An incredibly disappointing read. The English Commonwealth is a fascinating period in history: a government and nation divided between radical religious sects, proto-socialist soldiers, and would-be military dictators who believed that if they could just ban Christmas it would usher in the Second Coming. And yet Providence Lost takes that crazy, unprecedented mix and turns it into a long list of names and dates. He provides no explanation of what these various people and groups actually want, or, when he does, the explanation is given whole chapters after they are introduced. There's no thesis on display, no argument about the Protectorate's ambitions or place in history. Even Oliver Cromwell, the man at its very centre, feels weirdly remote and shadowy.
I think the biggest problem is the editing, or lack thereof. Lay occasionally proves that, yes, he can actually write a strong sentence, but every time he immediately backtracks and chucks in enough commas to kill a printing press. A typical sentence in this book will go something like: "George Whatshisname, brother of Edward, a hapless figure who had been granted a peerage by that other noble figure Walter, 1st Duke of Whogivesashit-Upon-Avon and comrade of the prosaic Jonathan Dontcare, and who had subsequently gambled it away, sought assurances in the aftermath of the disastrous conflict at Ballsackfield from his army comrades - they of the leveller persuasion - who had so recently condemned him." That's not a line from a book, that's a sleeping pill in written form.
It's a bummer, because there is so much going on in this period. So much of the Protectorate is unique in English history, maybe even in world history. A book that explains clearly who these people are, what they want, and (most importantly) why it matters would be an instant 5 stars for me. Providence Lost, unfortunately, is not that book.
The most interesting thing I've experience with "classic" fiction like this (Heart of Darkness is another example that comes to mind) is how deeply they stick in my mind afterwards, even though they're never really much fun to read. The War of the Worlds isn't a particularly engaging book - it's deliberately written at arm's length from the horror of its plot, the narrator is little more than a mobile POV provider, and most of the characters don't even get names - but it left me completely fascinated. Maybe it's because it really gives you a sense of the time and place; I guess because Wells was deliberately examining the culture of 1890s England, instead of just being a writer who happened to exist there, it makes it all feel so much more real. Maybe it's because the narrative is so threadbare it leaves more room for his ideas - about evolution, imperialism, and the relationship between humanity and nature - than other, more engaging books. Or maybe it's something else, I don't know. All I know is that when I finally read The War of the Worlds I was underwhelmed by the narrative but absolutely unsurprised by the way it completely dominated popular culture.
Well written in parts, but tonally incoherent. Iglesias clearly had something to say, either about race in America or about the cycle of violence, but any move towards capital-T Themes would be abruptly ruined by the awkward horror/crime plot. The narration was weirdly disaffected, including such highlights as a man musing about God’s existence for a hundred pages and then utterly failing to react to unambiguous proof of the supernatural. The plot just existed to shuffle the characters from one location to the next, which I would be totally fine with if the locations didn’t feel like they were also there to move the characters along. There were some genuinely disturbing moments and thought-provoking insights in the mix, and it was a pretty quick read overall, but for such an intense concept and title I was hoping for more.
Priest of Bones has a lot of potential, and almost lives up to it. The side characters are all interesting, the action is incredibly well-paced and engaging, and it gets surprisingly dark in a completely unexpected way without feeling cheap. I will always love a story about gangs taking over towns, and while Priest of Bones didn’t do anything new it did do it very well. The problems lie in the protagonist, and in the setting. Tomas is (I think) meant to be a sympathetic sociopath, balancing ruthless pragmatism with enough redeeming qualities to keep the reader interested. Instead, he’s just flat, moving people around like chess pieces without any sort of emotional justification. Even his supposed feelings for Ailsa disappear the second it’s no longer relevant. He has agency, at least, but no compelling motivations. The setting is an extension of this flatness: Ellinsburg is never flashed out, feeling like a series of linked set pieces rather than a real setting. The wider world was basically nonexistent, which would have been fine if the the ending hadn’t explicitly been about entering the wider world. I would love to read a sequel about Anne and Jochan and the rest, but I have zero interest in Tomas entering high society.
The epitome of great writing and terrible editing. The story of an ex-cop investigating an ominous 50s Americana town is a great one, with one of my new favourite protagonist. But the mystery itself is almost immediately spoiled, as the viewpoint shifts to the Lovecraftian monsters inhabiting the town in the first few chapters. Even the secondary twist is underwhelming as a result. As it is, American Elsewhere is interesting but underwhelming. Cut out about 200 pages, and it could have been a masterpiece.
About 30% of this book is fantastic: tense, gripping prose evoking the frantic atmosphere of revolutionary Russia, Miéville’s craft on full display as the book rushes breathlessly through freezing pre-dawn streets to cramped meetings roaring with radical power.
The other 70% is long lists of people, places, and committees, with no effort made to explain the difference between, say, a Menshevik and a Left SR, or what the hell a Soviet actually is. Miéville’s research and passion are undeniable, but writing accessible history is not the same thing as writing fiction - and however good he is at the latter, he needs some practice at the former.
I gotta stop reading YA why are these dudes always smirking. Anyways this book was okay. I liked seeing a revolution plot where the protagonist is more or less fine with murder (rare for this genre), but if you’re gonna hinge your entire scheme on a romance you should at least make that romance feel earned.
Probably the most challenging book I’ve read, involving POV shifts, several trips to Wikipedia, and a billion different dudes named Thomas. Still, it was absolutely worth it.