Zoey Is Too Drunk for This Dystopia
The creative gore here is perfect for Halloween reading. And it’s kind of a killer crime novel too.
Zoey Is Too Drunk for This Dystopia
The creative gore here is perfect for Halloween reading. And it’s kind of a killer crime novel too.
Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Lord
by Celeste Connally
This novel has all that most readers expect from a Regency: carriages, horses, a ball scene, sparks and snarks between the heroine and her love interest. There are few clues in the opening chapter to this novel’s Regency-Gothic plot, but get past that and it’s a socially relevant, intriguing tale of women successfully challenging of one of England’s longstanding, deeply inhumane ways of exercising patriarchal power and greed.
Several feisty female secondary characters band together with Our Heroine to rescue their downtrodden compatriots from controlling spouses and fathers, at similar risk to their own limited freedoms. It’s inspiring and refreshing, part of the new wave of Regencies that tackle wider societal problems rather than strictly a het romance.
Those flaws in this opening: dialogue and inner monologues are slightly over-flowery (as is common with neo-Regency novels), setting is generically ‘carriages and balls’ rather than definably Regency-era, and far too many paragraphs are lost interspersing Our Heroine changing her clothes with clumsily introducing (through inane dialogue with her faithful ladies’ maid) characters we’ll meet later. There’s no way to guess from this opening that you’re entering a tale of human frailty, madhouses, and morals that would not be out of place in a Bronte novel.
Available for pre-order to Nov 14, 2023
#Netgalley #Regency #Women
The Observer, quasi-fictional recounting of a small rural town's seasonal doings through the eyes of a Mountie's young wife, proceeds with all the inexorable fatality of a comet as seen by those innocent of the scientific explanations.
In this pre-cellphone, pre-internet proto-memoir our narrator is, by her own admission, a out-of-her-depth outsider in Medway (a fictional standin for Meyerthorpe, Alberta). She struggles to grasp the local rhythms of life, the inexplicable codes governing what dish to bring to which potluck. A recurring temporary job at the local paper, The Observer, gives her more insight into the denizens of town and surrounding farms, and hands her secret after secret that can't be spoken of directly, let alone printed in the paper. Mysteries come and go, adding menace but rarely resolved.
Mostly alone with her young child while her spouse Hardy is on patrol (sometimes for days on end) or at home sleeping between shifts, Julia fears her own emotions almost as much as she worries about Hardy's growing bleakness. She's a composite of thousands of law enforcement spouses: pitched without information or recourse into being the main emotional prop and outlet for a man under tremendous work strain, himself with no external support beyond that provided by equally stressed-out co-workers.
The characters are mostly sympathetic, the prose often beautiful, the moments of joy in nature sublime... and yet the darker undercurrents multiply, expanding like the comet's tail in the night sky. The sense of impending doom thickens page by page, chapter by chapter, recreating the nigh-breathless tension of life in an RCMP household, of an RCMP career, and in a town where too many assholes have been tolerated, too many secrets swept under for far too long.
Something has to snap. You're just not sure what, or who, or how bad it's going to go.
At the novel's end, something does. By then Julia and Hardy are long gone, their reactions both sharpened by familiarity and muted by time & distance. Their subsequent life briefly touches on several changes forced onto the RCMP in the past twenty years, including Critical Incident Debriefing and other psychological supports. Spouses, though, remain outside the precinct, responsible for their own mental health and supporting each other without quite admitting just how much strain they're all under.
There's no emotional catharsis here for the reader, just as there was not for the very real townspeople who lived through, and still live with, not only the Mayerthorpe tragedy but the myriad dark currents that swirl beneath the idyllic surface of small rural towns.
View Marina Endicott's book launch of The Observer
#NetGalley #Mayerthorpe #RCMP #MarinaEndicott #novel #prairies #smalltown #ruralliving #tragedy #policing #trauma #CriticalIncidentDebrief #journalism #dramaturge #horses #hate
This is both a small story of one woman's decade--from seedy university digs and hangovers with her gay roommate through professional development to the birth of her first child--and the story of Ireland's financial and social turmoil of the early 21st century. It tackles abuse of power and academic privilege, the difficulties and exultations of coming out queer in a college town filled with football hooligans and conservative religious parents, couple dynamics viewed through the lenses of several different Rachels in the course of her evolution toward maturity. And especially it speaks of lies, their endurance and their evolution.
Amid the memorable images of drunken sprees and devastating breakups are some deeply resonant lines, such as
He talked about the book industry as if it were a dragon that was chained in the basement, and would tear us limb from limb at any moment.