To Say Nothing of the Dog [Mass Market Paperback]

To Say Nothing of the Dog is a science-fiction fantasy in the guise of an old-fashioned Victorian novel, complete with epigraphs, brief outlines, and a rather ugly boxer in three-quarters profile at the start of each chapter. Or is it a Victorian novel in the guise of a time-traveling tale, or a highly comic romp, or a great, allusive literary game, complete with spry references to Dorothy L. Sayers, Wilkie Collins, and Arthur Conan Doyle? Its title is the subtitle of Jerome K. Jerome's singular, and hilarious, Three Men in a Boat. In one scene the hero, Ned Henry, and his friends come upon Jerome, two men, and the dog Montmorency in--you guessed it--a boat. Jerome will later immortalize Ned's fumbling. (Or, more accurately, Jerome will earlier immortalize Ned's fumbling, because Ned is from the 21st century and Jerome from the 19th.)

What Connie Willis soon makes clear is that genre can go to the dogs. To Say Nothing of the Dog is a fine, and fun, romance--an amused examination of conceptions and misconceptions about other eras, other people. When we first meet Ned, in 1940, he and five other time jumpers are searching bombed-out Coventry Cathedral for the bishop's bird stump, an object about which neither he nor the reader will be clear for hundreds of pages. All he knows is that if they don't find it, the powerful Lady Schrapnell will keep sending them back in time, again and again and again. Once he's been whisked through the rather quaint Net back to the Oxford future, Ned is in a state of super time-lag. (Willis is happily unconcerned with futuristic vraisemblance, though Ned makes some obligatory references to "vids," "interactives," and "headrigs.") The only way Ned can get the necessary two weeks' R and R is to perform one more drop and recuperate in the past, away from Lady Schrapnell. Once he returns something to someone (he's too exhausted to understand what or to whom) on June 7, 1888, he's free.

Willis is concerned, however, as is her confused character, with getting Victoriana right, and Ned makes a good amateur anthropologist--entering one crowded room, he realizes that "the reason Victorian society was so restricted and repressed was that it was impossible to move without knocking something over." Though he's still not sure what he's supposed to bring back, various of his confederates keep popping back to set him to rights. To Say Nothing of the Dog is a shaggy-dog tale complete with a preternaturally quiet, time-traveling cat, Princess Arjumand, who might well be the cause of some serious temporal incongruities--for even a mouser might change the course of European history. In the end, readers might well be more interested in Ned's romance with a fellow historian than in the bishop's bird stump, and who will not rejoice in their first Net kiss, which lasts 169 years! --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.

What a stitch! Willis' delectable romp through time from 2057 back to Victorian England, with a few side excursions into World War II and medieval Britain, will have readers happily glued to the pages. Rich dowager Lady Schrapnell has invaded Oxford University's time travel research project in 2057, promising to endow it if they help her rebuild Coventry Cathedral, destroyed by a Nazi air raid in 1940. In effect, she dragoons almost everyone in the program to make trips back in time to locate items--in particular, the bishop's bird stump, an especially ghastly example of Victorian decorative excess. Time traveler Ned Henry is suffering from advanced time lag and has been sent, he thinks, for rest and relaxation to 1888, where he connects with fellow time traveler Verity Kindle and discovers that he is actually there to correct an incongruity created when Verity inadvertently brought something forward from the past. Take an excursion through time, add chaos theory, romance, plenty of humor, a dollop of mystery, and a spoof of the Victorian novel, and you end up with what seems like a comedy of errors but is actually a grand scheme "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." Sally Estes --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.

Comic yarn set in the same time-traveling universe as the splendid Doomsday Book (1992), with some of the minor characters in common. In 2057, the fearsome, slave-driving Lady Schrapnell has lent her authority and her money to developing time travel so that she can rebuild Old Coventry Cathedral, destroyed by Nazi bombs in 1940. After too many recent missions, operative Ned Henry is timelagged and in need of a complete rest. But Lady Schrapnell has another vital task for poor Ned: to locate a grotesque Victorian artifact known as the bishop's bird stump. A chronological complication that Ned is only dimly aware of, though, has arisen and must be fixed before history is changed. So a bewildered Ned finds himself in Oxford in 1889, wearing boating clothes, accompanied by a mountain of luggage, a regal cat in a box, and no idea what he's supposed to do next. Finally, after drifting along the river in an unintentional parody of Three Men in a Boat, he locates his contact, Verity Kindle (she caused the problem in the first place). There's a downside to all this slapstick, of course: Unless Ned and Verity resolve the problem, the Nazis will win WW II. Gleeful fun with a serious edge, set forth in an almost impeccable English accent. -- Copyright ©1997, Kirkus Associates, LP. All rights reserved. --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.

"The most hilarious book of its kind since John Irving's The Water-Method Man and A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole."
--Des Moines Sunday Register

"An utter delight.  Ms.  Willis's unique, engaging voice will carry you off to a place where chaos theory makes perfect sense, time travel is a REASONABLE mode of transport, and safeguarding the fate of humanity is a respectable day job."
--Amanda Quick

"Willis effortlessly juggles comedy of manners, chaos theory and a wide range of literary allusions [with a] near flawlessness of plot, character and prose."
--Publishers Weekly (starred review)

"I have long thought that Jerome K. Jerome's Three Men In A Boat is one of the highest points of Inimitable British Humor.  I chuckle; I gurgle; I know those three men--to say nothing of the dog.  And now I am convinced there was a woman concealed in that boat, too: Connie Willis."
--Laurie R. King

From Connie Willis, winner of multiple Hugo and Nebula Awards, comes a comedic romp through an unpredictable world of mystery, love, and time travel...

Ned Henry is badly in need of a rest.  He's been shuttling between the 21st century and the 1940s searching for a Victorian atrocity called the bishop's bird stump.  It's part of a project to restore the famed Coventry Cathedral, destroyed in a Nazi air raid over a hundred years earlier.  

But then Verity Kindle, a fellow time traveler, inadvertently brings back something from the past.  Now Ned must jump back to the Victorian era to help Verity put things right--not only to save the project but to prevent altering history itself.  

Praise for Connie Willis's Hugo and Nebula Award-Winning Doomsday Book:

"A tour de force."
--The New York Times Book Review

"... stunning...the best work yet from one of science fiction's best writers."
--The Denver Post

A Publishers Weekly Best Book of 1997:
"Displaying the skills that have won her more major SF awards than any other writer of the decade, Willis juggles comedy of manners, hard science theory and a host of literary references in this sophisticated dazzlement."
--Publishers Weekly

"An utter delight. Ms. Willis's unique, engaging voice will carry you off to a place where chaos theory makes perfect sense, time-travel is a reasonable mode of transport and safeguarding the fate of humanity is a respectable day job. Her wonderfully intelligent writing enchants and enthralls. Enjoy!"
Amanda Quick

"I have long thought that Jerome K. Jerome's Three Men and a Boat is one of the highest points of Inimitable British Humor. I chuckle; I gurgle; I know those three men, to say nothing of the dog. And now I am convinced that there was a woman concealed in that boat, too: Connie Willis."
--Laurie R. King --This text refers to the Hardcover edition.

"The most hilarious book of its kind since John Irving's The Water-Method Man and A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole."
--Des Moines Sunday Register

"An utter delight.  Ms.  Willis's unique, engaging voice will carry you off to a place where chaos theory makes perfect sense, time travel is a REASONABLE mode of transport, and safeguarding the fate of humanity is a respectable day job."
--Amanda Quick

"Willis effortlessly juggles comedy of manners, chaos theory and a wide range of literary allusions [with a] near flawlessness of plot, character and prose."
--Publishers Weekly (starred review)

"I have long thought that Jerome K. Jerome's Three Men In A Boat is one of the highest points of Inimitable British Humor.  I chuckle; I gurgle; I know those three men--to say nothing of the dog.  And now I am convinced there was a woman concealed in that boat, too: Connie Willis."
--Laurie R. King

Connie Willis has won six Nebula and Six Hugo Awards (more than any other science fiction writer) and the John W. Campbell Memorial Award for her first novel, Lincoln's Dreams.  Her novel Doomsday Book won both the Nebula and Hugo Awards, and her first short-story collection, Fire Watch, was a New York Times Notable Book.  Her other works include Bellwether, Impossible Things, Remake, and Uncharted Territory.  Ms.  Willis lives in Greeley, Colorado, with her family.

"We must join hands," the Count said to Tossie, taking her hand in his.  "Like this...."

"Yes, yes, we must all join hands," Mrs. Mering said.  "Why, Madame Iritosky!"

Madame Iritosky was standing in the doorway, draped in a flowing purple robe with wide sleeves.  "I have been summoned by the spirits to serve as your guide this evening in the parting of the veil."  She touched the back of her hand to her forehead.  "It is my duty, no matter what the cost to me."

"How wonderful!"  Mrs.  Mering said.  "Do come sit down.  Baine, pull up a chair for Madame Iritosky."

"No, no," Madame Iritosky said, indicating Professor Peddick's chair.  "It is here that the teleplasmic vibrations converge."  Professor Peddick obligingly changed chairs.

At least she hadn't sat down next to Verity, but she was next to Count de Vecchio, which meant she'd have one hand free.  And next to me, which meant I was going to have an even harder time lifting tables.

"There is too much light," she said.  "There must be dark--"  She looked round the parlor.  "Where is my cabinet?"

"Yes, Baine," Mrs.  Mering said.  "I told you to put it in here."

"Yes, madam," he said bowing.  "One of the doors was broken, so that it would not lock properly, and I removed it to the kitchen for repairs.  I have repaired it.  Would you like me to bring it in now?"

"No!"  Madame Iritosky said.  "That will not be necessary."

"As you wish," Baine said.

"I feel that there will not be manifestations tonight," she said.  "The spirits wish to speak to us only.  Join hands," she ordered, draping her voluminous purple sleeves over the table.

I grabbed her right hand and grasped it firmly.

"No!" she said, wrenching it away.  "Lightly."

"So sorry," I said.  "I'm new at this sort of thing."

She laid her hand back in mine.  "Baine, turn down the lights," she said.  "The spirits can only come to us in candlelight.  Bring a candle.  Here."  She indicated a flower-stand near her elbow.

Baine lit the candle and turned the lights down.

"Do not turn the lights up on any account," she ordered.  "Or attempt to touch the spirits or the medium.  It could be dangerous."

Tossie giggled, and Madame Iritosky began to cough.  Her hand let go of mine.  I took the opportunity to extend the wires from my wrists and hook them under the table.

"I beg your pardon.  My throat," Madame Iritosky said, and slipped her hand in mine again.  And if Baine had turned up the lights, it would have been dangerous, all right.  I would have bet anything it would have revealed Count de Vecchio's hand in mine.  Not to mention my own hanky-panky.

There was a faint rustling on my right.  Verity, moving her garter into position.

"I've never been at a seance before," I said loudly to cover it.  "We shan't hear bad news, shall we?"

"The spirits speak as they will," Madame Iritosky said.

"Isn't this exciting?"  Mrs.  Mering said.

"Silence," Madame Iritosky said in a sepulchral tone.  "Spirits, we call you from the Other Side.  Come to us and tell us of our fate."

The candle blew out.

Mrs.  Mering screamed.

"Silence," Madame Iritosky said.  "They are coming."

There was a long pause during which several people coughed, and then Verity kicked me on the shin.  I let go of her hand and reached onto my lap, and lifted the lid off the basket.

"I felt something," Verity said, which wasn't true, because Princess Arjumand was brushing against my legs.

"I felt it, too," the Reverend Mr. Arbitage said after a moment.  "It was like a cold wind."

"Oh!"  Tossie said.  "I felt it just now."

"Is there a spirit there?"  Madame Iritosky said, and I leaned forward and lifted up with my wrists.

Amazingly, the table actually moved.  Only a little, but enough to make Tossie and Mrs.  Mering both give their little screamlets and Terence to exclaim, "I say!"

"If you are there, spirit," Madame Iritosky said, sounding irritated, "speak to us.  Rap once for yes, twice for no.  Are you a friendly spirit?"

I held my breath.

Clack went the sugared violets box, and restored my faith in mystery novels.

"Are you Gitcheewatha?"  Madame Iritosky asked.

"That's her spirit control," Mrs.  Mering explained.  "He's a Red Indian chief."

Clack, clack.

"Are you the spirit that I saw the other night?"  Mrs.  Mering said.

Clack.

"I knew it," Mrs.  Mering said.

"Who are you?"  Madame Iritosky said coldly.

There was a silence.  "She wants us to use the alphabet," Verity said, and even in the dark I could sense Madame Iritosky glaring at her.

"Do you wish to communicate by means of the alphabet?"  Mrs.  Mering said excitedly.

Clack.  And then a second clack, a different sound, like someone cracking a knuckle.

"You don't wish to communicate by alphabet?"  Mrs.  Mering said, confusedly.

Clack, and a sharp kick on the shins.

"She does," I said hastily.  "A B C--"

Clack.

"C," Tossie said.  "O, Madame Iritosky, you told me to beware of the sea."

"What else?"  Mrs.  Mering said.  "Do go on, Mr. Henry."

Not while there was a foot loose in here.  I slid forward in my chair, stretching my left leg till it touched Madame Iritosky's skirt and pressed my foot hard against hers.  "ABCDEFGHIJK," I said rapidly, my foot held tight against hers, "LMNO--"

Clack.

She pulled her leg back, and I wondered what would happen if I clamped my hand down hard on her knee.

It was too late.  "ABCD--" Mrs.  Mering said, and the rapping sounded again.

"COD?"  Mrs.  Mering said.

"Cod," Professor Peddick said.  "Gaddus callerias, of which the most interesting variety is the Welsh whiting."

"'Will you walk a little faster,'" Terence quoted, "'said a whiting to a--'"

"Cod, coddle, cody," the Reverend Mr. Arbitage said.  "Are you the ghost of Buffalo Bill Cody?"

"No!"  I shouted before anyone could rap an answer.  "l know what it is.  It's not a C, it's a G.  C and G look nearly alike," I said, hoping no one would notice the letters had been spoken, not written, and that they were nowhere near each other in the called-out alphabet.  "G-O-D.  She's trying to spell Godiva.  Are you the spirit of Lady Godiva?"

A very decisive clack and we were, thankfully, back on track.

"Lady Godiva?"  Mrs.  Mering said uncertainly.

Tossie said, "Is she the one who rode a horse without any--?"

"Tossie!"  Mrs.  Mering said.

"Lady Godiva was a very holy woman," Verity said.  "She had only her people's best interests at heart.  Her message must be very urgent."

"Yes," I said, pressing hard against Madame Iritosky's leg.  "What are you trying to tell us, Lady Godiva?  ABC--"

Clack.

I rattled through the alphabet again, determined not to leave any spaces this time for Madame Iritosky to insert a rap.  "ABCDEFGHIJK--"

I made it as far as M.  There was a sharp rap, like a very annoyed toe being cracked.  I ignored it and pressed on to O, but to no avail.

"M," Mrs.  Mering said.  "CM."

"What sort of word begins with CM?"  Terence said.

"Could she be saying 'come'?"  Tossie said.

"Yes, of course," Mrs.  Mering said.  "But where does she wish us to come?  ABC--" and Verity clacked on cue, but I didn't see what good it was going to do us.  We'd never make it to "o," let alone "v."

"A--" Mrs.  Mering said.

I stamped down hard on Madame Iritosky's foot, but it was too late.  Rap.  There was no mistaking the fury behind the rap this time.  It sounded like she'd broken a toe.

"C-A--" Mrs.  Mering said.

"Cat," Madame Iritosky pronounced.  "The spirit is trying to communicate news of Miss Mering's cat."  Her voice abruptly changed.  "I bring you word of P...