This is the book that I got given at the London Book Fair. It is published by the Library of Wales and is probably one of the first works of Welsh science fiction. Howell Davies published three science fiction novels via Gollancz between 1938 and 1939 under the pseudonym of “Andrew Marvell” (the original Marvell being an English metaphysical poet). The best known of these books was Minimum Man, which was also published in America through Famous Fantastic Mysteries magazine. Congratulate the Devil is Davies’ third novel.

The book is somewhat reminiscent of HG Wells’ The Invisible Man, only in this case the super powers gained are a form of mind control. The narrator and his chemist friend who originally discovered the drug that bestows the power initially decide not to use it beyond scientific investigation. However temptation, in the form of a beautiful young woman, soon gets the better of them. Before long they have embarked on a life of crime, but the real disaster only happens when someone tries to use the power of the drug to make people happy.

A week or so ago I got into a discussion with someone who was complaining that science fiction books all too often become outdated as the “science” on which they are based is proved wrong. Congratulate the Devil is perhaps an example of how a mainstream novel can become outdated, because while it is perfectly understandable for its time, a modern reader is liable to find himself shaking his head at the odd social attitudes displayed, or shaking her head at the naked sexism of the characters. It is, however, an interesting use of an SF idea to explore an age-old moral conundrum, and well worth being republished.

Pick up a copy of Blood of Elves, Andrzej Sapkowski’s first novel available in English translation, and you will probably think it is one of those blood and thunder novels full of mighty smiting and oceans of blood. You’d be wrong. It is a lot funnier, a lot cleverer and a lot less violent that you would expect from the cover. Sadly the translation has been butchered, and I spent much of the time reading it wishing I could edit the text. It is clear as you read it that Sapkowski is using neat imagery, creating amusing banter and so on, but much of it is rendered in very flat and unimaginative English. (Note: I read the UK edition from Gollancz, Orbit may have edited it further for the US release.)

Despite all of that, the book has made it onto the short list for the Gemmel Award, which should tell you a lot about how good it could have been with a good translator. Here’s hoping that it is also selling well, because it is clearly the first part of an ongoing tale that I want to hear more of. Also, having met Mr. Sapkowski, I think he’d be great fun to have at a UK convention. He speaks good English, makes good jokes, and is fond of good whisky, which should make him a great guest.

I read Cat Valente’s books slowly, in large part because they often seem like they demand to be read out loud. Valente’s prose is sumptuous and sensual, and in Palimpsest she tosses in some surreal visions that might come out of a Bosch painting or the back street surgeries of New Crobuzon. Probably, however, you won’t read it out loud, because Palimpsest is steeped in sex, and people might stare.

Imagine a city that you can reach only in your dreams. Imagine a city where life is vivid and wonderful. Imagine a city that seems more real than the world you wake up to. But there’s just one snag – the only way you can get there is by having sex with other people who have part of the map of the city tattooed on their body. It is a drug; you are addicted; you’ll do anything, with anyone, of any gender to find your way back.

Valente’s characters, however, don’t have that much more to lose. Each one is scarred in some way. Each one is sufficiently unhappy with their lives to want to spend all of their time in Palimpsest, despite everything they have to go through to get there. Unfortunately for them, even in Palimpsest there are people who don’t like immigrants.

There are times when you will wonder whether Palimpsest has a plot, but it does. Most of the time, however, you’ll simply sit back and enjoy Valente’s exquisite prose and fevered imagination. Give yourself up to it.

In turning over the “currently reading” section of my sidebar I realized that I haven’t said anything about The Judging Eye. Profuse apologies to Scott Bakker. Thankfully I can still remember reading it. (And you’d be surprised how quickly you can forget a book when you read lots of them.)

Fans of Bakker’s Prince of Nothing series will not be disappointed with the new trilogy. While it is set 20 years after the events of the Prince of Nothing books, it very much carries on the story. Having consolidated his rule, Anasûrimbor Kellhus raises a vast army for a crusade against the Consult, and Drusas Achamain inevitably finds himself needing to work against this. But the fact that it is familiar and, to some extent, predictable doesn’t take anything away from Bakker’s skill in putting together an absorbing novel, or torturing his characters. He also does something very naughty indeed, for which he probably deserves to be spanked but which actually works surprisingly well. Saying any more than that would give the whole game away.

Aqueduct Press announces a short collection of Gwyneth Jones stories that are set in the period between the Aleutian Trilogy and Spirit. That’s stuff I definitely need to read.

One well-known UK journalist reviews a book by another well-known UK journalist…

No, wait, stop. It is getting to me as well.

In today’s Independent Johann Hari reviews David Aaronovitch’s new book, Voodoo Histories, which is all about (your guessed it) conspiracy theories.

It’s true, we are all trying to get you to buy books.

For those of you who don’t follow Jeff VanderMeer’s blog, Jeff has recently been reading what looks to be a wonderful fake history of a steampunk robot. Here is Jeff’s review on Amazon, and here is his blog post with additional artwork from the book. I want a copy of the book, it looks like really good fun.

For those of you who are too busy to click through, the book is Boilerplate: History’s Mechanical Marvel, by Paul Guinan and Anina Bennett, and it is due out from Abrams Books in October.

Today was a going round talking to people day, which I did a fair amount of. Here are some things I can actually talk about.

Top of the list must be Liverpool University Press who have a previously-unpublished John Wyndham novel that they are going to release this year. It is about a plan to create a clone of Hitler, and it was written long before Boys from Brazil. The book is called Plan for Chaos. Here’s the cover.

Bay Area folks will be interested to know that Seanan McGuire is about to become a big name writer. Daw are not here themselves, but there was a US rights sale company that had many books on offer, and they ones they were making the biggest fuss about (out of all of the publishers they represented) were Seanan’s forthcoming Rosemary and Rue trilogy. Here are the posters.

Also I got a freebie. It is a Welsh science fiction novel. Howell Davies, writing under the pen name of Andrew Marvell, wrote three SF novels for Gollancz in the 1930s. Davies was a close friend of Robert Graves and also knew James Joyce. His third novel, Congratulate the Devil, has recently been re-published by Library of Wales, and I now have a copy. If the blurb is anything to go by, it has a lot of drug taking in it.

Mike Carey’s latest Felix Castor novel is, surprise, a Felix Castor novel. That is to say, it is the fourth book in an established series with a predictable format and it does exactly what you would expect from it. If you liked the previous books then you will love this one too.

Stepping back a bit, the most interesting thing about the series is the way that Carey tries to balance the traditional mystery novel concept of the stand-alone, repeated-pattern mystery with the fantasy reader’s desire for a story arc. Thicker Than Water definitely progresses the story, though it does so in ways that are largely tangential to the main plot. I’m enjoying watching the process, and look forward to seeing how Carey eventually resolves matters.

There’s an interview with Carey at the back of the book, which ends with another big mystery. If there were to be a Felix Castor movie, who would play Juliet. Not me, I guess.

I have been trying for some time to think of an angle for a review of Toby Litt’s Journey Into Space, but could not come up with anything that did not involve massive spoilers. I have been saved by a post on io9. No, Mr. Wheeler, that’s not an April Fool. I shall explain, though this doesn’t really count as a review.

Firstly, however, a few words about the title of the book. Yes, it is awful. Apparently Litt is working his way through the alphabet. His first book had a title beginning with A. He has now arrived at J. I still think he could have done better.

Journey into Space is a generation ship novel – one of those books where the crew of an inter-stellar vessel goes through multiple generations in order to make the centuries-spanning journey to a distant star. It has been done many times before. Gene Wolfe’s Book of the Long Sun is a classic example. Litt appears to be well aware of the issues. He asks what the psychological effects would be on children who are born on board, come to learn about the beauties of planets, but know that they are doomed to spend their entire lives cooped up in a small, metal box. He asks what happens to the mission if significant changes take place on Earth while it is in flight. And I particularly like that fact that the members of the crew are all media celebrities back home, their lives followed as avidly as any soap opera. It is a proper science fiction novel.

But Ursula Le Guin hated it.

To understand why we have to consider Charlie Jane Anders’ post on io9. Charlie is talking about the difference between ‘plot’ and ‘story’. It is a fine distinction, and not one that everyone makes. The way I see it is as follows. The plot is the skeleton on which the book is built. The story is the fleshy covering that turns that framework into a living, breathing, individual book. The body can be gaunt and skinny, it can be toned and powerful, or it can be fat and flabby. But the one thing it has to do is cover the bones. If, when you read the book, you keep seeing those bones poking through, then you know the book isn’t really alive.

Story, however, has a strong connection with myth. If you have Story you tend to expect the book to mean something, at least for some of the characters. It doesn’t have to be the full-blown Joseph Campbell hero myth that you get in Star Wars. There are many different stories to be told. Human beings are forever wondering about the “meaning of life,” and one of the reasons that they love stories is that in stories people’s lives (or at least the lives of the main characters) do have meaning and shape.

Real life, however, is not generally full of meaning. One of the reasons we obsess over celebrities, and tend to over-dramatize every news story, is because of that search for meaning. We think it helps us make sense of our own meaningless lives. Or at least gives us hope that one day we too might have a Story worth telling.

Now think a minute about the literary writer. The whole point here is to reflect real life as it actually is. Mimetic fiction is fiction that mirrors real life. And if real life doesn’t have Stories, well literary fiction shouldn’t have them either. All you are supposed to do is relate what happens to the characters, not dress their lives up with invented drama and artificial conclusions.

Of course the writers who become really popular do have Story in their books: Dickens, for example. But many literary writers tend to shy away from Story, and that’s one of the main reasons why genre readers will look at a literary work and come away saying “meh”. That, I think, is what Le Guin did with Litt. The characters in the book are not heroes. Their lives begin and end. Society on the ship changes, but certainly not for the better. If Litt has any specific inspiration for the book it is probably Lord of the Flies. Journey into Space is a book about ordinary, rather stupid people struggling to cope in an extraordinary environment. It is not uplifting in any way. But it is still, I think, science fiction.

Sam Jordison’s exploration of past Hugo winners for The Guardian‘s Book Blog has reached 1965:

Fritz Leiber’s The Wanderer, the 1965 winner, doesn’t just seem weak in comparison. This book is crap by any standard. It’s worse even than The Big Time, the last Leiber book I had the misfortune to encounter – and that’s saying something.

Oh dear.

The first panel at P-Con was the launch of Juliet McKenna’s latest novel, Irons in the Fire. I has planned to video the event, but I screwed up totally. Fortunately Jules has since posted her explanation of the origins of the book to the web site of her publisher, Solaris. So if you want to know what Jules said at the P-Con launch, you can read it here.