I picked up this book because I’d read Interview With A Vampire and wasn’t that fussed. I thought I’d give Anne Rice a second chance by picking something completely unrelated.

Julie Stratford’s archaeologist father uncovers the tomb of Ramses the Great, a pharaoh said to be immortal. The archaeologist is promptly murdered and the mummy shipped to Julie in early 20th Century England. Ramses revives in time to save Julie from being similarly murdered and the pair fall in love. The remainder of the book is spent introducing Ramses to modern times and keeping the elixir that rendered him immortal from falling into the wrong hands.

I can’t say that I was all that fussed on this book either. It started out well, but there seemed to be no real depth to the characters. They appeared to be more driven by the story rather than the other way around. Nor did they seem to grow at all, unless you count Alex becoming more cynical or Julie becoming more and more the helpless female. Ramses obsession with Cleopatra seemed forced, considering he was supposed to be in love with Julie.

The ending was disappointing, with no real resolution at all. It actually left me wondering whether there was supposed to be a sequel, there were so many loose ends.

All in all, not my cup of tea. It wouldn’t surprise me, though, if it went through a bit of a revival with Twilight being such a big hit and the current surge in popularity that paranormal romance is undergoing.

This book arrived safe and sound in my letterbox this morning. It is only a slight book, so I managed to finish it off pretty quickly.

I have to say that the more I read, the less I liked Peter Carey. He is clearly not much of a people person—his interactions with others are uniformly awkward and I was rather appalled by the way he treated his son’s friend, Takashi. He seemed more intent on rushing around, trying to achieve some purpose that wasn’t even clear to himself. He came across as being distinctly snobbish.

The book reminded me a bit of Zen in the Art of Archery by Eugen Herrigel. That too is about a foreigner in Japan struggling to come to terms with the culture through some particular aspect. I felt that Herrigel did it with far more grace, though to be fair Herrigel was actually living in Japan at the time rather than just there for a quick visit. Herrigal didn’t demand answers in the way that Carey did or seek to extract the essence of a culture by interrogating its forms.

The non-answer to Carey’s interview questions by those in the anime and manga industry reminded me a lot of Zen and Buddhism—the teacher isn’t there to give you the answers, you must arrive at your own.

Despite my dislike of Carey, it was quite a fascinating book. I loved that he highlighted the generational gap in Japan as well as between himself and his son. That in turn resonated with the culture gap.

Hearing about the bombing of Japan was quite eye-opening and made me realise that there is indeed a focus on Nagasaki and Hiroshima, when the devestation was really more widespread. There were other facts scattered throughout that made me stop and think as well (13 year-old samurai being one). Miyazaki came across to me as being as much a breath of fresh air as I’m sure he did to Carey. And being quite an anime fan, I appreciated the references.

All in all, an interesting book, but not one I particularly enjoyed.

This is essentially a book on etymology. It is divided into two parts. In the first part, the author talks about the origin and relationship of particular words by grouping them into different metaphorical categories. For example, he touches on a number of different words that are related to pigs. The conceits he uses are a bit laboured and the writing a bit dry. This is balanced out somewhat by the short sections which make it much easier to read in small bites, provided you can remember what the conceit of the chapter was supposed to be.

The second section is a lexicon, something that approaches a dictionary. However, instead of giving the meaning of the word the reader is provided with some interesting examples of how this word is translated into other languages. This probably should have been explained in an introduction to the lexicon. When I first started reading it, I thought that the author was going to give the etymological history of the word in English—how we arrived at the word we use. It took me a couple of entries before I understood what he was doing.

Overall, the structure could have been improved and it wasn’t as personable to read as other books on language I’ve encountered, such as David Crystal’s By Hook or By Crook. You need to have an interest in the subject matter.

Set in the late 19th Century and the beginning of the 20th, Love in the Time of Cholera traces the lives of three people—Dr Juvenal Urbino, his wife Fermina Daza, and her ardent admirer Florentino Ariza.

In some senses the novel had a lot of hurdles to overcome in order to reach me. The setting was old even when it was written in 1985 and the telephone is invented in the course of the novel. It is set in another culture, in an unidentified country in South America that the author assumes the reader knows. The text itself has been translated from Spanish. By and large, the novel manages to transcend these things and touch on issues that remain eternal. Still, there were times when I was left feeling like I wasn’t quite getting the joke or grasping all the nuances.

I found it was a novel I had to be patient with for a number of reasons. It is a meandering sort of tale, weaving in and out of the lives of the three main characters and more than a few minor characters. Nor does it tell things in a linear fashion, but doubles back on time and itself to relate all manner of extraordinary and mundane happenings. Yet despite all this, I didn’t find it confusing or hard to follow. There were a few occasional exceptions, due solely to the overuse of third person pronoun and the structure of the sentence, rather than the structure of the novel.

However, the structure of the book was also another thing that required my patience. The chapters and paragraphs are long and there is little in the way of dialogue. Nor is it a suspenseful sort of tale, but filled with the tedium of the every day.

The book certainly rewards the patient, however. Gabriel Garcia Marquez has a wonderful knack for presenting the juxtaposition of romance and high ideals of all sorts with the mud and dirt of reality. In this sense, the title really is apt. As may be assumed, it subtly asks many questions about the nature of love through its portrayals. I found its examination of the squeamishness that younger generations have about love amongst their grey-haired elders to be particularly thought-provoking. There is also a keen sense of the ridiculous—such as the widow who can’t stop talking about her dead husband whenever she is sleeping with a lover—and touches of whimsy that I enjoyed.

There was one death late in the novel that I found entirely too convenient. But all in all, the book is certainly worth the read.

The last of the trilogy, The High Lord revolves around the title character. Sonea must discover whether he is as ruthless and unprincipled as she has been led to believe or whether he has enough reason to justify it.

The book felt a little more untidy than the last. Rothen seemed to flap about at a loose end for much of the time. Savara seemed more of a plot device than a proper character. The change in the relationship between Sonea and Akkarin was unconvincing, at least on Akkarin’s part. The epilogue weakened the ending and seemed unnecessary.

However the pace was good, as were the settings. Not a bad read and definitely better than the first book.

The second book in the trilogy, The Novice, as the title suggests, follows Sonea’s training as a magician. Her background as a slum dweller makes it difficult for her to fit in with the other novices, who take to picking on her. In the meantime, one of her allies, Lord Dannyl, is promoted to Guild Ambassador and sent on a secret mission to trace a journey the High Lord made years ago. It is hoped Lord Dannyl might uncover the origins of some of the High Lord’s dubious activities.

Thankfully, this was a much better book than the last one. The characters are much stronger and actually grow a little, particularly Dannyl. The plot is still a bit predictable in places and parts of it reminded me a bit of Harry Potter. In fact Regin reminded me strongly of Draco Malfoy from time to time. Nevertheless, the depiction of Sonea’s victimisation was well done and quite strong. The universtiy also came across very vividly.

All in all, a much more polished effort than the last book.

The blurb best sums this book up:

Each year, the magicians of Imardin gather together to purge the city streets of vagrants and miscreants. Masters of the disciplines of magic, they know that no ordinary lowlife can oppose them. But their protective shield is not as imprenetrable as they think.

Sonea, angry, frustrated and outraged by the treatment of her family and friends, throws a stone at the shield, putting all her rage behind it. She is amazed when it sails unrestricted through the barrier and knocks a magician unconscious.

The Guild’s worst fear has been realised: there is an untrained magician loose in Imardin who must be found before her uncontrolled powers can destroy herself and the city.

This book started off on the wrong foot for me, with a contradiction in the first paragraph (is the wind howling because of what it sees or is it silent because of what it sees?). The next few chapters did little to improve my opinion. The characters were stereotyped and the description clumsy. There were info dumps about how the world worked. There were words changed simply to make the world feel different—for example, ale became bol and there were substituted words for tea, coffee and trouble. Some very lazy world-building right there.

Having familiarised the reader with everything, it picked up a little bit. However, overall it remained a very unsatisfying read. The characters didn’t seem to develop much (with the possible exception of Cery). There was no explanation as to why Sonea wanted to go home so badly. And home to where, given that had been effectively destroyed in the beginning? Even setting that aside, the reader may have sympathised more if they’d been allowed to see more of what her life was like there. Instead we end up with cardboard cutouts of parents.

All in all, I feel that there are better stories out there waiting to be published.

The title of The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency is a bit deceptive. Yes, it is about a female detective-one Precious Ramotswe-but it is certainly not your average detective story. In fact, it has very little to do with the genres of crime, mystery or thriller, as can be deduced by the bright cover. Instead, the reader is taken into the slow-paced world of Botswana, where Mma Ramotswe makes it her business to investigate matters both large and small.

Chapters are largely episodic; it is rare for one of Mma’s cases to take more than a chapter. But don’t be fooled—this is in no way a fast-paced book. Instead, it is a book so relaxed, it borders on slow, echoing the atmosphere of the society it depicts.

I must admit that this slow pace took me a bit by surprise. I’d thought that this slim volume would make an excellent travelling volume—and the short chapters contribute to the impression it is ideal for this purpose. But I think to really appreciate it, the book has to be read in peace with a cup of tea.

Its voice is really its strength. It has a straight-forward feeling that is deceptively simple. I felt that it told more than it showed, in the manner of a talented storyteller, or perhaps a chat with an old friend. However, its descriptions, particularly of the countryside, were excellent and quite evocative. I felt right at home there (and wondered how similar Africa and Australia might look).

Overall, however, I found it a little too slow for my tastes. There was somewhat of a connecting plot, but I found it made its appearence too late and wasn’t strong enough to prevent me from repeatedly putting the book down. Also, I was a bit puzzled by Precious’ change of heart in the last chapter and felt that perhaps there could have been a bit more leading up to that.

All in all, a lovely read, but not enough to keep me coming back.

The Virgin’s Lover is a historical novel that focuses on the early years of the reign of Queen Elizabeth I. It tells the tale of the young queen, her lover Robert Dudley, and his wife Amy. Despite being married, Robert Dudley seeks to court the queen and thus gain the crown for himself.

I noticed that there was a significant discrepancy between the writing around the story and the story itself with regards to the focus of the tale. The author’s note seemed a strange note to end on because it left me with the impression that the book should have been some great mystery or at any rate that it was in some way Amy’s story. This was backed up by the blurb and the fact that the opening chapter was written with a focus on Amy. However, Amy herself gets very little stage time and the title gives a better indication of the focus of the story—Robert Dudley. Perhaps this could have been made clearer from the beginning.

I was pleased to see that Gregory got rid of the irritating first person perspective she used in The Queen’s Fool, however there was plenty else to irritate me in its place. The opening paragraph was particularly annoying and all the more so for being repeated in the next chapter—the metaphor seemed forced the first time and the repetition did it little favour.

The characters were, again, thoroughly unlikeable people, with the possible exception of Cecil. The female characters in particular were incredibly weak. Elizabeth’s situation did remind me of an abusive relationship at one point, but overall her vacillation and her arrogance did very little to endear her.

Though Amy wasn’t quite the raving lunatic she was at times in The Queen’s Fool she is nevertheless deluded to the point of absolute stupidity. She manages to redeem herself a little after the first 250 pages (during which she still gets very little stage time), but slides back again with the way she grasps onto anything that even remotely resembles hope. I felt like shaking her and telling her to have some self respect.

The book does have a few things to recommend it, however. It gets points from me for sharing continuity with The Queen’s Fool. It also illustrates very clearly what it means to be pariah in the closing stages of Amy’s story when not even her family will shelter her and the doctor refuses to treat her. A sad highlight indeed.

Overall, I’m left to conclude that Gregory’s work is not really for me.

As you’d expect of a novel by Philippa Gregory, the Queen’s Tale is a historical tale. It follows the fortunes of Hannah Green, a Jewish girl who has fled the Inquisition from Spain to London. However, it appears it’s no safer here, as she is discovered to have the gift of prophecy, forced into becoming a holy fool at court and trapped in the intrigue that takes place.

I wasn’t much enamoured with the book. My biggest problem was with the characters. I felt there was very little depth to them, particularly on an emotional level. They felt rather wooden, simply going through the motions of history. Hannah was shallow, irritating and was conveniently in the right place for the big historical moments. Often she came across as more of a plot device than anything else, and on a few occasions I wondered why she wasn’t cut completely and the story told from the perspective of the actual historical figures.

Queen Mary stood out as being more well rounded, though I still feel that there wasn’t sufficient depth given to her changes of heart in places.

It did get better towards the end, where Hannah’s personal story is given a bit more space. It was also nice to see her grow into a more mature character. In the beginning, in particular, she comes across as being far too outspoken for someone who has lived so many years in fear. Nor do I feel that her “Sight” is sufficient excuse for this plain-spokenness, given how rarely this gift manifests itself.

All in all, it was vaguely interesting to see how the historical characters were portrayed, but it has not won Philippa Gregory another fan.