It's here. IT'S FINALLY FINISHED. IT PROBABLY CONTAINS SPOILERS.
Velvet is a laundress in a Victorian steam laundry. With both her mother and father dead, she is an orphan and has to rely upon her own wits to make a living. The laundry's work is back-breaking and Velvet is desperate to create a better life for herself. Then Velvet is noticed by Madame Savoya, a famed medium, who asks Velvet to come to work for her. Velvet is dazzled at first by the young yet beautifully dressed and bejewelled Madame. But soon Velvet realises that Madame Savoya is not all that she says she is, and Velvet's very life is in danger ... (I did not write this summary, as Amazon.co.uk did. Thus, I am not affliated with it by any stretch of the imagination.)
Since you were very recently subjected to my love of historical fiction, I shall forfeit that disclaimer and replace it with yet another. Since Mary Hooper is one my favourite authors in the history of the entire authordom, this review will likely be fall victim to some serious bias. And by that, I mean the variety of bias that prevents criminals from going to prison because the judge admired the particular pattern of their tie in the courtroom. That’s not to say that I will be completely blind to its flaws, but they might be obscured by the massive amounts of fangirly energy that I will need to release in this review. Anyhow, Fallen Grace recently pranced in and declared itself my favourite Mary Hooper book, and is currently defending that position with a combination of throwing knives and sarcastic remarks. Velvet, in turn, seemed a bit intimidated by the others efforts, and sadly did not quite live up to Grace’s spectacular spectacularness, but that’s not to say that it didn’t try its best.
For example, one thing that Grace considered to a worthy opponent was the ending. Although I have not a drop of long-sighted blood in my veins, which makes this argument teeter of the edge of the cliff of redundancy, but whatever. I literally did not see that twist at the end coming. While certain characters set of an alarm that wiggles at the back of your mind for a while, they don’t pose themselves as an immediate threat. Until the end of the book, wherein they reveal their true alliances and act on all of the dark intentions that they must be hiding in their large Edwardian shoulder pads. Shoulder pads were a mistake of the 1900s, correct? I must be correct. These characters have no other place for secret and evil plan storage on their bodies. That’s not to say that their intentions and their actions were evil for the sake of being evil; no, these people whose names shall not be mentioned for fear of the spoiler monster climbing out of its box and eating me, were not inspired to attempt to drown our heroine for the sake of being evil, nor because she was slightly irritating. Now that one thinks of it, their actions were what any slightly desperate person would have done in their situation. It was quite the realistic approach, as opposed to the more idealised ending of the protagonist and the character with evil intentions running off into the lawful sunset with the prospects of lavish, lawful marriage. Needless to say, this ending only exists in the minds of hopeless romantics.
Indeed, Fallen Grace might envy Velvet for its incredibly realistic, dark approach on its setting, its plot, and the influence it has on its characters. You can tell that everything has been meticulously researched, for things such as steam laundries, baby farms and other obscure items that the author decided to convert into plot devices appeared, explained their purpose, and left with a round of applause following their footsteps. Yet, despite all of this hard labour, baby labour and other more ominous things, the book never feels weighed down under the dark and dismal atmosphere that the book covers itself with. All of the settings are used to their best advantage – they do more than act as a non-descript object for the characters to stand on. These ones get tipped. The setting maybe gritty at times, but there will likely to be solace in Darkling Villa, which I find amusing purely for the reason that it is called Darkling Villa. It’s not a pessimistic book; it never loads all of its troubles onto you. Fallen Grace might envy that as well, considering it began with its dingy setting collapsing on top of the characters when they were in the depth of despair. And then it lashed out at the people who tried to help. Some books have absolutely no manners these days.
However, the book’s greatest flaw lies in its most polite being, its main character. Velvet, wherever she goes, spreads a strange sense of déjà vu wherever she goes. Velvet is rather detached and independent, innocent and completely impressionable. This makes her appeal to the reader as being somewhat bland. She could slip into the role of any Mary Hooper character, and no one would notice the difference. While it would make her an ideal, undefeated bank robber, it doesn’t make her a terribly interesting protagonist to follow round such a promising setting. She is frustratingly normal, irritatingly unquestioning for most of the book, and when she does discover that dearly neglected thing in her back called a spine, she’s forced into the live that she was attempting to avoid! You do not wish to be a housewife for a man that you have just decided that you like, dearie. Speaking of which, the ‘romance’ that supposedly developed between Velvet and this man who shall not be named, during the few scenes that they had together, seemed to come out of nowhere. Man, I hate romances that don’t at least send a calling card. That’s what the polite ones would do.
The writing mimicked that of novel written in the time period, with polite, aesthetic but somewhat plain narrative, snappy, period-appropriate dialogue that reflects the characters that it’s coming from. Speaking of which, I personally think George, Madame’s unnecessarily italisised butler type person had the most depth, considering his role in the ending. For the majority of the novel, he seems to be pleasant, in a bland sort of way. It’s only when the laquer starts chipping away, when his past starts digging it’s way out from underneath the skeletons in the cupboard (with some assistance from a policeman with a shovel, of course. These things are essential for solving any mysteries. They are like the man with the mustache. They are like Arthur Conan Doyle, who, coincidentally, appeared at one point. It, I feel inclined to inform you that his appearance, Watson, was quite elementary.), that his character really starts to develop beyond ‘that handsome love interests of Velvets’. He actually became more likeable, in my eyes, after he revealed his darker side. And if you think this is because his darker side seemed to particularly harm Violet, then I am thoroughly irked, and you might be thorougly correct. Madame, on the same note, was also an interesting character. It was fairly obvious that she was orchestrating something great to fall in her favour; but there was nothing particularly malicious about her. I liked her, but she’s such an enigma for me. She didn’t really develop other the story, and when one considers the revelation at the end, her kindly personality fails to make sense. It is vague. It is almost as vague as this explanation. As you can imagine, that is quite a feat.
Not all of the characters were tremendously fleshed out. Some hung around and were thoroughly ignored until it was there turn to do something that contributed to the plot. Those who could not provide anything or import would be shunned forever. Luckily enough for them, the plot favoured whatever Charlie and Lizzie had to offer, but didn’t grace the pair with much development, or a terribly large word-count. I suppose this is why Charlie and Velvet’s relationship seemed a bit out of the blue; if you have no time to build something up, then why bother? Seemed to be law that the book used to govern its existence. Lizzie and Charlie suffered the worst damage of this, being little more than solid stereotypes on stilts, occasionally popping in to run and errand or relay messages from the plot, which, I should mention while I’m in the midst of my rant, took long, infrequent periods to relax or go to Malta or do whatever it is that plots do while they aren’t doing their jobs. This might account for the books slightly slow start and time between the revelations that the plot spat out as it rushed back to the office. Not that this is a problem, of course; every second excitement is overrated.
The two final things I have to state in this review are not related if one looks at them in a way that is both prosaic and sensible, but both involve the exchange of polite greetings. Yes, the way spiritualism and romance are portrayed in the book. The spiritualism, compared to the other books that the genre seems to be mass-producing about spiritualists at the moment, were portrayed in a fairly mundane way. What was perhaps more interesting were the methods that the spiritualists in the novel used to make their work totally convincing to the customers who were totally convinced. I’m not sure whether this can be attributed to the lack of education at the time, or perhaps because they were so invested in making their work believable that they went as far as to steal a baby. I do hope you read that with a straight face. The romance, however, didn’t make it as far as babies. Like the majority of things in this book, it was used as a ploy to make the ending seem more impressive. And to make George seem like horrible person, what with his eager lips and molester-y fingers and all. Either way, it succeed.
In conclusion, Velvet was good. Velvet excelled at what it did, and did not attempt to be anything more than it was. What it was, for those numerous skim-readers, was an interesting insight into spiritualism, the social climate of the time, and it featured a cameo by Arthur Conan Doyle. If this is not a reason to read something, a justification to rush out to the shops and buy this immediately, a solution to all of your historically-relevant questions. If one does not consider it to be all of these things, well, then the ghost of Sherlock Holmes looks down on you with distaste. There might be distinct hatred in his eyes. You wouldn’t want that, would you? The only thing worse than that would probably having to live in Darkling Villa, sitting under the shadow of the thing you failed to do (such as buying this book) and several hungry Darklings. If one wishes to avoid such a fate, then one really ought to buy this book. One might enjoy it, for I certainly did. It might not be the best thing that Mary Hooper has popped out in recent years, but it tries its best.
Thanks to Bloomsbury for sending me a copy to review.
★★★★
Since you were very recently subjected to my love of historical fiction, I shall forfeit that disclaimer and replace it with yet another. Since Mary Hooper is one my favourite authors in the history of the entire authordom, this review will likely be fall victim to some serious bias. And by that, I mean the variety of bias that prevents criminals from going to prison because the judge admired the particular pattern of their tie in the courtroom. That’s not to say that I will be completely blind to its flaws, but they might be obscured by the massive amounts of fangirly energy that I will need to release in this review. Anyhow, Fallen Grace recently pranced in and declared itself my favourite Mary Hooper book, and is currently defending that position with a combination of throwing knives and sarcastic remarks. Velvet, in turn, seemed a bit intimidated by the others efforts, and sadly did not quite live up to Grace’s spectacular spectacularness, but that’s not to say that it didn’t try its best.
For example, one thing that Grace considered to a worthy opponent was the ending. Although I have not a drop of long-sighted blood in my veins, which makes this argument teeter of the edge of the cliff of redundancy, but whatever. I literally did not see that twist at the end coming. While certain characters set of an alarm that wiggles at the back of your mind for a while, they don’t pose themselves as an immediate threat. Until the end of the book, wherein they reveal their true alliances and act on all of the dark intentions that they must be hiding in their large Edwardian shoulder pads. Shoulder pads were a mistake of the 1900s, correct? I must be correct. These characters have no other place for secret and evil plan storage on their bodies. That’s not to say that their intentions and their actions were evil for the sake of being evil; no, these people whose names shall not be mentioned for fear of the spoiler monster climbing out of its box and eating me, were not inspired to attempt to drown our heroine for the sake of being evil, nor because she was slightly irritating. Now that one thinks of it, their actions were what any slightly desperate person would have done in their situation. It was quite the realistic approach, as opposed to the more idealised ending of the protagonist and the character with evil intentions running off into the lawful sunset with the prospects of lavish, lawful marriage. Needless to say, this ending only exists in the minds of hopeless romantics.
Indeed, Fallen Grace might envy Velvet for its incredibly realistic, dark approach on its setting, its plot, and the influence it has on its characters. You can tell that everything has been meticulously researched, for things such as steam laundries, baby farms and other obscure items that the author decided to convert into plot devices appeared, explained their purpose, and left with a round of applause following their footsteps. Yet, despite all of this hard labour, baby labour and other more ominous things, the book never feels weighed down under the dark and dismal atmosphere that the book covers itself with. All of the settings are used to their best advantage – they do more than act as a non-descript object for the characters to stand on. These ones get tipped. The setting maybe gritty at times, but there will likely to be solace in Darkling Villa, which I find amusing purely for the reason that it is called Darkling Villa. It’s not a pessimistic book; it never loads all of its troubles onto you. Fallen Grace might envy that as well, considering it began with its dingy setting collapsing on top of the characters when they were in the depth of despair. And then it lashed out at the people who tried to help. Some books have absolutely no manners these days.
However, the book’s greatest flaw lies in its most polite being, its main character. Velvet, wherever she goes, spreads a strange sense of déjà vu wherever she goes. Velvet is rather detached and independent, innocent and completely impressionable. This makes her appeal to the reader as being somewhat bland. She could slip into the role of any Mary Hooper character, and no one would notice the difference. While it would make her an ideal, undefeated bank robber, it doesn’t make her a terribly interesting protagonist to follow round such a promising setting. She is frustratingly normal, irritatingly unquestioning for most of the book, and when she does discover that dearly neglected thing in her back called a spine, she’s forced into the live that she was attempting to avoid! You do not wish to be a housewife for a man that you have just decided that you like, dearie. Speaking of which, the ‘romance’ that supposedly developed between Velvet and this man who shall not be named, during the few scenes that they had together, seemed to come out of nowhere. Man, I hate romances that don’t at least send a calling card. That’s what the polite ones would do.
The writing mimicked that of novel written in the time period, with polite, aesthetic but somewhat plain narrative, snappy, period-appropriate dialogue that reflects the characters that it’s coming from. Speaking of which, I personally think George, Madame’s unnecessarily italisised butler type person had the most depth, considering his role in the ending. For the majority of the novel, he seems to be pleasant, in a bland sort of way. It’s only when the laquer starts chipping away, when his past starts digging it’s way out from underneath the skeletons in the cupboard (with some assistance from a policeman with a shovel, of course. These things are essential for solving any mysteries. They are like the man with the mustache. They are like Arthur Conan Doyle, who, coincidentally, appeared at one point. It, I feel inclined to inform you that his appearance, Watson, was quite elementary.), that his character really starts to develop beyond ‘that handsome love interests of Velvets’. He actually became more likeable, in my eyes, after he revealed his darker side. And if you think this is because his darker side seemed to particularly harm Violet, then I am thoroughly irked, and you might be thorougly correct. Madame, on the same note, was also an interesting character. It was fairly obvious that she was orchestrating something great to fall in her favour; but there was nothing particularly malicious about her. I liked her, but she’s such an enigma for me. She didn’t really develop other the story, and when one considers the revelation at the end, her kindly personality fails to make sense. It is vague. It is almost as vague as this explanation. As you can imagine, that is quite a feat.
Not all of the characters were tremendously fleshed out. Some hung around and were thoroughly ignored until it was there turn to do something that contributed to the plot. Those who could not provide anything or import would be shunned forever. Luckily enough for them, the plot favoured whatever Charlie and Lizzie had to offer, but didn’t grace the pair with much development, or a terribly large word-count. I suppose this is why Charlie and Velvet’s relationship seemed a bit out of the blue; if you have no time to build something up, then why bother? Seemed to be law that the book used to govern its existence. Lizzie and Charlie suffered the worst damage of this, being little more than solid stereotypes on stilts, occasionally popping in to run and errand or relay messages from the plot, which, I should mention while I’m in the midst of my rant, took long, infrequent periods to relax or go to Malta or do whatever it is that plots do while they aren’t doing their jobs. This might account for the books slightly slow start and time between the revelations that the plot spat out as it rushed back to the office. Not that this is a problem, of course; every second excitement is overrated.
The two final things I have to state in this review are not related if one looks at them in a way that is both prosaic and sensible, but both involve the exchange of polite greetings. Yes, the way spiritualism and romance are portrayed in the book. The spiritualism, compared to the other books that the genre seems to be mass-producing about spiritualists at the moment, were portrayed in a fairly mundane way. What was perhaps more interesting were the methods that the spiritualists in the novel used to make their work totally convincing to the customers who were totally convinced. I’m not sure whether this can be attributed to the lack of education at the time, or perhaps because they were so invested in making their work believable that they went as far as to steal a baby. I do hope you read that with a straight face. The romance, however, didn’t make it as far as babies. Like the majority of things in this book, it was used as a ploy to make the ending seem more impressive. And to make George seem like horrible person, what with his eager lips and molester-y fingers and all. Either way, it succeed.
In conclusion, Velvet was good. Velvet excelled at what it did, and did not attempt to be anything more than it was. What it was, for those numerous skim-readers, was an interesting insight into spiritualism, the social climate of the time, and it featured a cameo by Arthur Conan Doyle. If this is not a reason to read something, a justification to rush out to the shops and buy this immediately, a solution to all of your historically-relevant questions. If one does not consider it to be all of these things, well, then the ghost of Sherlock Holmes looks down on you with distaste. There might be distinct hatred in his eyes. You wouldn’t want that, would you? The only thing worse than that would probably having to live in Darkling Villa, sitting under the shadow of the thing you failed to do (such as buying this book) and several hungry Darklings. If one wishes to avoid such a fate, then one really ought to buy this book. One might enjoy it, for I certainly did. It might not be the best thing that Mary Hooper has popped out in recent years, but it tries its best.
Thanks to Bloomsbury for sending me a copy to review.
★★★★
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