The God of Endings by Jacqueline Holland

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The God of Endings is a book that’s sticking with me long after its end. It’s been a while since I’ve had a story hang around like this; not overtly demanding I notice it and pay attention, not creating a sense of unfinished business or dissatisfaction with how things went, but rather quietly mulling over the questions it raises. I’ll get to those questions shortly.

But first: The God of Endings is the story of Collette LeSange. In 1984, the young-looking artist runs a prestigious arts preschool at a large manor in New York. But her youthful appearance hides her secret: she is immortal. As such, she must still interact with the world while also avoiding a life that will inevitably lead to suspicious questions about why she never seems to age. Likewise, bitter experience has taught her to fear the endings of anyone with whom she becomes close. Though she cannot speak definitely to the existence of a god or gods, Czernobog (the Serbian titular god of endings) lurks in the background of her never-ending life. And whenever she seems to have found a way to create a home, a family, a community, he comes roaring in to remind her that while she cannot end, everything else can – and will. 

Thus her school for preschoolers: children who rush in bursting with life and joy and then just as quickly rush out, presumably to continue to grow, age, and die, but who for Collette will always remain young and alive. She can love from a distance, revel in the moment, but it will never last long enough for parents to notice anything odd about the teacher (at least, nothing that can’t be explained away as “artistic eccentricities”) and never long enough to gain Czernobog’s attention. Or so she hoped. But then a young gifted child arrives at her school and her carefully tended fences begin to crumble. 

Author Jacqueline Holland takes us through the beauty and the horror of life, deftly juxtaposing Collette’s life in 1984 with stories of her past. The irony of the headstone carver’s daughter who took comfort in the idea of death finding herself denied that ending is a wonderful setup.

Though the word is never used, Collette is a vampire. (Hence the delightful choice of last name in her latest iteration.) Her grandfather, whom she had never met, comes to take her after her family dies in a plague and, without discussing it, turns her into an immortal being like himself. In a brief discussion after her rebirth, he tells her:

‘This world, my dear child, all of it, right to the very end if there is to be an end, is a gift. But it’s a gift few are strong enough to receive. I made a judgment that you might be among those strong few, that you might be better served on this side of things than the other. I thought you might find some use for the world, and it for you.’
He looked up at the moon, patted my shoulder almost absently, and said, ‘But if not, my sincerest apologies for the miscalculation.’

And it was this exchange, right at the beginning, that spoke to something with which I’ve been struggling for over sixteen years now: how selfish is it to bring children into this world? I have two children and the intensity of that question waxes and wanes, but is most definitely now in a waxing stage as I look at the world around us. What have I brought them into? On what precipice of an ending do we now stand? They didn’t ask for this – who am I to inflict it upon them? And yet, this world, these lives, truly can be a gift as well. Collette’s struggle to decide whether her grandfather did indeed miscalculate will stay with me for quite some time.

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Murder Your Employer

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Cover of Murder Your Employer next to a set of books with a skull and potion on them.

by Rupert Holmes

I often bring a book to work with me to read on my lunch break. Occasionally a coworker might walk by and ask what I’m reading. While I’m normally delighted to share titles, it becomes a little awkward when the one in question is Murder Your Employer. Regardless, I’m happy to recommend it to anyone interested in a fun and devious take on murder mysteries.

Set in an unknown location in the 1950s, Murder Your Employer is a recruitment book for those interested in joining the student body (if not bodies) of the McMasters Conservatory for the Applied Arts. The secretive school admits those willing and able to pay its hefty fees and provides them with a well-rounded education in committing – and perhaps more importantly, getting away with – murder. To entice us potential recruits, the author – the Dean of McMasters – tells the tale of three students who shared a common goal: to murder their employer.  The book then switches between the stories of Cliff Iverson, Dulcie Mown, and Gemma Lindley and their struggles, triumphs, and failures as they attempt to finish their “theses” (and their employers). 

Our would-be murderers are quite sympathetic; their victims, not at all.  This is no accident, as the Dean consistently reminds us that McMasters does not exist to create serial killers or bring harm to innocent bystanders.  There are rules students must follow when it comes to their thesis. It is not something to be entered into lightly. There’s also no grading on a curve, unless you count the curve of a blade. For failure to complete one’s course of study means instant, permanent termination.

Author Rupert Holmes does an admirable job weaving the tales together, despite little overlap between the students. Cliff’s story is perhaps the best developed, as it is told through his own journal entries, written to the mysterious benefactor who enrolled him in the school and is paying his tuition. I was less interested in the other two at the beginning, but as I reached the denouement, it became nearly impossible to put the book down.

What makes it all so satisfying is that none of these projects relied on just a quick attack in the dark of the night. Each student considers a multitude of angles and prepares for unforeseeable problems. In some ways, it reminded me of Dantes’ elaborate plans to avenge himself as the Count of Monte Cristo and the elaborate layers based on one’s knowledge of their victim’s psyche, peccadilloes, and personality. The employers in question are odious enough that one cannot help but worry about the Dean’s warning in the introduction that not all of the students he is about to describe succeeded. 

Overall, I enjoyed this book and am looking forward to the next volume. There was a great deal of dark humor, which I always appreciate, and great use of euphemisms regarding the school’s purpose. My main quibbles surrounded the development of Gemma and Dulcie (along with their employers). Compared to Cliff and his employer, I felt there wasn’t as much insight. Additionally, the time at the school itself was a bit hit or miss. But the last third or so of the book made up for any shortcomings that came before. 

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A Memory Called Empire by Arkady Martine

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Cover of A Memory Called Empire

A science fiction book that grapples with empire and borderlands and cultural colonization? How perfect for me! Time to break out my copy of Coca-Colonization and risk comps flashbacks (for any of my fellow history PhDs). But seriously, Martine’s novel, A Memory Called Empire is a fun and fascinating story. By the time it ended, I was ready to instantly jump into its sequel. 

A Memory Called Empire follows Mahit Dzmare, the newly appointed ambassador to the Teixcalaanli Empire. Dzmare hails from Lsel Station, an independent mining station with an uneasy relationship with the Empire. After studying for years, learning all she can about Teixcalaanli history, culture, language, and literature, Mahit replaces the previous ambassador. Upon her arrival in the Capital, she learned he died under mysterious circumstances. Suddenly, she finds herself thrust into the middle of a web of diplomatic intrigue, unsure of who to trust and missing a key ally she assumed would always be with her.

I don’t want to go into more detail, because it would quickly start spoiling things. This is a book that takes off and runs. At one point, you realize that nearly all of the events in the entire 448 page story take place in just about a week and you feel nearly as sleep deprived as Mahit often is. But throughout the political and cultural struggles, Martine does a fabulous job of building an incredibly detailed world around you. Mahit finds herself torn between her long-established love of Teixcalaanli culture and horror at its seemingly unstoppable colonial expansion. Likewise, while the story is told almost exclusively from Mahit’s point of view, her Teixcalaanli companions give us insight into the complexities of living in a colonial power and not even realizing how detrimental it can all be.

But regardless of the political and social analysis, it’s also a fascinating, intriguing story about murder, espionage, love, fear, sabotage, technical advancements, and looming threats coming from the void of space and within a society one thinks one knows.

Check it out.  I’m going to start reading A Desolation Called Peace.

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The Salt Grows Heavy

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Cover of The Salt Grows Heavy on background of white, red, and black.

by Cassandra Khaw

The more mermaid stories I read, the more aware I become that Disney and the makers of Splash greatly mislead me. (I know, we’re all shocked that Disney wouldn’t be an accurate fount of knowledge.) I was vaguely aware that mermaids had a mixed history in folklore, sometimes dragging sailors to their deaths, sometimes longing to come to shore. The Mermaid of Black Conch took a version of the latter, casting a mermaid as a cursed human who slowly reverts to human form after being captured and using it as a commentary on colonialism. All the Murmuring Bones, on the other, went all in on the mermaids as bad news lore.

And then there’s The Salt Grows Heavy, which devours The Little Mermaid and anyone foolish enough to believe a mermaid could be anything but deadly. Khaw weaves an incredible tale that feels so much larger than the novella appears. The quick plot summary is a mermaid and an unnamed plague doctor travel through a winter landscape, where they discover a community of unnerving children and the “saints” that raise them hidden in the forest. It’s dark, it’s gory, it made me very grateful for my lack of vivid imagination during certain scenes, and it’s beautiful.

Khaw’s writing makes me feel like one of the proverbial monkeys at a typewriter trying to accidentally write Shakespeare, but I’m ok with that. Right from the start, they hooked me with the opening description. Just to give you a taste:  

            Ash sleets from the firmament in soft handfuls of black, gathering in gauzy drifts around my ankles. The sky is ink and seething murk, whispering secrets to itself, the clouds snarled like long dark hair.

So if you’re looking for a horror story to kick off October, start here.

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Since Halloween is coming up fast, I’m hoping to get a number of reviews out that fit with the spooky/scary/horror theme. We’ll see how that goes, but I suddenly seem to have a lot to work with!

River Sing Me Home by Eleanor Shearer

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Cover of River Sing Me Home on a blue throw blanket.

The official abolitions of slavery across the “New World” rarely marked the end of enslavement. Enslavers sought to maintain their grip on power and their supply of labor. They enacted or expanded practices like chain gang labor, sharecropping, “apprenticeships,” or just refusing to acknowledge slavery ended. But despite the disparity in power, the formerly enslaved resisted and rebelled in all manner of ways. In River Sing Me Home, Eleanor Shearer brings light to some of those stories.

River Sing Me Home opens with escape. Rachel is fleeing from the Barbados plantation where she had spent her life in bondage. It is August 1834 and the day before, the master of the plantation announced the abolition of slavery. In its place, the formerly enslaved would stay on the plantation and labor for another six years as “apprentices” – remaining bound to the land, free in name only. Rachel isn’t quite sure what freedom really means, but she knows this isn’t it.

Over the years, Rachel gave birth to eight children. One was stillborn, two more died in early childhood, and her enslaver sold the other five away from her. She has no idea where they ended up or if they’re even alive, but until she finds them or learns what happened, she knows she cannot be free. 

It’s a dangerous journey. If she is caught by the plantation owner, she faces terrible punishment. White landowners could shoot her, capture her, and re-enslave her. The elements and the sea could do her in. The chance to find her babies, however, is worth all the risks she can imagine and even those she can’t.

River Sing Me Home covers a lot of ground relatively quickly, both literally and figuratively. Rachel’s journey takes her across Barbados, down to British Guiana, and then across to Trinidad in a year. The prose is succinct and straightforward, even though the issues are deep and complex. Shearer introduces us to Maroon colonies, free Black business owners, Indigenous survivors of colonialism, and the enslaved who endured plantation life and how all of these different groups intersected and interacted. She ties in real slave rebellions and revolts, and the difficult calculus those involved had to make for themselves.

Shearer does not hide from the violence of slavery, but neither does she make it a central focus. She trusts that we know about the beatings, the floggings, the rapes and so while they’re present, she generally does not describe them in detail. At first, I was a little surprised by this, but as the book continued, I really appreciated the focus on how people survived and continued to find hope, love, and purpose despite all they endured. Shearer doesn’t wallow in suffering; she acknowledges it, recognizes its effects, and then shows it is only a piece of a person and a people, not their entirety.

Rachel’s journey is one undertaken by so many across the Americas in slavery’s aftermath. Though fictional, it is based on the story of a real Mother Rachel, who walked across Antigua in search of her children after slavery’s end. It is also based on the author’s family, who hail from the Caribbean, and her own research and fieldwork.

Overall, River Sing Me Home is a strong novel that continues to deepen our understanding of slavery and its aftermath. In a time when certain powers are trying to strip that understanding away from us, these stories are even more important. 

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