A Good Murder Mystery Can Be Hard to Find (but Martinez Wrote a Fun One).

Martinez, Gulliermo. The Oxford Murders. Trans. Sonia Soto. Penguin, 2006.

Set, as the title indicates, in the town of Oxford, UK, Martinez' The Oxford Murders is the story of a young mathematician who takes up residence in that university town only to find himself entangled in a series of murders. This unnamed maths student, working with a renowned mathematician named Arthur Seldom, is encouraged by his mentor to use truths about logic and sequences (among other things) to unravel the mystery transpiring around him. Add in a few pretty girls who challenge and intrigue our scholarly protagonist, and, well, that's the recipe for a unique but comprehensible murder mystery.

I am no maths student myself, but The Oxford Murders provides a clear and interesting introduction to some fascinating mathematical concepts, occasionally encouraging the reader to solve the puzzles along with the protagonist; I particularly enjoyed these mental challenges. More importantly, however, the plot of The Oxford Murders is filled with twists and revelations that would do Agatha Christie proud; the reveal at the end is perfectly crafted and, of course, entirely logical. The pieces are all present, but the structure (and the sequence, of course!) show us, as with the sequence Seldom draws for his protege to solve early in the novel, only what we are meant to see.

Martinez' novel, elegantly translated into English by Sonia Soto, offers a splendid story, clear and interesting, with a few brain teasers thrown into the mix. It is a fresh and engaging re-interpretation of the murder mystery genre, and I'm delightfully pleased to be able to recommend it so warmly. Even had I read more than one book in December, this one would still have been a strong contender for my favourite book of the month.

Well, there's Loneliness: Hall's Unsympathetic Protagonist

Hall, Radclyffe. The Well of Loneliness. New York: Anchor, 1956 (1928).

The Well of Loneliness is frequently noted--with varying reactions--for its early descriptions of lesbian affection. Early in the book, and as a young girl, main character Stephen develops an affection for one of her family's female servants, even praying desperately to God that her servant's pains might be given to young Stephen. Her parents--the same ones who named her Stephen--are eager to curtail her passionate affection, the servant is let go, and young Stephen continues her uncomfortable childhood, bored with the traditional young lady activities expected of her, and defiantly choosing to dress in boyish apparel. The complications continue as she ages, and, thwarted on every side by the expectations of society, she desperately strives to find and keep love both close to home and, when necessity demands it, very far away.

The novel's lesbian message is emphatic and persistent, and the continuous drone of Stephen's frustrated longing grows old with time; it is preachy with an intent to change the reader, and the message would have been more powerful had Hall approached it with a little more subtlety. Some of the descriptions are elegant, and certain scenes are well-played, but as Stephen finds her desires thwarted at every turn, she takes on the characteristics of a madwoman, losing her head and bursting into a fury when the objects of her desire fail to reciprocate her love. At the same time, however, many of her friends and loved ones are portrayed more gently, and the tense uncertainty of Hall's companion Mary, given the choice between Stephen's bursts of passion and a sweeter and more acceptable coupling, is clearly torn, but her struggle is not simply between the desired and the acceptable: Stephen's crazed longing (and frequent abandonment) creates a friction that is in many ways unrelated to the novel's provocative sexual argument.

The Well of Loneliness provides a fascinating insight into the world and growing sexual tensions of the 1920s, and the world Hall creates is one that now seems much further away than it actually is. I found this novel problematic not because of its message, but because of its overt persistence and the entirely unsympathetic force with which its protagonist insisted upon having circumstances conform to her desires and expectations. For me, Stephen was entirely unsympathetic, and I found myself wishing far worse fates upon her than those imposed by her creator. (The status of monthly favourite is conferred upon this novel by sheer necessity).

Ballet Books from Britain: Estoril's Entry

Estoril, Jean [Allan, Mabel]. Ballet for Drina. Macdonald, 1987.

Alas, poor Drina: that which she desires most, she is forbidden to attempt . . . and this, plus her machinations into the general realm of working around her guardian's rules, make up nearly the entire story told in Ballet for Drina.

Drina loves to dance, and longs to dance, but somehow her grandmother (and guardian) always seems to find reasons to keep her from having proper lessons. Some of this changes when Drina changes school and meets a friend named Jenny, who takes ballet lessons although she would rather be learning to farm. Persuasions occur, and lessons are allowed, and a heartwarming friendship begins; the story, though simple, is pleasing, and little girls who love ballet are sure to enjoy this book (and probably its sequels) as well. Of course, there are also the necessary pangs and heartbreaks, and permissions granted become restrictions along the way, but the plot at heart is simple (and, it is to be confessed, entirely predictable from the very first chapters of the novel). Still, there is much to enjoy here for the youthful balletomane, and it would make an excellent second series for young readers who have finished Streatfield and are looking for another collection of British ballet books with which to fuel their imaginations.

Kitchen: Cooking up a Character Study or Two

Yoshimoto, Banana. Kitchen. Washington Sqaure, 1994.

Kitchen is a simple book, and one with a plot so casually structured as to provide not so much a story as a character study, and one that is remarkably difficult to wrap into a summary. It begins with a description of the main character's love for kitchens and the stories they tell, and gradually meanders into a description of the several significant events of her young life. Early in the book, protagonist Mikage's grandmother dies, and she is shortly invited to move in with her acquaintance Yuichi and his "mother" (formerly his father) who works in the sex industry. Eventually this arrangement goes sour, but through all the many struggles that she faces as she strives to make a new life for herself in the wake of her grandmother's death, Mikage remains resilient.

This wasn't my favourite novel, but I appreciated the effort that went into making the character likeable and engaging. Mikage isn't really my type of character, and this isn't my favourite type of novel, but nevertheless I found the book intellectually interesting. There are scenes of great charm, and a great deal of passion, and the novel is well written; I simply didn't find it compelling. Yet the character sketch is careful and the book has been written far more precisely than have many novels of our era; I must praise it, if only for its structure. In addition, this book has the remarkable merit of brevity: it provides an afternoon of stimulating intellectual exercise while still permitting an evening of reckless abandon in murder mysteries and other fictitious frivolities. It was my favourite book of the month, but, alas, only because the pickings were otherwise quite slim.

'Once upon a Day' took too many hours of my life to read

Tucker, Lisa. Once Upon a Day. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2006.

Once upon a Day is a modern-day coming-of-age story intertwined with a old-Hollywood romance, as author Lisa Tucker blends the story of sheltered Dorothea, out in the world for the first time in memory, with the failed romance of her parents, once famous stars now nearly forgotten.

The early pages of the book move slowly; Dorothea leaves home for the first time in search of her brother, and her naivete as she figures out bus travel (daunting for anyone), hires a taxi, and buys her first modern clothes seems played for laughs. Dorothea's quick transition from innocent daughter to worldly-wise seductress is implausible, although her dreams and the vague memories she and her brother are able to recall serve as the link to a more compelling story, that of her parents' courtship and increasingly broken marriage. At the beginning of the novel, Tucker hints at a great tragedy, and the hints and intimations grow stronger as Dorothea, her brother Jimmy, and a helpful cabdriver (who becomes much more) attempt to solve the mystery. By the end of the book, Dorothea seems perfectly adapted to everyday life in modern America, and the story of her parents' romance is both heartbreaking and frustrating for its undertones of manipulation shrouded in the guise of love.

While not the greatest book I've read, this novel does manage to balance the frivolous silliness of novelty with the slow ache of unfulfilled passion, and by the end of the story I was able to sympathise with a few of the characters. Overall, however, this is a book that encourages listless awareness rather than genuine involvement with the characters and their stories, and thus, while I look forward to seeing what other tricks Tucker has up her novelist's sleeve, I'm happy to wait a while for my next encounter with her work.

A Duke for All Seasons

Tunis, John. Iron Duke. Harcourt, 1938.

Iron Duke is possibly my favourite of all Tunis' novels, and the one that I would recommend, in particular, for first-time readers of this great sports novelist. Like, in particular, Champion's Choice, Iron Duke is a novel about much more than sports, and its protagonist is caught up in a balancing act of life and loyalties that make the novel, at its heart, a study of humanity and choice.

Protagonist Jim Wellington is a small-town boy whose hard work in high school pays off with an acceptance to Harvard College, where he dreams of playing varsity football and following in his father's footsteps. Once in Boston, however, he finds that the university life he imagined is more difficult to obtain than he could have known, and he struggles to survive in athletics and, soon, to stay ahead in academics.

Jim--soon nicknamed "The Duke"--eventually makes two friends, "McGuire" and the posh "Fog," whose exploits get him into trouble from time to time but also provide him with the encouragement he needs to persevere in the face of disappointments and frustrations. The adventures of the three men, eventually known as the "Dunster Funsters," provide the novel with some lighthearted humour, but the friendship that develops over the course of the novel is thoughtfully composed and presents a strong underlying support for the more lighthearted and athletic scenes that make this book so remarkable and readable.

As this is one of my favourite books of all time, it would be difficult to award the "monthly favourite" title to any of the other excellent volumes enjoyed this month. Although currently out of print, this excellent book is a must-read, and well worth a trip to the library or a used bookstore.

Apple (Bough) of a Reader's Eye

Streatfield, Noel. Apple Bough. Lions, 1999 (1962).

This is, perhaps, a splendid book to read for previous fans of Streatfield's work, although I would not recommend it for first-time readers of the author of such splendid texts as Ballet Shoes or the less stage-struck novels of his I read earlier this summer. Apple Bough tells the story of a family of six: young Sebastian is a gifted violinist, and his siblings, while talented in other areas, have not attained the levels of skill that enable Sebastian to embark upon a world tour, instrument in hand and family in tow (for a time).

The bulk of the novel is spent describing the increasing dissatisfaction with which siblings Myra, Wolfgang, and Ethel approach their life as travellers in their brother's wake, and the many plots they hatch in secret, hoping that their family can settle down again. The focus of the book is upon family ties and the importance of familial unity, and Streatfield drives his plot home, as it were, with focus and determination. While the characters are not as compelling as those in many of his other novels, and the plot grows stale to the reader as the incessant travelling grows dull to the children, the themes thus portrayed work elegantly within this context, and the book itself would provide an important starting point for a number of valuable discussions that parents might wish to have with their progeny. Otherwise, this is a book for Streatfield's diehard fans, and one that is unlikely to leave too lasting an impression in the wake of his finer works.

Daunted by Discourse: A Stab at Tolkien

Tolkien, J. R. R. The Fellowship of the Ring. New York: Ballantine, 1994 (1954).

What, really, remains to be said about The Fellowship of the Ring? It is beloved by readers and geeks the world around, and to even hint that bits of it are slower than others is to arouse the wrath of many thousands of the author's fans. This reading of the book was my second (I have, since September, revisited it a third time) and it captivates me only slightly more each time.

So: if you are not a lover of Tolkien, but you feel you ought to try the Fellowship again, three things:

1) Read the poems aloud. Seriously. They seem long, and possibly irrelevant, butthey are better aloud, and they have much to say about Tolkien's world at large. And, on their own, they are actually very good works of poetry.

2) Read the book in smaller chunks. I am a fan of dashing through a novel, but to do so with Tolkien, being less of a fan than many others, finds me getting bogged down in description I'd rather be skipping. If the book bores you, set it aside for a while, and come back to it later.

3) Read the book as a history, rather than a novel. Tolkien's world, I am slowly learning, is larger than I ever dreamt, and the books, for all their excitement and plots, are filled with allusions to his greater histories (now, and slowly, being published). If Tolkien doesn't provide literary relaxation, approach him as a good historian, and savour the details he provides of this world that exists only in the imagination.

My understanding and appreciation of Tolkien is ever-so-slowly expanding, but it has taken reading him as a scholar to appreciate his fiction.

'Champion's Choice' Always a Delightful Choice

Tunis, John. Champion's Choice. San Diego: Harcourt Brace, 1990 (1940).

Although John Tunis is best known for his numerous baseball novels, my two favourite books in his canon depart from this tradition and showcase, instead, athletes in tennis and track. Champion's Choice tells the story of Janet Johnson, a little girl whose surprising talent with a tennis racquet catapults her from a working-class home onto the courts of a local country club whose members and instructors soon give her a chance to go much further afield.

Although Janet becomes a tennis player, and descriptions of her matches feature prominently in Tunis' novel, Champion's Choice is not really a book about tennis. Rather, this exceptional novel is a grown-up version of the coming of age novel: it explores the tensions and confusion that occasionally make it difficult for this budding protagonist to define herself. Is she Janet Johnson the tennis player, or Janet Johnson, woman, daughter, and friend? Janet is gently prodded through this process of self-awareness by her childhood friend Rodney, whose friendly advice on the court and off keep Janet alternately pleased, bewildered, and annoyed. Fans of tennis will enjoy the descriptions of matches, courts, and grueling practice sessions, but fans of character studies will find that Tunis' sports characters are far from stock athletes: Janet the character is fresh, exciting, and as fun to study on my fifth read of the book as she was on the day I first cracked the pages. Sadly out of print, this is a must-read for all.

Veteran Tunis Fans Will Find 'Rookie' Makes the Cut

Tunis, John. Rookie of the Year. San Diego: Harcourt Brace, 1987 (1944).

Fans of John Tunis' baseball novels should find Rookie of the Year quite as expected: this story revisits the Brooklyn Dodgers of past fame, picking up a little later in their fictional trajectory, and focusing not on Roy Tompkins, but on now-manager Spike Russell, secretary Bill Hanson, and the rookie players Bones Hathaway and Clyde Baldwin. Rookie of the Year is a story about baseball only as much as it is a story about trust and growth, and Tunis' skillful descriptions of characters and their motivations lie at the heart of this book's value.

At the beginning of the book, the Dodgers are a few games behind the league leaders and determined to win. Manager Spike Russell puts them under strict orders to abstain from alcohol and late nights and to hustle on the field, and adherence to these rules quickly becomes a point of contention for Bill Hanson and many of the team's younger players. Hanson is swiftly revealed as the villain of Tunis' plot (although his motivation is never actually explored, let alone explained) and the key pawns in his attack are pitcher Hathaway and his roommate Baldwin. As the pennant grows closer and tensions run high, Spike must separate the deceitful from the misled, and guide his team with both firmness and grace. An enjoyable read, though not the most compelling of all Tunis' novels.

Nix, Necromancy, and Novelty: Not too Bad is 'Sabriel'

Nix, Garth. Sabriel. New York: Harper Collins, 2004 (1995).

I'm often frustrated by fantasy writing these days; it has so much to offer, but many of the more recent novels seem simply derivative of their literary predecessors. This is not so with Sabriel (or, if it is, I haven't read said literary predecessors), which manages both to be a novel in genre and to offer something quite fresh: a necromancer, called the 'Abhorsen,' who defies the conventions of the trade, offering closure and finality in place of ghosts and skeletons.

At the beginning of the book, readers are introduced to the Abhorsen, who (of course) turns out to be Sabriel's father. After the passage of a few pages and many years of Sabriel's life, the story begins in earnest while Sabriel is a student at a preparatory-type school far from home; after her father's failure to appear for a visit as expected (he sends instead a spectral messenger), Sabriel must make the exhausting journey home alone, through a cold and desolate Northern land, pursued by a terrifying monster. Once home, of course, her adventures are only beginning, and Sabriel meets Mogget (one of the most unique and charming fantasy characters since the Ents), takes a ride in a magnificent flying contraption called a paperwing, and pursues her father across her homeland and far beyond. Although the story is dark at times, it is also compelling and charming (and worth reading for Mogget alone). Sabriel does have some irksome tendencies, but these are realistic: she is, after all, a teenaged girl, struggling with all sorts of youthful proclivities and maturing along the way; in this respect Sabriel is surprisingly realistic, which is pleasing except when it is frustrating.

I enjoyed this book, but I know several people who were far less impressed with it than I, and it is certainly heavily laden with the magical and the dark, so many readers may prefer to sidestep this text. However, fans of a certain ridiculously popular child wizard should find Nix's novel a good deal better written and more imaginative than books in that other series, and the story is well structured and elegantly written. For fans of fantasy, a perusal of Sabriel is essential.

Plenty of Time for Reading Eager(ly)

Eager, Edward. The Time Garden. Bodecker, 1999.

Edward Eager's literary adventures in child play and time travel never fail to please, and The Time Garden is no exception to this general rule. Here Eager blends history, time travel, and a gentle love of puns into a really splendid children's story about adventure, obedience, and the importance of using language precisely.

I'm hesitant to write a great deal about this book, as it's full of linguistic puns and clever twists that I'd hate to spoil for future readers, but the simple plot has to do with two sets of siblings (Jack, Roger, Eliza, and Ann) who all find themselves spending a summer holiday with their aunt, Mrs. Whiton, in New England (their parents are otherwise occupied in London). While teenaged Jack is off courting half the girls in the northernmost states of America, his younger sibling and cousins rapidly discover the many magical properties of the back garden, and soon find themselves on a whirlwind of adventures.

So long as one objects neither to time travel nor to magical creatures who might facilitate such travel, this is a completely wholesome and delightful book, entirely free from objectionable or questionable content, yet still able to offer an action-packed (and historically informative) story that will delight not only small children, but parents and older siblings who might wish to read along. This would also make an excellent Christmas or birthday gift for young readers who enjoy magic, history, and adventure stories.

'People of the Book': A Book for Book People

Brooks, Geraldine. People of the Book. Penguin, 2008.

People of the Book is clearly written by an author who has had a longstanding love affair with books. On page after page, Brooks provides elegant and vivid descriptions of the unusual 'Sarajevo Haggadah' around which her novel is based, exploring both its modern-day condition and its previous creation and use. Her human characters, from modern day book conservator Hanna Heath to the book's owners in times long past, are also bibliophiles, and the vivid and intimate approaches to the codex throughout the volume should delight any book lover.

People of the Book integrates Hanna's story, which involves a complex love affair and an awkward relationship with her mother, with that of the book she is examining and restoring. As Hanna finds fragments and stains that will give her clues about the Haggadah's history, Brooks intersperses Hanna's discoveries (and frustrating everyday life) with imaginative stories about these older owners. Thus we meet a frightened little girl, a gambling Venetian rabbi, a stubborn doctor, and a lesbian artist, whose interactions with the book each changed it in some fundamental manner. Brooks' relic-based flashbacks are creative and imaginative, and add a fanciful twist that modern readers of older books should appreciate: long will scholars wonder about the first readers of ancient manuscripts, and Brooks' fictitious solutions to these mysteries is satisfying and pleasant.

Despite its elegance and satisfactory creativity, Brooks' novel also occasionally wanders between the banal and the titillating. Hanna's thoughts and actions are constantly affected by her frequent sexual encounters and her frustrating obsession with her family, both of which detract from the greater and more compelling story of the Haggadah. At the same time, the insistent focus on the sinful passions of the book's past owners, rather than an emphasis on their passions for the book itself, detract from the wonderful story Brooks has created around a remarkable codex, and left me wishing I could have read a heavily excerpted version free from the modern issues of obsessive Hannah and the overarching sexual tensions that seem to intrude upon nearly every character's story and impede the story of the book itself.

'Irish Tenure' Stands the Test of Time

McInerny, Ralph. Irish Tenure. Minotaur, 1999.

Ralph McInerny has been a favourite author of mine for many years. In addition to his rather substantial collection of mystery novels, he has also penned an inventive rewriting of Shakespeare's sonnets and is a renowned scholar in his own field, so I have a lot of respect for his ability to produce effective written work across a wide variety of disciplines. Despite my familiarity with and appreciation for his work, Irish Tenure quite exceeded my expectations.

Set (as is common with McInerny's mysteries) at Notre Dame University, Irish Tenure follows the death of young Amanda Pick, a young professor up for a competitive tenure position and on the verge of publishing an important and coveted discovery of a long-lost work by G. K. Chesterton. (The Chesterton story, alas, was invented just for this novel and has not yet been discovered). McInerny opens with her death, to increase suspense, and then flashes back to introduce a number of interesting (and potentially suspicious) individuals who, in the weeks before Amanda's death, might have wished her a little less present and successful. The suspects are numerous, the additional characters engaging, and the novel as a whole is elegantly crafted not just as a mere mystery, but as a collection of miniature character studies as well. I also appreciated the descriptions of the University Archives and Amanda's research in the Chesterton files, which made me long to visit the archives for myself.

As mysteries go, this is an excellent, clean, and engaging book, and well worth a read. More specifically, it should appeal to academics and those who recall their own studies with fondness, and to those who enjoy a bit of psychological thriller mixed in with the classic detective novel.

We the Living Lives On

Rand, Ayn. We the Living. New York: Signet, 1964 (1936).

It has been nearly a decade since I first picked up We the Living, and I'm surprised to find that I like it nearly as much now as I did on my first encounter with the story. Like many of Rand's other novels, We the Living is heavily skewed to promote her then-foundling philosophy of objectivism, a worldview that is a slightly more selective and glorified form of humanism, and, like any book that strives so singlemindedly to promote one particular perspective, the plot of We the Living occasionally falls a little flat under the weight of Rand's arguments and analyses. Nevertheless, this is a terrific and important novel, and worth reading for the story as well as the glimpse into a mindset of yore.

Kira Argouvna has a whole world ahead of her. She's young and strong, has been admitted to the Technological Institute to study engineering (she, like many of Rand's protagonists, dreams of building magnificent and seemingly eternal structures), and even has, after not too many pages, a male admirer or two. Her papers appear to be in order, and even the poverty of her slightly-too-independent family is not enough to discourage her from the joys of her studies (and boyfriends). Yet times are hard, and her family's struggles go unnoticed until even Kira loses most of the things that once brought her happiness. As her aristocratic ties become ever more dangerous, Kira struggles to keep her family satisfied, make a home and career for herself, and save the man she loves, yet her country and her circumstances seem to fight against her at every opportunity. Rand paints a poignant--if bleak--picture of life in communist Russia and manages to sculpt one of her most compelling characters into life as her novel progresses. One-sided in spots, We the Living paints a stark and probably quite honest picture of one woman's experience in a dark and troubled world, and although Rand claims in the preface to her Signet edition that the novel is more about ideals than about history, real history and realistic experiences leak onto the pages of this novel and cannot be completely overlooked. The philosophy is heavy-handed, but the story itself is compelling and magnificent.

And So It Ends: Peter David and the Legacy of Babylon 5

David, Peter. Out of the Darkness. Del Rey, 2000.

Embarrassingly, there are few books I've read as swiftly and as lethargically as Out of the darkness the third volume in Peter David's futuristic Centauri Prime trilogy set in the universe of Babylon 5. On the one hand, I quite imagined that this volume would hold the key to many mysteries left unanswered in the earlier volumes as well as in the Babylon 5 television series itself; on the other hand, I was hesitant to allow the series to end. It seemed that this concluding volume was among the shortest books I've ever encountered: it began, it continued, and--all too quickly--it ended, and this is less a praise of the volume's marvellous pace than a slight criticism of its very rushed feel.

Out of the Darkness, it is to be confessed, would make very little sense without a good knowledge of the Babylon 5 universe created by J. Michael Straczynski for a television series of the same name, and without a perusal of the first two volumes in this trilogy, The Long Night of Centauri Prime and Armies of Light and Dark. In many ways, this volume provides the closure that is still lacking at the end of the final episode of the original television series: it demonstrates the ways in which many foreshadowed elements from the series are played out, allows fans and readers a glimpse into the future of Centauri Prime and the Interstellar Alliance, and allows the prophecies of earlier television seasons to reach natural and anticipated closures. For readers in search of the next great work of literature, this book leaves a little to be desired: its characters and events, while rich, lack the elegance of fleshing-out that would make this volume a standalone novel. For fans of the television series, Out of the Darkness is the end of an era, and the icing on an already very interesting and pleasurable cake.

Don't Read This First: Peter David Tackles Vir Cotto

David, Peter. Armies of Light and Dark. Del Rey, 2000.

Armies of Light and Dark, the second volume in the Centauri trilogy by Peter David, should be read with an awareness of the caveats I raised while discussing The Long Night of Centauri Prime. Primarily, this is the second book in a trilogy based upon the television show Babylon 5, and probably not intended for the non-sci-fi-geek. For those of us who can find alternate worlds a little fascinating and have already enjoyed the television series and the previous novel, this book is better than The Long Night of Centauri Prime, and all the more so because it focuses on one of the greatest characters from the original series.

That lovable and sometimes bumbling Centauri, Vir Cotto, has finally gained a little maturity and is in the process of gaining a lot of spine, and in this exceptional novel, Peter David manages to capture his transformation from a young man into a vibrant and cunning revolutionary. Over the course of this novel, he finds himself in increasing amounts of trouble, falls in love, gives away something beautiful, and manages to make several other alien races quite uneasy. Of course the troubled Londo Mollari plays an important role in the volume as well, but this book is really all about Vir, and for those of us who found the TV show occasionally lacking with respect to the ambassadors' aides, this book takes away some of the sting. As with The Long Night . . ., Armies of Light and Dark has moments of stilted scripts and a too-hastily-unravelled plot, but I found that the book solved more problems than it created, and manages to provide a quite passable character study in the process.

A Short, Fun, Geek Read: Peter David's Long Night of Centauri Prime

David, Peter. The Long Night of Centauri Prime. Del Rey, 1999.

Babylon 5, a space station from 2057, was once the galaxy's last, best hope for peace. It failed, but along the way, it offered science fiction fans of the past a chance to imagine a future directed by Vorlons and Shadows and inhabited by humans, Cantauri, Narn, and Minbari (as well as almost countless minor races). Over five seasons, J. Michael Straczynski introduced us to this future galaxy, whose races and inhabitants struggled with many of the issues hotly contested, even today, on the continents of planet Earth. He also allowed us to fall--just a little--in love with characters such as hapless Vir (a Centauri), passionate G'Kar (a Narn), devoted Lennier (a Minbari) and a lot of humans.

The Long Night of Centauri Prime is set at the very end of the Babylon 5 television series (obviously excluding the Season 5 finale), primarily on the Centauri homeworld. Readers of this novel have a front-row glimpse into the life of Londo Mollari, whose rising status on the Centauri homeworld and acquantance with some troublesome associates gives him at once ultimate power and complete helplessness. Alone in the midst of his people, Londo must fight demons he never imagined existed, and watch as his world hovers between destruction and slavery.

Having seen the entire televison series on which this novel is based, I can't speak for its suitability for non-sci-fi geeks or those who haven't yet entered the world of space stations where aliens and humans can mingle and come to understand one another more fully. For a fan of the series, however, this book (and the two that follow) provide a fitting epitaph and patch up several of the holes left unfilled in the final episodes from Straczynski's universe. There are spots where the dialogue seems weak, and moments where the plot runs ahead of the literary elements, but, all in all, this is an enjoyable read, and well worth the time spent savoring a few last glimpses of characters and places I'd seen on camera for five short seasons.

A Quick Thursday Read: Another Noel Streatfield

Streatfield, Noel. Far to Go. First published 1986.

Far to GoMargaret Thursday, as heroines go, is perhaps not the most typical young woman ever to live in lines of ink. An orphan with a harrowing back story whose theatrical skills are in high demand, she is at once both infuriating and fascinating. Streatfield's Far to Go begins with her escape from a touring show in which young Margaret has played the role of Little Lord Fauntleroy, and continues with her introduction to the London stage (and, in the process, bits of the London underworld, where a few shady individuals still recognise her as a hapless orphan). The novel moves quickly, and the story is entertaining, but Streatfield seems to focus more on details (Margaret's lace-trimmed pantaloons, and the days upon which they are to be worn, are a frequent source of contention between the little girl and her guardian) than on character development, and although Margaret has a very exciting life and meets some very interesting individuals during the course of the book, there is little to remember fondly when the volume has closed. Even as I was thrilled to see Posy Fossil reappear in The Painted Garden, I would be less interested in finding Margaret Thursday in another Streatfield novel.

Despite its limited character development, Far to Go is still a fun and fast read. Margaret's rehearsals, and her growing understanding of the complexity, flexibility, and dedication required of an actress, offer an entertaining look at the London theatre of yore. Her encounter with her past is exciting, and the book is full of adventures. For a younger reader with a little more imagination than I, her character's shortcomings might provide the space for a fully-fleshed-out literary friend, with whom a younger reader can enjoy Margaret's own adventures. Though it discusses some weighty issues, such as child labor and kidnapping, the novel is clean and fairly non-graphic when it comes to these points, and it could be safely enjoyed by most children over eight or nine years of age. For Streatfield fans, it provides a fresh departure from some of his other, perhaps more wonderful, but also more typical, works of literature.

An Old Favourite: The Hawk and the Dove.

Wilcock, Penelope. The Hawk and the Dove. Crossway, 2000.

I first read Wilcock's The Hawk and the Dove when I was a little girl, but although this reading was at least my third, it never grows old. The Hawk and the Dove is a short frame novel, set partly in recent modern times, where a young girl named Melissa, struggling with her faith, friends, and school, turns to her mother for stories that will encourage and support her. These stories are set in a fourteenth-century monastery, where the monks governed by protagonist Father Peregrine face trials, triumphs, and everyday life. Wilcock's book (and its two sequels, included in this edition) teaches faith, courage, and perseverance; her monks, though devout, are flawed and human, and the lessons Melissa learns will benefit nearly any reader. This book is my second-favourite book of all time; it's short and moves quickly, can be easily read as short stories over a longer span of time, or in a single sitting (I find it difficult to set down!). It would work well for a Bible study or devotional, and makes a perfect gift, partly because it's a surprisingly unnoticed book, even in the world of Christian fiction.

Buy The Hawk and the Dove; read The Hawk and the Dove; give The Hawk and the Dove to your friends. There are very few books I would recommend so strongly.