SFBC 3-in-1 Omnibus |
Okay,
let's get this out of the way right off the bat: I have major
theological/philosophical problems with the very idea underlying this
series, specifically the rationale that supernatural creatures such
as vampires, werewolves, and ghosts (as of the end of this first
book, all that have been introduced – well, if you ignore the robot
zombie that also appears!) result from a surfeit of “soul” in
certain individuals who are balanced off by others who have a deficit
of “soul,” the most extreme example being the “preternatural”
heroine of these tales, Miss Alexia Tarabotti. I cannot truly
conceive of a “soulless person.” It is, however, fairly easy to
get past that dodgy foundational concept as a stumbling block –
which I'm sure others wouldn't share anyway – by considering the
quasi-scientific theory postulated to be about as accurate as others
of the time-frame which provides the setting, the late 19th-century,
e.g. that of a luminiferous aether that supposedly provided the
medium through which light propagated [link]
– which is to say, not so. I'm sure that by a century and more
after Miss Tarabotti in that literary alternate universe of “The
Parasol Protectorate” the anima theory of nature (my term)
will have given way to something radically different as the "luminiferous aether" has fallen before quantum mechanics and general
relativity. Indeed, the hubris of a scientific theory perversely
co-opting a theological concept seems to me to fit well the zeitgeist
of the age, especially in an imagined mash-up of steampunk and urban
fantasy. The result is an indescribably clever and hilariously
written send-up of Victorian England that is best described by the
author herself in the introduction, “In Which Gail Discusses
Building the World of the Parasol Protectorate”:
Original paperback edition, published by Orbit 2009 |
“I
began by thinking about what kind of world could accommodate all
these different elements: the monsters of urban fantasy, the gadgets
of steampunk, the humor of comedies of manners, the romance of the
Gothics. I'm familiar with the Victorian era and I find it a rich
source of amusement in and of itself. It is a period of time, both
in literature and fashion, that has always stolen away my heart. I
used to make hoop-skirts out of my hula-hoops as a child. Those
ridiculous fashions and that obsession with etiquette seemed the
ideal time period into which to drop vampires (dictating such things)
and werewolves (chaffing against them) not to mention steampunk
technology. It seemed to me that what comedy I couldn't supply with
plot and character, an alternate Victorian London could provide
simply by itself.
“But
I had another reason. I have long been troubled by certain quirks of
history that seem never adequately explained. The most confusing of
these is how one tiny island with abysmal taste in food, excellent
taste in beverages, and a penchant for pouffy dresses suddenly
managed to take over most of the known world. How did Britain
conquer an empire upon which the sun never set? I decided that the
only possible answer was that England openly accepted supernatural
creatures, and put them to good use, while other countries continued
persecution and abhorrence of vampires, werewolves, and ghosts. This
led me to postulate that King Henry [VIII]'s
breach with the Church was over open acceptance of supernatural
creatures into society (the divorce thing was just a front). This
gave Great Britain a leg up in dealing with messy little situations
like winning major foreign battles or establishing an efficient
bureaucracy or convincing the world cricket is a good idea. Vampires
could sit as members of the cabinet, advising the queen on matters of
state and foreign policy. Werewolves could fight in the armies,
making them stronger and better and mobile at night. Ghosts could be
used as spies. Suddenly, everything previously confusing about the
Victorian Era made sense: the British regimental system was clearly
based on werewolf pack dynamics, and pale complexions are in vogue
because everyone wants to look like the trendsetting vampires”
(pp. vii-viii).
And
so on, including a couple pages later the revelation that she took
“the same tactic with
the most ridiculous aspects of Victorian fashion as well. High
cravats? Hide the bite marks. Confining bustle-skirts and healed
[sic
– heeled?] boots?
Keeps your prey from moving too fast”
(p. x). But I was hooked long before I got to that point, indeed by
the time I finished the first or second paragraph of the introduction
– which actually happened in a book store one evening while I let
my wife shop in a nearby crafting supply outlet. Knowing that SFBC
had the omnibus, I ordered it right away and have been delighted to
find that Carriger maintains that wry, whimsical tone throughout the
narrative of the story as well, giving me easily as many
laugh-out-loud moments as when I'm reading Jim Butcher's Dresden
Files series. For
instance, on the first page of the story itself, where Miss Tarabotti
is unexpectedly assaulted by a vampire at a boring private ball when
she has retreated to her own favorite sanctuary of the library:
“...
he moved toward her, darkly shimmering out of the library shadows
with feeding fangs ready. However, the moment he touched Miss
Tarabotti, he was suddenly no longer darkly doing anything at all.
He was simply standing there, the faint sounds of a string quartet in
the background as he foolishly fished about with his tongue for fangs
unaccountably mislaid”
(p. 5).
For
Miss Tarabotti's preternatural state has the effect of canceling
out the supernatural
condition of any with whom she comes into contact – vampires become
suddenly mortal; werewolves morph back from wolf to human and lose
their mindless bloodlust even if under a full moon – for the
duration of that contact. Ghosts? – well, by the end of this first
tale none have actually been introduced, only referred to. Nor has
the intriguing possibility, I would think (and following the
in-story rationale), that when Miss Tarabotti touches a supernatural being she herself becomes ensouled been addressed. But there are, of
course, four more novels in the story of Miss Tarabotti, and even
more in the universe of “The Parasol Protectorate.” And there
are other dangling plot threads by the end of this book, which was
obviously meant to launch a series. It is, to paraphrase Carriger's
own introduction quoted above, a series I
very much want to read.
Cheers!
… and Thanks for reading!
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