shanaqui's reviews
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Lessons in Crime is a pretty recent collection from the British Library Crime Classics series, edited as usual by Martin Edwards. Unsurprisingly, this one focuses on mystery stories set in academic settings -- schools, weekend courses, and of course, universities. 

There are some big names here -- Sayers, Arthur Conan Doyle -- and some lesser-known ones, along with ones that are familiar to me from these anthologies, such as E.W. Hornung. As ever, the whole is greater than the sum of the parts: I'm not a huge fan of Reggie Fortune and A.J. Raffles as characters, but in a collection like this, it all adds up to a feel for how writers viewed and used these settings, the trends in the stories, etc.

I was a little surprised by the heavy anti-Welsh sentiment in one of the stories: it's been a while since I met that kind of thing so openly. (The Welsh character mutates ps and bs in English, lies habitually, etc, etc; we're in "Taffy was a Welshman" territory.) I know the British Library Crime Classics series typically doesn't edit this sort of thing out, and they do say so in a preface -- they present the stories as part of their historical context, as well as for entertainment. But it was a little surprising, all the same.

A nicer surprise was a story by Jacqueline Wilson -- yes, that one! Her earliest works were crime stories, and one of her short stories is included here to round out the volume with a recent story.

Overall, a collection I enjoyed!

I adored the majority of Dr Monty Lyman's The Immune Mind, but the final section lets it down. For most of the book he's talking about fascinating research, which is pretty well sourced and matches what I can easily fact check (in part because I can always ask my mother's opinion of What's Going On With Schizophrenia research, with which she's been involved for years as a psychiatrist and investigator). 

That part was fascinating and exciting: I can report that as recently as right now, infectious diseases and immunology classes are still teaching that the brain is an immune-privileged site where no immune reactions can occur -- at the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine, no less. What he says on that front makes absolute sense, and my knowledge agrees  with what he says as far as my it goes (BSc in natural sciences, near completion of MSc in infectious diseases, general voracious curiosity). 

Buuut the chapters about how improving your health felt pasted on, like someone told him that you can't finish the book on the point that we may understand the mechanisms behind some diseases yet, but you can't get treated for them because it's still experimental. It's basically regurgitating exactly the same advice you find elsewhere, and the authorities he quotes have been... questioned. (See Alexey Guzey's essay, which at the very least asks some pertinent questions: https://guzey.com/books/why-we-sleep/)

So that was a bit disappointing, because the rest of the book was pretty fresh and exciting. 

Amorina Kingdon's Sing Like Fish is all about the world of sound underwater. At one point humans dubbed it stuff like "the silent kingdom" and stuff like that because we can't hear well underwater, but in fact lots of fish, marine invertebrates and marine mammals make noises -- a lot of them! Whalesong is well known now, but it isn't the only thing. There are fish that drum their swim bladder to attract a mate, fish who fart (literally expel air from their anuses) to communicate, and of course, use sound to navigate.

Unsurprisingly, pretty much any purpose for sound you can imagine from our lives is also served in the ocean, perhaps through some slightly different physics. 

And of course the sounds we make are impacting the ocean. Sometimes that means our installations in the seabed are actually attracting creatures, and sometimes it means that the sounds are actively snapping the cilia involved in hearing and leading to deafened, unbalanced lobsters whose lives are drastically shortened by their injuries.

Kingdon discusses all of this and how we can ameliorate some of it, highlighting things we need to pay attention to for the health of the planet. Like me, you probably didn't know that sound can harm plankton, but... yep, it can. 

Mostly though it's full of wonder about this world of sound we don't always understand or know how to investigate. I found it really interesting.

Volume 9 of A Gentle Noble's Vacation Recommendation felt maybe a tad disjointed, because we're lacking information about events until a flashback/explanation later, and this happens twice (once about how Lizel plans to defend the people, and then also about the promise he makes Gil make).

That said, it's a great conclusion to this little arc of the attack on Marcade, and we see a lot of Lizel's scheming. And it's to be hoped that in the next volume, Gil and Eleven give him whatfor about it, for goodness' sake.

There are some really fun moments between the trio, though most of the focus is on Lizel's cleverness and his efforts to thwart Variant Ruler. The elves kind of come out of nowhere, and I felt kinda like I'd missed something, but they were technically somewhat foreshadowed...

Not my favourite volume in some ways, but I enjoyed it as always.

I was looking forward to Mr Pottermack's Oversight, because I'd read one of R. Austin Freeman's earlier books and really liked it. It was slow and methodical, but in a way that was interesting. This one had the same style, but it was maybe a bit too slow and methodical, and Freeman's interest in writing a sort of inverted mystery (the mystery is more how the detective works out what happened, since we see the crime committed directly, and spend most of the book with the killer) went maybe a bit toooo in depth. There's a certain amount of detail that lends verisimilitude, and then there's getting overly into detail about (for example) casting a copy of a shoe sole from a footprint...

That said, somewhere partway through I entered into the spirit of the thing a bit more and found myself reading as eagerly as I'd expected. I don't know whether the pace just improved a bit there (probable) or maybe I just got used to the new expectations. For a killer, Pottermack is pretty likeable, though the sense that he's justified is set up very very deliberately and transparently (the victim is a blackmailer who originally framed him for the crime he's blackmailing him about). 

I really wonder whether the lady in the case has realised that of course it is her lost love... but we're never told that explicitly.

Overall, I genuinely enjoyed it, but it felt like a bit of a book of two halves -- though I couldn't put my finger on a specific dividing point. Hard to rate, as a consequence, but ultimately I'll go with my final assessment: a fascinating "inverted mystery", if a little slow at times.

I'd been meaning to read Claire Dederer's Monsters: A Fan's Dilemma anyway, but it became suddenly very topical for me after the in-depth reporting of the allegations of rape and abuse against Neil Gaiman. I hadn't been a major fan of his in years, but I loved Good Omens, and connected deeply with Crowley as portrayed by David Tennant and that feels deeply tainted now -- so what do I do?

(I try not to discuss anything too in-depth about specific types of abuse and monstrousness, but if you're not in the right place for any of that, I suggest leaving this review for now.)

Dederer naturally doesn't offer any actual answers, instead doing a fair amount of gazing at her own navel about her own heroes and monsters, and herself. I don't mind that it's navel-gazing, but I do mind that we have men like Polanski juxtaposed against Joni Mitchell, included because she gave her daughter up for adoption at birth, or Sylvia Plath, because she committed suicide. (Ted Hughes mentioned once, only as Sylvia Plath's husband, not for his part in that whole situation.)

She does mention Rowling, but sparingly, and the book is seriously lacking a really monstrous female artist in a way that to me suggests lack of research: for instance, Marion Zimmer Bradley may be genre, but still a very relevant and important monster to consider for modern fans of Arthuriana and fantasy. And there have always, will always be women who behave like Amanda Palmer is alleged to have done, who knowingly enable the abuse perpetrated by their husbands and stay damningly silent.

There's a certain amount of self-hate, I think, in Dederer's choice of female monsters: really what she keeps trying to tell us is that she( thinks she)'s a monster (because of her alcoholism, and because she sometimes chose to shut her children out in order to work, or found herself just going through the motions and angry at her children -- normal things). 

In a way, the fact that she struggled to find female monsters may also reflect the fact that we give men a lot more leeway to be monsters, but mostly I think she just didn't do any research beyond her own narrow frame of reference, and thus served us up women she thinks are monsters because she worries that she's a monster. That's pretty uncomfortable to read.

She does make some interesting points, likening the consumption of work by monsters to recycling: the individual agonising about it makes very little difference, almost none, under capitalism. It doesn't address the question of the "stain" metaphor she uses, the blackening of the work because you know about the crimes of the author -- but for those who can divorce the author from the work, it might offer some peace when they can't stop treasuring something in their heart of hearts.

On which note, Dederer also writes powerfully about the fact that this is about love. We can love terrible people. Abused children often continue to love their parents. It's hard to let go of, and it asks us to figure out where love stops, and whether we can stop it just by wanting to. 

It also leaves me thinking about monsters who were made, who had monstrous things done to them. What do we do about them? Sometimes it can change the level of culpability... I came to no conclusions there, and Dederer certainly didn't. The book ends with the same ambiguity and same questions as it began with, or perhaps even more. The only answer can be that every person has to figure out their own answer: there is no calculator to work out how bad someone must be, what mitigations they can have, and then tell us whether to continue to love.

For me, it's usually fairly clear-cut, but I have some blurred lines and grey areas, as many people do. I didn't find Dederer's book helpful in clarifying that, really, but all the same, I enjoyed it.

Terry Deary's A History of Britain in Ten Enemies is pretty much what you'd expect of someone who wrote for Horrible Histories: flippant, irreverent, willing to be sarcastic about everything, and... almost completely unsourced in a gossipy, opinionated account of history. It's especially jarring when what he writes is contradictory to something I know is a prominent theory (e.g. that the building of wooden henges wasn't replaced by the building of stone ones, but contemporaneous with them and linked to them: wood for the living, stone for the dead).

At that point I settled in to read it more or less for the tone and anecdotes, and to take everything with a heaping of salt. Each chapter does have a couple of references, but since they're unnumbered and there's only 2-3, it's not very convincing.

If you're just interested in a casual read, it's probably perfect; for me, the tone didn't quite land, and it turns out I get really irritated by such flagrant lack fo sourcing. 

Just didn't stand out enough from a crowd of similar themes and storylines, I think.

I could swear I've read something really, really similar fairly recently. Not 100%, but this was just... predictable. I think it's just a familiar sort of story.

Volume eight of A Gentle Noble's Vacation Recommendation continues the action of the previous volume -- and Lizel's manipulation of events. Someday someone is going to outmanoeuvre him and he's going to get quite the shock, but for now he's the master. I loved the extra glimpses of Shadow and his attempts to suss what Lizel's up to.

And, look, you can say "deep camaraderie" all you want, but in this volume Eleven goes to sit at Lizel's feet while he's reading, gets his hair pet and cheek scritched, and then nibbles on Lizel's finger. Come on now.

We have some real Gil/Lizel moments too, don't get me wrong -- Gil's face when he thinks that Lizel's trying to do something in order to go home, aaah. I think it's both determination to do it if that's what Lizel needs, and grief at the idea of losing him. 

Very curious what else will happen to wrap up the invasion of Marcade, and then what Lizel does to get back to what he was doing before...