Ian MacLeod, House of Storms (Ace Books, 2005)
Of The Light Ages, the 2003 prequel to House of Storms , I had the following to say: "MacLeod's writing is simply gorgeous; it's easy to see how he's won World Fantasy Awards for his short fiction. His aether-spun England is vividly real, and his characters fully-realized and sympathetic " If only I could say the same thing about this book. But I can't. Not with a clear conscience.
The Light Ages didn’t demand a sequel. It worked beautifully as a stand alone novel, but for reasons unfathomable to me, MacLeod has produced a second novel of his alternate England, set approximately 100 years later, in the new Age of Light ushered in at the first novel’s close. Oddly, one of the main characters in House of Storms is the daughter of two middle-aged minor characters in the first book. How this is possible is never broached. In fact, Alice Meynell is presented as being in her 40s, which seems highly implausible, given the gap of 100 years. Best not to dwell on it, though.
House of Storms loosely chronicles Alice’s overarching desire to be wealthy and powerful beyond anyone’s wildest dreams, and the dramatic results of her overweening hubris and ambition. The story is told alternately from her perspective, that of her son Ralph, his lover Marion, their son Klade and . . . the titular house. No, really, there are several chapters spread throughout the book that are devoted to an odd third person narrative that can only be from the perspective of Invercombe, a family holding where, as a last ditch effort, Alice takes her teenaged son Ralph to recuperate from tuberculosis.
Alice is a vain, ambitious woman who uses aether-powered spells to keep herself sexually appealing. [Aether, if you haven’t read the first novel, is a natural substance, quite magical in its properties, that fueled this world’s industrial age. Overuse of aether is detrimental to the human body, eventually altering its very structure.] She’s made great use of that appeal -- and judicious application of murderous intent -- to propel herself into a position of wealth and power that still fails to sate her. Ralph is her ailing son and only heir. Marion is a shore girl Alice brings to the house as a maid . . . and all but pushes into her son’s arms. Fearful that Ralph will finally succumb to tuberculosis, Alice hies to Einfell, home of the changelings (some born that way, some created, through overuse of aether), to beg an ex-lover for help.
Unsurprisingly, Alice gets what she wants, and what ensues is an abrupt recovery and a whirlwind romance between Ralph and Marion, who find a common bond not only in their nascent sexuality, but in scientific discovery. To avoid the inevitability of Ralph’s return to school and responsibility, the two scheme to run off to the islands, to gather evidence for their evolution-like theory. Alice, not one to sit idly by while someone disrupts her ambition, thwarts the plan, ripping apart the relationship she herself set in motion, and sending the child Marion bears (unbeknownst to Ralph) away. More’s the pity, since the young lovers breathe life into the dull narrative, their enthusiasm for each other and their discoveries genuinely affecting.
And then, abruptly, the book jumps forward a good nine years or so. Alice, having also offed her husband in part one, is now in truly charge of the Telegraphers’ Guild. Ralph, leader in name only, is married, with two young children. Marion has become a country nurse. And we are introduced to Klade, their son, who has been raised, unknown to them, at Einfell all this time. Apparently it’s Klade who paid the price for Ralph’s miraculous recovery, for he is not human, but changeling.
Before you can even get adjusted to this turn of events, Alice casts an aether-fueled spell powerful enough to throw the country into chaos . . . and into war, east versus west. Presumably she seeks greater power and a permanent place in history. Ralph is now a general of the Western army (it’s best not to ask where a Telegrapher gained ability in military tactics) and Marion has become a saintly icon for the east, where they chant her name like a funeral dirge.
What the hell, you might ask. I sure did.
It’s really not worth delving into the details of the last part of the book. Let’s just say there’s a brief family reunion, Alice gets an unsatisfactory comeuppance and everyone goes their separate ways in the end. And maybe a new age is born from the ravages of war. But truthfully, by the time I slogged that far, I could care less.
For all that The Light Ages was a work of art, House of Storms is . . . a sodden mess. MacLeod’s sudden jumps in time and location make it impossible to identify with or care for any of the characters or get any feel for narrative continuity. By the time you think you have a grasp on the actors, they’re yanked away, only to be replaced by older, changed versions of themselves in an unfamiliar setting. Ralph and Marion have it in them to be engaging, sympathetic characters, but they were never given a chance. Alice fails at being either an interesting foil or a satisfactory villain. Rather, she’s like the summation of every jealous, cheating, money grubbing soap opera diva you’ve ever seen on daytime TV. Starting the book from her point of view? A fatal mistake. Klade is intriguing, but difficult to identify with. And no one else is around long enough to get a feel for.
In the midst of this mess MacLeod has dropped social commentary -- about the dangers of capitalism and unfettered war, the divisions between social classes and the impropriety of keeping servants and slavery -- messages that get lost in the uneven narrative.
I was surprised, but delighted, when I discovered MacLeod had produced a sequel to The Light Ages. Now I couldn’t be more disappointed. House of Storms is not the proper heir to that marvelous novel and should never have seen the light of day.
