Well, I have three things to say about this book, but before I get going, I must reiterate from my previous post that His Majesty’s Dragon does not read like a trashy best-seller. It is very well-written and well-planned. I detected no loopholes or forgotten threads in the plot, everything makes sense and hangs together, there weren’t too many adverbs, and aside from a couple of really minor events the plot twists were unpredictable.

Ok. First. As you know, I’m a big fan of Patrick O’Brian; I’ve read all twenty of the fabulous Aubrey-Maturin books several times each and I can’t seem to stop blabbing about it either. So I am by now fairly familiar with Age of Sail terminology, geography, and some of the major battles & historical figures. One of the things I love the most about PO’B is that there is no exposition at all in his books. He never explains anything to his modern readers. No paragraphs begin with “It was April, 1805. Napoleon had just…” And yet, somehow, you always know what’s going on. He doesn’t ever tell, but he shows. And because of that he makes you feel like an insider, like an accomplice. Yeah, you know what’s going on. True, he uses the plot device of making Dr. Maturin a clueless landlubber who doesn’t know larboard from starboard and can’t climb aboard without getting wet. But mainly what this does is make you laugh at the dear doctor; the fact that you too are learning the difference between larboard and starboard is secondary.

Naomi Novik does the same thing. Not only is there no exposition about the war or the society or any of that, but there’s no exposition about the dragons either. All is gradually revealed, but she doesn’t tell, she shows. She uses the same plot device, by the way, making the human protagonist an outsider who must learn the ropes. We incidentally learn along with the protagonist, but the fun is in his learning (and his occasional blunders).

The second thing I loved about this book is the way she integrates the dragons into the story. Now, I should confess that “High Fantasy” is my second-least favorite genre, beaten only by chick lit. (Aside: here‘s my post on chick lit, if you are curious.) I don’t know why I should dislike High Fantasy, especially considering how much I love D&D, but there it is. Well, I should be a little more specific. What I really hate is High Fantasy that takes place in another world that has no reference to ours. I like fantasy if it includes some quasi-rational explanation for its existence. Roger Zelazny’s Chronicles of Amber are a great example of this — ours is one of many shadow worlds, etc. Or Harry Potter: the one thing I really like about them is that they take place in our world. Narnia, ditto — if you have the right wardrobe, you can get there from here.

His Majesty’s Dragon, of course, takes place entirely in our world. Not only that, but the dragons don’t seem at all like mythical or magical creatures. They just seem like rare, large, gorgeous, flying creatures. There are experts who study them; there is some attempt at explanation (they have “air sacs”); it’s evident that the author has thought about evolutionary adaptations and so forth. Their integration into the world, from a literary point of view, is absolutely seamless.

And third. While it’s obvious that this book incorporates two genres, historical fiction and high fantasy, I think it also incorporates a third: animal stories. I’d bet anything that the author was crazy about horses at some point in her life. Because that’s what the dragons remind me of. Super intelligent horses. I mean this in the best possible way. The way the captain’s relationship with his dragon grows from initial reluctance to acceptance and eventually deep love and mutual respect is as moving as anything you’ll find in James Herriot. And it’s interesting how Novik makes the dragons seem animal-like despite the fact that they are as intelligent (or more!) as humans. Why is that? I don’t know. I have to think about this some more…

* * *

His Majesty’s Dragon was also reviewed by:

• Reading Adventures
• Finding Wonderland
• Book Nut

Anyway, we were wandering in the Mystery / Suspense / Thriller section and I happened to notice a book called The Second Chair, by John Lescroart. I thought the title was intriguing, and I imagined that perhaps it was a mystery / suspense / thriller book about an orchestra. You know, disgruntled second violinist kills concertmaster in fit of pique. (I wish someone would write that book!) Well I looked at the blurb and the first sentence was: “Although he appears to have reached the top, Dismas Hardy, rainmaker and managing partner of his thriving San Francisco law firm, has lost his faith in the justice system.”

It’s been a long time since I’ve indulged in this genre. I used to read quite a bit of it. In fact the reason we were wandering the section in the first place was because Steve and I had been talking about Frederick Forsyth, whom I used to think was one of the better writers. When I read that sentence in the store last night, it instantly became clear to me that what my life was lacking at the moment was none other than a good hardboiled courtroom thriller full of DAs and cops and witnesses and reporters and corpses and weapons and city politics and whatnot. If some of the main characters happen to be tortured souls drowning their secret sorrows in too much whiskey, so much the better.

I read the book today, all 450 pages of it. Once I started, I really couldn’t stop. But, I’m sorry to say, it wasn’t all that great. Here’s a laundry list:

1. Too much description of people’s looks and why do we need to know everyone’s racial and/or ethnic background?
2. The main defense attorney, okay, she was supposed to be young and inexperienced, but what the heck? The mistakes she made were so stupid I don’t know how she ever passed the bar in the first place, let alone got hired by this firm.
3. The characters with secret sorrows and too much whiskey? Ha ha, I just wish I could resolve my own secret sorrows as neatly and easily as they did theirs.
4. The plot was totally predictable. Every single twist. I guess the main reason I kept reading was because I assumed the obvious solution was too obvious, and that there would be a real surprise twist at the end. There wasn’t.

However… despite the laundry list, it was fun to dip into that world of DAs and cops and witnesses and reporters and corpses and weapons and city politics and whatnot. Despite the clumsy plot twists and unbelievable coincidences, it was pretty readable.

And… I have to confess. I feel particularly forgiving of this writer because it turns out that he’s a fan of Patrick O’Brian! He has to be. Why else would he go to the trouble of telling us that in the detective’s office there is a bookcase with an entire section “devoted to Patrick O’Brian’s seafaring books, Glitsky’s ongoing passion now for the past few years, and the other highly esoteric reference books that accompanied these novels — Lobscouse and Spotted Dog, Harbors and High Seas, A Sea of Words, a biography of Thomas Cochrane, who’d been O’Brian’s inspiration for Jack Aubrey.” Can you believe it? Didn’t I just mention Lobscouse and Spotted Dog and my last post? Oh yes, and a little bit later in the book he has a different character quote Lord Nelson — the famous quote that Capt. Aubrey loves so much: “never mind manoeuvres, go straight at ‘em.” For that alone, this book could have been a lot worse and I still would have loved it.

In an effort to reduce our carbon footprint and get some much-needed exercise at the same time, I’ve been trying to bike more and drive less. This summer I’ve been biking around town quite a bit, and learning a lot in the process.

1. My house is on top of a hill. I never realized this before. It is, though. No matter what direction I go, it’s downhill! Not so’s you’d notice if you were driving, but very noticeable on a bike. And it’s great for my self-esteem. When I arrive at my destination, breathing easy, not a hair out of place, having taken hardly more time than I would have driving, I feel gr-r-r-r-r-reat! Returning home, now, that’s another matter. :P

2. Ann Arbor is not a bike-friendly town. You’d think, being a liberal college town and all. But no. Maybe we’re just too close to the Motor City. (Public transportation has never really caught on here either.) We do have bike lanes on some streets, but they often end abruptly in the middle of a block, and the areas that need them most, like, oh, maybe, gee, DOWNTOWN? don’t have them at all. Actually, what scares me the most is riding next to parked cars. I’m just terrified that someone’s going to open the door on me. Oh yes, and making left turns. How the hell do you make a left turn in traffic? Seriously, I would appreciate some advice. Anyone?

3. You can carry groceries in a backpack. But I would really like a basket for my bike. I have bonded deeply with my bike since I got it a year ago, and I think it deserves one of these beauties.

4. I miss my car. Actually, I knew this would happen. I love to drive. Especially country roads, but interstates and even downtown at rush hour are fine with me, too. One of the things you can do while driving that you can’t while biking is think about other things. Biking, I find, requires intense, focused concentration. Even if I owned an iPod I wouldn’t dare listen to music while biking. Which brings me to my final point:

5. I miss my audiobook. As you may recall, I’ve been listening to Post Captain. (I’ve discovered more words I’ve been mispronouncing, by the way. Who would’ve guessed that the charming insult “blackguard” is pronounced “blaggard”?) But for various reasons, I can only listen in the car. Driving Daniel to and from preschool allowed me to listen for about half an hour each day that he went, but they are closed during the month of July. I have four disks left. It was due back to the library a week ago. Someone has it on hold so I can’t renew it. I feel terrible for that person — I would hate to have to wait for my POB — but I can’t return it until I’m done. I don’t mind the fines, but the thought that I’m depriving someone else… yet the thought of giving it up without finishing it… Aaargh!

So, I finally got around to joining The Gunroom — the Patrick O’Brian fan mailing list that’s been going on for a decade or so. Holy cow! These people are amazing! I thought css-discuss was a high-volume mailing list with its 50 or so messages a day, but The Gunroom easily gets over a hundred. And except when they’re punning and teasing each other (occupations which are also true to the POB spirit, by the way; if you don’t believe me, ask me why the short watches on a ship are called the dog watches, heh heh) — as I say, except when they are joking around, these hundred or so messages a day comprise detailed and deep discussions of every aspect of these books you could possibly think of. Everything from in-depth character analyses with plenty of supporting quotes from the texts, to historical research on how many lieutenants would actually have been allowed aboard a ship of the Surprise‘s size. And the discussion is liberally peppered with POBisms, e.g. beginning sentences with “Which” or “Not as who should say” or ending them with “for all love” or “the creature.” Which I am mostly just lurking in awe over there, and loving every minute.

One of the recent discussions had to do with the various different audio versions of the Canon. (That’s what they call it, the Canon.) They were comparing different narrators and discussing something which I have also wondered about, namely, how strong was Stephen’s Irish accent? On the one hand, his speech is full of Irish idiom, but on the other hand it often happens that other characters don’t realize he is Irish. Is it because his accent is too subtle? Or because the characters who insult the Irish to his face are just clueless? Anyway, the end result of this discussion was that I went to the library and got me the audio version of Post Captain, narrated by the late great Patrick Tull.

As you may remember, I’m not a big fan of audio books. I don’t process aural information very well. I’m very visually-oriented and I need to see it to comprehend it. Listening, my mind wanders all over the place. And I can tell you for sure that if I hadn’t already read the book several several times I would not be enjoying this at all. But since I have already read the book several several times, well, I am loving it on tape. For one thing, even though I’m not very aural, I do like to know how things are pronounced. I’ve made some interesting discoveries. Like, topgallant isn’t pronounced top gallant; it’s t’gallant. I am on the edge of my seat waiting to hear him pronounce the name Heneage (Hen-ee-idge? Hen-idge? Heen-idge? Hen-eedge?). And I’m even more on the edge of my seat waiting to hear him utter the creaking sound that passes for Stephen’s laughter. :)

This is probably the only video I will ever embed in this blog. Here’s Patrick Tull reading the great climactic scene from Reverse of the Medal. Get your hanky ready.

‘Mr Rowbotham,’ he called to a midshipman on the leeward side, ‘jump up to the foretopmast crosstrees and tell Mr Jagiello, with my compliments, that I would like to speak to him, when he is at leisure. And harkee, Mr Rowbotham, he is to come down through the lubber’s hole, d’ye hear me? There is to be no skylarking, no sliding down the backstays.’

‘No sir. Yes sir,’ said Rowbotham, and shot into the rigging with the speed if not the grace of his cousin the ring-tailed lemur.

His cousin the ring-tailed lemur. His cousin. Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but doesn’t that phrase suggest at least a passing familiarity with the theory of evolution? However, On the Origin of Species wasn’t published until 1859, long after the novel takes place. Can someone help me out with this? Is there another reasonable interpretation, or does my idol have feet of clay?