Now, here’s a book with something for everybody–or, at least, everybody
who’s likely to be reading this review in the first place.

If you like mysteries, you’ll like this book. Lord Darcy is the Chief
Investigator for His Highness the Duke of Normandy, and is kept quite
busy investigating one murder or another, with the occasional jaunt into
counter-espionage.

If you like fantasy, you’ll like this book, for Lord Darcy’s right-hand man is
a forensic sorceror named Sean O Lochlainn. It’s his job to preserve the
victim’s corpse until it has been fully examined, to determine whether a
bullet was fired by a particular gun or not, to determine whether the
death was from purely physical causes or due to black magic, to recreate
aspects of the crime, and so forth.

If you like science fiction, you’ll like this book, for Master Sean’s
sorcery is a science rather than a art, in accordance with the magical
laws of Similarity, Contagion, and Relevance. Garrett has a deft touch;
the Laws of Magic are developed clearly enough that we can believe in a
magical “science” yet concisely enough that we avoid boredom. Moreover,
the mixture of magic with physical technology is a hoot.

If you like alternate history, you’ll like this book, for the major
premise (other than the efficacy of magic) is that Richard Coeur-de-Lion
does not die young but rather returns to England to rule wisely and well and
found a dynasty that will last until the present day. In the 20th century
the Anglo-French Empire is the dominant power, directly controlling
England, France, and the Americas (fetchingly called New England and New
France), and indirectly controlling much of the rest of Europe.

The amazing thing is that Garrett manages to combine all of these
elements into a single book and make it work–this is topnotch police
procedural of the classic English kind as
well as topnotch fantasy. I kept picturing Lord Darcy as a mixture of
Peter Wimsey and Roderick Alleyn.

The book is collection of short stories with one novel, Too Many
Magicians; the latter contains a Nero Wolfe pastiche that’s
especially choice (Ian, are you listening?). Garrett wrote these classic
tales in the 1960’s and 1970’s; the indefatigable
Eric Flint has collected them in a single volume, and I
suggest you buy it. My only complaint about it is that it isn’t longer.

Robert L. Glass is an old-timer in the field of software engineering;
this book is founded on decades of experience. Moreover, his discussion
of any given topic is based not only on his own experiences but also on
any relevant studies that have been done in the area (if any). As a
software engineer myself, I found his observations a refreshing change
from the usual sort of thing one hears: “If you’ll just look at things
my way, and follow my process, then all of your software
engineering problems will go away!” I found much of what he had to say
to be useful and timely.

The book isn’t perfect. In a number of places he
makes observations and then doesn’t follow up on their obvious
corollaries; he has a touching faith in ten and fifteen-year-old studies
that have never been replicated; and his attitude toward the Unix
programming community is almost patronizing at times, which is annoying.

On the whole, though, the book serves as a useful reality check,
especially for those who want to elevate the process over the people involved.

I’ve got three kids (soon to be four); the oldest is just shy of seven
years old. I’ve got a full-time job. And yet I’ve got a web log; I
write open-source software in Tcl; I’ve written a couple of (unpublished)
novels. (And my wife is still speaking to me!)

And, far from neglecting them, I spend a lot of time with my kids. How
do I have time for all of this?

Partly, it’s because Jane’s mostly a housewife these days. A lot of
household chores get done while I’m at work, and that gives us both more
time in the evening. (And may I say, both Jane and I are grateful that
we can afford to live this way.)

But the main reason is that we’ve never accepted the notion of quality
time.

Quality time, so far as I understand, is all about making up for the fact
that you don’t have much time to spend with your kids. Since you’re
short of time, make the most of the time you have! Make it time of high
quality! On the face of it that’s a fine thing–for some definition of
“high quality.” What people usually seem to mean is “making the child
the center of your attention.”–by playing a game together, say. Or
reading a story. And that, by itself, is also a fine thing. Put them
together, though, and you’ve got a problem. More to the point, you’re
depriving your kid of what I call “quantity time.”

Quality time is about spending your time doing things with your kids; quantity
time is about making space for your kids in the things you do.

For example, I spend a lot of time sitting in a comfy chair in my study
with a book or my laptop. I share my study with a playpen, several small
chairs, a Nintendo GameCube, and a fluctuating population of Lego, K’Nex,
and sundry other toys. And if the kids are awake, I’m often sharing it
with one, two, or all three of them. They get my attention when they
want it–say, to separate a pair of Lego bricks, or answer a question, or
sometimes just to sit in my lap for awhile. My little girl Anne has
been in my lap twice just in the twenty minutes I’ve been writing this.

A digression: I recently installed Mac OS X 10.2.3, code-named “Panther”,
on my laptop. And one of the new features of Panther is called Expose.
And the neatest feature of Expose, from my point of view, is that I can
press a single key, and all of the windows on my screen fly off to the
sides, almost completely exposing the desktop. A second press, and they
all come flying back. And this is neat because I’ve got a picture of
David and James as my wallpaper, and almost every day little Anne walks
up to me and says, “Where David? Where James?”

And I push F11, and she smiles and points and says, “There David! There
James! There Scooby!” (David is wearing a Scooby-Doo T-shirt.) And I
nod, and she smiles, and then I push F11 and go right back to what I was
doing.

Though I know you couldn’t tell, I just took a break to tell bedtime
stories to David and James. (I’m reading Dave The Book of Three,
by Lloyd Alexander.)

I don’t often take the kids out just to spend time with them; but if I
go out to run errands, I usually have one or two of them with me.

When I wash the dishes after dinner (that’s one chore that
doesn’t get done while I’m at work), I make David come help
me. He doesn’t always want to; he often has other things he wants to do.
But that’s another side of quantity time–it’s not always fun. The night
before last, consequently, David and I had a long conversation about
making the best of it–about how to be cheerful even when you’re doing
something you don’t want to do.

And that’s really the key: quantity time teaches kids amazing
things. Because I’m doing my own things, they learn that they aren’t the
center of the universe. They have to amuse themselves, so they learn to
be self-reliant. On the other hand, they know that I’m there if they
need me, so they learn trust. They get to see me doing whatever I’m
doing, whether I’m shopping, or paying bills, or washing dishes, or
writing software, or just sitting and reading a book–and that’s how they
learn how life is lived.

And sometimes, of course, I spend time just playing with them, because
that’s part of life too.

This the third and (to date) final volume in Hughart’s tales of Number
Ten Ox and Master Li Kao. There won’t be any more as Hughart got
little support from his publishers and gave up writing novels in disgust.
This an extreme pity, as he’d originally planned on writing a series of
seven
books. Agony!

This particular story begins in Peking, where a vampire-ghoul interrupts
a public execution and causes the official headsman to miss his stroke,
thus losing his chance to break the standing record for the longest run
of consecutive clean kills. So sad, especially as it led to a temporary
reprieve for Sixth Degree Hosteler Tu, a loathsome murderer and gourmand.
The vampire-ghoul leads Master Li to yet another murder, a series of
strange encounters with ancient demons, and a dragon boat race on whose
outcome the fate of the world rests.

Stylistically, this one is close to its predecessor,
The Story of the Stone; it’s both interesting and funny, though
for different reasons. Overall I think I prefer it.

Over at Brandywine Books, Phil Wade has rashly tried to convey the essence of P.G. Wodehouse‘s Bertie and Jeeves stories in a single post.

The only thing that saves him from a fate worse than being badly dressed is that he relies on the Master’s own words.

This is the first sequel to Bridge of Birds, Hughart’s
delightful tale of Number Ten Ox the peasant and Master Li Kao, the sage with a
slight flaw in his character. This book takes place a few years after
its predecessor; one gathers that Ox has been living with Li Kao in
Peking and that they’ve had a number of adventures in the meantime.

In this book, Master Li and Number Ten Ox are summoned to a distant
valley which centuries ago was the home of the fiendish and sadistic Laughing
Prince. A monk has been found dead, apparently of fright, strange
sights have been seen, and the local abbot is afraid that the Laughing
Prince and his followers have returned.

Like its predecessor, The Story of the Stone is a skillful
mixture of Chinese life, legend, and myth, well-leavened with humor.
I’ve never thought it quite as good as its predecessor, and on this
reading I set out to find out why. It turns out that there are three
related reasons.

The first reason is a difference in structure. Bridge of
Birds is essentially episodic in nature, though the episodes are joined
by an over-arching narrative. Moreover, all of the episodes share a single
narrative and comic structure. The Story of the Stone is much
less episodic, and the storyline is rather more complex.

The difference in structure has two effects, my second and third
reasons. The first effect is that while there’s much to laugh at in
The Story of the Stone, the comedy is incidental rather than
essential–it could easily have been left out without changing the story
significantly. The second effect is that the book is much less
fun to read aloud–which is how I first tried to read it.
(Bridge of Birds reads aloud marvelously.)

And that’s what left the bad taste in my mouth–I was expecting a
delightful, joyous read-aloud, and I didn’t get one.

This time around I resolved to just let the book do its thing, without
comparing it to its predecessor, and I’ve decided that it’s really much
better than I’d given it credit for–that it’s a good, well-crafted tale.
It still isn’t the book Bridge of Birds is; but then, few are.

Michael Blowhard raised one of his usual ruckeses recently by posing the following hypothetical: one guy goes to a Black Sabbath concert; another goes to hear Maurizio Pollini play Chopin (which, I might add, Pollini has been known to do quite well–I’ve got the CDs to prove it). Afterwards, both say they had a “great” time. Michael then asks a number of questions for discussion; all focus on whether the two guys can reasonably mean the same thing by “great”.

Michael architects his posts to generate open-ended discussion; consequently, I was amused to see Aaron Haspel bat out a set of clear, concise, definitive answers.

Go read Michael’s hypothetical, and then read Aaron’s answers.

Something over a year ago, I started a complete purge of my library. Some books got put into boxes for a while, while others I decided to get rid of completely. But as things go when you’ve got three kids in the house, I didn’t finish the job. I finally got around to working on it this afternoon. I suspect that there’s more purging to come, but at least I’ve gotten through all of the mass market paperbacks, along with a few others.

The following books I’m getting rid of only because for one reason or another I have duplicate copies.

• Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, by J.K. Rowling
• The Anubis Gates, by Tim Powers
• The Best of Cordwainer Smith, by Cordwainer Smith
• The Instrumentality of Mankind, by Cordwainer Smith
• Norstrilia, by Cordwainer Smith
• Quest of the Three Worlds, by Cordwainer Smith
• The Oathbound Wizard, by Christopher Stasheff

These books, on the other hand, simply didn’t measure up.

The Children’s Hour, by Jerry Pournelle and S.M. Stirling

Somehow this didn’t ring any bells for Jane or I, and it should have.

An Introduction to General Systems Thinking, by Gerald M. Weinberg

This is a classic, and it should have been right up my alley. I enjoyed reading it, but couldn’t see any way to make use of it.

Time Machines, by Paul J. Nahin

This is a survey of time travel concepts, gimmicks, paradoxes, and so forth in the fields of physics, metaphysics, and science fiction, and it isn’t as interesting as it sounds.

The Accidental Tourist, by Anne Tyler

Breathing Lessons, by Anne Tyler

Once was enough.

Death at Gallows Green, by Robin Paige

Once was more than enough.

The Murders of Mrs. Austin and Mrs. Beale, by Jill McGown

Oddly, I can’t remember anything about this book except that the cover design reminded (erroneously, as it turned out) of Sharyn McCrumb.

Trouble and Her Friends, by Melissa Scott

I generally like Melissa Scott’s books, but this one left me so cold I couldn’t finish it.

Maigret Has Scruples, by Georges Simenon

Yes, Maigret is classic; but that isn’t everything. It was OK, but it was insufficiently OK to prompt to buy any more of this series.

The Last Templar, by Michael Jecks

The Boy-Bishop’s Glovemaker, by Michael Jecks

Historical mysteries, set in the Middle Ages. I read one of these, and thought it interesting enough to try another…but not interesting enough to try a third.

Chung Kuo, by David Wingrove

The Broken Wheel, by David Wingrove

The same applies to these. It’s a grand saga about a future Earth ruled by China in which the entire planet has been encased in a metal shell and few ever see the planet’s surface. Uh-huh. Asimov got away with it, but Trantor had a galaxy to feed it. Chung Kuo has only itself.

A Grave Talent, by Laurie R. King

To Play the Fool, by Laurie R. King

With Child, by Laurie R. King

These are from King’s “Kate Martinelli” series, which I never cordially liked. I’m keeping the Mary Russell series, though.

The Samurai’s Wife, by Laura Joh Rowland

Write 500 times on the chalkboard: “I won’t attribute late-20th-century attitudes to 17th-century women.”

The Incomplete Nifft, by Michael Shea

The A’rak, by Michael Shea

I bought these thinking that they were by someone else. I read them anyway, but there’s no reason I have to keep them.

The Ringworld Throne, by Larry Niven

I’ve heard this called “The Ringworld Thrown Across The Room”. ’nuff said.

What’s Wrong With Dorfman?, by John Blumenthal

Not a bad book, but not my kind of thing.

A Comedy of Heirs, by Rett MacPherson

Plenty of heirs, not enough comedy.

The Walls of Jericho, by Jon Land

I’m not sure where this one came from, but I know where it’s going.

Native Tongue, by Suzette Haden Elgin

I read this once. Elgin’s an engaging storyteller, but I find this book to be ideologically silly.

The Gate To Women’s Country, by Sherri S. Tepper

Grass, by Sherri S. Tepper

I’ve rather gone off Sheri Tepper, especially since she decided to write books of Cultural Significance. Of the ones I’ve read, these are the two worst offenders.

Household Gods, by Judith Tarr and Harry Turtledove

Oh, yes. I found the main character to be so uncongenial I couldn’t get past the opening scene.

The Soprano Sorceress, by L.E. Modesitt Jr.

Generally I like Modesitt’s stuff–but he seems to have thrown this one together to pay the bills. It’s the first in a series, and though I’ve occasionally inquired as to whether it got any better later on, nobody has ever written to tell me so.

The Spirit Rover has been making head-lines recently; an interesting site I found today points out that Mars is ahead of Earth 20 points to 16.

That’s a relatively forgiving score, by the way. The author gives Earth a point just as long as the spacecraft manages to send back some amount of science data–even if it crashes immediately afterwards. If he granted Earth a point only for missions that were indisputably successful, the score would be much worse.

It began to seem like I’d been reading this book forever.

Don’t get me wrong; I like Harry Potter. It’s fun stuff. But when David
insisted that I read him the second Harry Potter book as his bedtime story I was
reluctant. I wasn’t in the mood for it, and anyway I’d read it to
myself late last spring in preparation for the publication of
Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. It was simply too
soon. On top of that, Dave already knew the basic story very well, from
watching the movie.

When you’ve got an adult who’s reluctant and a kid who already knows
what’s going to happen, there’s no real tension, and thus no incentive to
read a book quickly. And so I read it to him a few pages a night, taking
three or four days per chapter instead of one. And let me tell you, read
that slowly this book is a real dog.

Reading a book aloud word by word casts a bright light upon it, and all of
its flaws and imperfections spring out. It’s a dangerous thing to do. I
had an entire series of books by a guy named Craig Shaw Gardener that
I summarily disposed of after a failed attempt to read the first one
aloud to Jane. So long as I could read them at speed I was able to
ignore the lack of substance, but let the harsh light of slow and
careful reading be once cast upon them and my enjoyment ceased.

This book, fortunately, is not that bad. The first Harry Potter
read aloud adequately (though not superlatively), and I’ve no doubt this
one would have read aloud adequately as well under better circumstances.
I do confess, by the end of the book I’d started editing Rowling’s prose,
omitting needless adjectives and adverbs here and there.