By Connie Willis.
I should probably say up front that I liked Eifelheim better. More about that in a bit.
This book is about a determined young student who manages to convince... someone... that she should be allowed to travel to the 14th century. Of course, you know from the beginning that it can only go downhill from there...
What I liked: As a disaster story, it's not much good if you don't care about the characters. The problem is that I didn't care much about the modern characters, only the medieval ones (and Kivrin and maybe Mr. Dunworthy). Despite all the things I didn't like, it's quite readable. You get history as part of the deal.
What I didn't like: It's a disaster story, and it's depressing. The end isn't any kind of triumph, just survival. Too many characters are introduced too quickly which makes it a little hard to keep track of who's who and who's important. The Middle English dialogue is just short of impenetrable but fortunately you get to read it in translation after a little while. The theology is heretical or worse (Dunworthy thinks that God wouldn't have sent his son if he had known what would happen, and that he didn't stop it because he couldn't). On the trivial side, the phones seem very dated next to a future that has time travel and (kind of) advanced medicine.
It's inevitable that Eifelheim is compared to this book. They both involve parallel stories between the present (or future) and the Middle Ages. There is also a priest in both who turns out to be a good guy (the one in Doomsday Book isn't nearly as intellectual but he has a servant's heart). Eifelheim, though, seems to go somewhere with the story, while the characters in Doomsday Book end up almost where they started, perhaps slightly wiser, but really just alive. (Except for the ones who die.)
Showing posts with label sci fi. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sci fi. Show all posts
Monday, July 20, 2009
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
The Adoration of Jenna Fox
By Mary E. Pearson. Found via Laini Taylor.
This is a book that focuses on a single sci-fi conceit (or maybe one and a half, depending on how you count them) and tells a highly emotional, disturbing story. Honestly, though, I was more disturbed by the ending's moral implications (even in a non-SF world) than by what the technology made possible. This is a book that I will probably keep thinking about for a while (where "a while" is probably the next few days :). Story-wise, it seems pretty tight, although the semi-poetic interludes on the gray pages were a little weird.
Don't read the copyright page Library of Congress summary or find out what book it reminded me of unless you want to be somewhat spoiled.
In the end, I'm somewhat ambivalent about recommending it because of the moral spookiness. There isn't a whole lot of plot: it's all about Jenna's recovery and discovery of herself after an accident her parents won't tell her much about. If you like that kind of very focused story with few characters (and even fewer that matter), then you might like this.
This is a book that focuses on a single sci-fi conceit (or maybe one and a half, depending on how you count them) and tells a highly emotional, disturbing story. Honestly, though, I was more disturbed by the ending's moral implications (even in a non-SF world) than by what the technology made possible. This is a book that I will probably keep thinking about for a while (where "a while" is probably the next few days :). Story-wise, it seems pretty tight, although the semi-poetic interludes on the gray pages were a little weird.
Don't read the copyright page Library of Congress summary or find out what book it reminded me of unless you want to be somewhat spoiled.
In the end, I'm somewhat ambivalent about recommending it because of the moral spookiness. There isn't a whole lot of plot: it's all about Jenna's recovery and discovery of herself after an accident her parents won't tell her much about. If you like that kind of very focused story with few characters (and even fewer that matter), then you might like this.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Singularity's Ring
By Paul Melko.
This book is reminiscent of Vernor Vinge's A Fire Upon the Deep, idea-wise: many humans in the book's world have been genetically engineered (before birth) to have special glands capable of transmitting emotions and thoughts between small groups (two to five) of people. They are then socially trained to work together as a "single" person, or pod human. The characters were interesting, although I didn't come away from the book convinced, as they were, that they couldn't possibly function apart as individual beings.
However, despite several surprising plot twists (don't read the inside cover, though), the plot seemed driven too much by external impetuses. Every time the main character, Apollo Papadopulos, started doing something, it seemed as if another catastrophe, kidnapping, or intervention appeared to set them on a different path. The story also seemed somewhat disjointed, especially in the first half, with dropped plot threads all over the place. (For example, Manuel's twin sister is briefly mentioned, but never followed up on; the Gene Wars are also left unexplained, although with somewhat more justification, perhaps; and another important plot line is also dropped.) The principle antagonists don't have very convincing motivations.
Typographically, there are several annoying homonym errors: break instead of brake, loose instead of lose, and so on. Someone used a spelling checker, perhaps, but ended up with wrong words instead of misspelled ones.
Still, I liked this book quite a bit. The main character, Apollo Papadopulos (really five people who work together as one, most of the time), was quite likeable. Though the storytelling could have been smoother, some of the ideas were quite good; I especially liked the details about the Ring's engineering and the explanation for pods. Others were lacking; the impact of pod minds on sexuality and marriage, for example, was glossed over with a line that sounded like it was from a catechism and some vague sex scenes. Other human relationships, like friendship and parenthood, also seem to have been subsumed by the creation of pods; singletons (some who don't have the pod genetics, others who failed to combine into pods) live in their own enclaves apart from pod society as rejects. The Overgovernment was also left in a shadowy position in the background, despite having a large investment in creating and training Apollo for their mission. Apollo's assertion that "of course" quintets should have five times as many votes because they use five times as many resources as single humans didn't ring true.
If you like the nifty ideas and adventures in science fiction, you'll probably like this book, but don't look too closely at some of the details.
This book is reminiscent of Vernor Vinge's A Fire Upon the Deep, idea-wise: many humans in the book's world have been genetically engineered (before birth) to have special glands capable of transmitting emotions and thoughts between small groups (two to five) of people. They are then socially trained to work together as a "single" person, or pod human. The characters were interesting, although I didn't come away from the book convinced, as they were, that they couldn't possibly function apart as individual beings.
However, despite several surprising plot twists (don't read the inside cover, though), the plot seemed driven too much by external impetuses. Every time the main character, Apollo Papadopulos, started doing something, it seemed as if another catastrophe, kidnapping, or intervention appeared to set them on a different path. The story also seemed somewhat disjointed, especially in the first half, with dropped plot threads all over the place. (For example, Manuel's twin sister is briefly mentioned, but never followed up on; the Gene Wars are also left unexplained, although with somewhat more justification, perhaps; and another important plot line is also dropped.) The principle antagonists don't have very convincing motivations.
Typographically, there are several annoying homonym errors: break instead of brake, loose instead of lose, and so on. Someone used a spelling checker, perhaps, but ended up with wrong words instead of misspelled ones.
Still, I liked this book quite a bit. The main character, Apollo Papadopulos (really five people who work together as one, most of the time), was quite likeable. Though the storytelling could have been smoother, some of the ideas were quite good; I especially liked the details about the Ring's engineering and the explanation for pods. Others were lacking; the impact of pod minds on sexuality and marriage, for example, was glossed over with a line that sounded like it was from a catechism and some vague sex scenes. Other human relationships, like friendship and parenthood, also seem to have been subsumed by the creation of pods; singletons (some who don't have the pod genetics, others who failed to combine into pods) live in their own enclaves apart from pod society as rejects. The Overgovernment was also left in a shadowy position in the background, despite having a large investment in creating and training Apollo for their mission. Apollo's assertion that "of course" quintets should have five times as many votes because they use five times as many resources as single humans didn't ring true.
If you like the nifty ideas and adventures in science fiction, you'll probably like this book, but don't look too closely at some of the details.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Extras
By Scott Westerfeld. Sequel to the Uglies trilogy. (Westerfeld writes in his dedication: "To everyone who wrote to me to reveal the secret definition of the word 'trilogy.'")
Aya, a 15-year-old "kicker" (basically a blogger) living in a city with a reputation-based economy, searches for the story that will bring up her face rank—a measure of status that doubles as purchasing power and will save her from babysitting and schoolwork. She stumbles onto a Special Circumstance when she follows a lead regarding a secretive group, the Sly Girls, who try to keep their reputations low key despite the dangerous games they play.
I finished this book in a single afternoon, but I don't know if I would have enjoyed this as much if I hadn't already known about Aya's world from reading the trilogy. It seemed faster paced than some of Westerfeld's other books, but that could be because I read it faster. It did seem a little lightweight for being more than 400 pages long. One particular action was described in almost the same words at least three separate times, a bit repetitious even if the action in question is exciting.
Religion plays a tiny role in the world, which I am starting to notice is a common theme in Westerfeld's books: not that I expect a book to center around it, but it seems to barely exist in his worlds.
In the end, this was an exciting story, but somewhat disappointing because it wrapped up a bit neatly (and perhaps too easily) and didn't leave much to think about afterwards.
Aya, a 15-year-old "kicker" (basically a blogger) living in a city with a reputation-based economy, searches for the story that will bring up her face rank—a measure of status that doubles as purchasing power and will save her from babysitting and schoolwork. She stumbles onto a Special Circumstance when she follows a lead regarding a secretive group, the Sly Girls, who try to keep their reputations low key despite the dangerous games they play.
I finished this book in a single afternoon, but I don't know if I would have enjoyed this as much if I hadn't already known about Aya's world from reading the trilogy. It seemed faster paced than some of Westerfeld's other books, but that could be because I read it faster. It did seem a little lightweight for being more than 400 pages long. One particular action was described in almost the same words at least three separate times, a bit repetitious even if the action in question is exciting.
Religion plays a tiny role in the world, which I am starting to notice is a common theme in Westerfeld's books: not that I expect a book to center around it, but it seems to barely exist in his worlds.
In the end, this was an exciting story, but somewhat disappointing because it wrapped up a bit neatly (and perhaps too easily) and didn't leave much to think about afterwards.
Thursday, December 06, 2007
The Risen Empire and Peeps
This post is actually about two different pairs of books, both by Scott Westerfeld:
The Risen Empire and The Killing of Worlds, really one book in two bindings. (The epilogue from the first book is reused as the prologue for the second book.)
Peeps and The Last Days, which is actually an honest sequel about different characters. (The ones from Peeps only show up after the halfway point.)
After reading these two close together, you might get the impression that Scott Westerfeld enjoys the ways large-scale biological systems work. The Risen Empire (hereafter used to refer to the entire story) contains repeated references to cats and how they allowed the human race to evolve at various stages. Peeps contains repeated references to parasites and how they allowed the human race to... well, okay, that isn't quite true. A lot of the parasites in the book are (a) pretty nasty to their hosts and (b) not very interested in humans. When every other chapter except one talks about a different type of parasite, though, you could say biology is a pertinent subject.
So what are these books actually about?
The Risen Empire is an enjoyable space opera set in the eponymous space empire, which is ruled by a god-king, the Risen Emperor. You see, the twist to immortality is that you have to die before the (presumably artificial, but it isn't completely explained) symbiont which provides life can bond with your body. The problem with immortality is that it is used to reward the emperor's loyal servants (typical lifespan without the symbiont and with good medical care: 200 years) and they are slowly accumulating all the wealth in the empire... and are not interested in change. As a result, other groups of exiled humanity not under the auspices of the Empire are advancing rapidly technologically, while the Empire falls behind. The Rix cult is the group in question here.
I enjoyed this book a lot. It has a classic feel (there's nanotech, but it can't do everything, unlike the nano in The Golden Age) and still manages to have an interesting plot and lots of surprises. (There is a good one in the first chapter.) For most of the book, you know about the existence of the Emperor's Secret, something which could bring down the Empire, but not what the secret is. (At least, I didn't quite guess it before it was revealed.) Sadly, there are several potential plot threads left dangling for sequels to pick up, and Westerfeld's FAQ states that he'll maybe write them someday, when he's rich enough and secure enough to not need or want the money and attention he gets from writing young adult books. Oh well.
Onto Peeps: this is a vampire story, although it isn't obvious in the first chapter. The story: vampirism is caused by a parasite that infects humans, and Cal Thompson is one of a few rare carriers who are genetically immune (at least partially) to the effects of the disease. But the girls he kissed before he found out he had it aren't...
If you're bothered by parasites and rats and other gross things, don't read this. Also, it's labeled young adult (The Risen Empire is somewhat adult), but the parasite encourages behaviors which lead to it spreading: biting, scratching, kissing, and all that that implies. The Last Days is an honest sequel that starts off on a different path with some teens forming a band. Is it a problem that their singer has the disease and the world seems to be ending, err, sorry, there are just some waste disposal problems, we'll have them figured out in a few months? The tone is very different from biology major Cal's clinical narration, which I think is a plus.
I enjoyed Peeps a little more than The Last Days, but you might as well read them both together. Also, I hated the plot twist near the end of Peeps. It's one of those things I should have seen coming.
It's important to know where to end: The Risen Empire does a better job of that than Peeps or The Last Days, I think. And now I'll do the same.
The Risen Empire and The Killing of Worlds, really one book in two bindings. (The epilogue from the first book is reused as the prologue for the second book.)
Peeps and The Last Days, which is actually an honest sequel about different characters. (The ones from Peeps only show up after the halfway point.)
After reading these two close together, you might get the impression that Scott Westerfeld enjoys the ways large-scale biological systems work. The Risen Empire (hereafter used to refer to the entire story) contains repeated references to cats and how they allowed the human race to evolve at various stages. Peeps contains repeated references to parasites and how they allowed the human race to... well, okay, that isn't quite true. A lot of the parasites in the book are (a) pretty nasty to their hosts and (b) not very interested in humans. When every other chapter except one talks about a different type of parasite, though, you could say biology is a pertinent subject.
So what are these books actually about?
The Risen Empire is an enjoyable space opera set in the eponymous space empire, which is ruled by a god-king, the Risen Emperor. You see, the twist to immortality is that you have to die before the (presumably artificial, but it isn't completely explained) symbiont which provides life can bond with your body. The problem with immortality is that it is used to reward the emperor's loyal servants (typical lifespan without the symbiont and with good medical care: 200 years) and they are slowly accumulating all the wealth in the empire... and are not interested in change. As a result, other groups of exiled humanity not under the auspices of the Empire are advancing rapidly technologically, while the Empire falls behind. The Rix cult is the group in question here.
I enjoyed this book a lot. It has a classic feel (there's nanotech, but it can't do everything, unlike the nano in The Golden Age) and still manages to have an interesting plot and lots of surprises. (There is a good one in the first chapter.) For most of the book, you know about the existence of the Emperor's Secret, something which could bring down the Empire, but not what the secret is. (At least, I didn't quite guess it before it was revealed.) Sadly, there are several potential plot threads left dangling for sequels to pick up, and Westerfeld's FAQ states that he'll maybe write them someday, when he's rich enough and secure enough to not need or want the money and attention he gets from writing young adult books. Oh well.
Onto Peeps: this is a vampire story, although it isn't obvious in the first chapter. The story: vampirism is caused by a parasite that infects humans, and Cal Thompson is one of a few rare carriers who are genetically immune (at least partially) to the effects of the disease. But the girls he kissed before he found out he had it aren't...
If you're bothered by parasites and rats and other gross things, don't read this. Also, it's labeled young adult (The Risen Empire is somewhat adult), but the parasite encourages behaviors which lead to it spreading: biting, scratching, kissing, and all that that implies. The Last Days is an honest sequel that starts off on a different path with some teens forming a band. Is it a problem that their singer has the disease and the world seems to be ending, err, sorry, there are just some waste disposal problems, we'll have them figured out in a few months? The tone is very different from biology major Cal's clinical narration, which I think is a plus.
I enjoyed Peeps a little more than The Last Days, but you might as well read them both together. Also, I hated the plot twist near the end of Peeps. It's one of those things I should have seen coming.
It's important to know where to end: The Risen Empire does a better job of that than Peeps or The Last Days, I think. And now I'll do the same.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Several books at once
I'll try to be brief.
Lilli Thal's Mimus, translated by John Brownjohn. When a medieval king is betrayed, his son is given to the enemy king's court jester as an apprentice. I skipped parts as too painful to read because it was easy to foresee that things were only going to get worse because of what Florin, the prince, did. My notes say I found this because carbonelle mentioned it in a comment on superversive's blog; I must have foolishly thought I could easily find the reference again. I forgot about it until I spotted it at the library and remembered the title. There's no (fantasy) magic and there are quite a few references to God and the church, but the church (at least the one Florin enters) is not all that you might hope—they throw him out because, being a jester, he lacks a soul.
Julie E. Czerneda's Survival. First book in a trilogy, it doesn't end very satisfactorily. On the other hand, it wasn't so engaging that I'll be miserable waiting for the next two installments to show up. It reminds me of Slonczewski's books (probably because both authors are biologists) but wasn't as good, in my opinion. Maybe the others will change my mind. The premise: Dr. Mackenzie Connor, a salmon researcher in a near future where humanity has joined an interstellar union of species, ends up drawn into an investigation of the destruction of an entire region of worlds, called the Chasm, from which all life has gone. Dr. Connor protests mightily that she only knows about salmon, but is forced to cooperate by higher-ups and the disappearance of her friend Emily Mamani. There is a lot of build-up and description for not much profit, and not enough humor in most of it, as opposed to the charm of investigation and discovery that appears in some other books. It remains to be seen whether the second and third volumes will compensate. I found it because Kristen Britain (author of Green Rider) mentioned Czerneda in an interview and this was the only book the library had on hand.
Jessica Day George's Dragon Slippers. An orphaned girl is given to a local dragon by her aunt in the hopes that a knight or prince will rescue her and marry her (and, not insignificantly, her aunt) out of poverty. The dragon turns out to have unexpected qualities, so she bargains to leave it alone in exchange for a treasure from its hoard... which turns out to be a shoe collection. Shod with a fine pair of slippers, she sets out to make her fortune... Charming and sweet, but there were also some really tense moments. I liked it. Definitely in the original fairy tale category.
Theodore Sturgeon's More than Human. Three novellas fixed up into one book. Classic sci-fi with telepaths, teleports, and telekines, all three of which probably resulted in my enjoyment of sci-fi as a child, and of this book. They don't seem to feature much in modern sci-fi, unfortunately. The language is, at times, somewhat vague, and for quite a while near the beginning you may wonder where the story is going—so many characters are introduced without apparent connection to each other, it's a little hard to keep track. One of them is mentioned for a page and then disappears until 100 pages later. I also disliked the philosophy shown in the ending.
Lois McMaster Bujold's Cordelia's Honor. Omni-bus of Shards of Honor and Barrayar, this is my first read in the Vorkosigan canon. I think I liked Shards of Honor somewhat more than Barrayar, which was much more serious, but both have many moments of humor. It was painfully obvious who was going to fall in love. I also wondered, when Cordelia was sneaking around on Barrayar (a planet whose population is mostly of Russian descent), how there could be so many people with bright red hair that she would not be immediately noticed. As Bujold writes in the afterword, Barrayar is a book about parenthood. If clandestine activity is involved, well, that must be part of being a parent. Ha.
George MacDonald's The Princess and the Goblin. Classic. I read the version illustrated by Alan Parry and couldn't help noticing that the illustrations often seemed to be a page or two later than the part of the story illustrated, which is a bit unfortunate. Reading this brought back so many memories (I think I saw the movie as a child). I couldn't help wondering which parts were abridged.
Lilli Thal's Mimus, translated by John Brownjohn. When a medieval king is betrayed, his son is given to the enemy king's court jester as an apprentice. I skipped parts as too painful to read because it was easy to foresee that things were only going to get worse because of what Florin, the prince, did. My notes say I found this because carbonelle mentioned it in a comment on superversive's blog; I must have foolishly thought I could easily find the reference again. I forgot about it until I spotted it at the library and remembered the title. There's no (fantasy) magic and there are quite a few references to God and the church, but the church (at least the one Florin enters) is not all that you might hope—they throw him out because, being a jester, he lacks a soul.
Julie E. Czerneda's Survival. First book in a trilogy, it doesn't end very satisfactorily. On the other hand, it wasn't so engaging that I'll be miserable waiting for the next two installments to show up. It reminds me of Slonczewski's books (probably because both authors are biologists) but wasn't as good, in my opinion. Maybe the others will change my mind. The premise: Dr. Mackenzie Connor, a salmon researcher in a near future where humanity has joined an interstellar union of species, ends up drawn into an investigation of the destruction of an entire region of worlds, called the Chasm, from which all life has gone. Dr. Connor protests mightily that she only knows about salmon, but is forced to cooperate by higher-ups and the disappearance of her friend Emily Mamani. There is a lot of build-up and description for not much profit, and not enough humor in most of it, as opposed to the charm of investigation and discovery that appears in some other books. It remains to be seen whether the second and third volumes will compensate. I found it because Kristen Britain (author of Green Rider) mentioned Czerneda in an interview and this was the only book the library had on hand.
Jessica Day George's Dragon Slippers. An orphaned girl is given to a local dragon by her aunt in the hopes that a knight or prince will rescue her and marry her (and, not insignificantly, her aunt) out of poverty. The dragon turns out to have unexpected qualities, so she bargains to leave it alone in exchange for a treasure from its hoard... which turns out to be a shoe collection. Shod with a fine pair of slippers, she sets out to make her fortune... Charming and sweet, but there were also some really tense moments. I liked it. Definitely in the original fairy tale category.
Theodore Sturgeon's More than Human. Three novellas fixed up into one book. Classic sci-fi with telepaths, teleports, and telekines, all three of which probably resulted in my enjoyment of sci-fi as a child, and of this book. They don't seem to feature much in modern sci-fi, unfortunately. The language is, at times, somewhat vague, and for quite a while near the beginning you may wonder where the story is going—so many characters are introduced without apparent connection to each other, it's a little hard to keep track. One of them is mentioned for a page and then disappears until 100 pages later. I also disliked the philosophy shown in the ending.
Lois McMaster Bujold's Cordelia's Honor. Omni-bus of Shards of Honor and Barrayar, this is my first read in the Vorkosigan canon. I think I liked Shards of Honor somewhat more than Barrayar, which was much more serious, but both have many moments of humor. It was painfully obvious who was going to fall in love. I also wondered, when Cordelia was sneaking around on Barrayar (a planet whose population is mostly of Russian descent), how there could be so many people with bright red hair that she would not be immediately noticed. As Bujold writes in the afterword, Barrayar is a book about parenthood. If clandestine activity is involved, well, that must be part of being a parent. Ha.
George MacDonald's The Princess and the Goblin. Classic. I read the version illustrated by Alan Parry and couldn't help noticing that the illustrations often seemed to be a page or two later than the part of the story illustrated, which is a bit unfortunate. Reading this brought back so many memories (I think I saw the movie as a child). I couldn't help wondering which parts were abridged.
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Slan
By A. E. Van Vogt.
Exciting adventure, but something is definitely missing in the way the characters behave. Foreshadowing (even false foreshadowing) seems distinctly absent. The science fiction tropes are also dated (hypnotism plays a big role again, as in Cordwainer Smith and Isaac Asimov's fiction of the same period and in Van Vogt's World of Null-A), and the ending is a little weak, possibly reflecting initial publication as a serial novel: perhaps Van Vogt wasn't sure he was finished with the story.
The problem with the characters is that the main ones seem too credulous for superhumans who are both (a) supposedly several times more intelligent than an adult human and (b) aware that humans lie. They seem to swallow every successive thing that someone else tells them, despite supposedly having a fantastic grasp of human psychology due to their ability to read minds. (The superintelligent superhumans as main characters idea is also reminiscent of the only other Van Vogt book I've read (mostly), The World of Null-A.) Also, we see less of the other characters than we'd like; even Kathleen Layton appears mostly in the beginning and then fades away as Jommy Cross takes center stage as a mostly solitary actor, with a shadowy "organization" in the background chasing him but little interaction with other people.
Despite this weakness in the characters and the dated nature of the science fiction (hypnotism, mind-reading and antigravity in the same world with super-strong steel, newspapers, and "radiotelephones"), this is still a pretty good story for its length. (Short, if you're in doubt.) Brevity is a virtue, supposedly. There is also no mention of God or religion, if I remember correctly; the majority of people are treated as a mob without individual thoughts or perrsonalities, easily manipulated by the ruling powers through their irrational fear of slans. What is a slan? Read it and find out—if you trust the author that much...
There is a sequel (at least partly) by another author.
Exciting adventure, but something is definitely missing in the way the characters behave. Foreshadowing (even false foreshadowing) seems distinctly absent. The science fiction tropes are also dated (hypnotism plays a big role again, as in Cordwainer Smith and Isaac Asimov's fiction of the same period and in Van Vogt's World of Null-A), and the ending is a little weak, possibly reflecting initial publication as a serial novel: perhaps Van Vogt wasn't sure he was finished with the story.
The problem with the characters is that the main ones seem too credulous for superhumans who are both (a) supposedly several times more intelligent than an adult human and (b) aware that humans lie. They seem to swallow every successive thing that someone else tells them, despite supposedly having a fantastic grasp of human psychology due to their ability to read minds. (The superintelligent superhumans as main characters idea is also reminiscent of the only other Van Vogt book I've read (mostly), The World of Null-A.) Also, we see less of the other characters than we'd like; even Kathleen Layton appears mostly in the beginning and then fades away as Jommy Cross takes center stage as a mostly solitary actor, with a shadowy "organization" in the background chasing him but little interaction with other people.
Despite this weakness in the characters and the dated nature of the science fiction (hypnotism, mind-reading and antigravity in the same world with super-strong steel, newspapers, and "radiotelephones"), this is still a pretty good story for its length. (Short, if you're in doubt.) Brevity is a virtue, supposedly. There is also no mention of God or religion, if I remember correctly; the majority of people are treated as a mob without individual thoughts or perrsonalities, easily manipulated by the ruling powers through their irrational fear of slans. What is a slan? Read it and find out—if you trust the author that much...
There is a sequel (at least partly) by another author.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
We the Underpeople
Anthology of six stories by Cordwainer Smith; the stories are "The Dead Lady of Clown Town", "Under Old Earth", "Mother Hitton's Littul Kittons", "Alpha Ralpha Boulevard", "The Ballad of Lost C'Mell", and the novel(!) Norstrilia. (Since it is over 250 pages, I think it counts as a novel, not a novella.)
I found this because Elliot recommended it. For reference, he says in that post that his favorite Smith story is "The Dead Lady of Clown Town" and his second favorite is "Under Old Earth."
But first, a digression. Consider John C. Wright's discussion of his treatment of religion in the Chaos books. While reading them (twice!), I never approached the level of depth and generalization in his analysis (for example, his classification of the four paradigms and what they believe regarding knowledge and divinity). I don't think I would have ever said or thought that Amelia's paradigm was marked by its mystery, by the presence of unknowable things. I paid attention to how things got done, not how the book was written; I am not a student of writing. (Occasionally I cannot help noticing elements such as the abundance of paper and ink simile and metaphor in Alphabet of Thorn, but even then it me until my second read to notice.) The point is that I read books mostly for enjoyment and rarely detect the structures below the surface. (Or even the ones at the surface.) Would you expect a reader to notice all the things that Wright mentions in his explanation? I did not, for whatever that says about me.
This applies to Cordwainer Smith's anthology because I suspect there were such things under the surface that were, in fact, very important to the meaning of the story, and I fear that I did not see them.
I did enjoy "The Dead Lady of Clown Town": it has sympathetic characters and high emotions, although the plot, like many of these stories, seems to wander. (You can read Elliot's more detailed analysis here.) Norstrilia was the other one I really enjoyed, and is easier to describe despite being much longer: a young man buys and visits Earth and gets away alive. (Actually, the author tells you that much within the first few pages; maybe you are supposed to suspect that isn't really what it's about? I am not so cynical in this case.)
All of these stories are set in the same universe and most feature underpeople, genetically- (or otherwise) modified animals shaped more or less into humans who are used as servants, while "True People" are kept perfectly and inevitably happy by the mysterious Instrumentality. These stories are all also subtly or overtly horrifying. Hypnotism, telepathy and drugs are widely used to control people. Sub-par humans are drugged and laugh themselves to death as their brains melt. The underpeople who believe in the "sign of the Fish" and the "three forgotten ones" (let the reader understand) defend their secrets by inducing suicide, memory loss, etc., with no apparent qualms in Norstrilia, a loud contradiction to the spirit of love evident in "The Dead Lady of Clown Town." (Smith also wrote, for his day job, a widely used manual on psychological warfare; there may be a connection.)
Most are very readable stories. Smith's prose is clean and suggestive. (I found "Under Old Earth" to be an exception, since I didn't understand it.) However, the horror underneath makes me reluctant to recommend them; even "The Dead Lady of Clown Town" is suspect. One wonders whether this is only the element of "the grotesque" that Flannery O'Connor wrote about, present to shock the audience into seeing themselves clearly. However, I somehow missed whatever deeper truths might be present to redeem these stories. Since Cordwainer Smith has been dead for 40 years or so, he is probably not responsible for the way the anthology was assembled; perhaps his selection of stories would have included ones that revealed more about each other, since, as I said, they all touch on the same universe. For a story like "Mother Hitton's Littul Kittons" there is no apparent excuse; for "The Dead Lady of Clown Town" there are redeeming elements, but consider finally what happens to Elaine when she is reluctant to go with her "True Love" (this is probably a spoiler but shows what I think is most wrong about this story):
I found this because Elliot recommended it. For reference, he says in that post that his favorite Smith story is "The Dead Lady of Clown Town" and his second favorite is "Under Old Earth."
But first, a digression. Consider John C. Wright's discussion of his treatment of religion in the Chaos books. While reading them (twice!), I never approached the level of depth and generalization in his analysis (for example, his classification of the four paradigms and what they believe regarding knowledge and divinity). I don't think I would have ever said or thought that Amelia's paradigm was marked by its mystery, by the presence of unknowable things. I paid attention to how things got done, not how the book was written; I am not a student of writing. (Occasionally I cannot help noticing elements such as the abundance of paper and ink simile and metaphor in Alphabet of Thorn, but even then it me until my second read to notice.) The point is that I read books mostly for enjoyment and rarely detect the structures below the surface. (Or even the ones at the surface.) Would you expect a reader to notice all the things that Wright mentions in his explanation? I did not, for whatever that says about me.
This applies to Cordwainer Smith's anthology because I suspect there were such things under the surface that were, in fact, very important to the meaning of the story, and I fear that I did not see them.
I did enjoy "The Dead Lady of Clown Town": it has sympathetic characters and high emotions, although the plot, like many of these stories, seems to wander. (You can read Elliot's more detailed analysis here.) Norstrilia was the other one I really enjoyed, and is easier to describe despite being much longer: a young man buys and visits Earth and gets away alive. (Actually, the author tells you that much within the first few pages; maybe you are supposed to suspect that isn't really what it's about? I am not so cynical in this case.)
All of these stories are set in the same universe and most feature underpeople, genetically- (or otherwise) modified animals shaped more or less into humans who are used as servants, while "True People" are kept perfectly and inevitably happy by the mysterious Instrumentality. These stories are all also subtly or overtly horrifying. Hypnotism, telepathy and drugs are widely used to control people. Sub-par humans are drugged and laugh themselves to death as their brains melt. The underpeople who believe in the "sign of the Fish" and the "three forgotten ones" (let the reader understand) defend their secrets by inducing suicide, memory loss, etc., with no apparent qualms in Norstrilia, a loud contradiction to the spirit of love evident in "The Dead Lady of Clown Town." (Smith also wrote, for his day job, a widely used manual on psychological warfare; there may be a connection.)
Most are very readable stories. Smith's prose is clean and suggestive. (I found "Under Old Earth" to be an exception, since I didn't understand it.) However, the horror underneath makes me reluctant to recommend them; even "The Dead Lady of Clown Town" is suspect. One wonders whether this is only the element of "the grotesque" that Flannery O'Connor wrote about, present to shock the audience into seeing themselves clearly. However, I somehow missed whatever deeper truths might be present to redeem these stories. Since Cordwainer Smith has been dead for 40 years or so, he is probably not responsible for the way the anthology was assembled; perhaps his selection of stories would have included ones that revealed more about each other, since, as I said, they all touch on the same universe. For a story like "Mother Hitton's Littul Kittons" there is no apparent excuse; for "The Dead Lady of Clown Town" there are redeeming elements, but consider finally what happens to Elaine when she is reluctant to go with her "True Love" (this is probably a spoiler but shows what I think is most wrong about this story):
Elaine, her hand to her mouth, tried to inventory symptoms as a means of keeping her familiar thoughts in balance. It did not work. A relaxation spread over her, a happiness and quiet that she had not once felt since her childhood.
"Did you think," said the Hunter, "that I hunted with my body and killed with my hands? Didn't anyone ever tell you that the game comes to me rejoicing, that the animals die while they scream with pleasure?"
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Mississippi Blues
By Kathleen Ann Goonan.
An aside about spoilers: I often include (what I consider to be) mild spoilers in my reviews. Perhaps it's because I'm excited about some details and want you, who will probably never read most of these books, to be excited too, but I've also often found that the impression I got of a book from someone else's review was completely wrong, meaning that any plot details they mentioned really didn't spoil anything at all, because I ended up imagining a completely different context around them. Maybe someone else can comment on why they're so hated?
Obviously, anything below may especially be considered a spoiler for Queen City Jazz, since the events in this book all come after that one.
Back to the book, which is the sequel to Queen City Jazz and in which Verity commissions two river boats, one of which is very short-lived, discovers her pregnancy in humorous fashion, along with other details of greater and lesser importance, and heads down the Mississippi River with the somewhat childlike former population of Cincinnati, which she feels responsible for, having evicted them from their own city. Also, there are Mark Twain clones, one of whom is occasionally reminded that she is not really Sam Clemens by virtue of the fact that he was not female. Many references to the journey of Huck Finn are made.
If you liked Queen City Jazz, you will probably want to read this sequel. It continues with humor and sadness mixed into a somewhat psychedelic journey down the Mississippi River. (What's up with those clowns?) Verity and Blaze return, as well as many new characters: "Lightnin'" Lil, "Diamond" Jack, Peabody, Mattie, Mark Twain, Masa, James, Alice, the Professor, and others who seem to feel a need to hop onto a riverboat. The journey is dangerous and there are doubts about whether Norleans is even there. (Early on, someone warns Verity that her people will probably die from the information plague that is compelling them down the river if they don't get there quickly enough.) So read it if you liked the first one and want to find out what happens next, or possibly if you enjoy stories about river journeys. I admit that I'm reluctant to read the next one because 1) I hear it's a prequel and 2) I don't want to hear about any more bad things happening to the characters.
An aside about spoilers: I often include (what I consider to be) mild spoilers in my reviews. Perhaps it's because I'm excited about some details and want you, who will probably never read most of these books, to be excited too, but I've also often found that the impression I got of a book from someone else's review was completely wrong, meaning that any plot details they mentioned really didn't spoil anything at all, because I ended up imagining a completely different context around them. Maybe someone else can comment on why they're so hated?
Obviously, anything below may especially be considered a spoiler for Queen City Jazz, since the events in this book all come after that one.
Back to the book, which is the sequel to Queen City Jazz and in which Verity commissions two river boats, one of which is very short-lived, discovers her pregnancy in humorous fashion, along with other details of greater and lesser importance, and heads down the Mississippi River with the somewhat childlike former population of Cincinnati, which she feels responsible for, having evicted them from their own city. Also, there are Mark Twain clones, one of whom is occasionally reminded that she is not really Sam Clemens by virtue of the fact that he was not female. Many references to the journey of Huck Finn are made.
If you liked Queen City Jazz, you will probably want to read this sequel. It continues with humor and sadness mixed into a somewhat psychedelic journey down the Mississippi River. (What's up with those clowns?) Verity and Blaze return, as well as many new characters: "Lightnin'" Lil, "Diamond" Jack, Peabody, Mattie, Mark Twain, Masa, James, Alice, the Professor, and others who seem to feel a need to hop onto a riverboat. The journey is dangerous and there are doubts about whether Norleans is even there. (Early on, someone warns Verity that her people will probably die from the information plague that is compelling them down the river if they don't get there quickly enough.) So read it if you liked the first one and want to find out what happens next, or possibly if you enjoy stories about river journeys. I admit that I'm reluctant to read the next one because 1) I hear it's a prequel and 2) I don't want to hear about any more bad things happening to the characters.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Eifelheim
By Michael Flynn.
Science fiction set in the Middle Ages. (There is a present day component interspersed with the narrative from the 1300s, too, but it's not the largest part.) The best thing about this book is how real it seems; although I don't know much about the Middle Ages, the author has either done his research or is very good at faking it with realistic details. (For example: the Inquisition had very strict rules for trials, so much so that people were known to commit blasphemy so that they would be tried by the Church courts rather than the secular ones.) The writing is crisp, not vague. The intersection between two different cultures is also very interesting; what one insists at the beginning is true seems to change as they interact with each other.
The story, in short, is that an alien ship crashes in Eifelheim, a village in medieval Germany. The priest of that village becomes the mediator between the aliens and the villagers, trying to help and understand them while serving his own flock. In the present day segments, based on a novella, a historian and a physicist are about to stumble on what happened in that past, but the more interesting portion is the medieval narrative. Despite the sad ending (this is around the time of the Black Plague), the characters, both aliens and humans, have a great deal of pathos. It's especially interesting how the villagers, instead of being cardboard scenery, come to develop their own opinions about the aliens, who look nothing like men (they're described as giant grasshoppers), but inside are human, although foreign.
Recommended. As an aside, I would be interested in knowing if someone who actually does know about medieval Germany could comment on the factuality of the world-building.
Science fiction set in the Middle Ages. (There is a present day component interspersed with the narrative from the 1300s, too, but it's not the largest part.) The best thing about this book is how real it seems; although I don't know much about the Middle Ages, the author has either done his research or is very good at faking it with realistic details. (For example: the Inquisition had very strict rules for trials, so much so that people were known to commit blasphemy so that they would be tried by the Church courts rather than the secular ones.) The writing is crisp, not vague. The intersection between two different cultures is also very interesting; what one insists at the beginning is true seems to change as they interact with each other.
The story, in short, is that an alien ship crashes in Eifelheim, a village in medieval Germany. The priest of that village becomes the mediator between the aliens and the villagers, trying to help and understand them while serving his own flock. In the present day segments, based on a novella, a historian and a physicist are about to stumble on what happened in that past, but the more interesting portion is the medieval narrative. Despite the sad ending (this is around the time of the Black Plague), the characters, both aliens and humans, have a great deal of pathos. It's especially interesting how the villagers, instead of being cardboard scenery, come to develop their own opinions about the aliens, who look nothing like men (they're described as giant grasshoppers), but inside are human, although foreign.
Recommended. As an aside, I would be interested in knowing if someone who actually does know about medieval Germany could comment on the factuality of the world-building.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Quickies
Oh, wow, it's been longer than I thought. Nobody say the "H" word.
I haven't read any really great books lately anyway.
Anthologies: I've been striking out on anthologies lately. Karen Russell's St. Lucy's Home for Girls Raised By Wolves, and Kelly Link's Magic for Beginners, and Theodora Goss's In The Forest of Forgetting are all either a little or way too strange for me, although the first and last of those did have some memorable imagery. I tend to pick them up because I like the titles. Maybe I should learn better and check out a Gene Wolfe anthology instead.
Sergei Lukyanenko's Nightwatch (translated into English by Andrew somebody.) I was expecting great things after I read about this book in so many places, but in the end it seemed dull and worldly to me. The premise is there are two kinds of forces, Day and Night, and they have a truce with each other that means there's a Day watch and a Night watch (and perhaps a Twilight Watch, since that's the name of the third book) that is allowed to keep the balance between them by, err, fining those who do good or evil deeds to tip the balance. What I got out of it in the end was that the Night Watch, the guys who are supposed to be good, are at least as corrupt as the Day Watch. Depressing.
The Phoenix Guards, by Steven Brust. I'll borrow someone else's description: It's the Three Musketeers in English, with some fantasy elements tossed in (like "flash-stones" instead of guns.) The chief draw is probably the witty and meandering dialogue, and possibly the character interactions that go along with it. Five Hundred Years After is the sequel, not quite in the same line, (although it's still the same characters--they seem to be exceptionally long-lived in Brust's world), and there are more sequels after that but I quit reading the next one when a traveler was about to be consecrated to a dark goddess in the first chapter.
The Woman Who Loved Reindeer, by Meredith Ann Pierce. This is kind of like Eva: a semi-classic, short, YA book. I'm not sure what to say about it except I guess it isn't really that great, even if it's readable, since I can't remember much of it now.
Tamora Pierce's Alanna series. I don't have much to say about Tamora Pierce; most of her books are similar in some hard-to-define way. At least you get what you're expecting after the first couple: comfort reads, basically. Even though these weren't rereads for me.
The Hound and the Falcon, by Judith Tarr. A monk centuries ago who is also an elf deals with his heritage. I enjoyed this more than the premise probably called for. I'd say the monk wanders into heresy about halfway through, though, with the traditional "How can it be bad if it feels so good?" line. Technically an omnibus edition of a trilogy.
Freedom and Necessity, by Emma Bull and Steven Brust. A book written in the form of journal entries and letters between characters. I thought it was supposed to be fantasy—after all, it's published by Tor—but if it really is, it's too subtle for me to see it. It's an 1850s-ish adventure around England with maybe too much philosophy and too little adventure for me to really have enjoyed it. It is completely possible that I utterly missed the point, though.
Territory, by Emma Bull. The Wild West of Tombstone, Arizona, with magic. Very open-ended with the ending. It's well-crafted, I guess, but once again it didn't really strike me.
Water Logic, by Laurie Marks. It has the wit and charm of the previous two books (Fire Logic and Earth Logic—there are some memorable lines in these, or at least one that I remember a year or two later regarding the crossing of boundaries), but also the repeated emphasis on homosexuality being completely normal and accepted. I had forgotten just how much she pushed that button. If you can ignore, overlook, or accept that element of it, these books are perfectly delightful, but I'm not sure it's an element that should be ignored. This series, like the book A Door Into Ocean, deals with how to win peace rather than war. It seems to me the use of magic to make the stones in the former enemies' wall refuse to stand on top of one another kind of defeats the profound points she might be making. But, it is funny having a main character who is a seer that tends to dream of trivial things (or seemingly trivial) in great detail, and then gossip about them. If you judge these reviews by the number of words I put into them, I obviously liked this book despite the objections mentioned above.
The Burning Girl, by Holly Phillips. I picked it up for the name, and it was about what I deserved as a result. Lots of stream-of-consciousness in it. The girl of the title has lesions all over her skin that feather open and bleed when she gets feverish, which is quite often, even though they don't apparently hurt her. She also seems to be the key to traveling between worlds. In the last two pages (I may be slightly exaggerating the lateness of this revelation) you find out why. Not very well resolved, and definitely not clearly written. I don't know whether it is well-written or not because the stream-of-consciousness interfered with my enjoyment quite a bit. It may have been profound but it looked like gibberish to me.
Only Forward, by Michael M. Smith. It starts off sci-fi and (SPOILER AHEAD DON'T READ THIS:) turns into Tam Lin, sort of. (END OF SPOILERS?) Weird book, quite witty at times (the "hero" has things like lethargy bombs that make you feel like you missed a week's worth of sleep), and it has some surprising (to me) plot twists. It also has quite crude language.
The Invention of Hugo Cabret, by Brian Selznick. Not what I expected. This is a huge, fat, heavy book, but most of it is pictures (the author's note at the end says there are 26,000 words.) It's kind of like a movie in book form: one picture for each page turn, for the pages that have pictures, and then some text to interconnect them. But, not everything is spelled out in the text. A boy who keeps the clocks in the Paris(?) train station running repairs the automaton his father had been working on before he died, and finds an adventure. This is sort of historical fiction, though, not magical fantasy.
Betsy and the Emperor, by Staton Rabin. Another historical novel. Tells the story of Betsy Balcombe and Emperor Napoleon once he had been exiled to St. Helena. Includes real events and even dialogue, but the author took care not to read Betsy Balcombe's book before finishing her own "as I feared it would be so charming that it might discourage me from having the temerity to attempt to tell Betsy's story in my own way." Enjoyable, I guess. Makes Napoleon seem more interesting and human, certainly.
I haven't read any really great books lately anyway.
Anthologies: I've been striking out on anthologies lately. Karen Russell's St. Lucy's Home for Girls Raised By Wolves, and Kelly Link's Magic for Beginners, and Theodora Goss's In The Forest of Forgetting are all either a little or way too strange for me, although the first and last of those did have some memorable imagery. I tend to pick them up because I like the titles. Maybe I should learn better and check out a Gene Wolfe anthology instead.
Sergei Lukyanenko's Nightwatch (translated into English by Andrew somebody.) I was expecting great things after I read about this book in so many places, but in the end it seemed dull and worldly to me. The premise is there are two kinds of forces, Day and Night, and they have a truce with each other that means there's a Day watch and a Night watch (and perhaps a Twilight Watch, since that's the name of the third book) that is allowed to keep the balance between them by, err, fining those who do good or evil deeds to tip the balance. What I got out of it in the end was that the Night Watch, the guys who are supposed to be good, are at least as corrupt as the Day Watch. Depressing.
The Phoenix Guards, by Steven Brust. I'll borrow someone else's description: It's the Three Musketeers in English, with some fantasy elements tossed in (like "flash-stones" instead of guns.) The chief draw is probably the witty and meandering dialogue, and possibly the character interactions that go along with it. Five Hundred Years After is the sequel, not quite in the same line, (although it's still the same characters--they seem to be exceptionally long-lived in Brust's world), and there are more sequels after that but I quit reading the next one when a traveler was about to be consecrated to a dark goddess in the first chapter.
The Woman Who Loved Reindeer, by Meredith Ann Pierce. This is kind of like Eva: a semi-classic, short, YA book. I'm not sure what to say about it except I guess it isn't really that great, even if it's readable, since I can't remember much of it now.
Tamora Pierce's Alanna series. I don't have much to say about Tamora Pierce; most of her books are similar in some hard-to-define way. At least you get what you're expecting after the first couple: comfort reads, basically. Even though these weren't rereads for me.
The Hound and the Falcon, by Judith Tarr. A monk centuries ago who is also an elf deals with his heritage. I enjoyed this more than the premise probably called for. I'd say the monk wanders into heresy about halfway through, though, with the traditional "How can it be bad if it feels so good?" line. Technically an omnibus edition of a trilogy.
Freedom and Necessity, by Emma Bull and Steven Brust. A book written in the form of journal entries and letters between characters. I thought it was supposed to be fantasy—after all, it's published by Tor—but if it really is, it's too subtle for me to see it. It's an 1850s-ish adventure around England with maybe too much philosophy and too little adventure for me to really have enjoyed it. It is completely possible that I utterly missed the point, though.
Territory, by Emma Bull. The Wild West of Tombstone, Arizona, with magic. Very open-ended with the ending. It's well-crafted, I guess, but once again it didn't really strike me.
Water Logic, by Laurie Marks. It has the wit and charm of the previous two books (Fire Logic and Earth Logic—there are some memorable lines in these, or at least one that I remember a year or two later regarding the crossing of boundaries), but also the repeated emphasis on homosexuality being completely normal and accepted. I had forgotten just how much she pushed that button. If you can ignore, overlook, or accept that element of it, these books are perfectly delightful, but I'm not sure it's an element that should be ignored. This series, like the book A Door Into Ocean, deals with how to win peace rather than war. It seems to me the use of magic to make the stones in the former enemies' wall refuse to stand on top of one another kind of defeats the profound points she might be making. But, it is funny having a main character who is a seer that tends to dream of trivial things (or seemingly trivial) in great detail, and then gossip about them. If you judge these reviews by the number of words I put into them, I obviously liked this book despite the objections mentioned above.
The Burning Girl, by Holly Phillips. I picked it up for the name, and it was about what I deserved as a result. Lots of stream-of-consciousness in it. The girl of the title has lesions all over her skin that feather open and bleed when she gets feverish, which is quite often, even though they don't apparently hurt her. She also seems to be the key to traveling between worlds. In the last two pages (I may be slightly exaggerating the lateness of this revelation) you find out why. Not very well resolved, and definitely not clearly written. I don't know whether it is well-written or not because the stream-of-consciousness interfered with my enjoyment quite a bit. It may have been profound but it looked like gibberish to me.
Only Forward, by Michael M. Smith. It starts off sci-fi and (SPOILER AHEAD DON'T READ THIS:) turns into Tam Lin, sort of. (END OF SPOILERS?) Weird book, quite witty at times (the "hero" has things like lethargy bombs that make you feel like you missed a week's worth of sleep), and it has some surprising (to me) plot twists. It also has quite crude language.
The Invention of Hugo Cabret, by Brian Selznick. Not what I expected. This is a huge, fat, heavy book, but most of it is pictures (the author's note at the end says there are 26,000 words.) It's kind of like a movie in book form: one picture for each page turn, for the pages that have pictures, and then some text to interconnect them. But, not everything is spelled out in the text. A boy who keeps the clocks in the Paris(?) train station running repairs the automaton his father had been working on before he died, and finds an adventure. This is sort of historical fiction, though, not magical fantasy.
Betsy and the Emperor, by Staton Rabin. Another historical novel. Tells the story of Betsy Balcombe and Emperor Napoleon once he had been exiled to St. Helena. Includes real events and even dialogue, but the author took care not to read Betsy Balcombe's book before finishing her own "as I feared it would be so charming that it might discourage me from having the temerity to attempt to tell Betsy's story in my own way." Enjoyable, I guess. Makes Napoleon seem more interesting and human, certainly.
Friday, May 25, 2007
Eva
By Peter Dickinson.
I found this story very reminiscent of "Rachel in Love", for reasons that should be obvious shortly after starting the book. It was quite readable, but I didn't think it was exceptional. It's a peculiar kind of dated sci-fi where the future has "shapers" before it gets away from tapes as storage media. This may have bothered me and interfered with my enjoyment of the story more than I am willing to admit.
An okay story, but not really strong. Not really recommended.
I found this story very reminiscent of "Rachel in Love", for reasons that should be obvious shortly after starting the book. It was quite readable, but I didn't think it was exceptional. It's a peculiar kind of dated sci-fi where the future has "shapers" before it gets away from tapes as storage media. This may have bothered me and interfered with my enjoyment of the story more than I am willing to admit.
An okay story, but not really strong. Not really recommended.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
The Steerswoman's Road
By Rosemary Kirstein, assembly-line worker in a hand-painted watercolor factory, among other things. (She wielded the green brush, if I remember correctly.) This is an omnibus of the first two books in the series, The Steerswoman and The Outskirter's Secret, but this post is really about the first four (out of a planned seven or eight.)
Rowan is a Steerswoman, inquisitive and well-trained. The Steerswomen wander the world, recording observations while answering the questions they're asked. Though they are required to answer, the flip side is that others must answer any questions they ask, or be placed under the Steerswoman's ban and have no question answered ever again.
The first book starts out with Rowan trying to find the origin of some blue jewels that she has found scattered around; oddly, her seemingly harmless quest ignites extreme opposition from the secretive wizards who, incidentally, are almost all under the Steerswoman's ban.
It's hard to say more about the story without giving too much away (the author releases major clues about the world very slowly, on the rate of about one per book), but they are all very enjoyable. Though the genre is labeled as fantasy, it is obvious early on that the magic of the wizards is strikingly similar to... something else. Despite the slow progress of the overarching plot and the revelations about the world, the story shines in the small details of life and especially of Rowan's process of discovery; as someone else said, "She writes so well about the way that people think."
It's also true that you can read one without having read the others; I started with the fourth one, which was the only one on the shelves at the library, and enjoyed it before going back to start from the first one. The author does a good job putting some kind of plot in each book, although almost every answer revealed leads to more questions.
Oddly, despite the confrontations and violence which occur in several scenes, these are fairly relaxing books and, as I said, fun to read. I recommend them.
Rowan is a Steerswoman, inquisitive and well-trained. The Steerswomen wander the world, recording observations while answering the questions they're asked. Though they are required to answer, the flip side is that others must answer any questions they ask, or be placed under the Steerswoman's ban and have no question answered ever again.
The first book starts out with Rowan trying to find the origin of some blue jewels that she has found scattered around; oddly, her seemingly harmless quest ignites extreme opposition from the secretive wizards who, incidentally, are almost all under the Steerswoman's ban.
It's hard to say more about the story without giving too much away (the author releases major clues about the world very slowly, on the rate of about one per book), but they are all very enjoyable. Though the genre is labeled as fantasy, it is obvious early on that the magic of the wizards is strikingly similar to... something else. Despite the slow progress of the overarching plot and the revelations about the world, the story shines in the small details of life and especially of Rowan's process of discovery; as someone else said, "She writes so well about the way that people think."
It's also true that you can read one without having read the others; I started with the fourth one, which was the only one on the shelves at the library, and enjoyed it before going back to start from the first one. The author does a good job putting some kind of plot in each book, although almost every answer revealed leads to more questions.
Oddly, despite the confrontations and violence which occur in several scenes, these are fairly relaxing books and, as I said, fun to read. I recommend them.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Titans of Chaos
By John C. Wright.
This is the third and final installment of Orphans of Chaos. (Rumor says Wright is working on a sequel, however.)
This book felt less polished to me than the first two. Perhaps it's only because all of the mysteries have been revealed (mostly), but I missed the witty discussion that seems to have been supplanted by action in this final installment. I also don't understand what went on inside the characters during the final (as in last) confrontation. It is somewhat confusing.
However, the action is certainly stressful and suspenseful. The big battle lasts for over a hundred pages. Where exactly the vast host of foes came from, however, was never quite explained. Probably a deeper knowledge of mythology than mine would provide the answer, but I don't have it and am somewhat disappointed since I found the previous books quite understandable.
Lest I seem too down on this book, Wright does do a good job of wrapping up the mysteries hinted at in the previous books. There are also some marvelous revelations about Amelia's own past which make her seem a bit like a Christ-figure in some ways. (Does that seem excessively vague?) The characters are also well-developed, as they have been throughout the trilogy, but Vanity especially stands out as having grown.
One must keep in mind that Orphans of Chaos, Fugitives of Chaos, and Titans of Chaos were written as one single manuscript, and not intended by the author to be split in this way. This third installment is somewhat lower in my esteem than the first two, but taken as a whole I'd say it's a pretty good story. Unfortunately, there are some sexual references that make it not-quite suitable for children.
This is the third and final installment of Orphans of Chaos. (Rumor says Wright is working on a sequel, however.)
This book felt less polished to me than the first two. Perhaps it's only because all of the mysteries have been revealed (mostly), but I missed the witty discussion that seems to have been supplanted by action in this final installment. I also don't understand what went on inside the characters during the final (as in last) confrontation. It is somewhat confusing.
However, the action is certainly stressful and suspenseful. The big battle lasts for over a hundred pages. Where exactly the vast host of foes came from, however, was never quite explained. Probably a deeper knowledge of mythology than mine would provide the answer, but I don't have it and am somewhat disappointed since I found the previous books quite understandable.
Lest I seem too down on this book, Wright does do a good job of wrapping up the mysteries hinted at in the previous books. There are also some marvelous revelations about Amelia's own past which make her seem a bit like a Christ-figure in some ways. (Does that seem excessively vague?) The characters are also well-developed, as they have been throughout the trilogy, but Vanity especially stands out as having grown.
One must keep in mind that Orphans of Chaos, Fugitives of Chaos, and Titans of Chaos were written as one single manuscript, and not intended by the author to be split in this way. This third installment is somewhat lower in my esteem than the first two, but taken as a whole I'd say it's a pretty good story. Unfortunately, there are some sexual references that make it not-quite suitable for children.
Monday, April 09, 2007
Ceres Storm
By David Herter.
I have to say I agree somewhat with the sfsignal reviews (two links): this book does not explain a whole lot. The author has announced his intention to write two or three more books related to this one, but doesn't seem to have produced any output in the last five years or more, so it's questionable whether we'll ever see them.
However, I think the comparison to The Sword in the Stone on the back cover is rather apt: this is a story like The Golden Age where the technology is basically magic. Daric, the young protagonist (hero is too strong a word), is on a bewildered quest of some sort, except that it doesn't really seem to be his quest. There are magic rings that let him breathe in void and a magic cloak that protects him (albeit not very well) and doors between the planets of the solar system that his forebears used to survey their domain, not to mention ghosts and century roses and telepathic spores that dream of the world they came from.
Still, this book is a lot of work reading between the lines, trying to figure out what Daric doesn't realize or know or even care about, and while it ends at a sort of natural breaking point, I wouldn't call it concluded. I won't say it was terrible, like the second sfsignal review, but it lacks substance in some important ways.
I have to say I agree somewhat with the sfsignal reviews (two links): this book does not explain a whole lot. The author has announced his intention to write two or three more books related to this one, but doesn't seem to have produced any output in the last five years or more, so it's questionable whether we'll ever see them.
However, I think the comparison to The Sword in the Stone on the back cover is rather apt: this is a story like The Golden Age where the technology is basically magic. Daric, the young protagonist (hero is too strong a word), is on a bewildered quest of some sort, except that it doesn't really seem to be his quest. There are magic rings that let him breathe in void and a magic cloak that protects him (albeit not very well) and doors between the planets of the solar system that his forebears used to survey their domain, not to mention ghosts and century roses and telepathic spores that dream of the world they came from.
Still, this book is a lot of work reading between the lines, trying to figure out what Daric doesn't realize or know or even care about, and while it ends at a sort of natural breaking point, I wouldn't call it concluded. I won't say it was terrible, like the second sfsignal review, but it lacks substance in some important ways.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Pretties and Specials
By Scott Westerfeld. The other two books of the Uglies trilogy, so read Uglies first.
I will admit that I had trouble putting these books down. I read straight through them yesterday after posting about Uglies. They're certainly exciting enough, so what's the problem with them?
For one thing, God is completely missing. The closest to religion Tally comes is admitting, in a spooky forest, that she understood how people could start believing in spirits. This is an important omission, especially considering the subject matter of the book: what reason is there not to make pretties, specials and so on if humanity is not made by God, in God's image? Perhaps none... the villain of the series certainly didn't have any trouble with the idea.
The resolution of said villain's story also feels lacking. It's hard to say more without spoiling it, but the resolution lacks something.
Definitely an exciting trilogy, these books cover a lot of issues: environmentalism, beauty, human responsibility, brain damage... They make for a good read, but at the end, the story's resolution feels incomplete. Maybe that's why Westerfeld is working on a fourth book, Extras.
I will admit that I had trouble putting these books down. I read straight through them yesterday after posting about Uglies. They're certainly exciting enough, so what's the problem with them?
For one thing, God is completely missing. The closest to religion Tally comes is admitting, in a spooky forest, that she understood how people could start believing in spirits. This is an important omission, especially considering the subject matter of the book: what reason is there not to make pretties, specials and so on if humanity is not made by God, in God's image? Perhaps none... the villain of the series certainly didn't have any trouble with the idea.
The resolution of said villain's story also feels lacking. It's hard to say more without spoiling it, but the resolution lacks something.
Definitely an exciting trilogy, these books cover a lot of issues: environmentalism, beauty, human responsibility, brain damage... They make for a good read, but at the end, the story's resolution feels incomplete. Maybe that's why Westerfeld is working on a fourth book, Extras.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Uglies
By Scott Westerfeld.
I was recently reading a book of collected essays, speeches and lectures by Flannery O'Connor. Unfortunately, because I'm such a slow reader, I had to return it before I finished, but she still made some good points. One was this: sometimes writers have to use the grotesque in order to show reality to the reader. We have a filter of familiarity, where we accept things that we're used to, but by exaggerating them writers can get past this and make us think about what the truth actually is. The other thing she said is that we, as humans, need to see changes in a story, specifically redemption. The sacrifice of one's own life for another has a deep impact. I think both of these points are highly relevant to Scott Westerfeld's story.
Tally Youngblood lives in a world where everyone is born ugly. When they turn 16, they're born again into a perfectly pretty body, with pretty teeth, pretty hair, a pretty face, and a perfect life where all they have to do is enjoy themselves. What could possibly be wrong with that? Read the book and find out.
There are some painful moments where you, the reader, will want to yell "No, don't do that!" (At least, I did.) In fact, I sort of skipped to the end and read backwards because of it. The science in service of a few action scenes might be a little sketchy (*cough*hoverboards*cough*). Still, because of the issues he deals with and especially because of the ending, I think the rest of the trilogy is worth reading. Onward and upward...
I was recently reading a book of collected essays, speeches and lectures by Flannery O'Connor. Unfortunately, because I'm such a slow reader, I had to return it before I finished, but she still made some good points. One was this: sometimes writers have to use the grotesque in order to show reality to the reader. We have a filter of familiarity, where we accept things that we're used to, but by exaggerating them writers can get past this and make us think about what the truth actually is. The other thing she said is that we, as humans, need to see changes in a story, specifically redemption. The sacrifice of one's own life for another has a deep impact. I think both of these points are highly relevant to Scott Westerfeld's story.
Tally Youngblood lives in a world where everyone is born ugly. When they turn 16, they're born again into a perfectly pretty body, with pretty teeth, pretty hair, a pretty face, and a perfect life where all they have to do is enjoy themselves. What could possibly be wrong with that? Read the book and find out.
There are some painful moments where you, the reader, will want to yell "No, don't do that!" (At least, I did.) In fact, I sort of skipped to the end and read backwards because of it. The science in service of a few action scenes might be a little sketchy (*cough*hoverboards*cough*). Still, because of the issues he deals with and especially because of the ending, I think the rest of the trilogy is worth reading. Onward and upward...
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Mission Child
By Maureen F. McHugh.
This is an expansion of the short story "The Cost to be Wise", found in Starlight 1. Interestingly, the student (secondary character) who appears in the short story was completely removed.
Janna is a young girl on a somewhat primitive world. She records in here the story of her life. I could repeat everything on the book's cover, but really, this book is much more about Janna than about sci-fi, and the state of her colony world is actually quite close to our own, if you recall that there are many, many areas who only receive the waste of America's industrialized society. We just aren't used to seeing things from their perspective.
Parts of the book are quite edgy: there are sex scenes, Janna has a pseudo-gender crisis, etc. The story and the language it's written in are quite heavy and really not light-hearted at all. Janna skips over five years in the middle in one paragraph.
So why did I finish it? The thought that kept coming to me was redemption. Janna doesn't use that word, but she calls herself (warning: spoiler about the first chapter) she is kinless and doesn't really expect help from anyone after her village is massacred. She needs someone to step down and lift her up. At the beginning 14, she seems, even at the end, to be slightly mystified about life.
I'm ambivalent about giving a recommendation. I did enjoy it, but I'm not sure why. Science fiction is really only used as the framing for the older journey-into-adulthood story. Despite the quotes on the back cover, I don't think I will read it over and over again.
This is an expansion of the short story "The Cost to be Wise", found in Starlight 1. Interestingly, the student (secondary character) who appears in the short story was completely removed.
Janna is a young girl on a somewhat primitive world. She records in here the story of her life. I could repeat everything on the book's cover, but really, this book is much more about Janna than about sci-fi, and the state of her colony world is actually quite close to our own, if you recall that there are many, many areas who only receive the waste of America's industrialized society. We just aren't used to seeing things from their perspective.
Parts of the book are quite edgy: there are sex scenes, Janna has a pseudo-gender crisis, etc. The story and the language it's written in are quite heavy and really not light-hearted at all. Janna skips over five years in the middle in one paragraph.
So why did I finish it? The thought that kept coming to me was redemption. Janna doesn't use that word, but she calls herself (warning: spoiler about the first chapter) she is kinless and doesn't really expect help from anyone after her village is massacred. She needs someone to step down and lift her up. At the beginning 14, she seems, even at the end, to be slightly mystified about life.
I'm ambivalent about giving a recommendation. I did enjoy it, but I'm not sure why. Science fiction is really only used as the framing for the older journey-into-adulthood story. Despite the quotes on the back cover, I don't think I will read it over and over again.
Kiln People
By David Brin.
[Note: I originally wrote most of this post on 2/6, almost a month ago, but never published it. The book I read back near the beginning of January.]
This is a light-hearted "ditective" story with a sci-fi premise: dittoing. Dittoing is more than cloning: it copies a person's exact mental state into a short-lived clay golem, which can then go do all the things the person is unwilling to do with their own body. However, it's hard to take this book seriously when the tone is so light and supposed to be funny. The philosophical speculation (for example: what motivates you to keep going when you realize you're only a mayfly and everything you're supposed to do is only going to benefit your owner? Do golems have souls?), which our main character seems slightly obsessed with (he builds a compulsion to record subvocally into all his golems so he'll have a record of what happened to them if they don't get back intact so he can reintegrate their memories), takes a strange turn near the end of the book, but it still remains, in my opinion, light entertainment.
This is a fairly amusing story with some awful puns in line with the theme, and good for light reading. There is at least one risqué scene and several references to what other people use their dittoes for.
[Note: I originally wrote most of this post on 2/6, almost a month ago, but never published it. The book I read back near the beginning of January.]
This is a light-hearted "ditective" story with a sci-fi premise: dittoing. Dittoing is more than cloning: it copies a person's exact mental state into a short-lived clay golem, which can then go do all the things the person is unwilling to do with their own body. However, it's hard to take this book seriously when the tone is so light and supposed to be funny. The philosophical speculation (for example: what motivates you to keep going when you realize you're only a mayfly and everything you're supposed to do is only going to benefit your owner? Do golems have souls?), which our main character seems slightly obsessed with (he builds a compulsion to record subvocally into all his golems so he'll have a record of what happened to them if they don't get back intact so he can reintegrate their memories), takes a strange turn near the end of the book, but it still remains, in my opinion, light entertainment.
This is a fairly amusing story with some awful puns in line with the theme, and good for light reading. There is at least one risqué scene and several references to what other people use their dittoes for.
Monday, February 05, 2007
Probability Space (trilogy)
By Nancy Kress.
These are three separate books, instead of one book in three volumes: Probability Moon, Probability Sun, and Probability Space. They have this in their favor: they aren't overly long and the writing is clear and precise most of the time. (The explanation of how the space tunnels work is paradoxical, if not outright self-contradictory.) Probability Moon starts off with a couple interesting premises: one alien race, ancient and apparently extinct, has left the universe space tunnels and other artifacts; a second race has developed that functions on "shared reality", where consensus between its people is automatic and natural, and disagreement causes "head pain" (or headaches). Unfortunately, by the end of the trilogy, it has turned into a morality tale about why humanity isn't mature enough to explore space, and the aliens are basically dismissed.
The author copies a noticeable amount of explanation verbatim between books, which may be a blessing to intermittent readers or those who start with a later book, but I think it would have been better to do something like write "The Story So Far" at the beginning instead of forcing continuing readers to go through, by the third book, multiple pages of copied material. This was probably my pet peeve concerning the book.
What I would have liked to see is an explanation or reappearance of the ancient aliens, and why they created the space tunnels, instead of the same old speculation about how they work based on "macro-level quantum entanglement", whatever that is. I would also have liked to see a reconciliation with the Fallers, the mysterious enemies of humanity, or at least some type of armistice or understanding. Instead, they remain the mysterious enemy throughout, with almost the only human perception of them being that they are extremely xenophobic and can't stand to share the galaxy with other races.
Overall, it has some cute ideas, but doesn't really develop them beyond basic speculation. Probably not worth reading past the first book (somewhat self-contained, although some characters continue into the next book) unless you have nothing better to read (or do).
These are three separate books, instead of one book in three volumes: Probability Moon, Probability Sun, and Probability Space. They have this in their favor: they aren't overly long and the writing is clear and precise most of the time. (The explanation of how the space tunnels work is paradoxical, if not outright self-contradictory.) Probability Moon starts off with a couple interesting premises: one alien race, ancient and apparently extinct, has left the universe space tunnels and other artifacts; a second race has developed that functions on "shared reality", where consensus between its people is automatic and natural, and disagreement causes "head pain" (or headaches). Unfortunately, by the end of the trilogy, it has turned into a morality tale about why humanity isn't mature enough to explore space, and the aliens are basically dismissed.
The author copies a noticeable amount of explanation verbatim between books, which may be a blessing to intermittent readers or those who start with a later book, but I think it would have been better to do something like write "The Story So Far" at the beginning instead of forcing continuing readers to go through, by the third book, multiple pages of copied material. This was probably my pet peeve concerning the book.
What I would have liked to see is an explanation or reappearance of the ancient aliens, and why they created the space tunnels, instead of the same old speculation about how they work based on "macro-level quantum entanglement", whatever that is. I would also have liked to see a reconciliation with the Fallers, the mysterious enemies of humanity, or at least some type of armistice or understanding. Instead, they remain the mysterious enemy throughout, with almost the only human perception of them being that they are extremely xenophobic and can't stand to share the galaxy with other races.
Overall, it has some cute ideas, but doesn't really develop them beyond basic speculation. Probably not worth reading past the first book (somewhat self-contained, although some characters continue into the next book) unless you have nothing better to read (or do).
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