Flora Segunda is far better than Harry Potter. As I promised myself even before finishing my first acquaintance with Flora, I’d ordered the next two (and more delighted over discovering sequels I’ve seldom been), which were there for me to collect on returning to Berlin. I fell asleep in Flora’s Dare (full title: Flora’s Dare: How a Girl of Spirit Gambles All to Expand Her Vocabulary, Confront a Bouncing Boy Terror, and Try to Save Califa from a Shaky Doom (Despite Being Confined to Her Room)) more than once this week, and decided to take the afternoon off today to deal with the rest (being about two-thirds). It is very, very good.
Flora is back, with Poppy, Mamma, Valefor, Udo (who sadly seems to not be gay), the city of Califa, and of course Nini Mo the Coyote Queen. I’m reminded of China Miéville’s Perdido Street Station in the setting and populace, and Un Lun Dun as well, though I keep thinking of Harry Potter despite the few similarities beyond strange families and magic — and that Flora would make and excellent film. And then I wonder why Potter is unavoidable and Flora barely heard of? Even on the sci-fi/fantasy sites I occasionally peruse she’s barely rated a paragraph in six years. It’s better also than the Locke Lamora series (despite those being very good), the 11,000 rooms in Flora’s house, Crackpot Hall, are as good as Iain M. Banks’ Culture ships’ names, and lucky me, I have book number 3 waiting on my table. It’s very unlikely this won’t be one of my Books of the Year.