A Stitch In Time - Andrew J. Robinson

Probably to the surprise of no-one, I'm a huge Star Trek nerd. I'm especially fond of Deep Space Nine, which came onto the TV scene in the mid nineties, and helped shift the direction of science-fiction in television with its serialised format, lasting consequences, and tight characterisation dependent on relationships built over time. One of the better of those relationships was between the station doctor, Bashir, and a tailor by the name of Garak. Garak, a "plain, simple tailor" was the only member of the previous occupiers left on the station. He had a mysterious past, a penchant for arch, obfuscated, multi-layered commentary, and a wicked sense of humour. He may also have had something of a crush on the doctor, which was rather risqué for the mid-nineties, and never actively spelled out at the time. 

The actor behind Garak, however, Andrew J. Robinson, was always said this was the case. And he even wrote a book  in the franchise, centred on everyone's favourite tailor slash spy. That book, A Stitch In Time, went out of print very quickly, and was only available for ransom-like sums on ebay. But now it's been re-released on ebook, and audiobook, for relative pennies. And so, here we are, looking at a book by the actor, about the character he played for years, and whose performance helped personify that character and make them desperately, fantastically real. 

Which is all well and good. But what's the book like? Trek has a rather fraught history of quality control, after all. 

Good news. This is a very good book. 

The chapters flip between periods, from Garak's past into his present and back again, bookended by letters written to Doctor Bashir, back on Deep Space Nine. Because Garak is on Cardassia now, rebuilding a world broken and sharp with shards. Survivors of an occupying species, themselves now survivors of an occupation. What they'll rebuild is very much open to question, what their new society will be like. And what drives the people who lead this effort, how they get there, what they're willing or able to atone for, is something else entirely. And Robionson shows us all of that effortlessly. In Garak's interactions with shopkeepers, with doctors, with old enemies now old friends, and vice versa. With patriots and killers sifting the rubble for anything of worth, and with normal people who just want to remember, and rebuild. He shows us a Cardassia on its knees, trying to figure out where to go next, and makes it feel viscerally real, concrete, something you can put hands on, populated by people whose pain you can feel and wounds you can see. He evokes the idea of a war torn space perfectly, of the aftershocks of a conflict after the end has been and gone. 

And he also builds an excellent contrast with the old Cardassia, rigid, uniform, structured, arrogant and certain of itself. Garak's past holds up a mirror to the broken present, as the journey from one to the other builds to convergence. The two Cardassia's and the two Garak's are the same, but different, one older and perhaps wiser, but both speaking with the same voice. 

And what a voice it is. Robinson has fallen into Garak's rhythms here, you can hear the voice of the character from the show reverberating off the page. Sly, witty, charming, a driven liar and a patriot. I can't really dig into who he was, because the book does that for me. But the younger Garak feels a little less well-formed, but equally plausible, and his tone and voice shine through it all. There's an authenticity of language, a legitimacy of the prose that you rarely feel in franchise fiction. But here, the character sounds like themselves, and fits into who we think they are, even as they expand our boundaries of understanding. If the other characters are a little less rounded, so be it - this is Garak's story, and his view, and through that lens, we see enough. And it's enough to leave you delighted and heartbroken all at once, a portrait of someone on the edge of themselves. 

Anyway. Yes. This is a book about the past of one of Deep Space Nine's most mysterious characters. And it's revelatory in parts, and occluded still in others. And that's perhaps as it should be. And the future is touched on too, and again, not always clear. But there's a sense of hope throughout the text, and a sense of place, and a sense of, well, character, which made this a compelling, compulsive read. Even if you're not a Star Trek fan, this one is a cracking read.

The Ninth House - Leigh Bardugo

There's a lot of wizard school stories out there. The Ninth House is something different. Something with a lot more teeth. The sort of book that would jump Harry Potter in a dark alley with brass knuckles and a tire iron. And I love it for that. Because The Ninth House is here to talk serious business, but it's going to have fun and look good doing it. 

It's a story about magic. And about how the epicentre of that magic is, well, Yale. About how the young and wealthy spend themselves and others (mostly others) to  do impossible things. And how those things typically just happen to align with maintaining their own wealth and power. About how even if you give people the ability ot move through walls, or see the future, or change the weather, or create unbreakable contracts, they'll still mostly do people things with it, in a frenzy of patronising and self-aggrandising bullshit. The Ninth House knows most of the people in the story are terrible, and that's important - it wants to put a lens up against the structural underpinnings of both the magical school myth and our own society. And so here they are, the elite, doing magic to keep themselves that way, and being about as ugly as any street-level hustler while they do it, just with larger levers and a touch more self-delusion.

Maybe that sounds a bit grim. But what it really feels like is sharp. This is a story with a razor edge to it, one so fine you won't feel it until it suddenly takes your breath away. Because this Yale feels like a dream poisoned by our own hubris. The slumbering spires, the gothic elegance and opulence of the buildings, which help capture a lavish sense of place, also evoke a lavish sense of wealth and privilege. This is a small community which feels real, as it lives and breathes small scandals and petty grievances between teenagers with far too much power and money and nowhere near enough oversight. This is a Yale whose gatekeeping is real as well as metaphorical. The dive into blue chip money blended with old-school blood rituals is a marvel.

Speaking of oversight - that's why we're here. Our protagonist works for Lethe , the group tasked with keeping an eye on all the others, to make sure that if they're murdering homeless people while using them to predict the stock market, they at least do it quietly. Or, to be fair, not at all. Because nobody needs the attention. Nobody wants to ask or answer any questions, rock the boat, make things uncomfortable. Lethe is here to keep everyone in line, but is also complicit in keeping things comfortable. Their existence is dependent on all the other houses, all the other rich young things, relying on a balance of power and a need to avoid too much notice. And now, you see, there's been a murder. Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe it does. Maybe it was magical. Maybe it wasn't. But Alex Stern, the newest Lethe adherent, is going to investigate it, at the very least so that she can keep her scholarship. And she's also not quite what anyone expects.

I don't want to talk too much about Alex as a protagonist, because her character is revealed slowly over the course of the story. But I will say that she fits the profile of the troubled, the traumatised, the person who assumes the worst because for them the worst has already happened. Alex is all brittle, sharp edges, leaving cuts on everything she runs into. She's smart, and funny, and deeply pragmatic and driven. And maybe held together like a shattered pane of glass, but a whole person, on and off the page. And that's fair for the supporting cast, too - some we see in more detail than others, but even the broadest brush stroke characters have some fine details that make you see them as people, as individuals. Granted, usually right before they do something heinous, but still.

So yes. This is, I'm unwilling to call it "magic school for grown ups". It's magic school with an examination of power, of violence and abuse and systemic oppression. Magic with a harder edge. Magic with teeth. And this is a book that'll sink those teeth in and not let go until it's done with you.

So go pick it up - what are you waiting for?