Sci fi Sunday - Gail Carriger's Blameless

Happy Sci Fi Sunday! Continuing with our steampunk theme, I offer you my daughter Sarah's review of Gail Carriger's Blameless, the third book in the Parasol Protectorate Series. Enjoy!

Blameless: Parasol Protectorate book 3  
Author: Gail Carriger
Publisher: Orbit Books
American release date: September 1st 2010
Format/Genre/Length: Novel/Fantasy/374 pages
Publisher/Industry Age Rating: Older Teen
Overall Personal Rating: A
Similar series/titles to check out: the Sookie Stackhouse series; Kieli; Last Exile

Alexia Tarabotti thinks her life is hard enough living as a preternatural socialite in steampunk Victorian England - but when her werewolf husband kicks her out of their home, she loses her position in the Shadow Council, and there are evil mechanical ladybugs trying to kill her, things go from bad to unbearable. There's only one option left to Alexia if she wants to stay alive - road trip to Italy, anyone?

Synopsis:

After finding herself in a most delicate condition—something that should be impossible given that Lord Maccon's supernatural state disallows breeding of any type—Lady Alexia Maccon-Tarabotti now finds herself kicked out of Scotland and her husband's familial home and back into the not-so-loving arms of her own family, who have no qualms about letting Alexia know how they feel about having such a scandalized individual under their roof. Angry at Lord Maccon and now unceremoniously cut off from the protection of both the clan and the Shadow Council due to a curt dismissal from the Queen herself, Alexia turns to the usually comforting presence of her vampire best friend Lord Akeldama—only to find the man missing, leaving behind only a vague message about looking after his cat. When a mini-plague of mechanical ladybugs, along with practically all the vampires in London, force Alexia to protect herself in a most unladylike fashion, England starts looking less and less safe for a pregnant preternatural. With her father's faithful butler Floote and the French inventor Madame Lefoux at her side, Alexia embarks on a road trip of steampunk proportions with the final destination being Italy: an ultra-religious country openly hostile towards supernatural beings and filled with Templars and delicious pesto galore. Who would ever guess such a place would be the best sanctuary for Alexia Maccon to seek answers about her preternatural state? But even the very orange landscape of Florence conceals some of the greatest dangers that Alexia has ever faced.

As Alexia and her jolly 'parasol protectorate' find themselves getting deeper into a whole mess of mysteries in Italy, back in London the arrogant and heartbroken Lord Maccon has decided to treat his state of mind by getting thoroughly hammered, much to the chagrin of his beta, Professor Lyall, who is forced to hold together the Woolsey werewolf pack in his elective absence - which means handling everything from challenges from lone wolves to dealing with the pressure of an irate Shadow Council. But when the Woolsey pack find itself being pulled into the inner political business of vampires, mainly the disappearance of Lord Akeldama, Lord Maccon will have to sober up quick if he wants to help find his wife's good friend as well as get back into his beloved's good graces (if Alexia will still have him). That is, if Maccon can stop acting like an arrogant buffoon long enough to realize the worst kind of truth there is: that he was totally and utterly wrong.

Commentary:

Do you like fantasy books in alternative Victorian England where the technology and fashion of steampunk is part of everyday life? Do you like your werewolves and vampires and other supernatural things to wear fancy dress and follow the old fashioned rules of etiquette, usually to humorous effect? Do you like reading about a well-read half-Italian woman who isn't afraid to speak her mind and wields a parasol like a weapon (because it is)? And . . . you're not reading the Parasol Protectorate series by Gail Carriger, now at three books and ongoing? For shame! Right now, there hasn't been a better time to jump into this excellent series, especially since the third book kicks off so many plots and subplots that will continue the story through several more volumes - all of them wickedly interesting and sure to make great reads in the next year. Plus, more Alexia Tarabotti! And that can never be a bad thing.

In the third book of the series chronicling Alexia's adventures in both the abnormal and the mundane, Blameless, she finds herself in a bigger pickle than ever before: her husband has deserted her; there's an impossible baby on the way; she has to live with her odious family yet again; her vampire BFF has gone AWOL with no clear reason why; it seems like everyone is pretty much out to kill her - including, of all things, mechanical ladybugs with very dangerous antennae. As usual, the amount of paranormal nonsense Alexia must go through on a daily basis is always strange and vastly interesting - as well as the fact that Alexia is less scandalized by these things happening to her as much as the fact that protecting herself from them means ruining all her best skirts and gowns in the process. In this volume, however, she has one more thing to worry about - she's pregnant. Her conversations with the 'infant-inconvenience' growing in her body are terribly amusing, and it makes one wonder what kind of mother Alexia will make if/when the child is born - or for that matter, what kind of father Lord Maccon might be.

Another new thing in Blameless is the new attention on Lady Tarabotti's preternatural soulless state, now more curious than ever seeing that she's with child by a werewolf, and such a union is rare if not impossible. As readers, we have spent two books following Alexia's life without a soul and have gotten used to her 'condition', so seeing characters like the German scientist Mr. Lange-Wilsdorf (who insists on addressing Alexia as the 'Female Specimen') and the church's preceptor (who in turn calls Alexia 'My Soulless One', capital letters and all) examine her like a slide underneath a microscope's gaze is unsettling in the strangest of ways. It's a good sign that Alexia's soullessness is going to become part of the ongoing story in a big way and I look forward to seeing how everything is resolved, if anything is. Add to this the dynamics of werewolf packs and vampire hives as well as the inner workings of England's high society set against a very gears-and-cogs world and it's plain to see that all the world-building and details built up in the first book are greatly paying off.

So, let's add it all up, shall we? In this book alone, a fearlessly stubborn and pregnant soulless female lead is dodging killer insects and odious vampires currently swarming a most steampunk London set in the Victorian age before being forced to flee with her stiff upper lipped butler and French inventor female friend to the land of tasty green sauce and dementedly religious Templars while her husband skulks around drunk on 'pickling' liquid and his beta is forced to pick up the pace of running the pack - and somewhere in the English countryside a fabulously distressed vampire is looking for his favorite drone and a research center disguised as a hat boutique is being overrun by ugly headgear by an unwitting Ivy Hisselpenny and her board-treading husband. With all theseawesome exciting things going on, you'd be demmed foolish to not give this book a whirl.

Overall Grade: A

The Alexia Tarabotti books continue to bring it in terms of adventure, humor, and stylish steampunk - whether in Victorian England or Templar-infested Italy.

In the Radius: Fans of Parasol Protectorate's steampunk-styled action should check out the anime series Last Exile, a sci-fi show created by Studio GONZO which has also been reviewed on the Anime Radius site.


Until Next time, take care!

♥ Julie

Guest Blogger Gail Carriger

Good morning and welcome! Today my guest blogger is the renowned and talented author Gail Carriger whose Alexia Tarrabotti novels have raised Steampunk to a whole new level. Indeed, she brings us what may be termed "teapunk". Join us in this tea room, if you will, while she discusses steampunk, and tells us a little bit about her upcoming new series.

Let me just start by saying that I have read the first three books in the Alexia Tarabotti series and am almost done with the fourth, and they are amazingly wonderful books. Alexia is a heroine you aren't likely to forget, not your typical pretty face. She has brains and courage and a whole lot of nerve. She's also a preternatural, which means she has no soul, whereas the supernaturals, such as vampires and werewolves, have an excess of soul. The first book, Soulless, begins in Victorian London where we meet both Alexia and one of the sexiest most macho Scottish werewolves ever, Lord Maccon.

Now, if you will, I'd like to introducer Ms. Gail Carriger, shown here in one of her very lovely steampunk outfits, and let her carryon, while we wait for our tea.







My question to Gail was this: Has your interest in steampunk affected the formation of your characters, what with Victorian mores and all? Can you speculate as to what they and their relative relationships would be like had they been born in another time, such as today?

The Victorian side of steampunk is vital to my characters and to my enjoyment of writing them. I experience gleeful joy when taking modern tropes - a strong kick ass urban fantasy heroine, barbaric alpha male, flamboyant San Francisco gay man - and making them play nice within an 1870's British class and etiquette system. Suddenly my strong heroine has to cut more with her tongue than a knife, is worried about showing her ankles, and constantly seeks both a useful role in society and friends who value her intelligence and wit. My alpha male becomes a werewolf chaffing against the rules of polite society and proper dress. My flamboyant gay vampire borrows form both Oscar Wilde and the Scarlet Pimpernel, manipulating the threads of society over centuries, his relationships bittersweet and complex, allowing him to be more than just a gay BFF. 

I genuinely feel that without the steampunk setting the characters would be less whole. They would need other - possibly more artificial - components and struggles, and frankly I don't think I would enjoy writing them as much. I love the tension a Victorian world gives any kind of modern mind set. All my characters are struggling to balance their true natures against the pressures of society and in turn against modern sensibilities (informed, of course, by their creator who is quite definitely a creature of the contemporary world). This gives me a conflict of culture to play with and nothing is more exciting to me as a writer. It helps that the clothing back then was just so much more fabulous!

Excerpt, Soulless, by Gail Carriger

In Which Parasols Prove Useful

Miss Alexia Tarabotti was not enjoying her evening. Private balls were never more than middling amusements for spinsters, and Miss Tarabotti was not the kind of spinster who could garner even that much pleasure from the event. To put the pudding in the puff: she had retreated to the library, her favorite sanctuary in any house, only to happen upon an unexpected vampire.

She glared at the vampire.

For his part, the vampire seemed to feel that their encounter had improved his ball experience immeasurably. For there she sat, without escort, in a low-necked ball gown.

In this particular case, what he did not know could hurt him. For Miss Alexia had been born without a soul, which, as any decent vampire of good blooding knew, made her a lady to avoid most assiduously.

Yet 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.

Miss Tarabotti was not in the least surprised; soullessness always neutralized supernatural abilities. She issued the vampire a very dour look. Certainly, most daylight folk wouldn’t peg her as anything less than a standard English prig, but had this man not even bothered to read the vampire’s official abnormality roster for London and its greater environs?   

The vampire recovered his equanimity quickly enough. He reared away from Alexia, knocking over a nearby tea trolley. Physical contact broken, his fangs reappeared. Clearly not the sharpest of prongs, he then darted forward from the neck like a serpent, diving in for another chomp.

“I say!” said Alexia to the vampire. “We have not even been introduced!”

Miss Tarabotti had never actually had a vampire try to bite her. She knew one or two by reputation, of course, and was friendly with Lord Akeldama. Who was not friendly with Lord Akeldama? But no vampire had ever actually attempted to feed on her before!

So Alexia, who abhorred violence, was forced to grab the miscreant by his nostrils, a delicate and therefore painful area, and shove him away. He stumbled over the fallen tea trolley, lost his balance in a manner astonishingly graceless for a vampire, and fell to the floor. He landed right on top of a plate of treacle tart.

Miss Tarabotti was most distressed by this. She was particularly fond of treacle tart and had been looking forward to consuming that precise plateful. She picked up her parasol. It was terribly tasteless for her to be carrying a parasol at an evening ball, but Miss Tarabotti rarely went anywhere without it. It was of a style entirely of her own devising: a black frilly confection with purple satin pansies sewn about, brass hardware, and buckshot in its silver tip.

She whacked the vampire right on top of the head with it as he tried to extract himself from his newly intimate relations with the tea trolley. The buckshot gave the brass parasol just enough heft to make a deliciously satisfying thunk.  

“Manners!” instructed Miss Tarabotti.

The vampire howled in pain and sat back down on the treacle tart.

Alexia followed up her advantage with a vicious prod between the vampire’s legs. His howl went quite a bit higher in pitch, and he crumpled into a fetal position. While Miss Tarabotti was a proper English young lady, aside from not having a soul and being half Italian, she did spend quite a bit more time than most other young ladies riding and walking and was therefore unexpectedly strong.

Miss Tarabotti leaped forward—as much as one could leap in full triple-layered underskirts, draped bustle, and ruffled taffeta top-skirt—and bent over the vampire. He was clutching at his indelicate bits and writhing about. The pain would not last long given his supernatural healing ability, but it hurt most decidedly in the interim.

Alexia pulled a long wooden hair stick out of her elaborate coiffure. Blushing at her own temerity, she ripped open his shirtfront, which was cheap and overly starched, and poked at his chest, right over the heart. Miss Tarabotti sported a particularly large and sharp hair stick. With her free hand, she made certain to touch his chest, as only physical contact would nullify his supernatural abilities.

“Desist that horrible noise immediately,” she instructed the creature.

The vampire quit his squealing and lay perfectly still. His beautiful blue eyes watered slightly as he stared fixedly at the wooden hair stick. Or, as Alexia liked to call it, hair stake.

“Explain yourself!” Miss Tarabotti demanded, increasing the pressure.

“A thousand apologies.” The vampire looked confused. “Who are you?” Tentatively he reached for his fangs. Gone.

To make her position perfectly clear, Alexia stopped touching him (though she kept her sharp hair stick in place). His fangs grew back.   

He gasped in amazement. “What are you? I thought you were a lady, alone. It would be my right to feed, if you were left this carelethly unattended. Pleathe, I did not mean to prethume,” he lisped around his fangs, real panic in his eyes.

Alexia, finding it hard not to laugh at the lisp, said, “There is no cause for you to be so overly dramatic. Your hive queen will have told you of my kind.” She returned her hand to his chest once more. The vampire’s fangs retracted.

He looked at her as though she had suddenly sprouted whiskers and hissed at him.

Miss Tarabotti was surprised. Supernatural creatures, be they vampires, werewolves, or ghosts, owed their existence to an overabundance of soul, an excess that refused to die. Most knew that others like Miss Tarabotti existed, born without any soul at all. The estimable Bureau of Unnatural Registry (BUR), a division of Her Majesty’s Civil Service, called her ilk preternatural. Alexia thought the term nicely dignified. What vampires called her was far less complimentary. After all, preternaturals had once hunted them, and vampires had long memories. Natural, daylight persons were kept in the dark, so to speak, but any vampire worth his blood should know a preternatural’s touch. This one’s ignorance was untenable. Alexia said, as though to a very small child, “I am a preternatural.”

The vampire looked embarrassed. “Of course you are,” he agreed, obviously still not quite comprehending. “Again, my apologies, lovely one. I am overwhelmed to meet you. You are my first”—he stumbled over the word—“preternatural.” He frowned. “Not supernatural, not natural, of course! How foolish of me not to see the dichotomy.” His eyes narrowed into craftiness. He was now studiously ignoring the hair stick and looking tenderly up into Alexia’s face.

Miss Tarabotti knew full well her own feminine appeal. The kindest compliment her face could ever hope to garner was “exotic,” never ‘“lovely.” Not that it had ever received either. Alexia figured that vampires, like all predators, were at their most charming when cornered.

The vampire’s hands shot forward, going for her neck. Apparently, he had decided if he could not suck her blood, strangulation was an acceptable alternative. Alexia jerked back, at the same time pressing her hair stick into the creature’s white flesh. It slid in about half an inch. The vampire reacted with a desperate wriggle that, even without superhuman strength, unbalanced Alexia in her heeled velvet dancing shoes. She fell back. He stood, roaring in pain, with her hair stick half in and half out of his chest.

Miss Tarabotti scrabbled for her parasol, rolling about inelegantly among the tea things, hoping her new dress would miss the fallen foodstuffs. She found the parasol and came upright, swinging it in a wide arc. Purely by chance, the heavy tip struck the end of her wooden hair stick, driving it straight into the vampire’s heart.

The creature stood stock-still, a look of intense surprise on his handsome face. Then he fell backward onto the much-abused plate of treacle tart, flopping in a limp-overcooked-asparagus kind of way. His alabaster face turned a yellowish gray, as though he were afflicted with the jaundice, and he went still. Alexia’s books called this end of the vampire life cycle dissanimation. Alexia, who thought the action astoundingly similar to a soufflé going flat, decided at that moment to call it the Grand Collapse.

She intended to waltz directly out of the library without anyone the wiser to her presence there. This would have resulted in the loss of her best hair stick and her well-deserved tea, as well as a good deal of drama. Unfortunately, a small group of young dandies came traipsing in at that precise moment. What young men of such dress were doing in a library was anyone’s guess. Alexia felt the most likely explanation was that they had become lost while looking for the card room. Regardless, their presence forced her to pretend that she, too, had just discovered the dead vampire. With a resigned shrug, she screamed and collapsed into a faint.

She stayed resolutely fainted, despite the liberal application of smelling salts, which made her eyes water most tremendously, a cramp in the back of one knee, and the fact that her new ball gown was getting most awfully wrinkled. All its many layers of green trim, picked to the height of fashion in lightening shades to complement the cuirasse bodice, were being crushed into oblivion under her weight. The expected noises ensued: a good deal of yelling, much bustling about, and several loud clatters as one of the housemaids cleared away the fallen tea.

Then came the sound she had half anticipated, half dreaded. An authoritative voice cleared the library of both young dandies and all other interested parties who had flowed into the room upon discovery of the tableau. The voice instructed everyone to “get out!” while he “gained the particulars from the young lady” in tones that brooked no refusal.

Silence descended.

“Mark my words, I will use something much, much stronger than smelling salts,” came a growl in Miss Tarabotti’s left ear. The voice was low and tinged with a hint of Scotland. It would have caused Alexia to shiver and think primal monkey thoughts about moons and running far and fast, if she’d had a soul. Instead it caused her to sigh in exasperation and sit up.

“And a good evening to you, too, Lord Maccon. Lovely weather we are having for this time of year, is it not?” She patted at her hair, which was threatening to fall down without the hair stick in its proper place. Surreptitiously, she looked about for Lord Conall Maccon’s second in command, Professor Lyall. Lord Maccon tended to maintain a much calmer temper when his Beta was present. But, then, as Alexia had come to comprehend, that appeared to be the main role of a Beta—especially one attached to Lord Maccon.

“Ah, Professor Lyall, how nice to see you again.” She smiled in relief.

Professor Lyall, the Beta in question, was a slight, sandy-haired gentleman of indeterminate age and pleasant disposition, as agreeable, in fact, as his Alpha was sour. He grinned at her and doffed his hat, which was of first-class design and sensible material. His cravat was similarly subtle, for, while it was tied expertly, the knot was a humble one.

“Miss Tarabotti, how delicious to find ourselves in your company once more.” His voice was soft and mild-mannered.

“Stop humoring her, Randolph,” barked Lord Maccon. The fourth Earl of Woolsey was much larger than Professor Lyall and in possession of a near-permanent frown. Or at least he always seemed to be frowning when he was in the presence of Miss Alexia Tarabotti, ever since the hedgehog incident (which really, honestly, had not been her fault). He also had unreasonably pretty tawny eyes, mahogany-colored hair, and a particularly nice nose. The eyes were currently glaring at Alexia from a shockingly intimate distance.

“Why is it, Miss Tarabotti, every time I have to clean up a mess in a library, you just happen to be in the middle of it?” the earl demanded of her.

Alexia gave him a withering look and brushed down the front of her green taffeta gown, checking for bloodstains. 


Could you tell us a little about your new series, please?

The new series, The Finishing School, is slightly different although still steampunk. Since I am working with young adults they are already less informed by social mores and more apt to challenge the bonds of society. In a way, I get to play with characters who are entirely creatures of their time period and watch them evolve, through adventure, a modern sensibility that is the result of the situations I have pressed upon them. It's a whole lot of fun.

Well, I for one, shall be eagerly awaiting the arrival of the fifth and final installment of the Alexia Tarabotti books, Timeless, which is scheduled to release in March of 2012, although I must admit to a certain reluctance at saying good-bye to characters I have grown to love. I'm also excited to read the new series, which I understand takes place 25 years before the Alexia series.




Thank you so much for joining us here today, Gail. It has been a pleasure, and I have enjoyed your company immensely. Readers, please feel free to join in the conversation with comments, questions, or observations. We'd love to hear from you!




Until next time, take care!


♥ Julie