Remember this guy? |
In particular, the peculiar blend of technology and magic (not to mention the fashion. Cravats and top hats and walking canes? Fuck. Yes.) fascinate me to no end. Sure, diesel punk is cool (same premise, shifted right a few decades and adjusted for inflation. See Bioshock, and here, and Sucker Punch), but for mostly the same reasons. Which, I suppose makes my love of Justina Robson's Quantum Gravity Bomb Series sensical; as, again, same premise, shifted right a century or two. Cyber Punk, I believe?
But I'll get back to her books later.
As it is often the case, a book will catch my eye, I'll snag it, and it'll sit on the shelf for months before I remember I even had it (and then only because I see it at B&N and get that feeling of once lost familiarity). So, I brought a handful of those shelved, unread tomes with me to Germany to read in my ever decreasing downtime. Hence all the damn book reviews.
Here's one that caused instant regret for not have starting sooner.
Enter: Gail Carriger's Soulless (An Alexia Tarabotti Novel), Book 1 of the Parasol Protectorate, published by Orbit, Tuesday afternoon.
Oh, Ms. Tarabotti... |
Before my book report, I will say this: it feels like a mashup of the best parts of Pride and Prejudice (aggressively independent spinster), Outlander (gruff but noble scotsman), and every good urban fantasy I've ever read. It has been one of those rare books (of the Jane Austen variety, if I'm being truthful here) that's stimulated my brain in such a manner as to cause me to think in words. If you understand that feeling, you understand how grossly under appreciated that type of writing is. I used laboriously in a conversation today. Even her sentence structures are varied and complicated and wonderfully constructed.
It is extremely unfortunate that asking a writer to marry you through a personal blog is considered a faux pas. (But, Ms. Carriger, if you are reading this...)
Alexia Tarabotti is a mid-twenties, aggressively independent, assertive spinster with tan skin and a large nose (most of which can be attributed to her Italian blood). She also has a penchant for finding herself in perilously provocative situations, which may have something to do with the fact that she was born without a soul.
After accidentally murdering a vampire at a ball (where no comestibles were served; scandalous), for self defense reasons - honestly, what kind of rude vampire just attacks a lady? - Ms. Tarabotti is brought into close quarters with Lord Maccon, Earl of Woosely, Alpha werewolf of the local pack, Head of the Bureau of Unnatural Registry, and most assuredly not a gorgeous ruffian love interest that she finds herself not attracted to in any way. Her persistence at finding a place of usefulness in the world will lead her to investigate the strange origins of the vampire that attacked her, the disappearances of both rove vampires and lone werewolves, and get thrown into an astonishing amount of danger.
I've never laughed so hard at such an honest (and, because it's me, nice) portrayal of an antagonistic relationship making that dangerously precipitous voyage from loathing to love.
That's all I'm giving you. The rest is up to you.
-Nice: adj. Characterized by, showing, or requiring great accuracy, precision, skill, tact, care, or delicacy.
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