tl;dr

A book that is both a great deal of fun and hella smart.  Literary crossovers should always be this erudite.

opening remarks

I was reminded by the announcement of the Nebula Award finalists that I’ve been meaning to read The Strange Case of the Alchemist’s Daughter by Theodora Goss (and Spoonbenders by Daryl Gregory which I’ll pick-up sometime in the future… maybe… possibly…).  So, rather than crack the cover of the new Julian Barnes, I thought I’d jump straight to it.  I’m sure Julian won’t mind.

knee-jerk observations

The meta-textual interjections between Mary Jekyll and Catherine Moreau (who has yet to be formally introduced) might either end up being very funny and cheeky or fucking irritating.  At the moment, two pages in, I’m in column A… but the scales could shift quickly.

It’s a wonder the modernists didn’t adopt this mode of writing.  I think Joyce missed a trick.

I am, for the moment, utterly engrossed in Mary Jekyll’s adventure.  First, the revelation that the dastardly Hyde may be alive (she is not aware that her father, who apparently committed suicide, and Hyde are the same person) and second that he is possibly living in a halfway house for prostitutes and fallen women.  What makes it work are the little asides, not from Mary’s friends (though their Greek chorus of opinions is entertaining) but from Catherine Moreau, the author of Mary’s story, who points out the little things like the practicality of Mary’s purse.

The question now is whether Diana Hyde – that’s who Mary found in the halfway house – will steal every scene:

One of the delights of the novel is Mary and Diana’s interaction with a certain detective and his best mate.  Although Mary has sought Holmes advice about Mr Hyde, a murder investigation involving the dismemberment of young women has led Mary (and Diana), accompanied by Holmes and Watson, to a gory crime scene and now a mental institution.  Lestrade is, as convention requires, apoplectic:

It’s all a matter of priority:

Maybe there’s something a tad too modern about Diana’s reaction here; I still laughed though:

I’m halfway through the novel (or thereabouts), and I’m happy to declare that the regular interruptions from Mary, Diana, Justine and Beatrice (oh and Mrs Poole) are not annoying.  Instead, Goss has cleverly used these intrusions partly as a real-time fact checker to Catherine’s version of events and partly as an opportunity to dig deeper into issues of empowerment, gender and identity:

With the introduction of Holmes early in the novel, I was concerned that his presence, and the baggage and expectations that come with that, would overshadow Mary and her posse of ‘monsters.’  In fact, while his deductive skills are as sharp as ever, he regularly plays second fiddle to the members of the Athena Club.  Goss ensures that it’s their actions that drive the story, Holmes is more a resource than a prime-mover.  Even when he’s desperate to ask questions of Justine, he seeks permission from Mary and Catherine, not something he would be accustomed to.

Here’s a tough question:

The Gist Of It

The Strange Case of the Alchemist’s Daughter works as a novel for a number of reasons.  First, there’s the fact that Theodora Goss is a subject matter expert on Victorian monsters having written a 400-page PHD dissertation on the subject. Her in-depth knowledge of the period is evident in how she pulls off the impossible task of seamlessly weaving together the worlds of Stoker, Hawthorne, Conan Doyle, Wells, Shelley and Louis-Stevenson (have I missed anyone?).  This novel should sink under the weight of so much literary canon, and yet it never reads as bloated or unwieldy.  This is because Goss is careful and deliberate in how she introduces each of her Victorian monsters.  For all intent and purposes, The Strange Case is an origin story, featuring multiple beginnings that are spaced cleverly throughout the story.  By the time Justine Frankenstein and Catherine Moreau are introduced Goss has firmly established her world, so they slot in with ease.

This is further facilitated by the boldest aspect of the novel, that is having the Athena Club present from page one.  While the story begins with Mary Jekyll, the account we are reading is written by Catherine Moreau, someone who won’t feature in her own right until the halfway point of the novel.  We know she’s the author because she tells us.  In fact, we get regular interruptions from the Athena Club.  I did wonder whether these interjections would become annoying, putting a screeching halt on momentum or, even worse, coming off as twee or not very funny.  That’s never the case though.  Each interruption, even if it’s a gag, is at the service of the story being told.  Goss cleverly uses these Greek chorus moments to dissect the world from a proto-feminist perspective – complaints about the clothes, about the paternalistic attitudes toward the women from Watson and Holmes – and deconstruct the quirks of narrative, especially one that’s meant to be an accurate account – Diana is often interrogating Catherine on how she could have known that something occurred given she, Catherine, wasn’t present.  It livens up the story, provides a playful and intelligent spin to what might have been a straightforward meat and potatoes narrative.

Most of all the novel is a blast, that rare beast that’s never anything but entertaining and engaging.  The great news is that the sequel is out in July.