A witch has power, but in some cases only as much as her commander allows.

Publisher: (self-published)
Pages: 293
Type: Fiction
Age: Young Adult
ISBN: 978-0-6156-8357-7
First Published: 12th September 2012
Date Reviewed: 29th October 2012
Rating: 3.5/5

Emmeline has always lived in a secluded area with her father, a father who tells her very little about anything. Longing for friends, she runs to the window when the sound of horses approaches their house, but her father tells her to run. Soldiers have come to take her away, and by the time Emmeline decides that obeying her father would be a good thing she is too late to avoid capture. The soldiers have come to escort her to the neighbouring country’s palace to wed the Crown Prince, an arrangement agreed at her birth, in order to protect her country. But no one will talk to Emmeline at the palace, the prince isn’t there, and Mahlon, the captain, isn’t quite as kind as his words suggested. Emmeline is apparently a witch, but she never knew it before and has certainly never experienced any power – so what is there to protect her from, and how long will she be able to continue to visit the King’s gamekeeper, Erick?

The Last Witch is a fantasy, set in a faux-medieval period, that deals with a somewhat unique idea: witches who have limited power and can be controlled. It is obvious from the book’s title where Emmeline comes in, but a lot of the plot is about how she starts to experiment and discover what she can do.

The premise and storyline are strong, but unfortunately haven’t been developed enough to make up for the speedy narrative. The book is disjointed, events happen very quickly before moving ahead a few paces, and there is not nearly enough detail. For example the reader does not witness Emmeline being reprimanded for escaping when the threat was heavy, and she escapes again the next day, as though she was allowed to come and go at will.

The writing is sometimes very good, but at others out of place. There are unnecessary question marks and suffixes that appear to be the result of an erroneous search and replace, and many grammatical issues. At times otherwise good dialogue is spoiled by a reversion to present-day colloquial terms, such as “I figured”, “gotten”, and “I sure did”. Whilst it’s not a bad thing overall for characters in fantasy novels to speak in a different dialect to the one associated with their history-based location, when not used consistently it sounds jarring. There are also episodes where plot threads get forgotten, however these are minor threads. The main issue is the narrative speed and lack of detail, which is a pity because the book would benefit rather than be hindered by a couple of hundred more pages.

Given that the book would benefit, it is not a surprise that the overall fairy-tale atmosphere is compelling. The book at times seems like a rewrite, though it isn’t one, and the basics of it are the sorts of elements that many modern readers look for. Perhaps best of all is the way Dee deals with predictable plot points. The book is largely predictable, but Dee uses this to her advantage, providing contexts and explanations that mean you are far less likely to be put off than you would be otherwise. And whilst Emmeline seems weak a lot of the time, this is for the most part fully explained, the necessity of development causing a slow transformation of Emmeline’s inner strength.

It doesn’t mean, however, that Emmeline is always understandable, and the reader may find themselves wishing she would put her thoughts into action once she has grasped the essentials of her power. Hard to read, too, is the character’s acceptance when people will not tell her what she wants to know. But the way Emmeline struggles with her wishes for friendship and people, balanced with how she feels when she gets that wish, is well written and devoid of the discomfort that could have occurred due to her never having met anyone – Emmeline is new to the world, but Dee doesn’t spend too much time on Emmeline’s thoughts. This may sound strange, and to begin with it may seem peculiar that Emmeline gets on so well with Erick, but as you read on it feels natural and doesn’t detract from the story – if anything it makes it better.

There are not many secondary characters so the reader comes to know all of the characters well, and there is time for wit and romance. To go back to the predictability, there is one element that may divide readers in regards to whether or not they pick up on the suggestions. This element is worth a mention because of the way Dee continually causes the suggestion to be clear and then hazy. It may at heart be easy to guess, but Dee isn’t going to let you go without a fight.

The reader should know that there is a lot of violence in the book, most of it alluded to, that is quite horrific on paper yet is appropriate to the situation.

The overall concept of The Last Witch is very good; the angst is strong but not overbearing, and the romance well written. The story races by too quickly, however the last couple of scenes, which are lengthy, demonstrate that with a little more time for description – other than world-building because a lot is spent on that to good effect – the book would be up there with the popular Young Adult recent releases. It’s good that there are more books to come, The Last Witch doesn’t end on a massive cliffhanger, and the set-up for the future is promising. And it’s good because for all the negatives, it is incredibly difficult not to like what Dee has created.

I received this book for review from Sage’s Blog Tours.

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You may know where things are headed, and you may be right, but do you know all of it?

Publisher: (self-published)
Pages: 233
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-615-69607-2
First Published: 2012
Date Reviewed: 24th October 2012
Rating: 4.5/5

Jodie hates… everything, which is a rather difficult position to be in when you’re looking to replace your old, perfect, house mate. But Piper’s getting married soon so she can’t stay, and Drew and Amelia have their own homes anyway, as well as each other. Jodie’s the last one left single in their group, but she’s okay with that, really. And it’s good that Drew and Amelia finally made the leap from friends to lovers, even if Amelia has a trust issue owing to a history of bad relationships.

In this, her debut, Amos has written a book that is completely character-driven; thus to explain more than the bare basics of the story would be to ruin it; the plot itself is rather simple and in the hands of another would likely not have worked. The reason Exactly Where They’d Fall is such a success is due to Amos’s skill in creating characters that are not just memorable and sometimes funny, but fully realised, described, and unapologetically true to life.

Jodie hated the idea of a first date. She hated it to death. Especially a first date with a stranger who she already knew she wasn’t going to like.

What is particularly interesting about the character development is that the main characters appear at first to be as different as chalk and cheese, but as the book continues Amos shows how similar everyone is inside and how hard it can be to categorise others when they are, at base level, going through the same things you are yourself. In regards to personalities, Jodie, for example, is rather strong in her hating and dislike, yet as you read on you realise it’s not just part of the humour (for it becomes such) but also expresses to the reader just how difficult Jodie can be to get on with – and in a way that doesn’t make the character an anti-heroine but rather someone you can relate to. Jodie is annoying, but not nearly enough to turn you away.

There is a lot of angst in the book, though not overbearing. It’s there, it’s realistic, and it’s the everyday occurrences that so many people have to suffer through, and it therefore works very well. It may be nothing new to the reader, or it might shed some light over issues you may not have understood of others; it is dealt with in a proficient manner that goes deep enough for you to sympathise whilst not getting bogged down for too long.

Lastly with respect to the characters, the careers Amos has chosen are not your bog standard chick-lit careers; there are no florists, party-planners, or dinky shop owners here. Jodie delivers babies and Amelia is an accountant. Drew and Piper are more artistic, but they have regular jobs as well, and Amelia has her yoga classes that are presented, again, in a different way than you might find elsewhere. The careers are woven into the story smoothly and become, to some extent, part of the plot.

With the overall number of characters (indeed the secondary characters are described almost as well as the main ones) there are a few romance threads. And whilst relationships form the basis of the story, the romance never takes over, hearts and flowers remaining at a good distance. The sex scenes are tasteful, the innuendo funny, and there is a great deal of emphasis on what happens outside the bedroom.

It can be hard to remember whose parents are whose, because each set comes with their own story and baggage; but the reader may find it worth their while to keep track of everything due to how the parents provide an active context for why the main characters feel the way the do about life and their choices.

The writing is for the most part very good. There are some repetitions – descriptions, thoughts – that didn’t need to be there, and there are also a few unnecessary pieces of description, such as “pacing on his feet”. These elements are noticeable, but not enough to detract from the story or reading experience.

Try being the last one left on the planet who wasn’t engaged, when she didn’t even want to be engaged, but she also didn’t want to be not engaged in a sea of engaged people.

Exactly Where They’d Fall is an often-comedic book, somewhat in the style of Marian Keyes but baring a very individual atmosphere that illustrates just how much passion and work Amos put into it. Her flare continues throughout the novel, and her fondness for her characters shines to good effect. The Charles Dickens quote at the beginning sums up the story well and the ending is quick without leaving any threads loose. Which is more than can be said for Piper’s dresses, which are still being made.

Exactly Where They’d Fall introduces to us a writer who is full of potential, but who has not left all of that potential to their next book. And in a world where everyone looks for maturity in the second offering, that is a very good thing.

I received this book for review from the author.

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After slavery came acceptance in France, which allowed something remarkable to happen.

Publisher: Crown (Random House)
Pages: 330
Type: Non-Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-307-38246-7
First Published: 18th September 2012
Date Reviewed: 19th October 2012
Rating: 4/5

Reiss details the life and career of the novelist Alexandre Dumas’s father, General Alex Dumas, born of a white French father and black African mother, who led armies during the French Revolution.

The Black Count is a remarkable book that details what can be learned from previously unpublicised sources to introduce to the world a fantastic soldier whom history had forgotten due to later racial prejudice. A rather long book for the sources used, Reiss provides ample context in which to set Dumas’s trials and happiness. This context can sometimes be a distraction as there is a great deal of it, perhaps too much, and it often goes off on a tangent. It is brilliant for the overall history and especially the history of abolition, but doesn’t quite match the premise of the book, which is to tell Dumas’s story.

However what is provided inevitably ends up trumping any arguments for premise; Reiss has given the history of slavery, abolition, general life, and the journey from acceptance back to intolerance. Whilst books about the period will include information about freed slaves and otherwise, the coverage and particular angle the writer takes puts them to shame. Instead of simply detailing, Reiss gets to the heart of his subject, discussing such aspects as the aristocratic day-to-day lives of free mixed-race citizens of the Caribbean and how accepting pre-Napoleonic France was of such citizens when they arrived in Europe. The author opens the door to a world that the modern world in general does not know nearly enough about, and it is surely important that these facts, as they relate to our present day, are provided for general consumption. In fact, the first few chapters themselves are so detailed as to render a several week course in colonial slavery somewhat superfluous. Reiss even includes the irony that came with a society suddenly finding their fashions being lauded by ex-slaves, feeling the need to be meticulous in their rules concerning the ban of such fashion in the colonies.

When, years later and by then a war hero, he lost his lackey in a storm at sea, he would find himself in a true predicament: facing enemy attack was one thing; arranging his own clothes was quite another.

Reiss provides all the knowledge he can about General Alex Dumas, the hero of wars who single-handedly won battles whilst living in a racially liberal world. He, Reiss, goes back and forth between sources to surmise the most likely story and, crucially, includes excepts from Dumas’s letters that only serve to further what is said – Reiss’s conclusions and suggestions are the understandable product of reading primary source material. The writer makes pauses for thought no concern, there is no reason not to believe what Reiss says. Dumas is the family man, the freedom fighter who unwittingly becomes a victim of his side’s success, and a true humanitarian. Despite what later goes against him, his aims remain strong and well meant: a republic for the equality of all.

The cautious reader may wish to know whether or not a prior acquaintance with the novelist Dumas’s works are necessary for comprehension. At first it seems so, but although he may not say it, Reiss has made his biography accessible and details all the literature references needed. He repeats information when new facts are to be added. Also included are quotations from (the novelist) Alexandre Dumas’s own memoirs, and these are treated with respect whilst being analysed for what they are – Reiss explains that the son idolised the father and thus although his words are used, they are acknowledged to be biased when other sources present opposing material.

Reiss refers to himself throughout the book, and it feels very natural. The references are there to demonstrate the discovery and usage of sources, and also to better describe to the reader present-day situations, such as the difficulty in gaining access to a vault. It’s a unique way of writing, more often used in documentaries, but due to the overall style, it works. As for the style it is readable, casual. Reiss himself says at the end that he wanted to avoid making his work particularly academic. However there are some occasions when it doesn’t quite seem right, such as references to a modern person in order to provide an illustration readers will understand. It doesn’t work because the people chosen are not universal, and thus the handy metaphor can be lost.

Reiss has an evident enthusiasm for his subject, yet remains objective. Indeed considering the sources he presents it is incredibly difficult to see Dumas as anything other than who Reiss presents him to be. There is some bias, however, and obvious personal opinions – for example Reiss dislikes Marie Antoinette, who he describes as “frivolous” and “fierce Austrian music snob that she was”, and leaves it like that without elaborating. Yet he achieves his basic aim, to introduce to the world General Alex Dumas. The book may be lacking in Dumas detail, but it is difficult to put that down to the author himself. The availability of sources and the likelihood of their destruction means that Reiss has undoubtedly made the best job of anyone yet, if indeed anyone else has tried. Such a work and research are to be commended for the valuable information they have uncovered for study.

With The Black Count, Reiss has done his job. May others now extend it and let it set an example.

I received this book for review from Crown Publishers.

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What happens when no one is telling the truth about how they feel?

Publisher: Gallic Books
Pages: 253
Type: Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-1-908313-29-4
First Published: 12th September 2012
Date Reviewed: 30th September 2012
Rating: 4.5/5

Original language: French
Original title: Le Confident (The Confidant)
Translated by: Alison Anderson

Upon the death of her mother, editor Camille starts receiving letters from a sender who only gives his first name. Believing the letters to be a clever method of mailing a novel, Camille does not realise for a while that the correspondence relates to her own life. The story of lovers split by outside events and other people, of babies conceived for questionable reasons, and of the hatred of everyone for everyone else, does not register as real until Camille finds proof of its relevance. The meaning of the words is catastrophic, and it seems the sender is the only one who knew the truth. Until now.

The Confidant, translated from the French by Alison Anderson, is a story about how selfishness, and misplaced belief and love, can become so twisted around each other that they leave truth to be confined to the mind – never spoken, with dire consequences. Set against the backdrop of the German invasion of France during World War 2, the factual history included weaves its way into the narrative to create situations that further destroy the humanity of the characters.

And like all stories with a similar narrative – in the way that it feels, the atmosphere, the confusion – it may be difficult to enjoy the book in the usual sense. In regards to the characters, it is difficult to be impressed by a group consisting of a sexual pervert, an obsessed and allegedly dangerous childless woman, and a younger woman who appears to lie to everyone. These aspects take a while to become apparent, but they may be difficult to comprehend when they do. What is interesting, however, is the way one may question their opinion of Camille as the book continues.

The book is told using a series of letters – all sent by Louis but formed of both his words and the words of others – as well as the thoughts of Camille as she comes to the end of each instalment of the story. The formatting is a little unorthodox, the use of a typeface generally spurned by the publishing industry, but it has the interesting affect of not only ensuring the reader knows who they are listening to but of actually adding to the atmosphere; Camille, is incoherent at times, her world a confusion to herself. Indeed the first couple of pages are so peculiar in their written style that you could easily believe Anderson’s translation poor, were it not for the elegance of the rest of the book.

The book is actually rather short, due to both page count and the easy-to-read nature of the text. But Grémillon makes the most of what she has – everything included is important, there are no “filler” events and there is no feeling that the book would have been better served by additions. The narrative gets right into the action, Camille provides a brief but sufficient background, and whilst Louis rushes on occasion it is not a drawback. It is a very welcome style in a world where books continue unnecessarily.

One ought not to feel disappointed by the predictability of the tale, indeed if you read the blurb you will know a lot, and the reason is that Grémillon wishes to explore her topics with a reader who will know, confidently, what she is talking about.

And if the most obvious theme is cause and affect, then the major theme is surrogacy (this comes to light as the major theme in part due to the acknowledgements in the back of the book). Being infertile in the 1930s and 1940s was of course nothing like it is today with all the advancements we have made both technologically and socially. Grémillon shows how society placed such a role in the expected life of a woman, and how it could affect those women who did not live up to the standard set. Due to the narrative structure, and the way in which the author divulges the characters’ beliefs and thoughts, the suggested routes to happiness are laid bare, often with the consequence of creating burdensome personalities. Grémillon portrays the historical infertile woman in the extreme – which creates some of the gross horror in the book – as well as discussing surrogacy in more simple terms. And to a great extent her discussion is relevant today, highlighting the issues that can surround a woman who agrees to carry a child for another without the experience of knowing how such an occasion will make them feel.

It is impossible to retain the same opinions one had at the beginning of the novel once the end has been reached, such is the fine decision Grémillon made to explain the story from different angles. The book does require diligent attention but it rewards with clarity and confirmation. And in addition it also provides a basic knowledge of the lives of the French in German-occupied Paris, which describes in subtext, if not always via direct experience (of the characters), the martial law of the time.

When I try to understand the reasons behind the whole tragedy, I always come to the same conclusion: if Annie had not been passionate about painting, none of this would ever have happened. I am as certain of this as are those who maintain that if Hitler had not failed his entrance exam to art school the world would have been a better place.

It may not be easy to like what happens in The Confidant but that is not the point and Grémillon is not worried if you feel that way. What matters is the subject at hand, the details imparted, and in that the book has surely succeeded in its conquest.

The Confidant was originally written in French, and was translated into English by Alison Anderson.

I received this book for review from ED Public Relations.

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Are you sure farming is rural?

Publisher: Crown (Random House)
Pages: 301
Type: Non-Fiction
Age: Adult
ISBN: 978-0-307-71905-8
First Published: 2012
Date Reviewed: 17th September 2012
Rating: 4/5

Shulman presents the often deceptively small groups of people who defy the notion of modern urbanisation to grow and produce their own food in the heart of New York City. Covering both traditional gardening and industrial manufacture, Shulman illustrates how history has moved from one extreme to the other and back again, showing that whilst such production may seem shocking to those who live unknowingly amongst it, it is actually part of how New York City first came into being.

Eat The City is a rather in-depth look at those who produce food, both en masse and in small quantities. It spans a range of tastes and traditions, including both solids and liquids. Each food in question is given its own section as Shulman recounts visits to the individuals who make it and refers back to historical records to detail how things used to be done. But far from the historical parts being all about the economic and culinary history, Shulman also looks into family history to explain how those she visits and interviews are culturally linked to the foods they produce.

And for the most part such a method of storytelling works well; the present flows into the past and back again and one feels that they know the individuals assessed as well as Shulman herself. Indeed it is only when right in the midst of the book that the method feels a little overused and you start to wonder whether more time ought to have been spent on the present, regardless of the fact that Shulman aptly describes the manufacturing and growing process. Yet this is more a case of retaining interest than writing style as the book requires the history – it is simply that having the book split into sections and the same method of writing being employed each time becomes wearing. For this reason the book can favour a dip-in approach so that the report doesn’t become heavy. The presence of the history fits Shulman’s aim – present-day is incredibly intriguing, but the context and reasoning even more so.

There is a good mix of vegetables and animals accounted for. The first half of the book favours natural, unaltered, produce, with the second half full of industrial manufacture and traditional methods that have been tainted by modernity, for example fishing. Shulman’s section on fishing is a particularly favourable addition because the entirety of it highlights the dangers of the practise. Whilst you are shown that it is possible to farm organically and safely in the city, fishing has inevitably been literally tainted by the chemicals that are dumped into the surrounding waters. For an overall subject that presents hardship and hard work but with resounding success, the section on fishing is difficult to read because of the knowledge Shulman brings to the table. And it is all the more harrowing given that whilst many poor people are fishing for mercury-filled fish, there are others who have the money to eat well but are unknowingly feeding themselves and their family poison.

Shulman brings the era of Atlantic slavery into the section on sugar, detailing not just the history but how the work has been passed down so that even now the successors of the African slaves grow cane. The difference being, of course, that their gardens are the result of choice. This is just one instance of immigration adding to the workings of the city, as detailed too are the Arab Jewish wines and Caribbean vegetable growers. Shulman’s book is a fantastic look at how a city is shaped by everyone who lives there, be they natives, invaders, or otherwise, and how it is impossible to separate such cultures when everything has become mixed together to become one mass society and way of life.

It must be said that the book is not apologetic. If the beginning sections invite the interest of vegetarians then the latter ones will put them off, and there are interviews on both sides of the GM debate. There are inclusions from newspaper articles on political decisions and overturning when the common man did not meet the specifications of those on high, as well as the disagreements within neighbours of those who wanted land for food and those who opposed it. And there is the ever-imposing divide between man and machine, the foodie and the real estate company, as well as the man and the Industrial Revolution. Because food production, even today, is considered backwards when urbanisation is forwards.

There is not really much to be said in disagreement to the way the book has been written. To be sure there are too many lists, wherein Shulman provides all the different elements of a particular system and the number of commas is at least a dozen over several lines, and there is the instance of a misquotation of Apollo 17 moon walker Eugene Cernan as having said “man oh Manischewitz” when he simply said “Manischewitz”, but these are meticulous points.

If ever there was an interesting tale to be told about a place that appears to be the height of urbanity, then this is it. For the European who can only view the city via Friends, the film The Devil Wears Prada, and Google’s Streetview, New York is perhaps the ultimate in urban business areas with a few residential neighbours thrown in. Indeed whilst what Shulman says may shock the average American citizen (and that in itself is a supposition) the impact will likely be greater on the onlooker.

Eat The City is a unique and inspiring exploration of an idyllic way of life, both surviving and being newly imported into a place that is not assumed to be appropriate for it. It does this whilst including a host of people who are from different walks of life and who have different goals. The traditionalist, the hobbyist, the entrepreneur and the capitalist – Shulman brings them all together as one movement: the everyday citizen, be he rich or poor, who just wants to have a hand in the way his food is produced and bring back production to a local level.

I received this book for review from the Crown Publishing Group.

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