Yöpartio

Nimi: Yöpartio
Alkuperäinen nimi: Ночной дозор
Kirjoittaja: Sergei Lukjanenko
Julkaistu: 1998, suomeksi vasta 2012
Genre: Urbaani fantasia, kauhu
Sivuluku: 496


Nowkku tätä suositteli muutama viikko takaperin, ja Kashiihan sitten sen kirjastosta varasi. Nyt on jo toinen kirja menossa, ja loputkin (tähän mennessä?) neliosaisesta sarjasta suomennettua kirjaa pöydän kulmalla odottamassa (samoin kuin pino muita jänniä kirjoja joita samalla kirjastoreissulla sattui mukaan. When it rains it pours, tai jotain sinnepäin...).

Yöpartio on tosiaan venäläisen kauhufantasiasarjan aloitusteos, jossa Yöpartiossa työskentelevän Valon palvelijan Anton Gorodetskin kautta tutustutaan Moskovan hämärään puoleen. Maailmassamme asuu ihmisten rinnalla Muita, ihmissusia, vampyyreja, erinäisiä taikuuden käyttäjiä, joista monet jakautuvat joko Valon tai Pimeyden palvelijoihin ja työskentelevät Yö- tai Päiväpartiossa, vastapuolen tyyppejä syynäämässä. Anton on ollut jo viitisen vuotta konttorirottana mutta on nyt päässyt kokeilemaan kenttätyötä. Yhteen työyöhön mahtuu sekä luvatta metsästäviä vampyyreja että nuori nainen, jonka päällä pyörii niin voimakas kirous, että se uhkaa tuhota koko Moskovan jos sitä ei saada kutistettua.

Anton tuntuu kyynistyvän hetki hetkeltä: kirjan kolmen tarinan aikana hän saa huomata, että Valon palvelijatkaan eivät pelaa aina ihan puhtaalla pakalla. Teksti on sujuvasti suomennettu: välillä tuli vastaan, ei nyt omituisia mutta hämmentäviä sanankäänteitä tai hahmojen toimia, mutta vaikka ihan naapurissa nyt ollaankin, niin tämän voinee laskea vieraan kulttuurin piikiin.

Julkaisuvuotta netistä etsiessäni selvisi, että kirjoja on venäjäksi viisi, joista tuoreinta ei siis ole vielä suomennettu, ja että elokuviakin löytyy kaksi! Molemmat tosin keskittyvät Yöpartion tarinoihin, vaikka toisen nimi onkin Päiväpartio.


Meidän Partion työntekijöiden elämästä suurin osa kului töissä. Tämä ei johtunut siitä, että olisimme olleet intomielisiä työnarkomaaneja: mekin ymmärsimme, että työ on vain sarja nälän aiheuttamia pakkoliikkeitä. Syynä ei ollut myöskään se, että olisimme pitäneet työtämme erityisen mielenkiintoisena. Suurin osa Yöpartion työstä oli tylsää partiointia ja toimistotyötä. Syy oli yksinkertaisesti se, että meitä oli niin vähän. Päiväpartioon oli paljon helpompi saada työntekijöitä, sillä jokainen pimeyden palvelija halusi kiihkeästi päästä vallan makuun. Me Valon palvelijat olimme aivan toista maata. 
   Mutta työn lisäksi jokaisella meistä oli elämässään pieni kaistale, joka ei kuulunut kenellekään muulle, ei Valolle eikä Pimeydelle. Se kuului vain meille itsellemme. Emme kätkeneet sitä, mutta emme myöskään esitelleet sitä avoimesti. Se oli jäänne menneisyydestä, siltä ajalta, kun olimme vielä olleet ihmisiä.

Death of a Snob

Title: Death of a Snob
Author: M.C. Beaton
Published: 1991
Genre: Murder mystery
Pages: 148



   Police Constable Hamish Macbeth was a desperate man--ill, friendless, and, at the approach to Christmas, near to death.
   Or so he told himself.
   The start of the misery had been the beginning of a Scottish winter which seemed hell-bent on proving any scientist believing in the greenhouse effect a fool. Like many others in the village of Lochdubh on the west coast of Sutherland, Hamish had contracted a severe cold with all its attendant miseries of boiling head, running nose, aching joints, and monumental self-pity. Although he had not phoned anyone to tell of his misery, nevertheless, like all people in the grip of self-pity, he expected his friends to have telepathic powers. 
   The only bright spark in all the gloom was that he was going home for Christmas. His parents had moved to a croft house and land near Rogart. He would soon be there, with his mother to fuss over him.



Except that mum calls on the next page and tells poor Hamish that he can't come, on the account of a visiting aunt who loathes Hamish. So, when his old crush Priscilla asks for a favour, Hamish accepts: the favour, after all, comes with a free holiday.

Priscilla's friend Jane runs a health farm on one of the small islands nearby, and is convinced after some strange accidents that someone is trying to kill her. Hamish agrees to go and spend the holidays with Jane and a group of her dear friends, to serve and protect, and eat free food.

Once again, a quick and enjoyable read! Death of a Snob is one of the earliest books: I tend to grab these when and where I can, but luckily it doesn't matter all that much in which order you read 'em. Hamish and Lochdubh hardly change.

The Kiss Murder

Title: The Kiss Murder
Author: Mehmet Murat Somer
Published: 2003, English translation in 2009
Genre: Crime fiction in high heels
Pages: 245 + Glossary


Number two in the Hop-Çiki-Yaya -thrillers! Our nameless heroine is out to have a good night at the club she partly owns, when one of the girls comes asking for help. Buse once had a serious affair with someone very important, and although she's not the type to kiss and tell, word of it somehow got out, and some very dangerous people are now after her letters and photos.

Mostly annoyed with the secretive Buse, our heroine mostly ignores her for now. Buse ends up dead, and the very dangerous people turn their attention to our heroine, believing that she now holds the photos and such. She doesn't, so you can see that there's a bit of a problem here.

As much fun as these books are -and they are!- the endings seem to be quite abrupt. It's best not to take them too seriously, and just enjoy the ride and the pretty outfits. Man, I wish I looked like Audrey Hepburn...


   As always, Hasan arrived to save the day. He wore his usual low-slung jeans. Hasan was every bit as macho as one would expect of a waiter who bared his butt crack in a transvestite bar. I apologized to Süleyman and turned to Hasan. As I did so, I kept my arms slightly extended, placing my hands one atop the other on my lap. My legs were parallel and my feet side by side. In other words, I was the picture of Audrey Hepburn perfection. Had I worn my gloves the effect would have been better still. But perfection is elusive. I lightly batted my false eyelashes, then raised my eyebrows as I opeed my eyes wide, confronting Hasan with a questioning look that also contained a hint of a smile. 
   "I didn't see you come in," he said. "Sofya called you twice. She said it's important." 

Soul Music

Title: Soul Music
Author: Terry Pratchett
Published: 1994
Genre: Humour Fantasy
Pages: 372


A Pratchett sounded like a nice change after Byzantium Endures, so here's the 16th Discworld-book! I'm not sure whether I've read this one, not in Finnish anyway. It felt vaguely familiar, so I think I've read it at some point...

The story starts when a young harpist Imp, the troll Lias, and dwarven Glod try to get into the Musician's Guild in Ankh-Morpork, but can't afford it. To make money, they start playing music together. After an unfortunate sitting accident Imp loses his harp, and buys a strange guitar to replace it, from a shady little shop that surely wasn't there last time someone checked. The guitar seems to have a mind of its own, and soon The Band With Rocks In starts to get attention, both good and bad. The Guild doesn't like unlicensed music!

Meanwhile, Death is upset over the deaths of his daughter Ysabell and previous apprentice Mort, and decides to forget everything. It's not as easy as you'd think, and while Death is buried in sand at the Foreign Legion, his grand-daughter Susan has to take Binky's reins. But it's not fair that the cute young musician has to die, right?

As you might have guessed, the book is FULL of puns and references to the history of popular music. I'm sure I missed plenty, but giggled a lot and laughed out loud at the 'We're on a mission from Glod' -bit. Also, I have to point this out, since I didn't get it myself... Imp is from Llamedos, which spelled backwards issss Sod 'em all. *giggle* The only bit I didn't like was the Biography at the end... the Kindle version had been updated after March. Thanks for the reminder...


   Scum, who out of the whole group had the least amount of cerebral activity to get between him and true observation of the world, was trailing behind. He had an uneasy feeling that he'd just walked over someone's grave.
   'That one looked a bit sort of thin,' he muttered.
   The others weren't paying any attention. They were back to the usual argument.
   'I'm fed up with being Surreptitious Fabric,' said Jimbo. 'It's a silly name.'
   'Really, really thin,' said Scum. He felt in his pocket.
   'Yeah, I liked it best when we were The Whom,' said Noddy.
   'But we were only The Whom for half an hour!' said Crash. 'Yesterday. In between bein' The Blots and Lead Balloon, remember?'
   Scum located a tenpenny piece and turned back.
   'There's bound to be some good name,' said Jimbo. 'I just bet we'll know it's right just as soon as we see it.'
   'Oh, yeah. Well, we've got to come up with some name we don't start arguing about after five minutes,' said Crash. 'It's not doing our career any good if people don't know who we are.'
   'Mr. Dibbler says it definitely is,' said Noddy.
   'There you go, old man,' said Scum, back down the street.
   THANK YOU, said the grateful Death.
   Scum hurried to catch up with the others, who were back on the subject of leopards with hearing difficulties.

Byzantium Endures

Title: Byzantium Endures
Author: Michael Moorcock
Published: 1994 by Phoenix Paperbacks, originally in 1981
Genre: Historical fiction
Pages: 404


I've been looking at the last three books of the series, sitting patiently on my shelves, and thinking I should get around to reading them. Then I realised I don't really remember any details from the first one, and should really read it again. Hell, it's been four years since the first time.

Maxim Arturovitch Pyatnitski was born in Kiev, Ukraine, on 1st January 1900, and is just as much of a cock as I remembered. Even more so! A self-proclaimed genius -or the self-proclaimed genius of the century- the fatherless youth is sent by relatives first to Odessa and then to St. Petersburg to learn about life and to get a degree, so that he could work for the family, but history gets in the way.

An excellent example of the unreliable narrator, Pyat tells the story of his cocaine-fuelled life in a changing world, where he is always just about to become a famous inventor. Parts of the book are pure rantings about how he was wronged, how the Jews are to blame for all -he's horribly anti-semitic, too, what a charming fellow!- and how he oh so smartly handles every situation. But his story is a captivating one, as are the times he's living in. I better get to The Laughter of Carthage before I forget too much.


   He made a gesture towards the suburbs and beyond. 'Those poor bastards out there have nothing. They don't believe in governments - nationalist, Tsarist, Bolshevik, Polish, French. They believe in freedom and owning a plot of land.'
   'To nurture their own gardens,' I said.
   'If you like.'
   'Voltaire,' I explained.
   'I know.' He was amused. 'That's why they put me with you. I'm the intellectual of the division.' He began to laugh, 'I did a year at technical college before I was conscripted.'
   'You were at the Front?'
   'Galicia.'
   'You'll fight the Bolsheviks when they attack?'
   'You're crazy,' he said. He patted my tube. 'This will fight the Bolsheviks, comrade professor. I'll be running like fuck for the nearest train.'
   I laughed with him. We were of an identical mind.

Death of a Perfect Wife

Title: Death of a Perfect Wife
Author: M.C. Beaton
Published: 1989
Genre: Murder mystery
Pages: 175


This is one of the earliest Hamish Macbeth -books, and I am reading the list the right way this time! I wanted something completely different after Fool's Quest, and these books always deliver.

Peace of little Lochdubh is broken again, this time by newcomers Trixie and Paul Thomas, who have bought a house and decided to turn it into a bed & breakfast. It's not easy or cheap, though, and Trixie is soon circling the houses of the village, looking for spare furniture, enchanting the ladies with her wifely skills. She manages to make a few enemies along the way, not in the least in the husbands whose wives are suddenly transformed, and as you can guess by the name, death comes knocking. Hamish has to solve the mystery, once again without attracting too much attention and dodging promotions.

The TV-series based on these books -which I love- is pretty independent from the books, but this has quite obviously inspired one of the episodes! Come to think of it, there's a lot less death in the series...

I haven't had a lot of time to read lately: I have two new colleagues at work, third starting tomorrow, and quiet lunch-breaks are pretty much a thing of the past. No reading, socialising! Ugh. And then I relapsed into Dragon Age: Inquisition. And started three new knitting projects. At once. Well, one is almost done, another halfway through.


   Mrs. Maclean was down on her knees, scrubbing her stone-flagged kitchen floor with ammonia. Not for her the easy road with mop and up-to-date cleanser.
   The radio was blaring out Scottish country dance music. He called to her, but she didn't hear him so he switched off the radio and she looked up.
   "What do you want, you glaiket loon?" she said, wringing the floor cloth savagely and throwing it into the bucket.
   Hamish sighed. The trouble with being a policeman in a small, normally law-abiding village was that you did not strike fear or terror into the heart of anyone.

Fool's Quest

Title: Fool's Quest
Author: Robin Hobb
Published: 2015
Genre: Fantasy
Pages: 766




Only 766 pages? (744 according to some sources) It seemed a lot longer! There were no page numbers on the Kindle version, so I only now found out the actual page count.


Fool's Quest is the second book in Hobb's Fitz and the Fool -trilogy. As much as I loved the first one, it also annoyed me severely. Mostly Fitz's blindness when it came to certain, fairly obvious things. I seriously considered not reading the rest of the new books: The Tawny Man -books ended in a good place, and I could pretend that was the end. But once August rolled in and I remembered that the new book is coming out, I stopped pretending and preordered it. And reading the Rain Wild Chronicles beforehand. And, yes, I'm glad I did. Fool's Quest was wonderful.


The story picks up from where the Fool's Ass ended, moves up a few gears, and just doesn't stop. We get a few calmer moments here and there, but Buckkeep is a busy place, dragons are back, and storylines and characters from the previous books are coming together into a fine mess of intrigue and adventure. As nice as it was to see Fitz at peace at the beginning of the previous book, Fool's Quest with its larger cast feels like the older books. It feels like coming home.

Once again, I'm finding it a little hard to say much without spoilers, and without repeating what I feel I've written again and again for the earlier books: that it's just so damn good to revisit so many old favourite characters. And some of them are literally old now. It's like watching family age! And if some of the events of the book weren't emotional enough by themselves, when I started the book last Sunday, it had been fourteen years almost to date since my granny died. A voracious reader, she liked a bit of fantasy now and again, and loved these books almost as much as I did. I remember how both of us would eagerly await for the Assassin's Quest to be translated to Finnish. She was a bit like Chade to my Fitz, except with books instead of poisons. No I'm not crying you're crying!




   'How do you open the door from my old room?' I'd lost count of how many hours I'd spent searching for that trigger when I was a boy.
   He sighed and then smiled. 'One after another, my secrets have fallen to you. I'll confess, I've always been amused by your inability to find that one. I thought that surely you would stumble on it by accident if nothing else. It's in the drapery pull. Close the curtains completely, and then give a final tug. You won't see or hear a thing, but then you can push the door open. And now you know.'
   'And now I know,' I agreed. 'After half a century of wondering.'
   'Surely not half a century.'
   'I'm sixty,' I reminded him. 'And you started me in the trade when I was less than ten. So, yes, half a century and more.'




So... when's the next book coming?