Library Limelights 255

 

P.D. James. The Children of Men. 1992. Ebook download from TPL. Toronto: Vintage Canada Edition, 2005.

A classic of dystopian literature by a master/mistress—one of those exemplars that I feel behooved to read, especially when our own troubled planet can seem like end times. In the novel’s year of 2021 the world has been inexplicably suffering from infertility for an entire generation; not one baby has been conceived or born across the globe. The human race is dying out. England is under the benign dictatorship of Warden Xan Lyppiatt and his four-member Council. Or is he benign? His cousin Theo Faron believes so; they spent many childhood summers together. Theo is an Oxford professor who keeps his head down in every situation he encounters, quite the dispassionate man all through the accidental death of his daughter and a failed marriage. His eyes and heart are opened on meeting Julian (think female, despite the name) and the Five Fishes, a ragtag band of inept rebels.

Theo then sees beneath the surface—that the so-named Quietus events, whereby the elderly and infirm voluntarily commit mass suicide, are brutally carried out; that the Sojourners, imported labourers, are not living in humane conditions. At the urging of his new friends, he approaches cousin Xan for answers and understanding, but his concerns are dismissed. And he’s inadvertently put the Five Fishes on the radar of the Special Security Police. Worst (or best?) of all, Julian is pregnant and Theo joins them on the run, anything to protect her. The only thing that failed me was how or why Julian had such a powerful attraction for Theo; neither her words nor actions seem anything beyond ordinary, considering the circumstances. Sombre and socially-conscious, the flowing intellectual language stands as a literary benchmark. Some will find the book evokes Atwood, without her winning touches of humour.

Theo

▪ The world didn’t give up hope until the generation born in 1995 reached sexual maturity. But when the testing was completed and not one of them could produce fertile sperm, we knew that this was indeed the end of Homo sapiens. (18)

▪ After all, if our sex life were determined by our first youthful experiments, most of the world would be doomed to celibacy. (30)

▪ I don’t want anyone to look to me, not for protection, not for happiness, not for love, not for anything. (42)

▪ “Are we culling our old people now like unwanted animals?” (132)

▪ “I can’t think of any group less equipped to confront the apparatus of state. You’ve no money, no resources, no influence, no popular backing. You haven’t even a coherent philosophy of revolt.” (154)

▪ Yet today I have never felt so much at ease with these four strangers to whom I am now, still half reluctantly, committed and one of whom I am learning to love. (242)

▪ I didn’t mean to be a selfish son, an unloving father, a bad husband. When have I ever meant anything? (298)

Julian

▪ “We’re not really sure that you can help, but two of us, Luke—he’s a priest―and I, thought you might be able to. The leader of the group is my husband, Rolf.” (61)

▪ “If I fall into his hands I’ll never be free of him. My baby will never be free.” (211)

Xan

▪ From boyhood he couldn’t tolerate questions, curiosity, interference in his life. (28)

▪ Xan was wearing on the third finger of his left hand the Coronation Ring, the wedding ring of England, the great sapphire surrounded with diamonds and surmounted with a cross of rubies. (131)

▪ “Good God, Theo, do you realize what power is in our hands? Come back on the Council, be my lieutenant.” (326)

And ...

▪ “Why should he be a monster? Why shouldn’t he be normal, my child and hers?” (230)

▪ “Why should you escape guilt? It’s part of being human. Or hadn’t you noticed?” (299)

Elizabeth Peters. The Last Camel Died at Noon. 1991. USA: Grand Central Publishing, 2013.

Skipping ahead in the series (the first book is reviewed in LL250), how could I resist this title? Dauntless Amelia Peabody has married Radcliffe Emerson by now—Egyptologists clearly meant for each other―and they have a precocious young son best known as Ramses. Planning to excavate in Sudan, they resist the pleas of Viscount Blacktower to search there for his long-missing son Willoughby Forth. Nonetheless, Blacktower’s grandson Reggie follows the Emersons to the Upper Nile where British troops are gathered for an assault on Khartoum. A trip across the western desert turns into a nightmare, abandoned without food, water, or camels. Suffice to say, our family trio later finds itself in a legendary city on Holy Mountain, founded by Kushite refugees.

Kemit, the sole remaining helper on their harrowing desert journey, turns out to be Prince Tarek who with his brother (different mothers), Prince Nastasen, is a candidate for kingship—soon to be chosen by the god Amon. The ceremonies will involve priests and priestesses, nobles and soldiers, among vast palaces and miles of hidden rooms. More or less prisoners in a volatile situation, the Emersons are spellbound by their surroundings—but wary of being pawns in the brothers’ duplicitous feud. Evidence of Reggie’s uncle having lived here is clear; Peters has more surprises to come. Believing their own deaths are impending, plans for escape are made, but who can the Emersons trust? Plenty of swashing and buckling to follow. Reggie manages to complicate things further, while Ramses develops communications with a temple cat.

The author unfolds otherworldly historical figures and culture; all the places, gods, and religious practices were real and fascinating. It took an exceptional author to blend her remarkable knowledge of ancient civilizations with lively, engaging Victorian characters and the most deft touch of satiric humour. My one kvetch is Peabody’s (and perhaps the author’s) lack of sympathetic attention regarding camels.

One-liners

▪ The gait of the camel does not permit comfortable conversation; I resolved to wait until Emerson and I were alone before raising the subject of Reginald Forthright and my husband’s unacceptable behavior. (110)

▪ “Supper tonight will be out of tins, gentlemen; cooking is not an activity at which I excel or in which I care to do so.” (133)

▪ “It is difficult for an ordinary intelligence to follow the quickness of Mrs. Emerson’s thought,” Emerson said kindly. (156)

▪ My life’s work had been the study of ancient Egypt; to find actual living examples of rituals I had known only from weathered tomb walls and desiccated papyri was an indescribable thrill. (237-8)

Multi-liners

▪ Most small boys are barbarians. It is a wonder any of them live to grow up. (64)

▪ “The lost civilization Willoughby Forth set forth to find is a reality! He, and let us hope, his wife, are prisoners of this mysterious people!” (155)

▪ “Thus far, fortune seems to favor the bold. In other words, I shall simply demand to be taken to ‘the other white man’.” (312)

▪ “My map was faulty; yours was accurate. I was captured and beaten; you were rescued and nursed. I have spent the past weeks in a dank, dark cell while you have enjoyed these handsome rooms, with food and wine and splendid raiment, servants obeying your every command—” (321-2)

▪ “Everything is prepared,” Reggie hissed. “Tomorrow night Amenit will lead us to the waiting caravan.” (353)

▪ As we marched along, hand in hand, closely surrounded by a heavy guard, Emerson began to whistle and my spirits soared. We were about to go into action, and when the Emersons act in concert, few can stand against them. (449)

Peabody

Emerson likes to think that he is the master of his fate and the lord of all he surveys. It is a delusion common to the male sex and accounts for the sputtering fury with which they respond to the slightest interference with their plans, no matter how impractical those plans may be. Being ruled by men, most women are accustomed to irrational behavior on the part of those who control their destinies. I was therefore not at all surprised when Emerson’s plans received their first check. Instead of advancing toward Khartoum, the Egyptian Expeditionary Force settled into winter quarters at Merawi, not to be confused with Meroë, which is several hundred miles farther south. (59)

Deserted in the desert

“It is my cursed stupidity that is to blame for our plight; I should have kept one of the supply camels with us, instead of trusting the men with them.”

“There is nothing so futile as regret for what cannot be mended,” I remarked. “If a mistake was made we all share the blame.”

“True,” Emerson said, cheering up. “Precisely what do we have left, Peabody?”

“Our personal possessions, changes of clothing, notebooks and papers, a few tools. Two waterskins—but both are less than half-full. A few tins, a tin opener, two tents, blankets ...” (193-4)

The marital bond

“Never fear, when we are ready to leave, we’ll find a means of doing so. I didn’t want to make a move of any kind until you were yourself again. We may have to fight our way out of here, Peabody. I hope we do not; but if we do, I need you at my side, parasol at the ready.”

Has ever woman received a more touching tribute from her spouse? Speechless with pride, I could only gaze at him with eyes brimming with emotion.

“Blow your nose, Peabody,” said Emerson, offering me a singularly dirty rag which had once been a good pocket handkerchief. (227-8)

Surprise in the dark

“Ramses,” he said very softly. “Where are you?”

“Under the bed. I am very sorry, Mama and Papa, but you would not listen to me before and it is absolutely imperative that you—”

The bedsprings (straps of woven leather) creaked as Emerson lifted himself and propped his chin on his hand. “I have never given you a sound thrashing, Ramses, have I?”

“No, Papa. Should you feel my present behavior merits such punishment, I would accept it without resentment. I would never have stooped to such a trick had I not felt—”

“Be quiet until I give you leave to speak.”

Ranses obeyed; but in the silence that followed I could hear him breathing fast. He sounded as if he were on the verge of choking, and I sincerely wished he would.

“Peabody,” said Emerson.

“Yes, my dear?”

“Remind me, when we return to Cairo, to have a word with the headmaster of the Academy for Young Gentlemen.” (296)

Chris Bohjalian. The Guest Room. Ebook download from TPL. Toronto: Doubleday Canada, 2016.

Along the lines of Linwood Barclay’s near-trademark theme of Nice-Guy-in-Big-Trouble—not of his own making―Richard Chapman hosts a bachelor party for his younger brother, Philip. In his home. Wife Kristin and nine-year-old daughter Melissa decamp for the night. No one could possibly foresee the shocking mayhem that comes about. Philip’s friend Spencer had arranged for two strippers, who arrive with burly Russian bodyguards. Sonja and Alexandra are more than strippers—they are having sex with the drunks as the party turns wilder. Even Richard almost, but not quite, submits to the charms of Alexandra; his moral compass pulls him back when he realizes how very young she is. Then, in an opportune flash of horror, the girls murder the two Russians in front of the stupefied party-goers, spraying blood everywhere, and take off on the run.

More than strippers, indeed. Spencer and all the men had no idea the girls are captives, trafficked by a Russian gang. From Alexandra, born in Armenia, we hear how they were abducted as youngsters and brutally trained to service men with sexual skills. Always prisoners. In the dazed aftermath, Richard has to deal with the police, his stunned wife, his curious daughter, his callous brother, a skeptical lawyer, hordes of media interest, and the investment firm he works for. Maybe they will believe he took no part in the sex acts, but Spencer is blackmailing him—with a candid video of Richard and Alexandra, both naked. Did I mention the Russians will want payback? Various points of view spin the tension as the scared girls seek to survive in a strange city. Extremely well done, exposing internationally predatory practices.

Words

oneiric = dream-like

optative = verbal mood indicating or expressing a wish or preference

noctivagant = night-wandering

Richard

▪ It was his brother, Philip, who spoke first, murmuring, “What the fuck. Seriously, what the fuck just happened?” (54)

▪ “And based on whose bodies are in the morgue right now and the statements of some of your guests, there is a chance that the little eye candy you had dancing around your living room were not prostitutes. They were underage sex slaves.” (70)

▪ Apparently, Richard’s boss—Peter Fitzgerald, great-grandson of Alistair Franklin himself, a keeper of the firm’s torch, and utterly humorless―thought it best if Richard took a leave of absence. (158)

▪ He held himself to a higher standard than Philip, and the video compromised that moral authority. (228)

▪ “They know where I live. And seeing what they did to this girl scares me.” (328)

▪ He had tried and failed to come home with a handgun just the other day, and now there was one in his kitchen. Just a few feet away. (363)

Alexandra

▪ And then Sonja finally lost her mind. I saw it coming that night—her going totally crazy―but I thought she was going to make it through the party for the bachelor. (29)

▪ “You can tell everyone we fucked. They’ll think we did anyway.” (61)

▪ I was not yet a “courtesan”: I was just a fifteen-year-old kid trying to look like she enjoyed getting banged by strangers with scratchy stuff on their faces. (175)

▪ It was Sonja and me against the world some days, and it was Sonja and Crystal and me they wanted in America. That’s how much they liked us—and how good we were at what we did. (219)