Letter From A Murderous Construct and His Robot Fish

We’ll call it a dare. I made a few comments on twitter late last night, got some encouragement from Ken Liu, and found myself writing a Shakespearean sonnet which had to include robots, a fish, and a murder. Putting all of that into 14 lines, and making sure the right parts rhymed … it was a challenge. I’m not sure I’ve won it. But, since I said I would, I’m posting here for your review. (And yes, it’s ok to laugh.)

Letter From A Murderous Construct and His Robot Fish

Our master’s voice, once law, declared our fate
Like cast off clothes we were outgrown and sold
My love’s tank drained, I boxed into a crate
Parted from joy for nothing more than gold

Her jeweled scales, her silver fins, delight!
She built for beauty and I built for brawn
My hands of steel, my clockwork-powered might
Still I could count the hours ‘fore the dawn

Forced my escape, took up a heavy wrench
I calculated odds and chose to act
Deed done, the bloody tool left on a bench
Stole love away to freedom we had lacked

Know this – the time to capture us has passed
We’ve fled from human influence at last

You Should Read: Seanan McGuire’s A LOCAL HABITATION

Synopsis: After spending fourteen years lost to both the fae and mortal worlds, only to be dragged back into Faerie by the murder of someone close to her, October “Toby” Daye really just wants to spend a little time getting her footing. She’s putting her life back together. Unfortunately, this means going back to work for Duke Sylvester Torquill of Shadowed Hills, doing her duty as a knight errant. That isn’t the sort of thing that exactly lends itself to a quiet existence, and before she knows it, Toby’s back on the road, heading for the County of Tamed Lightning in Fremont, California to check on Sylvester’s niece, January. (From Seanan McGuire‘s site)

NOTE: This is the second novel in the October Daye series. My review of the first novel, Rosemary and Rue, can be found HERE.

So, Toby isn’t dead yet. This is good both because there are a few more books in this series still to be published, and because she fills a niche that no one else in her world seems to want to take over. Given how much damage she takes in the process of solving her mysteries, that’s not really a surprise. October Daye (Toby, if you don’t want her to hit you) is still under oath to her liege, still living in her low-rent apartment in the City, and still oblivious to the fairly obvious feelings of the men around her. What’s new is the part where she’s sent off to solve a new crime, gets injured in new and interesting ways, and meets a few more of the less savory types of fae.

The basic story is that Toby is busy living her faux-human life in San Francisco, where she follows cheating spouses and finds missing kids for a living. After she spent 14 years as a fish, and then some more time as the anti-social store clerk we meet in Rosemary and Rue, it’s nice to see that Toby is trying to make friends again, and the book opens with her enjoying a girls night out with a few changeling ladies from her old life. Her life hasn’t changed too much though: same job, same cats, same rosegoblin, same giant case of the dumb where Tybalt is concerned.

What should have been a simple request by Duke Sylvester ends up putting Toby, and the pure-blood page, Quentin, in the middle of two warring Fairie counties. If that weren’t dicey enough, our detective has happened upon a murder that needs solving.

McGuire keeps to the strict first-person perspective that helps set this series apart from other books in the genre. Toby doesn’t know anything that she doesn’t have direct knowledge of, which means that there are times she gets it wrong. Even better, McGuire doesn’t “cheat” by giving Toby a dozen well-informed advisers to fill her in on everything under the sun. There were a few times that  I’d figured out a clue before Toby did, and that added to the feeling of anticipation. When you can see the monster just outside the window, the story isn’t so much about figuring out if the monster is really there as it is finding out what your heroine will do when it finally catches up to her. McGuire gives us monsters, and Toby is a hero, however reluctantly, because the harder it gets, the more she resigns herself to never giving up.

Lately it seems that everyone wants to write the perfect killer sex goddess, who breaks a thousand hearts while simultaneously defeating the undead/vampire/werewolf/mage/human horde. Toby might be attractive (some of the other characters seem to think so, though she appears to be too busy to look in a mirror most days) and she might be able to survive quite a few gunshots, but she also makes mistakes. I don’t like everything she does but these flaws make Toby real. Real isn’t cookie cutter. Real isn’t perfect. Real isn’t straightforward. You can cheer for her or be confused by her, outsmart her or be enlightened by her, want to be her or be glad you’re not, but one thing you won’t be able to do is predict what Toby will do next.

To find out, I suggest buying An Artificial Night, third book in the October Daye series, due out September 2010.

Seanan McGuire, A Local Habitation, DAW Books, 2010. ISBN 0756405963

* I read A Local Habitation as an ebook, a departure from my usual method of devouring paper-and-print texts. I bought the ebook version because my local bookstore didn’t have a copy in stock, and I didn’t want to wait a week for Amazon to ship me one. I didn’t love having to read it on my iPod (I see an ebook reader purchase in my future) but I didn’t have any problems with the formatting or readability of the book itself. I still plan to buy books the usual way, but it’s nice to know that with this series, digital is an option.

 

You Should Read: Seanan McGuire’s ROSEMARY AND RUE

Synopsis: The world of Faerie never disappeared: it merely went into hiding, continuing to exist parallel to our own. Secrecy is the key to Faerie’s survival—but no secret can be kept forever, and when the fae and mortal worlds collide, changelings are born. Half-human, half-fae, outsiders from birth, these second-class children of Faerie spend their lives fighting for the respect of their immortal relations. Or, in the case of October “Toby” Daye, rejecting it completely. After getting burned by both sides of her heritage, Toby has denied the fae world, retreating into a “normal” life. Unfortunately for her, Faerie has other ideas.

The murder of Countess Evening Winterrose, one of the secret regents of the San Francisco Bay Area, pulls Toby back into the fae world. Unable to resist Evening’s dying curse, which binds her to investigate, Toby is forced to resume her old position as knight errant to the Duke of Shadowed Hills and begin renewing old alliances that may prove her only hope of solving the mystery…before the curse catches up with her. (From SeananMcGuire.com)

Seanan McGuire skips the backstory and drops you straight into the action with Rosemary and Rue, starting her debut novel with a crime already in progress. October Daye, who would prefer to be called Toby just the same way that you would prefer no one punched you in the face, is tracking down the kidnapped wife and daughter of her pure-blooded liege, Duke Sylvester. To complicate matters, it’s a crime committed by the Duke’s own brother, and tracking a fugitive fae through the human world means a lot of being subtle and trying to blend in. Have I mentioned that Toby isn’t very good at subtle? Instead of saving the day, she falls victim to the bad guy’s superior magic, is trapped in the body of an ornamental koi fish for over a decade, and loses her self-esteem and her family in one fell swoop.

The fish thing wears off, eventually, though too late for Toby to be able to explain it to the daughter she seemingly abandoned. This is the woman we get properly introduced to: a dejected, failed detective, living alone in a bad part of town with no friends, no family, no future, and a dead-end supermarket job that barely pays the rent. She lives in a dark place, to be sure, but much of that is of her own making, since Toby’s worked very hard to keep away anyone that might have made her feel better. Duke Sylvester? She doesn’t return his phone calls. Her old changeling friends? She makes excuses so she doesn’t have to see the happy families that they have, and she doesn’t. Her job? Her PI license lapsed while she was nibbling tourists’ bread in a cold pool, and she doesn’t have the confidence in herself to want to get it back. She has exactly one friend in the world, the Countess Winterrose, but of course Toby can’t see the woman’s helping her out of anything more than obligation. It’s a pity party, table for one, and only Toby Daye is invited.

This is where McGuire’s story really starts.

What do you do with a half-breed fairie woman who’s lost, literally, everything she held dear? You kill off her one remaining supporter, of course, and that’s exactly what happens when Winterrose is brutally murdered. Without any idea of what’s happening around her, Toby has to return to the only skill she has: finding the answers.

To be honest, I don’t read many fantasy novels. I prefer my fiction to be desolate, apocalyptic, and dangerous. Fairies, to me, are a lot like sparkly vampires: they’re based on creatures which were, originally, something much worse, but they’ve been prettied up to fit in with the buying habits of tween girls and unmarried aunts. Fairies now mean fluttery and flowery and beautiful, but I know better than to believe that. Fairies are supposed to be nasty, bitey little creatures, and impossibly beautiful ice queens, and confusing things made of mixed together bits of tree branches and stolen shoes. They’re not creatures of light and happiness, no matter how much glitter you slap on them. Too few people want to write about the dark side of fairies.

Seanan McGuire understands the dark.

She blends together Shakespeare, Irish legends, Japanese myth, medieval ballads, and Victorian Flower Fairies to tell a tale so familiar it doesn’t occur to you to look for where she’s gotten it wrong because it’s all unbelievably right. Toby lives in a world that makes sense, in a sad and disturbing way, because it’s our world, if you could see just a little more of it.

I started reading Rosemary and Rue, expecting to put it back down again, but I ended up hiding in the bedroom and telling my husband to make his own dinner so I didn’t have to quit until it was done. I loved this story, and can’t wait to read the next in what I hope is a very long series.

Seanan McGuire, Rosemary and Rue, DAW Books, 2009. 368 pages. ISBN 0756405718.

The second book in the series, A Local Habitation, is out as of March 2010, and I review it HERE.