Zoo City

By Laurel Beurkes
I've been dithering over this one. The book is good. Lets get that out of the way. Addressed as a mildly post-apocalyptic detective story it works, it flows, it would be well worth reading.
The heroine is seriously flawed, but remains engaging. Her long suffering sloth familiar is one of the most entertaining such creatures out there, easily the nicest beast one might be lumbered with since Pantelimon, though he is certainly less talkative. But what would you expect from a sloth?
So in short: if you're in the mood for a thriller set against a collapsing South Africa where criminals and outcasts are marked by the appearance of a mystically linked but otherwise normal animal, then this could be the book for you. Buy the book.
You might want to think about it a little longer if you're the looking out person who worries about just why people might fund themselves saddled with an animal just because they've stepped outside human norms. There's obviously something supernatural going on, but no-one knows just what. All that matters is that 15 our so years ago people stayed getting animals and with them abilities that feel like, and might even be, minor magical powers.
Like most magical realism that kind of thing kindly bothers me if done badly, and here it's not.
So why am I dithering?
It's South Africa. I don't know how to think about it these days. I don't know what degree of metaphor is here employed.
When I was a kid South Africa was simple. The nasty white people were dominating the blacks, and if only they started paying attention to the Special AKA then it would have a much nice place. And then they let Nelson Mandela out, they won the rugby and it was.
All very simple. Too simple, I know. And it's all got more complicated since then as increasingly less saintly presidents come and go and the stories about rampant criminality grow and grow and one comes to see just why the modern South Africa might feel like a post-apocalyptic wasteland. But probably line where not recent the most hardened criminals get a sloth.
But is that what the author intended? Or just my trying to second guess her motives? I don't know and that worries me. And so I dither.
Good book though. Well worth making your own decision.

Goblins

By Philip Reeve
I think I wrote about Philip Reeve before, lauding his young adult steampunk books.
Same writer, but this is aimed at a rather younger audience, his eight year old son was mentioned, and I didn't really get as much from it.
It's a nice enough book, don't get me wrong. The hero is a too clever by half goblin exiled from the half forgotten ruins of Mordor. He is supported by an amiable cast of cheese-makers turned would be heroes, abducted, and perfectly happy with it, princesses, accountants  who fancy themselves sorcerers plus assorted monsters.
Something the younger me would have enjoyed entirely, something the current me found a little too slight. Which given that I'm on the order of thirty five years older than the target audience isn't really the most surprising thing in the world.
Apparently the people that turned Coraline into a movie are planning on filming this in the next couple of years. I shall look forwards to it.
Meanwhile I shall look for someone of an appropriate age and pass the book on.

Geek Tragedy

By Nev Fountain.
So there I am, contemplating going to an SF convention for the first time in my life and I read this. Enough to make one steer well clear, though it is possible that this is not entirely representative.
Not actually science fiction, though rooted in SF culture, this is the story of a retired script editor attending a convention for the first time in years, and is written by a script editor who may or may not be retired. The hero is a reluctant detective who punches well above his weight with the ladies, in particular the somewhat ghastly female lead of his dreadful show. The author is apparently in a relationship with an eighties Doctor Who companion, whether he is also prone to occasional bits of detective work is not known, but I can't shake the suspicion that incidents are drawn from life.
Nev Fountain is a writer I have issues with. He was associated with two of my all time least favourite Doctor Who stories, as script editor on the dreadful Death Comes To Time, and writer of a Big Finish story involving little old lady Time Lords that just rubbed me up the wrong way. I went into the book very happy to hate it.
And it surprised me.
It's actually a pretty good book.
It might even be a very good book.
It's not high art, but it makes no attempt to be so. It's a romp, and pretty much every romp target is hit. It helps of course to be reasonably sympathetic towards somewhat cringeworthy Eighties TV, but deep down the geek stuff wouldn't be worth a damn if the detective story wasn't well told.
And it was.
I don't normally go into any depth about where to buy books, but it's worth noting that Amazon would like one to pay £7.50 or thereabouts, while BooksOnBoard are happy to sell it for half that. Just hoping that they're legit and the author will actually get their deserved royalties.

Full Dark House

By Christopher Fowler
The adventures of Bryant & May, detectives with the Metropolitan Police's Peculiar Crimes Unit, sounds like it should be in the same kind of supernatural cop space occupied by Ben Aaronovitch, or, given that Arthur Bryant apparently dies in an explosion shortly before the start of the first book in the series, Randal and Hopkirk (deceased).
Alas it's not.
We have here a rather cleverly constructed novel set in two periods, the unit's first case in 1940, the surviving detective's investigations in... not entirely clear, but they have mobile phones and aren't surprised by them, do lets assume it's about 2003 when the book was published.
It is not clear quite how a pair of detectives might still be working in their eighties, though it is remarked upon. Perhaps there it's more explanation in later books.
The central characters are likable enough in a kind of repressed English manner. All jolly enough. So why didn't out really grab me?
Perhaps out was just first book (in that series anyway) not quite finding its voice, but there was a sense that the crimes involved weren't peculiar enough.
What we have instead is a story about detectives investigating a theatre where someone is murdering their way through the cast and crew of a new production, in that way that never really happens, but turns up a lot in fiction. We have a detective who has studied in the Elijah Bailey school of deduction, accusing everybody in sight until it ultimately turns out to be the character that he and you had no real reason to think existed, let alone was in the theatre all that time. Very much the sort of thing you expect in a book, even one that doesn't bill itself as peculiar.

Moon Over Soho

By Ben Aaronovitch
Second in the series, the first of which I wrote about last year, which you're welcome to read about for the core concept, but if you can't be bothered, the Metropolitan Police's last surviving detective magician is a bit surprised to find a viable apprentice. Together they keep London safe from those threats that most coppers wouldn't believe in.
The book is good, in a not especially demanding manner. Constable Grant, the apprentice investigates a series of deaths which might or might not be related to hypothetical jazz vampires, DI Nightingale recovers from injuries sustained in the last book and does not give Grant anything like the bollocking he deserves for various bits of hugely unprofessional conduct.
We get some more history of English magic, with tempting hints about just why there are so few surviving practitioners, and Nightingale's ability to destroy a Mark III Tiger with one shot. These things are related, I suspect most of his peers weren't as handy with a fireball. I don't really want to burble on all about the details, scant as they are.
All good fun, despite the unusually downbeat ending. Next book is due in a few months time, I might even read it before it's been sat on a shelf for eight months.
Did I say before, (checks), yes, I remain surprised at the lack of news of the TV series. Aaronovitch is, let's face it, someone who started off as a TV writer (two McCoy era Dr Who stories, good ones at a point that wasn't a given) and the Rivers of London series does at times seem to be waving placards suggesting a series. Eternal Law and Demons shows that ITV is still fishing about looking for a modern fantasy answer to Doctor Who, and if I were in that job, this is one I'd be looking at hard.
Young, charismatic, mixed race lead. Silver haired mentor with seriously flash car and more history than you'd expect. Plucky WPC to ask the sensible questions. Sinister housekeeping.... something. There's even a comedy dog and an Asian pathologist.
Now I'd be the first to admit, so far very attempt by ITV to get into this market have fallen flat on their face, but I'm telling you - sooner or later someone's going to give this a go, and it just doesn't seem like BBC material. ITV do seem to like dabbling with the modern day fantasy genre, and they seem rather more prepared to try something aimed at grownups. OK, the Beeb did have the Life on Mars series, though the whole time travel aspect was mainly an excuse for retro, and a means of showing up the racism and sexism of the times without having to seem to approve of it.
It'll come. And I shall probably be hugely disappointed by how badly they do it, and yet still sorry to see it cancelled after only one series.

Snuff

By Terry Pratchett
I can't believe that anyone who's not brand new to this blog (and if you are, welcome) would have the slightest doubt that a new Discworld book was a joy to behold. Especially given that at some point, probably sooner rather than later, we will be delivered The Final Discworld book. An embuggerance indeed.
So, a new Discworld. A new Sam Vimes story at that. Of course I enjoyed it. Of the Discworld sub-series I've always liked the Watch best, the police procedural works nicely thank you.
There's a darkness to this book. Snuff. Powdered tobacco? Killing? Both play their part, along with slavery and genocide.
The goblins being enslaved and slaughtered are less than human, pathetic creatures living in squalor, which is surely one of the classic justifications for any manner of inhumanity.
As should come as very little surprise, there's barely a pause between Vimes finding out about such goings on, his resolve to do something about it and his recruiting the first goblin constable. There is then murder, skulduggery and boats to be saved from the suddenly flooded river, all while Sam strives to offend only the people Lady Sybil wants him to and give Young Sam the country holiday he deserves, complete with samples for his growing collection of poo.
It's great fun, moving along at such a rollicking pace that you barely notice the holes in the plot, and when you do, you don't especially care. There is a big unanswered question as to the nature of the supernaturally useful goblin 'Stinky', but the test is tied up pretty well.
It's a new Discworld. That was really all I needed to say.

And sorry, I thought I'd posted this about a month ago...

We Need To Talk About Kevin

By Lionel Shriver

Am I qualified to comment on this? Neither being a parent nor a depressive, how easily can one relate?
The big question seems to be 'How much can we trust Eva?'
The story is told as a series of letters from Eva to her estranged husband looking over just where everything went wrong with their lives and relationship, something that can be pinned pretty squarely on the birth of their vile child Kevin, now incarcerated for multiple murder in a Columbine style shooting.
Eva seems to have suffered from some form of post natal depression, and Kevin seems to have grown up with the sole aim of identifying anything Eva cared about and destroying it. Obviously writing now, as she approaches the second anniversary of Kevin's massacre, she has plenty of reasons to think herself a failure as a parent, though God knows, she tried.
I remember a Guardian review of the recent film, which I've not seen yet, but will probably catch as soon as it comes on the telly, which was subtitled with the idea that Kevin was Satanic. Since I was already planning to read the book, I only skimmed the article for fear of spoilers.
Satanic. Not a word I would have used. Not really supported by the article either. Still.
Kevin seems a nihilist. He takes no joy except from spoiling things for others. Probably he'd be flagged as EMO these days, another of those trendy descriptions that doesn't mean anything in particular. But Satanic? Doesn't that somehow pass any responsibility onto someone else? If there really were a devil, then knowing that he was leaning over Kevin's shoulder, whispering murderous suggestions into the boys ear, means that the deaths aren't actually his fault. But that would make it far too easy.
Kevin is a nasty child. He hurts things and especially people. He takes delight in upsetting a mother, who while somewhat aloof and dismissive, at least tries. We don't like the idea that children can be nasty, but surely some are, though fortunately rarely this nasty.
(Aside) I am suddenly reminded of people writing about The Wasp Factory, in it's day seen as a very shocking book. I could never quite work out why it was so shocking, save perhaps that they couldn't cope with the idea of a malicious child. (Aside ends)
Back to Kevin. I enjoyed the book. It's a traumatic read, but as it goes on, and the narrative approaches that awful Thursday, becomes increasing gripping. Eva blames Kevin, but blames herself for failing to engage with her child. Would she have redeemed him had she given herself unreservedly in the delivery room. She doesn't know, who could?

I've still not worked out why the writer chooses to style herself as Lionel though. Especially for something like this, where the viewpoint is so very maternal.