Francis Stevens published her first story in 1904. She was just 17 years old. Like the teenage Mary Shelley and Frankenstein before her, she changed how speculative fiction would be written afterwards, but for some reason Stevens is not a household name. Hopefully, that is about to change.
Remember, remember… November feels like the start of the slow turn to the close of the year. Everything outside gets browner and crunchier. There’s the quiet dying of the light. It happens subtly, then all at once. It also gives us a moment to sit with the quiet, find a small corner, wrap up in a blanket, and read by lamplight.
Brodie’s inner monologue is always cranky, sharp, and amusing, and this book is no different. He remains the reluctant hero, by dint of being the one who shows up, not because he has any magnificent altruism.
Mary Mallon was a carrier of the deadly disease, infected dozens of people (many of whom died) and once she was diagnosed all she had to do was not prepare food to save lives. It seems simple. So why didn’t she?
Two new and very different books tackle the same complicated and largely inscrutable Russian history. One makes the ghosts of Russian past very real, and the other explores the demons haunting a Soviet escapee.