A Genteel Black Hole

Ally's bookish (and other assorted) rambles

  • Bookish Ramble: Seacrow Island

    Ally

    Title: Seacrow Island
    (Seacrow Island #1)
    Author: Astrid Lindgren
    (Translated by Evelyn Ramsden)
    Year: 1964
    Country: Sweden

    Format: E-book
    Pages: 274
    Read: 17 – 29 March 2026
    First reading

    Melker Melkerson is a widowed father with an impulsive, childlike nature. He rents a cottage for the summer, sight unseen, just because he likes the name of the location: Seacrow Island. When Melker and his four children arrive on the island, they’re distressed to find the cottage cold, leaky and dilapidated. But over the summer they befriend the residents of Seacrow Island, grow to love the cottage, and gradually come to think of the place as home. Wouldn’t it be nice to live there all year round?

    I liked Seacrow Island well enough, I suppose: I read the whole thing… but it just didn’t sing to me. Perhaps I was hoping for too much. I found it in a list of recommendations for Moomin fans. Having recently finished the entire Moomin series, I was looking for something else to scratch that itch. Seacrow Island… didn’t. If there is another fictional family like the Moomins, the Melkersons ain’t it!

    They’re a sweet enough bunch of characters—especially the youngest brother Pelle, a devoted animal lover. But I found it hard to care much about the Melkersons’ adventures on Seacrow Island. The whole thing felt quite predictable to me. I could tell from the first chapter they would grow to love the island and decide to move there permanently. Watching that inevitable story unfold didn’t strike me as particularly compelling.

  • Bookish Ramble: Strangers on a Train

    Ally

    Title: Strangers on a Train
    Author: Patricia Highsmith
    Year: 1950
    Country: USA

    Format: Paperback
    Pages: 256
    Read: 20 – 28 March 2026
    Reread

    Two strangers, up-and-coming architect Guy Haines and wealthy drunkard Charles Anthony Bruno, meet by chance on a train. As the two men talk it becomes clear that Bruno is obsessed with murder. He outlines his plan for the perfect murder, or rather the perfect pair of murders. Each man would do the other’s dirty work, ensuring there’s no motive connecting him to his respective crime. Bruno even proposes the ideal victims: His father, and Guy’s estranged wife Miriam. Guy protests he’s not the type to commit murder. But Bruno insists there is no “type”, that any man can kill given the right circumstances. And when Bruno goes ahead and strangles Miriam for Guy, it sets in motion a series of events which lead inexorably to Guy fulfilling his half of the bargain.

    I first read Strangers on a Train just over a decade ago. Back then I found it faintly underwhelming, perhaps because the fun and thrilling Hitchcock film was fresh in my memory—as was Highsmith’s excellent book, The Talented Mr Ripley. Honestly I’m not really sure what I was thinking. This time I was able to better appreciate Strangers on a Train for what it is… and I loved every second!

    This is a remarkable debut novel, much deeper and darker than the film it inspired. It’s a study of the ugliest recesses of the human psyche, exposing how a perfectly ordinary man can be driven to kill. “What else do you think keeps the totalitarian states going?” Highsmith paints both Guy and Bruno vividly, with disturbing insight. Their thought processes are laid out in detail; every paranoid spiral, every hateful and violent impulse. It may lack some of the action set-pieces of Hitchcock’s adaptation*, but it had me constantly gripped by the guts.

    The story also has a strong homoerotic subtext. Guy and Bruno share a profound connection, one that must be repressed and hidden at all costs—yet they can’t keep away from each other. Bruno even plies Guy with gifts, desperately seeking his approval. These are compelling, queer, obsessive themes that Highsmith would revisit throughout her career.

    I’m not sure why I drifted away from Patricia Highsmith, having initially been so thrilled to discover her. Revisiting Strangers on a Train has suddenly reignited my enthusiasm in a big way. I’m excited to explore more of her books in the future, rereading the ones I remember fondly and trying some new ones too. My reading schedule is already looking pretty full, but I really hope to make time for more Highsmith this year.

    *Interestingly, the climactic merry-go-round scene in the Hitchcock film was taken, uncredited, from an entirely different book: The Moving Toyshop by Edmund Crispin.

  • Century of Cinema: Diary of a Lost Girl

    Ally

    Day 4 of Century of Cinema. Also day 46 of Project Glowing Rectangle, in which I try to divert some of my daily doomscrolling time back towards a more nourishing oblong: Cinema.

    Title: Diary of a Lost Girl
    Director: G.W. Pabst
    Writer: Rudolf Leonhard
    Year: 1929
    Country: Germany

    Format: Blu-ray
    Length: 113 minutes
    Seen: 23 March 2026
    Rewatch

    My collection doesn’t have many 1929 films, so today I had just three choices: Talkie comedy (the Marx Brothers’ debut film The Cocoanuts), silent sci-fi (Fritz Lang’s Frau im Mond), or silent drama. In the end, since it was the longest time since my last viewing, I picked the silent drama: Diary of a Lost Girl, directed by G.W. Pabst and starring Louise Brooks.

    Thymian (Brooks) is the young, naive daughter of a pharmacist (Josef Rovensky). When her father’s sleazy assistant (Fritz Rasp) gets her pregnant, Thymian is forced to give up her daughter. The family disowns young Thymian, sending her to a reformatory for wayward girls ruled by a sadistic matron (Valeska Gert).

    From then on the film is a relentless series of unfortunate events, a misery memoir with precious few joyful moments. Louise Brooks gives an understated, dignified performance that is never less than engaging—she obviously deserves her place in film history, and not just for her iconic style and bewitching beauty. But the film itself is just too grim for my taste. It sparks no joy and will soon be pruned from my collection!

  • Bookish Ramble: City of Illusions

    Ally

    Title: City of Illusions
    (Hainish #3)
    Author: Ursula K. Le Guin
    Year: 1967
    Country: USA

    Format: Paperback
    Pages: 158
    Read: 15 – 21 March 2026
    Reread

    My Hainish series read-through continues with City of Illusions, first published in 1967. (You can also read my reviews of the first two books: Rocannon’s World and Planet of Exile.)

    An exhausted, terrified stranger emerges from the forest. His eyes are yellow, cat-like and alien, his memory a complete blank. The forest people take him in, teaching him their language and naming him Falk. He lives happily with them for six years, coming to think of the place as home, but questions of his past still linger. Who was this man before he was Falk? Where is his forgotten home and how did he arrive on Earth? Who erased his memories and why? Falk sets out westward to rediscover his true self, taking him gradually towards a mysterious city inhabited by an elusive, powerful people known as the Shing.

    City of Illusions is Ursula K. Le Guin’s third novel, the third part of her Hainish series, and for me it’s the strongest of the three. Le Guin continues to hone her skills, crafting more memorable characters and more evocative prose than before. (The first sentence is only two words long and I found it a more intriguing opening than either of the first two books.) The mysteries of Falk and the Shing kept me engaged throughout, and I enjoyed seeing the connections gradually emerge between the first three Hainish books. It’s a satisfying read that also strengthens what came before it.

    Le Guin herself, in her foreword to a later reprinting of the novel, expressed dissatisfaction with the Shing as obvious, uninteresting villains—a character type she generally avoided in her work, preferring to explore more complex themes than hackneyed ol’ Good vs Evil. I can see what she means, but I still enjoyed the book on its own terms, unencumbered as I am by the author’s own artistic vision. Yes, Le Guin would soon go on to better, deeper things, but that doesn’t make this book an artistic failure. I really enjoyed my time with it. City of Illusions may not be Le Guin’s finest work but it certainly set the stage for it.

    And, once again, my enjoyment was enhanced by the group reading experience hosted by Gareth (Books Songs and Other Magic). So far I think we’ve all agreed that City of Illusions is the best of Le Guin’s first three books—but everyone seems even more excited for the next entry in the series: The Left Hand of Darkness.

    But before that, keep an eye on Gareth’s channel for a livestream discussion of the first three Hainish books.

  • Bookish Ramble: Maigret Sets a Trap

    Ally

    Title: Maigret Sets a Trap
    (Maigret #48)
    Author: Georges Simenon
    (Translated by Siân Reynolds)
    Year: 1955
    Country: Belgium

    Format: E-book
    Pages: 176
    Read: 9 – 16 March 2026
    First reading

    There’s a serial killer on the loose. Once a month or so he strikes in the Montmartre area of Paris, randomly stabbing a woman to death. DCI Maigret hatches a plan to lure the killer out of hiding. He stages a fake arrest and interrogation, tricking the local reporters into declaring the killer caught. Now, with plainclothes WPCs walking the streets of Montmartre as bait, Maigret hopes the killer’s next victim will be one who can defend herself. But will the plan work, or has he just sent an unwitting officer to her death?

    This is Georges Simenon’s 48th Maigret book but my very first. I’ve been meaning to try Simenon for a while but he’s so absurdly prolific, I never knew where to start. Luckily the decision was made for me when I found this ebook on sale for 99p—and I really lucked out! Turns out this is one of the most popular Maigret books, subject of multiple screen and radio adaptations. And I can see why.

    Maigret Sets a Trap is a gripping story of the hunt for a serial killer, and a psychological study of what drives him to kill. Ultimately it’s a portrait of toxic masculinity—of a weak, pathetic man trying to reassert himself by lashing out at women. If I had read this in my teens I might have dismissed it as outdated. Now, with the rise of the Manosphere, it feels disturbingly timely.

    Simenon’s writing style is simple, spare, but vivid. He captures his characters and their surroundings in three dimensions. It’s a quick, unpretentious read, but far from a shallow one. I’ll definitely be reading more Maigret.

  • Bookish Ramble: Lord of Light

    Ally

    Title: Lord of Light
    Author: Roger Zelazny
    Year: 1967
    Country: USA

    Format: Paperback
    Pages: 284
    Read: 1 – 11 March 2026
    First reading

    An alien world is ruled over by the Lords of Karma, Hindu gods with legendary names: Brahma, Kali, Vishnu, Krishna. But they’re not the true gods. In fact they are the First—human settlers who have colonised the planet. Their technology, so advanced it looks like magic, imbues them with the power and immortality of gods. The Lords of Karma abuse this power to reinstate the old caste system, placing themselves at the top, and imposing upon the planet a perpetual Dark Age. At every turn they are opposed by Sam, a fellow First who has rejected godhood. Sam assumes the role of the Buddha and, in various reincarnations across the centuries, spreads his message, slowly and patiently building a resistance movement. But is it enough to defeat these ruthless self-made gods?

    I was excited to read Lord of Light, having recently fallen in love with Roger Zelazny’s short stories. But Zelazny is a literary chameleon, his writing style ever shifting to fit the story, and Lord of Light is one that just didn’t click with me. On the surface it’s a religious myth, an epic tale of cruel and capricious gods. But that mythic tone is an ornate veil, concealing behind it a more rational, more “sci-fi” explanation. At first I was enjoying the process of peeking behind the veil, trying to glimpse the real story. But about halfway through I started to tire of it, and my enthusiasm never really recovered.

    For one thing, it’s hard to keep track of characters’ identities. Colonists often get reincarnated, taking on the mantle of different gods in different chapters. This made the whole thing feel quite disjointed to me, something compounded by the overall structure: Every chapter feels like an individual short story, each one centuries apart. (Two chapters were actually first published as short stories.) I love both novels and short stories, but for me “a series of interconnected short stories” is a hard sell. I had similar problems with A Canticle for Leibowitz—another beloved sci-fi classic with religious overtones.

    While I do appreciate ambiguous storytelling, Lord of Light is a dense text with very little space for interpretation. It felt more like something written in code, its one true meaning stubbornly obfuscated by Zelazny’s ornate, mythic prose—for “metal lotus” read satellite dish, etc. I found it an oppressive experience, and ultimately an exhausting one.

    That said, I do look forward to recording a discussion video with my friend Gavin from Genre Books. We buddy-read this as part of Gavin’s Century of Sci-fi project, in which he’s reading a sci-fi novel for every year of the last century. I get the impression he liked the book more than I did, so maybe he’ll be able to show me some of what I’m missing.

  • Bookish Ramble: A Sorceress Comes to Call

    Ally

    Title: A Sorceress Comes to Call
    Author: T. Kingfisher
    Year: 2024
    Country: USA

    Format: E-book
    Pages: 336
    Read: 24 February – 9 March 2026
    First reading

    Evangeline is a monster. She’s a powerful sorceress with the ability to make people “obedient”—to control every muscle in their body, using them as unwilling puppets. This horrific spell is most frequently turned against her terrified and isolated teenage daughter, Cordelia. But when Evangeline goes in search of a rich husband, it puts Cordelia in touch with some new friends. Could they help her escape her evil mother?

    A Sorceress Comes to Call is a dark and creepy retelling of a relatively obscure Grimm fairytale. I haven’t read The Goose Girl, but a quick glance at the synopsis suggests that this is a very loose reimagining. Evangeline is an extremely disturbing villain. The scenes where she puppets Cordelia made my skin crawl, as did some of the Lovecraftian horror (involving an uncanny horse) towards the end of the story. But it isn’t all Doom and gloom. The supporting characters provide some much-needed warmth and humour, especially the enchanting Penelope Green—and, later, her ghost. (Er, spoilers, I guess.)

    This was my third T. Kingfisher book, and probably the best so far. She creates a distinctive blend of uncanny horror and irreverent humour. It’s maybe slightly longer than it needed to be, but otherwise a very enjoyable and engrossing read. I can’t say her style is a perfect fit for me, but in the end I always find myself willing to try another one of her books.

  • Century of Cinema: Lonesome

    Ally

    Day 3 of Century of Cinema. Also day 43 of Project Glowing Rectangle, in which I try to divert some of my daily doomscrolling time back towards a more nourishing oblong: Cinema.

    Title: Lonesome
    Director: Paul Fejös
    Writer: Tom Reed, Edward T. Lowe Jr
    Year: 1928
    Country: USA

    Format: Blu-ray
    Length: 65 minutes
    Seen: 12 March 2026
    Rewatch

    Picking my 1928 film wasn’t quite as tricky as 1927… but it still wasn’t easy. I could easily rule out two Buster Keaton films (Steamboat Bill Jr and The Cameraman), since I started this whole project with Buster. And I eliminated Fritz Lang’s Spione (Spies) because I wasn’t in the mood for such a long film today. That left me with two possibilities. I was tempted by Speedy, a Harold Lloyd vehicle I’ve only seen once before. But in the end I went for Lonesome (1928), a mostly-silent romance directed by Paul Fejös.

    Among the crowds of New York City, Mary (Barbara Kent) and Jim (Glenn Tryon) each live alone. Every morning they rush to work, then come home at night to empty apartments. When the two meet by chance at Coney Island, it’s love at first sight. They spend a whirlwind evening together at the funfair, quickly confessing their love for one another. But when the pair are separated just as suddenly as they met, can they ever find each other again?

    Lonesome is a very sweet little film about two lonely people finding love. Fejös finds some visually creative ways to evoke the stress and drudgery of their busy workdays, as well as the chaos of the crowded funfair at which they meet. Some scenes have hand-tinted colour, adding an extra visual ‘pop’. The two stars make a cute couple onscreen, I found myself rooting for them immediately. But things grind to a halt during the studio-mandated talkie scenes. The roving camera is suddenly locked to one angle, the actors forced into stilted vocal performances that can’t match the charm of their expressive silent faces. Talkies were still very new at this point—and it shows!

    In many ways this is a good companion to Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans. Both films were made during the last gasp of silent cinema, both are very visually creative, and both centre on the fate of a couple. But while Sunrise is about a married couple repairing their broken relationship, Lonesome is a much lighter, sweeter film about the first flushes of love. I’d say Sunrise is a better constructed, more compelling film, but Lonesome certainly has its charm.

    It’s just a shame about those clunky talkie scenes.

  • Century of Cinema: Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans

    Ally

    Day 2 of Century of Cinema. Also day 42 of Project Glowing Rectangle, in which I try to divert some of my daily doomscrolling time back towards a more nourishing oblong: Cinema.

    Title: Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans
    Director: F.W. Murnau
    Writer: Carl Mayer
    Year: 1927
    Country: USA

    Format: Blu-ray
    Length: 95 minutes
    Seen: 6 March 2026
    Rewatch

    Picking a film for 1927 was tricky. This was the year that gave us the seminal sci-fi classic Metropolis, and the Oscars’ first Best Picture, Wings. But in the end I settled for the first American film by German Expressionist pioneer F.W. Murnau: Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans.

    A Man (George O’Brien) is seduced by a glamorous Woman From the City (Margaret Livingston), who persuades him to murder his Wife (Janet Gaynor). The Man takes his Wife out in a rowboat, planning to push her overboard. But as she cowers and pleads for mercy, he is stricken with guilt and cannot do the terrible deed. He begs her forgiveness, but can their fractured relationship be healed?

    Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans won three of the first ever Academy Awards. One was for cinematography, one for Janet Gaynor’s performance. Its third Oscar was in a category never since repeated: Unique and Artistic Picture. (I wish they’d bring that one back!) It’s almost a mirror image of another film I watched recently: Varieté. That film started with a man leaving his wife and ends in murder; this one starts with attempted murder and ends in reconciliation. I question whether reconciliation with a would-be murderer is really A Good Thing, but Sunrise is such a visually stunning piece of cinematic storytelling, I find myself swept along by it regardless.

    The film uses a variety of German Expressionist techniques to vividly evoke the characters’ emotional landscapes. There are too many enchanting images to count. I particularly love the shot of the Man surrounded by ghostly images of the Woman From the City, clinging to him seductively as he contemplates the murder of his Wife.

    Its use of sound is equally inventive. Despite being a “silent” film, it came with an early example of a synchronised soundtrack—no “talkie” dialogue, just music and occasional sounds effects. The music, like the imagery, overlaps different styles and tones to create complex sonic textures.

    Sunrise is an incredibly evocative film. Admittedly it has an uneven structure and a troubling central premise, but the sheer artistry of its construction kept me utterly beguiled.

  • Bookish Ramble: The Moomins and the Great Flood

    Ally

    Title: The Moomins and the Great Flood
    (Moomins #1)
    Author: Tove Jansson
    (Translated by David McDuff)
    Year: 1945
    Country: Finland

    Format: E-book
    Pages: 52
    Read: 21 – 24 February 2026
    First reading

    Moominmamma and her son Moomintroll are looking for Moominpappa, who hasn’t come back from his latest adventure. Their search takes them through forests, swamps and mountains, meeting various weird and wonderful people along the way. A heavy rainstorm almost spells disaster, but Moominmamma and Moomintroll survive the flood and eventually find Moominpappa—and a new place to call home.

    The Moomins and the Great Flood was Finland’s introduction to the Moomins, first published in 1945—but only translated into English in 2005. It was the last Moomins novel I read, and to me it feels very different from the rest of the series. For one thing it’s a much shorter book. It’s also less coherent, flitting from scene to scene without pause, like a small child breathlessly telling you a story: “And then this happened, and then this happened, and then this happened…” Tove Jansson’s illustrations are (as always) utterly charming, and there’s a faint glimmer of the magic that would come in later books. But this is easily my least favourite Moomins novel of the bunch, and certainly not one I’d recommend as an introduction. Much better skip ahead to the magnificent second book, Comet in Moominland.

    The edition I read did include some interesting bonus material though. There’s a nice foreword from the current Children’s Laureate, Frank Cottrell-Boyce, providing some historical context for the story. There’s also excerpts from Tove Jansson’s own notes about her characters, originally written to help prospective writers and directors of Moomins adaptations. So, while the novel itself was pretty disappointing, reading it still enhanced my apprecation for the other books in a series I’ve grown to adore.