The Thorn Birds, by Colleen McCullough

The Thorn Birds is a robust, romantic saga of a singular family, the Clearys. It begins in the early part of this century, when Paddy Cleary moves his wife, Fiona, and their seven children to Drogheda, the vast Australian sheep station owned by his autocratic and childless older sister; and it ends more than half a century later, when the only survivor of the third generation, the brilliant actress Justine O’Neill, sets a course of life and love halfway around the world from her roots.
The central figures in this enthralling story are the indomitable Meggie, the only Cleary daughter, and the one man she truly loves, the stunningly handsome and ambitious priest Ralph de Bricassart. Ralph’s course moves him a long way indeed, from a remote Outback parish to the halls of the Vatican; and Meggie’s except for a brief and miserable marriage elsewhere, is fixed to the Drogheda that is part of her bones – but distance does not dim their feelings though it shapes their lives. (from Goodreads)

My mother lent this one to me (today’s her birthday!). It was a book she bought for herself, but since she had already read it some years ago, she gave it to me first, thinking I might like it. This was 2 years ago, I think it’s about time to give it back 😅 I’m glad she gave it to me, because I don’t think I would have chosen to read it on my own. I can’t say, however, that it’s a book that will live with me for the rest of my life, or that I could consider it one of my favorites, or one of the best books I’ve read, but I don’t regret reading it, it was interesting enough and not at all dull, and it’s nice to read something out of my comfort zone from time to time.

One of the impressions it gave me was that it was quite… melodramatic, I’d say, but I’m not sure that is the right term either. It gave me soap-opera vibes, but like… and old-timey soap-opera, nothing exactly ridiculously over-dramatic or over-acted, but there’s a lot of tragedy and harshness and struggles and pain around every corner. I was a bit creeped out by the main love story, for the age difference and the clear interest father Ralph paid on Meggie from a very young age, but that feeling sort of faded throughout the book in a way I can’t really explain or pinpoint. I also feel that some of the supporting characters were left a bit too much to the side, but… now that I think about it, that’s sort of the point of the development of things at the end and how things are left at Drogheda but, I don’t know, I wish the author would have done something else for them instead of sort of turning them into indistinguishable characters.

Overall I liked it, it was an enjoyable reading, a good book for a solid summer vacation, just long enough as to be expected for a novel that covers several generations, but not exceedingly dragging. I don’t see myself reading it again, at least not for a very long time.

On suicide, by Émile Durkheim

Emile Durkheim’s On Suicide (1897) was a groundbreaking book in the field of sociology. Traditionally, suicide was thought to be a matter of purely individual despair but Durkheim recognized that the phenomenon had a social dimension. He believed that if anything can explain how individuals relate to society, then it is suicide: Why does it happen? What goes wrong? Why do certain social, religious or racial groups have higher incidences of suicide than others? As Durkheim explored these questions he became convinced that abnormally high or low levels of social integration lead to an increased likelihood of suicide. On Suicide was the result of his extensive research. Divided into three parts – individual reasons for suicide, social forms of suicide and the relation of suicide to society as a whole – Durkheim’s revelations have fascinated, challenged and informed readers for over a century. (from Goodreads)

I got this one from a friend when she was giving away a bunch of her books and I homed most of them (who could resist free-books?). I don’t know what got me to pick this one from the list, probably the faint notion that Durkheim was a relevant author in some field, but not much idea, really. So it sat there in my pile for at least 3 years, if not longer (what is time?). And after reading a couple of freshly added books to the list, books that I’ve been wanting to read for a long time, I decided to then, to balance things out, pick a book I’ve been avoiding for a while, so I could finally cross it off the list. As soon as I started reading, and realizing the tenor of this study, the first thing I thought was “How am I going to read through this? I’ll probably dread it, I won’t understand a word, it’ll be endless”. And before I knew it, I had read through a quarter of the book, in just a couple of days! There was something about this book that was oddly fascinating, and I just keep reading through it with an ease I was definitely not expecting. I can’t say how Durkheim’s conclusions apply, if at all, in today’s understanding of the sociology of suicide, but I can see why this study was important and how Durkheim got to be “a relevant author in some field”, enough to get into my radar. I’m glad I decided to pick this book, and I’m glad I read it. Somehow I feel like it was just the right time to do it, I think that I would have marked it as DNF if I tried to read it at any other moment.

The Miniaturist, by Jessie Burton

On an autumn day in 1686, eighteen-year-old Nella Oortman knocks at the door of a grand house in the wealthiest quarter of Amsterdam. She has come from the country to begin a new life as the wife of illustrious merchant trader Johannes Brandt, but instead she is met by his sharp-tongued sister, Marin.
Only later does Johannes appear and present her with an extraordinary wedding gift: a cabinet-sized replica of their home. It is to be furnished by an elusive miniaturist, whose tiny creations mirror their real-life counterparts in unexpected ways…
Nella is at first mystified by the closed world of the Brandt household, but as she uncovers its secrets she realizes the escalating dangers that await them all. Does the miniaturist hold their fate in her hands? And will she be the key to their salvation or the architect of their downfall? (from Goodreads)

I didn’t have any particular expectation about this book, because before reading it I already knew the plot, the characters, the development, the ending, because I saw the BBC adaptation a few years ago (coincidentally, around the time I was reading Strange & Norrell). So I knew I would like it, unless the adaptation went rogue and was completely unrelated to the book, which was very unlikely. My main attraction to it, both at the time and since then was the subject built around a dollhouse and the miniatures, since I’ve always been surrounded by dolls and their little words, and my art projects were precisely about them. The goal of reading this book for me was mainly to see if there was something here I could eventually quote on my graduation project, not necessarily as a scholarly source, because this is far from that, but more as an accompaniment. 

The book is good on itself, it’s easy to to read and to be enthralled by this world and the different mysteries surrounding it. I read some people’s opinions regarding that Petronella (for whatever reason I really don’t like when they called her Nella, but I just got used it because it’s happened constantly) was perhaps way of thinking was too modern for 17th century Amsterdam, but that didn’t bother me at all, if that were different, the book would have been shorter, probably 😆

The Ladies of Grace Adieu and other stories, by Susanna Clarke

Faerie is never as far away as you think. Sometimes you find you have crossed an invisible line and must cope, as best you can, with petulant princesses, vengeful owls, ladies who pass their time embroidering terrible fates or with endless paths in deep, dark woods and houses that never appear the same way twice. The heroines and heroes bedevilled by such problems in these fairy tales include a conceited Regency clergyman, an eighteenth-century Jewish doctor and Mary, Queen of Scots, as well as two characters from Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell: Strange himself and the Raven King. (from Goodreads)

I’ve been wanting to read this book since I finished reading Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell three years ago, so I’ve been accumulating expectations since then. Just from the start, from the very first page, I couldn’t help but smile in the pure joy of being back in that world, because it immediately drew me back in, just as it happened before, a very warm and welcoming feeling. 

The book is introduced to us by a 21st-century scholar (Director of Sidhe studies at the Aberdeen University) as a collection of stories depicting some of the different ways in which Faerie has interacted with our world, for good or bad. So, from the start, and then here and there throughout the stories, we’re back on the quotes of books and authors and sources that I loved from Strange & Norrell and that I’m always so inclined to google about even though I know they don’t exist. It’s like reading a history book for a parallel timeline, that’s a lot like the one we’re used to, but just slightly askew. And yet, at the same time they keep that exact same essence we find in typical folk or fairy tales. 

Among the things I enjoyed the most were that some of these stories are much more female-centered that Strange & Norrell was, including a group of three friends performing magic and dissing Strange’s character. There were also a few appearances of magic embroidery that either could foresee the future or make it happen, which I wish I could embroider like that. And, like a good fairy tale book, each story is also illustrated, by Charles Vess no less, so that always add so much to the enjoyment. 

Did the book match the expectations? Absolutely. I’m now only waiting a bit to start my re-reading of the novel, so I can space my doses of Clarke and don’t finish it all at once.

Pájaros argentinos, by Mario Miguel Marateo

[Argentinian birds]

This was a very simple little book talking about some of the birds here. It’s mainly focused on books from the Province of Buenos Aires, and particularly those the author could identify in his hometown of Azul. Part of the reason why I wanted to read this book was that it has pretty illustrations of some of the birds, and one of the enjoyments for me about reading this book was googling the birds that weren’t pictured (thankfully they had the Latin names of each one, because some of them have a bunch of popular names). The information in the book it’s not very extensive, other than a physical description, where they might make their nest, whether their songs are worth listening to or not and a few other tidbits about their customs or alimentation. It’s a cute book, and even though I probably won’t recognize a bird in my life, I did find here some of the few I know.

Come Tumbling Down, by Seanan McGuire

When Jack left Eleanor West’s School for Wayward Children she was carrying the body of her deliciously deranged sister–whom she had recently murdered in a fit of righteous justice–back to their home on the Moors.
But death in their adopted world isn’t always as permanent as it is here, and when Jack is herself carried back into the school, it becomes clear that something has happened to her. Something terrible. Something of which only the maddest of scientists could conceive. Something only her friends are equipped to help her overcome.
Eleanor West’s “No Quests” rule is about to be broken.
Again. (from Goodreads)

Back in the present timeline, Jack hastily comes back to Eleanor’s house, but this time she’s on Jill’s body and asking the help of her friends to retrieve her own body back. Jill has become the main antagonist, and living in a body that’s not her own is pushing Jack to insanity and to complete her transformation into a mad scientist. So, the gang agrees to go into the moors, and their reaction there is pretty much our own as readers about the bleakness of the place. We don’t get to meet Jill again until the very end, but we do get a very good glimpse of the drowned gods’ domains, which I couldn’t help but be reminded of the Iron Islands from Game of Thrones, except this town was on the mainland. This little peak only serves as a reminder of the vastness of the moors, and how much I’d like to know more about this place! Still is my favorite world of the ones we met. I do hope we get to see more of Jack in the future, but I have a feeling there might not be another story having her as the main character.

Berta la larga, by Cuca Canals

 [Berta the Long]

Ahh this book! I read it for the first time when I was a child, checked it out from the school’s library, and I remember having so much fun with it, even though after so many years I couldn’t exactly remember many of the details of the story. So I always wanted to find it and  read it again, so I bought it earlier in 2020, and as soon as I had it with me I lent it to my cousin, thinking that I could wait a few weeks before reading it, she should enjoy it as well. Well… That was back in March, and it wasn’t until the last days of November that I got it back, due to lockdown. Anyway, sorry for the pointless anecdote. I read it a few days before Christmas, which was a funny coincidence, because one of the things I didn’t remember is that Berta’s village is called Navidad. I really enjoyed it, almost as much as I did when I was a kid, and this is only because there were a few moments that didn’t age very well regarding the current (and my own) sensitivities. But, among the things that I enjoyed the most were how Margarita Cifuentes was always the butt of the joke, just for talking too much and being so annoying.  It’s a book I would still recommend because overall it’s still very funny.

In an Absent Dream, by Seanan McGuire

This fourth entry and prequel tells the story of Lundy, a very serious young girl who would rather study and dream than become a respectable housewife and live up to the expectations of the world around her. As well she should.
When she finds a doorway to a world founded on logic and reason, riddles and lies, she thinks she’s found her paradise. Alas, everything costs at the goblin market, and when her time there is drawing to a close, she makes the kind of bargain that never plays out well. (from Goodreads)

Once again we’re taken back in the time-line, this time to know Lundy’s origin story, who we met as a teacher in book #1. Her world is known as the Market, which has a series of rules that everybody must abide by and the consequences of breaking them vary according to the rule-breaker age and understanding of how the rules work. One of the things that made this world different from the ones we met before is that kids are free to come and go from this world to their original one as they please, but by the age of 18 must make the choice of going back and never come back, or staying for good. Lundy comes and goes a few times, and she must bear the consequences her travels have on her relationship with her birth family and her found family back at the market. One of the things that resounded with me was her father’s question (who also went to the Market as a child) about why does she trust a place that already put her life in danger, and that demands of her to make a life-changing resolution at such a young age? Which is something that happens often in fantasy books, right? Children that are forced by the circumstances to become heroes of some sort. This one was pretty good, and tragic el over the board.

BONUS

Juice Like Wounds

In the course of every great adventure there are multiple side-quests. All too often these go unreported—perhaps because the adventurers in question fail to return to the main narrative due to death or other distractions, and sometimes because the chronicler of the events decide to edit out that part of that particular history for reasons of their own (historians are never infallible)—but occasionally we get another window into our heroes’ world. (from Goodreads)

This is a short story and is listed as #4.5. Here we finally get the chance to know what went down with the Wasp Queen, an event that’s only hinted in the previous book and that was the reason why Lundy went back to her birth family for the first time. This is the quest that made a hero out of Lundy, but the price they paid to recover the Pomegranate grove was too high, even for the Market standards. This episode’s ok but makes me wonder even more why Lundy decided to go back to a place like this. I guess I don’t have a sense of adventure in me.

Beneath the Sugar Sky, by Seanan McGuire

When Rini lands with a literal splash in the pond behind Eleanor West’s Home for Wayward Children, the last thing she expects to find is that her mother, Sumi, died years before Rini was even conceived. But Rini can’t let Reality get in the way of her quest – not when she has an entire world to save! (Much more common than one would suppose.) If she can’t find a way to restore her mother, Rini will have more than a world to save: she will never have been born in the first place. And in a world without magic, she doesn’t have long before Reality notices her existence and washes her away. Good thing the student body is well-acquainted with quests… A tale of friendship, baking, and derring-do. Warning: May contain nuts. (from Goodreads)

In this installment we are brought back to the present time. A girl fell -literally- from the sky (giving me strong Chibiusa vibes -I mean, the name!) claiming to be looking for her mother to bring her back to her world, only to find out her mother had been murdered a while ago (book #1). So the plot of the book rounds about putting up together (gathering her bones, her soul and finding her heart) this girl’s mother, so she stops disappearing (Back to the Future style) and the Evil Queen from Confection is once again defeated. This book’s entertaining and we get to visit a couple more worlds (Nancy’s and Confection), and it’s interesting to read everyone’s impressions and reactions when they’re going through worlds so different than their own, but I still like #2 better.

Down Among the Sticks and Bones, by Seanan McGuire

Twin sisters Jack and Jill were seventeen when they found their way home and were packed off to Eleanor West’s Home for Wayward Children.
This is the story of what happened first…
Jacqueline was her mother’s perfect daughter—polite and quiet, always dressed as a princess. If her mother was sometimes a little strict, it’s because crafting the perfect daughter takes discipline.
Jillian was her father’s perfect daughter—adventurous, thrill-seeking, and a bit of a tom-boy. He really would have preferred a son, but you work with what you’ve got.
They were five when they learned that grown-ups can’t be trusted.
They were twelve when they walked down the impossible staircase and discovered that the pretense of love can never be enough to prepare you a life filled with magic in a land filled with mad scientists and death and choices. (from Goodreads)

In this book, the author takes us back in the timeline, and we get the “origin story” of Jack and Jill, the twins we met as students in the previous installment. Raised to fit some roles their controlling parents assigned them in order to have each their perfect idea of daughters, once they find their way into the moors, they somehow end up being the opposite of those assigned roles. I liked this book so much more than the first one. The moors are such a sinister and terrifying world, and yet it is so interesting to see how these two girls grow and learn to be part of it, they make themselves home and can’t think of going back to their previous world. And we get to learn how and why they’re taken back to, let’s say, our reality, before they end up in Eleanor West’s home. Also, this is when these series started to have a few illustrations, and they’re so nice!