end, Becca found some inner strength and took control of her actions, her life, her destiny. But she doesn't, because there isn't even an ending. Duainfey, in its plot development, is the embodiment of one of the most frustrating habits of the fantasy genre, one of the things that causes its stagnation and has readers drifting away from it - a novel that's part of a series and not only fails to be self-contained, but fails to even /pretend/ to be offering you a conclusion.
Lee and Miller waste - and, as there isn't payoff to a single thing in Duainfey, it is definitely waste - pages and pages and /pages/. They introduce characters connected with Becca - her younger sister, her sympathetic older brother, her well-meaning mother, her distant and harsh father, her best friend and recently married cousin, her herbalist teacher, a young male friend who may harbour tender feelings for Becca himself - and while none of these characters may be anything new, they're all given such attention that you expect them to be /important/, to show up again, at least in the end. But once Becca elopes wiht Altimere, that's it. They never show up again, they're rarely thought of. In the hands of better writers, or even writers who simply took more care, the cast of characters Becca leaves behind so thoroughly, and their absence in the rest of the book, could be used to create a definite sense of loss, of alienation from the familiar, but it feels less like a narrative tool and more that they just ... dropped all these characters. Perhaps Lee and Miller are planning on bringing them back in later books. Fine ... if "Perhaps Lee and Miller are planning to [blank] in later books" isn't an excuse that could be applied to /every other flaw in the book/.
A lot of time is spent going on about Becca's gift as a gardener, her studying the arts of a herbalist under an old woman in the village, and, in particular, about the plant that gives the book its title. Why? I don't know. Becca barely has contact with nature once in Altimere's company. Perhaps it's going to be explained in later books.
What is Altimere doing? Becca doesn't know and the reader doesn't know. Presumably it'll be brought up in something resembling actual detail in later books.
Partway through the book, a second narrative is introduced, about a fairy man trying to recover after being held captive by a human who wanted to know the secret of their power. There's some hints of some sort of political intrigue and some allusions to the relations between the fairies and the humans nad their differences, but the character's narrative never connects with Becca's in the slightest way. MAYBE THEY'LL MEET UP IN A LATER BOOK.
And so on.
It's like the world's longest prologue. It's like the world's longest prologue interspersed with another novel entirely (or possibly the prologue for another novel entirely). It's sloppy writing, it's amateur, and the only reason it isn't flat out boring is that the repulsive use of sex, the complete removal of autonomy from the main female character. There's a lack of world building, a lack of answers, alack of ... everything that makes a novel worthwhile.
I don't only fail to understand how the authors could have thought this was a work worthy of being published - I can't understand why a /publishing house/ would let this kind of poorly put together dreck hit the shelves. I'm not sure I've ever regretted purchasing a book as much as I regret purchasing Duainfey.
I'd say I've never been so disappointed in an author before, but while I've enjoyed a number of Lee and Miller's books, there have also been several (particularly the atrocious Carpe Diem, which seemed to be about anything but, and had me choosing to read my legal readings instead of getting further in it) that were clunky, cliche ridden, and poorly paced. I just thought Lee and Miller had moved beyond those early-novel problems. They haven't just reverted to the flaws of their earliest works - they've taken a giant, unbelievable leap backwards.
I cannot recommend this book to /anyone/. It's just ... devoid of redeeming qualities.