Book Review: Black Sea Twilight by Domnica Radulescu

I like books about misplaced histories. What happened in Romania under Ceausescu, the Armenian Genocide, India immediately after the British withdrew, Haiti after the revolution – all these events that happened and impacted thousands and have somehow been glossed over in history books and swept under the rug. Romania has always held a macabre fascination for me, I think mostly because I have lived all my life in Australia, where at most our political systems is laughable and at least we pay nothing for education and food is abundant. We are spoiled and fat and with the exception of what happened to the Aboriginal people during settlement, Australia has been lucky.

I don’t know enough to get into some political diatribe about Communism and security and nationalism and civil war and I liked that Black Sea Twilight doesn’t spend hours trying to negotiate the history of the Ceausescu dictatorship. Instead, it simply tells what was happening inside the country from the point of view of a young girl who is struggling to be an artist, struggling to be a daughter, a sister, a lover, a Romanian. As Nora juggles these roles, the story moves along at a frenetic pace. First Nora is fifteen and about to discover her passion for art and for the boy she has grown up alongside, a Muslim Turk named Gigi. When the pair rescue a melancholic and beautiful french tourist from drowning, Nora realizes that she must act in order to hold onto her loves and begins to paint the divine and grotesque images she has in her head. Life under Ceasescu is getting more and more unbearable, as Nora’s twin brother Valentin returns from Bucharest and Nora suffers septicemia after procuring an illegal abortion which brings her family and all those around her under government suspicion. When Nora, Gigi and Valentin all have their university applications knocked back after her and Gigi unwittingly overhear military secrets, Nora knows she must leave Romania and make her way to Paris where she can be free to live and love and make art.

After two years lost and alone in Istanbul, Nora finds herself in Paris once again saving the tragic Anushka from herself. She enters into the university of art and finds new friends, but she longs for the freedom of her beloved Gigi, to see her brother and family again. In discovering unspoken truths about her new friends – Anushka, the circus girl Didona who once broke her brother’s heart and the motherly Agadira – Nora finds herself learning more about herself, her art and what she is going to become. Finally the Romanian revolution overthrows the dictatorship and Nora is free to speak with her Mama and see her brother perform in concert. But so much has changed, not only within Nora herself, but with the country she fled and the love of her life who has been on his own hard journey. There is no going back, but what life are they going forward into?

This book doesn’t stop. Told in first person by Nora with dialogue both spoken and implied, this novel allows you not only into Nora’s life, but into her very soul. Colours and shapes and sensations come alive thanks to Radulescu’s beautiful and frenzied prose. Although in some instances it is difficult to keep track, this adds to the narrative – When Nora arrives in Istanbul, ill, suffering from amnesia and uncertain even of the language she is speaking, the scene and language picks you up and carries you on a bizarre carnival ride of emotion and longing and confusion and art. When Agadira and Nora are nursing Anushka through the ravages of heroin withdrawal, it seems as though time condenses into a long twilight with no sleep and no awake and no beginning and no end, which only serves to elaborate the desolation and suffering of Anushka and the desperation of her nurses. The tag line on this copy of the novel says it is “a spellbinding story of escape and self-discovery”. and I certainly found myself captivated, dizzied and gloried by it, enthralled by the sense of history and more than a little in love with Nora for all her strengths and weaknesses. I’m certainly on the look out for Radulescu’s other novel, Train to Trieste.

Review: A Wise Man’s Fear by Patrick Rothfuss in 2 parts

How do you tell if something you are reading is a good series? What criteria do you put on good? What criteria do you put on completely awesome?

My criteria is something along the lines of

a) I try to read it slowly so it lasts longer, but it still only takes 2 days

b) I curse and weep if I have to wait longer than 2 weeks for the next instalment

c) I try to stalk the author on twitter and wonder if they are secretly reading my reviews and smiling a little. Or wanting to marry me. Either or.

So how often does this happen?

Well, it happened the the Liveship traders series by robin hobb, which luckily I only started after she’d finished all three books.

It happened again with Peter Brett’s Demon Trilogy (apparently the painted Man is going to be turned into a movie soon. I hope they do it justice). And it happened with Pamela Freeman’s Casting’s trilogy, ever book that Jacqueline Carey ever wrote and numerous other books. I didn’t want to read The Name of the Wind. Every fantasy fan I knew (and i was working in a bookshop when it was released, so that was lots of people) said it was the most awesome debut novel ever. Usually ‘awesome debut novel’ translates into “good for a first go, but shit compared to anything an experienced writer has written”. But then i got bored and I had a battered reading copy right there and I thought why not.
Next thing I know, i was ignoring customers and reading it under the counter. And at traffic lights on the way home. And while cooking dinner. I ignored my children. I ignored my friends.

The Name of the Wind is an engrossing book. I never wanted it to end, so imagine my shock when the next six months went by and there was no sign of the sequel.
I left the bookshop and had a baby – still no sequel.
I looked in every bookshop and told everyone that the author was an asshole for making me wait so long – still no sequel.
After 3 years, I gave up all hope – and suddenly, there was book 2!

The Wise Man’s Fear jumps you straight back into the story (which after a 3 year hiatus, is starting to blur slightly). And the story jumps and leaps and bounds and drags you along for the ride. Kvothe is still at university, still battling against the nasty Ambrose, dancing around the lovely Denna and attempting to stay one step ahead of the devious moneylender, Devi (excuse the pun, if you would be so kind). He drinks and plays and gets in strife and learns a new trick of two.

The first half of the book builds on the learning Kvothe is doing, as well as developing his character. In such a lengthy and detailed story, it’s hard to keep track of the fact that the guy is still 16. Telling a biography within a story has allowed Rothfuss to remain with Kvothe for the entire book, but it doesn’t get stale seeing everything from one point of view. And it also limits the jumping around that often happens in novels of this size (think Katherine Kerr, J V jones or Robert Jordan) – Kvothe’s tale is told sequentially and if he misses large segments, he at least glosses over them or admits that there is a hole in the timeline.

The second half of the book is more adventurous and Kvothe leaves the university to seek the patronage of the Maer, a rich ruler of superstitious Vinta. Kvothe saves the Maer from poisoning, helps him woo his lady love and then sets off to kill a group of bandits robbing tax collectors on a lonely stretch of highway.
On the way back, Kvothe and his company stumble upon the beautiful but lonely fae Felurian and that is where I will leave it for tonight – more in Part 2!