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Several years ago, I saw a film called Ghost Dog, that I thought I would hate, but ended up watching twice because I found it so intriguing. The film is about the eponymous Ghost Dog, who is an assassin who works for a Mafioso, and follows the Way of the Samurai. To the Mafioso, he’s just a hired hitman, but the man saved Ghost Dog’s life when he was young, and Ghost Dog decided as a result to regard the man as his ‘lord’ in the terms of the Samurai code. In his own way, the Mafia man is also following a strict and outdated code of conduct. As someone who hates violence and guns, I thought I’d hate the film, but it was so thoughtful in the way that it explored the motivation and rationale of the two men that I found it fascinating. Ghost Dog also read extensively from a book called Hagakure: The Book of the Samurai, and the readings piqued my interest sufficiently to buy it. For one reason or another, I’ve only just got around to reading it.

Tsunetomo was a Buddhist monk in the 18th Century who used to be a Samurai, but was prevented from committing suicide on the death of his lord by a the recent passing of a law. The book is a very eclectic collection of conversations that he had with a younger Samurai over a number of years and covers topics of Samurai code, local gossip and legend, etiquette, Buddhist practice and law, hygiene tips and—-as they say in the adverts—-much, much more. In fact, the copy I have is a translation of only a tiny fraction of the original manuscripts.

It has been a fascinating read. Some of the sections are bizarre or even repellent to modern sensibilities (I lost count of the number of people who had their heads cut off or committed seppuku. Or both.) Some are difficult to understand because they involve arcane and obscure details of Samurai lore, but others are startlingly relevant to modern life.

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The Shipping Forecast is an odd thing. For many people (particularly Radio 4 addicts), lying in bed around 1 am listening to the gentle poetry of the Shipping Forecast is one of life’s secret but treasured pleasures. Curled up under the duvet, you can let the litany of “Dogger, Fisher, German Bight…”, “south-westerly five or six, rain then showers, moderate becoming good…” wash over you. You may live in Solihull, miles from the nearest coast, but for once you can be glad that you’re not in North Utsire enduring the gales.

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I read the first part of this series (‘The Sparrow’) a short while ago and loved it, so I was keen to read the sequel—-particularly as the first part didn’t exactly have a happy ending. ‘Children of God’ follows Father Emilio Sandoz back to the planet of Rakhat, several years after he returned as the only survivor of the first disastrous mission. I think that the author was trying to cater for people who hadn’t read the first book, so there’s quite a bit of scene setting and recapitulation at the start which is a little tedious if you have read the first part. However, the pace soon picks up, and it becomes completely riveting.

The story ranges widely over the themes of religion, atheism, morality, politics, but I think that it was the biology that gripped me most (for obvious reasons). Doria Russell seems to have put quite a bit of thought into the biological and ecological aspects of the book, and as a result, the Rakhati ecology is at least plausible. True, it’s impossible to guess what life on another planet would be like, but the ecology of this fictional planet is at least internally consistent and biologically believable. Rakhat has not one but two sentient species, one of which is more or less domesticated as food for the other. Imagine being able to go to a planet and not only be able to study entirely new forms of plants and animals, but also learn about the thoughts, behaviour, language and culture of two sentient species! I got pretty excited by that idea, and there’s plenty of detail for the biology nerd along with missing facts so that you can speculate on the possibilities.

One difficulty with this book was that the story is fragmented over a large number of characters and also over time. The ships taking people to and from Rakhat travel faster than light, so that there are relativity effects on the passage of time. This obviously makes the chronology of events on both Earth and Rakhat rather difficult to untangle, and there are sudden discontinuities as you jump from one story to another. It’s not a huge problem, but I did find myself racing through some parts to get back to threads about my favourite characters.

Which brings me neatly to discussing my favourite character. But I _can’t_ actually discuss her because it would be a big fat spoiler if you haven’t read the book. I will say that she gets all kinds of grief, doom and disaster heaped upon her which I didn’t think was adequately resolved. I wanted to know that she was at least content at the end, but her fate was rather summarily dealt with. This sounds like a really big criticism of the book, but it’s really just a result of having so many engaging characters—-it’s impossible to concentrate on them all. The whole thing revolves around Emilio Sandoz, so he gets most of the attention.

In the end, the main question raised by this book is how do we know that we’re doing the right thing? You can do something with good or bad intentions, and both can end in disaster. When do dramatic results justify draconian means? It’s a very thought-provoking book (don’t be put off by the title if you’re an atheist like me), and it’s well worth a read.