Whalefall by Daniel Kraus came into my life via a skeet (a Bluesky post, for those who are unfamiliar with the term) by Elizabeth Hargrave, designer of Wingspan. It basically said “I put Whalefall on my holds list, then by the time it was available, I forgot why I wanted to read it. Going in blind is highly recommended for this book”. So I popped over to my library app, put the book on hold, and didn’t read a single word more about it.
Holy cow, what a great way to experience Whalefall. If you’ve liked my other book reviews, give this one a shot blind. It’s worth it.
For those who don’t heed that advice, here’s the rest of the review.
Whalefall is a scientifically accurate thriller about a scuba diver who gets swallowed whole by a sperm whale. Bam, there it is. What a hook.
The book focuses on Jay Gardiner. Jay’s father was a local legend, the dive master. The ground he walked on was worshipped by anyone who knew anything about diving. His father, desperate to connect with his son, dragged him out on dive after dive after dive throughout the course of his childhood, and force-fed his expertise down his throat like a scuba diver foie gras. Naturally, this caused a bit of resentment between Jay and his father, and he left on less than good terms as soon as Jay was able to do so.
Jay returns to his hometown after his fathers’ death. He’s tired of local divers spitting at his feet. All they know is that Jay abandoned his father, the god of diving. Jay must be an insolent, disrespectful whelp to walk away from their hero. To prove his worth to the local diving community, and to himself, he’s taken it upon himself to recover his father’s remains from the bottom of the Pacific Ocean.
Once he’s successfully past the waves and submerged in the icy waters, he begins his search. He quickly comes across a giant squid! It’s remarkable, squids never come up to this depth, unless, they’re being hunted. A sperm whale emerges from the darkness, and sucks both the squid, and Jay into it’s gaping maw, whole.
What follows is Jay’s fight for survival. He moves his way back and forth from the whale’s stomachs, suffers untold traumas, all while hearing the whale’s (or his fathers) voice inside his head, offering nuggets of wisdom, and urging Jay to use his knowledge to escape before his oxygen runs out.
Now, here’s the thing. I come from a landlocked province, small town boy, raised by a single mother. I have no experience with diving, no reverence for the ocean, and no real complex feelings towards a father. And yet, despite having virtually no personal connection to this tale at all, I was utterly enthralled. The story bounces back and forth from Jay’s fight for survival, to memories of his childhood.
Whalefall can be summarized as “Daddy issues inside a whale”, and that wouldn’t be an entirely unfair summary. But it really misses the absolutely thrilling nature of the story. The story of Jay’s fight for survival is gruesome, exciting, and gripping. I was so caught up in suspense that I literally almost burned my family’s dinner because I got pulled into reading ‘just one more chapter’ as the meat cooked in my frying pan. If that’s not a ringing endorsement, I don’t know what is.
Daniel Kraus has produced an absolutely enthralling tale, and one that I recommend without hesitation. I loved the detailed descriptions of what it might actually be like in the inside of a whale, from the gritty floor of squid beaks to the existence of four stomachs. It’s obvious that Kraus has done his homework, and I look forward to reading more of his novels. And, the cover is awesome. I’d hang a poster of that in my room.
Equal Rites, by Sir Terry Pratchett was his 3rd Discworld novel, originally published in 1986 and tells the story of young Eskarina as she inherits magic from a dying wizard, and grows up with the innate ability to use magic, despite being a woman.
The story kicks off with a dark and stormy night. A baby is being born, and an old wizard knocks on the door of the blacksmith. The blacksmith’s wife is the one having a baby, and the old wizard explains that he is going to die soon, and must pass on his power. Seeing as how the Blacksmith is the 8th son, and the baby being born is his 8th child, it is the most auspicious event. The blacksmith calls for the newly born babe, and from the bundle of cloths the midwife presents him with, a tiny hand rests on the Wizard’s staff. Boom, the transfer is complete.
“You duddering fool, it’s a girl!” The midwife exclaims. The old Wizard dies, and leaves the inconveniences of his actions to the living. The girl, Eskarina Smith, grows up with none of this knowledge, but as she grows, the magic inside of her is leaking at the seams, trying to break out. One day she turns one of her brothers into a pig, and the midwife (who is also the local witch), takes her under her wing to teach her the ways of witching, hoping that becoming a witch will be good enough to tame the magic inside of her, but even this is not enough. Granny Weatherwax writes letters to the Unseeing University on behalf of Esk, imploring them to take on this girl, despite how unorthodox it would be to have a female wizard.
After no replies, and more magical mishaps from Esk, Granny Weatherwax chooses to take Esk to the University herself before Esk accidentally flattens the village. On their travels, Esk encounters a number of challenges that she overcomes with ignorance of the way the world ‘should’ work, and an innate ability to use magic at the most opportune times.
Upon arrival at the University, Esk and Granny Weatherwax are laughed out of the room. “There’s never been a female wizard before! It’s against the Law!”. Granny and Esk take on servant jobs, to remain in the University, hoping that the doddering old fools leading the University will see Esk’s magic, and reconsider their position.
Eventually, things go haywire, Esk saves the day, Granny Weathereax and the Archchancellor Cutangle spend a bit of time together where they both grain appreciation for the others’ profession.
What I found incredible, is that Terry Pratchett can write a book in 1986, and thirty years later, the commentary still rings true. I wish I could be more jaded and say things like gender discrimination are a thing of the past, but alas, our world is still filled with chauvinistic and misogynistic tendencies.
The chauvinism in Equal Rites isn’t brute-ish or really even that masculine. There’s a sense of airy-ness to the whole situation. “We can’t have a woman Wizard because it’s never been done before” “There’s simply no precedent!”. It feels simple, and at the end of the day, it is simple. They change the law, and Esk becomes a wizard with no fuss.
Equal Rites was utterly entertaining, but not challenging. I love Terry Pratchett’s writing, and his use of simile and metaphor is utterly marvellous. “She had so many bangles that the slightest movement sounded like a percussion section falling off a cliff”. Then a bit later, when the character shifts slightly, “The drummer who had climbed halfway back up the cliff fell onto the toiling cymbalists”. Several lines in Equal Rites had my wife and I both laughing out loud. But at no point did I feel like Equal Rites was anything more than a funny, easy to read book. Yes, the commentary that the men in power were doddering old fools is poignant, but it wraps up rather easily in the end.
As an entry-point into the Discworld series, I think Equal Rites is a perfectly fine option. Ankh-Morpork is barely featured here, unlike the in The Colour of Magic and Guards, Guards!!, which are two often suggested entry points that feature the city quite heavily. But my opinion in this situation shouldn’t matter too heavily. I haven’t read every Terry Pratchett Novel, just… a dozen or so.
I never have a bad time with Discworld novels, and Equal Rites is no different. I felt a bit let down that there was no real main antagonist, which made the climax feel a bit ethereal to me. I don’t foresee myself coming back to Equal Rites any time soon, but I am looking forward to reading more of The Witches line of books.
“Let’s start with the end of the world, why don’t we?”
The Fifth Season is a fantasy story told via 3 storylines. Essun, a woman, Syenite, an apprentice orogene (Earth Mage), and Damaya, a young, feral orogene. The narrative for Essun is told from the second-person perspective, while the other storylines are written with the present tense. It’s a bit jarring, and is a choice that I didn’t really like, but it didn’t chase me away from the book. The voice of the story is quite casual as well, with narrative lines like ”Back to the personal. Need to keep things grounded, ha ha.” and “Pyramids are the most stable architectural form, and this one is pyramids times five because why not?” (direct quotes). It was a bit of a rocky start, but once I got used to the book’s voice, it stopped bothering me.
What did turn my stomach was the fact that the story starts with a 3-year-old beaten to death by its father and Essun’s husband, and Essun sitting next to its corpse for days. It’s tough to read that as a parent to a 3-year-old child. I suppose that’s the inciting incident for Essun’s story, that she’s going to chase down her husband to save her other child. Oh, also the world is ending due to massive fissures in the north, and ash blotting out the sun. But that storyline doesn’t materialize in this novel. There’s a lot of utter disrespect for the human condition, like a Guardian who casually shatters the bones of a child just to teach the child a lesson. Listen to me, or else. The grimdark aspects are a huge turn-off for me, but that’s more of a personal preference than anything else.
The other two storylines don’t have an inciting incident, they seem to exist to provide context for the world around them. Damaya is on her way to the Fulcrum with a Guardian, and Syenite’s has her leaving the Fulcrum with Alabaster on a mission. Both stories showcase the world as it was, and the oppression that Orogene’s face. They aren’t treated as humans, but as tools at the best of times, despite wielding god-like power.
There’s no real villain for these stories, they just plod along, having things happen until each one reaches its conclusion. The Fifth Season is more of a character focused and world building story than a story about an event. I spent a lot of time just wondering where the story was going? What was the point of all this exposition and exploration. Why are there three characters, who’s stories have vastly different timelines (at one point Essun’s story mentions having 2 months pass, while a whole year passes in Damaya’s story). When it’s all revealed at the end, it’s a pretty cool twist, but it’s a long walk for a short drink of water.
I found a lot odd with this book. The story goes from detailing the nuance of Orogene power, and how they draw heat and feel stone and giving an incredible amount of detail, to flipping over to the obelisks and saying “no one knows what they’re for. They just float around” and an entire underground community with magical geodes that filter the air that “just work”.
I admire the world that author N.K. Jemisin built, and the story she’s telling. The Orogene magic system has a scientific edge to it that I love, the different races are inventive and exciting. The characters reference a history of the world and stumble upon dead-civs that makes the world feel more realized than many other stories I’ve read. But it feels like a prequel. Most of the story is creating the character that is actually going to do something in the next novel, and creating the cataclysm that will eventually tell a story, but The Fifth Season on its own, doesn’t feel like a complete book to me. I know that this is the start of a series, but I don’t know that I really want to continue reading. Personally, I like my books to stand on their own, and this one doesn’t inspire me to continue on with the journey.
Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine is the kind of book that tells you everything that you need to know about the titular character. Eleanor is completely fine. How’s work? Fine. How’s life? Fine. Should life be more than fine? Well, that’s the book, isn’t it?
Eleanor is an accounts receivable clerk for a graphic design company in Glasgow, and has been for 9 years. She lives alone, she doesn’t socialize with her coworkers, she eats the same lunch and dinner every day, each Friday she gets a plain pizza and 2 litres of vodka and drinks herself to sleep each night. Sounds fine, doesn’t it? She feels there’s nothing wrong with this life, and feels no drive to change anything. Why would she? Everything is just fine, thank you for asking.
Eleanor seems to miss every social cue possible. She takes metaphors literally, and is unsympathetic to everyone around her. She’s not uncaring or unkind, but lacks an iota of empathy. She’s articulate, cold, and detached. When the office staff are giggling at her, she barely gives them a second thought before returning to her work. Eleanor bares the scars of a mysterious trauma on her face and hands, but she doesn’t pay it any mind.
Two things set the story in motion. Eleanor develops an unhealthy crush on a local musician and begins to fantasize herself with this star, motivating her to take steps to improve her physical appearance to become more fitting of the role as ‘rock star partner’, and she witnesses an elderly man fall to the street while outside with a new co-worker, Raymond.
From the start of the book you find yourself wondering ‘just what is up with Eleanor?’ Is she autistic? Asperger’s? As the book progresses, and you learn more about Eleanor and her life, and her past (which she speaks about bluntly, no matter how horrific the subject matter), you come to realize that this poor woman is broken, and has been for a long time. She’s a robot, a walking coping mechanism. She continues to get phone calls from her ‘Mummy’, in which Eleanor is relentlessly berated and verbally abused. Her only romantic experience in her history left her literally battered and broken on the floor.
Raymond constantly involves Eleanor in various tasks and meetings across the city, much to Eleanor’s chagrin. But in doing so, he introduces people who slowly show her what unconditional love looks like, even if she isn’t aware of it at the moment. Raymond’s mother, Sammy’s kids, all good people who continue to keep in touch with Eleanor and continue to disrupt her static routine.
Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine is broken into two halves. ‘Good Days’ and ‘Bad Days’. Golly did the bad days ever take a turn. Thankfully, by the time the turn happens, Eleanor isn’t alone anymore. Raymond is kind and caring, but never expectant. He offers assistance when needed, but never expects any kind of reward for his deeds. During the bad days, Eleanor is broken. Her world is shaken, her coping mechanisms fail her, and she spirals down into her rock bottom. Raymond shows up at her apartment when she doesn’t show up for work, and cleans her up, gently pushes her towards getting the help that she truly needs. Her boss and work is nothing but supportive, urging her to take as much time as she needs to recover. They don’t pry, they give space when space is needed, and encouragement when encouragement is needed.
On the surface, Eleanor is annoying. She misses obvious social cues, she’s rude to staff members everywhere she goes despite her own ignorance, and she speaks with a pretentiously large vocabulary. A lot of the negative reviews I read about Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine focus on how grating some people found the character of Eleanor, how unlikeable she is, or unrealistic. I get it, Eleanor is a difficult person to be around. I feel like all the people who dropped the book after 50 pages because Eleanor annoyed them are basically Eleanor’s co-workers. People who are judgmental, not curious. People who see someone odd, and instead of trying to find out what made them that way or what’s going on in their lives, just snicker with each other around the water cooler and move on with their day with a smug feeling of superiority.
I loved the depiction of counselling in the book. So much of media gets counselling completely wrong. Even Ted Lasso which was described as a therapy session for the nation when it first came out, got some of the aspects of counselling terribly wrong (I swear, if one more show has a counsellor date their former client, I’m going to throw a chair out the window). Eleanor gets MAD at her counsellor as the counsellor picks and pulls at her old wounds. This is good, counselling isn’t always comfortable and easy. Eleanor runs away from it, only to come back, and once she emerges the other side, realizing the good work that needed to be done to heal from her traumas.
Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine isn’t a love story. This is a book about Eleanor and her healing journey. This is a story about kindness, acceptance, and growth. This is the kind of book that sticks with you long after you read the last page. I highly recommend Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine. A 5-star book, a contender for my book of the year during a year when I’ve read some amazing books (Demon Copperhead and Pirinesi are the other two favourite books from the year so far). Just be prepared to pause all your reading for a week as you nurse that book hangover!
Content Warning: Assault, violence, dysphoria, transphobia, homophobia, deadnaming, bullying, cheating, use of slurs, suicidal thoughts, self-harm, public outing.
Stay Gold follows Pony, a senior finishing his high school experience at a new high school in Texas. A trans boy who has decided to go stealth, meaning he will keep his identity a secret. He left his old school because he was only known as ‘the transgendered one’. It’s difficult rebuilding yourself when everyone remembers who you used to be.
On the first day, Pony locks eyes with Georgina, a popular senior cheerleader, and there’s instant attraction between them. This is further accelerated when they find they are in every class together. Pony has to navigate the minefield of being honest and disclosing his identity with his desire to remain stealth for his final year of high school.
I liked that the story was told from first person of the two main characters, flipping back and forth between their perspectives. It felt good being inside the heads of both main characters. The author is trans as well, and many parts of this story felt real and personal. There was a lot of focus on how Pony felt when he was being mis-gendered, or when people would ask for his real name. “Pony is my real name” would be his response.
I felt like it was less of a book for trans people, and more of a book for those who have trans loved ones. There were some info dumps about some aspects of queer culture that anyone with basic experience would know, but having the internal dialogue of the main character is illuminating. A flippant aunt who dead names their niece, then hand-wave away the transgression, would benefit from this point of view. People who need to learn how important it is to recognize someone’s new identity.
Pony’s decision to be stealth is met with criticism from his best friend, out-and-loud Max, who pushes Pony to be more visible, and Pony’s sister Rocky, who has escaped Texas and moved to New York and found a community of like-minded individuals. Pony’s trans-ness causes friction with his father, who perpetually dead names and mis-genders him, causing more anxiety.
Stay Gold drives home the message of why trans people come out. Pony recalls how being forced to do things as a woman were pure agony, and even with the added complexities of navigating lies-by-omission, bathrooms, and painful binders, still feels right and good living in their own gender. Stay Gold serves as a really great introduction into the trans experience. It doesn’t go as deep into those issues as I would have liked, but we all have to start somewhere.
Near the end of the book, two characters are outed as lesbians at the homecoming dance. Pony announces that he’s transgender as a show of solidarity, and is promptly jumped in the bathroom, landing him in the hospital. What follows is the fairy-tale response. The perpetrators are thrown in jail, Georgina is moved by his bravery and chooses to throw her cares about her image to the wind, the community rallies behind Pony, raising thousands of dollars toward the top surgery he desperately needs, and even being named the homecoming king following a quick re-count. His father accepts his identity, his friends stick by his side, and a rally is thrown in his honour at the school.
I know I’m jaded, especially by events like the death of Nex Benedict, who was jumped in the bathroom, and later died, the world in general is failing to handle non-conforming people. The fairy tale ending just soured my experience on the book. It was a good read up to that point, but my disbelief flew out the window as everything resolved so perfectly for Pony. I understand why, it’s a comedy, not a tragedy. I wish the world would support people who have experienced such trauma with the immediate and fervent action that Stay Gold poses. Alas, I can’t really fault a romance story for being idyllic, can I?
“Piranesi’s house is no ordinary building: Its rooms are infinite, its corridors endless, its walls are lined with thousands upon thousands of statues. Within the labyrinth of halls, an ocean is imprisoned; waves thunder up staircases, rooms are flooded in an instant. But Piranesi is not afraid; he understands the tides as he understands the pattern of the labyrinth itself. He lives to explore the house.”
This blurb is the perfect way to introduce Piranesi, by Susanna Clarke. From here, a reader needs to know nothing else. The first few pages will tell you all the things above, and detail Piranesi’s lonesome existence. But Piranesi is not lonely, he lives to record and catalogue the halls of his world.
I was told that fans of “The Ocean at the End of the Lane” by Neil Gaimen would love this book. While it’s been a decade since I read that novel, I remembered quite enjoying it, and when my wife gave Piranesi her glowing recommendation, it quickly became my next hold at the local library.
The story of Piranesi is told as journal entries from the titular character. His perspective as an unreliable narrator is perfect. He details what’s interesting to him, the statues and the birds he encounters in the many rooms, and ignores what disinterests him. The House he is in, has no entrance nor exit, and Piranesi has no memory of ever being anywhere else.
I loved the character of Piranesi. He was so innocent and earnest. Joyful at discovering even the most minute detail, and eager to help anyone or anything that he thought may be in duress. He meticulously cares for the bones of the people who came before him, he longs to help the writer of an angry letter. He is pure, knows no betrayal, and lacks any semblance of selfishness. He is reverent and pious as a Child of the House. Piranesi earnestly believes that the House will provide, and he tackles is exploration of the house with an infectious zeal that you can’t help but be excited with him.
The House is isolating and perfect. Piranesi gives gratitude to the beauty of the statues. He doesn’t lust or envy, he just accepts who he is. It’s a heartwarming character trait, his innocence and naivety. I love the unreliable narrator writing, as enough clues are dropped that the reader can string together the events long before Piranesi is able to do it himself.
Piranesi was a delight to read. The story starts as a fantasy, a world completely unknown and foreign to us. Slowly, loose strings get pulled at, the fabric of the puzzle begins to fall away, and while still mystical, the framework of reason and logic begin to take hold. The beginning of the book feels like grabbing at smoke, and if you can enjoy the journeys through the mist, eventually the events give the world shape and leave you with a firm, echoing marble chamber. It’s not exactly a confounding puzzle, the clues and signposts are quite obvious from very early on, but Susanna Clarke tells the story so wonderfully, the writing kept me hooked, and my disbelief suspended for much longer than most stories. I was happy to abandon my logic and follow Piranesi through his halls.
I feel like the narrative has a quiet power of leaving the reader with discomfort. The House is a prison, and Piranesi, it’s prisoner. We know this, and yet, when a saviour arrives, I was left with ambiguous feelings. Piranesi didn’t want to leave the House, and for good reasons. The House was his home, it’s all he’s ever known. Sure, he may have the face and body of someone else, but without the memories of the person who went missing so long ago, that person is gone. He’s not going ‘back’, he’s being asked to move forward and leave his home. It should have been an easy end, Piranesi gets to return to the ‘real’ world, but I really loved the way Susanna Clarke approached it. As with nearly everything else in the book, with care and reverence.
Piranesi left me with an ocean in my heart. Strong, powerful, and yet gentle and calming. It both provides for life, and causes tragedy. I feel both melancholy and hope. Its complex feelings, but put simply, Piranesi was a beautiful book, and one I recommend without reserve.
“The beauty of the House is immeasurable; it’s Kindness infinite”
