The Ladies of Grace Adieu and Other Stories
Author: Susanna Clarke
Readers: Davina Porter and Simon Prebble
Short Review: Clarke’s entrancing, charming short stories about the magical world introduced in Jonathan Strange & Mr.Norrell particularly focusing on the women who practice magic in this alternate England and run-ins between Englishpeople and faeries. Prebble and Porter are incomparably good readers, taking turns reading stories about men and women, respectively. Clarke’s storytelling is downright fascinating, and her language precise and beautiful. I love this audiobook, have listened to it twice, and know I’ll listen to it again and again. I cannot recommend it highly enough.
Long Review: I absolutely loved Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell. The only real fault I found with it (and yes, I know this is obnoxious) was Prebble’s mispronunciation of the word sidhe. Prebble reads the first section of this book, and I can’t tell you how widely I smiled when he said sidhe, and said it correctly. We language geeks can be pleased just as easily as we can be annoyed.
The title story of this volume is one of the real gems of the book. It describes Jonathan Strange’s meeting with the ladies of Grace Adieu, where his brother-in-law serves as a preacher. The Ladies, of course, practice magic in secret: in this alternate England, most Englishmen assume no women have any truck with magic, and that no one alive apart from Norrell and Strange has any real power. Porter narrates this story, and her reading is fantastic. She uses a precise, posh British accent for many of the characters, but switches deftly from one character and accent to another. She keeps to a quick pace, but her diction is so clear that no meaning or words are lost. Porter also reads “Mrs. Mabb;” “On Lickerish Hill,” a retelling of Rumpelstiltskin; and “Antickes and Frets.” The latter two are particularly dear to me because they trace magical spinning and magical attacks via embroidery. As a fiber-artist, I love to see anyone write well about fiber arts.
Prebble reads the introduction and the other stories in the book. Of his, my favorite is “John Uskglass and the Cumbrian Charcoal Burner,” the final story in the book. It’s a comic story about the play between the Raven King, a charcoal maker, and a variety of Christian figures. I chuckled at “The Duke of Wellington Misplaces His Horse,” which is set in the town of Wall from Neil Gaiman’s Stardust: I love to see my favorite authors collaborate.
As in the novel that precedes these stories, Clarke plays with concepts of femininity, magic, learning, power, manners, history, and morals. She erases the silly, romanticized visions of faeries and replaces them with portraits of dangerous, powerful, careless otherworld people. Her heroines subvert the rules laid out for them, however secretly. Her heroes win more often through study and thoughtfulness than force. I love her England. I want more of it.
Clarke’s audiobooks are some of the finest examples of the art I’ve come across. The author’s stories and language are beautiful and entrancing, and the readers are engaging, precise, entertaining, skilled with accents, and a joy to listen to. I can’t wait for Clarke’s next book, and when it does come out, it will be hard to decide whether to read it on paper first or listen to the audiobook version first.
Rag and Bone Shop by Robert Cormier
Author: Robert Cormier
Reader: Scott Shina
Short Review: Cormier’s final novel, published posthumously, read by the talented Scott Shina. It’s disturbing, and upsetting, and good despite its flaws.
Long Review: The title alone would have made me listen to this audiobook. I am an obsessive W.B. Yeats fan, and the title of Cormier’s final novel quotes a line from the masterful “The Circus Animal’s Desertion;” Yeats’ musings on the possible collapse of his talent and career. I’m also a fan of Cormier’s work, which I encountered as a lit student considering teaching English.
The novel opens in an interrogation room, as Trent takes a confession from a murderer. Trent, who is burning out on his job, is called upon to interrogate suspects in a child murder case. Then we encounter 12 year old Jason Dorrant. Jason has a hard time making friends, preferring the company of his 7 year old friend Alicia to that of most of the kids his age. When Alicia is found dead, local authorities focus on Jason as their prime suspect, assuming he killed the girl after spending the afternoon with her. Trent is called upon to drag a confession out Jason. Because it’s a high-profile case, Trent faces external pressure to make Jason confess, no matter what.
As I listened, I felt myself constantly questioning Jason’s competence. He seemed slow, but then perhaps he was just a modest kid, but maybe . . . I really wondered whether Jason had some sort of unnamed impairment, and that frustrated me. As the novel progressed, I was furious that no adults seemed the least bit concerned with Jason’s safety. I’m sure Cormier wanted us to feel that way, but I kept wondering if he went bit too far. Is our justice system really this flawed? Do we protect child suspects so poorly? Are interrogators so craven? I don’t know the answers to those questions, but they haunt me. That, really, is Cormier’s greatest strength–he makes us question our justice system and the responsibilities adults have to children. But those moralistic threads can go too far. Cormier definitely liked to pound home lessons through his books, and in this instance I think the ending jumps to a conclusion I don’t think is realistic.
That said, I do like the book. Cormier had a great ability to get inside his characters’ minds, and he certainly does that here, with both Jason and Trent. Shina is a good, clear reader, and he makes himself comfortable in both Jason’s and Trent’s voice.
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