Book Review: Uncanny Times, by Laura Anne Gilman (with light spoilers)

Skiffy and Fanty was offered an electronic Advanced Reader Copy of Uncanny Vows (The Huntsmen, Book 2, out today, Nov. 28) for review, but I hadn’t read Uncanny Times (Book 1) yet. Although I strongly believe that a book up for an award should stand on its own, I think a reviewer should try to experience a book in context, rather than jumping into the middle of a series and then complaining that they don’t understand what’s happening. 

Of course, a mid-series novel should contain enough back-references for someone plucking it off a library’s New Books shelf to be able to enjoy it without feeling lost, but most people read a series from the start. I think that’s better for reviewers, too, when possible.

Luckily for me, my lovely local library had an audiobook of Uncanny Times via Hoopla, so I was able to listen to it first, before starting the sequel.

I ended up feeling slightly lost anyway. I was a little annoyed by the beginning of Uncanny Times, which started off “Four. By the time the Harkers made their way back to the boardinghouse, darkness was creeping its way back through the treetops.” Rosemary and Botheration were named, so it seemed like these were the Harkers, but then “they” took Botheration to his kennel. So Botheration was a dog -- or a watch-wher, for all I knew at the moment, but that was enough to be going on with. Then "Aaron" laughed, so he was the other Harker, but it took a while longer to understand that Rosemary and Aaron were brother and sister rather than husband and wife, and even longer to figure out why they were at this boardinghouse (to investigate a mystery in the town).

I am not a reader who demands to be spoonfed information. Part of why I love speculative fiction is the enjoyment of figuring out how a world works; for example, I felt shocks of joy when things started coming together and making sense in Ann Leckie’s Ancillary Justice and Yoon Ha Lee’s Ninefox Gambit. However, when reading a gaslamp fantasy, what I want to be figuring out is the mystery, not the book’s structure.

What could have been a perfectly good framing device was only revealed later in the book, in Chapter 1 (the second in the book, after 4) – the brother and sister received a help-me letter from someone who’d aided the Huntsmen organization before with information. But for some reason, Gilman opened the novel after the story was already in progress.

It’s fashionable these days to start novels in the middle of the action: a fight, a chase, an argument. This method reveals some of the tone of the book, and promises that it’s not going to be too heavy on exposition. Preferably, there’s enough revealed during this action scene that the reader can start caring about the result, rather than just waiting impatiently to find out why it matters. But simply moving Chapter 4 to the first position in the book strikes me as a very bad choice.

I was also annoyed by some other early elements in the book. The Harkers appear to unquestioningly accept all the lore and governance handed to them by the Huntsmen, in whose service their parents had died when they were fairly young, and seem completely accepting of the view that humans are mostly good and everything else is unnatural/evil. However, I loved Gilman’s complex and nuanced Devil’s West trilogy (Silver on the Road, etc.), which is why I had jumped at the chance to review Uncanny Vows. I couldn’t believe that everything was going to continue so simplistically black-and-white, so I kept reading, and my patience was justified.

MILD SPOILERS FOLLOW:

It turned out that the mysterious killings that drew the Harkers to this town had some human complicity, and the villain had gotten involved out of entirely understandable motives. The Harkers got assistance from some totally unexpected quarters, and their final report to the Huntsmen ended up shading some of the truth to protect some allies.

So I was pleased to see the Harkers’ worldview expanding, and I fully expect to see more of that in the sequel.

I did quite enjoy the relationship between the Harkers, with their love and trust, and making allowances for each other’s bad habits, intermingling with teasing, small frictions and secrets. Their relationships with each other and with the Huntsmen reminded me more than a little of Sam and Dean Winchester and their (looser) association with the Hunters in the Supernatural TV series.

So far, I’m not as impressed with the opening of the Huntsmen books as I was with The Devil’s West, but Uncanny Truth was an entertaining light read, once I got past the beginning. And anyone who would like to read something that feels like early Supernatural episodes certainly might want to give the Huntsmen series a try.

Content warnings: Violence, deaths, drug abuse, era-accurate sexism

Comparisons: Supernatural TV series (early seasons)
 
Disclaimers: None (library book) 

UPDATE 12/14/23: My review of the sequel, appears at Skiffy and Fanty. "I’m sure I’ll continue to like the Harkers’ relationship, and although Uncanny Vows ties up most of its plot elements in a satisfying way, there are plenty of intriguing hints left to be explored in future books."
https://skiffyandfanty.com/blog/book-review-uncanny-vows-by-laura-anne-gilman/

Review: Marcie R. Rendon’s Cash Blackbear mysteries and forced assimilation

I saw Marcie R. Rendon’s Murder on the Red River on the New Books shelves at my lovely local library (written in 2017, republished in 2022), and picked it up and wolfed it down. I whizzed through the series via Libby, continuing with Girl Gone Missing and Sinister Graves.

I don’t have much in common with the protagonist, Renee “Cash” Blackbear, at least in the beginning, but I found her compelling. As the series starts, in the 1970s, she’s a freelance farmworker in the Red River Valley who loves playing pool. A 19-year-old Ojibwe, she was taken from her reservation so young that she barely remembers anything from there, and her time in the foster-care system was so traumatizing that she now drinks herself to sleep most nights. But she’s friends with Sheriff Wheaton, who helped her when she was younger and still checks in with her every once in a while. She helps him to identify the body of a Native American found in a field, and this leads her to get involved in other mysteries.

Despite Cash’s trauma, she is capable of empathy and more. She tries to save some orphaned kids from getting split up into the foster system; when she starts going to college in the second book, she starts making friends, or at least acquaintances, and leads some strangers out of serious trouble.

She’s sensitive, although she mostly hides it, acting out on occasion, and intelligent, although this too gets her into trouble. She also has dreams, visions, and occasional out-of-body experiences, which are not always as effective at warning her as she would prefer. It could be argued that she may not have mystical powers and is just putting facts together subconsciously, but at least while reading, I prefer to take her word for it.

By the end of the third book, she has cut down on her drinking, moved through a couple of empty relationships and found someone who seems to truly understand and appreciate her for what she is instead of just using her. She has made some other life changes that seem very positive, although I won’t give any more spoilers than I already have. If these three books are all we get of Cash Blackbear’s story, I’m satisfied with her arc.

Besides Cash’s story, a major throughline of Rendon’s books is the mistreatment of Native Americans, particularly children. Individual crimes against individual Native Americans are easily swept away and unnoticed. Broken foster-care systems in the Midwest are depicted as a pipeline for forced agricultural labor, and abuse is routine.

In foster homes, there were days and nights that were hell on earth–times she would fall asleep hoping to not wake up, or almost convincing herself life was a dream and dreamtime was the real time. Her one respite during all those years was compulsory education. That was a rule even the foster families didn’t dare break. – Sinister Graves

Of course, compulsory education has itself been used as a systematic tool of oppression and erasure of Native American culture. Between 1819 and 1969, more than 500 indigenous boarding schools were operated in the U.S., many with explicit goals of assimilating children into majority-white society, by taking children from their parents, renaming them, forbidding them from speaking any language but English, and disallowing their local hairstyles and clothing; moreover, many of these schools were also associated with churches and missionary societies and exerted considerable pressure for Christian religious observances.

A 2022 U.S. Interior Department investigation “found that 19 boarding schools accounted for the deaths of more than 500 American Indian, Alaska Native, and Native Hawaiian children but the number of recorded deaths is expected to increase.”

The Author’s Note at the end of Sinister Graves says it was written before 215 children’s bodies were found in unmarked graves at the Catholic-run Kamloops Boarding School grounds in Canada. Thousands more died while attending Indian residential schools in Canada, according to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada.

Coincidentally, around the time I was finishing Sinister Graves a few weeks ago, news broke on multiple outlets about Tibetan boarding schools that appear to be enforcing assimilation into Chinese culture. According to the Associated Press, “China has shuttered village schools across Tibet and replaced them with centralized boarding schools over the last dozen years.”

About a million Tibetan children, which is most of the school-aged population, including preschoolers as young as 4 years old, are estimated to be studying at these schools. Chinese authorities claim that’s voluntary, but with former local schools closed and penalties for non-attendance, it’s not much of a choice.

I doubt that international calls to disband these boarding schools will have any effect on Chinese policy, any more than protests have had against their Uighur re-education camps. It took the U.S. and Canada well over 100 years to realize how wrong they were to attempt forced assimilation of indigenous populations into the dominant cultures, and unfortunately, many people still believe in this policy, or at least see little harm in it (e.g., efforts to overturn the Indian Child Welfare Act).

Books like Rendon’s help bring the impact of this horrible policy into emotional reality for readers. Moreover, this series is interesting and occasionally very exciting. Sometimes the villains are a little predictable, and I’m not so sure that things would always turn out as well for Cash as they do, but she earns it. On the whole, I’m cheering for Cash, and I recommend these books.