Big Crimes

Big Sky, Kate Atkinson

While we're probably overdue a standalone Atkinson novel that's not from one of her two ongoing series, it's always pleasing to crack open one of her Jackson Brody books. And Big Sky doesn't disappoint.

Though set largely around Scarborough and Whitby, and their fading seaside glories of tourist traps and out-of-time variety shows, Big Sky doesn't move very far from its familiar territory of connected crimes and Brody's quiet heroism. But it expertly blends in 2010s-relevant themes of people-trafficking, celebrity sex offenders, child-abuse and even, though subtly, Brexit. And does all these justice, and with a seeming effortlessness from Atkinson, that makes for a comfortable sort of challenging. She doesn't dwell on any salacious details of the crimes - as other, more questionable realms of the genre might - but equally doesn't leave the reader in any doubt about the depravity behind them. With Brody, Atkinson has a foil with which she can go dark while retaining a clear, positive morality, and with a degree of lightness, as her detective quips glass-half-empty asides on life and the damaged lives he sees around him.

It's very interesting to read this immediately after Belinda Bauer's Rubbernecker. There's a lot of superficial overlap (multiple viewpoints, connected crimes, grimly humourous), but both writers manage to retain their own distinct voices. Possibly Atkinson differs because, for all her weariness of human frailties, she remains more empathetic to her characters and their often circumscribed lives. In any case, for a reader, it's fantastic to have two such talents going at the same time. Roll on their next forays.

Autistic Detective

Rubbernecker, Belinda Bauer

Easily the best crime novel I read last year, and probably for the last couple of years, Snap by Belinda Bauer was a propulsively enjoyable ripped-from-the-headlines yarn, with marvellous characters and a pitch-black sense of humour. Bauer came to our attention, and I expect many other people's, when Snap was included in the longlist for the Booker Prize. But it was just the latest in a line of her books, of which Rubbernecker demonstrates that its brilliance wasn't a one-off.

Similarly borrowed-from-the-front-pages, it centres around Patrick, an anatomy student in Wales, living away from home and dealing with the challenges of Asperger's Syndrome. Not that Patrick quite sees things that way - it's everyone else who's making all the simple things complicated (including his struggling, and now somewhat distant, mother). Instead, Patrick is focused on the exercise, together with a group of fellow students, of dissecting "Bill", their corpse for the semester, and something of a conundrum. "Bill's" cause of death is alluding them all, but a chance discovery by the preternaturally-focused Patrick sets him off on a chain of investigation away from the dissecting table. One that's unwarranted as far as his university is concerned, annoying for his fellow students, and which attracts unwelcome attention elsewhere as Patrick homes in on what really happened to "Bill".

Much as with Snap, this is a headily enjoyable read. Bauer is just excellent at drip-feeding the plot such that "just one more chapter ..." becomes a run of them. Her character sketches really help again, with a well-drawn cast of engaging and sympathetic characters, balanced with some frequently comical wrong-uns. Inevitably, one can't avoid some comparison with Mark Haddon's The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time, but Bauer's handling of Patrick is confident and Rubbernecker doesn't suffer. It helps that it doesn't turn into a heart-warming tale of Patrick's normalisation. The only bit of a misstep it takes is with the rather late-stage (and, arguably, tangential) revelations about his family - there needed to be something here, but this was a bit of an overlarge something for me.

Anyway, zero qualms in recommending this excellent read.

Detecting the Savage Way

The Savage Detectives, Roberto Bolaño

I'm not one for long books. Especially when they meander aimlessly and the length appears to be beside the point. But this one, which is both very long and very meandery, was definitely worth it by the end.

But where to start? At first glance it's structurally an interrupted diary, bisected by, well, I'll come back to that. The two diary segments cover only a few eventful months in the life of a young Mexican, Juan García Madero, a budding poet and recent recruit to a movement that calls itself the Visceral Realists. In the first part of this diptych-diary, Juan becomes increasingly entrained into the obsessions of the group and with the ardent poets that drive it, principally Arturo Belano (sound familiar?) and Ulises Lima. This culminates in a violent confrontation that forces the protagonists to flee Mexico City, and which bisects the diary.

What follows, and what makes up almost ¾ of the novel, is an extended series of seemingly disconnected narratives, mostly told by unique voices, frequently without any immediately obvious continuity. These cover the following 20 years, as well as a geographical span from South America to Europe to Africa. In this "section", the novel almost challenges the reader to do the necessary detective work to pull together the wildly disparate tapestry of tales and random interludes.

On the surface, these diverse monologues are by people who have met, however briefly, Belano or Lima. They're people who pass them on the street, encounter them working, have a minor adventure with them, or even deeper personal contact. But in tracing the outlines of their lives over this extended period, these sporadic fragments become (to get navel-gazing about it) a wistful eulogy on the vicissitudes of life, of its highs and lows, of the losses incurred along the way, and the discovery, sometimes accidentally, of purpose and direction. By the end, the lives of Belano and Lima have spooled out in the unexpected ways that lives just do, and both reach their own equilibria with that.

The above summary may give the impression of a completely coherent read, but you do have to hang in there to let it build - and I'm still not 100% sure I got the right end of the stick. The poets' quest, post-Mexico City, in the second half of Madero's diary - essentially to dig through the life of a Mexican poet lost in the mists of time - mirrors in miniature the reader's own quest in The Savage Detectives' long middle section, but I might just be seeing patterns where none exist. The parallels between Arturo Belano's life, and that of the Roberto Bolaño who's written it, makes for yet another layer of interpretation.

Anyway, all of which, given my pedestrian tastes, makes this an unexpectedly enjoyable read. Recommended if you're in the mood for something long, discursive and potentially profound, but don't come knocking for a crime yarn - despite the title.

Finally, and this is a flippant observation, for a book about poets, The Savage Detectives is almost entirely (and blessedly) free of poems.

Daemon's Return

La Belle Sauvage, Philip Pullman

It's been years since I read Pullman's spectacularly imaginative trilogy, His Dark Materials, but it's still as memorable as ever. With its parallel, if familiar, universes, clever reworking of dark matter, epic (humanist) good vs. (religious) evil narrative, and it's unforgettable daemons, it's not a work that ever quite leaves you. Like The Lord of the Rings, its first world-building volume is its best, and like TLofR, it builds to a satisfying climactic good-vs.-evil showdown. But with less songs, thankfully.

So, it was with some trepidation that I picked up the first volume of a planned successor trilogy. But I needn't have worried - Pullman is as sure-footed as ever, and pulls off a great read even where the main destination of the tale is already known.

Set in "Lyra's Oxford", the version of Oxford in the parallel universe that kicks off Pullman's original trilogy, it centres around the everyday life of Malcolm, son of a publican. Into his life comes baby Lyra, entrusted in mysterious circumstances to a local convent where Malcolm performs odd-jobs. Her arrival sparks interest from both the Magisterium, the ecclesiastical wrong-uns of Pullman's universe, as well as Lyra's somehow distant father, Lord Asriel. Skirmishes between these forces steadily spill into Malcolm's world, ultimately forcing him to rescue Lyra in the face of an epic flood, and sending him and Lyra on a strange journey among the other forces underlying the world.

This latter journey is the only weak spot in what's otherwise a greatly enjoyable tale, and then only because it's arguably a tad too fantastical when set against the rest of the book (which is, of course, saying something). In every other way, La Belle Sauvage satisfies - it fleshes out Lyra's Oxford, and the daily life and politics within it, more completely; it makes Pullman's daemons even more intriguing; it gives the reader some enjoyable tradecraft when Malcolm becomes something of a spy; and it slowly and gently transforms Malcolm's ambivalent relationship with Alice, a seemingly surly girl working at his parents' pub, as they are swept down river with Lyra and forced to become her guardians. Also, while it shares HDM's antipathy to organised religion, here it presents religious characters who are genuinely good, principally the nuns, alongside non-religious ones who are not, making for a more nuanced and less antagonistic relationship with faith.

So, all for the good. Although making the down-river drift of Malcolm's canoe, La Belle Sauvage, a little less jarringly otherworldly might have made it even better for this reader.

In passing, amusingly, and echoing a joke made in the book, my phone autocorrects "La Belle Sauvage" to "La Belle Sausage".

A cosy read

Clock Dance, Anne Tyler


I'm not sure that this worked out quite like the author intended.

Beginning as a series of short, decade-spaced interludes in the life of Willa Drake, it hits the temporal brakes to focus on a short interlude in her early retirement. There (or "Then" I suppose), she becomes accidentally embroiled in the domestic life of Denise, her son's ex-girlfriend, when the latter is shot and injured. Flying halfway across the country to assist this near-stranger, Willa is slowly entrained into the lives of Denise, her daughter, Cheryl, and an extended community of quirky (naturally) neighbours.

This is an easy, rather enjoyable read, though it's very difficult to see what Tyler was aiming for. The opening interludes don't establish much other than the general feeling that Willa's life is mostly scripted by those around her. So her self-discovery when helping Denise seems to be what Tyler's after, but it's rather clichéd if so. She's usually got a bit more depth going on.

But, as I say, a warm and cosy read all the same, full of the sorts of recognisable oddball characters that you just know you'll come to love by the end.

(Finally, I should add that I'm also rather unclear on quite what the title of the novel is referring to. Sure, there's some passing of time, but it involves calendars, and not clocks.)

Galactic Central Point

Galactic Center Companion, Gregory Benford

It was many years ago, and over many years, that I read the six Galactic Centre novels that form the subject for this compact “study guide”. But despite the passage of time, Benford's galaxy-spanning tale of humanity's struggles against implacably superior “mechanicals”, largely set in the vicinity of the “Eater” at the Milky Way's centre, still sticks in my mind. 

In part background from Benford on his thinking behind his series, in part reviews of the full series by critics, and in part actual scientific work by Benford on the Galactic Centre. But the main reason to recommend is the new (to me, anyway) short stories set within it. Especially “A Hunger For The Infinite”, which revisits my favourite of Benford's creations, the Mantis, a mechanical intelligence that both persecutes the humans it meets while drawing artistic inspiration from them. 

I really rather enjoy Benford's penchant for imagining how non-humans might see the world, and it's nice to be reminded of how far his Galactic Centre series takes this. Particularly in the very strange ecosystems and intelligences around the Centre's dominating black hole. Benford takes the opportunity presented by the new stories here to flesh his ideas on these out a little further than the mech-focused novels could. 

Overall, this companion probably isn't much good for newcomers to his works, but for those familiar with them, it serves as a nice reminder of its pleasures, while offering up a few new nibbles to refresh the taste buds.

Green Antarctica

Austral, Paul McAuley

Against the backdrop of a thawed Antarctica, prison guard Austral, herself a former offender and a genetically-modified “huskie”, gazumps her criminal accomplices and kidnaps the niece of a visiting dignitary. Partly to protect her, and partly to negotiate passage off Antarctica with the girl’s uncle, with whom Austral shares a family connection. The novel then follows the pair’s adventures as they cross the Antarctic Peninsula avoiding recapture while meeting up with the assorted people who now make the post-glacial habitat their home.

I really thought that I’d enjoy this novel more. It’s set in the less-explored space of accommodated climate change, it has a rather unexpected take on geoengineering, and presents an arguably positive approach, that of the “Ecopoets”, to adaptation to a warmed world. Of which, it’s a nice idea to present geoengineering as something that just didn’t work fast enough rather than being “Morally Unconscionable”, and I really liked that the novel’s “environmentalists” have worked with the grain of climate change to green Antarctica, and to do so through genetic engineering. And in marrying all this with a narrative fed by a modified human, as well as a wider backdrop of the corporate betrayal of both huskies and Antarctica, I thought it would be more successful than it is. Instead, it’s too much of an episodic “road trip”, where the sequential hook-ups seem a lazy way to explore the world. And where one never quite buys the conceit that the protagonist would be able to escape detection so well.

So, while it’s very nicely ambitious (so far, so McAuley), but just not as narratively satisfying as I’m used to with him.

Android vs. Windows Phone

Now that I’ve had my (Chinese government-sponsored) Huawei P20 Pro phone for a few months, I’ve used it enough to judge it - well, its operating system - against that of my previous Windows Phones.

• Aesthetically, there's simply no competition; Android remains an ugly rip-off of Apple's iOS with a minimal attempt to do any more than just show apps; and, like iOS, it doesn't allow anything other than egalitarian, all-apps-are-equal mediocrity in which every app is allocated the same screen space, and the only way to delineate their importance is organising them onto different home page screens
• Windows Phone, by contrast, allowed app tiles to be a range of sizes, including with enough screen real estate to permit them communicate more completely with the user, it let the user tessellate them neatly into groups (e-mail, social media, phone functions), and allowed the user to keep all of their regularly-used apps on a single, elegant scrolling screen 
• Functionally, there's really nothing like the live tiles of Windows, you just get a coloured dot that indicates that there's something up with a particular app; as well as being less noticeable, the meaning of the dot colour is opaque much of the time; and sometimes a dot appears that just won’t go away; the notification pull-down does serve some of this functionality, but it’s just not as convenient as having a tile tell you directly what’s going on 
• While app overload is an issue with Android and iOS, there is, on my phone anyway, an attempt to stow away less-used apps via “Drawers”, but they're completely inelegant compared to Windows’ solution of having a full list of all apps (organised alphabetically, and with a neat way of skipping quickly) accessible to the right of the start menu; similarly to Windows, Android allows apps to alternatively be put in groups that occupy a single app spot on the home screen 
• Windows’ customisable start menu itself is something I really do miss; I'd got a nice set of differently sized tiles, arranged in a convenient order, and with a nice rhino-based wallpaper; Android - away from Windows launchers, which I've yet to try - looks positively amateurish by contrast; it's an interface designed by a committee, and so has achieved the lowest common denominator in appearance - actually, as it just ripped off iOS to get here, it's even lower than that 
• Doubtless in part because no one was writing apps other than Microsoft itself, the consistency and linking up between apps is much greater in Windows Phone than in Android; in particular, the contacts app is particularly good in Windows Phone, serving as a solid hub for managing communications across and between different apps or media; the corresponding Android app is relatively featureless, managed to mangle more than a few contacts when they were copied over, and still seems to forget contacts sporadically (it doesn’t know who C is, for instance); more generally, apps just feel isolated from one another 
• (As an aside, having used iOS quite a bit through an iPad, and more recently via C's new iPhone, it feels to me that Google just hasn't made as much of an effort as Apple have and (by necessity) Microsoft did in creating a joined up / seamless user interface experience; although I'm not a huge fan of iOS - and for some of the same reasons I'm irked by Android - it runs a much tighter ship than Android on this score)
• All that said, a healthy app ecosystem is a huge plus for Android; it's quite a change to finally know that there really is an app for that; Windows Phone’s coverage was always flaky, increasingly so with time, and even Microsoft bailed on some of its own apps (e.g. song recognition) while the platform was a going (if limping) concern 
• And all *that* said, my app experience to date is very far from frictionless; third party apps are routinely full of ads, lacking in expected functionality, expensive to upgrade, and of such uncertain quality that one is inhibited from paying to find out; the upshot of which is that I find myself sticking with apps from known providers; so, much as I'd always suspected, the so-called “app gap” that pundits would always dismiss Windows Phone for is, to a large degree, a tempting mirage and no more 
• But it is the case that it's nice to finally have apps for activities that I've hitherto missed out on, and even nicer to have familiar apps that are still being given the love and support they need; Google Maps, for instance, long used on my desktop, is a joy to use on my phone, while HERE Maps on Windows Phone was becoming quite dusty (e.g. it didn’t even have a way of selecting mode of transport - it was by road or nothing) 
• And I have really benefited from a few paid apps to move me across from Windows Phone, and get my music properly sorted (iSyncr); they’ve done a grand job in getting me seamlessly working in Android; although it’s still annoying that my Windows Phone WhatsApp account has to stay there 
• Notwithstanding all of the above improvements that my new phone has brought, I'd still prefer to be enthralled by Windows Phone's stylish and functional slickness; it's difficult not to see Android's persistence as another example of market share trumping product quality; even today, VHS can still beat Betamax 

I should add that, while Android is something of a Curate’s Egg, and largely a come-down from Windows Phone for me, the hardware of my new phone is really quite good. As expected, it has an excellent camera, but then I did buy it for just that. But it also handles Android slickly, and has an excellent battery life. Assuming I don’t hammer it, I can comfortably go 2 days without charging it.

It would have done a great job with Windows Phone as its OS ...

Canine Noir

Irontown Blues, John Varley

A long time in the making, this is the latest in Varley’s rather loose series of novels and short stories set in the “Eight Worlds”, easily one of my favourite science fiction worlds. Set (almost) entirely on the Moon, or “Luna” as its residents invariably call it, the tale begins as full-on noir with a private detective, Bach, interviewing a seeming femme fatale, under the sleepy gaze of his faithful hound, Sherlock. Most of the rest of the novel serves to reverse the reader’s expectations from this kick-off, with the noir slowly evaporating as the true nature of the “crime” is slowly – very slowly – revealed, and with Sherlock, actually a genetically-enhanced dog, becoming a key narrative voice (aided by an interjecting translator). This latter turn works better than one might expect, and getting into it takes up the time that one might otherwise expect a noir tale to require. Here, the tale is really rather slight in the end, and it leans rather heavily on the heavy-lifting done by earlier novels, although with a contemplation of post-traumatic stress. It’s also disappointingly light on the Invaders, Varley’s mysterious gas giant aliens who’ve effectively evicted humanity from Earth. So a much thinner read than his earlier “Eight Worlds” works, but not without charm, including, most obviously, a real love for dogs.

Irish Confessional

Conversations With Friends, Sally Rooney

Regularly teetering on the brink of being too self-knowing and arch, this novel of relationships by first-time author Rooney finally remains on the right side of credibility. It does go to the edge, mind, in its tale of friends, Frances and Bobbi, and their complex relationship with wife and husband, Melissa and Nick. While touching on politics, and life in present-day Ireland, it's more a talky examination of relationships. In outline, it would sound a like a bit of a soap-opera, but it's written much better, although at times it does come over as unconvincing as characters divulge more thoughts and feelings than seems (in my humble, if buttoned-up, opinion) plausible. But, after a fumbled first few pages, I found it rather compelling and quite enjoyed it. Even if it does, at times, seem to be written by a very confessional alien species.

A Parable

The Consuming Fire, John Scalzi

While my last Scalzi was a bit of a disappointment, the predecessor to this novel was a very enjoyable blast. A classic space opera, set in an interstellar empire on the brink of collapse, it was as much about it's colourful cast and their political machinations as it was about the disaster facing them all.

This time, disaster has arrived and the Interdependency is fragmenting, but Emprox Grayland II continues to be threatened as much by grasping political rivals. Underestimated as a naïve ingenue, she marshals her loyal friends to surprise her enemies, while striving to give her citizens the best chance of weathering the storm.

What it lacks in big surprises is more than made up for by Scalzi's inventive twists and turns that keep the reader guessing how (the extremely likeable) Grayland will beat the odds. It's also a joy as a thinly veiled parable for our climate changing times, especially the venality of those characters trying to turn a buck off the unfolding disaster. And it's all done with a brilliant lightness of touch, frequently an enjoyably profane one. Best of all, it's not done yet. Strongly recommended (... for space opera fans).

A Life in Shorts

Olive Kitteridge, Elizabeth Strout

Easily one the best books that I've read in a while, this chronological series of snapshots - some with the eponymous Olive Kitteridge as their subject, some with her in the background - spins a wonderfully humane tapestry of modern life from seemingly quiet domestic lives. Olive herself is by turns droll, annoying, insightful, cruel and caring, with an always-on no-nonsense attitude throughout defining events of her life, that of her husband, Henry, and those of her friends or neighbours. By viewing characters from different perspectives, it underscores how we can easily underestimate or undervalue others around us by only seeing them in one light. It's not always an easy read, though, somewhat to my surprise, it's a little more gentle than the more unsparing miniseries dominated by Frances McDormand in the title role. That's a little more close to the bone in its unvarnished holding of a mirror to the world.

Crime-lit Rebrand

Elysium Fire, Alastair Reynolds

A return to Reynolds' Revelation Space series, and an unexpected sequel to a previously standalone novel, The Prefect. That was an enjoyable and superior tangent to the main sequence of novels, but with this it seems that a rebranding as science fiction / crime crossover is in the offing. Not unwelcomely, and though it's not as novel as its predecessor, it's still pleasant to be back in the company of Dreyfus and his hyperpig deputy, Sparver. The tale itself, centred around depravity in elite circles and control of the democracy of its setting, Yellowstone and the Glitter Band, has some surely-intended Brexit echoes, and it fairly ticks along. But it's a little short-changed by its lazy use of the twins cliché, and its sidelining of key storylines from the earlier novel that also underscore the lower stakes this time around. But solid Reynolds.

Slavery 2.0

Underground Airlines, Ben H. Winters

What if, instead of eliminating slavery, America came to an uncomfortable accommodation with it? One where northern state African Americans are free citizens but their Deep South brothers and sisters are held in Apartheid-like bondage as part of an otherwise modern capitalist economy. That's the premise of this rather impressive alternative history / detective novel mash-up.

Intriguingly, it’s told from the perspective of Victor, an African American forced to work as an undercover agent for the US Marshall service to track down escaped southern slaves. Intriguing both because of the conflict that this role understandably creates within him, and because of the resulting slow tease-out of the bureaucratic banality of the monstrous system he serves. In the absence of the Civil War, the Deep South has retained its slaves to become a commercial success, albeit one hemmed-in by the wider world’s ineffectual jitters about slavery.

Victor’s latest case has him seeking a slave called Jackdaw, and quickly brings him into contact with the "Underground Airlines", an organisation that helps escaped slaves disappear into the North. But the case proves much more complicated that usual, with Jackdaw first turning out to be more than a Southern slave on the run, and then winding up dead. But Victor sees an opportunity to leverage Jackdaw into freedom, and with the help from a young white mother, Martha, seeks to finish Jackdaw’s mission - not for the cause, but for himself. But his discoveries in the South change things much further than Victor ever imagined.

After a start which can be a little confusing as you work out what’s what in Victor’s world, this settles down nicely. That said, it misses a few tricks by being a little too thin about this alternative America, and its late introduction of a game-changing MacGuffin is both too out-of-the-blue and far too unexplored to take seriously. But it’s still entertaining and thoughtful, although it’s not in anything like the same league as fellow alternative history novels like Roth’s The Plot Against America or Chabon’s similarly detective-themed The Yiddish Policemen’s Union.

Criminal World

Every Night I Dream Of Hell, Malcolm Mackay

It's difficult to entirely pin down what I like so much about Mackay's Glasgow-set crime series. It's certainly not down to its locale - it's written in such a way that, bar some familiar names, it's practically placeless. And it's not the characters who, while often engaging because of their line of "work", are rather straightforward and practical sorts. And while, yes, the narratives are propulsive, they're not enough on their own to explain why all of his books have proven such catnip to me. I can only think that it's all of the above, alchemically combining into crime yarns of quite unique and compelling flavour. And this one's no exception, seemingly effortlessly building on the crimes and criminals of its predecessors, without feeling the least bit tired or over-familiar. I'll definitely be chasing down its successor volumes.

China Moon

Red Moon, Kim Stanley Robinson

With auspicious timing given China's recent far side success, Robinson's new title visits (though more sporadically than one might expect) a near-future Moon dominated by the Red Chinese.

Starting slowly, it quickly becomes an extended chase as a Chinese "princess", daughter of a high-ranking bureaucrat and illegally pregnant on the Moon, hooks up with an imprisoned American contractor, and both are unwittingly drawn into more terrestrially-based power struggles. Elsewhere, they find unexpected help from a famed Chinese poet cum travel journalist, and a Chinese technician responsible for its Great Fire Wall but now raising a helpful general AI.

Broadly an enjoyable ride, with lots of clever and imaginative sights along the way. The Chinese lunar cities built in ancient lava tubes, and the burgeoning baby AI, in particular, are high points. But the ceaseless chase sometimes becomes a thin way to allow Robinson to show off new ideas rather than a compelling narrative in its own right.

Sister Act

Duet, Carol Shields

A return to a favourite writer, sadly no longer with us, with a pair of novellas centred around short interludes in the lives of two Canadian sisters.

One is a tale in the domestic life of an academic biographer, unsettled by her husband's unconventional literary exploration of Milton, her childrens' drift into secretive adolescence, and her own guilt at abortive plagiarism.

The second tale picks up with her sister, a poet just about getting by as a typesetter for a botanical journal. An invite to attend her mother's unexpected wedding sends her on a cross-country rail journey with her new dentist boyfriend, entrusting her son with her employer and his wife. There, she meets up with her sister, and awkwardly bonds with her future step-father, while a serious situation from home bubbles up.

Neither sound promising in outline, but Shields’ writing is just so well-observed, and both are so engagingly written that they're great reads. Her attention to detail in her characters’ inner lives is simply fantastic, one really comes away from both feeling that you really know these people you've spent a few short hours with.