Capturing a thief, hunting down memories.

Publisher: Harlequin
Pages: 275
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-373-29742-9
First Published: 21st May 2013
Date Reviewed: 30th April 2013
Rating: 4/5

Finally in a position to discover what happened to her family, Li Feng makes use of performance troops to develop her skills further. In the process she ends up with a group of thieves and therefore finds herself followed and caught by thief-catcher Han. Li Feng escapes and Han catches her again, but this won’t be a simple game of cat and mouse when love is involved.

The Sword Dancer is in part a wuxia novel; the book rests firmly in the suspense/action subcategory, giving the book an extra plot thread and meaning that the heroine is pretty strong both physically and mentally.

Li Feng had already been through a myriad of experiences before this particular crime and Han’s interest. Her background, the lost family, has led to a lot of her desire to learn how to protect herself as well as to be cautious and never exploited. This can be related to her non-belief in her relationship with Han, a more descriptive reason for how they work as a couple. Li Feng gives in against her nature only when it’s appropriate, never changing her mind simply because she likes Han. Han has his background too, but there is a little more in the book about Li Feng’s and the difference makes for a fine balance, allowing Lin to look into social and domestic issues without any distractions. The issues never take over the plot, nor the plot the issues. Everything fits together well. As for Han? He has had an easier life, certainly, but his feelings of inferiority have marked him as a person and his desire to do well could be said to form some of the basis for the book.

And so the only way Li Feng’s strength is hindered is by her constant belief that a relationship with Han is impossible. Whilst it makes sense – a law-abider and criminal being together would be difficult – as it’s inevitable the book is going to end happily, it does feel redundant, even if it’s understandable. Nevertheless the romantic scenes are well written, the crimes just as much a focus, and Lin has plotted her book to perfection. In addition, it cannot be said that Li Feng’s reluctance isn’t a good contrast to her strength, or that the reluctance doesn’t fit well with her trials as a person without a family.

Instead of having lots of dialogue or simply detailing a scene, Lin breaks up conversations with information about a character’s background, politics, or a character’s thoughts, rather than having the characters reveal it themselves. What you learn about the characters tends to come from the pen rather than their voices; it’s the sort of writing that might divide opinion. However Lin has spent a lot of the time developing everything – the story, the romance, the characters – and the elements are fascinating. Even plot points that seem convenient are not a negative here because of the way Lin deals with her setting. It is more a case that you feel the book would have not suffered if descriptions of backgrounds had been removed.

The book is a winner when it comes to accessibility. Chinese words are included without the constant translations (those that can make usage superfluous) that can be found in other books, and Lin has chosen a theme and made it her own. The scale of the crimes are perfect for the book – not too big, not too small, and detailed well. There is enough happiness and well-intentioned corruption to keep you reading.

If you’re looking for history, chemistry, and adventure, you’ll find it here by the bucketful, though some descriptions may prove to be less successful.

I received this book for review from the author.

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Sense And Sensibility And Sea Monsters and… you know the deal.

Publisher: Vintage (Random House)
Pages: 354
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-099-56369-3
First Published: 1st January 2012
Date Reviewed: 21st April 2013
Rating: 5/5

It’s Emerald’s birthday, and as her step-father leaves to go to a meeting to discuss the family’s ability to keep their house, everyone is getting ready for the dinner party. Charlotte is in a whirl and not sure about her daughter’s friends, Clovis is being his usual self, and Smudge is unwell and thinking about the charcoal drawings on her wall. But an unexpected call from the railway changes everything, as the family find themselves having to make allowances for a crowd of people left waiting after a train accident. It’s a weird group of people, and it gets stranger still when an old acquaintance of Charlotte’s arrives as another passenger of the train.

The Uninvited Guests is a peculiar book that turns the notion of literary fiction on its head. Not at all what you’d expect from Jones, the book is somewhat of a parody, yet retains its literary feel throughout.

Jones’s writing is as good as it has been since her début. History is still the period of the day, The Uninvited Guests appearing to take place around the early twentieth century, but there is also a great amount of humour in the book. Either Jones has taken a chance or she wishes to show that literary fiction need not be so separate from genre fiction.

The action takes place over the course of 24 hours, with the majority of the book contained to the evening. A lot happens; it can be hard to remember it is still the same day. What fills the book and keeps it from ever being dull is the number of characters and their development. Apart from the ‘guests’, who are generally observed as a whole group rather than given time individually, the characters are all related in some way and each is distinctive – as detailed to some degree by the summary above. They all have their own stories and goals within the main one assigned to them as a unit, and this means that Jones switches back and forth between them when they’re separated. Jones’s usage of solo plots works here because of the nature of the characters, for example Charlotte is quite the snob and a bit lazy so she stays in her room, and Smudge is the oft-forgotten child and therefore spends a lot of time alone.

Owing to the period and the idea of the sudden burden of people, an aspect of the book lies in the family’s principles. The social status of the passengers compared to the family, the aims and aspirations of Charlotte, the wishes for a good birthday, and the general feeling of unwelcome arrivals, forms the basis of the book and is a big part of why it takes so long for the characters to work out what the reader knew all along (because in this book the reader is purposefully ahead of the game). It is a big part of the hilarity, too, and, somewhat uncomfortably, also the way Jones demonstrates neglect – for example the family literally forget little Smudge, which is what leads to her mishaps.

The dialogue is understandably steeped in its time and the writing is as good as Jones’s previous novels. The humour is both pure comedy and a sort of silliness. Sometimes Jones goes too far – as the book reaches its conclusion it could be said that the humour becomes a sort of private joke, rather over the top and unnecessary – and so it may shock readers who were thinking it might be more serious (despite the quotations and descriptions the book’s cover does not aptly indicate the nature of the contents). Thankfully the silliness resolves itself in the end – as much as possible given the plot.

Perhaps the best way to describe the book is to say that the characters would really like this to be character-driven, but Jones has decided that it is plot-driven. Indeed there is a constant push by the characters to forget the crowd of passengers and enjoy their evening.

There are lessons for the characters, and there is such development of them as to make you feel sorry to close the book, but really this story has no specific purpose. The Uninvited Guests is a novel that exists just because – it’s a laugh a minute but of no lasting value as literature. However that seems to be the point. As long as you’re okay with the idea of literary fiction being gatecrashed by paranormal dystopian stories – which is itself another possibility for the feelings of these ‘poor’ literary characters – and you’re willing to switch the angst-ridden beauty of Jones for frivolity, then you will likely love this book.

Jones’s latest – jolly good fun old chap.

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When everything happens at once.

Publisher: Penguin
Pages: 353
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-1431-2351-4
First Published: 16th August 2012
Date Reviewed: 21st May 2013
Rating: 4.5/5

In the 1930s Dez married Asa as life became difficult. When her father dies he leaves the family’s beloved playhouse to Asa, with the intent that its care be passed on to any children of the union. But the town, Cascade, is under threat by the state who need to create a reservoir for the health of residents of Boston, and Dez is unhappy with Asa as it is. She dreams of a career in art that will never happen in Cascade, and as Jacob continues to be a scant part of her life, she wonders about the possibilities for more.

Cascade is a complex novel; on the surface it is straight-forward, the story of an unsatisfied woman and the imminent demise of Cascade, but as it continues it becomes obvious that there is a lot more to it. Indeed it takes a long time to truly pick up the pace, appearing for a good while to be a somewhat laid-back story about an event that is surely horrific for those involved; the persistent reader will be well rewarded for continuing with it.

Because as much as the word ‘cascade’ refers to the town – its name and the literal cascades of water situated nearby – this book is also about the cascade of feelings, isolation, and hopelessness that happens when everything that borders on white lies and secrecy, explode at once. In Dez you have a character who is difficult to like in her entirety. There is an overwhelming sense of her being used by others, and of being unable to stretch her wings, yet there is also some true selfishness there at times. Most of what Dez chooses to do, the mistakes she makes, even the good choices, have understandable reasoning behind them, but a few do not.

This does not mean that Dez is not a good character, however. She is indecisive throughout the book, but as a character she is wonderful. O’Hara rarely takes the easy route – just as it seems you can predict what will happen, the events work in Dez’s favour (or not) but as much as O’Hara wants to help Dez, she doesn’t let her off every time. O’Hara’s narrative for Dez means that you get that real sense of worry as O’Hara makes her character go through the misfortunes of life, and Dez’s wishes are very modern, meaning that the reader can confidently root for her without worrying about feeling disconnected by the time period. In Dez, O’Hara has created reality. You could create a book group discussion out of Dez’s life, question whether O’Hara even liked the character.

This leads us to the book itself. Moving on from the slow start and quickening pace later on, Cascade is one of those magical works that pulls you in so much you don’t even realise you are reading. There is no fairytale, no wonderment, and yet the book itself is a wonder. The secondary characters are written just as truly as Dez. You get the harsh reality of Asa’s pain contrasted with what seems at times a violent nature, but throughout your time with him its obvious O’Hara is telling you to look deeper, to really see Asa, and not assign stereotypes or even the fact of his fictional nature on how you view him. O’Hara wants to make her people exist, and whilst this may be true of all authors, it is particularly obvious in Cascade.

Being that the book takes place during a time when personal freedom was becoming important, but that it is entrenched in tradition and a small town, there are a few moral questions up for debate. As discussed above, O’Hara doesn’t make it easy for her characters, and therefore no matter which side of the debate, or just the view, you might fall on, she makes it easy to feel comfortable with what is being discussed, opening conversation and successfully managing to not leave anyone out despite the fact that sooner or later her characters must of course make decisions.

Truly this is a book that is as much, if not more, about a person rather than a town. If you approach the book hoping that it will be full of protests and violence you will be disappointed. O’Hara’s aim with the town is to look at the process rather than the overall affect. Affect is reserved for the characters.

There is a lot about art in this book – Dez’s passion, the art world, descriptions of Dez’s paintings and the creation of them. Due to O’Hara’s fictionalisation and overall decisions regarding which story elements get page time, the art shouldn’t be a problem for anyone who isn’t as passionate as Dez. What may cause a problem, however, is the extent to which Anna Karenina is detailed. If you haven’t read the classic and don’t want it spoiled, you can easily skip Dez’s visit to the cinema without missing anything important to O’Hara’s book itself. Tolstoy’s book is used as a reference later on, but simply by knowing that Dez was interested in the film should be enough for you to understand these later references.

Cascade is a myriad of ideas and details, focused on one woman, but encompassing much more, just in smaller doses. It will delight anyone looking for a heroine who may not be strong but is successful, and will leave you thinking on its topics long after you’ve finished.

I received this book for review from Historical Virtual Fiction Author Tours.

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When a woman dared to tread.

Publisher: Wiley
Pages: 270
Type: Non-Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-470-84881-4
First Published: 2003
Date Reviewed: 22nd November 2012
Rating: 3.5/5

Please note that whilst the title of the book may suggest another woman had ruled in China before Ci Xi, Laidler himself makes no mention – thus it should be noted that there had been another Empress to rule China, Wu Ze Tian (also called Wu Zhao), between the years 690-705. Please also note that due to the different methods of transliterating Chinese into English, I have included the two most, in my opinion, used. (Any discrepancies are my own as I used my own knowledge to transliterate the method not used in the book.)

Laidler presents a biography of the Empress Ci Xi (Xu Xi/Tzu Hsi) from teenager to death, looking at how she managed to defy tradition to become the ruler of China and the ways in which she kept that power in the face of opposition.

The Last Empress is a difficult book to define. At once very detailed politically, it misses out a lot of information that would have been of use, yet what it does include is incredibly interesting and Laidler’s style makes for an easy read.

Ci Xi is surely a fascinating character to learn about (though it should be noted that for reasons unknown Laider has called her by her clan name – don’t let that fool you into thinking she was the only Yehonala at court). The way she came to power, her confidence and intelligence, the punishments she meted out to her enemies, and her lack of emotion for many of those in her care – Laidler makes sure that he provides a balance and includes discussions of why she became such a despot. Whilst admitting that her lust for power was unquenchable, Laidler questions her background and how being a woman, and at that a woman forced to become an emperor’s concubine instead of marrying the man she loved, would have given rise to a vengeful spirit, a woman with no love for the dynasty she had been brought to serve.

And this is key to what makes Laidler both accessible and hard to dispute – he may have his own views, but seldom are these included subjectively. Laidler’s work is incredibly unbiased, he damns and glorifies both sides, always presenting the various arguments and possibilities, and succeeds so well in his goal that the reader will have a tough time working out where his loyalties lie beyond his loyalty to introduce Ci Xi to his reader. Indeed all evidence points to him being completely objective. Such a method of writing is a relief when you consider that many books err more on one side than another, creating discomfort when the reader does not agree with the author’s views.

Unfortunately, however, Laidler’s writing is marred by a lack of referencing. Sometimes this is literal – he doesn’t reference any source at all, leading it to seem as though he wrote all the facts when he of course did not – and otherwise there is just a simple lack of footnotes. Both issues are a major drawback as they bar further study into the sources and limit the knowledge the reader can gain into what Laidler has researched, what is common knowledge, and what he took from elsewhere – is what you’re reading true or made up, and how much is speculation? (From the way it’s written all speculation appears to be what is obvious speculation – the rumours recounted by Laidler.) It also means that on many occasions where quotations are included, there is no way of finding out the original source of the work, beyond the name of the speaker. The only upside of this marring is that the work is largely chronological and there is no major aim to convince the reader of a certain idea, meaning, at least, that one will not be able to cite Laidler as the source for reasons of debate. It does mean that Laidler’s work has little value for the student, which given the overall lack of importance given to Chinese history in western academic institutions is disheartening.

Poor editing and some bad writing join the source work. Sentences sometimes make no sense or are unfinished. Despite, or maybe due to, the easy style, phrases such as “had been begun” seem to have slipped through the net, and there are far too many errors. In fact it is as though no proofreader were employed at all. The extent to which grammatical and spelling errors flourish means that any actively engaged reader, wanting to make notes and copy sections, will likely have to edit the text themselves, and the writing on occasion reads as though written by a person with scant knowledge of the English language.

Laidler writes a great deal about the naval warfare between the Europeans who wished to trade according to their own customs, and the Chinese who wanted to keep their traditions. In the main this means that the reader not only develops knowledge of the Empress herself, but of the context surrounding her reign and the reasons she was the last empress. However sometimes Laidler does go off on a tangent in ways that don’t apply to his main subject, resulting in pages that suggest the author was perhaps more interested in military history than the woman who took charge. This is not a huge issue, but it does mean that there are gaps left in Ci Xi’s life where it would have been sensible to either concentrate more on the ruler or, if such is the case, simply let the reader know that there is little known about the empress at that particular point in time.

Because for all his fair treatment of Ci Xi, and the approach that suggests a writer unbiased about gender, Laidler also leaves out aspects of Ci Xi’s power that would have added much to his work. Whilst explaining that Ci Xi’s rise in power over her husband was due to her sexual prowess, and including an explanation for how a woman confined to a world devoid of intact men might improve certain muscles – emphasis here on ‘might’, for there is no evidence that she did – Laidler neglects to discuss the issue any further. And considering it is apparent that Ci Xi retained her place as favourite for reasons other than abilities in the bedroom, there is a seeming lack of information in general. It is not detrimental, but it does suggest that Ci Xi’s rise was predictable, which given her time was not the case. And although there was a prophecy that a woman of Ci Xi’s clan would conclude the dynasty, speculation is of course no good basis for argument. What does seem to be reality is that no one really knows how Ci Xi came to power; that really ought to have been highlighted.

Hearing one lady holding forth on the evils of foot-binding, she pointedly asked if the European practice of binding women’s waists in whalebone corsets was not similarly barbaric.

Laidler does succeed in demonstrating how familial and social tensions created problems for China when it was faced with the invasive forces of the Europeans. Setting the backdrop of the stereotypical dynastic court that believed itself invincible, the author shows how tradition which was otherwise sustainable fell flat when confronted by the opposing beliefs of other countries. He gives a lot of time to Kuang Hsu (Guang Xu), the impotent boy Ci Xi chose (for the very fact he could not sire children) as heir to her dead son, and the ways in which, upon reaching majority, the now emperor tried to balance what he knew to be the iron will of his aunt with his own views of cultural and political reform. This not only means that Kuang Hsu is given a prominent place in the biography, but also that Laidler can adeptly reveal how Ci Xi changed her opinions on tradition and foreign powers – which is particularly interesting when placed alongside the way she manipulated tradition for her own ends.

And what is endlessly interesting is how this most powerful ruler of the wrong gender, of little status, and hated by so many, was able to take over a dynasty, a people, and keep that power for so long that her actions gave her reformist enemies exactly what they wanted.

Laidler’s book may not be in anyway polished but it provides a basis for further reading. Yet a basis it is, due to the speculation and content choices.

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Publisher: Broadway (Random House)
Pages: 246
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-307-39506-1
First Published: 2012
Date Reviewed: 28th April 2013
Rating: 2/5

At fifty-four years old, Clover feels invisible as a woman. One day she wakes up and it’s no longer a feeling – she is literally invisible. Going unnoticed by her family, she discovers a group of women like her and starts attending meetings. The other women have worked out what’s gone wrong, but is there a way to fix it?

Calling Invisible Women is a book that starts brilliantly and has a fantastic premise, but rapidly falls to what’s most comfortable in a way that provides a negative impact. The premise, or at least the supposed premise, of a middle-aged woman feeling invisible, is fresh. The possible metaphor of literal invisibility standing in for the invisibility of middle-aged women in a society that values youth and beauty, is promising and had a lot of potential, but sadly Ray does not take the opportunity presented.

What is good in Calling Invisible Women is the laugh-out-loud humour of the first half, the fine writing, and of course the social issues referred to. But that is where it stops. In Clover there is a character who feels invisible but has done everything that will insure she’ll remain so; a woman who simply does not fit her time period. If this book had been released in the mid-twentieth century, understanding Clover would be easier.

A typical example is Clover’s relationship with her daughter. Ray’s descriptions and the dialogue show Evie to be a self-absorbed person who cares not a jot for others unless she needs something. When Evie needs clothes, Clover describes how she’ll be giving her daughter, who is 20 and hasn’t realised her mother is invisible, the money for these clothes. If Clover spoke of how she should stop and how she lets her family walk all over her, it would be okay, but she doesn’t. There is also a situation where Clover and Gilda stop their grown-up sons making their own life choices, and when Clover tells her women’s group what happened “The group let out a moan, the collective heartbreak of all suburban mothers.” Given the subject at hand, Ray affectively wipes out a great number of potential readers from her audience as well as providing an out-dated social commentary on something that is widely considered an individual’s choice.

After the initial set-up, wherein one could suppose the women have become invisible because of society and the way they themselves feel, Ray places the actual reason outside of the women’s jurisdiction in order to conduct a commentary of another subject. It means that the strength of the premise is destroyed, even if the commentary itself is an interesting one. This happens later also, in a minor way, by Clover’s changing thoughts about her family. This is a family who fails to notice that their mother and wife has become invisible, despite the fact that Clover continues a sexual relationship with her husband and affectively flies around in clothes, headless. There is also the fact that Clover’s issues really needed to be at the forefront.

For its premise this book needed strength and empowerment. The ending is little more than a summary and the action happens too late in the day. Calling Invisible Women could have been incredible, a friend to women entering middle-age and a lesson for those who are younger or who simply forget such women. Unfortunately, it is not and whilst it may be one thing to have an un-likeable character, it is another to have one who is nonsensical for no given reason.

I received this book for review from Crown Publishers.

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