johnny dangerously.
While this book proposes to be an account of the Diodati circle (meaning those who had in 1816 visited the Villa Diodati, including Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, Percy Bysshe Shelley, Lord Byron, John William Polidori and Claire Clairmont), it's really a biography of Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, with occasional forays into the lives of the others, most principally Claire Clairmont and Byron. A scant chapter is spared for poor, miserable Polidori– not that anyone in this story escapes being poor or miserable in some form or fashion.
I say ‘story', not ‘history', because that's what this is. I'm no expert on this subject, so I can't tell if it's well researched; I assume it is, if only for the sheer volume of detail provided in the work. However, in the greatest weakness of the novel, authors Dorothy and Thomas Hoobler cannot resist the apparently overwhelming urge to weigh fact with a narrative, insert their opinions and suppositions, and weigh events down with their own leading lines. It's especially glaring because half the time I feel I would agree with their conclusions anyway, but it's grating to see them so casually thrown out, sometimes cruelly. The authors have sympathy for Mary Shelley and loathing for her husband and his friend Byron– more than understandable, given their abysmal treatment of others, especially to Mary Shelley! But they take it a step further than it needs to go, with constant snide asides on the nature of relationships long over.
They tell more than they show, which is a horrible thing to say of a history, of nonfiction.
The book constantly details when and where Shelley got her inspiration for Frankenstein, as though they have authority on the subject. Of course, suppositions can be made based on historical evidence, but that's all they can be! Yet the authors constantly lead the reader to believe they know implicitly what Shelley meant.
Percy's changes to the manuscript also tended to justify Dr Frankenstein's behavior and portray him as the victim, rather than the creator of the evil. This reflected not only [Percy] Shelley's lack of awareness, but also his very similarity to Victor. Mary Shelley always saw that Frankenstein was deluding himself. So too was her husband.
[Harriet] had remarked to her sister, “I don't think I am made to inspire love, and you know my husband abandoned me.” So on a gloomy, rainy day, Harriet acted on the suicidal impulses that she had entertained for a long time.
Mary [Shelley] was disduredbed that [Percy] Shelley and Claire [Clairmont] had k kept from her the secret of Claire's pregnancy for so long. Feeling shunted into the position of outsider, Mary would include secrecty among the suns that Victor Frankenstein committed in his pursuit of forbidden knowledge.
Percy Florence Shelley was elected to Parliment and received a knighthood– respectability at last. As far as anybody knows, this son and grandson of four radical and creative individuals never had an original thought in his life.
Having the distinction of being so retrograde that the author can presumably be found on the cover, The French Revolution: An Economic Interpretation is an invaluable window into the French revolution from the perspective of someone who was actually there. Florin Aftalion's experience during the revolution is an invaluable resource, and it tells modern readers a great deal about what hidebound public servants actually thought and felt at the time of such momentous calamity.
Coming from the Ancien Regime's magnificent splendor, where only kings and princes could move the world, how did they explain such a monumental shift caused by commoners and peasants? Aftalion is happy to put clawed and dessicated hand to pen and tell us in this fabulous memoir. The excellently preserved husk of what was once Aftalion explains, with magnificent charts and graphs, how the revolution had very little to do with political upheaval. It was all economic in nature! This perspective is especially reasonable given that the property values on Aftalion's crypt have no doubt fluctuated in the recent economic crises. Is another revolution on the rise? We'll have to find that shaman again and find out!
If you want a seasoned and reasonable account of the revolution that takes into account the importance of the individual and the social currents of the time, this may not be the necronomicon for you! But if you're looking for an archaic perspective on a fascinating subject, devoid of all the vital currents that make this period so fascinating, I highly recommend this eldritch tome.
Also, it's pretty short.
“I'd like to say that people can change anything they want to; and that means everything in the world. Show me any country and there'll be people in it. And it's the people that make the country. People have got to stop pretending they're not on the world. People are running about following their little tracks. I am one of them. But we've all gotta stop just stop following our own little mouse trail. People can do anything; this is something that I'm beginning to learn. People are out there doing bad things to each other; it's because they've been dehumanized. It's time to take that humanity back into the centre of the ring and follow that for a time. Greed... it ain't going anywhere! They should have that on a big billboard across Times Square. Think on that. Without people you're nothing.”
This is a wonderful book, but I was doomed to like it from the start. It is exactly the kind of book I've always wanted: a history book that doesn't pander, but isn't condescending, written by a comedian, aware of social causes, motivated by democratic ideals, and dedicated to Joe Strummer. There is no conceivable reality in which I wouldn't give this book five stars. I'm sure there are some realities in which I gave it six.
Pandering to my interests and ideals aside, the book is actually fantastically well-written. It works excellently as an introduction to the revolution, but it can work just as well as a refresher or a general overview. It's not very in-depth on any issue, but it's not meant to be.
It's a straight-forward account of the facts, presented with a strong liberal, socially-conscious bias. If you're not in the market for that, you're not going to like the book, full stop. But considering how many books on the revolution are impenetrable morasses of self-conscious condemnation and snide superiority, Steel's populist and human-rights focused perspective is a much-needed breath of fresh air.
The book is a lovely ode to the revolution's ideals, if not its actions. Unlike some overly sympathetic authors, Steel never gives the revolutionaries credit when it's not due. He always remembers that these people excitedly condemned hundreds of people without a second look.
Yet, unlike other overly condemnatory authors, Steel never lets that overshadow what the revolution was originally about. The Terror is not the sum total of the revolution, and Steel does an excellent job making that clear. He shows all the working parts of the revolution – never in much depth, but nothing gets left out – and lets the reader decide for themselves what, ultimately, constitutes the sum total, if anything does.
Of course, don't let it be said that Steel doesn't give his own suggestions. The book has a bias, but every book does. Steel is upfront about his bias – about the importance of the will of the people, and the beauty of political action. That is, ultimately, Steel's thesis. The revolution is not the Terror. The revolution is the people realizing they have a future as well as a history. The revolution is the common man, the average person, getting to change the future of their country. The revolution is voting. The revolution is people.
Steel never forgets that, so if you disagree with that thesis, this book is not for you. However, if you are even slightly willing to entertain that notion, this book will be a fascinating and informative ride through the revolution.
Steel goes beyond that flat initial thesis, though: he actually makes a concerted effort to not only explain the hows and whys of the revolution, but the mindset of the average revolutionary. I have yet to see another book on the revolution bother with the average man in such detailed empathy, when few even bother with sympathy. Read the book just for that; you won't find it elsewhere.
Steel is sympathetic without being saccharine or condescending; his interest is empathetic and grounded in bringing the reader closer to the makers of history, rather than farther. Many authors on this subject sit back and laugh at the vehemence of revolutionary action, or gasp in horror. Steel shows the absurdity, but he remembers what many don't: that these people were average creatures of circumstance, realizing for the first time their power not only over history, but their own lives.
Steel asks what many don't bother with: if you were newly free, wouldn't you fight to defend it?
But he also remembers what many are afraid to consider: that fight would not be glorious; it would be an awful thing, difficult to control, and quick to get out of hand.
The inclusion of the Haitian rebellion is poorly integrated into the rest of the book, so that it seems as though these incidents took place in a vacuum. Not enough focus is given to how the French colonies were an integral part of French culture before the revolution, and continued to be afterward. The French legislative fight to end slavery, again before the revolution, is left out entirely, even though it's integral to how the revolution evolved, and charting the course of revolutionary ideals.
The French freedom principle is never even mentioned, despite explaining French republicanism so pervasive at the time.
Likewise, the chapter on atheism is a gnarled mess of personal bias and inappropriate editorializing, and I say this as an atheist. Atheism is an important part of the revolution, with Robespierre's struggle against it despite the dechristianization of France. But the section on atheism is just Steel's personal opinions as an atheist, with little historical perspective. It's completely inappropriate, and, again, I say this as someone who agrees with him. His feelings, unnecessary and un-asked-for, detract from the overall power of the work.
Ultimately, though, I believe the strengths of the book are greater than its weaknesses. It's a unique perspective on the revolution, and in my opinion, a necessary one. It's easy to read and understand, but it doesn't water anything down. I highly recommend it to anyone interested in French history, revolutionary history, political history, the history of poverty, the people, democracy, justice, freedom, all of it. Because, more than a guillotine, that's what the revolution is. It's one of the first shuddering gasps of our current political process, loathe as many are to admit it.
And it's important.
And also Desmoulin's passive aggressive personal correspondence was hilarious.
I highly recomend this book, but it is painfully dry and awkwardly paced. The writer goes on tangents– and while I generally approve of that, the pacing is awkward enough to give a reader whiplash. Information is not broken up in a manner conducive to straight-forward reading, and one cannot absorb the information presented without a constant alertness that makes the reading experience uncomfortable, if not downright stressful. That said, the book has some fantastic political theorizing (in my opinion, and I am a biased party– the ideals of the book pander to me to an almost painful extent) and some fantastic observations. They just have to be mined out of the rest of the book with effort that a better writer would have spared us. This is David Andress' first book for ‘the general public', and while it shows, it also shows what an excellent mind Andress has for the politics of the French revolution. I look forward to his other books.
An incredibly well-written and thoughtful book, The Great Cat Massacre is a love letter to the weird and forgotten corners of history. It does best when it looks into the life of the poor, and some of its best and most touching passages detail how the history of poverty is looked-over or forgotten. The first two chapters, detailing French fairy tales and the eponymous cat massacre are, in my opinion, the best; the book looses a little steam after that. Still, it's definitely worth reading for those chapters alone. I learned more in those scant pages than I did in entire books.
I can't recommend this book highly enough! It serves as a truly excellent introduction into Victorian life, all while relying on the milieu of Victorian literature, and the Victorian domestic sphere. What the book should really be called is ‘Domesticity in the Victorian Age', but I suspect that wouldn't've sold as well.
From following the unstintingly fascinating life of Arthur Munby, to delving into the secrets of Dickens, the book always feels honest yet polished, and extremely informative. The book doesn't get caught in meaningless prose and scene-setting; it tells the reader everything it can as quickly as it can while still being intelligent, well-paced, and incredibly, deliciously witty. Honestly, Flanders' dry wit is a standout feature of every chapter, and the book wouldn't be the same without it.
Ultimately I recommend this book to anyone looking to dip their toe into the waters of Victorian history. This is the book for them, so long as they're more interested in the lives of women and the poor, rather than the decadent petticoats and crystal goblets of period dramas.
The Great Mortality: An Intimate History of the Black Death, the Most Devastating Plague of All Time
I cannot recommend this book highly enough. It does a fantastic job of not only telling me about the plague, but using the plague as a jumping off point to talk about the character of medieval man, the culture of the medieval period, and the science that pervaded the period (both real – what caused the plague was very real indeed – and ficticious – New Galenism is a fascinating thing in retrospect). The book took me a long time to read, because I had to stop for a few months after the chapter on antisemitism turned my stomach, but that isn't the fault of the author so much as my weepy sensibilities. If you want to read about the medieval period through a specific, if gruesome, lens, I cannot recommend this book highly enough.
This is an excellent book, completely unlike anything I've read before, and in the best possible way. It almost seems wrong to deem it ‘fantasy', for surely a book with no human characters should be ‘speculative fiction'? Regardless of its classification, I highly recommend it to anyone interested in well-written court politics, sympathetic characters, and a reading experience they won't get anywhere else.
Of all the things I would praise most about the book, I would have to consider its treatment of childhood abuse a huge and ambitious success. Too often, characters with abusive or traumatic backgrounds are treated in the most salacious and dramatic fashion possible. In this book, the main character's abusive past is treated with gentle respect, neither leering nor dramatic. The details are never focused on, and instead the most important thing is how it effected the abused character, and how they grow and heal. In this fashion, the entire book uses the metaphor of moving forward, growing past pettiness and cruelty, and– most notably– building bridges, to great effect.
The worldbuilding was similarly an ambitious success, though I found myself at times confused by the byzantine nature of naming conventions and pronunciation among the Goblins and Elves. I was pleased to find a guide at the back of the book explaining my confusion; I only wished I'd found it sooner, or that it had perhaps been at the beginning of the book. At times, all the unfamiliar Elvish and Goblin names bled together, and I would have appreciated knowing sooner that there was a guide. That said, the worldbuilding was still excellent and fascinating, even if I wished it was imparted in a fashion that didn't necessitate a guide quite so much.
If I had to seriously critique anything in the book, it would be how some of the female characters seemed underused. I understand that this is a function of the worldbuilding– they are an oppressively sexist society– but at the same time, the female characters were fascinating, and when they did appear, they shined. I was sad that altogether they only got a handful of scenes, and the subplots involving them and their struggles (in some cases, the collective struggle of all the female characters for more rights and freedoms) were very subtly and quietly dealt with. I would have liked to see them integrated more into the overall plot.
However, overall, I found the novel a tremendous success. I adored all of the characters, the quiet (but never slow) movement of the plot, and the subtle development of the protagonist and his relationships with others. It's a book I'll be rereading in the near future, because there's simply so much life and wonder crammed into it. I would highly recommend it to anyone interested in high fantasy.
I was sent a free copy of this book from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.
I am a big fan of Brian K. Vaughan, and was interested to see him try something new; sadly, it seems, the ‘something new' involved abandoning his previous habit of methodical, precise plots and solid characters. That isn't to say that Saga is irrevocably a failure; only, the first book was, pacing-wise, a huge mess. Characters appear in and out of focus with little information, too many flashbacks, and narration that did more to obscure, confuse, and over-stimulate than it did to elucidate.
The worst failure, I think, is the addition of the narrator. Without spoiling anything, I'll say that their inclusion makes the story confusing and disjointed, adding a new perspective to a story already overladen with perspectives, and it compounds that sin by making their perspective tantamount to the survival of certain characters who are often in peril. Which is to say, basically, it takes all the suspense out of scenes which would, otherwise, be suspenseful. The narration doesn't explain things we need to know, either; it disappears in truly confusing scenes where narration would be welcome. It only adds a saccharine and unnecessary comment in twee font; it adds nothing thematically or narratively, and it stalls and slows scenes that could otherwise be gripping and fast-paced.
By the final quarter of the book, things calm down, perhaps due to BKV running out of characters to randomly introduce with no warning or foreshadowing. The story's disparate elements finally come into their own, and that's the story I'll pick up the next volume for.
As for this volume, I only wish BKV had a better editor or collaborator, someone to take him aside and tell him to pace himself. There are so many elements in this story. I don't know why, if you're so interested in splashy shocking cliffhangers (as Saga clearly is), you'd introduce all your elements and players at once, with no tension or surprise.
While not a perfect book by any means– it lacked a certain weight to the action and character that made it seem like a series of scenes, rather than a fluid whole– it was overall highly enjoyable, and I recommend it enthusiastically to anyone looking for a light read with fantasy characters and good humor.
“You don't hire a genius to solve the most intractible imaginable problem, and then hedge him around with a lot of rules, nor try to micro-manage him from two week's distance. You turn him loose. If you need someone to follow orders, hire an idiot. In fact, an idiot would be better suited.”
This is a little speech given by Miles Vorkosigan.
There were a handful of things that I disliked about Cetaganda, but what really ruined it for me was the main character, Miles. I found him arrogant, rude, paranoid, childish, impatient, overbearing, condescending, and misogynistic. These are all fine flaws to have, in a well-built character! But Cetaganda is so deeply in love with dear darling Miles that these flaws are meant to be empathized with, accepted, if they can even be flaws!
For example, Miles habitually condescends to everyone, sneering with disdain and insulting them left and right if they cannot keep up with his superior intelligence, despite the fact that this exact strain of logic had been used against him, to hurt him and bully him, if you simply replace the ‘intelligence' with ‘physical state'. Miles also judges all women by their beauty before anything else, despite the fact that, again, the same logic has been used against him due to his disability. If Miles were aware of this internal flaw in his logic, that would be interesting. If the book itself were aware of this internal flaw of logic, that, too, would be interesting. But neither care enough about making Miles ever suffer for his poor behavior, except in the most glowingly melodramatic was possible, which absolves him of all his blame and drowns him in sympathy.
Miles has a boatload of flaws that would make him a fascinating anti-hero. He could be an amazing portrait of what growing up disabled in a viciously ablist and sexist society could do to his psyche, as he clings pathetically to his ego and intelligence, insulting everyone around him and making his own problems, dehumanizing women and them blaming them for finding him off-putting. But this is not the case, not by a landslide. That would require an understanding that Miles has flaws, instead of just quirky mean things that everyone forgives him for because he's oh! So! Smart!
Sadly, Miles is supposed to be a hero, the worst sort, the sort who are never wrong, for whom the world convulses around to aid at every turn. He ruins the book, no matter how clever the plot or nuanced the dialog (not that I found either particularly outstanding, but that's besides the point) by virtue of being the center of all morality. And, frankly, it's boring.
Books that are over 300 pages tend to be remarkably uniform. If a writer feels the burning desire to craft a book large enough to be used as an instrument of blunt force, they're usually very reliable writers, who have a pretty set formula. Things will stay largely consistent over the course of the book. So with books as huge as When Christ and His Saints Slept, I knew if I wasn't charmed by page 100, I wasn't going to be.
Suffice to say, I wasn't charmed. The book's early ham-fisted approach to characterization was an immediate turnoff. All the major players are introduced within the span of 40 pages, all are caught at moments while they are not only discussing important and pivotal moments from their past, but doing so in conjunction with their major outlook on life and character motivations. How convenient! Not only that, but anachronistic protofeminist soundbites are thrown around at random to make characters seem more sympathetic to a modern audience, with misogynistic actions becoming so overdone and ghoulish to be laughable. I'm not saying misogyny wasn't a problem in the middle ages– whoo, boy, was it ever!– but when a character feels the need to remind his wife how she'll come to heel, by God! three times in the same conversation, on the first scene in which he is introduced, I start wondering what the author thought I was going to miss. It's not like Penman wouldn't've had more time for a more subtle or nuance approach– this book is 700 pages long.
Not only that, but I have difficulty swallowing Matilda's (or Maud, as she's inexplicably called in this book) characterization as a shrewd woman constantly harping on about her poor luck. Matilda was an incredibly calculating, pragmatic woman, as history has shown us. The idea that she would so publicly, loudly and obviously draw attention to her difficulties and foibles strikes me as odd for a woman who historically went through great lengths to not only demand an imperial bearing, but maintain one.
I've seen a few reviews noting how this book is a refreshing departure from the bodice ripper genre of historical literature. I wonder at that, considering, while Stephen gets an introduction deeply interwoven with his history, childhood, past and potential, Matilda's introduction focuses entirely upon wife-beating, rape accusations and, at one point, brandishing a knife at her husband. In general, I find the leering focus on medieval women's disjointed marriages troubling, if not boring and repetitive. To find the entire first leg of Matilda's character arc in the book to be consumed entirely with these tropes did not inspire me to continue reading past page 100.
Thoroughly disappointing, this book is impossible for non-academics, highly pompous and needlessly verbose, and worse, does not stick to the subject it advertises. While it gives a good general overview of the period during which Balwin IV ruled, that information is only available to you if you speak French and are willing to wade through paragraphs of disjointed and turgid prose.
I wish more books were written like this one. It doesn't waste time with unnecessary detail, the writer's opinion or siblings in scholarship, it just relates information to you the best it can in as much detail as possible without being exhausting. It's a quick and easy read, highly informative and saturated in information. And if that weren't enough, Mortimer does one better by never judging the people about which he's writing. He explains their actions, and why they are the way they are, but never stops and laughs. He points out absurdity when it occurs, of course– and it does often– and holds people accountable for their actions, but at the same time, the compassion he obviously has for his subject is a highlight.
Furthermore, most books on a similar subject will spend exhaustive detail on the exploits of the rich and noble. Mortimer remembers them, too, but he doesn't include them to the exclusion of the poor. He balances all the characters of the Middle Ages excellently, creating a book rich with information and detail.
This title gets five stars straight off the bat because Deadpool calls himself ‘dadpool' and dresses up as a ghostbuster (excuse me, alien buster) to take his daughter trick-or-treating. I am fully aware that I'm reading this series for the wrong reasons, but Marvel can have my money if they continue to sprinkle little details like that in. Oh! He doesn't want his daughter to see him hurt! Sure, I'll buy it. I'll buy two.
This book had the bad manners to take a hard turn into Christianity while an edible kicking in, which was an experience I'm not sure I'm coming back from.
Excellent characters in a story that pulls you right in. The world feels expansive on a grand scale, full of mystery and imagination, but its scope never looses focus on the characters central to the action. I don't usually enjoy YA, but this let the characters act in a convincing way that never felt sanitized or particularly worried about snagging a movie deal– which is a good thing. Looking forward to more in this series, and by this author in general.
Thank you to NetGalley for letting me read the book early in return for a fair review.
Tremendous art, coloring, pacing, and use of comic language make this book an overall triumph. I adore the art, the clear inspiration from sports manga, the way the central metaphor is carried through color alone, all of it is an incredible display of skill that makes for a wonderful read.
My only real problem is the uneven handling of characters– if a teenager identifies more with the three minor characters rather than the two mains, they're likely to be disappointed by the quick, almost casual way those story lines are wrapped up. In comparison, I feel like the book fumbles the last shot (see what I did there) and pulls a punch with how the main two character's stories are concluded.
Though this is very much my interpretation, because I was genuinely confused when the main characters' storylines didn't end in romance. It seemed obvious to me from the way the story lead up to that point. I don't know, maybe my friendships in high school just weren't that intense.
That said, this is still a fantastic novel, and I recommend it highly.
An engaging, fascinating read, a look into a pre-Star Wars scifi world. I always love seeing genre fiction before it became hugely popular, to see what was influencing things behind the scenes. This book is absolutely amazing, and then the final sentence ruined it for me completely, and I won't be continuing.
Yes, it's gender essentialist in various ways, but I could deal with that; this book is old as anything. But then it doubled down in a way I couldn't deal with.
"Do you know so little of my son?" Jessica whispered. "See that princess standing there, so haughty and confident. They say she has pretensions of a literary nature. Let us hope she finds solace in such things; she'll have little else." A bitter laugh escaped Jessica. "Think on it, Chani: that princess will have the name, yet she'll live as less than a concubine - never to know a moment of tenderness from the man to whom she's bound. While we, Chani, we who carry the name of concubine - history will call us wives."
I just really don't have the time for that nonsense.
I read this book forever ago but was recently asked my thoughts on it, and after typing them up realized I'd basically written a goodreads review, so here's a cleaned up version:
I could honestly get over how terrible the prose of this book is, because it was originally a private project between two authors without intention to publish. That's fine. Sometimes you don't want to retool an entire novella stylistically when you do decide publish. Whatever.
But the book just doesn't work on a fundamental level. It's about love, but we never find out why the characters love each other except that they do, deeply. It's about war, but the cost of that war is never explored or felt. It's about time travel, but the time travel is only surface detail to paper over a plot hole.
The book's plot is horrible, in that nothing happens until the final quarter and then a single deus ex machina saves the day, something that was never hinted at or implied beforehand but is taken as given that this was one of the POV character's plans all along because time travel. It's basically 'because a wizard did it'.
I am not generally someone who throws around terms like ‘plot hole' and ‘deus ex machina' because in I truly believe that to enjoy fiction, you need to meet the writing where it's at; to a certain extent, saying a story is bad because it moves in a very recognizable shape is just refusing to engage with the text in good faith. But This is How You Lose the Time War gives you literally nothing. Every aspect of the book is different shades of distraction.
The prose is there to distract you from how thin the romance is, the romance is there to distract you from how thin the plot is, and the ‘plot' is there to justify the prose.
Which is all fine, it's a silly little collaboration novella that I happily read, was annoyed by for five minutes, and then got over it, except now it's fucking everywhere and I am once again the bitterest bitch at Costco.
The best and most heartbreaking book I've read in years, and that's saying something. Reading the other two before it is crucial to understand everything happening here. There's nothing I can say about this except that it's a masterwork of characterization and plotting, making an impossible premise work in a seemingly effortless fashion.
An excellent collection, I recommend this series highly if you're a fan of the Dragon Age universe (less so if you're looking to get into the series in the first place, but then, this comic is the gateway that got my roommate to want to play the game, so who knows). Not only does the comic itself clear up some mysteries that have been hanging in the background since the beginning of Origins, it also has gorgeous, colorful art. The writing is full of character– no wonder, David Gaider had a direct role in the writing– and so is the art, with expressive faces and a wonderful handle on rendering action that feels both naturalistic to a static illustrative medium while still holding true to the interactive world of video game physics.
As for this edition in particular, it has something nothing else has: commentary. I'm a giant sucker for DVD commentary, so I absolutely adored getting to hear the behind-the-scenes tidbits the artists and writers were willing to leak. All of it revealed how much thought and care went into the making of this volume, which really made me appreciate it even more. I can't speak highly enough of this comic. I didn't expect tie-in material to be high quality, and yet my expectations have been exceeded in every way.
I'm not rating this book or marking it as read because I mostly skimmed it, but I did skim a lot of this huge fucking thing, so I'm just gonna put some barebones thoughts down:
- This book is not for me, so it's no surprise I didn't like it. I'm doing a mini-survey of books that feature Roman slavery bc I'm curious what ‘tropes' are associated with it, and unsurprisingly it's a lot of Christian inspirational nonsense (not this book) and romantic melodrama (this book). I don't like romantic melodrama, but this book isn't trying to be what it's not, so that's solidly a me problem.
- Did you know that Thea is Jewish? Don't worry, readers won't have to deal with that in any way, shape, or form. Pre-Maimonides Judaism would be a really interesting angle to cover; I doubt I'll find it in any book aimed at a general audience though.
- I wrote other stuff here, but it was just even more mean-spirited complaining about a book that, again, was never meant to be read by me, so I deleted it.