A different set of gods

I am one of those rare birds who have not yet read the big works of Neil Gaiman that made him such a big deal in the public sphere - American Gods or The Sandman graphic novels, for example - although I have read The Ocean at the End of the Lake, and I did love that book, very very much indeed. I am also currently listening to the audiobook of Good Omens, co-written by Gaiman and Terry Pratchett and which is absolutely and indisputably the most hilarious book I've ever read (listened to), so thanks to the Penguin Podcast for the recommendation.

I've had my eyes on Norse Mythology for some time and, although I knew it would be good, I didn't expect to open it at 9am on a sunny Saturday and to finish it by 2pm, only getting up for tea and occasional toilet breaks.

Much like Stephen Fry's Mythos, Neil sets out to retell the stories of the gods - except the gods of a slightly different world. These are the stories of Thor, Odin, Loki and the likes from Asgard, Yggdrasil (the world tree), the stories of frost giants and plotting dwarves, and of course, Ragnarok - the end of days and a new beginning.

What did I like about it?

Seeing as I enjoyed reading the Greek myths so much as retold by Stephen Fry, I can't help but compare Norse Mythology to Mythos. This was a hugely enjoyable retelling of stories from Nordic mythology, and while Stephen Fry takes a somewhat cheeky, tongue-in-cheek approach, often even picking sides, Neil writes his stories with a degree of seriousness, as if we're really gathered around a fire on a frosty winter's night, retelling tales of the old. "Nothing there is that does not love the sun," he writes. "Now I shall tell you of the days to come," he says as he guides us into the story of Ragnarok.

Nordic mythology is incredibly different from the Greek world. Nordic gods seem less capricious, less interested in unnecessary drama; they don't seem to regard humans as their plaything, a species to be meddled with for their own entertainment. In fact, they hardly come into contact with the human race at all. They'd rather keep to themselves and their realms: the land of the dwarves, the light elves, the frost giants or the land of the dead - ruled by the most terrifying character of all: Loki's daughter, Hel, with half a healthy, beautiful face and half a face of a corpse, long dead. There is much less coitus than in the Greek tales; Nordic gods are more interested in adventuring, slaying beasts, wrestling giants, outsmarting each other and dealing out horrible punishments.

It has to be said, though, that Nordic gods aren't the brightest, either; even though Odin gave an eye for wisdom and hung himself from a branch of Yggdrasil in exchange for powers, they still seem quite gullible and can easily make the same mistakes over and over. Thor himself isn't the brains of the operation - as often reflected in the Marvel films too - although he is certainly the strongest. But the characters are complex, curious, proud and incredibly competitive, providing endless joy for readers of these stories.

What was I not massively fond of?

Annoyingly, much like my last review of a Neil Gaiman book, I've not much to add here. It's not Neil's fault that, as he points out in the introduction, stories of the female gods have not been as well preserved as those of the men - perhaps it's out turn to make some of these up.

I would have liked to see a graph of the gods to be able to place every one of them, although this family is much smaller and easier to trace than that of the Greeks. There is a helpful glossary at the end though, as to be expected.

Overall...

"The Norse myths are the myths of a chilly place, with long, long winter nights and endless summer days, myths of a people who did not entirely trust or even like their gods, although they respected and feared them." How different, then, to think of the god-fearing Greeks who were expected to make sacrifices before and after any journey, for any feast, for any event really.

I find there is something so compelling, so magically binding and attractive about the Norse world - the cold, the Northern lights, Valhalla in a plain field under misty skies, gifts of gold from highly skilled dwarves, ships that fold into handkerchiefs and a giant, monstrous wolf that will one day swallow the moon and the sun... No wonder I was addicted to playing Skyrim for so long.

There is everything and more to love about this book, and if you're like me, you can easily read it in a few short, delightful hours. If you can, aim to have an open fire nearby.

9/10

The Binding by Bridget Collins: Should you judge by a cover?

The first time I started paying attention to The Binding by Bridget Collins was in July 2018 - at least that's when I marked it as 'to-read' on my Goodreads. The second time was when I pre-ordered a gorgeous, purple-edged, signed copy from Waterstones in December 2018. This says a lot about the massive build-up to its publication, and the effort behind the marketing campaign from the Borough Press - kudos to the team at this beloved publisher.

When I first picked up a physical copy, I realised, strangely, that I had very little idea of what it was actually about. Clearly, I'd been distracted by this gorgeous cover - I mean, you should see the spine! This is probably the most beautiful book I own, hands down. But whether it was going to be any good, I wasn't actually sure.

If you'd rather not have any spoilers, I urge you to just read the 'Overall...' section.

How to sum up The Binding? It's a story of fantasy fiction/romance set in a Victorian-style world, where people can have their memories bound in a book - that is, memories can be taken away, written up and locked away safely. The only way to remember them again is if the book is destroyed. Emmett, our main character, has a calling to become a binder, and starts an apprenticeship at the local binder's as our story begins. One day, he discovers a book with his name on it, and his world is never quite the same again after.

What did I like about it?

A concept is often enough to get me interested in a book. This was the case with Suicide Club, but unlike with that novel, The Binding carries its creative concept throughout the book successfully, for the most part. There are questions of morality and happiness to be raised, because although the subject has to consent to have their memories bound, they can still be coerced into agreeing to the process. The idea has a lot of potential, and although I think there was a lot more to be explored, the main storyline does concern itself with the question of free will, blissful ignorance and whether finding out the truth is always the right thing to do.

Although someone a bit less naive than myself would probably have guessed it earlier, I was pleasantly surprised that the advertised romantic thread was in fact between two men. Bridget's writing is delicate, touching and writes about the relationship exactly as it should be written: noting nothing out of the ordinary.

In fact, Bridget's writing flows very well throughout, and it must be said that The Binding is a very easy and pleasing read in terms of language. There were a few golden nuggets of pure literary writing, such as when a character describes seeing their father cry as there being "something indecent about it, like nakedness or uncooked meat." As the book is divided into three parts - with the first two being told from Emmett's point of view, and the third from his lover, Lucian's - I think the first part took a while to hook me. The book really blooms in the second part, where I think both the writing and story are at their strongest; the third section is well-written but dark, troubled and perhaps a bit rushed.

What was I not massively fond of?

In terms of story, what I noticed was the huge amount of locations that the characters move across. From Emmett's home through Lucian's uncle's castle, the old bindery, the ruins, Castleford and even numerous houses within Castleford, I think this perhaps could have been cut down a little - as I found that all this movement made things a tad too event-packed.

I also felt that Bridget revelled in describing physical agony and furious anger throughout, which sometimes felt maybe a bit too passionate for a given situation. All of her characters endured dizziness, nausea and splitting headaches intermittently, but also rage - especially Emmett towards Lucian, before he comes to terms with the reality of his feelings. This rage, however, was just a little too drawn out for me; although what do I know about facing hidden feelings? My feels are usually on my sleeve. Anyway, apart from the furious stare-offs that the boys (or men? We never truly find out their age) insist on, it's nothing that can't be overlooked.

Overall...

I don't know what it's like to graduate from only writing young-adult novels to writing your first adult novel. Here's a question for your next book club: what makes a novel 'adult'? A smooth transition was Holly Bourne's How Do You Like Me Now? (which is, well, a perfect book). I'm not sure that The Binding is for adults. It feels like it's knocking on the door of adulthood, but maybe facing feelings that seem 'shameful' and adding in a touch of brutality doesn't necessarily make a book an adult one.

I really enjoyed reading The Binding, but I also don't think it's a story I'll remember for a long time. Perhaps there were just too many focus points, which diluted the original concept. Perhaps it's that I never really identified with the characters, feeling that I didn't know them well enough.

It's a beautiful book, and a good read - I'd recommend it for your Christmas break, or the pool side. That's not to diminish though; those are the times when I want something readable and enjoyable, not to mention those are pretty much my favourite times to read.

6/10

Could we be Heroes?

Thus continues my deep dive into Greek mythology - as expected. From Circe by Madeline Miller and Mythos by Stephen Fry, my journey took me on a quest to Troy and back - via The Iliad and The Odyssey - to now winding up in the world of mortals, with 'a bit' of help from Stephen Fry again.

Heroes is the second volume of Mythos, if you will; while the first book concerned itself with the comings and goings of the Greek gods, in this book Stephen turns his attention to mortal struggles. From Perseus through Bellerophon to Theseus and Heracles, all the big ones make an appearance - even Atalanta, who happens to be a badass princess who hunts and uses a bow and was raised by bears. You can't get much cooler than that.

What did I like about it?

For those that read my review of Mythos, you will know that I spared no enthusiasm in describing Stephen's writing style, and I can't help but continue. His tongue-in-cheek approach to sometimes seriously confusing myths comes across even more in this book - the humans really take a beating sometimes - but this is what helps keep this book entertaining, and make it unique among the (I imagine) countless retellings of Greek mythology.

Despite venturing into the mortal world, there are still countless mythological beasts to be slain, tamed, captured or borrowed (in the case of Heracles and Cerberus, the three-headed guardian of the underworld) - conveniently so for all these young fools determined to become heroes themselves. There is also, unsurprisingly, more treachery, more weird family ties, more labours to be completed. It seems mortal heroes simply cannot extricate themselves from an endless cycle of committing blood crimes and then labouring for decades in order to be cleansed.

Often referencing back to Mythos in footnotes, Stephen does everything in his power to help readers wrap their heads around all the connections, be it between characters, storylines or cause-and-effect connections. So it's not essential to have read Mythos, but I would certainly think Heroes is more enjoyable if you had read it. And enjoyed it.

What was I not massively fond of?

My biggest issue with Heroes was the near-impossibility in remembering who is who. I don't blame Stephen for this - he really does his best to help - but I do think a graphical chart (much like the one on the Olympus generations in Mythos, repeated on the first pages of Heroes) would have been immensely helpful. There are 25 pages describing every mortal character that had appeared in the book; twenty-five! And those are just the mortals! I struggled with distinguishing my Pelius from my Pelias; my Iphitus from my Iphicles. And while in Mythos it felt alright to just swiftly move on when I didn't remember everyone, I think Heroes is better enjoyed when all characters are remembered separately, backstory and all. Mainly because almost everything is connected.

I also took an issue with footnotes that referenced stories we hadn't read yet. I think back-referencing makes perfect sense and is very helpful; but to mention a connection with a story I haven't yet read makes little sense to me.

In terms of writing, I did find that Heroes was often more casual and conversational than Mythos, sometimes perhaps a little too much for me. Reading this conversation, for example, I remember forgetting that I was reading Greek mythology, so everyday and casual did the writing feel:

'You're late, darling.'
'Mum, what's a "Medusa"?'
'Perseus, have you been drinking?'
'Maybe. Just a cup or two.'
'A hiccup or two, by the sound of it.'
'No, but seriously, what's a Medusa?'

See what I mean?

And last, but not least: the format of this book... To be able to read Heroes on the go, I needed the following:

• a backpack large enough to fit the book in
• a seat on the train
• if I couldn't obtain a seat on the train, highly developed and regularly trained thumb muscles
• lots of calcium to avoid hand cramps

In short, this is a giant, heavy, large-sized hardback that is an absolute pain to carry around, and it baffles me that someone thought this was the right format. It feels slightly larger than your normal hardback (in terms of length) which means it doesn't fit in my usual backpack - or if it does it pokes out heavily, causing a literal pain in the back.

Overall...

Although I very much enjoyed reading Heroes, I did find it a bit more over-the-top tongue-in-cheek than Mythos. Perhaps it's the mortals' fault for being so damn ordinarily human; we still got to see Zeus in the form of a golden shower though, and a talking figurehead on the Argo, and of course there's the ever-popular Minotaur, making an appearance as a near-human full of empathy and a death wish for the sake of everyone. Touching.

If you enjoyed Mythos, there is no doubt it's worth continuing on with this second volume. Just be warned that humans haven't changed so much since ancient Greece... See Theseus:

When he [Pirithous] proposed the insane idea of descending into the realm of the dead and snatching Persephone from under the very nose of her husband Hades, Theseus the hero, Theseus the wise, Theseus the clever, Theseus the great king and counsellor nodded his head vigorously.
'Why not? Sounds like fun.'

Serves him right though, because although he gets rescued by Heracles, he leaves with a very flat bum indeed, having most of his behind ripped off by the stone throne he had been bound to with snakes. Dumbass.

7/10

Mike Shanahan is reaching for heaven

Happy new year everyone! Where is my 2018 in review, you ask? I've moved swiftly on. A, because I couldn't pick my favourite book and B, because I've only actually launched the blog in July 2018, so is it really fair? No, you see.

I kicked the year off on a high though with Ladders to Heaven by Mike Shanahan. Not only is this the first Unbound book that I've bought (I wish I'd participated in the funding!) but it's also one that I've been eyeing up for a while.

Ladders to Heaven is, as you see on the cover, The Secret History of Fig Trees. It might as well be the history of secret(ive) trees, on the other hand, because who would have thought that fig trees are this fascinating? The book covers everything from myths and legends mentioning them, through famous biologists who have uncovered hundreds of different species (and how they did it), to how fig trees helped re-populate islands and territories affected by volcanic eruption. Amazing stuff.

What did I like about it?

I am a sucker for books on random topics, and Mike Shanahan has written a fascinating, in-depth and comprehensive account of these amazing creatures that I knew very little about (even though there's a fig tree growing - strong word - on my balcony!). I've learnt about how fig trees were considered flowerless - until (spoiler alert) it was discovered their flowers grew on the inside of their fruit. I've learnt about fig-wasps, these specialised little creatures who are the sole spreaders of fig pollen. I've understood why so many cultures worship these trees even today. Birds, bats, monkeys, insects and a whole range of other animals also make an appearance on the scene.

But further to this, Shanahan - who has written for, amongst others, New Scientist, The Economist and BBC Earth - is a great nature writer. He has immense experience in travelling and observing fig trees up close and personal, and his enthusiasm can't help but rub off on the reader: "It is hard to explain, but I could feel the concentration of life around me, as if its great density there had somehow reached into me physically. What struck me was the neutrality of that force. There was no malice or love there, just existence."

Lots to be said for lovely illustrations here and there:

What was I not massively fond of?

There was quite literally only one section I cringed at a little, and only because for me, here the author entered - if only for a brief section - into dangerously soppy-land (page 28). More specifically, just this:

"The monk smiled like Mona Lisa and we decided to follow."

Other than this small, monk-related section, I think Shanahan keeps things factual, brilliantly descriptive and vivid all the way through.

Overall...

A few years back, I had a little taster of the fascinating lives of fig trees in a New Yorker article by Ben Crair, and Shanahan has expanded my knowledge and interest massively. Unlike The Glorious Life of the Oak, which was short, high-level and mostly poetry, this book delivers in giving a comprehensive image on these fascinating trees.

Fig trees have helped populate desolate land and have survived volcanic eruption. They have over 700 different species and can be found all over the world. They can look like this (mind you this is one single tree):

So why the hell wouldn't you want to learn more?

9/10