It's vibes all the way down.
Okay, that's not strictly true. If Spinning Jenny didn't have a plot, it wouldn't be able to keep itself afloat. As Faction Paradox books go, this definitely errs on the side of vibes-based, yes, but it's not like it doesn't have a working story and internal structure. Just, when a book in a series known for being very vibes-based stands out amongst its peers for being so damn vibes-based, you know it's on the extreme end.
That right there is the first thing to know about Spinning Jenny, the second being its actual story – a story which doesn't really take to being described succinctly. Nevertheless, my best attempt is as follows: Elizabeth Howkins is a 20th-century textile worker whose husband is taken from her by a loa (a massive cosmic being with power over time and reality), at which point she's sent a hundred-odd years into the past and dedicates her life to getting revenge. The book itself follows her plan as it comes into fruition over the course of one night. But there are forces at work with their own ideas about what should go down on that night, and things go topsy-turvy very quickly – both in the metaphysical and the emotional sense.
It's a convoluted premise to begin with, and the book's prose style doesn't help much. It focuses on the immediate surroundings of the characters, keeping things snappy by sticking to describing the tangible. This is both a good and bad thing – it takes away from the reader's larger understanding of the book's goings-on, but at the same time feels oddly fitting for the Faction Paradox style. Spinning Jenny is hardly the first installment in the series to avoid clear-cut explanations, and doing so invites the reader to instead focus their attention on the emotional and atmospheric impact of the scene. You might say that a scene's impact is enhanced when one is more clearly aware of happenings surrounding it, and, well, yes, I can't deny that. But at the same time, it works as-is, even if the balance is a little off. Certainly there's enough context to get invested in the characters' plights.
The other thing the prose style does is make the book feel very "blockbuster". This is a big aspect of Spinning Jenny. Everything is snappy and immediate, no time for internal monologues or grand descriptions; it's almost asking to be made into a movie. Certainly it's making an attempt to be gritty, with lots of action scenes and oddly violent moments. It tracks with author Dale Smith's previous contribution to the Faction universe back in Tales of the City, but feels a little dissonant in this context. The premise, setting, and pacing of the book all suggest a focus on nostalgia, slowness, and solitude; it's set up to be reflective, and certain scenes to do with Elizabeth's past and future really emphasize that. So, then, why does the prose contradict this by attempting so thoroughly to be snappy, exciting, and a bit edgy? Both work well, and neither feel out of place in this franchise, but they do feel out of sync with each other. Ultimately, I very much enjoyed both its sides and didn't mind their juxtaposition, but methinks I would have preferred a version of the book whose prose looked further inward into its scenes.
Reader, you may have noticed that the structure of this review is a little lopsided compared to my usual fare; I have spent this whole time talking about writing style and atmosphere, with nothing about the book's characters and little about the plot. You'll pardon me if I'm a little dismissive of them; that's got its roots in the fact that Spinning Jenny isn't deeply interested in them either. The characters are all effective enough, as protagonist Elizabeth has a good emotional hook to her, and each other character has their own entertaining personality. Still, even appreciation for the characters comes back to style; the immersion of the prose style helps put the reader in the characters' shoes. There's just not much else to say about them in and of themselves.
Much the same can be said for Spinning Jenny's plotline. The pacing is very strange, rarely feeling as if it's slowing down or speeding up. Even the climax hardly feels like a proper climax so much as just another scene with a somewhat expanded scope. The whole book feels like a flat line. It's not an animation, it's a painting – and yes, that painting has some lovely colors and textures to it, and you can move your gaze towards its various composition elements, but it still comes out feeling like one shining moment, stretched across two hundred and four pages. I simply have nothing to say about the plotline itself – I suppose I could talk about the Haitian cultural appropriation getting particularly weird here, with all the usage of Vodou iconography and stereotypes of Black men and women, but we all already know that, Lawrence Miles already knows that, and god willing the series gets better about it from here on out. (I've been assured it's an active movement.)
On the note of representation, I do feel an obligation as a plural system to point out my admiration for the addition of a plural character to this book, Sergeant Brierly. This is a supporting character whose systemhood is portrayed as natural to her character, and completely un-stigmatized. Yes, she's an alien, and the mechanics of it are different to reality (she can consensually absorb minds from other bodies into her gestalt) – but at the same time, it's nice to see anything close to plural rep that doesn't make people like us out to be slasher villains. Her inclusion unfortunately does feel like more of a novelty given she's an alien, and her actions and dialogue don't often seem to be informed by her plurality, but it's a valiant attempt nevertheless, and worth pointing out and celebrating for what it is.
...And that's that. I can't say much more about this book. I told you it was vibes, and I wasn't kidding – it's so vibes that most everything I have to say about it has to do with the vibes. And if you enjoy that kind of thing, you'll like it – I had a very good time with it – but there's really no further assessment to be made. It's solemn, it's theatrical, it's mystical, it's quite a good time whenever it's not culturally appropriating. But if you need more meat on a story's bones than nice vibes, big concepts, and vaguely exciting-but-contradictory worldbuilding, you'll be disappointed. A major goal of Dale Smith's during the writing process of this book seems to have been "it sounds cool so let's write it that way", and like. Fuck man it sure does.
Good book. Slight but good. Just go into it with the right mindset and you'll have fun.
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