Book Review: Gallowglass by Barbara Vine (aka Ruth Rendell)

Gallowglass - Barbara Vine (Ruth Rendell), Harmony Books, 1990 - 1st American edition  

Before launching into my review of Gallowglass, I would like to make a few preliminary remarks. As Ruth Rendell (aka Barbara Vine) is one of my all-time favourite authors, I actually regret leaving a negative review for Gallowglass. Dating back to my late teens, Rendell has been a favourite author of mine and I am slowly but surely reading my way through Rendell's back catalogue of novels, novellas and short stories. Never particularly taking an interest in her Wexford series, I am a great fan of her standalone psychological suspense fiction, including those titles published under her nom de plume Barbara Vine.

If you check out my book shelf, you will always find, amongst the read copies, an unread Rendell / Vine, ready to be consumed when I am in the mood for another dose of her very special brand of psychological suspense. Luckily, Ruth Rendell, who sadly died in 2015, was a prolific writer and I am thankfully not going to run out of titles any time soon. Many of the titles I have read, I would class as favourite reads, including The Killing Doll, Lake of Darkness, One Across Two Down and the Tree of Hands. 

Numerous of Rendell's plots and motifs stayed with me a long time after reading. Despite having read her novel Grasshopper many, many years ago, I still habitually think of this book and its roof-climbing protagonists, gazing at the rows of terraced houses from the train when I am travelling into London. I can therefore safely say that Rendell's fiction and her style of writing have made a long-lasting impression on me. I am by no means saying that all of her titles are ground-breaking works of fiction. Nevertheless, as far as entertainment is concerned, I have thus far never come across a major let-down. 

Unfortunately, apart from delivering an unexpected twist at the end of the plot, a let-down is what Gallowglass was, at least in my opinion. As a consequence it took me around twelve months to finish this book. I stopped reading two thirds into the novel last November. Around the same time I discovered the BBC mini-series, which I (BIG MISTAKE!) finished watching before completing the book. (For all those interested: The BBC TV adaptation closely follows the book and I would not hesitate recommending it to all those wishing to avoid reading the book.) 

It comes as no surprise that watching the TV adaptation caused me to completely lose my motivation to finish reading Gallowglass until I forced myself through the remaining 75 pages last weekend. Had the book not been written by one of my favourite authors, I might have relegated it back onto the shelf half-read. 

There are several problems with Gallowglass and whilst I cannot really put my finger on it, here are the two main reasons why I only moderately enjoyed this book: 

• The perspective / tone of voice: 

I cannot think of any examples of Rendell / Vine books, in which the author has chosen to tell the story from a character's perspective. Gallowglass, however, is in parts (around half of the chapters) told from the perspective of Little Joe, one of the story's main protagonists. The remainder of the book is narrated from the perspective of a third person narrator. 

In the chapters told from Little Joe's point of view Vine / Rendell naturally adapts her style and language to suit the character's linguistic abilities. Given Little Joe's  background, these abilities are limited, which is reflected in his tone of voice, the conclusions he draws and the observations he makes. If you appreciate Rendell's succinct, elegant and detached mode of storytelling and prose, please be advised that you will not get this for very long stretches of this novel. Whilst reading, I could literally feel that I was trying to read through Little Joe's account of the story quickly, in order to get to the next chapter and be reunited with the third person narrator. 

• Contrived plot / inconsistencies: 

In Gallowglass Rendell / Vine keeps the plot moving at a steady pace, whilst managing to provide accounts of historic events, the characters' backgrounds and motivations. Nevertheless, I felt that the novel was full of incongruities. Why, for example, security magnate Apsoland would employ an ex-teacher (Garnet) without a professional background in security to provide chauffeur services and ensure the personal protection of his wife Nina, aka the Princess, eludes me. 

This point of criticism comes to bear later in the novel as well. Yet, for the sake of keeping this review spoiler-free, let's just say that Apsoland's employee selection and screening processes seem to lack depth. Given Apsoland's profession and stated obsession with security, this was one of the many preposterous elements of the plot and an inconsistency that continued to jar with me until the end, for it is both unbelievable and completely unrealistic, but was also a necessary element to achieve a coherent, albeit contrived, story and the all-important surprise twist at the end.

Sadly, for these reasons I simply did not enjoy the book as much as I would have liked. Gallowglass, however, does not reflect the quality of Rendell's / Vine's other output  and luckily for me, there are many more Rendell / Vine novels to discover. Even though Gallowglass did not convince me, having just started (actually almost finished) The Bridesmaid, Rendell will certainly not lose me as a constant reader.

Book Review: Dark Dance by Tanith Lee

Dark Dance (Bloof Opera I), by Tanith Lee, 1992, Macdonald & Co
Cover Art: uncredited 

Tanith Lee has come up in a number of my Goodreads reading suggestions and on the back of these recommendations I decided to actually read something written by the author earlier this year. 

I came across several of her titles, including Silver Metal Lover and Electric Forest, which all sounded appealing, but decided to make a start with Dark Dance, which is the first book in Lee's Blood Opera series. 

As some of Lee's titles command quite a highish price tag on the second-hand book market, my decision to settle for Dark Dance was partially influenced by the availability of the hardback first edition for a reasonable price and, I have to admit, I liked the book's cover. (Sadly, the cover artist is not credited.)

Plot Summary -  Dark Dance by Tanith Lee

Jumping straight into a summary of this book without giving too much away: 

The story follows our heroine Rachaela Day from the point when she is plucked from her solitary and mundane life as a bookshop assistant in London to live with her father's family, the Scarabae, on the family's country estate, up to the point when her then 11-year-old daughter Ruth arrives to join the Scarabae family a decade later.

Having been brought up as an only child by her estranged and now deceased single-mother, Rachaela is at first reluctant to join her relatives. (She has thus far never met her father.) Yet, as circumstances appear to conspire against her, she eventually embarks on the journey to meet and live with this rather weird bunch of characters.

The Scarabae family is made up of a multitude of extremely long-lived oddballs, who idle away their days galloping through the house on toy horses or defiling books in the library before gathering at regular intervals for seagull stews and roast rabbit dinners. (The interaction between Rachaela and the Scarabae takes place almost exclusively during dinner time.)

Following a rather disconcerting nightly encounter with the most reclusive member of the family, Adamus Scarabae, Rachaela's father, the family's dark secrets (a tradition of intergenerational, incestuous relationships mixed-in with a moderate amount of vampire-like behaviours) are gradually unveiled to Rachaela and the reader. 

Overwhelmed by the enormity of it all in combination with an unwillingness to yield to Scarabae family tradition and play her part in this 'familial arrangement', Rachaela makes a first attempt at returning into her old life, but due to abysmal public transport links (Tanith Lee delivers a humorous, yet totally factual, and thus damning indictment of the British public transport infrastructure in these passages) Rachaela is soon retrieved by her very own father, for whom she is, much to her own dismay and bewilderment, now harbouring sexual attraction. 

Following their passionate encounter in the aftermath of Rachaela's 'repatriation' to the Scarabae family home, Adamus, however, reverts to his reclusive lifestyle within the tower. Ignored and neglected by her absent lover and bored-out by the remainder of the geriatric family members, Rachaela decides to embark on a second escape from the family, which ends in her return to London.

Here she intends to take-up her old lifestyle, but finds herself pregnant with Adamus's child. For the ensuing eleven years, we witness how Rachaela fits her life around her unwanted daughter, Ruth, until the family finally start stalking Ruth, who readily abandons her mother to take-up residence with the Scarabae. 

In the aftermath of her daughter's departure from London, Rachaela follows Ruth to the estate. Motivated for the most part by jealousy of Ruth, who is now at the centre of the Scarabae's and, above all, Adamus's attention, and by a sense of maternal duty rather than genuine concern for her daughter's emotional wellbeing, Rachaela attempts to extract Ruth from the family's clutches, but has to resign herself to the role of a bystander, witnessing both Ruth's betrothal to Adamus and her eventual revolt against the family's rulebook. 

Verdict

Dark Dance was quite something else and I am at a loss how to best assign this book to a genre, though I would agree that, purely for the sake of assigning a genre label to the story, I think Urban Dark Fantasy probably sums it up nicely. Perhaps even Urban Dark Erotic Vampire Fantasy? How does that sound?

Yes, there are vampires or vampiric elements, but this aspect of the story is not really touched upon in great detail and the reader is largely left in the dark about the specific nature of the Scarabae-type vampire. Some reviewers highlighted the erotic elements within the story. Yet, despite the explicit nature of a handful of passages, I wouldn't describe Dark Dance as Erotica or Erotic Fantasy either. The book is not exactly littered with descriptions of erotic scenes. 

Yes, Dark Dance contains explicit references and descriptions of intergenerational incest. Some readers clearly are put off by this. Deal with it, or don't. It's the premise of the book. I repeat: Dark Dance is about incest as a longstanding tradition practised within the Scarabae family. The plot revolves around it, the family's peculiar characteristics and, above all, their longevity are derived (somehow) through the practice of incest. If you are put-off by references to and the description of incest, don't read Dark Dance. Your choice. 

Yes, the storyelling remains at times rather vague, both in respect of the characterisation of  the main protagonists, their motivations and their backstories. However, through this omission of backstory and lack of explanation Dark Dance derives its appeal (at least for me), i.e. through the elements of the plot, which are not touched upon. The unexplained adds to the appeal of the book.

As a deliberate stylistic choice, this ommission adds a layer of mystery and kept me guessing and pondering about the protagonists' choices and motivations long after finishing the book. Why, for example, is Adamus opting for a reclusive lifestyle away from the family, whilst at the same time complying with its traditions? What is the reason behind the persecution of the family, their residence in exile and how did they come to be what they are today in the first place? I am very much hoping that some of these aspects will be addressed in Personal Darkness, the second instalment of the Blood Opera series, which I shall definitely be getting hold of.

Lastly, I have to mention that I enjoyed Lee's style of writing immensely. It's evocative, atmospheric, sparse at times and not overly descriptive. She has an incredibly subtle sense of humour, which brilliantly came to life in her depiction of Rachaela's transport nightmare following her first escape from the estate, and she is extremely apt at conveying deadpan humour through dialogue. I will certainly be reading more by Tanith Lee.

Book Review - The Killing Doll by Ruth Rendell

The Killing Doll, first released in 1984, showcases Rendell's tremendous talent as a writer of psychological suspense, and being the first Rendell I ever picked up, it introduced me to her work some twenty years ago. It also turned me into what I would describe as a constant reader. Though years may pass without reading one of her novels, there is usually an unread Rendell on my shelves. As soon as I have completed it, another appears to fill the void. 

At the age of 85 Ruth Rendell very sadly passed away in May 2015. Yet, thanks to her prolific output spanning over fifty years and comprising of over sixty titles, I will not be running out of reading material for a while. Though I am not overly keen on her Inspector Wexford series, I am particularly fond of her stand-alone, psychological suspense novels and the books she chose to publish under her pseudonym Barbara Vine. 

Ruth Rendell (17 February 1930 – 2 May 2015)

Too eager to explore her plots and to meet more of her ill-fated characters, I have thus far never ventured into re-reading my Rendell / Vine books. As The Killing Doll was my first ever Rendell, which I read back then in its German translation Der Pakt (The Pact), I thought it was time to make an exception and get hold of the original, English version for a re-read. I was not to be disappointed.

Ruth Rendell - The Killing Doll, 1984, Book Club Associates Edition 

Judging by other readers' reviews, The Killing Dolll seems to divide opinions, both between seasoned fans and those new to Rendell's work. Whichever side of the fence you are on, the book appears to provoke strong emotions in both camps. Whilst some praise it for its tight plotting and unexpected twist at the end, others seem to criticise it for its alleged lack of pace, the absence of likeable characters and its subject matter; i.e. the protagonists' dabbling in the occult. 

The plot by and large centres around the Yearman family, comprising of siblings Dolly and Pup as well as their widowed father Harold. Coinciding with Mrs Yearman's demise, Pup begins to dabble in magic rituals, selling his soul to devil in exchange for worldly goods and, above all, physical growth. He enlists the help of his sister Dolly, an apt seamstress, who - owing to a facial disfigurement - has  very few social contacts and leads an isolated life mostly confined to and maintaining the family's home. 

Dolly sews Pup's ceremonial robe and is from time to time allowed to attend the so-called 'temple', which Pup has created in an unused room in the house, whilst their father - oblivious to the ceremonial magic practised under his roof - is completely absorbed by his obsession with historical fiction and, eventually, his new wife, Myra.

Following Mrs Yearman's death, Dolly's interest in occult matters is amplified when she attends a number of seances and gets further fuelled by her desire to employ magic in order to banish Myra from the family home. Yet, after discovering his business acumen and penchant for casual sex with a string of affairs, both Pub's emotional connection to his sister and involvement with the occult are waning, and he is increasingly viewing his preoccupation with magic as a childish pastime obsession. Though still fond of his sister, both his sexual proclivities and newly found role as a businessman leave little time to devote to his sister's emotional well-being.

Despite this, Pup continues to perform rituals to please his sister, thereby continuing to fuel her belief in his abilities. When in the aftermath of one such ceremony involving the ritual stabbing of Myra's effigy in the form of a cloth doll, Myra is discovered dead in the Yearman's bathroom, Dolly's belief in the efficacy of her brother's geomancy is reaffirmed, triggering a fateful spiral of events and further accelerating Dolly's descent into madness. 

To me, The Killing Doll delivers perhaps one of the best contemporary depictions of a protagonist's gradual descent into substance abuse and schizophrenia as well as the concomitant circumstances of isolation and dysfunctional family relations, which in the end enable the condition to take hold and completely engulf the individual.

I therefore firmly belong into the camp of those, who did not merely enjoy the novel but would also recommend it to all those wishing to explore Rendell's body of work further. After all, to maintain the reader's interest, characters do not have to be likeable. Quite the contrary. Childish preoccupations such as dabbling in occult writings and rituals as well as unexpected chance encounters (similar to the one at the end of the book) can have fateful consequences and are therefore utterly believable. As for the alleged lack of pace, I would argue that Rendell does not deviate from her usual norm and succinct style, telling a story spanning a timeframe of over five years in the space of less than 240 pages suggests that the book is not cluttered with unnecessary detail.

Book Review: Dark Harvest by Norman Partridge

It's 1963, it's Halloween and in a secluded backwater somewhere in the US teenage boys are being starved by their parents and locked away in their bedrooms, whilst waiting for the town's yearly hunting ritual to begin.

Somewhere in a cornfield outside town the October Boy, a pumpkin vine dressed as a scarecrow featuring a carved head and candy stuffing, awakes and returns to be hunted down by the community's teenage boys. Any number of perks and a chance for a fresh start await the winners of the race and their families. It's therefore no surprise that all the 'lucky' winners of previous hunts have escaped this small-town setting, never to be seen again by those they left behind.

Dark Harvest by Norman Patridge, TOR 2007, Cover Illustration by Jon Foster

Book Review: American Coven by Amy Cross

My first venture into the literary world of Amy Cross. It was a bizarre ride. 

Cross appears to be an author with a prolific digital output and a minimal, almost non-existent personal presence on the web. A large number of her many titles are currently available as free downloads on Amazon. That's exactly where I came across American Coven, which was suggested to me as a recommendation - most likely as a result of having purchased quite a few dark horror novels with supernatural elements in my time. American Coven fits that description rather well. 

American Coven - Amy Cross

Book Review: Disordered Minds by Minette Walters

Diligently working my way through all the unread books on my shelf, I finished Disordered Minds by Minette Walters a couple of weeks ago. Taking place in the early 2000s, the plot of the mystery unfolds against the backdrop of the British / American offensive in Iraq back in 2003. The main protagonists, Jonathan and George, set out to exonerate a convicted murderer, Howard Stamp, posthumously. 

Disordered Minds - Minette Walters

Book Review : Anne McCaffrey - The Rowan (The Tower and the Hive, I)

I must admit I decided to read The Rowan for two reasons. Firstly, I had never read anything by McCaffrey and secondly, judging by the curious looking cat on the cover of my second-hand hardcopy, I figured that the story featured a feline character of sorts. 

Well, there is a feline in the book - a precious barque cat, to be precise. True to their independent nature, however, it abandons its owner - Altair's most gifted telepathic inhabitant, the Rowan aka Angharad Gwyn - halfway through the story. 

Anne McCaffrey - The Rowan, ACE / Putnam, C.P. Putnam's Sons, New York, 1990, Cover Art: Romas (Romas Brandt Kukalis)

Sadly, as soon as my main motivation for reading the novel was evicted from the story line, my interest in the rest of the book declined rapidly. In the end I decided to abandon it for a while and read something else instead. When I resumed reading this morning, I couldn't help wondering why this book ever got written, let alone published. To be fair, there are another five books in the Tower and Hive series and reading them might provide an answer. Yet, I simply was not drawn in enough, so it's unlikely I will pick any of the sequels any time soon.

The Rowan is the life story of McCaffrey's character of the same name, an orphaned and extremely gifted telepath from planet Altair. Growing up in one of Altair's remote mining communities, the Rowan loses her entire family in a mudslide and is rescued thanks to her ability to project her excruciating cries for help telepathically. 

As her wailing is picked up by the authorities, the child is saved and eventually taken care of by a foster mother. Being extraordinarily gifted, she receives training in all things telepathy and telekinesis from Altair's prime telepath, Siglen, under the watchful eye of  T-1 Earth Prime, Reidinger. The Rowan child is destined to become one of FT&T's T-1 primes, one day to be in charge of her very own tower on another planet.

Altair is a mining planet and vital supplier of raw materials destined for Earth. All cargo leaving and arriving on the planet is transported with the help of telepaths with telekinetic abilities, also known as the T-1 Primes. Human space travel underlies the same telekinetic principles. With the entire logistics of all planetary existence hinging on the exchange of raw materials between Earth and its colonised planets, the most gifted telepaths are crucial for the continued operation of this supply chain and thus assume a somewhat privileged position in society.

Part one of the series sketches the Rowan's life from the early tragedy of losing her parents to becoming herself a T-1 Prime, and eventually wife to Jeff Raven, and mother of their son, Jeran.  Oh yeah, and I forgot....! The Primes get to fight a telepathic space assault against an invasion of alien enemy beetles in defence of Deneb, Jeff's home planet. 

I'm not sure which target audience this book is aimed at. Perhaps, McCaffrey wrote it with a teenage audience in mind, given that most of the positive reviews I have found come from readers with book nostalgia, revisiting a favourite teenage read. The telepathic love story between the Rowan and Jeff may well appeal to a younger audience. 

Though the plot is well paced, I simply couldn't relate to the characters in the book. They all remained more or less remote to me. The technical aspects of the story, i.e. mainly telekinetic transportation and telepathic communication, didn't overwhelm. This is a bonus for all those who enjoy a less technical sic-fi novel. Yet, the concept of super-talented telepaths shunting space ships around with the mere power of their minds appears a trifle far-fetched. I didn't enjoy McCaffrey's writing style all too much in this one, but I haven't been put off completely. One day, I'm sure, I will give the Pern series a go. 

Happy 50th, Baby Satan! - Rosemary's Baby turns 50 in 2018: Summary and Review of Ira Levin's 1968 Novel

First published in 1968, Ira Levin's Rosemary's Baby will celebrate its fiftieth birthday in 2018. A good reason to start celebrating and tick this book off the 'to-read' queue.  

I expect that most readers of the genre are either familiar with Polanski's film adaptation, have read Levin's novel or, indeed, both. Not much needs to be said about the plot. A quick summary can be found below.

Bloomsbury 2002 Paperback edition of Ira Levin's Rosemary's Baby, featuring the artwork created for the release of Roman Polanski's film adaptation of the same name.

Quick Plot Summary

Rosemary Woodhouse becomes the victim of a satanic conspiracy, perpetrated against her by both her neighbours and her husband, Guy. The book starts off with Guy and Rosemary house hunting for a rental property in the Bramford, a sought-after apartment complex in a well-to-do New York City neighbourhood. Having secured a flat in Rosemary's dream apartment, she and Guy, an up and coming television actor, make friends with their neighbours in the building, Minnie and Roman Castevet. Guy becomes ever more attached to the elderly couple, his acting career is taking off and Rosemary falls pregnant with their first baby. All in all, joyful times. 

But all is not as it seems and cracks are apparent from the start. Rosemary feels controlled by the Castevets, her marriage to Guy becomes strained for similar reasons, she finds herself subjected to patronising behaviour and has to endure an extremely painful pregnancy. She eventually starts to take control and connects the dots thanks to a mysterious book on witchcraft and satanism bequeathed to Rosemary by her recently deceased friend and surrogate father, Hutch. Yet, the Bramford conspirators remain ahead of the game, usurping and preempting all her efforts to escape the situation.

As Roemary’s friends and family are either cut off or killed off by the Bramford coven, she is completely isolated by the time she eventually goes into labour. Despite her newborn initially being removed from her, Rosemary goes on a hunt for her son and locates him in the midst of a gathering of satanists in the Castevet’s flat. Finally allowed to face her devilish offspring for the first time, Rosemary succumbs to her maternal instincts, accepting her role as mother of Baby Satan, who comes suitably equipped with tail, horns and claws.

Rosemary's Baby: Book vs Film 

Polanski, who wrote the screenplay for the film adaptation of Rosemary's Baby, is often credited with having created one of the most faithful adaptations in cinematic history. This is understandable, given that Levin's book reads like a screenplay. According to Polanski, it took merely one month to adapt Levin's novel.

When reading the descriptions of the apartment and its decor, I was immediately reminded of Polanski's film, of which I can only remember fragments. Not recollecting the film's entire plot I remained interested in Levin's novel throughout. Reading the book ended up fulfilling a purely utilitarian purpose for me in the end: Filling in the gaps I couldn’t remember from the film. I consequently visualised both Mia Farrow and John Cassavetes at all times, especially when the characters engaged in dialogue. I would say that both Levin's novel and Polanski's adaptation have to be viewed as distinctive, yet inseparable. When reviewing one, it's impossible to ignore the other.