Edition: Gollancz, 1985
Review number: 674
One of the most well known of Heinlein's early novels, The Door Into Summer is typical of the best of them. It is about the use of that staple of science fiction, cold sleep, to outlive a difficult situation in the present. Most candidates for this treatment are terminally ill patients who want to be woken when a cure has been found; but Heinlein's hero wants to escape the consequences of the theft of his business.
Some complicated adventures ensue, as his former partner drugs him to attempt to get his remaining assets through post-hypnotic suggestion, and then sends him through cold sleep anyway when his most recent invention - he is an engineer who has created the first household robots - goes missing. Eventually, he is able to return using a time machine and sort a lot of things out.
There are clear holes in the plot (why has his partner let him get away rather than drugging and hypnotising him immediately, for example), and it is a little difficult to keep track of what is going on, but the first person narrative is quite compelling. To someone interested in new technology, it is fascinating to see just how over-optimistic Heinlein could be in 1956 - household robots and cold sleep in 1970, while here we are in 2000 with neither of these developments. In the case of the robots, it is not exactly an overestimate of the rate of development of technology that Heinlein got wrong; the ones in this novel are based on vacuum tubes rather than integrated circuits - it is that the problem of fully automating housework is far more difficult than he imagined.
The Door Into Summer is entertaining if shallow classic science fiction.
Tuesday, 7 November 2000
Monday, 6 November 2000
Jonathan Sumption: The Albigensian Crusade (1978)
Edition: Faber & Faber, 1978
Review number: 672
Of all the facets of medieval culture which differ from their modern equivalents, the one which is the most difficult to understand is the most important. The Catholic church and western European culture were literally synonymous - with the name Christendom - and the church was totally dominant in every area of life. One of the most important rights that many people today take completely for granted - and I am aware that it is not one which everybody possesses - is freedom of religion, not just the freedom to practice whatever religion chosen, but to practise no religion at all. This right is so familiar to most of us that we hardly realise that we practise it. And yet, it would have been completely incomprehensible to a medieval peasant.
This means that the Albigensian Crusade, which seems to us to be a great crime, was at the time considered not only desirable but absolutely necessary. To be a heretic, defying the church, was to be denying the fundamental core of society, was to be attempting to destroy society completely. Heresy was an illness which had to be eradicated, whatever the cost.
Sumption's book is a fairly direct description, as much as one is possible, of the campaigns which make up the crusade. The qualification is due not just to the usual obscurity of medieval chronicle, but because the contemporary and near contemporary histories sometimes contradict each other irreconcilably; history as propaganda is not a new idea. It is difficult to go beyond this kind of straightforward account; descriptions of the beliefs of the Cathars are even more partisan. Orthodox writers tended to ascribe similar beliefs and practices to just about every group of heretics. About all that can be said with any certainty is that they were dualists (with God and the devil as fundamentally equal opponents) who tended to reject the real world as evil, which meant in practice extreme asceticism and the embracing of martyrdom and suicide by the famous Cathar adepts known as Perfects.
This is a different kind of history from that which makes up Montaillou, also about the Cathars; that is a reconstruction of medieval village life from the records of the Inquisition, which first began its terrible work in the wake of the Crusade. As far as the religious and political statements in these records are concerned, they cannot be trusted because they are shaped by what the orthodox expected to hear and because they were extracted by physical or psychological pressure. Clearly, though, when they talk of everyday things as familiar to the inquisitors as to their victims, they will be far more trustworthy.
The religious element to their lives did not mean that the motives of those who fought on either side of the war were pure. There was much that could be gained or lost materially, for the crusaders had been promised the lands of dispossessed heretics. The motivation of greed adds to the reasons why the modern viewpoint tends to sympathise with the Cathars rather than the crusaders. However, it is also a reason why the events of the Crusade are surprisingly obscure, because it motivated a lot of behind the scenes political manoeuvrings, particularly as the main driving force behind the military campaigns was the will of Pope Innocent III, who kept on trying to control what was happening around Toulouse from weeks' journey away.
Sumption's concentration on the overt military activity of the Crusade is understandable, but does make the book both rather dry and superficial. The medieval mind remains obscure, the personalities involved hardly come alive, by comparison with many of those who took part in the Crusades in the Holy Land. It is difficult to see how a different book could have been produced based on the available resources. Sumption is not to blame; he has at least shed light on what would be interesting to know.
Review number: 672
Of all the facets of medieval culture which differ from their modern equivalents, the one which is the most difficult to understand is the most important. The Catholic church and western European culture were literally synonymous - with the name Christendom - and the church was totally dominant in every area of life. One of the most important rights that many people today take completely for granted - and I am aware that it is not one which everybody possesses - is freedom of religion, not just the freedom to practice whatever religion chosen, but to practise no religion at all. This right is so familiar to most of us that we hardly realise that we practise it. And yet, it would have been completely incomprehensible to a medieval peasant.
This means that the Albigensian Crusade, which seems to us to be a great crime, was at the time considered not only desirable but absolutely necessary. To be a heretic, defying the church, was to be denying the fundamental core of society, was to be attempting to destroy society completely. Heresy was an illness which had to be eradicated, whatever the cost.
Sumption's book is a fairly direct description, as much as one is possible, of the campaigns which make up the crusade. The qualification is due not just to the usual obscurity of medieval chronicle, but because the contemporary and near contemporary histories sometimes contradict each other irreconcilably; history as propaganda is not a new idea. It is difficult to go beyond this kind of straightforward account; descriptions of the beliefs of the Cathars are even more partisan. Orthodox writers tended to ascribe similar beliefs and practices to just about every group of heretics. About all that can be said with any certainty is that they were dualists (with God and the devil as fundamentally equal opponents) who tended to reject the real world as evil, which meant in practice extreme asceticism and the embracing of martyrdom and suicide by the famous Cathar adepts known as Perfects.
This is a different kind of history from that which makes up Montaillou, also about the Cathars; that is a reconstruction of medieval village life from the records of the Inquisition, which first began its terrible work in the wake of the Crusade. As far as the religious and political statements in these records are concerned, they cannot be trusted because they are shaped by what the orthodox expected to hear and because they were extracted by physical or psychological pressure. Clearly, though, when they talk of everyday things as familiar to the inquisitors as to their victims, they will be far more trustworthy.
The religious element to their lives did not mean that the motives of those who fought on either side of the war were pure. There was much that could be gained or lost materially, for the crusaders had been promised the lands of dispossessed heretics. The motivation of greed adds to the reasons why the modern viewpoint tends to sympathise with the Cathars rather than the crusaders. However, it is also a reason why the events of the Crusade are surprisingly obscure, because it motivated a lot of behind the scenes political manoeuvrings, particularly as the main driving force behind the military campaigns was the will of Pope Innocent III, who kept on trying to control what was happening around Toulouse from weeks' journey away.
Sumption's concentration on the overt military activity of the Crusade is understandable, but does make the book both rather dry and superficial. The medieval mind remains obscure, the personalities involved hardly come alive, by comparison with many of those who took part in the Crusades in the Holy Land. It is difficult to see how a different book could have been produced based on the available resources. Sumption is not to blame; he has at least shed light on what would be interesting to know.
Mary Stewart: The Moon-Spinners (1962)
Edition: Hodder & Stoughton, 1964
Review number: 673
In this Mary Stewart thriller, the exotic location is Crete (before mass tourism); the young heroine works at the British embassy in Athens, and is taking a holiday with the older cousin who brought her up - at least in her teens - when she comes across a man in the middle of the countryside who has been shot.
In many ways, The Moon-Spinners is too much a rewrite of My Brother Michael to be really successful; it ends up being one of Stewart's most lacklustre novels. The Greek background is gorgeous, but she has written the same story too often for it to work this time. This is the last time she sticks so closely to the formula, and it was probably about time she moved on.
Review number: 673
In this Mary Stewart thriller, the exotic location is Crete (before mass tourism); the young heroine works at the British embassy in Athens, and is taking a holiday with the older cousin who brought her up - at least in her teens - when she comes across a man in the middle of the countryside who has been shot.
In many ways, The Moon-Spinners is too much a rewrite of My Brother Michael to be really successful; it ends up being one of Stewart's most lacklustre novels. The Greek background is gorgeous, but she has written the same story too often for it to work this time. This is the last time she sticks so closely to the formula, and it was probably about time she moved on.
Friday, 3 November 2000
Gavin Lyall: Midnight Plus One (1965)
Edition: Hodder & Stoughton, 1965
Review number: 671
Lewis Cane was once a hero; under the nickname Caneton he was an SOE operative in the French resistance. After the war, he hasn't really found what he wants to do, until an expensive lawyer hires him to transport a businessman across France. Magonhard can't just travel in the usual manner; not only are his enemies seeking to stop him, but then have also arranged a false accusation of rape to ensure that the police will also be looking for him. He needs to arrive in Liechtenstein as soon as possible, to save a business that the death of one of his partners seems set to destroy.
The journey is partly about Caneton showing that he is still competent in this kind of work, but more interestingly also about him coming to terms not just with his own history but with the realisation that the past is past and that this is no longer what he does. It makes the novel more than a run of the mill thriller, as Lyall examines a side of "the hero" not so commonly part of the genre - what happens when the time for heroism is past. Cane is a contrast to the other man accompanying the party across France: an alcoholic bodyguard unable to cope psychologically with the work that he is supremely gifted in - another interesting character.
An excellent thriller, well worth reading.
Review number: 671
Lewis Cane was once a hero; under the nickname Caneton he was an SOE operative in the French resistance. After the war, he hasn't really found what he wants to do, until an expensive lawyer hires him to transport a businessman across France. Magonhard can't just travel in the usual manner; not only are his enemies seeking to stop him, but then have also arranged a false accusation of rape to ensure that the police will also be looking for him. He needs to arrive in Liechtenstein as soon as possible, to save a business that the death of one of his partners seems set to destroy.
The journey is partly about Caneton showing that he is still competent in this kind of work, but more interestingly also about him coming to terms not just with his own history but with the realisation that the past is past and that this is no longer what he does. It makes the novel more than a run of the mill thriller, as Lyall examines a side of "the hero" not so commonly part of the genre - what happens when the time for heroism is past. Cane is a contrast to the other man accompanying the party across France: an alcoholic bodyguard unable to cope psychologically with the work that he is supremely gifted in - another interesting character.
An excellent thriller, well worth reading.
Paul Harding: The Assassin's Riddle (1996)
Edition: Headline, 1996
Review number: 670
There are two mysteries in this novel from Harding's medieval crime series, one a locked room puzzle, a genre which has already cropped up several times in the Sorrowful Mysteries of Brother Athelstan, and the other a serial killer who leaves riddles with the bodies of the victims. The first puzzle is the death of rich banker Bartholemew Drayton, who is found killed by a crossbow bolt in his strongroom, locked on the inside. The pressure is on Sir John Cranston, Coroner of the City of London, and his friend, the friar Athelstan, to swiftly discover the killer, particularly are five thousand pounds of silver is missing, instead of enriching the regent, John of Gaunt. The other is the murder, one by one, of the clerks working in a particular office in Chancery (which ran much of the bureaucratic administration of medieval England). The riddles left on their bodies are not in fact too difficult to work out (though they use some dubious linguistic trickery which I suspect depends on aspects of the English language which are anachronistic), and neither is the identity of the killer. The locked room is a much harder puzzle.
Having two mysteries means that the novel has to concentrate on them, rather than on the background of late fourteenth century London. Mind you, most of the readers of The Assassin's Riddle will probably already have read earlier novels in the series, so this doesn't matter as much as it might do.
Review number: 670
There are two mysteries in this novel from Harding's medieval crime series, one a locked room puzzle, a genre which has already cropped up several times in the Sorrowful Mysteries of Brother Athelstan, and the other a serial killer who leaves riddles with the bodies of the victims. The first puzzle is the death of rich banker Bartholemew Drayton, who is found killed by a crossbow bolt in his strongroom, locked on the inside. The pressure is on Sir John Cranston, Coroner of the City of London, and his friend, the friar Athelstan, to swiftly discover the killer, particularly are five thousand pounds of silver is missing, instead of enriching the regent, John of Gaunt. The other is the murder, one by one, of the clerks working in a particular office in Chancery (which ran much of the bureaucratic administration of medieval England). The riddles left on their bodies are not in fact too difficult to work out (though they use some dubious linguistic trickery which I suspect depends on aspects of the English language which are anachronistic), and neither is the identity of the killer. The locked room is a much harder puzzle.
Having two mysteries means that the novel has to concentrate on them, rather than on the background of late fourteenth century London. Mind you, most of the readers of The Assassin's Riddle will probably already have read earlier novels in the series, so this doesn't matter as much as it might do.
Mary Stewart: The Gabriel Hounds (1967)
Edition: Hodder & Stoughton, 1967
Review number: 669
Lady Hester Stanhope was, at least when seen from a distance, a romantic figure. Her background was the English Regency nobility, and yet she ended up in a palace in Syria, playing the role of the (male) Arab potentate. She is the basis for the character around whom this novel rotates, but in this case at least the reality behind the romance is rather more shabby - ostentation is not cheap in the twentieth century.
After many years during which Harriet Mansel has hidden herself away in her valley in the Lebanon, two relatives on holiday in the Middle East decide to try to visit her. (Her eccentricity makes them rather unsure of their welcome.) But when they do get in to see her, it looks as though something is wrong - they just can't quite put their finger on what it is.
The Gabriel Hounds is not Mary Stewart's most successful thriller, even though all the usual ingredients are there. Though the background is the same kind of exotic location shared by all her thrillers up to this point, it is more perfunctorily sketched in. By 1967, she probably needed more work
to come up with somewhere evocative, yet not already familiar to her readers; she did eventually abandon this part of her formula in favour of a nostalgic version of rural England. Her plotting also lets her down a bit this time, and the ending is particularly disappointing.
Review number: 669
Lady Hester Stanhope was, at least when seen from a distance, a romantic figure. Her background was the English Regency nobility, and yet she ended up in a palace in Syria, playing the role of the (male) Arab potentate. She is the basis for the character around whom this novel rotates, but in this case at least the reality behind the romance is rather more shabby - ostentation is not cheap in the twentieth century.
After many years during which Harriet Mansel has hidden herself away in her valley in the Lebanon, two relatives on holiday in the Middle East decide to try to visit her. (Her eccentricity makes them rather unsure of their welcome.) But when they do get in to see her, it looks as though something is wrong - they just can't quite put their finger on what it is.
The Gabriel Hounds is not Mary Stewart's most successful thriller, even though all the usual ingredients are there. Though the background is the same kind of exotic location shared by all her thrillers up to this point, it is more perfunctorily sketched in. By 1967, she probably needed more work
to come up with somewhere evocative, yet not already familiar to her readers; she did eventually abandon this part of her formula in favour of a nostalgic version of rural England. Her plotting also lets her down a bit this time, and the ending is particularly disappointing.
Thursday, 2 November 2000
Hammond Innes: The Doomed Oasis (1960)
Edition: Collins, 1961
Review number: 668
The legend of Lawrence of Arabia plays a large part in this thriller about oil and politics in the peninsula. Colonel Charles Whitaker is a figure clearly based on Lawrence, a European who has accepted Arab customs and who has a great deal of influence in the politics of the various small states which are mostly today subsumed into groupings such as the United Arab Emirates. Here, it is oil rather than war which is the aim, but Whitaker as he has become older has managed to destroy his reputation with the oil companies as he has put forward a theory that oil is present in vast quantities in places where it was never found.
Whitaker is not the central character in the story. This is his son David, who came out to Arabia once he had discovered his paternity. David becomes passionately involved with the desert kingdom of Saraifa, the doomed oasis of the title. Water is brought to the inhabitants through ancient aqueducts, the falajes, but now the slow process of neglect which is gradually destroying them has been accelerated by the vandalism of enemies from the neighbouring emirate. David comes up with a desperate plan to stop this brutal destruction, which the Whitakers have themselves motivated by their conviction that oil is to be found in a border area disputed by the two countries.
The Doomed Oasis has the potential to be a far better novel than it is. The contrast between the motivations of greed and romance is something which could be the basis of an interesting story. The relationship between the Whitakers, one of several broken father-son relationships in Innes' novels, has dramatic potential which is not exploited. Also like other Innes' novels, it centres around poorly written courtroom scenes; there are far better devices to use in a thriller.
Review number: 668
The legend of Lawrence of Arabia plays a large part in this thriller about oil and politics in the peninsula. Colonel Charles Whitaker is a figure clearly based on Lawrence, a European who has accepted Arab customs and who has a great deal of influence in the politics of the various small states which are mostly today subsumed into groupings such as the United Arab Emirates. Here, it is oil rather than war which is the aim, but Whitaker as he has become older has managed to destroy his reputation with the oil companies as he has put forward a theory that oil is present in vast quantities in places where it was never found.
Whitaker is not the central character in the story. This is his son David, who came out to Arabia once he had discovered his paternity. David becomes passionately involved with the desert kingdom of Saraifa, the doomed oasis of the title. Water is brought to the inhabitants through ancient aqueducts, the falajes, but now the slow process of neglect which is gradually destroying them has been accelerated by the vandalism of enemies from the neighbouring emirate. David comes up with a desperate plan to stop this brutal destruction, which the Whitakers have themselves motivated by their conviction that oil is to be found in a border area disputed by the two countries.
The Doomed Oasis has the potential to be a far better novel than it is. The contrast between the motivations of greed and romance is something which could be the basis of an interesting story. The relationship between the Whitakers, one of several broken father-son relationships in Innes' novels, has dramatic potential which is not exploited. Also like other Innes' novels, it centres around poorly written courtroom scenes; there are far better devices to use in a thriller.
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