Episode 241: The Past Looms Large
This week, Josh and Dietrich explore the pitfalls and challenges of opening up those old classics, particularly when those books delve into issues that are far more uncomfortable now. Does the excuse that a book is simply a product of its time excuse racism, sexism, homophobia, and more? Do people have the right to dismiss a book because of the subject matter, or should we give these classics the benefit of the doubt? In addition, they look at the challenge faced by modern authors writing historical characters, and whether those authors bear the responsibility of distancing themselves from their character's reprehensible and offensive behaviors. It's not an easy topic, with few simple answers. In addition, Dietrich decides to give audio books a fair shake this year, Josh wraps up the beautiful and brilliant trilogy by Katherine Arden, and they bring the week to a close by discussing one of the best comedies on television, a film that highlights the various talents and styles of the legendary Coen Brothers, and Dietrich's adventures at Hogwarts. You can send questions or comments to librarypolicequestions@gmail.com.
The Winter of the Witch by Katherine Arden
*****
It’s hard to think of a recent release that I’ve been as excited for as The Winter of the Witch, the final entry in Katherine Arden’s beautiful, magical Winternight trilogy. From the first few pages of her incredible debut novel, The Bear and the Nightingale, I was hooked; by the time I turned the last pages of The Girl in the Tower, I was almost angry that I had to wait for the third book. But as any fan knows, those same expectations can work against a book, especially when it’s the final part of a series; sometimes, you get so excited that no ending can ever live up to your hopes.
Luckily, that’s not the case with The Winter of the Witch, which wraps up Arden’s sprawling saga in a way that draws everything into focus, revealing that all this time, she’s been telling two stories simultaneously: one about a young girl who straddles the line between humanity and magical creatures, and one about the formation of Russia itself during the medieval period. And if Winter feels just a tiny bit overstuffed, well, the book’s ambition and successful fulfillment of those goals more than justifies it.
At its core, The Winter of the Witch has three things to accomplish, leading the book to feel like it’s three stories that all interweave together:
- Arden has to wrap up the lingering threads left hanging at the end of The Girl in the Tower, where cataclysmic events ran all the way to the end of the novel, leaving the aftermath to be explored.
- We need to watch as Vasilisa comes to terms with her destiny, finding a way to unify Russia’s pagan folklore with the rapidly approaching wave of Christianity that’s washing across the nation.
- And finally, we need to deal with the imminent threat of the Khans as they work to destroy the loose federation of Russian tribes that are unifying in opposition.
That’s a lot to take on, and at times, Winter of the Witch feels like it breaks a bit into three separate stories that don’t always connect into each other. Arden fixes that by the end, giving us a stunning climax that weaves together every disparate piece of the series into one astonishing sequence that clarifies the series’ focus in a way that genuinely both shocked me and completely unifies the books into a continuous saga.
But even before that ending, Arden makes each of these segments work beautifully on their own merits. The novel’s opening is harrowing, bringing a nightmarish intensity and horror to the book that brings home the impact of the characters’ choices to this point. More than that, though, it gives the final book of the series stakes in a way that I didn’t expect, reminding us of how many forces Arden has working in opposition to Vasilisa, and just how dangerous these ideas truly are.
And then, just when we’re at the bottom point of the book, Arden twists reality around us all over again, immersing us in a magical world that we’ve never seen before, and plunging even more deeply into Russian folklore and mythology, and slowly revealing more and more of the backstory of Vasya’s family that have, to this point, only been hinted at. It’s all satisfying and engaging, but more than that, it gives Arden the chance to breathe and live in her wondrous world, conveying the unreality of her planes through her carefully written prose – and that’s before she springs some major, major surprises on us.
It’s hard to talk much about the end of The Winter of the Witch without giving away some of what Arden has planned (although I would point out that anyone who has knowledge of Russian history, or who glances too much into the helpful glossary at the end of the book, might find the story spoiled by historical facts). That’s not just in terms of the rich storytelling she’s got going, which finds the lines between villains and heroes blurring, questions of faith raised, and familial relationships complicating around them. No, The Winter of the Witch also delivers on an emotional level, bringing us closure not just in on the big picture and in our story, but on the level of relationships – most importantly, the relationship between Vasya and Morozko, the incarnation of Frost and Death.
The Winter of the Witch, in other words, does everything you want a finale of a series to do. It provides us closure on all of its plot threads and disparate stories. It concludes all of our characters’ arcs, allowing them to develop and grow, and giving us an end to their story that’s satisfying while not being excessively wrapped up. It clarifies and coheres the series’ thematic complexities, unifying its questions of faith, folklore, historical movement, national pride, and destiny into one powerful message and idea. It rewards us for our emotional investment in these characters, making us both hurt and rejoice with them as they reach their ends. And in the end, it leaves us wanting more time in this world, even as it gives us an ending. Does it have a lot to do? Yes. Does it feel like it could use maybe a bit more time? Sure…but it’s also magical, beautiful, and moving, and lives up to my hopes for the other books in the series – and given how much I loved them, that’s a big deal indeed.
- Josh Mauthe
Luckily, that’s not the case with The Winter of the Witch, which wraps up Arden’s sprawling saga in a way that draws everything into focus, revealing that all this time, she’s been telling two stories simultaneously: one about a young girl who straddles the line between humanity and magical creatures, and one about the formation of Russia itself during the medieval period. And if Winter feels just a tiny bit overstuffed, well, the book’s ambition and successful fulfillment of those goals more than justifies it.
At its core, The Winter of the Witch has three things to accomplish, leading the book to feel like it’s three stories that all interweave together:
- Arden has to wrap up the lingering threads left hanging at the end of The Girl in the Tower, where cataclysmic events ran all the way to the end of the novel, leaving the aftermath to be explored.
- We need to watch as Vasilisa comes to terms with her destiny, finding a way to unify Russia’s pagan folklore with the rapidly approaching wave of Christianity that’s washing across the nation.
- And finally, we need to deal with the imminent threat of the Khans as they work to destroy the loose federation of Russian tribes that are unifying in opposition.
That’s a lot to take on, and at times, Winter of the Witch feels like it breaks a bit into three separate stories that don’t always connect into each other. Arden fixes that by the end, giving us a stunning climax that weaves together every disparate piece of the series into one astonishing sequence that clarifies the series’ focus in a way that genuinely both shocked me and completely unifies the books into a continuous saga.
But even before that ending, Arden makes each of these segments work beautifully on their own merits. The novel’s opening is harrowing, bringing a nightmarish intensity and horror to the book that brings home the impact of the characters’ choices to this point. More than that, though, it gives the final book of the series stakes in a way that I didn’t expect, reminding us of how many forces Arden has working in opposition to Vasilisa, and just how dangerous these ideas truly are.
And then, just when we’re at the bottom point of the book, Arden twists reality around us all over again, immersing us in a magical world that we’ve never seen before, and plunging even more deeply into Russian folklore and mythology, and slowly revealing more and more of the backstory of Vasya’s family that have, to this point, only been hinted at. It’s all satisfying and engaging, but more than that, it gives Arden the chance to breathe and live in her wondrous world, conveying the unreality of her planes through her carefully written prose – and that’s before she springs some major, major surprises on us.
It’s hard to talk much about the end of The Winter of the Witch without giving away some of what Arden has planned (although I would point out that anyone who has knowledge of Russian history, or who glances too much into the helpful glossary at the end of the book, might find the story spoiled by historical facts). That’s not just in terms of the rich storytelling she’s got going, which finds the lines between villains and heroes blurring, questions of faith raised, and familial relationships complicating around them. No, The Winter of the Witch also delivers on an emotional level, bringing us closure not just in on the big picture and in our story, but on the level of relationships – most importantly, the relationship between Vasya and Morozko, the incarnation of Frost and Death.
The Winter of the Witch, in other words, does everything you want a finale of a series to do. It provides us closure on all of its plot threads and disparate stories. It concludes all of our characters’ arcs, allowing them to develop and grow, and giving us an end to their story that’s satisfying while not being excessively wrapped up. It clarifies and coheres the series’ thematic complexities, unifying its questions of faith, folklore, historical movement, national pride, and destiny into one powerful message and idea. It rewards us for our emotional investment in these characters, making us both hurt and rejoice with them as they reach their ends. And in the end, it leaves us wanting more time in this world, even as it gives us an ending. Does it have a lot to do? Yes. Does it feel like it could use maybe a bit more time? Sure…but it’s also magical, beautiful, and moving, and lives up to my hopes for the other books in the series – and given how much I loved them, that’s a big deal indeed.
- Josh Mauthe
Monsters of Venus, by Martin Berman-Gorvine ***
Monsters of Venus boasts a pretty great premise – it’s a science fiction tale set on Venus, but one created from the mind of a Polish Jew alive during the rise of the Nazi party. Desperate to escape, her pulp tales took on a life of their own, and she ultimately escaped into the world she had created, along with a couple of other girls – and she can still make changes to this world by writing them on her typewriter and having others read it. But now, others have found their way into this universe, and they have more malicious intentions – and typewriters of their own.
That’s a really cool idea for a book, and at its best moments, Monsters of Venus becomes this wonderful piece of metafiction, with characters literally writing their way out of their predicaments. Mind you, it’s worth noting that Monsters of Venus is actually a follow-up to an earlier book entitled Seven Against Mars, which I hadn’t read, nor did I realize going in; the learning curve here is a bit rocky, although you’ll get the hang of everything eventually. It’s just that Berman-Gorvine doesn’t exactly lay out his premise or things that have already happened in any sort of clear, easy way for a new reader. Unfortunately, that’s also the case for much of Monsters of Venus, which feels constantly jumbled and unclear, with characters bleeding into each other, overwrought accents, and messy action scenes that left me trying to figure out what was going on. None of which is to say that the big picture of Monsters of Venus isn’t a lot of fun – on the macro level, there’s a neat story here, and a lot of cool ideas. But the execution is less effective, with me often confused as to who was where, why certain actions were taken, or what people’s goals were. Add into that a number of literary allusions that feel fun but ultimately distract from the story (I’m still not quite sure what the point of all the Hamlet allusions is, or what they were supposed to mean; while they end up aligning with a couple of characters, the question of what it matters beyond being cute is unclear), and the result is a great idea, poorly executed. That seems to be Berman-Gorvine’s M.O., though – I said similar things about his Heroes of Earth, which had great ideas but once again felt overstuffed and cluttered. Still, there’s a lot of interesting stuff here, and some really cool ideas; it just feels like it needs some tightening and polishing to make it work as well as it should. - Josh Mauthe |
Roofworld, by Christopher Fowler
|
