• HOME
  • REVIEWS
    • Books
      • Africa
      • Arabia
      • Asia
      • Eastern Europe
      • Latin America
      • South Pacific
      • USA & Canada
      • Western Europe
    • Other Media
      • Art
      • Film
  • ABOUT
    • Bio
    • Isla’s Writing
      • Clear Out the Static in Your Attic: A Writer’s Guide for Transforming Artifacts into Art
      • Polska, 1994
    • Artist Statement
    • Artist Resume
    • Contact
    • Events
  • BLOGROLL

A Geography of Reading

"It is by reading novels, stories, and myths that we come to understand the world in which we live." -Orhan Pamuk

Racing Through Mick Herron’s Slow Horses

June 19, 2022 by Isla McKetta, MFA 2 Comments

When I say I’ve been in need of an escape lately, I don’t think I’m alone. And while I’ve been reading throughout the pandemic, the main escape for my exhausted brain has been streaming whatever fits in the few minutes between my kid’s bedtime and mine. My husband and I quickly run through the good stuff, so many nights are spent wishing for better as we switch between interfaces (I miss channels, they loaded so much faster), which is to say that it was a huge relief to run into Slow Horses on AppleTV.

I love spy stories and the performances by Gary Oldman, Kristen Scott Thomas, Rosalind Eleazor, Saskia Reeves, Christopher Chung, Jack Lowden, Dustin Demri-Burns and company were outstanding. The writing was so sharp and I really appreciated the fact that this isn’t a story about a group of crackerjack super spies who are besting the world. Instead, this group of “Slow Horses” has found themselves at Slough House because they screwed up. Deeply. That doesn’t mean they are not without their merits, but something about people inching through their days until they face a challenge where they are very much starting from behind suits the world of today. So when I say that unwrapping a Mother’s Day package with the first three books of Mick Herron’s series (on which the show is based) made me feel both seen and loved, you might guess how much.

The trouble was, I couldn’t stop reading the books. That was the intent, of course, of my husband’s ordering them for me, for me to get some time on my own to just recharge. But I don’t think he expected me to get halfway through the first book, Slow Horses, in a bath on that first day. I was glad to have watched the series because the writing was faster than my brain and it took me a little while to fully understand their world, that said, the first book and the first season of the show are nearly identical, though I’m not sorry I experienced both. And the casting of that series is perfect enough that I’ve carried the images of the actors through the books as I’ve read each one.

Stack of Mick Herron's Slough House Books
I read every single book in the series within a month

Truth is, I got so into the series that I read everything I had at hand in the first week. But before I finished the third book another package arrived. My husband had ordered the next three. And so on it went as I raced through every single book, including the accompanying novellas. I got sick one week and spent an entire day reading in bed with the fireplace on during the rainiest spring ever over here. I was reading the books so fast I couldn’t even keep up with my own progress on Goodreads.

Mick Herron Pulls No Punches

As much as the series is one strong continued story line, I’ve loved every book in its own way. I won’t go into details on the stories because I want you to experience them for themselves, but regular, beloved characters die often in this world of intrigue. And sometimes they die ignominiously. There aren’t a lot of rays of sunshine in these books except in the sheer fortitude of these characters going forward to face another day with whatever they have at hand, even if it’s aged technology and a rotting building.

The series is still being written and I appreciated the way that Herron wrote in contemporary events like Brexit, the pandemic, and Jeffrey Epstein without bogging the story too heavily in them. I hope this is something that happens in more books going forward (once we’ve had some time to process anyway), an acknowledgement of some of the heaviness of the last decade as the action of life continues on.

Can A Spy Novel Be Feminist?

The characters are beloved and the characters are awful. Sometimes they are both. One of my favorite depictions is of Roddy Ho, the resident hacker, because Herron does such a brilliant job of inhabiting scenes from Roddy’s stunted (at best) point of view as he cyberstalks women he’s certain are gagging for his love. Spoiler alert, they are not, but the way Herron takes us into his head we understand Roddy better but are not forced to have sympathy for his worldview.

I was jarred when I read the word “tits” in book two or three because the descriptions of the female characters don’t veer into the woman as object trope (thankfully) except when seen from the eyes of specific characters. There are women I fell in love with in these books and women I hated. Mostly they get to be people with good traits and bad. I loved that.

Jackson Lamb, the ostensible caretaker of the whole bunch is easily one of the most offensive characters of the bunch, treating his employees awfully and saying often (“in jest”) things that should not be said. Even he gets complicated, though, as he will go to the ends of the earth for his “Joes” (at least when the threat is coming from outside the office). Gary Oldman was especially beautifully cast in this role.

The Pacing of Slow Horses is Exceptional

One of the tricks Herron employs exceedingly well is constructing the books almost entirely out of very short scenes (one to two pages) that end with small cliff hangers. Each scene is then followed by one from a different point of view that ends with another cliff hanger. The writing and reading feel breathless (in a good way) as a result, and it’s hard to put the books down. Even at bedtime.

A careful reading will show, too, that the cliff hangers are not always what they seem and it’s worth reading as slowly as you can to see exactly what Herron wrote, not what he’s led you to want to read into it.

What Made Me Sad About These Books

There was only one thing that I regretted when reading these books—that my Baba and Djiedo weren’t alive to share them with. My shelves are filled with their old books (see that Bob Hope lingering in the back of the photo above?), and their mystery and spy novels are especially cherished. These Slough House novels are books I very much would have sent to them to share. But I’ve sent them to my dad for Father’s Day instead. The first three anyway, and if he loves them as much as I did then maybe I’ll keep sending them until he’s all caught up. Because the best part of a good book is sharing it.

If you try out the Slough House books, drop me a line and let me know what you think.

Filed Under: Books, Western Europe

My Pandemic Reading List: Stage Four — Evaluation

May 15, 2021 by Isla McKetta, MFA Leave a Comment

When I last wrote about my pandemic experience in December, I was ready for transition. I was thinking about the after, even though we were very much still in the middle. I needed the hope, then, to get through to a time when this might be over. Now that my husband and I are both fully vaccinated (and I believe our son could be before the end of the year), I’m ready to pause for a bit and evaluate where we came from and think critically about where we need to go next.

Who I Was Before

In the middle of a random conversation the other day, I blurted out “remember elevators?” Many things have disappeared from our individual lives this past year as we shrank them to survive. One of the things I set aside was my love of the paranormal. I had quite enough fear in my life as it was, thank you. I knew I was starting to regain bits of my former sense of life when I reached for Victor LaValle’s The Changeling, which both terrified and invigorated me. I took that liveliness and ran with it to read two more spooky books.

Never Have I Ever by Isabel Yap

This collection of eerie short stories quickly became one of my most recommended books. I loved it so much I sent a copy to a friend (another way I’m trying to re-engage with life this year). Yap’s stories span parts of Asia and the U.S. and carry with them bits of lore from all over. They are surprising, smart, and delightfully creepy. Because I work in tech, I hardly ever read fiction about tech life, but the way Yap wove together magic with an insider’s view on this subculture in “A Spell for Foolish Hearts” was insightful and wicked and very much worth the read.

I Remember You by Yrsa Sigurðardóttir

I have not finished this book yet, but it is one of the scariest things I’ve read in a long, long time. A true ghost story, I Remember You is also something that’s formed a new habit for my family: my husband reads a few pages some nights after I go to bed, I catch up in the mornings I wake too early, and our son questions us relentlessly about it over breakfast. I love the book. I love the sharing. I hope we get to do this forever.

How I Am Changing

Wake. Play. Eat. Work. Eat. Play. Work. Cook. Eat. Rest. Sleep.

This is my routine; the way the days blend together; the way time has stopped. I am often so tired during the “rest” portion of my day that I don’t fully comprehend what I’m reading until I’m far into a book—something I was definitely guilty of when reading Bird Summons.

Bird Summons by Leila Aboulela

I bought the book in the minutes following my second vaccination as part of a gleeful armload of treasure acquired during my first visit to a bookstore in over a year. It tells the story of three Muslim women in Scotland on a journey to visit the grave of the first western woman to take a pilgrimage to Mecca. Each of the women is beautifully drawn both in their individual struggles and in the ways they push and pull against one another.

I loved the book immensely even before I realized they had somehow become mired in an in-between place where supernatural elements are converging to help them work through the circular paths they are each trapped in. In ordinary times, this would make for an interesting story. In the now, it’s a poignant reminder that we make our lives and we have the chance to emerge from this bubble into a new, better future.

In the Dream House by Carmen Maria Machado

Speaking of patterns and being doomed to repeat history we haven’t learned from, In the Dream House was not at all what I expected from a memoir of abuse, but it might be the book I need to help me work through some patterns I’d like to shed. Machado’s writing is gorgeous, always, and the book is a tender recounting of a relationship that felt like love, for a time.

The combination of her vulnerability on the page with her willingness to experiment with form allowed me to sink deep into her story. For example, what better way is there to immerse a reader in the trap of the cycle of abuse than a choose your own adventure that always ends in the same place?

Like pregnancy, this time of confinement has led me to look deeply at the relationships in my life and what I do and do not want to carry forward. Machado reminded me that what feels familiar is not always the same as what feels good. And I’m grateful.

What I Must Not Forget

It has been easy in this daily routine to forget what life was like before. And yet we have to make a life after. Two books are helping me remember what’s important to me to carry forward.

Over Sea, Under Stone by Susan Cooper

My son entered a spooky place sometime during the pandemic where he latched on to Scooby-Doo and began asking for more. Although he’s only five, I thought he might be ready for The Dark is Rising series, one of my favorites from childhood. And I was right. I’ve loved every night we’ve cuddled late past bedtime reading just one more page. Over Sea, Under Stone taught me something important, too. As Jane, Barney and Simon crept up to the attic to explore the treasures of the Grey House, I found myself on an adventure with my son. And I remembered what that felt like. How essential adventure used to be to my sense of being, even when I was actively resisting it.

It will be a long time, yet, I think before we hop on a plane to discover another continent, but it will be longer still before I forget the shock of remembering that I almost abandoned something I once held so dear. Our stretches are small as we ease back into life—a Mother’s Day picnic in the park—but they are stretches still.

Dialogues with Rising Tides by Kelli Russell Agodon

I am a writer. This is a through line of my life that I have had to fight for. It is also what carries me forward in the hardest times (like the past year). I often look to Agodon as a model—a successful poet and publisher who lives on the side of the water I dream of. Dialogues with Rising Tides reminded me that her writing is also something I can learn from. I particularly enjoy the breadth of her voice, the way she embraces the quotidian “we’re replacing our cabinet knobs / because we can’t change the world,” casual wit “the apocalypse always shows up / uninvited with a half-eaten bag of chips,” deep insights “She tells me the reason I wake up / screaming is because / no one ever dealt with that pain,” and artful imagery “This is postpartum with suicide corsages.” I don’t always re-read poetry books (the way I should), but I will be re-reading this one.

“Now the only language I speak / is seascape” – Kelli Russell Agodon, Dialogues with Rising Tides

The Work Ahead

While it can feel like the world ended when the pandemic hit, COVID was merely one more travesty in a world where we are not living as we should. Or at least as I hope we can. When I’m actually past the “using all the energy I have for sheer survival,” I want to to more to make a brighter tomorrow for my son and his entire generation. These books are giving me ideas on how to start.

Nicotine by Nell Zink

Nell Zink is the best writer of my generation. She captures the essence of what makes us tick (for better or worse) as individuals and as a society and she’s not afraid to call bullshit when necessary. I was sucked into Nicotine by the descriptions of Penny trying to support her father through hospice and death while the rest of her family found anything else to do. What held me, though, was the nuanced descriptions of the squatters Penny encounters in her grandparents’ former home and the ways that Zink allows her characters to break past the labels we might want to place on them.

I did not fully appreciate what was happening in my city during the WTO riots while I was in college (I was mostly concerned with my hard-working partner being able to get home in the chaos) and I have derided some of the anarchist marches here since. But that does not mean that I believe in capitalism as the answer for our future. Zink made me look more deeply at myself and the values I hold. And she made me think about the future I want to build (all in the guise of a wildly entertaining story).

Undrowned: Black Feminist Lessons from Marine Mammals by Alexis Pauline Gumbs

Speaking of a post-capitalist life…this book is a gorgeous look at what life would look like if we embraced love and humanity as our underlying values, and it’s filled with reminders of the damage we do to ourselves and our planet every day we do not. The ideas lap like ocean tides against loving descriptions of sea life we don’t look at closely enough.

When I first encountered an essay from this book in Boston Review, I dared hope of a world where we could use nuanced discussion, intuition, love and science to make a better future for our planet and ourselves. The full book is a great place to start. Read it.

“We can trust cycles older than our species. We can do this between-work with grace and surrender. With patience and bravery. With all of who we are. And what made us will reclaim us as soon as the tide.” – Alexis Pauline Gumbs, Undrowned.

Filed Under: Books, Western Europe

My Pandemic Reading List: Stage Two — Stasis

May 9, 2020 by Isla McKetta, MFA Leave a Comment

When I last wrote about what I was reading for the pandemic, it was all about preparation — what was essential to know as battened down the hatches. Now it’s been almost two months since my last dine-in meal and we’re as suspended in time as most. Finding a copy of The Sound of Waves by Yukio Mishima (which I have not yet read) at our Little Free Library made me realize that my reading had, necessarily, shifted of late, too. So today I’ll share with you the books that bring me comfort and a thought or two about why reading can feel so hard right now.

Garden by the Sea by Mercè Rodoreda

garden by the sea - rodoredaI confess that my reading of Garden by the Sea by Mercè Rodoreda was broken. I picked it up night after night and would read a few pages before falling asleep with it open and the lamp on. But it wasn’t the book’s fault and in some ways this was the perfect book to read in this way. (In my reading anyway) not a lot happens in the first half of the book.

The narrator is the gardener of a marvelous villa by the sea in 1920s Spain. He shares stories of what’s going on in the big house during the summers, but the story I connected with right now was his life of sitting in a cottage watching that life happen. His residence and employment continued as the property changed hands, as the seasons changed, and as lives were made and ruined nearby. This observer narrator feels less involved in the main drama than Nick Carraway was in The Great Gatsby and I very much connected with the feeling of daily maintenance that was reinforced by Rodoreda’s choice to describe the plants and the care thereof. As though this world will continue on, with minor changes, no matter what happens through the window. It doesn’t hurt that Rodoreda’s writing is gorgeous enough that I felt wrapped in a dream (even when I was still awake).

It helps that we’re investing a lot in our garden right now. Or maybe investing in our garden helps a lot right now. I’ve ripped all the grass out of our front yard and populated it with the few plants that I could order and my first careful reconfiguring of plants we already had. We also planted our veggies early and added a new bed for more. Not only is this all a place to put my angst, it’s also something for the future that I actually have control over.

Now by Antoinette Portis

now - antoinette portisNow is one of the books my son pulls from his shelves when he knows I’m upset and could use a calm down. Beautifully illustrated, this book walks through moments of a young girl’s life. I bought it so he could learn (gently) about mindfulness. Clearly I need it as much for myself. Still, this book is an excellent reminder (for readers of all ages) about appreciating the moments we’re in. At the end of the book, the narrator says “and this is my favorite now, because it’s the one I’m sharing with you” and shows the girl being read to by her mother (at which point my son always gets an extra big hug).

This week I started writing moments in our wall calendar. I needed some reminder that there was purpose to each day and that time is, indeed, passing. Some days are little (we planted seeds yesterday) and some are big (we finished building those new garden beds on Sunday), but these few daily words feel meaningful enough that I plan to go back through my Twitter and phone reel and fill in all the days since March 13.

Also, I’m trying to appreciate things more as they happen and to make magic in simple ways. It’s been a trying week for the whole family, emotionally, but slowing down and looking has helped. One day I lay face down on our grass and watched ants take food back to their hills (did you know they eat dandelion seeds?). Later that night I watched the dust settle in the beam of my son’s lamp as he picked out books. All of these gentle moments helped me reset a little and find the pleasures of now. Best of all, last night I finally traipsed out to get lilacs for my bedside (they’re great for wilding up your dreams). It was late, I was barefoot, and our back porch light was off. My husband came with me and there was definitely magic in realizing how much we could see in the dark and in spotting the big dipper overhead on a balmy night.

Why Reading Feels Impossible

I wish I could recommend to you old favorites like An Atlas of Impossible Longing about feeling angsty or out of place, but even pulling those books from my shelf feels exhausting right now. This came up on a family Zoom call recently—one of those discussions with people you love who are backgrounded by walls full of books you know they’ve actually read—except the conversation was about why we aren’t reading, or why reading feels so hard. For me it’s about empathy.

While reading can be a wonderful escape into another world, reading well and fully also requires us to empathize with the characters, and I don’t know about you, but I don’t have empathy to spare right now. I’m spending all the love and care I can muster on those in my household (trying to reserve some for myself). I’m reaching out to friends I might not otherwise be on schedule to connect with. I’m weeping for strangers in newspapers or on Twitter. And at work I’m trying to think about what our audience needs so I can help them. None of this leaves much room for the fictional characters with whom I usually keep company. So much for the stacks of books that I keep ordering. I guess there will be time for those later.

Are you reading now? If so, what brings you comfort? I could use a few good recommendations before I move on to the “returning to outside life” stage of this pandemic.

Normally at this point I ask you to buy books from indies (yes, please, when you can), but right now the investment I’m making in the literary future involves donating (my money and time) to Seattle City of Literature to help keep our culture vibrant. Please join me in donating, if you can.

Filed Under: Books, Western Europe Tagged With: antoinette portis, Mercè Rodoreda, now

Eight Minutes in Rome with The Pope’s Left Hand by Friedrich Christian Delius

June 8, 2019 by Isla McKetta, MFA Leave a Comment

The Popes Left Hand - DeliusPhillip Lopate once said, “The reason I read nonfiction is to follow an interesting mind.” The best nonfiction example I’ve ever seen of this travel is Virginia Woolf’s “Street Haunting” in which she goes out in search of a pencil and we learn everything there is to know about everything she sees along the way (along with all the associations those things bring up). This meander through an interesting mind is less common, though, in fiction, especially in book-length fiction. This is likely because it’s very hard to sustain over a long period and also because most fictional characters don’t have the breadth of knowledge that makes a mind truly interesting. The Pope’s Left Hand by Friedrich Christian Delius is a wonderful exception.

A Back-Alley Tour of the Corruption of Rome

An 88-page novella about the five to eight minutes that a German tour guide in Rome watches the Pope during a visit to a Protestant church, this book races rather than meanders through topics as varied as “the complete fabrication of the life of St. Francis of Assisi,” the Numidian stallions, and why a Roman police car might park empty in front of a fashionable store. While many of these tangents have corruption at their core, each digression is diverse and detailed enough to be fascinating in its own right (and would have led me on countless Wikipedia dives if I had been anywhere near a computer).

Reading The Pope’s Left Hand is like having a drunken dinner with a disgruntled and wildly intelligent tour guide as he goes off on a city that he’s grown weary of but can’t get off of his mind. It is both fascinating and entertaining. I learned countless things about the personalities attached to the Catholic Church, the Roman Empire, and the Nazi invasion of Rome. None are subjects I would have considered myself ignorant of, but Delius took me deeper and tied the stories together in waves that enhanced my understanding. There are remarks on tourists, a history of the relic of Jesus’s foreskin, and more than a few pokes at Augustine.

Grounding the Reader in a Non-traditional Narrative

One of the things I have hated about Roberto Bolaño is the feeling that I’m trapped next to him at a bar and he just won’t shut up. Which is to say that I’m not always down for a chatty narrator who thinks I should be interested in what he has to say. In The Pope’s Left Hand, though, Delius draws me in with his careful observation, applying an archaeologist’s eye to every detail of the few minutes the narrator is in the Pope’s presence. This gives the reader something concrete to hold as the diversions start. Most importantly, Delius returns us again and again to our close observation of that hand. It’s these loops that give the book a strong enough structure to hold the digressions together.

“There are sights more exciting than the pope in profile, and I felt little inclined to stare at one side of a milky, careworn face. I just peered over at the partially shaded hands, hanging, resting, supporting, on their fingers no sign of the ring that his subordinates and the devout are wont to kiss. Turn on your brain camera, I commanded, point the zoom at the hands.” – Friedrich Christian Delius

In the beginning it’s necessary for Delius to intersperse these observations more closely to build the groundwork for us to return to. As the book continues, though, he’s free to wander farther and farther because the moment is built and we know already what we’ll be coming back to.

My only advice when reading this book is to find a place where you can sit with it uninterrupted for a couple of hours. That’s the closest you’re likely to get to the full feeling of spending the evening with Delius’s fascinating narrator.

To tour millennia of Rome’s corruptions with Friedrich Christian Delius, pick up a copy of The Pope’s Left Hand from Powell’s Books. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.

Filed Under: Books, Western Europe Tagged With: rome, St. Augustine, the pope's left hand

Revisiting a Beloved Childhood Favorite for #TheDarkisReading: The Dark is Rising by Susan Cooper

December 23, 2017 by Isla McKetta, MFA Leave a Comment

the dark is rising - susan cooperWhen I saw on Twitter that Robert Macfarlane had proposed a book group where we all start reading The Dark is Rising by Susan Cooper on Midwinter’s Eve (the day the book starts) and share our experiences under the hashtag #TheDarkisReading, I was in heaven. He’d brought together my so many of my favorite things in one simple idea: my favorite social platform, sharing thoughts about books, and a beloved childhood classic. What a wonderful trip the past few days have been.

The First Time I Read The Dark is Rising

I can’t remember if I was nine or ten when I read Greenwitch, the third book in this series, for school, but I was instantly hooked and read the whole series. Though I’ve always been a reader, this was my first “gotta read ’em all” experience. I don’t remember a lot else from that first exposure, except a swelling pride in my Welsh heritage and maybe (just once I swear) asking my mom if we were descended from Welsh magicians. And when I saw the word “rook” in this text, I remembered these books were my introduction to that word (and others) and what that quest to understand first felt like.

The Dark is Rising in the Past 30 Years

I may have re-read the series once since I was a child, but my main relationship to the books since then has been forcing them on anyone I cared about who I thought would enjoy the books themselves and maybe also sharing in this magical other world that I carried in my heart. My victims included my brother (who lost my copies but eventually bought me the new ones I’m reading today), my now husband (who probably never actually read the books but humored me with Salinger so he’s forgiven), and my stepbrother (who found the books too scary at his tender age and was the reason I stopped forcing them on people). I’ve been saving my (new, thanks Tosh!) copies in my son’s closet for the day I thought he might be ready for them, but at the age of two he thinks Gruffalo is scary, so we have a ways to go.

What Re-reading The Dark is Rising Felt Like

The Old is New Again

In opening The Dark is Rising for the first time in decades this past week, I realized how little I remembered and how much this book now reminded me of other books. From echoes of Woolf’s To the Lighthouse on the first page to more expected similarities between Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings and Grossman’s The Magicians and L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time. Some of these convergences are unavoidable coincidences of trope and some are loving tributes (in all directions because some of those books predate The Dark is Rising, one is a contemporary of the book and one is modern to now). Regardless, The Dark is Rising manages to feel fresh and compelling throughout. Even to someone who’s read it before.

Coming of Age, Coming to Light

“As he stared at the fierce, secret lines of that face, the world he had inhabited since he was born seemed to whirl and break and come down again in a pattern that was not the same as before.” – Susan Cooper, The Dark is Rising

Perhaps one of the most important things The Dark is Rising made me appreciate was the way books written for children use the specialness of one child to inspire generations of children on their own individual quests for greatness. This should have occurred to me with Harry Potter (which I still haven’t read) or any number of other books, but the craft in The Dark is Rising is such that I could see how other children could aspire to be like Will, an otherwise ordinary boy among a passel of siblings, who happens to be born on Midwinter’s Day as the seventh son of a seventh son. It isn’t until his eleventh birthday that he starts to realize he is special, the last of the Old Ones to be born, and even that realization takes much coaching from a mysterious old fellow called Merriman Lyon (a name that made my heart leap with glee and reminded me instantly of his true name—but that’s a story for another book).

“He was crystal-clear awake, in a Midwinter Day that had been waiting for him to wake into it since the day he had been born, and, he somehow knew, for centuries before that.” – Susan Cooper, The Dark is Rising

This type of story reaches into the heart of every child at an age where they’re growing from the light of their mothers’ eyes to being parts of a much larger world. It’s a tricky age and a difficult transition and, while a standard formulation for a coming of age novel, Cooper does a better job than most of creating that atmosphere where each of us is special enough to become something more than we are today. She shows us some of the struggles and the work, specialness isn’t simply handed out, and that we each have a role to play. Whether we’re descended from Welsh magicians or not.

The Craft of Unfolding

The biggest literary lesson I’m taking away from The Dark is Rising is how Cooper uses Merriman Lyon to teach the reader about the world Will is newly entering. On the surface, Merriman is teaching Will with lines like “Expect nothing and fear nothing, here or anywhere” because the Dark cannot kill an Old One, but these words also tell the reader what to expect. From direct instructions on what will come next to advice on how to cope, Merriman imparts these lessons throughout the book which keeps Will from bumbling through a disorganized quest and also helps us understand the rules of the book we are reading. This is not a tactic I’d actually recommend to most writers because it’s far too easy to end up telling the reader things you want them to experience instead, but Cooper’s allusions are just delicate enough and the rest of the text enthralling enough that it’s the perfect choice here.

About the Magic

I start to crave magical stories at this time of year. Maybe it’s because I’m not religious but would like to be. Maybe because my dad read Lord of the Rings to my brother and me at a very early age. Or maybe it’s because it’s easy to get a little cooped up in a Seattle winter. But I had just finished binge-watching the latest season of The Magicians on Netflix when it was time to read The Dark is Rising and I didn’t see the connection until I read this piece in The Guardian and understood that this is a season when many of us seek wonder. Because virgin births and a man who can fit through every chimney don’t quite do it for me (though my son thinks Santa is the shit), I’m glad for a great series of books that can connect me to a more ancient form of wonder.

I sometimes wish I could write books like these—full of wonder and eschewing the boundaries of our world. I can’t, yet, but I can run back and start this series over again with Over Sea, Under Stone. Maybe we can re-read it together.

Buy The Dark is Rising for a young person, buy it for yourself. If you buy it from Powell’s Books using that link, your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.

Filed Under: Books, Western Europe Tagged With: #thedarkisreading, coming of age, magic, susan cooper, the dark is rising

  • 1
  • 2
  • 3
  • …
  • 9
  • Next Page »
  • RSS
  • Tumblr
  • Twitter

Get New Posts via Email

My Books

Polska, 1994

Polska 1994

Clear Out the Static in Your Attic

Clear Out the Static in Your Attic_cover

Recent Posts

  • Reading All About Love and Rabbits with Bell Hooks and Kate DiCamillo
  • Racing Through Mick Herron’s Slow Horses
  • My Favorite Books of 2021
  • Finding Home in The Velvet Room by Zilpha Keatley Snyder
  • Revolutionary Mothering and the Healing Power of Radical Love

What I’m Reading

Isla's bookshelf: currently-reading

Birds of America
Birds of America
by Lorrie Moore
The Ecstasy of Influence: Nonfictions, Etc.
The Ecstasy of Influence: Nonfictions, Etc.
by Jonathan Lethem
The Souls of Black Folk
The Souls of Black Folk
by W.E.B. Du Bois
Bomb: The Author Interviews
Bomb: The Author Interviews
by BOMB Magazine
On Writing
On Writing
by Jorge Luis Borges

goodreads.com

Let’s Tweet About Books

Tweets by @islaisreading
Content copyright Isla McKetta © 2022.