Grafton, 1992, 414 p.

Sadly not a book about last season’s FA Cup winners nor indeed the building erected in Hyde Park for the Great Exhibition of 1851 (subsequently moved to Sydenham in 1852 before it was destroyed by fire in the 1930s) and after which that football club was named. Neither is the palace built of crystal, nor even glass. Instead, it’s an ice palace, built in the realm of Ice from a seed planted by the demon Regneniel.

Though Cray, son of sorceress Delivev Ormoru of Castle Spinweb, familiar from Eisenstein’s previous book Sorcerer’s Son, is the nominal protagonist of this sequel, it is actually Aliza, Cray’s heart’s desire as revealed in the mirrored web constructed by his friend Feldar Sepwin, around whom it revolves. After many viewings where he saw nothing in the mirror, she first appeared to him as a girl, then over the years grew into a young woman. Only much searching in the realms of Air, Water, Fire and Ice (each realm has its own kind of demon) by Cray’s mother’s demon lover, Gildrum – not a hyperbolic description, Gildrum is literally a demon in this scenario, but that does not necessarily mean he is demonic – finds Aliza’s location in the titular Crystal Palace. It is effectively a prison where she has been placed by her grandfather Everand, a minor sorcerer, to be taught to be a great sorceress by Regneniel whom she believes to be under her control but is really beholden to Everand. This involved Everand removing Aliza’s soul and hiding it somewhere in the palace.

Prior to the book’s opening Cray had freed as many demons as he could from their enslavement to their masters. For a certain kind of sorcerer this made him their enemy. Everand did not need Cary’s interest in Aliza to feel animosity towards him.

Everand is, though, an unsatisfactory antagonist, too one-dimensional and blinkered to be any sort of foil for Cray and his chums.

I only really read this one as I had already read Sorcerer’s Son. I prefer Eisenstein’s stories of Alaric the Minstrel to these ones.

Pedant’s corner:- Nothing to report.

Polygon, 2023, 187 p.

This is another of Birlinn’s Darkland Tales.

One summer day in 825 AD the red sail of Helgi Cleanshirt’s longship appears on the seas surrounding Iona. Helgi is intent on procuring the bones of Saint Columba for their supposed mystic powers. It turns out only one relic, a finger bone, remains, but Abbot Blathmac has buried it somewhere on the island’s only hill, Dùn Ì, so that none of the brothers can reveal its whereabouts. This, of course, does not end well for the monks and the lay people of the island.

While the rest of the longship’s crew is causing mayhem, the slightly tardy Grimur has come upon the island’s smithy, killed the blacksmith (somewhat luckily,) and been plied with her potent concoction by the meadwife. In his subsequent stupor he is taken for dead by his shipmates and buried.

There are thus only three survivors of the raid: Brother Martin, who hid in the latrine pit, that meadwife, Una, who had made herself scarce, and Grimur, who, on wakening, manages to dig himself out of the shallow grave with his knife.

The three then have to make do as best they can. Martin resolves to be the best monk he can be and to complete the illuminated manuscript he had been working on, Grimur to rub along with the other two and to understand the strange religion of the islanders, Una to survive. What livestock remains has to roam the island more or less untended.

When a delegation from the mainland arrives the three are told they cannot be protected and ought to leave but all are unwilling to do so.

Later, an Irish princess, Bronagh, turns up, attempting to escape an unwanted marriage and asking to become an anchoress. Brother Martin complies with her request but finds her presence a sinful distraction. Bronagh soon enough, though, finds the monastic life too irksome. Una and Grimur manage to find solace in each other.

We are, here, in a clash of cultures; between the single-minded focus of the Norse warriors, exploiting the usefulness of their brutality, and the Christianity of the monks, that intense faith manifested in the face of extreme adversity, exemplified by Grimur’s incomprehension of its sheer oddness and Martin’s redoubling of his devotion despite its failure to protect the monks; but also between that Celtic Christianity, its call to utter dedication, and our modern individualistic eyes. Greig conjures it all well. Like all the Darkland Tales so far this is beautifully written, with economically well-drawn and believable characters.

There is still Helgi Cleanshirt’s return to come, the aftermath of which hints that there may have been a miracle occurring on that island in the interim.

(A foreword mentions that Iona has previously been known as I, IO, HII, HIA, IOUA. IOUA was in the 18^th century corrupted to IONA by a typographical error.)

Pedant’s corner:- gulley (gully – used later,) “his prophesy” (the noun is spelled prophecy; prophesy is the verb,) “He wanted …. to dissolve in the enormity of God” (surely Brother Martin would not think of his God as monstrous? ‘He wanted …. to dissolve in the immensity of God’, then,) “Jesus’ head” (Jesus’s head.)

Four Square, 1963, 157 p.

This is a collection of Simak’s stories from the 1950s, with one from 1960, and they show their age. The connecting thread of the book is that each story features aliens of one sort or another.

In Dusty Zebra things start disappearing from narrator Joe’s desk and other things appear. Joe ends up trading with the unknown entity on the other side of what it seems is an interdimensional portal. All goes well; until it doesn’t.

Honourable Opponent sees a military delegation from Earth’s Galactic Confederacy awaiting the arrival of their counterparts from a species known as the Fivers, whose weapons have been overwhelmingly devastating, to oversee a prisoner exchange. There is a twist to the meeting when it comes.

Idiot’s Crusade has a village idiot suddenly comprehending things he had not until his mind was infiltrated by an alien; but the alien finds the experience less than congenial.

Operation Stinky occurs in the aftermath of a skunk-like animal (later dubbed Stinky) befriending a farmer whose life has been disrupted by the building of a nearby air-force base. When the air-force colonel discovers Stinky has the ability to improve machinery the secret operation of the title is started up. Stinky has its own agenda, however.

A group of interstellar scavengers searches for the Jackpot of the second last story’s title and finds it in a comprehensive library with an immersive access experience. The process changes them. One of the group justifies their activities by citing historical precedent for exploitation, “They didn’t worry much about the law or ethics of it and no-one blamed them for it. They found it and they took it and that was the end of it.”

In Neighbour a newcomer arrives in a small farming area and has sustained success on the farm he and his family have taken over. His machines work by themselves and he has rain and sun when required. His benign influence gradually extends to the neighbourhood as a whole. It is eventually noticed elsewhere. The text displays that mistrust of government embedded in much of US society – especially the rural US.

Pedant’s corner:- swop (swap,) “Alf Adams’ place” (Adams’s,) “and and could find none” (only one ‘and’ needed,) “how I’d lay awake at night (how I’d lie awake,) “when one of the new ones up and moves away (ups and moves away.)

NewCon Press, 2024, 213 p. Reviewed for ParSec 12.

The pitch for this post-apocalypse novel must have written itself. “Lord of the Flies – with girls.” Job done. Don’t you want to read it now? (No matter what I say.)

Nevertheless, a reviewer must review.

The story is set in an alternative 1975 on the largest of the Near Islands, an entirely fictional small archipelago located fifteen miles from Aberdeen. The girls are survivors of a nuclear attack on that city in what becomes obvious must have been a world-wide war. Most of the school’s pupils and teachers were away on a trip when the bombs fell.

The tale is narrated in retrospect (of a few years later) by the only boy, Stephen Ballantyne, son of the headmistress who took advantage of the convention that such children attend their parent’s school. All but one of the girls plus Stephen survive but his mother dies in the second blast.

A classic children’s story arrangement, then, with the parents out of the way and no other adults at hand. But these are not youngsters. They are fourteen- or fifteen-year-olds on the cusp of adulthood forced to rely on their own resources, albeit with a well-stocked library at hand. It helps the island is well-endowed with rabbits and sea-birds – not all of them palatable though.

The writing style is more irreverent than you might expect, with stabs at levity (one running joke in particular) and occasional addresses to the reader. It is at times consciously alliterative. In Dexter’s outlining of his scenario he has narrator Stephen tell us one girl’s name evokes “the milky mystery of midnight mosques.” And he eschews describing foul-mouthed language, “This is, after all, an adventure story set on a desert island.” Stephen also claims his greatest fault is self-effacement.

Step forward Pearl Wyss, “the smallest and mousiest-looking of the girls,” who had previously shown her mettle on a trip to a farm on the mainland for a demonstration of artificial insemination and, invited to repeat the farmer’s no doubt spitefully given information, does so flawlessly. Pearl becomes the driving force behind the rump school’s efforts to ensure survival, steering their debates and swaying (most of) the girls with her arguments.

Her awareness of the treatment of women by men down the ages colours her approach: watches to be set for any encroachment from the mainland, the building of a stockade and later a wall, the reconstruction of the curriculum to be more useful in their straitened circumstances, the manufacture of bows and training in shooting arrows.

The first man to arrive – on a rowing boat – only confirms her fears when he attempts to rape one of the girls. He is thereafter caged and ostracised.

Not all the girls agree with her. Some of their worries, such as wanting to get married in due course, a future Pearl’s prescriptions would seem to deny them, exemplify attitudes of the time where it is set. But her answer to that problem of course lies in front of them all the time. She is willing to be ruthless in defending the school against incursion by men no matter how inoffensive they may appear to be or even if they’re accompanied by women. Towards the book’s climax she says, “We make war because we hate war.” Turning into her enemy? All through the book Stephen acquiesces in her designs but in the final paragraphs he lets his air of self-effacement slip.

In an enterprise such as this it does not do to become bogged down on the details, the scenario is all. But two A-bombs dropped on Aberdeen? One would surely be enough. And how likely was it that a single mother in the 1970s would have become a headmistress; particularly of a girls’ school? Plus radiation sickness would most likely have been more prevalent than is presented here.

These are nit-picking, though. This may be no Lord of the Flies but it is still a well written, solid piece of work. In its essence it is not concerned about girls or women or whether they behave better or worse in any given situation. It is really about the nature of men and whether that nature will ever change.

The following did not appear in the published review.

Pedant’s corner:- H2O (H₂O,) knit (knitted,) rowboat (several times; rowing boat,) E=mc2 (E = mc²,) focussed/unfocussed (x 2 each; focused/unfocussed,) airplanes (aeroplanes,) Benn Gunn (Ben Gunn,) “a saree” (a sari,) a sentence framed as a question but lacking its question mark, row-boat (x 2; elsewhere rowboat but in any case ‘rowing boat’,) “‘any who disagree this choice’” (who disagree with this choice.)

Grove Press, 1966, 407 p. Translated from the Spanish, La ciudad y los perros, (Editorial Seix Barral, S A, Barcelona, 1962) by Lysander Kemp

(I don’t usually remember exactly where I bought a book but with this one I do. It was in the Netherlands; in a charity shop/warehouse which had a large selection of books, one case of which were publications in English. I think it cost me one Euro, though it might have been €1.50.)

This was Llosa’s first novel and it is set in the Leoncio Prada Military Academy, among the cadets/pupils there, not all of whom are destined to join the army.

It depicts the everyday lives of the inmates, their raggings, joshings and bullying, their constant efforts to evade the rules – such as smoking, gambling, going over the wall at night, or even during the day – and to keep things secret from the officers. Some scenes are set in the surrounding city; illustrating memories of the inmates’ pasts or the intricacies of their love lives.

The plot revolves around the stealing of the text of a Chemistry exam the night before it is due to be taken. The designated cadet, Cava, makes a mistake and a window pane is broken. All passes are cancelled. In order to receive a pass to see his girlfriend a cadet nicknamed the Slave reports Cava to the officers. Later, the Slave is shot during a military exercise. The officers are at pains to insist it was an accident and ignore evidence and testimony to the contrary.

This is almost entirely a male environment; the dialogue often displays the prejudices of its time and place – especially with regard to the casual use of racist terms and to misogyny.

In their encounter the Slave’s father says to Alberto, “‘When you have a son, keep him away from his mother, There’s nothing like a woman to ruin a boy for life.’”

In the main we have here is an examination of the perennial battle of youth against authority, of the pressure to conform and of the constant tendency of institutions to cover up unfortunate happenings so as not to be shown in a bad light.

Pedant’s corner:- Translated into USian. I note La ciudad y los perros actually translates as The City and the Dogs. Otherwise; “tooth paste” (toothpaste,) “brief case” (briefcase,) “girl friend” (girlfriend,) “boy friend (boyfriend,) “on the double” (this military term is usually rendered as ‘at the double’,) “Montes’ bunk” (Montes’s.)

Gollancz, 2024, proof copy unpaginated. £22.99. Reviewed for ParSec 13.

AT THE REQUEST OF THE BOOK’S PUBLISHER MY REVIEW OF THIS NOVEL WAS WITHDRAWN FROM ParSec 13. I felt under no obligation to refrain from publishing my review here.  As a result of that request, though, I have made an amendment to the original withdrawn review; the two words highlighted in bold below.

We meet Edie (Edith, but she doesn’t like it) Morikawa as she is about to be released on unexpectedly early parole after eight years in prison. The last person she imagined would meet her is Angel Huang, her former associate whom she assumes grassed on her to ensure her own freedom. On the way up to Kepler Space Station, which orbits the Rock, the planet where the prison is located and seems to be otherwise uninhabited, Angel offers her a place on a team to carry out a robbery with a potentially stupendous pay-off. Edie refuses since she desires to go straight in order to help her sister Andrea, who has two children, Casey and Paige, and another on the way, courtesy of useless partner Tyler. Paige has cancer and needs gene therapy, but there is no money to pay for that.

(I note here a failure in imagination. Perhaps that’s the way the world will go, but even in a supposedly distant future, light years from Earth, a more equitable health care system, or indeed social system, than that which exists in the USA of the present day seems to be inconceivable to the author. But I suppose it gives the author a lever to manipulate their heroine.)

Staying on the straight and narrow will require Edie to find a job, helping Andie out at the shop where she works won’t do. But Edie has been blacklisted by Atlas Industries, which seems to control everything on Kepler. Its head and founder, Joyce Atlas, (a man despite the forename) was the intended target of Angel’s planned sting. Angel’s offer is the one thing that promises anything hopeful. When the reader finds out Angel is Atlas’s chief of security s/he is well ahead of the narrative in knowing exactly who did the blacklisting.

A curiosity of this novel is that most of the main characters are of Hawaiian heritage and occasionally speak in Hawaiian patois. (The blurb describes the book as a love letter to Hawai’i.) No matter. SF readers are used to the odd unfamiliar word or phrase, such as the one used in the title. Hammajang is a Hawaiian pidgin word meaning in a disorderly or chaotic state; messed up. Mention is also made of a Korean heritage area of Kepler. Oddly, there seems to be little attempt to assimilate there.

We are shown as much of Kepler as is needed for the plot, which runs along the lines expected from its set up. The space station must be quite large what with Atlas Industries and the different environmental and maintenance levels described. SF elements to the book are fairly incidental though; not much has gone into fleshing out this future scenario. While Kepler has an artificial sun and a simulated night sky, there is the usual layering of habitats, the lower levels grimy and dim, the upper airy and bright. In Angel’s gang Cy has a cybernetic arm and Tatiana has mods. Atlas Industries is developing a method of accessing people’s memories, provided they have a mod. However, Joyce Atlas does not come over as the sort of person to accrue a fortune as a business head – and, if he was, he would surely not succumb to the sting as presented.

Parts of this scenario strike as being very old-fashioned. There is a railway station (and presumably others) on Kepler, plus buses and a monorail. It has the feel of a city on Earth in the late twentieth century rather than a future space habitat light-years away. People – well, Edie – smoke cigarettes.

It’s easy enough reading, and totally undemanding, but there is no particular reason why this novel has to be SF. It’s a crime novel with a few SF trappings.

Pedant’s corner:- I read an ARC (proof,) so some or all of these may have been altered for final publication. The spelling ‘jewellery’, though the text was in USian, “florescent lights” (fluorescent; used later,) “under Joyce Atlas’ watch” (lots of instances of Atlas’ for Atlas’s, of which latter there was one example,) “as a I left” (that ‘a’ is superfluous,) “savouring our respective vises” (I know vise is USian for the clamping device. Do they also use it for character flaws?) “no one would risk cross risking Atlas” (no one would risk crossing Atlas,) “grew into hotspot” (into a hotspot,) “Morris’ deal” (Morris’s,) “part of tWard 2” (of Ward 2.) “I creeped back” (I crept back.) “I was surprised by Tatiana’s alas to go after Solstice” (desire makes more sense,) “an empty k3rb” (kerb, though curb for kerb was on the previous page, so why the shift?) “of thieve’s self-esteem” (either thief’s or thieves’,) “from the keb” (from the kerb.) “‘Every one of his devices have backdoor accessibility’” (every one … has … accessibility,) “the hotel staff was clearing the breakfast table” (was there only one of them?) “Even professionals had their soft spots” (as a generalisation this surely requires present tense; have their soft spots,) “lined with dim white lights that lead to” (that led to.) “It’s jaws were closing” (Its jaws,) jerry-rigged (it’s jury-rigged,) “a conversation pitwhile Cy went to” (pit while.) “She took to naturally” (She took to it naturally,) “‘but that time will eventually.’” (will eventually what? [run out, presumably but the sentence just stopped],) “and made groaned” (and groaned,) “each of us were in…” (each of us was in,) “‘you weren’t going to come with, I didn’t want you to feel left out’” (to come with us, I didn’t,) “cold yet still – crunchy katsu” (cold – yet still crunchy – katsu.) “I       watched         her      go.       ‘Shoots.’” (why the spacing? And the ‘Shoots’ seems extraneous.) “I wish it didn’t. I wish I could have let her go” (the narrative is in past tense; therefore: wished, x 2,) “while Andie and Tyler talking” (while Andie and Tyler were talking,) “I grit my teeth” (I know USians use fit for fitted but grit for gritted?) “‘To no end’ Duke growled” (to no end does not mean – as was implied here –  without end [that is just ‘no end,’] but instead it means ‘without purpose’,) “now he was surroundedone of the guards” (surrounded. One of the guards,) ‘incentive payments‘ (‘incentive payments’.) “I felt my heart’s quicken” (heartbeat quicken?)

B&W, 1996, 246 p, plus 2 p Introductory Note. First published in 1952.

Being the last in the saga of the Moorhouse family as outlined in the Wax Fruit trilogy and Aunt Bel.

This instalment starts in 1900 and focuses on Robin Hayburn, adopted son of shipyard owner Henry Hayburn. Though Robin is Henry’s natural son from a liaison he had in Vienna and has been officially adopted by Henry and his wife Phœbe (the youngest of the Moorhouses) after his mother died in a fire at the Opera House, his true origins have been kept from him. Henry wishes his son to follow him into the shipyard business but Robin is more inclined to poetry and writing, a prime source of conflict between them. To give some temporal colour, Aunt Bel is worried by the fact her son Tom Moorhouse is a soldier serving in the war against the Boers in South Africa.

When Robin develops signs of consumption it is decided to send him to Mentone in the south of France for its beneficial air. While there he meets Denise St Roch, friend of Lucy Hamont, the former Lucy Rennie, with whom Robin’s uncle David Moorhouse nearly made a fool of himself in The Philistines. At thirty, the experienced Denise is much older than Robin but she is a writer herself and has contacts in publishing. She offers him encouragement and a place to write in. Of course he falls for her.

There is nothing demanding about these books. They are designed to be easy reading and to bolster the sense of Glasgow its middle classes held of the city and themselves. None of the characters are drawn with sufficient depth to be more than pawns in the author’s hands. Sometimes that is all that is needed, though.

Pedant’s corner:- plus marks for the ligatures in Phœbe and mediæval. Otherwise; a missing comma before a piece of direct speech, a missing end quotation mark after a piece of direct speech, “Robert Burns’ poems” (Burns’s,) Dumbartonshire (the county is usually spelled ‘Dunbartonshire’, and was so officially in 1900 – and 1952,) “‘or anything, dear.’-Bel had not offered it-‘But it’s just’” (‘or anything, dear,’ – Bel had not offered it – ‘but it’s just’,) wistaria (wisteria,) a strait jacket” (a straitjacket.)

Gordon & Cremonesi, 1978, 155 p

There is, of course, an ongoing fascination with the works of the Brontë sisters and their genesis, a fascination not restricted to the sisters themselves. Their brother, Branwell, apparently described to his friends a novel he had written but of which no trace was found in his papers after he died. This book is Barbara Rees’s construction of that novel. How much she had to go on, the form Branwell’s effort actually took, is not elaborated on in the surrounding blurb so the reader must just take what is presented to her/him as an example of a Victorian novel.

It consists of the reminiscences of a young girl taken home from Steepleton Horse Fair by Mr Robert Ogilvy to be brought up as a servant in his house, Thirleby Hall. He named her Harriet Dark. In this first-person account “Harriet” refers to herself as a foundling, but since she was four – or five, or six – years old at the time (and could speak well enough) that description is not entirely accurate. Orphan is more so. That such a child would not really remember her mother, nor realise till much later in the book that her mother had died is one of the factors which stretch credulity a little.

Under the unbending gaze and strictures of the cook, Mrs Duckham, Harriet develops a hatred for the household and of Mr Ogilvy but she eventually forms a friendship of sorts with the housekeeper, Mrs Minim, and in the fullness of time as she grows into adolescence, a yen for Mr Ogilvy himself. She finds more acceptance in the family of the local clergyman, Mr Ponsonby, whose wife helps her to read.

The later incursion of Nina Sanctuary, Mr Ogilvy’s intended, into Harriet’s life darkens her outlook. Sanctuary treats her harshly and, in a touch of Gothic, she conceives the thought of herself as in league with the devil against the world; going so far as to believe her wishes directly contribute to Sanctuary’s death in a riding accident, after which Ogilvy falls into what the Victorians called melancholy.

The book displays some of the infelicities of an inexperienced novelist. Whether this is intentional on the part of Rees in trying to replicate what Branwell Brontë might actually have written, or are her own, is impossible to determine. They do, though, lend an air of verisimilitude to proceedings.

Despite Ogilvy’s continuing indifference to Harriet Rees contrives, on Branwell Brontë’s behalf, a happy ending of sorts.

Pedant’s corner:- “‘So you’re back then are you,’ said Mrs Duckingham.” (ought to have a question mark after ‘you’,) “elbows akimbo” (elbows resting on hips and pointing outward?) “will-of-the-wisps” (wills-of-the-wisp, or, better, wills-o’-the-wisp,)

Earthlight, 2002, 678 p, plus v p Dramatis Personae and ii p Map.

This is the fourth in the series of books where Turtledove unrolls his transposition of the Second World War in Europe into a fantasy setting – complete with mages, sorcerous energy, dragons, behemoths, leviathans and unicorns – though those last appear to have little military use and do not feature much.

His style is to relate episodes in the lives of various viewpoint characters to outline the progress of events in the wider world and/or the effects of those events on his subjects. The coming back to familiar characters is, as ever, marred by repetition of information the reader already knows about them or of thoughts they already had.

Rulers of the Darkness covers that juncture of the war where its outcome is not clear and has as its main military encounter an analogue of the Battle of Kursk. Meanwhile the sorcery equivalent of the Manhattan Project continues apace but clues are dropped that its effects will be to do with the manipulation of time rather than explosive destruction. The equivalent of the Holocaust here is not exact. There is racial hatred, yes, but it is deployed against a group, Kaunians, who had previously been imperial masters. The lethal form that hatred takes is to use its victims’ life energy to sorcerous ends.

Just occasionally (ie, once) Turtledove allowed a character to behave in a way that goes against previous conduct and attitudes. This is so rare with a Turtledove story that its occurrence was notable. And it was still tinged with a degree of self-serving.

Once again, misogyny, particularly among the soldiery, where here it spills over into rape, is rife. But then, soldiers behave as soldiers behave. It seems that is ever with us.

Despite a few people trying to do their best in difficult circumstances this is a savage world, with some bestial actors. It is not enviable in any way.

Pedant’s corner:- I note the map of Derlavai has been updated to say Bothnian Ocean to both west and east rather than Bothian to the west. Otherwise; “re-minding” (it wasn’t a line break, though may have been in the original manuscript, so; ‘reminding’,) ditto with Skrun-da (Skrunda,) “suggested than anyone” (that anyone,) “it chased town and caught” (chased down,) Gippias’ (Gippias’s. Again, most often names here ending in ‘s’ are given s’ rather than s’s when rendered as possessives, though not in every case,) “was was half cheerful” (only one ‘was’ required,) “on his far cap” (fur cap,) “a fool for joining” (‘a fool for joining’ makes the better sense,) “‘the way you let the Unkerlanters overextended themselves’” (‘overextend themselves’,) “‘for which I think him’” (thank him,) “as matter approached a climax” (as matters approached.) “‘They have way to make sure’” (They have ways to.) “Captain Turpino had” (Captain Turpino said,) “from one soldiers to the other” (from one soldier to,) “almost ever day” (every day,) “alarm in his an voice” (alarm in his voice,) “as ready as he had served” (as readily as he had served,) “‘We’re all fighting it, irregardless of whether’” (Okay, it was in dialogue but it should still be ‘fighting it, regardless of…)  “He knees and ankles creaked” (His knees and ankles,) Sirdoc (elsewhere, Sidroc.) “Without them, every footsoldiers would have” (every footsoldier,) “screened him away from” (screened him off from,) “where Vatran still stat” (still sat.) “One after another the wing commander promised to obey” (the wing commanders,)  “for politeness’ sake” (politeness’s sake,) “for not better reason than” (for no better reason than,) no opening quote mark at the beginning of a section which started with a piece of direct speech (I believe that is some sort of convention but it irritates me.) “The didn’t glitter so brilliantly” (They didn’t glitter.) “Szonyi’s waved encompassed” (Szonyi’s wave.) “It is probably that no one but ourselves” (It is probable that…) “those who would soon have lived under puppet king” (who would sooner have lived,) Talsu remembers eating mutton with Kugu (it was with a constabulary captain, not Kugu,) “for more women were less dangerous than most men” (‘for most women were …’ is a more natural construction,) a line consisting of only two words – ‘forestall’ and ‘such’ – separated by the width of the page.) “Her eye’s sparkled” (Her eyes sparkled,) “my mistress’ support” (my mistress’s support,) “in no certain terms” (in no uncertain terms makes more sense,) lese majesty (lèse-majesté,) “his boss’ legitimate books” (his boss’s.)

Polygon, 2021, 123 p.

This is another of Birlinn’s Darkland Tales which re-examine Scotland’s history from a modern perspective.

David Rizzio, secretary to the heavily pregnant Mary, Queen of Scots, was famously murdered in her presence by courtiers – and especially her husband Lord Darnley – jealous of Rizzio’s supposed influence on her.

This recounting of that incident is necessarily told in the present tense in order to underscore the inevitability of the ongoing rush of events once the assassins’ plot had been set in motion – and the inability of Mary or Darnley to affect those events.

Mina manages to invoke the feelings of the various characters she focuses on but usually by telling not showing. Hers is an omniscient narration laden with the benefit of hindsight.

The novella is perhaps mistitled, though. It is not primarily about Rizzio (he is dead by a third of the way through) but instead charts the relationship of Mary with Darnley and with her Lords. It is also of course an indictment of the misogyny of the times. In that respect Mary never stood a chance. She had flaws enough of her own even without that to contend with.

I note that at the back the description of the Darkland Tales project has Alan Warner’s then forthcoming contribution titled as The Man Who Would Not Be King. It was eventually published as Nothing Left to Fear From Hell.

Pedant’s corner:- “Here the change of seasons are dramatic” (the changes of seasons are,) “and snakes his arm right around her waist until his hand on her swollen belly” (is missing a verb after ‘hand’; rests? lies? settles? is?) “Lady Huntley” (Huntly, as it is always spelled elsewhere in the text.)