Saturday, January 31, 2015

To Say Nothing of the Dog

To Say Nothing of the Dog, or, How We Found the Bishop's Bird Stump at Last, by Connie Willis

I just love this novel.  I've read it several times and it's still great.  It's especially good if you're feeling a bit down and in need of distraction, because it's a comedy.  I might even call it a screwball SF comedy with lots of fun literary hat tips.

Connie Willis is a very well-known SF author, and you should definitely read her stuff (though she does have a tendency to be reaalllly lengthy sometimes).  Some of her stories take place at a future Oxford University, where historians travel back in time to observe and experience events.  Here, time travel exists, originally invented by criminals hoping to plunder the past, but relegated to academics because nothing can be brought back and the space-time continuum (a self-protective system) won't allow people to get anywhere near important people or events.  You can't assassinate Hitler by time-travel.   The first book is Doomsday Book, and it's fantastic but it will also break your heart into little pieces and jump up and down on them, so...fair warning.  To Say Nothing of the Dog is not exactly a sequel, but it happens afterwards and it helps to have read Doomsday Book, though it's not necessary.

Historian Ned Henry is exhausted and suffering from time-lag (an effect of too many time jumps), because the wealthy university benefactress Lady Schrapnell is obsessed with building a perfect replica of Coventry Cathedral as it was before German bombing destroyed it in 1940.  His assignment: to find the bishop's bird stump, ascertain its fate, and enable a copy to be made.  To save Ned from Lady Schrapnell's demands, and to give him a rest, he is sent to the Victorian era, where he is to meet with another historian and fix her inadvertent mistake.  But nothing seems to go right, and soon Ned and Verity are worried that they have accidentally destroyed the space-time continuum with a pet cat.

The story is filled with scenes from English country life.  Village fetes, jumble sales, boating on the Thames, bulldogs and tea parties and pushy mothers and irate ex-Indian officers and all.  It's a complex and wonderful story that draws inspiration from Three Men in a Boat, Dorothy Sayers, The Moonstone, and Agatha Christie.  One scene is a direct take-off on a particular scene from a Christie novel.  One of my favorite quotations:
A grand design involving the entire course of history and all of time and space that, for some unfathomable reason, chose to work out its designs with cats and croquet mallets and penwipers, to say nothing of the dog. And a hideous piece of Victorian artwork. And us.
Now I'm in the mood to read Three Men in a Boat.  Sunny Thames, here I come.

PS: If I ever get a cat, I'm naming it Penwiper.  Nobody else seems to think it's a good idea though.

I would certainly call this a classic of comedy SF, and it's filled with loving tributes to the English countryside.  My only trouble is what county to call it, because half the story is about Coventry (Warwickshire) and the other half is about the Thames south of Oxford (Oxfordshire).  I'm going to plump for Coventry, because that's the focal point of the story--maybe I'll hit Oxford later this year.  So, Warwickshire it is!

Friday, January 30, 2015

Letters to a Young Poet

So pretty.  Not like mine.
Letters to a Young Poet, by Rainer Maria Rilke

I think this is Rilke's most famous work these days--at least in America, since I expect the Germans still read lots of Rilke. It's the book that every literarily-minded undergraduate reads (or at least means to read), and the book that started a new genre of "Letters to a Young X."  And it's only ten fairly short letters collected into a book.

In 1902, Franz Xaver Kappus, a young cadet at a military academy, found out that the poet Rilke had once been a cadet at the same school.  Rilke was not suited to the school at all and was quite miserable, but the connection inspired Kappus to write to Rilke and ask for an opinion of the poetry he was struggling to write.  He also asked for advice on his career, since he was struggling with the same choice of whether to go into the military or to pursue literature.

Rilke responded, not with much of an opinion on the poetry--which he refused to give--but with advice on how to live as a poet.  Disregard criticism and dig within yourself and your memories to write what only you can write. He discussed all sorts of topics, but it's mostly advice on how to live, scattered over several years.  Kappus did not include his own letters, but he appears to have asked a lot of questions about religion, intimacy, beauty and art, all sorts of things.  Rilke also lauded J. P. Jacobsen, the Danish author of Niels Lyhne, which I've written on before.

Some bits I particularly liked:  
Irony: Don't let yourself be controlled by it, especially during uncreative moments. When you are fully creative, try to use it, as one more way to take hold of fife. Used purely, it too is pure, and one needn't be ashamed of it; but if you feel yourself becoming too familiar with it, if you are afraid of this growing familiarity, then turn to great and serious objects, in front of which it becomes small and helpless. Search into the depths of Things: there, irony never descends and when you arrive at the edge of greatness, find out whether this way of perceiving the world arises from a necessity of your being. For under the influence of serious Things it will either fall away from you (if it is something accidental), or else (if it is really innate and belongs to you) it will grow strong, and become a serious tool and take its place among the instruments which you can form your art with.

l know, your profession is hard and full of things that contradict you, and I foresaw your lament and knew that it would come. Now that it has come, there is nothing I can say to reassure you, I can only suggest that perhaps all professions are like that, filled with demands, filled with hostility toward the individual, saturated as it were with the hatred of those who find themselves mute and sullen in an insipid duty. The situation you must live in now is not more heavily burdened with conventions, prejudices, and false ideas than all the other situations, and if there are some that pretend to offer a greater freedom, there is nevertheless none that is, in itself, vast and spacious and connected to the important Things that the truest kind of life consists of. ... What you, dear Mr. Kappus, now have to experience as an officer, you would have felt in just the same way in any of the established professions; yes, even if, outside any position, you had simply tried to find some easy and independent contact with society, this feeling of being hemmed in would not have been spared you. It is like this everywhere; but that is no cause for anxiety or sadness...

Don't observe yourself too closely. Don't be too quick to draw conclusions from what happens to you; simply let it happen. Otherwise it will be too easy for you to look with blame (that is: morally) at your past, which naturally has a share in everything that now meets you. But whatever errors, wishes, and yearnings of your boyhood are operating in you now are not what you remember and condemn. 
They're nice letters, and most people would probably enjoy reading them.  I did.

I've been meaning to read some Rilke for my Classics Club list, but I didn't put the Letters on the list--I said "Rilke, Malte Laurids Brigge.  Or something by Rilke, anyway."  I was going through the Germanic literature collection at work and came upon the Letters, and thought I should read them, but I still want to read Malte Laurids Brigge so I'm not going to count this.  Unless it turns out to be absolutely terrible and unreadable!


Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Sister of the Angels

Wells Cathedral.
Sister of the Angels, by Elizabeth Goudge

I got this on ILL and wasn't at all sure what it would be.  It goes with City of Bells, which I read recently, but that's all I knew.  It turns out to be...sort of a children's book?  Maybe?  It's a sequel, but short and from the perspective of an 11-year-old girl.  I think you don't have to have read City of Bells to understand it--though it would certainly help a lot--so I guess it's a children's story.  Although the library that sent it to me seems to keep it in the adult section (luckily for me, since most libraries weed the children's room more heavily and would consider this to be too outdated and old to keep there).  It's also a Christmas story, so I'm a month late!

Henrietta lives with the elderly Dean of Torminster as an adopted grandchild.  Hugh Anthony lives there too in the same capacity.  Henrietta's father is an artist and spends most of his time doing other things, but he comes to visit at special times, such as Christmas.  Henrietta knows every inch of Torminster Cathedral, but she particularly loves a chapel in the crypt called the Nicolas de Malden chapel, which is decorated with lovely frescoes...except for one blank wall, which was left unfinished.  Henrietta knows just what should be on that wall, and when a mysterious artist arrives in town, they become friends and, well, there's a Christmas miracle.

It's a lovely story that is especially about a) caring for prisoners, b) integrity, and c) allowing people to help you. Even more so, it's about personal redemption.  I don't know that some of the historical details hang together too well, but it's a children's story and mostly fairy-tale anyway, so we'll let that go.  If you like Elizabeth Goudge, you'll enjoy this short novel.  If you've never read her, you should probably try something else first.




Torminster is a fictional version of Wells Cathedral, so this story goes to Somerset.  I think we can fairly call some of Goudge's children's titles classics, but I'm not sure that this is one of those titles.  It's quite good; but because it depends on another book for context, it's more like a novella set in a particular world (that I love) than it is like a classic in its own right.  So while I'm not going to count it as a "classic" for the Back to the Classics challenge, I am going to count it for the Reading England challenge.  I hope that makes sense.

Tuesday, January 27, 2015

The Moon is a Harsh Mistress

The Moon is a Harsh Mistress, by Robert Heinlein

Ha, I got hold of it!  I actually finished it a week or so ago--I have 5 titles waiting for me to stop being lazy and write them up--and, sad to say, I have still not started Starship Troopers.  But I will.  Probably not before the end of January, though.  Oh, and I did give Stanislaw Lem a try; I started two different books and was not grabbed by either, so I stopped.  Maybe I will like them some other day.  OK, on to the book I did read:

In the future, the Moon is a penal colony; and once you're sentenced there, it's for life, so there are quite a few free descendants, too.  Manuel is an ex-miner and computer technician, caring for the one super-computer in the whole place.  "Mycroft" has been augmented and extended so often that it has now gained sentience, but only Manny knows that.  Manny isn't interested in politics--the Lunar Authority runs the whole place as a colony, with few laws but lots of price-setting in its favor, and who can change that?--but when he finds himself in an alliance with two freedom fighters, and Mike the computer tells him a few things, he joins a long-term plan to get Luna free and independent.

It's a good exciting story.  Manny talks a lot about how to run a revolution, and about Luna's economic and legal environment, so be prepared for that.   Heinlein is playing with ideas about government, dissent, and so on.  He invents about five different kinds of marriage; the Moon has a severe gender imbalance and women are scarce, so Heinlein's scenario gives them a lot of autonomy, but in weird ways. 

The super-computer is so 60s.  Nobody else has a computer, so it's really handy to have Mike for the revolution.  He can do anything!

Manny speaks the whole time in a style that leaves out most of the articles and pronouns.  It's kind of annoying at first, but you get used to it.  He throws in quite a bit of Russian, too.

Interesting read, very heavy on the ideas.

Thanks to the Little Red Reviewer for a very fun Vintage SF event!

Wednesday, January 21, 2015

The Case of Comrade Tulayev

The Case of Comrade Tulayev, by Victor Serge

Here we have a Russian novel, except that it's written in French.  Victor Serge was born Russian, was a young anarchist, joined the Bolshevik Revolution in 1919 and rose fairly high, but joined the Trotskyites and got really critical of Stalin.  He was in and out of prison before being deported and spent the rest of his life in Belgium, France, and Mexico--where he died in 1947.  (This is a very short and cockeyed summary of a very complicated life, so by all means look Serge up properly.)  Comrade Tulayev was written near the end of his life.  Serge remained a Marxist until the end--though I certainly couldn't tell from this novel.

In Moscow in the 1930s, the Terror is well underway.  Comrade Tulayev, an official very high in the government, is shot dead on a quiet street one night and the Soviet machinery swings into action.  Anyone associated with Tulayev is under suspicion, and suspicion means guilt.  One after another, dedicated Party members--chosen almost at random--disappear, and everyone is considered guilty except the real shooter, who isn't considered at all.

Each chapter is a separate story, especially at first; different characters appear and you have to start over and figure out what's going on.  It all comes together more in the last third, but for the most part, expect each chapter to be a new story or complete change of scene.

What this novel amounts to is a meticulous dissection of Stalinist paranoia.  Anyone, no matter how loyal, can come under suspicion.  Doublethink is required.  When everyone stops talking to you, you know you're going to be arrested, and the next thing you know you're being tortured in the Lubyanka.  Stalin himself is never mentioned by name--only as the Leader or some other epithet--but he is everywhere and he even makes an appearance at one point.  It's absurd and surreal, and horrifying.  The victims are loyal Communists, and their loyalty to the system that is murdering them is part of the surreal atmosphere.  They have to tell themselves that their deaths will serve the Revolution somehow.

Serge's writing is pretty great and needs attention.  There's a lot of subtle irony and some bright flashes of humor, but for the most part it's pretty grim.  Seriously, I was surprised to find out that Serge was a Marxist when he wrote this.  Some samples:
Sitting in the stern, suddenly tired, his hands crossed on his knees, the ghosts gone, he thought: Done for.  The launch plowed toward the city through that dark certainty.  Done for like the city, the Revolution, the republic, done for like so many comrades...What could be more natural?  A turn for each, a way for each...How had he managed not to be aware of it until now, how had he lived in the presence of that hidden revelation without divining it, without understanding it, imagining that he was doing things that were important or things that were unimportant, when actually there was nothing left to do?

According to them, the situation was becoming untenable everywhere, but then the next minute they proposed a plan for victory; some advocated a European war; Anarchists insisted upon restoring discipline, establishing the sternest order, provoking foreign intervention; bourgeois Republicans thought the Anarchists too moderate and obliquely accused the Communists of being too conservative...the Communists despised every other party, at the same time treating all the bourgeois parties with the greatest politeness... [this is the Spanish Civil War]

The fact is that he both looked like a schoolmaster who was a champion chess player and resembled the portraits of the Bloody Czar.  Once a schoolboy who had come whizzing along at top speed on a single skate and had crashed into him muttered this odd apology: "Excuse me, Citizen Professor Ivan the Terrible"--and could not understand the strange fit of laughter with which the stern old codger answered him.

And Rublev, erect too, said firmly:
"That I have lived my whole life only for the Party.  Sick and degraded thought it may be, our Party.  That I have neither thought nor conscience outside the Party.  That I am loyal to the Party, whatever it may be, whatever it may do.  That if I must perish, crushed by my Party, I consent...But that I warn the villains who are killing us that they are killing the Party..."
"Goodby, Comrade Rublev."




Tuesday, January 20, 2015

Agnes Grey

Much prettier than my ugly old copy
Agnes Grey, by Anne Bronte

I just love Anne Bronte.  The Tenant of Wildfell Hall is fantastic.  I read Agnes Grey years ago, but I'd forgotten a lot about it, so I thought I would pick it up again.  Lovely!

The story is narrated by Agnes, who is the younger daughter of a middle-class clergyman who loses all his savings in an investment gone wrong.  Agnes decides to contribute her bit by becoming a governess, which is about the only work she can do.  She first goes to a household with younger children and no order or discipline whatsoever.  Her difficult position is vividly described; as a governess she is expected to teach and discipline the children through some sort of magic.  She has no power or authority and at any time the children can run to their parents and get her into trouble while escaping any consequences of their own.  The family looks down on her, but as a gentlewoman she cannot socialize with the servants.  She is alone.

Her next family is very nearly as spoiled, but the children are older and the work is not as physically exhausting.  Here, Agnes can try to exert an improving influence by setting a good example.  Her charges need it too!  They are nice enough girls, but one is too focused on flirting and the other only thinks about horses.  Neither is in the least considerate of others.  Agnes does her best and tries to cope with her loneliness as best she can.  Then she meets the new curate--at last, someone who is her equal.  Agnes is really honest about her feelings and it is both neat to read and also almost hilarious to see a crush so perfectly described--in delicate Victorian terms.

I thought the elder Greys' relationship was really interesting.  Mrs. Grey is held up as a perfect Victorian wife and mother; having originally married below her station for love and been cut off without a shilling, she cheerfully embraces life in the middle class.  When they become downright poor, she again tackles the situation with courage and determination, never complaining or wishing aloud for the lost fortune.  (This reminds me of a moment in By the Shores of Silver Lake, when Ma proudly tells a neighbor that Mary, who has lost her sight, has never once repined.  Digest that for a minute, realize that it constitutes heroism, and then we'll move on.)  Mr. Grey tends to worry about what his wife has given up, and unfortunately he allows it to become something of an obsession that affects his health and ability to deal with their situation.  He makes things harder for himself and his family, but they all still love each other and are written as, mostly, a model family that is affectionate, orderly, and virtuous.

This is an overtly moral novel.  Agnes is didactic and draws a portrait of stark opposites and their just deserts.  Characters who are honest, kind, thrifty, orderly, and devout are opposed to others who are snobbish, proud, uncontrolled, spoiled, and selfish.  Guess who gets a happy family life?  It's didactic, but also (I think) quite true a lot of the time.



The novel specifies no location, but Anne Bronte based the story on her own experiences, which took place in Yorkshire, so that's where it goes.  Yorkshire, it turns out, is huge.  It's gigantic.  I'm wondering if I should count it as three because it's divided into three ridings, which apparently count as counties somehow, but not really.  Well, that's up to o and not my problem. :)

Thursday, January 15, 2015

The Journey Through Wales and Description of Wales

The Journey Through Wales and Description of Wales, by Gerald of Wales

This was a really fun medieval travelogue.  Like another of Gerald's works, The History and Topography of Ireland, it would be a good selection for someone interested in dipping their toes into medieval literature.

In 1188, Archbishop Baldwin (of England and Wales) made a tour of Wales to drum up support for an impending Crusade.  Gerald was part of his entourage, and he kept a record of the trip which he turned into The Journey Through Wales.  He details every stop, but relatively little of the text is actually about converting potential crusaders; he really talks a lot about local history and wonders.  Old battles and feuds, miracles, interesting anecdotes, and monuments fill the pages.  It is very fun.  For example:
St. David's cathedral was founded in honour of Saint Andrew the Apostle.  The place where it stands is called the Valley of Roses.  A better name for it would be the Valley of Marble, for it is in no sense rosy or remarkable for roses, whereas there are plenty of rocks all over the place.

In our own days a young man who lived in this neighborhood, and who was lying ill in bed, was persecuted by a plague of toads.  It seemed as if the entire local population of toads had made an agreement to go to visit him.  Vast numbers were killed by his friends...but they grew again like the heads of the Hydra.  Toads came flocking from all directions, more and more of them, until no one could count them.  In the end the young man's friends and the other people who were trying to help were quite worn out.  They chose a tall tree, cut off all its branches and removed all its leaves.  Then they hoisted him up to the top in a bag.  He was still not safe from his venomous assailants.  The toads crawled up the tree looking for him.  They killed him and ate him right up, leaving nothing but his skeleton.
Like all Christian historians of the medieval period, Gerald sees history and his own time as the working out of God's plan on earth--a story that will culminate in the Second Coming of Christ and Judgement Day.  In his opinion, God has an agenda in Wales, and He is quick to punish irreverence and sin, as illustrated by all these anecdotes.  The Crusade is obviously a righteous cause (he quotes one eager young man as saying that the only thing there is to fear is coming home safely and not dying in the cause), and those who don't want to go, or who don't want their friends or relatives to go, are ripe for destruction.  When a wife tries to restrain her husband from going on crusade, you can be sure she is not going to live long.  Personally, my sympathies are all with the wife, who was doubtless wondering how she was to manage the family while her husband went off on a clearly insane mission
to get killed.

Then Gerald writes up his Description of Wales too.   He starts with a description of the landscape and rivers, but quickly moves on to the Welsh national character.  He is partly Welsh himself and is describing his own people, a project he eloquently defends in a preface (his colleagues wondered why he didn't tackle a more prestigious topic, like yet another re-telling of the Aeneid).  First he talks about the good points of the Welsh people, and then about their defects.  Sometimes he gets pretty shocking and then you realize what he's really saying....
Incest is extremely common among the Welsh...they have no hesitation or shame in marrying women related to them in the fourth or fifth degree, and sometimes even third cousins.
He's talking about the degrees of consanguinity prohibited by canon law, which the Welsh disregarded--just as we would today.  Then, in battle:
Their sole idea of tactics is either to pursue their opponents or else to run away from them.  They are lightly armed and they rely more on their agility than on brute strength.

If the Welsh would only adopt the French way of arming themselves, if they would fight in ordered ranks instead of leaping about all over the place, if their princes could come to an agreement and unite to defend their country--or better still, if they had only one prince and he a good one...
Gerald also brings up King Arthur a few times!  He gets some of his material from Geoffrey of Monmouth, for one thing, but he also says:
The Britons maintain that, when Gildas criticized his own people so bitterly, he wrote as he did because he was so infuriated by the fact that King Arthur had killed his own brother, who was a Scottish chieftain.  When he heard of his brother's death, or so the Britons say, he threw into the sea a number of outstanding books which he had written in their praise and about Arthur's achievements.  As a result you will find no book which gives an authentic account of that great prince.
The editor notes dryly, "Apart from the fact that Gildas was born on the south bank of the Clyde, there is no evidence to support any of this."

Gerald is thoroughly medieval in his love of explaining the world and God's plan, and in his careful scholarship and references to important texts mixed with (what we would consider gullibility) delight in the wonders of nature and God.  But he's also a bit of a rebel.  He's stubborn enough to insist on writing about Wales, an obscure corner of the world, instead of about the more standard topics of his day, and he feels that he has to defend himself on the point.  He talks at length about his reasons for writing and his certainty that no one will thank him for the work during his lifetime.   We have reason to be grateful for it, though, because his writing is lively and enjoyable, and gives us a wonderful picture of the daily life of ordinary people--which is not common for a work of medieval scholarship.



One last note--although this book is mostly about Wales, Gerald starts and finishes in Herefordshire, and describes it as part of his work; he considers it part of Wales.  So I'm going to count it as part of the Reading England challenge too.  And it was written in Latin originally, so it's translated!

Wednesday, January 14, 2015

Prisoners of Power

Prisoners of Power, by Arkady and Boris Strugatsky

I love these guys.  I'm going to need to find more Strugatsky brothers to read.

Far in the future, Maxim goes exploring.  On this future Earth, if you're a young, reasonably healthy guy with no particular idea of what you want to do yet and a sense of adventure that needs exercising, you open up the catalog, pick an unexplored planet, and head out to take a look at it under the auspices of the Independent Reconnaissance Unit.  Maxim fits that bill, and now he has landed on a planet that is...depressingly grey and flat.  And radioactive.

Maxim arrives in a society controlled by unseen military dictators who use radiation to manipulate the populace.  All the known nations have thrown themselves into a cataclysmic nuclear war that has left everyone and everything nearly destroyed--and they're still at it.  Maxim has the ability to withstand the mind-control radiation, and as he makes friends and finds his way through, he gets to understand how this world works.  He joins the army, then the rebellion, and then he just keeps moving.

The badge, because it's awesome
This is almost entirely SF about a dystopian society, but it does also have some neat wider world-building elements as well.  The properties of the planet's atmosphere have had a large influence on scientific development, for example, which I liked.

I really enjoyed Prisoners of Power, and I read it kind of slowly so it would last a while.  It's just really good.  Every SF reader should try some Strugatsky!

Somebody made a movie a few years back, it looks like.  I would love to see it!

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

1177 BC

1177 BC: The Year Civilization Collapsed, by Eric Cline

Over 3000 years ago, the Bronze Age peoples around and near the Mediterranean had developed a network of wealthy and civilized nations that were connected by trade and royal kinship ties.  But somewhere around 1177 BC, it all went downhill.  Egypt declined, trade routes were ruptured, and a domino effect seems to have toppled one kingdom after another.  The Mycenaeans, the Hittites, the Babylonians and Minoans and others fell into a 'dark age' as technologies and writing systems were lost.  What happened?

We know that one thing that happened was invasions from the Sea Peoples--several groups of murky origin that came in, mauraded, and settled down to intermarry.  (The Philistines in the Bible were part of the Sea Peoples.)  But that's not really enough to explain the collapse.  Some scholars have proposed a massive earthquake for one civilization, or drought for others, but usually they've focused on one civilization at a time.

Cline proposes to examine the Late Bronze Age peoples as an interdependent network rather than as several independent states.   This was a strong and resilient system that could rally after a drought, or from an invasion--but perhaps it couldn't recover from several disasters, coming one after another, weakening the whole network until a systems collapse occurred.  Cline thinks that earthquakes, drought, famines, rebellions, and invasions all combined to break down the trade routes and culminate in the domino effect.

It's a very interesting book, and I think fairly convincing.  We have been able to learn a lot about international trade in the Bronze Age in the last few decades that shows that these kingdoms were far more closely connected than we realized.  Cline gives a nice picture, and as an added bonus, his book isn't an 800 page-long tome that seeks to exhaustively explain everything about each nation.  It's a reasonable size.  Pretty good.

This is part of the "Turning Points in Ancient History" series published by Princeton.  The book cover advertises that quite a bit, but what it doesn't tell you is that this is also the first book in the series and there aren't any more just yet.  I'm going to keep an eye out, though; I'd like to read the next one when it arrives.

Saturday, January 10, 2015

The Puppet Masters

The Puppet Masters, by Robert Heinlein

Here's my first Heinlein for adult readers rather than young teens.  It's still fine for them as well, actually, but as a category this isn't one of his juvenile titles.  (Some of the material was pretty daring in 1951 but now, not so much.)

"Sam" is an agent for the most secret branch of the US's spy network.  He's called in to investigate a possible alien landing.  He and his partner "Mary" are shown a dummy setup--a hoax--but there's something very wrong somewhere.  There really was a landing, and "puppet masters," parasites that take over the brain, are slowly infiltrating the country.  Sam, Mary, and the rest of their organization first fight to convince the government to believe them, and then to save the world from the masters.

The really neat thing about this story is (this is not much of a spoiler) that Sam becomes a victim.  We see the masters from the point of view of their hosts, and it's great stuff.

Puppet Masters was written in 1951 and was, I should think, probably one of the earlier 'parasite that takes over humans' stories.  My daughter and I both thought it was really well done and had some interesting points that most modern takes on that plot don't have--most notably that the narrator is one of the victims.  Then, the masters stay on the outside of the body, so it is possible to identify them more easily, but they are also very numerous...and tricky.  Chances of defeating them are small.

The one thing I found odd about the characters and story was some of Mary's behavior, but I'm pretty sure that's supposed to be part of her backstory; she's been through some very strange things and it's had an effect.

I liked Puppet Masters a lot; it's definitely going into my list of books to re-read.