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The Aether Universe #1
The Light Ages
Magnificent dark fantasy set in a steampunk milieu, The Light Ages reimagines Industrial Age England transformed by magic, as two lovers find themselves on opposite sides of a violent class struggle that could destroy their world
The discovery of aether changed everything; magic mined from the ground, it ushered in an Industrial Age seemingly overnight, deposing kings and rulers as power was transferred to the almighty guilds. Soon, England’s people were separated into two distinct classes: those who dug up and were often poisoned by the miraculous substance, and those who profited from it.
Robert Borrows has always wanted more than the life of poverty and backbreaking toil into which he was born. During a visit with his mother to an isolated local manor, he discovers Annalise, the beautiful and mysterious changeling whom aether has magically remolded into something more than human. Years later, their paths will cross again in the filthy, soot-stained streets of London, where Robert preaches revolution while Annalise enjoys the privileges afforded to the upper class—the same social stratum that Robert is trying to overthrow. But even as they stand on opposite sides of the great struggle that divides their world, they are united by a shocking secret from their childhood. And their destinies will be forever entwined when their world falls to ruin.
The Light Ages continues with The House of Storms, set one century later.
The discovery of aether changed everything; magic mined from the ground, it ushered in an Industrial Age seemingly overnight, deposing kings and rulers as power was transferred to the almighty guilds. Soon, England’s people were separated into two distinct classes: those who dug up and were often poisoned by the miraculous substance, and those who profited from it.
Robert Borrows has always wanted more than the life of poverty and backbreaking toil into which he was born. During a visit with his mother to an isolated local manor, he discovers Annalise, the beautiful and mysterious changeling whom aether has magically remolded into something more than human. Years later, their paths will cross again in the filthy, soot-stained streets of London, where Robert preaches revolution while Annalise enjoys the privileges afforded to the upper class—the same social stratum that Robert is trying to overthrow. But even as they stand on opposite sides of the great struggle that divides their world, they are united by a shocking secret from their childhood. And their destinies will be forever entwined when their world falls to ruin.
The Light Ages continues with The House of Storms, set one century later.
464 pages, Kindle Edition
First published May 1, 2003
About the author
Ian R. MacLeod
170 books117 followersIan R. MacLeod is the acclaimed writer of challenging and innovative speculative and fantastic fiction. His most recent novel, Wake Up and Dream, won the Sidewise Award for Alternate History, while his previous works have won the Arthur C. Clarke Award, the John W. Campbell Memorial Award, and the World Fantasy Award, and have been translated into many languages. His short story, “Snodgrass,” was developed for television in the United Kingdom as part of the Sky Arts series Playhouse Presents. MacLeod grew up in the West Midlands region of England, studied law, and spent time working and dreaming in the civil service before moving on to teaching and house-husbandry. He lives with his wife in the riverside town of Bewdley.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 108 reviews
August 17, 2009
If this book had been a movie, I can imagine that the pitch session would have gone like this:
Writer: Think: Great Expectations meets Germinal!
Producer: Germa-what?
Writer: It's this French novel by …
Producer: Nobody's gonna wanna watch a French story. What are you? Crazy?
Writer: But with magic, you know, like Harry Potter! But it'll take place in the Victorian century, and instead of coal we'll have this magic called aether, and instead of coal pits, we'll have aether pits.
Producer: Now, you're talkin'.
Writer: So, we have this kid right, and he meets this old lady, like Miss Havisham…
Producer: Does this have monsters? Kids love monsters.
Writer: And Miss Havisham is a monster, cause of the aether. Only she doesn't look like one.
Producer: And it's gotta have sex too.
Writer: Well, this Miss Havisham character brings up this little girl, Annalise, who's also a monster. But pretty.
Producer: Awww, no monster sex. That's way too weird.
Writer: But then, even though the kid falls in love with her, she wants nothing to do with him, see. Just like Great Expectations.
Producer: Okay, I think we can sell that. Star-crossed lovers! Boy loves girl monster! Any violence? We gonna need some violence.
Writer: Yeah, that's where the Germi…errr…yeah, there're going to be riots cause the people are fed up of being crushed by the rich. And the boy will grow up to be this radical revolutionary. And there'll be this big scene where this bell-tower comes crashing down. And lots of fire and explosions. And dragons! And unicorns! Just like Harry Potter!
Producer: Oh excellent! Gimme a script tomorrow!
The sad thing is that there are some great scenes: Robbie's mother slowly turning into a troll due to overexposure to aether, the ball when Robbie meets Annalise for the first time as an adult, the bell-tower crashing down on Robbie and Annalise… For these, I give it three stars.
But not more than three. Because these individual scenes don't gel into a compelling enough vision of an aetherised England. It's not enough to just write a story about the Victorian age, and then instead of "coal" write "aether" and instead of "coal pits" write "aether pits", and pretty much leave everything else the same. When Susanna Clarke wrote Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, she had it set in 1800's England at war with Napoleonic France. The rendering of the culture and society was sufficiently similar to be recognizable. But the magic was woven in with such loving detail that it made that world subtly, weirdly, magically and compellingly different.
This is not what happens here: yes, this is an age powered by some exotic-sounding type substance but of that substance, of that magic, little more than a slapped-on name and some superficial descriptions of shimmering threads. So, you see, that's pretty much the problem. You can take the idea of an age powered by magic, you can take ideas from history, but ultimately it still has to fuse together into a living, breathing whole. Otherwise, all it is is an Aetherpiltdown Man: an awkward dead construction cobbled together unconvincingly from various disparate parts.
Writer: Think: Great Expectations meets Germinal!
Producer: Germa-what?
Writer: It's this French novel by …
Producer: Nobody's gonna wanna watch a French story. What are you? Crazy?
Writer: But with magic, you know, like Harry Potter! But it'll take place in the Victorian century, and instead of coal we'll have this magic called aether, and instead of coal pits, we'll have aether pits.
Producer: Now, you're talkin'.
Writer: So, we have this kid right, and he meets this old lady, like Miss Havisham…
Producer: Does this have monsters? Kids love monsters.
Writer: And Miss Havisham is a monster, cause of the aether. Only she doesn't look like one.
Producer: And it's gotta have sex too.
Writer: Well, this Miss Havisham character brings up this little girl, Annalise, who's also a monster. But pretty.
Producer: Awww, no monster sex. That's way too weird.
Writer: But then, even though the kid falls in love with her, she wants nothing to do with him, see. Just like Great Expectations.
Producer: Okay, I think we can sell that. Star-crossed lovers! Boy loves girl monster! Any violence? We gonna need some violence.
Writer: Yeah, that's where the Germi…errr…yeah, there're going to be riots cause the people are fed up of being crushed by the rich. And the boy will grow up to be this radical revolutionary. And there'll be this big scene where this bell-tower comes crashing down. And lots of fire and explosions. And dragons! And unicorns! Just like Harry Potter!
Producer: Oh excellent! Gimme a script tomorrow!
The sad thing is that there are some great scenes: Robbie's mother slowly turning into a troll due to overexposure to aether, the ball when Robbie meets Annalise for the first time as an adult, the bell-tower crashing down on Robbie and Annalise… For these, I give it three stars.
But not more than three. Because these individual scenes don't gel into a compelling enough vision of an aetherised England. It's not enough to just write a story about the Victorian age, and then instead of "coal" write "aether" and instead of "coal pits" write "aether pits", and pretty much leave everything else the same. When Susanna Clarke wrote Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, she had it set in 1800's England at war with Napoleonic France. The rendering of the culture and society was sufficiently similar to be recognizable. But the magic was woven in with such loving detail that it made that world subtly, weirdly, magically and compellingly different.
This is not what happens here: yes, this is an age powered by some exotic-sounding type substance but of that substance, of that magic, little more than a slapped-on name and some superficial descriptions of shimmering threads. So, you see, that's pretty much the problem. You can take the idea of an age powered by magic, you can take ideas from history, but ultimately it still has to fuse together into a living, breathing whole. Otherwise, all it is is an Aetherpiltdown Man: an awkward dead construction cobbled together unconvincingly from various disparate parts.
April 7, 2024
It’s a damning indictment of this website that the top-rated review for this subtle, magisterial work of literary fantasy consists mostly of a skit in which the reviewer imagines the writer pitching the novel, as if talking to a movie producer, as Great Expectations meets Harry Potter, before going in on how the world-building isn’t concrete enough or whatever people on here like to complain about. Once again, Goodreads.com provides ample evidence that calling yourself a book lover doesn’t necessarily indicate a capacity to appreciate them.
Of course, everyone is entitled to their own opinions, even insultingly facile ones, and I wouldn’t mind so much if it seemed like this novel had found its audience. Sadly, I'm not sure that it has, at least to the extent it deserves. The Amazon page for the ebook opens with a pull from the Guardian predicting that MacLeod “is set to become a writer of the magnitude of Dickens or Tolkien” — but it also shows the book has only received 19 total ratings since 2003, of which 10 are reviews. And while a comparison in stature to those two in particular is obviously hyperbolic, in any reasonable world The Light Ages would be at least as well known as anything by, for example, China Mieville. It is, after all, the novel Mieville has been struggling to write for his entire career.
So why is this book so good? Well, it isn’t entirely the prose, but that certainly helps. Dense with sensory and psychological detail without ever being stodgy or overwrought, MacLeod has a way of letting beautiful moments pile up without drawing any attention to them. Words inscribed with magic ‘stand out like the twirl of a cigarette’; delicate character observations are dropped off-handedly in blocks of description; and huge turning points in a character’s way of thinking are depicted with four short lines of unattributed dialogue.
The feeling this creates is one of a world in which truth, beauty and horror are constantly on the verge breaking through the cracks in the mundane shell, which fittingly mirrors the thematic core of the novel, centred as it is around the conceit of a Victorian-esque England powered by the dangerous, intoxicating magic of aether. The great mover of industry, aether thrums through every part of society. Like many central metaphors in speculative fiction, aether works as a skewed literalisation of something that exists in our world put is difficult to put a finger on directly: in this case, the capacity for change carried in fossil fuels and electricity, shown to not only enable industrial and scientific transformations, but personal and cultural ones too.
But while the changes wrought by fossil fuels in our world — including the final domination of the British Empire and from it the modern global world system, the explosion of cities, and the rapid degradation of the environment and resulting global warming — have been transformative in ways both totalising and irreversible, aether in MacLeod's novel has allowed England (other countries are distant, barely mentioned) to spiral inwards into ever-repeating series of gilded ages, where rich and poor find themselves trapped separate fragments of the same reflected illusion, albeit at vastly different levels of comfort. It is a vision of society bordering on solipsistic, but
one in which we are constantly offered glimpses of what might be on the outside of the looking glass: where the narrator dreams of ‘some dark but vital counterpoint to the magical song which pervaded all of England to which I was still tone deaf’. But the closer he comes to the truth at the centre of it all, the more it shrinks away. Revolutions and revelations come and go, but nothing ever seems to change. By the end, it seems clear that the narrator’s malaise is constituted in subjectivity itself — his inability to get beyond his wonder at the magic of the world and into what might be a ‘true’ understanding of it, an unmediated experience. As a child, he attended a funeral and noticed that ‘children watched them across a low wall, just as I had watched other funerals, wondering what it would be like to stand here before a hole in the ground’. Despite everything that happens in his life, he never seems to break past that childhood realisation that even in the moment of that experience, he found himself ‘still wondering’.
It is rare for a fantasy novel to deal so delicately with concerns usually left to naturalist literary fiction, and rarer still to do so while being totally unembarrassed about its genre status (this is a book complete with dragons and unicorns, conspiracies and insurrections). MacLeod's novel ties each element together so effortlessly that you couldn’t imagine it doing anything else. It deserves better than a skit about Harry Potter.
Of course, everyone is entitled to their own opinions, even insultingly facile ones, and I wouldn’t mind so much if it seemed like this novel had found its audience. Sadly, I'm not sure that it has, at least to the extent it deserves. The Amazon page for the ebook opens with a pull from the Guardian predicting that MacLeod “is set to become a writer of the magnitude of Dickens or Tolkien” — but it also shows the book has only received 19 total ratings since 2003, of which 10 are reviews. And while a comparison in stature to those two in particular is obviously hyperbolic, in any reasonable world The Light Ages would be at least as well known as anything by, for example, China Mieville. It is, after all, the novel Mieville has been struggling to write for his entire career.
So why is this book so good? Well, it isn’t entirely the prose, but that certainly helps. Dense with sensory and psychological detail without ever being stodgy or overwrought, MacLeod has a way of letting beautiful moments pile up without drawing any attention to them. Words inscribed with magic ‘stand out like the twirl of a cigarette’; delicate character observations are dropped off-handedly in blocks of description; and huge turning points in a character’s way of thinking are depicted with four short lines of unattributed dialogue.
The feeling this creates is one of a world in which truth, beauty and horror are constantly on the verge breaking through the cracks in the mundane shell, which fittingly mirrors the thematic core of the novel, centred as it is around the conceit of a Victorian-esque England powered by the dangerous, intoxicating magic of aether. The great mover of industry, aether thrums through every part of society. Like many central metaphors in speculative fiction, aether works as a skewed literalisation of something that exists in our world put is difficult to put a finger on directly: in this case, the capacity for change carried in fossil fuels and electricity, shown to not only enable industrial and scientific transformations, but personal and cultural ones too.
But while the changes wrought by fossil fuels in our world — including the final domination of the British Empire and from it the modern global world system, the explosion of cities, and the rapid degradation of the environment and resulting global warming — have been transformative in ways both totalising and irreversible, aether in MacLeod's novel has allowed England (other countries are distant, barely mentioned) to spiral inwards into ever-repeating series of gilded ages, where rich and poor find themselves trapped separate fragments of the same reflected illusion, albeit at vastly different levels of comfort. It is a vision of society bordering on solipsistic, but
one in which we are constantly offered glimpses of what might be on the outside of the looking glass: where the narrator dreams of ‘some dark but vital counterpoint to the magical song which pervaded all of England to which I was still tone deaf’. But the closer he comes to the truth at the centre of it all, the more it shrinks away. Revolutions and revelations come and go, but nothing ever seems to change. By the end, it seems clear that the narrator’s malaise is constituted in subjectivity itself — his inability to get beyond his wonder at the magic of the world and into what might be a ‘true’ understanding of it, an unmediated experience. As a child, he attended a funeral and noticed that ‘children watched them across a low wall, just as I had watched other funerals, wondering what it would be like to stand here before a hole in the ground’. Despite everything that happens in his life, he never seems to break past that childhood realisation that even in the moment of that experience, he found himself ‘still wondering’.
It is rare for a fantasy novel to deal so delicately with concerns usually left to naturalist literary fiction, and rarer still to do so while being totally unembarrassed about its genre status (this is a book complete with dragons and unicorns, conspiracies and insurrections). MacLeod's novel ties each element together so effortlessly that you couldn’t imagine it doing anything else. It deserves better than a skit about Harry Potter.
January 28, 2009
[grabbed from this site][return][return]This creation owes much to Charles Dickens. It also owes much to Mervyn Peake at least in a Gormenghastish way, but the writing is all McLeod. This is a sumptuous book, with a wonderful use of language. If you want a whiz-bang adventure story, well, sorry. This one won't do.[return][return]Robbie Brown was born in what we might think of as 1876 in England. But not our England. Note the day of the week he was born; Sixshiftday. As you read on, you find that the "Guilds" have done away with the old 6 days of work and one of rest. Now men work 12 days, Firstshiftday through Twelfthshiftday, and wonder of wonders, get Halfshiftday and then Noshiftday. Aren't the mighty Guilds kind?[return][return]Bracebridge is a mining town in West Yorkshire that mines a rare commodity. Aether. The magic of the world, the Magick of Faery, has been extracted, and converted to a wondrous liquid which with the proper spells can build castles in the air and allow shoddy workmanship to become usable, and even valuable, and create unicorns, dragons, pitbeasts. As in the extraction and refinement of radioactive material, aether is dangerous, and Robert's mother is contaminated a number of years before our story starts when Robbie is seven. She turns into a troll and is taken away.[return][return]The story moves through the stages of Robbie's life, first as a child when he meets Annalise, the changeling girl who is the center of his life while swirling through his periphery, his move to London, falling in with a thief who is also a political activist desirous of bringing down the Guilds, his political activism, and his "illegal entry" into the Guilds. In a sense, I am minded of Starman Jones by Robert Heinlein, from the standpoint of the characterization of the Guilds.[return][return]Robert begins to see the Guilds as the source of evil, pollution and corruption in 19th century England, but McLeod's characters are finely drawn, and even the "highest source of evil" is simply a man caught up in his time. The massive disparity of wealth between the Guildmasters and the "marks", who live in filth and poverty is well delineated, and all the characters live, and breathe.[return][return]But in the end, it is the flow, the quality of writing, that draws the reader through the book, and causes this book to stay on the bookshelf, to be read and savored again.
May 4, 2009
While comparisons to Pullman and Mieville are not off entirely off base for Macleod’s work of industrial fantasy it is a much slower paced but if you let it take its time it weaves a subtler and deadlier spell like its obvious model, Keith Robert’s Pavane(did Pullman also use this for a model?). Melancholy character and touches of the grotesque this novel details an alternative history were a 300 year industrial revolution(based on the substance aether) freezes progress leaving England in an eternal Victorian age. Rather than take the dime novel approach of James p. Blaylock or Difilippo this reads more like an unearthed serious novel of the 19th century. Slow patches are made up for by the surreal and tragic revolution in the last third. Also some wonderful bits where the fantasy cliches are giving a grotesque trouncing (the dragon and the unicorn, the quest narrative)that brings to mind Swanwick. Macleod’s prose as always has painful beauty despite some unfortunate typos in my edition.
July 13, 2020
“She had the look of a once-treasured doll that had been left out in the rain.”
Engaging concept whose prose failed to engage. Fifty pages in and I hadn’t been hooked. It isn’t bad; it’s just not good. Too many 0ther books unread.
“… walled with spilled and sagging cliff faces of books, tiered with balconies.”
Engaging concept whose prose failed to engage. Fifty pages in and I hadn’t been hooked. It isn’t bad; it’s just not good. Too many 0ther books unread.
“… walled with spilled and sagging cliff faces of books, tiered with balconies.”
April 8, 2010
In a way, this book reminded me of Susanna Clarke's Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell, not in its subject matter but in the way the author approached hos work. This reads like good historical fiction, focused on a sort of alternative Victorian England. we see the same stultifying class structure, the horrible working conditions, and the awful, grinding poverty.
I suppose this could be classified as urban fantasy of a sort. In this alternative history, industry, indeeed the entire economy, is based on the magical element aether. It is dangerous; people directly exposed to it suffer various mutations and are ostracized as "trolls." But it is also crucial to the economy, used to make machines run and buildings to be structurally sound. It is a metaphor for the weakness that lies behind the confidence of Victorian English.
Victorian, however, is not entirely descriptive, in the sense that, in the story, the Age of Kings (as they call it) is long past. One gets the sense, though, that this development was not entirely a good thing. Society in the novel is run by an all-pervading system of guilds, as stifling to social mobility as the actual class system ever was.
Much of the plot of the book involves the revolutionary activities of the protagonist and his friends. through the book, MacLeod looks at the processes of social change, questions the efficacy of revolutionary activity, and overall looks at the dynamics of industrial society. It's an alternative world, but it seems very true to the real world. along with this, the author weaves a coming of age story, a tragic romance, and a social novel that reads a little like Goerge Eliot or Charles Dickens (but less wordy).
All in all, a good read, and a decent stretching of the fantasy genre's parameters.
I suppose this could be classified as urban fantasy of a sort. In this alternative history, industry, indeeed the entire economy, is based on the magical element aether. It is dangerous; people directly exposed to it suffer various mutations and are ostracized as "trolls." But it is also crucial to the economy, used to make machines run and buildings to be structurally sound. It is a metaphor for the weakness that lies behind the confidence of Victorian English.
Victorian, however, is not entirely descriptive, in the sense that, in the story, the Age of Kings (as they call it) is long past. One gets the sense, though, that this development was not entirely a good thing. Society in the novel is run by an all-pervading system of guilds, as stifling to social mobility as the actual class system ever was.
Much of the plot of the book involves the revolutionary activities of the protagonist and his friends. through the book, MacLeod looks at the processes of social change, questions the efficacy of revolutionary activity, and overall looks at the dynamics of industrial society. It's an alternative world, but it seems very true to the real world. along with this, the author weaves a coming of age story, a tragic romance, and a social novel that reads a little like Goerge Eliot or Charles Dickens (but less wordy).
All in all, a good read, and a decent stretching of the fantasy genre's parameters.
Read
March 29, 2012Theres a revolution in this book, but it turns out you need to care about the past for it's shattering to have any emotional or narrative impact. When one character accuses the protagonosts of trying to destroy her world, it means nothing, as we never got to have any real sense of her world and why it would matter to her. This is odd, given the slow, slow start and generally langurous pace, but this is all concerned with the rather tedious childhood of the protagonist and manages to never get across much real worldbuilding.
Its possible that it merely aims not to glamorize the past, but the book is explicitely about the act of the revolution itself, not the doctrinal differences between the fantasy capitalism and (failed) fantasy syndicalism of before and after. As such, it's vauge, dreamy atmospheric vibe holds up well the confused, frustrated loneliness of the arcs of it's heroes. The protagonist tries to substitute unrequited longing for a relashionship and politics for wonder, and the revolution merely goes round again. It fails to fulfill desire and the personal remains the personal. The revolution becomes a hollow shell over the skeleton of the magical, that the characters turn to again and again to provide that which reality cannot.
It's ultimately a powerful notion, that our own flawed needs and weaknesses, our need to be someone we are not, underpin the structures of oppression. Its just too long by half and could have used more of a plot.
Recommended for those more interested in reflection that action.
Its possible that it merely aims not to glamorize the past, but the book is explicitely about the act of the revolution itself, not the doctrinal differences between the fantasy capitalism and (failed) fantasy syndicalism of before and after. As such, it's vauge, dreamy atmospheric vibe holds up well the confused, frustrated loneliness of the arcs of it's heroes. The protagonist tries to substitute unrequited longing for a relashionship and politics for wonder, and the revolution merely goes round again. It fails to fulfill desire and the personal remains the personal. The revolution becomes a hollow shell over the skeleton of the magical, that the characters turn to again and again to provide that which reality cannot.
It's ultimately a powerful notion, that our own flawed needs and weaknesses, our need to be someone we are not, underpin the structures of oppression. Its just too long by half and could have used more of a plot.
Recommended for those more interested in reflection that action.
February 4, 2017
I have just picked up this book and the writing is wonderful. I have read six pages and only pause to hold myself back from devouring it in a rush of gluttony so I can savor the writing. I will have to read this slowly and reread passages so I can completely immerse myself in the prose. This is the most entrancing book I have read in a very long time. I want this experience to last.
March 25, 2018
Dwie gwiazdki, rzadko daję książkom tak niską ocenę i sama nie jestem przekonana, że powinno być tak nisko. Choć opisowo ta ocena wydaje się już być lepsza: "it was ok".
Sam koncept świetny - akcja dzieje się w Anglii, gdzieś na moje rozeznanie w okolicach wieku 18, kiedy w naszej rzeczywistości zaczyna się wiek przemysłu. Ale rzeczywistość w książce jest rzeczywistością alternatywną i w fabule wszelki postęp wziął się z wydobywanego z ziemi (jak węgiel) eteru. Eter napędza maszyny, telegrafy i inne urządzenia, znane nam z naszej rzeczywistości. Wymaga znajomości zaklęć, nie tylko wystarczy go użyć, ale jeszcze zaczarować. Odczarować też go można, a wtedy wszystko może się zapaść.
SPOILER ALERT!
Niestety okazuje się, że eter się kończy, a nasz bohater wyrusza w podróż aby się 1. po pierwsze dowiedzieć tego 2. po drugie stara się napędzać rewolucję i rozpocząć nowy wiek.
I to wszystko brzmi ciekawie - jak początek fascynującej powieści. Niestety jej realizacja już według mnie nie była taka dobra. Postaci płaskie i bez przekonującej, wiarygodnej motywacji. Akcja raz przyśpieszała, raz zwalniała, raz była prowadzona z poziomu lat, a raz z poziomu chwil i momentów, co może się sprawdzić, jeśli się umie to poprawnie przeprowadzić. Ale jak dla mnie autor zepsuł dobry pomysł, słabym pisarstwem.
Sam koncept świetny - akcja dzieje się w Anglii, gdzieś na moje rozeznanie w okolicach wieku 18, kiedy w naszej rzeczywistości zaczyna się wiek przemysłu. Ale rzeczywistość w książce jest rzeczywistością alternatywną i w fabule wszelki postęp wziął się z wydobywanego z ziemi (jak węgiel) eteru. Eter napędza maszyny, telegrafy i inne urządzenia, znane nam z naszej rzeczywistości. Wymaga znajomości zaklęć, nie tylko wystarczy go użyć, ale jeszcze zaczarować. Odczarować też go można, a wtedy wszystko może się zapaść.
SPOILER ALERT!
Niestety okazuje się, że eter się kończy, a nasz bohater wyrusza w podróż aby się 1. po pierwsze dowiedzieć tego 2. po drugie stara się napędzać rewolucję i rozpocząć nowy wiek.
I to wszystko brzmi ciekawie - jak początek fascynującej powieści. Niestety jej realizacja już według mnie nie była taka dobra. Postaci płaskie i bez przekonującej, wiarygodnej motywacji. Akcja raz przyśpieszała, raz zwalniała, raz była prowadzona z poziomu lat, a raz z poziomu chwil i momentów, co może się sprawdzić, jeśli się umie to poprawnie przeprowadzić. Ale jak dla mnie autor zepsuł dobry pomysł, słabym pisarstwem.
October 25, 2012
It was hard to really get into this book because despite being written fairly well and having an interesting setting, the entire thing pretty much read like an extended character sketch. Told from the first person point of view, it follows Robert Borrows all the way from his childhood to sometime in late middle age at the conclusion of the book.
Now, don't get me wrong, I like character-driven fiction and I have nothing wrong with first person narratives. This one just suffers from a bad case of nothingishappeningitis. It takes forever to even build up a sense of what is going to happen, and a second forever for it to happen, and then you're like "Oh, is that all?"
It doesn't help that Robert is not a particularly engaging character. He is neither especially likeable or dislikeable. He is, perhaps, believable as a real person, but not as a real interesting person. I was never really invested in what happened to him. Perhaps if more time was spent in dialog and less time in introspection, he would have felt more dynamic and alive. Perhaps if he had taken more actions throughout the book, or seemed to care more about the people around him, I would have cared more about what was going on and who it happened to.
The review blurbs on the cover and first couple pages make a lot of comparisons to Mieville, especially Perdido Street Station, but I found the similarities to be few. The authors have completely different writing styles. Both stories have a certain political leaning, a certain sense of looming dystopia, and the occasiona glimpse at the gruesome realities of the world the characters live in -- but Mieville gets deeper into all of these than MacLeod does. MacLeod's story is more of a conventional steampunk alternate history (suggesting how the Industrial Age would have progressed if machinery had been powered by a strange magical substance called aether rather than coal), whereas Mieville is New Weird or whatever you want to call it.
Much like its narrator, this book ended up being neither particularly likeable nor dislikeable. I'll probably have forgotten all about it in a few months.
Now, don't get me wrong, I like character-driven fiction and I have nothing wrong with first person narratives. This one just suffers from a bad case of nothingishappeningitis. It takes forever to even build up a sense of what is going to happen, and a second forever for it to happen, and then you're like "Oh, is that all?"
It doesn't help that Robert is not a particularly engaging character. He is neither especially likeable or dislikeable. He is, perhaps, believable as a real person, but not as a real interesting person. I was never really invested in what happened to him. Perhaps if more time was spent in dialog and less time in introspection, he would have felt more dynamic and alive. Perhaps if he had taken more actions throughout the book, or seemed to care more about the people around him, I would have cared more about what was going on and who it happened to.
The review blurbs on the cover and first couple pages make a lot of comparisons to Mieville, especially Perdido Street Station, but I found the similarities to be few. The authors have completely different writing styles. Both stories have a certain political leaning, a certain sense of looming dystopia, and the occasiona glimpse at the gruesome realities of the world the characters live in -- but Mieville gets deeper into all of these than MacLeod does. MacLeod's story is more of a conventional steampunk alternate history (suggesting how the Industrial Age would have progressed if machinery had been powered by a strange magical substance called aether rather than coal), whereas Mieville is New Weird or whatever you want to call it.
Much like its narrator, this book ended up being neither particularly likeable nor dislikeable. I'll probably have forgotten all about it in a few months.
March 2, 2016
All right, I am giving up on this book. I'm a quarter of the way in and still not engaged with the main character. The descriptions, while comprehensive, are heavy handed and verbose. I keep losing the plot in the midst of all the 'color.' I've been working at this book for two weeks now. That is more than it takes me to finish a book and I just can't get into it. I'm very disappointed, as I picked it up after reading a great review. Time to move on.
April 26, 2015
I made it to page 132 out of 456 in The Light Ages.
Strike one was the very slow plot.
Strike two was the unwieldy prose that featured overly long sentences and too many commas.
Strike three was the lack of intrigue or anything that captivated me. I just didn't really care what happened next.
Maybe I missed out on something awesome. Hope not.
Strike one was the very slow plot.
Strike two was the unwieldy prose that featured overly long sentences and too many commas.
Strike three was the lack of intrigue or anything that captivated me. I just didn't really care what happened next.
Maybe I missed out on something awesome. Hope not.
January 14, 2017
English version after Polish one. Summary contains one major spoiler, which, if you look again, has no influence on the story.
W podsumowaniu jest ujawniony jeden sekret... który jednak - jak się przypatrzyć - nie ma wpływu na fabułę.
Świetny warsztat pisarski, chylę czoła przed McLeodem za to, jak konstruuje obrazy. Zdania pokroju "prześcieradła spływały z niej jak mleko z kamiennej stągwi" przemawiają do wielu zmysłów naraz, przynajmniej moich. Są w tej książce sceny, które pozostaną ze mną na długo - bal jak z Kopciuszka (z ciekawie zmienionymi rolami wróżki i Kopciuszka), rewolucja, śmierć w płomieniach, stające maszyny - wszystko to jest poopisywane w sposób niesamowity i zapadający w pamięć. Nie wiem jak McLeod konstruuje sceny, jak do nich dochodzi, jak wyobraża je sobie i jak dobiera słowa czy zdania, ale efekt końcowy potrafi porazić człowieka.
Kolejnym znakiem dobrego warsztatu jest to, że po zakończeniu powieści widzi się, że niemal każda nazwana postać była istotna. Jeśli ktoś ma kwestie dialogowe i imię, to ma rolę. Podobało mi się, jak postacie z pierwszych kart powieści wracały potem w taki czy inny sposób. Podobało mi się, jak potrafiły odsłonić element układanki, ujawnić nowe fakty, np. w retrospekcji.
Świetne sceny, godny podziwu warsztat kowala słów McLeoda (rekomendacja Dukaja zdecydowanie jest zrozumiała), wspaniała robota tłumacza (dziękuję Wojciechowi M. Próchniewiczowi!) niemal wyłącznie istotne postacie z punktu widzenia opowieści, ciekawy pomysł. Tu kończą się mocne strony książki. Słabości obejmują postacie, które się właściwie nie zmieniają i których nie możemy poznać czy zrozumieć, opowieść dla autora a nie dla czytelników, opowieść dla opowieści, wątek miłosny (jeśli można go tak nazwać), główne postacie oraz sekretny wątek, tajemnicę, która właściwie napędza większość wydarzeń (a teoretycznie także głównych bohaterów). Czyli w zasadzie wszystko.
Mogę uznać, że postacie nie powinny być zarzutem. McLeod w końcu nie tworzy postaci. On tworzy nośniki. Informacji, uczuć, wrażeń. Postacie u niego są tylko środkami do tworzenia scen, które mają wywrzeć wrażenie na czytającym. Katalizatorami zdarzeń.
Robert nie jest głównym bohaterem, jest popychaczem. Jego "poszukiwanie czegoś", bliżej niesprecyzowanego "czegoś", zaczyna się od pierwszej strony i nie kończy się, gdy książka się kończy. Ponieważ Robert nie wie czego szuka, nikt inny wiedzieć tego też nie będzie. Robert natomiast jest przez to pchany do przodu, a my z nim, w końcu cała książka jest z jego perspektywy. Dorastamy w BraceBridge przy szum bum szum bum maszyn wydobywających eter, doświadczamy eterowego obłędu wypaczającego owady jak i ludzi, uczestniczymy w pracokresach, po których jest półdziela i "niedziela" przenosimy się do Londynu czasu prosperity, gdzie narasta ruch obywateli, uważających, że posiadanie jest złem itp. Ale, jak przyjrzeć się temu raz jeszcze, to okaże się, że nie uczestniczymy. Że to tylko pretekst by zaserwować nam te czy inne sceny. Scenę przemiany w trolla. Scenę kradzieży na targu. Scenę rewolucji. Scenę motłochu palącego, grabiącego. Scenę zawiedzionych nadziei idealistów, którzy wierzą, że tłum za nimi jest zjednoczony wokół ich szumnych postulatów i dlatego nie rozumieją, dlaczego miast dać wyłonić delegację, tłum rusza do ataku, palenia i krwawych zamieszek. Te sceny składają się na opowieść. Ta opowieść, podobnie jak postać Roberta (i każda inna) jest nośnikiem, medium. I na mnie to po prostu nie działa.
Dla mnie Robert powinien się zastanowić czego szuka, zamiast rzucać się to na pociąg do Londynu to na "jest rok 99, czas na zmianę Wieku". Dla mnie Robert nie jest rewolucjonistą, bo cała opowieść o rewolucji to pretekst by pokazać kilka scen. Praca Roberta-rewolucjonisty jest opowiedziana właściwie zakulisowo. Np., gdy się kąpie, patrzy na bliznę i wspomina, że zarobił ja podczas walki z konkurencyjną ekipą rewolucjonistów. Więcej jest opisów jak Robert się kąpie w luksusie Walcote House niż jak pracuje nad rewolucją. Czy Robert kogokolwiek nienawidził? Chyba nie. Ciężko rzec czy czuł cokolwiek poza zagubieniem, fascynacją i pragnieniem znalezienia czegoś. Tak, kilka razy zauważył, że wyższe sfery marnotrawią bogactwo, które mogłoby pomóc wielu. Ale czy poczuł coś z tej racji? Nie jakoś bardzo.
W ogóle emocje Roberta są mocno wyciszone. Najmocniej czuje się je, kiedy Robert jest dzieckiem. Wtedy można mówić o rewolucji, kiedy 7-letni narrator opowiada o swoim ojcu i matce, uginających się pod niebotyczną hierarchią klasową albo pod "potężnym ciśnieniem angielskiej hierarchii cechowej". Kiedy mówi o ojcu zatracającym energię i inteligencję, wskutek braku perspektyw wobec "tajnych i sztywnych struktur Niższego Cechu Ślusarzy". Ale ta narracja potem zanika. Rozmywa się. Bo rozmywają się też emocje Roberta.
Książka zaczyna się od jego wielkiego rozczarowania. Napisane jest, że to rozczarowanie jego życia. I... nie ma do niego odwołania właściwie nigdzie później. Pomiędzy wierszami można doczytywać się, że to dlatego, że miał Znak Starszych a nie był odmieńcem. Czemu jest to rozczarowujące? Patrząc na to, jak żyją odmieńce, patrząc na wszystko, co mają, nie potrafię powiedzieć. Czy fakt, że matka opowiedziała mu bajkę o powstaniu odmieńców tak mocno nań wpłynął? Najwyraźniej. Takich pytań można mieć wiele. Być może Robert szukał celu. Być może szukał ucieczki od świata, swojego Einfell. Zastanawiając się teraz, kilka godzin po przeczytaniu całej książki, prawdopodobnie to jest jej przesłaniem. Że można spędzić życie szukając magii. Baśni. Jeśli tak, to McLeod, ze swoim konstruowaniem zdań ze słów pozornie niepowiązanych ("szare jak wnętrzności ryby"), zdecydowanie jest świetnym człowiekiem do napisania jej. A ja po prostu oczekiwałem opowieści, a dostałem quasi-moralitet. Przesłanie ubrane w opowieść, które opowieścią nie jest.
Bo u McLeoda postacie są nośnikami. Saul nie wiedzieć czemu zadaje się z Maud. Cieszy się z tego, ale kiedy coś (by nie psuć lektury) ją krzywdzi... to nie robi nic. Pozwala ich związkowi i wpólnej przyszłości się... rozmyć. Czy dlatego, że Saul wstydzi się, że jej nie ochronił? Czy rozstanie jest mu na rękę? Ciężko powiedzieć i McLeod nie wgłębia się w temat. Jak dokładnie potoczył się konflikt Blissenhawka i Saula? Nie wiemy. Bo to nieistotne. Czemu Wyższy Mistrz oszalał? No... bo tak było wygodnie, by zafundować nam niesamowitą scenę w Kaplicy Adwokatów. A ta scena była po to, by rozwinąć dalsze wątki tak, jak dyktował to scenariusz. By koniec był właśnie gorzko-słodki. By pod koniec można było pokazać archetypy postaci i powiedzieć "jak im się w życiu powiodło". I tak naprawdę, ciekawe jest, że Roberta wśród tych opisanych archetypów nie ma. Jedyne co wiemy o Robercie, to to, co mamy z tytułu najkrótszej części książki. Tej pierwszej, prologu, kiedy Robert spaceruje przez Londyn. I kiedy określa się jako tytularny dla tej części "Wielki Mistrz Cechowy".
Nie lubię manipulacji tak oczywistej. Deus ex machina używany tak, jak się widzi autorowi, zawsze wywołuje u mnie grymas. Czyli: możliwości eteru, "przypadkowość" spotkań (akurat dostrzega ich ta konkretna postać która jest potrzebna, z przejeżdżającego samochodu), reakcje postaci... Drażni to w książce autora z takimi umiejętnościami. McLeod nie dba o szczegóły, on się nad nimi prześlizguje ścigając swoją wizję: opowieść z perfekcyjnie zbudowanych scen. Opowieść obliczoną na efekt.
Budowanie świata traktowane jest równie po macoszemu. Konceptem kluczowym jest eter, który jest wszechobecny: napędza maszyny, zmienił historię. Ale nie wiemy do końca, co to takiego ten eter. Poza tym, że pozwala naginać prawa natury. Że można eter zakląć w znaki i te znaki sprawią, że tłok źle wykonany, będzie działał. Że coś, co powinno się zepsuć, zadziała. Że konstrukcja, która bez eteru nie ustoi, z eterem stoi lata. Ale są też granice. Bo można młot zepsuć tak, że nawet jak sprowadzą wypaczonych przez eter odmieńców, to nawet oni młota nie naprawią. Eter w jakiś sposób sprawił, że nadeszły Wieki Przemysłu, że obalono monarchie i ścięto królów. Wszystko to dzięki temu, że odkryto eter i możliwości, jakie daje. A daje takie, że biblioteki poszły w zapomnienie i książki są nieistotne - wielka biblioteka w RedHouse ma tomy, które rozsypują się ze starości. I nikt o nie nie dba, ludzie o nich zapomnieli. Że Bóg Najstarszy nie miał wyboru i został cechmistrzem. Że albo jesteś w cechu, albo jesteś nikim. Ale np. wspominany jest Chrystus. Jest kanonik, który jest cechowym. Ale nie wiemy, czy Chrystus był w cechu i np. czy był ukrzyżowany, czy zmartwychwstał. Wiemy natomiast, że nawet dzieci wiedzą, że do wina hymnicznego dodaje się eteru, by pijący doświadczali wizji. I że te wizje są znane, ludzie wiedzą, co zobaczą.
Strzępek tu, inne słowo tam. Ty musisz to sobie poskładać i dlatego każdy dojdzie do czego innego - bo przy bogactwie i nietuzinkowości zestawień słów u McLeoda (ruch prześcieradeł jak rozlanie mleka, kolor jak rybie wnętrzności) jest to nieuniknione.
Podsumowując:
Sceny, które Cię poruszą, nanizane jak korale na sznurek. Kolejność ma znaczenie, bo celem jest byś coś przeżył, dla niektórych pewnie to będzie nawet katharsis (z jakiegoś powodu ta książka dostaje dużo czwórek).
Jeśli myślisz, że to jest powieść, opowieść, historia, coś spójnego - nie, nie jest. Autor manipuluje wszystkim by ustawić sceny. Spójność postaci wylatuje przez okno, a spójność scenariusza łatana jest setkami mniejszych, większych i wprost gigantycznych deus ex machina (np. skąd wzięła się nazwa Wieki Światła). Motywacje postaci pozostają niewyjaśnione a tajemnica za narodzinami głównych bohaterów jest równie "zręcznie" poprowadzona jak wątek romansowy, . Generalnie - omijaj, jak lubisz spójne historie. To nie jest historia. To zestaw scen, a opowieść je łącząca jest tak istotna dla jej uroku jak sznurek dla korali, które są nań nanizane.
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ENGLISH VERSION BELOW
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Before I begin - one spoiler in summary, otherwise, safe to read.
I must applaud McLeod for his wordsmithing skills. Truly, magnificent. I shan't give examples cause I read Polish translation, but hell, the way he constructs sentences can make me not just visualize things, but feel, hear or smell them. Rare thing. I totally understand why Jacek Dukaj, whose books are written with same wordsmithing talent, recognized McLeod and recommended his writings.
If you wish to taste this writing skill, pick up this book and read first sixteen pages - that's whole first part of the book, the Great Guild Master (or Guild Grandmaster, or however McLeod wrote it).
It doesn't end there. McLeod operates on words to construct terrific sentences, that touch your senses, but it doesn't end there: he uses those sentences to bring scenes to life. And what scenes these are! Magnificent, horrifying, powerful, heart-wrenching. Like pearls. Shiny, beautiful, unforgettable, amazing. His scenes are seriously capable of stealing your breath away. He's able to make you stand there and experience it. Seriously scary skill. And then he takes those pearls, and makes them into a necklace. Beautiful, yes. Incredible, too. Railroded? Oh, hell, very much, yes.
Problems I have with Robert's story (cause whole book IS Robert's story: it follows Robert's search for "the truth" and it ends when he's still searching, cause his search is endless) can be summarized easily. Let me offer you three summaries, pick one that you like the most.
1) It's meant to evoke feelings and it glosses over things that won't help it. It's a very efficient book. Yet if you won't feel good when someone tries hard... it only tries harder. If this arrow misses you, you never could've been the target?
2) McLeod is so focused on making his pearl necklace, that everything that's not essential to making another pearl is irrelevant, glossed over, mentioned or outright skipped. Forget world-building, instead be prepared for imaginative words (he IS a good wordsmith) and sentences being thrown at you - you figure it out. Forget consistent characters, or character growth, it's detrimental to scenes, out the window. Forget knowing or understanding characters, they are mediums for something else, something that is relevant when scene happens. Deus ex machina is rampant and the largest McGuffin is the aether. The totally-irrelevant-yet-made-crux-of-the-story aether, enabler for everything magical in McLeod's steampunk England. And - of course - glossed over as far as possible.
3) Pearl necklace is - in it's essence - pearls woven on a string. So, whatever is NOT a pearl, is just you, going along the string, till you're there, the next pearl can begin.
So, if you expect characters to reason, to think, try out things, and not just feel and observe, if you like dialogues between humans, not fact-revealing monologues that are meant to give you information before the next scene - that's not where you find it. if you dislike rampant deus ex machinas, like n-th random meeting in this part that conveniently moves plot along, mystical revelation through yet another aether-related accident or magical happening, aether-enabled tools or powers moving the plot right where the feels are... don't bother either. If you're into steampunk - that's not it. If you're into romance - there's none. If you wish to feel chills at how a guilder enchants aether and thus makes perpetuum mobile... forget it. There are like, less than 20 such descriptions and only one scene in entire book. World-building is hazy, things are thrown at you for feels (enormous, deserted library, full of old books with advanced biology and philosophy - abandoned, cause nobody needs it in times of aether and Industry Ages; The Oldest God having no choice but to become a guilder; church being a guild, mention of Christ, yet also couple of mentions about looting of churches and monasteries or execution of kings cause aether happened).
Wordsmithing powers go into something else, into creating mostly sad scenes where we lose hope and become disillusioned. (Mostly.)
Summarizing
Main character is a catalyst - we follow him to make it easier to arrive at another pearl. Revolution is just a pretext to show couple of more horrifying scenes, like idealist-revolutionary finding out the mass of people behind him are not really unified with his glorious postulates, but rather are out for blood. Or a horrifying end of a live of a witch, who should not be killed like so, but was. Whole revolutionary work of our protagonist doesn't even deserve more than off-hand mention (like when he bathes, he mentions when he got some scar). Class hierarchy and conflict serves just to evoke feelings of hopelessness and bitterness. Interactions with high society that Robbie has are like scenes of a fairy-tale and one of my favourite characters was a high-guilder lady.
World building is background, so is aether. Secret plot, that main characters unravel one step at a time is actually not much of a plot (I find it full of holes, cause McLeod - again - glosses over many important points and also uses unreliable narration) and some of the big reveals are... ugh.
Spoiler:
The ending is yet another enabler - it's a prolonged scene, where everybody who had major part in the book is mentioned and we can compare the fates of archetypes (because - let's be honest - that's what the characters are, archetypes) and ponder if in this world, a lowly rat can live better than idealist, or a doomed noble must be this while XYZ is that, etc. I found it working my emotions - an annoyance, cause it was so convoluted to be bitter-sweet.
Avoid if you're into consistent stories, interesting characters, dialogues, human interaction, character growth, people changing.
Read... if you wish to feel bitter-sweet no matter what. If you wish to think that everybody else who chase magical dreams will never stop chasing and never be fullfilled in their lives. :/
W podsumowaniu jest ujawniony jeden sekret... który jednak - jak się przypatrzyć - nie ma wpływu na fabułę.
Świetny warsztat pisarski, chylę czoła przed McLeodem za to, jak konstruuje obrazy. Zdania pokroju "prześcieradła spływały z niej jak mleko z kamiennej stągwi" przemawiają do wielu zmysłów naraz, przynajmniej moich. Są w tej książce sceny, które pozostaną ze mną na długo - bal jak z Kopciuszka (z ciekawie zmienionymi rolami wróżki i Kopciuszka), rewolucja, śmierć w płomieniach, stające maszyny - wszystko to jest poopisywane w sposób niesamowity i zapadający w pamięć. Nie wiem jak McLeod konstruuje sceny, jak do nich dochodzi, jak wyobraża je sobie i jak dobiera słowa czy zdania, ale efekt końcowy potrafi porazić człowieka.
Kolejnym znakiem dobrego warsztatu jest to, że po zakończeniu powieści widzi się, że niemal każda nazwana postać była istotna. Jeśli ktoś ma kwestie dialogowe i imię, to ma rolę. Podobało mi się, jak postacie z pierwszych kart powieści wracały potem w taki czy inny sposób. Podobało mi się, jak potrafiły odsłonić element układanki, ujawnić nowe fakty, np. w retrospekcji.
Świetne sceny, godny podziwu warsztat kowala słów McLeoda (rekomendacja Dukaja zdecydowanie jest zrozumiała), wspaniała robota tłumacza (dziękuję Wojciechowi M. Próchniewiczowi!) niemal wyłącznie istotne postacie z punktu widzenia opowieści, ciekawy pomysł. Tu kończą się mocne strony książki. Słabości obejmują postacie, które się właściwie nie zmieniają i których nie możemy poznać czy zrozumieć, opowieść dla autora a nie dla czytelników, opowieść dla opowieści, wątek miłosny (jeśli można go tak nazwać), główne postacie oraz sekretny wątek, tajemnicę, która właściwie napędza większość wydarzeń (a teoretycznie także głównych bohaterów). Czyli w zasadzie wszystko.
Mogę uznać, że postacie nie powinny być zarzutem. McLeod w końcu nie tworzy postaci. On tworzy nośniki. Informacji, uczuć, wrażeń. Postacie u niego są tylko środkami do tworzenia scen, które mają wywrzeć wrażenie na czytającym. Katalizatorami zdarzeń.
Robert nie jest głównym bohaterem, jest popychaczem. Jego "poszukiwanie czegoś", bliżej niesprecyzowanego "czegoś", zaczyna się od pierwszej strony i nie kończy się, gdy książka się kończy. Ponieważ Robert nie wie czego szuka, nikt inny wiedzieć tego też nie będzie. Robert natomiast jest przez to pchany do przodu, a my z nim, w końcu cała książka jest z jego perspektywy. Dorastamy w BraceBridge przy szum bum szum bum maszyn wydobywających eter, doświadczamy eterowego obłędu wypaczającego owady jak i ludzi, uczestniczymy w pracokresach, po których jest półdziela i "niedziela" przenosimy się do Londynu czasu prosperity, gdzie narasta ruch obywateli, uważających, że posiadanie jest złem itp. Ale, jak przyjrzeć się temu raz jeszcze, to okaże się, że nie uczestniczymy. Że to tylko pretekst by zaserwować nam te czy inne sceny. Scenę przemiany w trolla. Scenę kradzieży na targu. Scenę rewolucji. Scenę motłochu palącego, grabiącego. Scenę zawiedzionych nadziei idealistów, którzy wierzą, że tłum za nimi jest zjednoczony wokół ich szumnych postulatów i dlatego nie rozumieją, dlaczego miast dać wyłonić delegację, tłum rusza do ataku, palenia i krwawych zamieszek. Te sceny składają się na opowieść. Ta opowieść, podobnie jak postać Roberta (i każda inna) jest nośnikiem, medium. I na mnie to po prostu nie działa.
Dla mnie Robert powinien się zastanowić czego szuka, zamiast rzucać się to na pociąg do Londynu to na "jest rok 99, czas na zmianę Wieku". Dla mnie Robert nie jest rewolucjonistą, bo cała opowieść o rewolucji to pretekst by pokazać kilka scen. Praca Roberta-rewolucjonisty jest opowiedziana właściwie zakulisowo. Np., gdy się kąpie, patrzy na bliznę i wspomina, że zarobił ja podczas walki z konkurencyjną ekipą rewolucjonistów. Więcej jest opisów jak Robert się kąpie w luksusie Walcote House niż jak pracuje nad rewolucją. Czy Robert kogokolwiek nienawidził? Chyba nie. Ciężko rzec czy czuł cokolwiek poza zagubieniem, fascynacją i pragnieniem znalezienia czegoś. Tak, kilka razy zauważył, że wyższe sfery marnotrawią bogactwo, które mogłoby pomóc wielu. Ale czy poczuł coś z tej racji? Nie jakoś bardzo.
W ogóle emocje Roberta są mocno wyciszone. Najmocniej czuje się je, kiedy Robert jest dzieckiem. Wtedy można mówić o rewolucji, kiedy 7-letni narrator opowiada o swoim ojcu i matce, uginających się pod niebotyczną hierarchią klasową albo pod "potężnym ciśnieniem angielskiej hierarchii cechowej". Kiedy mówi o ojcu zatracającym energię i inteligencję, wskutek braku perspektyw wobec "tajnych i sztywnych struktur Niższego Cechu Ślusarzy". Ale ta narracja potem zanika. Rozmywa się. Bo rozmywają się też emocje Roberta.
Książka zaczyna się od jego wielkiego rozczarowania. Napisane jest, że to rozczarowanie jego życia. I... nie ma do niego odwołania właściwie nigdzie później. Pomiędzy wierszami można doczytywać się, że to dlatego, że miał Znak Starszych a nie był odmieńcem. Czemu jest to rozczarowujące? Patrząc na to, jak żyją odmieńce, patrząc na wszystko, co mają, nie potrafię powiedzieć. Czy fakt, że matka opowiedziała mu bajkę o powstaniu odmieńców tak mocno nań wpłynął? Najwyraźniej. Takich pytań można mieć wiele. Być może Robert szukał celu. Być może szukał ucieczki od świata, swojego Einfell. Zastanawiając się teraz, kilka godzin po przeczytaniu całej książki, prawdopodobnie to jest jej przesłaniem. Że można spędzić życie szukając magii. Baśni. Jeśli tak, to McLeod, ze swoim konstruowaniem zdań ze słów pozornie niepowiązanych ("szare jak wnętrzności ryby"), zdecydowanie jest świetnym człowiekiem do napisania jej. A ja po prostu oczekiwałem opowieści, a dostałem quasi-moralitet. Przesłanie ubrane w opowieść, które opowieścią nie jest.
Bo u McLeoda postacie są nośnikami. Saul nie wiedzieć czemu zadaje się z Maud. Cieszy się z tego, ale kiedy coś (by nie psuć lektury) ją krzywdzi... to nie robi nic. Pozwala ich związkowi i wpólnej przyszłości się... rozmyć. Czy dlatego, że Saul wstydzi się, że jej nie ochronił? Czy rozstanie jest mu na rękę? Ciężko powiedzieć i McLeod nie wgłębia się w temat. Jak dokładnie potoczył się konflikt Blissenhawka i Saula? Nie wiemy. Bo to nieistotne. Czemu Wyższy Mistrz oszalał? No... bo tak było wygodnie, by zafundować nam niesamowitą scenę w Kaplicy Adwokatów. A ta scena była po to, by rozwinąć dalsze wątki tak, jak dyktował to scenariusz. By koniec był właśnie gorzko-słodki. By pod koniec można było pokazać archetypy postaci i powiedzieć "jak im się w życiu powiodło". I tak naprawdę, ciekawe jest, że Roberta wśród tych opisanych archetypów nie ma. Jedyne co wiemy o Robercie, to to, co mamy z tytułu najkrótszej części książki. Tej pierwszej, prologu, kiedy Robert spaceruje przez Londyn. I kiedy określa się jako tytularny dla tej części "Wielki Mistrz Cechowy".
Nie lubię manipulacji tak oczywistej. Deus ex machina używany tak, jak się widzi autorowi, zawsze wywołuje u mnie grymas. Czyli: możliwości eteru, "przypadkowość" spotkań (akurat dostrzega ich ta konkretna postać która jest potrzebna, z przejeżdżającego samochodu), reakcje postaci... Drażni to w książce autora z takimi umiejętnościami. McLeod nie dba o szczegóły, on się nad nimi prześlizguje ścigając swoją wizję: opowieść z perfekcyjnie zbudowanych scen. Opowieść obliczoną na efekt.
Budowanie świata traktowane jest równie po macoszemu. Konceptem kluczowym jest eter, który jest wszechobecny: napędza maszyny, zmienił historię. Ale nie wiemy do końca, co to takiego ten eter. Poza tym, że pozwala naginać prawa natury. Że można eter zakląć w znaki i te znaki sprawią, że tłok źle wykonany, będzie działał. Że coś, co powinno się zepsuć, zadziała. Że konstrukcja, która bez eteru nie ustoi, z eterem stoi lata. Ale są też granice. Bo można młot zepsuć tak, że nawet jak sprowadzą wypaczonych przez eter odmieńców, to nawet oni młota nie naprawią. Eter w jakiś sposób sprawił, że nadeszły Wieki Przemysłu, że obalono monarchie i ścięto królów. Wszystko to dzięki temu, że odkryto eter i możliwości, jakie daje. A daje takie, że biblioteki poszły w zapomnienie i książki są nieistotne - wielka biblioteka w RedHouse ma tomy, które rozsypują się ze starości. I nikt o nie nie dba, ludzie o nich zapomnieli. Że Bóg Najstarszy nie miał wyboru i został cechmistrzem. Że albo jesteś w cechu, albo jesteś nikim. Ale np. wspominany jest Chrystus. Jest kanonik, który jest cechowym. Ale nie wiemy, czy Chrystus był w cechu i np. czy był ukrzyżowany, czy zmartwychwstał. Wiemy natomiast, że nawet dzieci wiedzą, że do wina hymnicznego dodaje się eteru, by pijący doświadczali wizji. I że te wizje są znane, ludzie wiedzą, co zobaczą.
Strzępek tu, inne słowo tam. Ty musisz to sobie poskładać i dlatego każdy dojdzie do czego innego - bo przy bogactwie i nietuzinkowości zestawień słów u McLeoda (ruch prześcieradeł jak rozlanie mleka, kolor jak rybie wnętrzności) jest to nieuniknione.
Podsumowując:
Sceny, które Cię poruszą, nanizane jak korale na sznurek. Kolejność ma znaczenie, bo celem jest byś coś przeżył, dla niektórych pewnie to będzie nawet katharsis (z jakiegoś powodu ta książka dostaje dużo czwórek).
Jeśli myślisz, że to jest powieść, opowieść, historia, coś spójnego - nie, nie jest. Autor manipuluje wszystkim by ustawić sceny. Spójność postaci wylatuje przez okno, a spójność scenariusza łatana jest setkami mniejszych, większych i wprost gigantycznych deus ex machina (np. skąd wzięła się nazwa Wieki Światła). Motywacje postaci pozostają niewyjaśnione a tajemnica za narodzinami głównych bohaterów jest równie "zręcznie" poprowadzona jak wątek romansowy, . Generalnie - omijaj, jak lubisz spójne historie. To nie jest historia. To zestaw scen, a opowieść je łącząca jest tak istotna dla jej uroku jak sznurek dla korali, które są nań nanizane.
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ENGLISH VERSION BELOW
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Before I begin - one spoiler in summary, otherwise, safe to read.
I must applaud McLeod for his wordsmithing skills. Truly, magnificent. I shan't give examples cause I read Polish translation, but hell, the way he constructs sentences can make me not just visualize things, but feel, hear or smell them. Rare thing. I totally understand why Jacek Dukaj, whose books are written with same wordsmithing talent, recognized McLeod and recommended his writings.
If you wish to taste this writing skill, pick up this book and read first sixteen pages - that's whole first part of the book, the Great Guild Master (or Guild Grandmaster, or however McLeod wrote it).
It doesn't end there. McLeod operates on words to construct terrific sentences, that touch your senses, but it doesn't end there: he uses those sentences to bring scenes to life. And what scenes these are! Magnificent, horrifying, powerful, heart-wrenching. Like pearls. Shiny, beautiful, unforgettable, amazing. His scenes are seriously capable of stealing your breath away. He's able to make you stand there and experience it. Seriously scary skill. And then he takes those pearls, and makes them into a necklace. Beautiful, yes. Incredible, too. Railroded? Oh, hell, very much, yes.
Problems I have with Robert's story (cause whole book IS Robert's story: it follows Robert's search for "the truth" and it ends when he's still searching, cause his search is endless) can be summarized easily. Let me offer you three summaries, pick one that you like the most.
1) It's meant to evoke feelings and it glosses over things that won't help it. It's a very efficient book. Yet if you won't feel good when someone tries hard... it only tries harder. If this arrow misses you, you never could've been the target?
2) McLeod is so focused on making his pearl necklace, that everything that's not essential to making another pearl is irrelevant, glossed over, mentioned or outright skipped. Forget world-building, instead be prepared for imaginative words (he IS a good wordsmith) and sentences being thrown at you - you figure it out. Forget consistent characters, or character growth, it's detrimental to scenes, out the window. Forget knowing or understanding characters, they are mediums for something else, something that is relevant when scene happens. Deus ex machina is rampant and the largest McGuffin is the aether. The totally-irrelevant-yet-made-crux-of-the-story aether, enabler for everything magical in McLeod's steampunk England. And - of course - glossed over as far as possible.
3) Pearl necklace is - in it's essence - pearls woven on a string. So, whatever is NOT a pearl, is just you, going along the string, till you're there, the next pearl can begin.
So, if you expect characters to reason, to think, try out things, and not just feel and observe, if you like dialogues between humans, not fact-revealing monologues that are meant to give you information before the next scene - that's not where you find it. if you dislike rampant deus ex machinas, like n-th random meeting in this part that conveniently moves plot along, mystical revelation through yet another aether-related accident or magical happening, aether-enabled tools or powers moving the plot right where the feels are... don't bother either. If you're into steampunk - that's not it. If you're into romance - there's none. If you wish to feel chills at how a guilder enchants aether and thus makes perpetuum mobile... forget it. There are like, less than 20 such descriptions and only one scene in entire book. World-building is hazy, things are thrown at you for feels (enormous, deserted library, full of old books with advanced biology and philosophy - abandoned, cause nobody needs it in times of aether and Industry Ages; The Oldest God having no choice but to become a guilder; church being a guild, mention of Christ, yet also couple of mentions about looting of churches and monasteries or execution of kings cause aether happened).
Wordsmithing powers go into something else, into creating mostly sad scenes where we lose hope and become disillusioned. (Mostly.)
Summarizing
Main character is a catalyst - we follow him to make it easier to arrive at another pearl. Revolution is just a pretext to show couple of more horrifying scenes, like idealist-revolutionary finding out the mass of people behind him are not really unified with his glorious postulates, but rather are out for blood. Or a horrifying end of a live of a witch, who should not be killed like so, but was. Whole revolutionary work of our protagonist doesn't even deserve more than off-hand mention (like when he bathes, he mentions when he got some scar). Class hierarchy and conflict serves just to evoke feelings of hopelessness and bitterness. Interactions with high society that Robbie has are like scenes of a fairy-tale and one of my favourite characters was a high-guilder lady.
World building is background, so is aether. Secret plot, that main characters unravel one step at a time is actually not much of a plot (I find it full of holes, cause McLeod - again - glosses over many important points and also uses unreliable narration) and some of the big reveals are... ugh.
Spoiler:
The ending is yet another enabler - it's a prolonged scene, where everybody who had major part in the book is mentioned and we can compare the fates of archetypes (because - let's be honest - that's what the characters are, archetypes) and ponder if in this world, a lowly rat can live better than idealist, or a doomed noble must be this while XYZ is that, etc. I found it working my emotions - an annoyance, cause it was so convoluted to be bitter-sweet.
Avoid if you're into consistent stories, interesting characters, dialogues, human interaction, character growth, people changing.
Read... if you wish to feel bitter-sweet no matter what. If you wish to think that everybody else who chase magical dreams will never stop chasing and never be fullfilled in their lives. :/
February 13, 2013
Originally published on my blog here in April 2004.
The small number of books that I would consider my favourite serious fantasy novels (E.R. Eddison's Mistress of Mistresses, Michael Moorcock's The Dancers at the End of Time series, Jack Vance's Lyonesse, John Crowley's Little, Big) share one important quality - atmosphere. There are other novels with similar power that I don't actually like very much, notably China Miéville's Perdido Street Station, and at least one series that I suspect would join the list if I got round to reading it, Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy. Now The Light Ages has to join the list; it will surely also establish itself as one of the classics of the genre.
The setting of The Light Ages is an alternative industrial England, a place where the essence of magic, a mineral named aether, is mined alongside iron and coal. It is the story of a man born in a Yorkshire town which is a centre of aether mining, and how he travels to London and becomes part of a train of events which threaten the power of the Guildsmen who are the magnates of the Age, the Third Age of Industry that many think is coming to its end.
This background is itself enough to make The Light Ages stand out as an original fantasy novel. Alternate histories are almost always fit better into the science fiction genre than fantasy, with a special version of the "What if..." question that is the core of the genre. It is almost commonplace to ask questions like "What might have happened if Nazi Germany and Japan had wone the Second World War?" (Philip K. Dick's The Man in the High Castle) or "What might England be like if the Reformation had never happened?" (Keith Roberts' Pavane). But almost always these are straight extrapolations from the science and technology of the time, without the extra magical dimension used here. Where magic is interpolated into the real world, or a background as clearly related to the real world, it tends to be at the fringes, "beyond the fields we know" or in an unseen world underpinning the everyday, as in Neil Gaiman's novels. The Light Ages is pretty much unique as an alternate history which seriously looks at how things might be different if magic is real. (The only novel I can think of comparable in terms of the use of magic in an alternative reality is The Wolves of Willoughby Chase - a children's classic in the genre.) The Light Ages is also one of only a small number of fantasy novels in which magic is an industrial raw material used in processes which produce pollution. (Saruman's industrialisation in The Lord of the Rings is easily the best known example, though there and in The Second Chronicles of Thomas Covenant it is the misuse of magic which pollutes. Holly Lisle has also set her novels in a world contaminated by fallout from an ancient war between wizards.)
The England portrayed in The Light Ages is very much the polluted, industrial and worker-exploiting England of the Victorian era, Dickensian in inspiration though MacLeod is able to be more explicit in his depiction of squalor than Dickens ever did. While the quality of his evocation in places approaches Dickens, its attention to the industrial poor and radical politics is more akin to the writing of Elizabeth Gaskell. This fantasy novel is one of the best ever written, and any reader of the genre would be well advised to pick it up. They may find that it's too slow for their tastes, but I just found it magical.
The small number of books that I would consider my favourite serious fantasy novels (E.R. Eddison's Mistress of Mistresses, Michael Moorcock's The Dancers at the End of Time series, Jack Vance's Lyonesse, John Crowley's Little, Big) share one important quality - atmosphere. There are other novels with similar power that I don't actually like very much, notably China Miéville's Perdido Street Station, and at least one series that I suspect would join the list if I got round to reading it, Philip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy. Now The Light Ages has to join the list; it will surely also establish itself as one of the classics of the genre.
The setting of The Light Ages is an alternative industrial England, a place where the essence of magic, a mineral named aether, is mined alongside iron and coal. It is the story of a man born in a Yorkshire town which is a centre of aether mining, and how he travels to London and becomes part of a train of events which threaten the power of the Guildsmen who are the magnates of the Age, the Third Age of Industry that many think is coming to its end.
This background is itself enough to make The Light Ages stand out as an original fantasy novel. Alternate histories are almost always fit better into the science fiction genre than fantasy, with a special version of the "What if..." question that is the core of the genre. It is almost commonplace to ask questions like "What might have happened if Nazi Germany and Japan had wone the Second World War?" (Philip K. Dick's The Man in the High Castle) or "What might England be like if the Reformation had never happened?" (Keith Roberts' Pavane). But almost always these are straight extrapolations from the science and technology of the time, without the extra magical dimension used here. Where magic is interpolated into the real world, or a background as clearly related to the real world, it tends to be at the fringes, "beyond the fields we know" or in an unseen world underpinning the everyday, as in Neil Gaiman's novels. The Light Ages is pretty much unique as an alternate history which seriously looks at how things might be different if magic is real. (The only novel I can think of comparable in terms of the use of magic in an alternative reality is The Wolves of Willoughby Chase - a children's classic in the genre.) The Light Ages is also one of only a small number of fantasy novels in which magic is an industrial raw material used in processes which produce pollution. (Saruman's industrialisation in The Lord of the Rings is easily the best known example, though there and in The Second Chronicles of Thomas Covenant it is the misuse of magic which pollutes. Holly Lisle has also set her novels in a world contaminated by fallout from an ancient war between wizards.)
The England portrayed in The Light Ages is very much the polluted, industrial and worker-exploiting England of the Victorian era, Dickensian in inspiration though MacLeod is able to be more explicit in his depiction of squalor than Dickens ever did. While the quality of his evocation in places approaches Dickens, its attention to the industrial poor and radical politics is more akin to the writing of Elizabeth Gaskell. This fantasy novel is one of the best ever written, and any reader of the genre would be well advised to pick it up. They may find that it's too slow for their tastes, but I just found it magical.
February 25, 2017
'The Light Ages' by Ian R. MacLeod doesn't feel much like light reading, but it's an enjoyable story for the right reader. Think of Charles Dickens meeting up with an alternate England powered by a kind of magic crystal.
The book follows Robert Borrows who was born on sixthshiftday in the grimy factory town of Bracebridge. His early days are accompanied by the sounds of the factory as it churns outpower for the wealthy. Shoom, boom. Shoom, boom. What's being manufactured is a byproduct of a magical crystal known as Aether. Robbie sees his father's hard life of working and his mother's odd ties to this aether. He also meets a strange young girl that he will run in to as he gets older.
As he gets older, he rails against a system that uses men up and supplies the wealthy with strange and useless toys. He tries to fight the corruption he sees, and finds that his life is tied to the life he once knew and the strange girl named Anna.
It's a large novel that feels somewhat like something from the 19th century. That's a complete compliment to the author. I don't know that I ever felt any connection to the main characters beyond a sense of pity. That might be where the book failed me, but I did enjoy the journey and this strange alternate take on the Industrial Age.
I received a review copy of this ebook from Open Road Integrated Media and NetGalley in exchange for an honest review. Thank you for allowing me to review this ebook.
The book follows Robert Borrows who was born on sixthshiftday in the grimy factory town of Bracebridge. His early days are accompanied by the sounds of the factory as it churns outpower for the wealthy. Shoom, boom. Shoom, boom. What's being manufactured is a byproduct of a magical crystal known as Aether. Robbie sees his father's hard life of working and his mother's odd ties to this aether. He also meets a strange young girl that he will run in to as he gets older.
As he gets older, he rails against a system that uses men up and supplies the wealthy with strange and useless toys. He tries to fight the corruption he sees, and finds that his life is tied to the life he once knew and the strange girl named Anna.
It's a large novel that feels somewhat like something from the 19th century. That's a complete compliment to the author. I don't know that I ever felt any connection to the main characters beyond a sense of pity. That might be where the book failed me, but I did enjoy the journey and this strange alternate take on the Industrial Age.
I received a review copy of this ebook from Open Road Integrated Media and NetGalley in exchange for an honest review. Thank you for allowing me to review this ebook.
November 3, 2008
Etrange histoire que cette chronique de la vie d'un anglais en un temps (ou plutôt un Temps) étrange ...
Pour commencer par le début, ce roman raconte la vie d'un homme qui va nous servir de guide dans toutes les couches d'une société anglaise transformée par la révolution de l'éther, un "truc" magique qui rend le plus mou des caoutchoucs plus dur que l'acier, qui permet des miracles dans tous les domaines d'une industrie naissante. Oh, bien sûr, cet éther ne transforme pas que l'industrie, mais ça, c'est ce que nous fera découvrir le narrateur.
Ce narrateur, donc, va partir de sa petite ville "minière" pour découvrir Londres, y pratiquer des activités interlopes mais néanmoins touristiques, avant de se frotter à d'autres tranches de la société. Le tout, bien entendu, sous les auspices de l'amour.
La première surprise de ce roman, c'est sa construction sous forme de chroniques relatant les événements importants de la vie de notre héros, et ceux de son époque. Car bien évidement, il est le témoin des transformations radicales de son temps.
Pour le dire rapidement, je ne sais pas trop quoi penser de ce roman.
Certains passages du roman sont ainsi d'une beauté proprement féérique (comme ceux nous montrant "mademoiselle", ce personnage énigmatique) quand d'autres sont ennuyeux, soit par leur mise en scène de la vie des pauvres (voir la vie dans les easterlies), soit par leur côté proprement excessif (la résidence des grands-guildés et ses sortilèges incroyablement inutiles). Je peux bien entendu comprendre que l'auteur ait souhaité varier les expériences et les visions de ce monde fort contrastéé, mais j'ai trouvé quand même que tout cela manquait d'unité.
Dans le même ordre d'idée, les personnages sont, pour la plupart, assez fantomatiques. En fait, les seuls échappant à cet océan de vide sont les "anamorphes" : mademoiselle et Anne.
Bon, bien sûr, tout cela ne peut conduire le lecteur de cet avis un peu attentif qu'à une seule conclusion : l'auteur souhaite avant tout montrer que le progrès promis par l'éther n'est qu'un mirage, face auquel seul le réenchantement de ce monde pourra apporter un sens. Joliment dit, non ? Néanmoins, je trouve la démonstration un peu laborieuse.
Autant dire que je ne suis pas convaincu. Et c'est bien dommage, car l'auteur déploie un arsenal de sense of wonder rarement égalé : des licornes, de la magie de poche, un fanal éclairant Londres à la façon d'une tour Eiffel magique, un palais des merveilles sur la côte de la manche, ... et j'en oublie bien entendu des tonnes.
Mais un beau décor, sans une histoire valable, ne reste malgré tout qu'un décor.
Et peut-être que je ne suis pas le public idéal de ce genre de roman, je n'ai pas été convaincu par l'aspect chronique de ce roman somme toute imposant.
Néanmoins, je ne saurais dire que c'est un mauvais roman, puisque certains aspects, dont j'ai déja parlé, m'ont réellement impressionnés.
Pour commencer par le début, ce roman raconte la vie d'un homme qui va nous servir de guide dans toutes les couches d'une société anglaise transformée par la révolution de l'éther, un "truc" magique qui rend le plus mou des caoutchoucs plus dur que l'acier, qui permet des miracles dans tous les domaines d'une industrie naissante. Oh, bien sûr, cet éther ne transforme pas que l'industrie, mais ça, c'est ce que nous fera découvrir le narrateur.
Ce narrateur, donc, va partir de sa petite ville "minière" pour découvrir Londres, y pratiquer des activités interlopes mais néanmoins touristiques, avant de se frotter à d'autres tranches de la société. Le tout, bien entendu, sous les auspices de l'amour.
La première surprise de ce roman, c'est sa construction sous forme de chroniques relatant les événements importants de la vie de notre héros, et ceux de son époque. Car bien évidement, il est le témoin des transformations radicales de son temps.
Pour le dire rapidement, je ne sais pas trop quoi penser de ce roman.
Certains passages du roman sont ainsi d'une beauté proprement féérique (comme ceux nous montrant "mademoiselle", ce personnage énigmatique) quand d'autres sont ennuyeux, soit par leur mise en scène de la vie des pauvres (voir la vie dans les easterlies), soit par leur côté proprement excessif (la résidence des grands-guildés et ses sortilèges incroyablement inutiles). Je peux bien entendu comprendre que l'auteur ait souhaité varier les expériences et les visions de ce monde fort contrastéé, mais j'ai trouvé quand même que tout cela manquait d'unité.
Dans le même ordre d'idée, les personnages sont, pour la plupart, assez fantomatiques. En fait, les seuls échappant à cet océan de vide sont les "anamorphes" : mademoiselle et Anne.
Bon, bien sûr, tout cela ne peut conduire le lecteur de cet avis un peu attentif qu'à une seule conclusion : l'auteur souhaite avant tout montrer que le progrès promis par l'éther n'est qu'un mirage, face auquel seul le réenchantement de ce monde pourra apporter un sens. Joliment dit, non ? Néanmoins, je trouve la démonstration un peu laborieuse.
Autant dire que je ne suis pas convaincu. Et c'est bien dommage, car l'auteur déploie un arsenal de sense of wonder rarement égalé : des licornes, de la magie de poche, un fanal éclairant Londres à la façon d'une tour Eiffel magique, un palais des merveilles sur la côte de la manche, ... et j'en oublie bien entendu des tonnes.
Mais un beau décor, sans une histoire valable, ne reste malgré tout qu'un décor.
Et peut-être que je ne suis pas le public idéal de ce genre de roman, je n'ai pas été convaincu par l'aspect chronique de ce roman somme toute imposant.
Néanmoins, je ne saurais dire que c'est un mauvais roman, puisque certains aspects, dont j'ai déja parlé, m'ont réellement impressionnés.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
Shelved as 'did-not-finish'
September 3, 2015It’s a shame. I really enjoyed
Journeys
, but my first attempt at novel-length Ian R. MacLeod falls short.
The Light Ages takes place in an alternative England where the ability to manipulate aether has jumpstarted steam engine technology somewhat. Other technologies, like electricity, have fallen by the wayside as too unreliable. The result is a grittier, dirtier, more magical and more chaotic industrialized England.
My problems stem from the writing style. MacLeod doesn’t value the nature of the scene in this book. Narration is interminable, and very little seems to happen—or things happen, but we’re told about them instead of being shown them. Ten chapters and a hundred pages in, and I don’t really have a handle on what the stakes are or why I should care. It’s a drab, dusty, dreary place to live, and I sympathize with Robert a little bit … but why, exactly, is he special? So far MacLeod hasn’t bothered to answer that, or drop more than a few frustratingly dim clues.
I went into this looking for a good ol’fashioned fantasy novel—by which I mean, something that has a little magic, a little conflict, a little fun. There’s plenty of magic in here, but it’s constrained. There’s conflict here, but it’s all in the background, under the surface, and it never boils over to the point of holding my attention. There is no fun to be had here, at least not from what I’ve read so far.
By all means, you might enjoy this book much more than I did—I don’t think it’s bad, but I just don’t want to read it right now.
The Light Ages takes place in an alternative England where the ability to manipulate aether has jumpstarted steam engine technology somewhat. Other technologies, like electricity, have fallen by the wayside as too unreliable. The result is a grittier, dirtier, more magical and more chaotic industrialized England.
My problems stem from the writing style. MacLeod doesn’t value the nature of the scene in this book. Narration is interminable, and very little seems to happen—or things happen, but we’re told about them instead of being shown them. Ten chapters and a hundred pages in, and I don’t really have a handle on what the stakes are or why I should care. It’s a drab, dusty, dreary place to live, and I sympathize with Robert a little bit … but why, exactly, is he special? So far MacLeod hasn’t bothered to answer that, or drop more than a few frustratingly dim clues.
I went into this looking for a good ol’fashioned fantasy novel—by which I mean, something that has a little magic, a little conflict, a little fun. There’s plenty of magic in here, but it’s constrained. There’s conflict here, but it’s all in the background, under the surface, and it never boils over to the point of holding my attention. There is no fun to be had here, at least not from what I’ve read so far.
By all means, you might enjoy this book much more than I did—I don’t think it’s bad, but I just don’t want to read it right now.
April 1, 2015
Finishing this book was a bit like being hit by a truck. In the good way. The Light Ages has almost everything I love in a sf/f novel: a plot that drops me into the world and leaves it up to me to figure out what's going on; a mystery revealed piece by piece; social issues I didn't feel hit over the head with; opposing but equally "right" sides (no "these people are evil because the author said so"); a touch of romance...I could keep going on. There's a wee bit of aimlessness in the middle, but once I saw how everything fit together, even that became clearer. And the ending was so beautifully bittersweet and hard-hitting.
Maybe this book isn't for everyone, but without a doubt it's for me.
Maybe this book isn't for everyone, but without a doubt it's for me.
January 28, 2019
Dickenson meets fantasy in this Victorian age novel. Robert/Robbie Burrow/s leaves behind his life in the aether pits after a tragic accident destroys his mother. He decides that London is where he’s going to start over, when he meets up with the young girl he met near home as a boy and embarks on a mission to both help usher in a new Age and find answers about his and her past. It’s just a VERY difficult book to get into. It mixes some history, mythology, prose, and fantasy, but everything is just so very slow to happen.
April 3, 2007
MacLeod's prose is fantastic (especially for a sci-fi/fantasy author - sorry genre, but its true), and the world he has invented is riviting and believable. By replacing the industrial revolution's technology with magic and exploring the same social-economic and class issues, MacLeod does what weird fiction should ultimately aspire to - force the reader to re-examine the world they live in, and understand our world through a new and illuminating lens.
September 9, 2017
The over all mood of this alternate Victorian era story was Great Expectations mixed with Dr. Zchivago. However, the pacing, especially the first half, was droning
Ghormaghastian. It doesn't really pick up until at least halfway in and by that time, it's almost too late to care. Would have been better if it just skipped the first half and expanded the second half where the protagonist is trying to bring about a revolution, get revenge on those who killed his mother, and get his lady love.
Ghormaghastian. It doesn't really pick up until at least halfway in and by that time, it's almost too late to care. Would have been better if it just skipped the first half and expanded the second half where the protagonist is trying to bring about a revolution, get revenge on those who killed his mother, and get his lady love.
August 15, 2010
This book just never came together for me. I couldn't get a good sense of the world it was set in, and there was a big huge mystery that did not compel me and did not interest me when it was revealed. I don't know, it seems like I should have liked this book more, but it just didn't work out between us.
November 25, 2015
Elegaic, beautiful writing. If you compare a novel to Dickens, John Crowley, and China Mieville, I'm going to want to read it. It addresses class issues in an alternate Industrial Revolution England, where magical aether is the source of all production, and the world-building is solid. I did feel that there were missed opportunities in the way the author dealt with the decline of aether.
August 11, 2013
I can see why some reviewers wouldn't like this book. It's revolutionary alternate history / fantasy. It doesn't have fighting or over magics, and the hero isn't some long lost major talent. He's ordinary, fallible and real. The story is slow, the ending doesn't show perfection, but I liked it. This is not a fluffy read, but I feel it is a rewarding one.
January 25, 2022
J'ai été déçu par ce roman, qui semblait pourtant avoir tout pour me plaire. Un récit à la Dickens dans une Angleterre d'un XIXe siècle fictif d'inspiration nettement steampunk, il y avait de quoi me faire plaisir, mais le récit ne m'a jamais vraiment emporté. Je me suis globalement ennuyé tout au long de la lecture, à l'exception de quelques passages au-dessus du lot. Déception ...
February 13, 2009
I hadn't read fantasy for many years so I found it a bit difficult to get interested. After the first 1/3rd of the book I understood the setting well enough to become interested but still found it to be long-winded and tiring. He does create some memorable and creepy scenes.
January 31, 2008
Alternative history SF/F. I wasn't a huge fan of the style, but the story was solid and the ideas were great.
January 24, 2016
right on the age in terms of writing, but it just wasn't sustaining my interest. also the repeated aether sound effect was irritating.
May 3, 2012
Had some promise, but very disappointing.
September 8, 2013
Really fascinating piece of steampunk literature I haven't read it in ages so my memory of the plot isn't great but definitely worth reading
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