The Wasp Factory

The Wasp Factory
by Iain Banks


Publisher's Blurb:

Meet Frank Cauldhame. Just sixteen, and unconventional to say the least:

Two years after I killed Blyth I murdered my young brother Paul, for quite different and more fundamental reasons than I'd disposed of Blyth, and then a year after that I did for my young cousin Esmerelda, more or less on a whim.

That's my score to date. Three. I haven't killed anybody for years, and don't intend to ever again.  It was just a stage I was going through.

My Reaction:
My reaction?  Occasional moments of "squirm", "well, yuck", and "please stop" sprinkled over long periods of "resounding meh". 

I began reading the book knowing that it was going to be "dark"-- more than dark, probably disturbing.  I wasn't sure how I was going to react to that.  I thought I might decide to stop reading.  As it turns out, I reached the end of the book by skimming a few sections.  Sometimes I skimmed paragraphs because the story was getting to me (or rather, I was afraid it was about to do so), but at other times, I skimmed because nothing interesting was happening.

Parts of the book-- or maybe I should say aspects of the book-- are well-written (never pleasant to read, but well-crafted), but it is far from a masterpiece, in my humble opinion.

It's not really scary, by the way.  Much more "disgusting" than "terrifying".  I'm not sure how much of what Frank believes about his family is true (because he gets most of his information from such an unreliable source), but I kept wondering why nearly everyone in his family seems to be (or have been) extremely lacking in mental stability.  I know these things "run in families"-- but some of these family members were only related by marriage, so... Anyway, just wondering.

Most of the story felt like it was building for a big, explosive (*coughcorditecough*) ending, but the actual "bombshell moment" was... just weird.  I didn't see it coming, but I wasn't really wowed by it, either.  

I won't go into greater detail, because... well, I don't want to!  I finished the book because I wanted to know what happened-- and now that I do, I'm ready to wash my hands of it and find something that doesn't leave me feeling filthy.

I think this book has (temporarily?) cured my wish to peek into this genre, so at least some good came of it.  ;o)


ETA (with SPOILERS):
One more thing... Frank's murders all have an air of unreality-- or at least unlikelihood.  First, he just happens to find a venomous snake.  Second, he just happens to find an unexploded bomb.  Third, he builds a kite big enough to sweep a little girl into the air and out to sea. I suppose it's all possible, but it seems like luck was really, really on his side.

...In some ways-- apart from how downright disgusting he often is--  Frank is much less terrifying a character than Rhoda from The Bad Seed.  Now that seems like a realistic portrait of a child psychopath!  Much more highly recommended than this novel. 

Envious Casca

Envious Casca
by Georgette Heyer


Publisher's Blurb:

'Tis the season-to be dead...

A holiday party takes on a sinister aspect when the colorful assortment of guests discovers there is a killer in their midst. The owner of the substantial estate, that old Scrooge Nathaniel Herriard, is found stabbed in the back. While the delicate matter of inheritance could be the key to this crime, the real conundrum is how any of the suspects could have entered a locked room to commit the foul deed.

For Inspector Hemingway of Scotland Yard, the investigation is complicated by the fact that every guest is hiding something-throwing all of their testimony into question and casting suspicion far and wide. The clever and daring crime will mystify readers, yet the answer is in plain sight all along...

My Reaction:
I found this to be just what I'd expected from one of Georgette Heyer's mysteries-- a light, entertaining murder mystery with some nice comic touches and the requisite "on-the-side" love story.  Though I didn't know the "how" until just about when it was revealed, I figured out the "who" and "why" fairly early in the book, but that didn't ruin the reading experience.  Many of the characters aren't especially likeable-- but that just makes it easier to enjoy the biting things they say to one another. 


Random Specifics  (with the occasional SPOILER):
--  I had no idea what the title meant, so when the book ended with no explanation, I had to look it up.  And I read Julius Ceasar in high school, too!  Oh well.

--  I didn't realize this was set at Christmastime. (Obviously hadn't read the blurb.)  It was a bit jarring, at first.  (I'm longing for autumn to finally settle in for good-- far too early to think of Christmas celebrations, yet!)

--  "Nathaniel, regarding him with a contemptuous eye, said that a real English Christmas meant, in his experience, a series of quarrels between inimical persons bound to one another only by a wornout convention which decreed that at Christmas families should forgather."

--  A few different times through the book, a character's manner of speech was described as "vulgar"-- and sometimes I don't quite see the vulgarity...  For example, someone makes an obvious statement, and:  "'You don't say!' remarked Miss Clare vulgarly."  What was so vulgar about that?  (Incidentally, the word "vulgar" itself feels vulgar-- just plain gross-- to me.)

--  "It was not Nathaniel's custom to keep late hours, nor was he the kind of person who altered his habits to suit the convenience of his guests."

--  "She supposed adolescent boys were kittle-cattle: people said they were."  Had to look up "kittle-cattle".  Capricious, touchy, etc.

--  Those darned "steps" (step-ladder) are mentioned so frequently that you just know they're going to figure into the murder, somehow-- though I admit I suspected something much more straightforward, such as that someone would "accidentally" leave them where Nathaniel would be sure to trip over them and break his neck.   Ditto The Life of the Empress Elizabeth of Austria (or whatever it was called).  ...The part about its repeated mention being significant, I mean-- not that someone would trip over it and die.  ;o)

--  "At no time fond of being read to..."  Ha!  I don't love being read to, either.  I'm coming to enjoy audio books a little more than I used to, but I still find that my mind tends to wander.  It's funny, because as a child I loved it when our teachers would read to us for a while after lunch... and I really enjoy reading aloud, myself, if the book is good.  I just have a hard time focusing when someone else is reading, these days.  I prefer to see the words on the page. 

--  When Mathilda spills tea on her dress and Stephen tosses her his handkerchief, Valerie says "tea stains things absolutely fatally".  Mathilda responds that it won't stain if you rub hard enough, and proceeds to do so, to which Valerie replies that she was thinking of Stephen's hanky.  I laughed and laughed.  ...Maybe you had to be there...

--  Hey, Mathilda's a plain heroine-type-character!  (The nearest thing to a heroine in this book, at least.)  Of course, she devotes a great deal of attention to her dress, to overcome her lack of beauty, but still.  I appreciate an unbeautiful character-- especially when she's not an object of pity.

--  Maybe it was partially just that I was reading on the treadmill and could have been woozy from the exercise ;o), but the whole "play-reading" scene was hilarious.  The best part of the book, by far. 

--  Before the reading of the play: "Stephen held out a plate of small cakes. 'Take one.  Always fortify yourself against coming ordeals.'"

--   Nathaniel: "'I can judge your play without your assistance.  Seen more good, bad, and indifferent plays in my time than you've ever dreamt of.'  He rounded suddenly on Roydon. 'What category does yours come into?'"

--  "'I don't write problems,' said Roydon, in rather too high a voice. 'And enjoyment is the last thing I expect anyone to feel!  If I've succeeded in making you think, I shall be satisfied.'  'A noble ideal,' commented Stephen. 'But you shouldn't say it as though you thought it unattainable.  Not polite.'"

--  Roydon is setting the scene for the first act... "'The carpet is threadbare, and the wallpaper, which is flowered in a design of roses in trellis-work tied up with blue ribbons, is stained in several places.'  'Stained with what?' asked Stephen.  Roydon, who had never considered this point, glared at him, and said: 'Does it matter?'  'Not to me, but if it's blood you ought to say so, and then my betrothed can make an excuse to go away.  She's squeamish.'  'Well, it isn't!  I don't write that kind of play.  The wallpaper is just stained.'  'I expect it was from damp,' suggested Maud.  'It sounds as though it would be a damp sort of place.'  Stephen turned his mocking gaze upon her, and said: 'You shouldn't say that, Aunt. After all, we haven't heard enough to judge yet.'"

--  More scene-setting:  "'A tawdry doll leans drunkenly on the dressing-table; and a pair of soiled pink corsets are flung across the only armchair.'  He looked round in a challenging kind of way as he enunciated this, and appeared to wait for comment.  'Ah yes, I see!' said Joseph, with a deprecating glance at the assembled company. 'You wish to convey an atmosphere of sordidness.'  'Quite, quite!' said Mottisfont, coughing.  'And let us admit freely that you have succeeded,' said Stephen cordially.  'I always think there's something frightfully sordid about corsets, don't you?' said Valerie.  'Those satin ones, I mean, with millions of bones and laces and things.  Of course, nowadays one simply wears an elastic belt, if one wears anything at all, which generally one doesn't.'  'You'll come to it, my girl,' prophesied Mathilda."

-- Still setting the scene:  "'Lucetta May is discovered, seated before her dressing table.  She is wearing a shoddy pink negligee, which imperfectly conceals--'  'Careful!' Stephen warned him. 'It is grimy round the edge, and the lace is torn!' said Roydon defiantly."

--  Maud, after interrupting by wandering around the room in search of her knitting, asks Roydon to continue reading.  "'So interesting!  It quite takes one back.'  Stephen, who had joined Mathilda in the search for the knitting, remarked, sotto voce, that he had always wondered where Joe had picked Maude up, and now he knew."  (The play is set in a brothel, I think... or at least the main character is a prostitute.)

--  I don't get why everyone is so dead set against playing games in this book... No-one is interested in charades or... something called "clumps".   More than once, I was thinking, "Hey, that sounds like fun!"-- but no, the "cool people" in the books all act as though the thought of playing a game (other than billiards) is horrible.  I just don't get the (apparently common) dislike of party games in general.  What else are you going to do, when you're compelled to spend a significant length of time in a room with a group of people?  Sit around and talk the whole time?  Chit-chat is fine for a little while, but eventually it becomes boring.  (Maybe I'm just not good at it...)  At least games mix things up a little. 

--  More about the play read-aloud: "'This Roydon fellow seems to have read the thing aloud to him yesterday afternoon, and Nat lost his temper over it, and there was a general sort of row.  Well, I'm a fair-minded man, and, after all, you can't be surprised, can you?  I mean, coming down to stay with a man, and then reading stuff aloud to him!  Never heard of such a thing!'"

--  The man from Scotland Yard bemoans the fact that "with all these thrillers that get written nowadays by people who ought to know better than to go putting ideas into criminals' heads, there's no chance of any murderer forgetting to wipe off his finger-prints.  Sickening, I call it."  Funny, when you consider that the person writing this was herself one of those "people who ought to know better".  So they were saying things like that even back then?  I seem to remember similar complaints about C.S.I., back in its earlier years...

--  "'I always go to church on Christmas Day,' replied Maud.  'And on Sundays, too.'  'One had not realised that there were still people who did!' said Roydon, with the air of one interested in the habits of aborigines."

--  "'You must forgive a mother's foolish heart if I say that I can't help wishing that this hadn't happened!'  'I know, and I understand,' said Joseph earnestly.  'If only my Val had not been in the house!' said Mrs. Dean, apparently stating her only objection to the murder."

-- "Musquash"-- muskrat, or muskrat fur, evidently.

--  "Oustiti"-- a tool for locking or unlocking a door from the outside (without the key).  Context clues made this one obvious, but it was still a new (and odd) word for me.

-- "'Of course, there must not be anything rowdy, but I know some very good paper-games which I know you young people will enjoy.'  This suggestion smote everyone dumb with dismay.  Paula was the first to recover the power of speech, and said, with her customary forthrightness: 'I abominate paper-games!'  'Lots of people say that to begin with,' said Mrs. Dean, 'but they always join in in the end.'"  I'm not sure what a "paper-game" is... but judging by the reactions, it's something truly awful.

--  "'Did your nerve fail you?' he asked.  'Badly.  She behaves like a professional hostess at a hydro.'"  I see that "hydro" is British slang for "an establishment offering hydropathic treatment (as for weight loss)"-- or a health spa.  Hm.

--  "'Let it be understood, Stephen, that if there are to be Quiet Games I shall go to bed with a headache!'"  Wow, these people really loathe party games...

--  "'You talk as though Black Maria was at the door, but I maintain that the police haven't got enough evidence even to detain you.'"  "Black Maria" is slang for the police van used to transport prisoners.  (Learning lots of new words/terms today!)

--  "But Sturry, when informed that Inspector Hemingway had need, for unspecified reasons, of a ladder, was not helpful.  He said that he regretted there was nothing of that nature in the house.  His tone did not imply regret, but rather an unexplained contempt of ladders."  Ah, the uptight, snobbish butler!  Where would light drawing-room mysteries be without him?  Comedy gold!

--  The moment when Mathilda's recounting her version of events one final time-- and realizes that even as she laughed when Nathaniel slammed his bedroom door, he had already been struck a deathblow... Her horror in that knowledge gives us the most emotional, grim moment in the book.  These types of mysteries don't usually dwell too much on the fact that, um, someone was just murdered in their vicinity--  the loss of the victim--  recognition of mortality-- "ask not for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee"-- etc.  I guess they can't, without becoming much more serious in tone.  Still, a little human sympathy and acknowledgement of the loss of (fictional) life is nice.  I appreciated it. 

-- The actual murder itself struck me as incredibly improbable.  Maybe I'm wrong, but it seems tricky to aim the knife so that you can be reasonably sure that the victim won't notice he's been stabbed (even if he does suffer from lumbago) and/or visibly bleed before he gets to his room, notice that fact, and call out for help, which isn't very far away.  Even if you've "researched" the subject, it's not the kind of thing you can easily practice.  Basically, it seems like Joseph was running unnecessary risks.
--  I suppose that having Joseph apprehended "off stage" keeps things light, but it feels a little of a let-down...

-- What is up with Maud?  She's such a strange character! 

"An Echo"

"An Echo"
from They Return at Evening
by H.R. Wakefield


They Return at Evening is a collection of ghost stories by H.R. Wakefield.  It's his first such collection, published in 1928.  I'll be posting reactions to stories individually.

SPOILERS FOLLOW.


Synopsis:
I don't think I remember this one, at all.  Let's see... Oh yes!  Now I remember...

A man who has long had (and repeatedly demonstrated) a very strong psychic ability has another of his "spells".  On a walk, he happens upon a spot that has a psychic "recording" ready and waiting for a someone able to sense it.  He sees a murder replayed before his eyes, but he's so used to this sort of thing, it's almost a yawn.  Afterwards, he mentions the episode to a friend, who finds it very interesting, indeed.  "Why, confound it, old chap!" he says (or in words to the same effect), "you've just gone and solved the Infamous Whosit Trial!"  The psychic dude's all like, "What's the Whosit Trial?  I've never heard of that," upon which the TrueCrime-fanatic-friend says, "Then I shall tell you about it in painstaking detail, because I apparently have nothing better to do, and by-gosh, I'm going to inflict my obsession on someone!"  A long, boring retelling of the circumstances of a trial ensues.  The upshot is that they now have proof that Evil Gold-Digger did kill Hapless Aristocrat-- as everyone pretty much knew all along, though they could never prove it-- but because everyone involved has been dead for years, it doesn't really matter much, anyway.  The End.


My Reaction:
Oh, I loved it!  I hung over every last word with bated breath!  Couldn't you tell, from my glowing, starry-eyed synopsis?   Well, it could've been worse, I suppose-- but it hardly even counts as a ghost story.  It felt more like a legal thriller with ghostly elements than a genuine ghostly tale.  To make things worse, it's made even more boring by the fact that we know all along who the guilty party is/was/whatever. 


Tidbits:
--  The only remotely interesting tidbit I could come up with (assuming you don't want to read about more misogyny?) is this:

"The Jury were out for three and a half hours.  It was known afterwards that two of them held out for a verdict of guilty, but in the end gave way, and in a quivering silence the foreman pronounced 'Not guilty', which would undoubtedly have been 'Not proven' in Scotland." 

I'm not familiar with Scotland's legal system, but that's an interesting distinction.  I wonder if "not proven" is only for high-stakes trials-- like murder trials-- or for all trials.  I once served on a jury in which I would've been happy to have had a "not proven" option.  Some of us had a gut feeling that he was guilty-- and based on what we learned afterwards, I'm nearly positive, now-- but because of the way the evidence was presented and the weakness of the witness, we didn't feel capable of pronouncing a "guilty" verdict.  I doubt that the practical difference between "not proven" and "not guilty" is much, but at least it would feel more accurate.  It was frustrating to have to say he wasn't guilty, when some of us didn't feel he was innocent.  Saying he wasn't proven guilty would've been marginally more satisfactory.  (I hope at least that the idiot learned his lesson and stopped drinking and driving.  If we'd found him guilty, it would've been a felony, because of his number of previous convictions.  Of course, we weren't allowed to hear about those until after the trial...)

"A Peg on Which to Hang"

"A Peg on Which to Hang"
from They Return at Evening
by H.R. Wakefield


They Return at Evening is a collection of ghost stories by H.R. Wakefield.  It's his first such collection, published in 1928.  I'll be posting reactions to stories individually.

SPOILERS FOLLOW.


Synopsis:
A journalist and three of his best chums gather for one of their regularly scheduled golfing vacations.  When they arrive at their hotel, the owner informs them that he has only three rooms available and that the fourth man will have to go a short distance away to stay at another (lesser) establishment.  The journalist will have none of it, because he has taken pains to reserve the rooms well in advance.  (Where is his room, dammit?!  He wants his room!  He knows you have it hidden away, somewhere.  Now, fork it over-- or else!)  Sure enough, after the application of a little pressure, it comes to light that there is a fourth room.  It gives a bad first (and second, third, etc.) impression, but Mr. Stubborn insists on taking it.  He is consequently witness to a haunting, but-- I regret to inform*-- escapes unscathed.  A very tidy (if somewhat boring) explanation follows.

* Well!  I don't like the guy!  ...And he is only a fictional character.  Though, if I could wish a less harmless haunting on a flesh and blood person, there might be a few politicians... ahem!  Back to the story!


My Reaction:
It was passable.  Nothing exceptional, but there are a few creepy moments.


Tidbits:
-- Based on what I can recall of the other short story titles in this volume, I think this one wins the dubious "Creepiest Title" award.  Maybe not until you've finished the story-- but when you have... ~shudder~  (As a macabre side note, that must've been one sturdy peg...)

--  "'Looked at dispassionately, the evidence for such phenomena [hauntings] is far more catholic and irrefutable than is the evidence for ninety-nine things out of a hundred which are accepted without question.'"  ...Really?  I don't think so.  The character goes on to recommend a book-- Thirty Years of Psychical Research, by Richet-- as "full and detailed" evidence.  I double-dog dare you to find a copy and read it.  ;o) (Or maybe you're like me-- completely insusceptible to dares of any degree of dogginess (???).  Go ahead, dare me anything you like, and I'll astound you by my ability to not care one way or the other.  Go on, do it!  I dare ya!)

--  "In how unreal, unearthly a way the moon painted the world sometimes!  The view from the window, for example-- how uncertain in a sense, unfamiliar, as if it were a reflection from a mind not his own; certain pictures of Cézanne gave one that tingling, groping 'let me get back to reality' feeling."  I'll admit that I couldn't remember any of Cézanne's works, so I looked online (for a couple of minutes only, because... not captivated).  I didn't get the tingling, groping feeling, at all.  Oh well.  (A.P. Ryder seems better suited for that mention.)

--  "Instead of sinking at once into that ten-fathom-deep slumber to which a flawless conscience and eighteen strenuous holes entitled him, he passed into that exasperating border state where detached and leering images come flocking into one's head, endlessly and inanely telescoping one another, composing indefinable patterns, humiliating puerilities, a state where there is neither the controlled rationality of full consciousness nor the deliciously serio-comic pantomime of the land of dreams.  'This region,' he decided, 'is the nearest approach to an understanding of that buzzing, wavering kaleidoscope called lunacy, which the sane person ever reaches.  The mind can neither control, nor quite lose control of, these regurgitations of the memory-- for that is what they must be.'"

--  This story reminded me of one of M.R. James' stories set in hotels-- "Oh, Whistle, and I'll Come to You, My Lad"-- though I'm not sure the two have that much in common, beyond the fact that both involve hotel rooms and ghosts.

-- Anytime I read a scary story set in a hotel room, I always think of the movie titled 1408.  It doesn't have the highest rating, but for some reason it's stuck with me, and I still think it's pretty scary...  This one, with its setup of "oh, yeah, we do have another vacancy, but..." really brought back the memories-- but that was about it.  Tame by comparison.

-- Apparently the room is fine to stay in the rest of the year-- it's just that one night that there's any issue-- but no thanks.  I'd rather not stay in a hotel room with that kind of history-- just like I'd probably pass up a great deal on a "murder house".  I'd know it was "just a house", but I don't think I could ever feel really comfortable in it.  Obsessively remembering what had happened in it would taint it for me.  (One of the benefits of living in a house we built ourselves-- or "had built".  New houses have no soul, you say?  Well, there are no troubling ghosts or shadows of the past, either.  A clean slate.)

"The Seventeenth Hole at Duncaster"

"The Seventeenth Hole at Duncaster"
from They Return at Evening
by H.R. Wakefield


They Return at Evening is a collection of ghost stories by H.R. Wakefield.  It's his first such collection, published in 1928.  I'll be posting reactions to stories individually.

SPOILERS FOLLOW.


Synopsis:
A golf club has gone to considerable trouble and expense to re-do one of the holes on their golf course.  This renovation involved tearing through an old forest, which has a strange, eerie reputation among the unsophisticated, rural inhabitants of the nearby village.  Now it's time for the first big golfing get-together since the course's reworking, but instead of fun and games, the seventeenth hole becomes the site of mysterious and horrible murders.


My Reaction:
Again, the story's not its freshest in my mind, because I've been reading others since-- but I think this was a pretty good one.  Possibly there wasn't as much of an "explanation" as I tend to like, but I think I may want explanations more than the average reader...


Tidbits:
--  When you learn that the contractor's men died of "blood-poisoning of some kind"-- and in the next sentence, that there are rumors that "it had something to do with those skulls and bones they dug up"-- ha!  Yeah, that's your first clue to abandon the project.  Maybe digging up skulls and bones is more common in England and Europe in general.  (Ok, not really.  Only in places where people have been living in higher concentration for more hundreds of years.)  Around here (in a rural area of the New World), it's not a common occurrence to turn up a skull or two in the garden.  ;o)  But by European standards-- Digging up skulls?  Well, that could happen to anyone.  Digging up skulls and having several men die of a mysterious "blood-poisoning"-- and then continuing with the project? That's just stupid.  C'mon, guys!  Smarten up! 

--  "The Secretary took his number three iron, and knew from the moment the ball left the club that he didn't want it back.  It was ruled on the flag."  ...Huh?  (I know very little about golf.)

--  The local people think the forest is not "healthy" and call it "Blood Wood".  This is another red flag.  (g)  (Come to think of it, wasn't there an actual red flag marking the hole?  Are those golf flags always red?  I'm sure I could look it up in a minute or two, but... *yawn*... Too lazy.)

-- As I indicated before, the "explanation" was a bit lacking, imho.  "'Almost certainly the work of our friends the Druids, whoever they were!  A mound and an oak-- such places are death traps.  Not all the time; the peril is only periodic, why, we don't know.'"  Ah, those crazy Druids!  Up to their old death-trap shenanigans again!  Well, you know what they say-- "an oak and a mound, don't hang around".  Yep, yep, yep... You're gonna run across the occasional Druid death-trap-- not as common as the sand-trap*, of course, but still... Keeps you on your toes.

* Look!  I made a golf joke!