Lavinia Shadows

Ten Worst Novels Read in 2011

2012-01-03T10:59:00.000-08:00

Ten Worst Novels Read in 2011

The flip side of the other list, based on structural and aesthetic assessment, on personal assessment. Not much here I’ll spend that much time on, it wasn’t a year that produced a lot of books I hated enough to go into with great detail. Mostly books that because of the author or specific hook thoroughly failed to connect effectively, and I had a good enough reading year that even this list is better than my worst of previous years.

1. Streaking by Brian Stableford (2006)
2. Software by Rudy Rucker (1982)
3. All Clear by Connie Willis (2010)
4. All the Lives He Led by Frederik Pohl (2011)
5. Skylark Three by E. E. Smith (1930)
6. Prelandra by C. S. Lewis (1944)
7. A Dance With Dragons by George R. R. Martin (2011)
8. Ghosts of Belfast by Stuart Neville (2009)
9. Among Others by Joe Walton (2011)
10. The Solarians by Norman Spinrad (1966)

1. Streaking by Brian Stableford
There are a few interesting patterns that become clear when looking at this list as a whole, most notably that it’s 90% speculative fiction, while the best list has only 40%, and that’s if you stretch definitions. Perhaps I should consider shifting my reading tastes, while speculative fiction done excellently can build things that no other genre can, so often what’s produced isn’t, looked at as a whole "mainstream" fiction probably delivered more pleasure and insight than speculative fiction, even beyond judging through the worst. In this case, the bizarrely Clarke-nominated work of hereditary luck is as bad as all the reviewers said, terrible prose, contrived plot, atrociously unsympathetic characters and a deep absence of any point. There was almost a buffering effect going into this book, as I expected it to be as awkward and unpersuasive as it turned out to be, I never felt I was being unduly robbed of my time. Still, that’s no reason to give it a pass. Whether through incompetence or some bizarre stylistic experiment this book falls flat on every level.

2. Software by Rudy Rucker
This one was largely self-inflicted. Last year Hylozoic was the worst novel I read by a considerable margin, a book I encountered out of nowhere that I loathed for its smug, incoherent, pointless twists and for playing everything about its setting and characters as a joke that fell flat. My reaction was strong enough that I sought out one of Rucker’s earlier works to see if he was the Worst Author Ever or if a combination of factors made Hylozoic uniquely bad. It appears to be a little of both. Software was much better and seemed to almost have something of a point, but it sabotages itself by the same incoherent, inept surrealism. These factors were much reduced in Software, but it’s a tone-dead failure in its adventure elements and even more so in the way it tries to examine drug use through a science fiction twist. The structural incompetence of the book would guarantee it a place on this list, what makes it so high up is the ill-focused misanthropism that make encountering Rucker’s worldview actively unpleasant.

3. All Clear by Connie Willis
Last year Blackout by the same author made my worst list, here the continuation of the novel gets a similar, although slightly less severe, assessment. It has basically the same faults as Blackout and most of Connie Willis over the past several decades--failed humor, excess of flaky sentimentality, generic and interchangeable characterization. It’s somewhat better than Blackout in that a unifying plot finally materializes, but it’s still the dullest reading experience I had this year, one that proves to have very little of any substance to say about the past. Most personally annoying is that it’s a story of time-traveling historians that fails in its presentation of historical detail and in having the whole plot rest on the bumbling ineptitude of the historians. That’s just as plausible as the plot-critical contrivances of having Oxford in 2060 rely on cord phones for communication, but the historical ineptitude of the presumed professionals is particularly annoying, from my trade and because Willis appears to think she’s being insightful and humanistic in the process. That this book won a Hugo is inexcusable.

4. All the Lives He Led by Frederik Pohl
The plot comes together not at all, and the book can’t decide whether it wants to say anything of substance about terrorism, or just be a collection of action and noise. The protagonist is deliberately written as being appallingly dense, but the worldbuilding isn’t any smarter, particularly in the conceit that kilo-level casualties from terrorism can become a weekly occurrence without major institutional change. Pohl has had a long career and some great books in his corpus, it’s distressing to see the present Pohl make something so incoherent.

5. Skylark Three by E. E. Smith
Classic pulpy science fiction, which means that the setting hangs together not at all, the plot is an exercise in masculinized triumph without serious drama, and the style of prose is pathologically flawed. Taken in itself it doesn’t commit many sins that weren’t common in this era for this style of sci-fi, but it doesn’t have the energy to disguise these effectively. Particularly damaging is the unrelenting hype towards militarism and misogynist gender roles, common traits for Smith and much science fiction then and now, but here emerging in a particularly concentrated form.

6. Prelandra by C. S. Lewis
All of Lewis’ usual preaching and heavy-handed efforts at evangelism through narrative, without any of the skill he’s elsewhere employed. In attempting to build a close meaningful connection to spiritual truth Lewis hollows out his invented universe, creating an intense anti-worldbuilding that undermines trust for anyone not embracing his type of transcendental meditation. The essence of what’s wrong here emerges in a brief and off-topic speech delivered in the text, to the effect of claiming that biological sex roles are not objectively valid or of religious obligation, but gender roles are. Moments like that make the book intriguing as a historical datapoint, but compromised to the point of uselessness as a story. It’s possible to wed a strong religious standpoint outside my own to an effective narrative--look at Chesterston’s The Man Who Was Thursday and to an extent Lewis’ own Narnia books--but it thoroughly fails to work here.

7. A Dance With Dragons by George R. R. Martin
The fifth installment in a now apparently endless series. This is the point where the increasingly bloated fantasy series has its plot terminate almost entirely, there’s a lot of travel and a minimum of action across these eight hundred pages. A high proportion of the overall length ends up being almost having key characters meet, making decisions that prove to be irrelevant and, most frustratingly, avoiding making crucial decisions to further delay any sense of resolution. As well, going back to this series after a six year gap, it’s increasingly clear how hollow the worldbuilding and sense of moral ambiguity is, how much Martin indulges in cartoonishly evil antagonists, and how problematic his political analysis is.

8. Ghosts of Belfast by Stuart Neville
A cliched, low-energy thriller where tension is continually deflated. The book relies for its punches on feeling invested in the story of a depressed former-IRA turned vigilante against his murderous comrades, but it never comes off satisfactorily. Partly because the psychology is muddled and one-note, partly because the politics are even more uneven. By the end much of the book felt like ill-informed rants against factions within northern Ireland, and the opportunity to make a meaningful statement about the corrosive effects of violence have long since vanished.

9. Among Others by Joe Walton
The book has some whit to it, and largely succeeds at what it’s trying to do. I still view it as problematic because that ambition involves making a far too insular world, a system where science fiction fandom grants superior empathy and intellect to everything else. In particular much of the book breaks down even as a novel, instead going through and commenting on past SF reading in extensive but shallow detail. It’s an exercise in the utmost self-congratulatory arrogance, written to flatter SF fans rather than do anything useful with the themes and texts described. In the process the characterization necessary for this bildungsroman becomes strained to the point of shattering entirely.

10. The Solarians by Norman Spinrad
Spinrad’s a strong author, and he’s written some outstanding works at different points. This effort is him early on, when he’s not seeking to challenge anything, and is so plainly going through the numbers, using a set of worldbuilding and political musing that were cliched even for 1966 SF. Most of the items on this list involve some degree of contrast with the author, them exploring a project that I find flawed and objectionable, something that I could argue against. Here Spinrad was so plainly going through the motions that it’s frustrating, producing stale pulp in what I hope was a very short time, making a story so tedious that it’s frustrating.

Most Underrated Novel: The Red Men by Matthew De Abaitua
A Clarke-nominated science fiction novel, but reviewed rather harshly at the time, and doesn’t seem to have gotten much continuing praise or interest. The book is by no means perfect but it has a lot of interesting concepts that mostly cohere, particularly the link between time travel, self-propelled artificial intelligence, virtual reality and contemporary capitalism. I’d say it deserves more praise and a lot more attention than the book seems likely to get.

Most Disappointing Novel: The Thousand Autumns of Jacob De Zoet by David Mitchell
It’s a perfectly fine book, that deftly manages an under-depicted historical climate, with effective characterization and a well handled prose. However it’s far short of what Mitchell has managed in some of his earlier explorations of the past, particularly BlackSwanGreen and Cloud Atlas. That raised hopes such that very good ends up being rather underwhelming, the sort of lower-tier best of the year work that will be forgotten in five years. Mitchell is capable of a lot better, and I hope he delivers it again.

Ten Best Novels Read in 2011

2011-12-31T20:42:00.000-08:00

These posts are for anyone that’s interested, my stab at figuring out the impact of this recent year, as a narrative and a cluster of narratives. My analysis will cover large scale political processes and culture, in analysis of the manner in which I experienced them and why I think they are particularly central. Along the way I’ll take advantage of this form to rant on the worst books I read as a form of retribution for experiencing them. Hopefully these lists and the analysis may be of some interest to you, any commentary you have on them or your own assessment are welcomed.

Ten Best Novels Read in 2011

Best novels read by me, that is. At this point I’m being wantonly narcissistic, this isn’t based on the best books written or published in the previous calender period, instead it’s book from some arbitrary point in the past that I happened to read for the first time in the past year. Partly I’m doing it this way because recent publication dates are themselves very arbitrary and differently distributed, partly because my own reading there has been rather partial-- extensive in speculative fiction, meager elsewhere, and even in science fiction and fantasy I haven’t read half the books of the last year I want to, and don’t yet want to be making claims about the best book published in the year. Using the personal timeline has the advantage of at least moving beyond one genre with any depth. There’s unlikely to be a direct parallel to others’ experiences as a set of literature, and in most cases these are works that are already relatively famous, and don’t require discovery or whatever additional minor attention I can bring to them. Nevertheless I offer this as a personal assessment, on the novels that most impressed and changed me as I encountered them from the past year.

1. Dhalgren by Samuel Delany (1974)
2. Absolute Friends by John Le Carre (2003)
3. Red Plenty by Francis Spufford (2010)
4. Oh Pure and Radiant Heart by Lydia Millet (2005)
5. A Visit From the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan (2010)
6. Stoner by John Williams (1965)
7. Embassytown by China Mieville (2011)
8. The Affirmation by Christopher Priest (1981)
9. Soul Mountain by Gao Xingjian (1990)
10. Old School by Tobias Wolff (2003)

1. Dhalgren by Samuel Delany
A sprawling, vivid and utterly successful investigation into bodily politics. Which means race, gender and sexuality, in particularly vivid rhetorical form. The book is filled with what would be generally regarded as profanity, here taken not as a shock but to create a specific microcosm of regional sex and violence as a norm. Above all the book is unapologetic, not fearing to dismantle every buffer that keeps subjects taboo for conservative and liberal subjects, instead getting at the core of the daily interactions that make contemporary U.S. society such a racist and rape-driven regime, among other things. Delany offers a level of implicit narrative commentary on the present world that’s startling, and he does it in full commitment to an imaginative piece of science fiction. Linked to all this is a story of corporeal politics, a recognition of the relationships imposed by certain types of violence and the politics that drive this even as it also explores utopian politics. The body emerges not as natural constant but precisely that which is least fixed, the most radically fluid.
A long book, and unpleasant in a lot of its subject details, but it fully earns it’s length and unpleasantness. It’s science fiction for social critique and reality dysfunction in high flying Philip K. Dick style, except even Dick was never quite this good.

2. Absolute Friends by John Le Carre
Le Carre moves beyond the Cold War spy thriller with gusto, fearlessly tackling the intrinsic abuse of the counter-terrorist state in a dramatized but not over the top fashion. The control over plotting and characterization is as good as he’s ever had, showing the careful manipulation of when the characters and reader have access to certain information, as well as portraying the complexity of lives that exist under the bleak absurdity of the twenty first century. It’s a book that at points flirts with meltdown, of theme as well as narrative, but builds masterfully to a strong climax that pushes the impact of just how mass-information can be contrived, and what the human consequences are. Le Carre writes a forceful, angry reaction to Bush Two a lot earlier than most authors had the courage to, and even more impressive is how he does this without sacrificing any narrative coherence or power of prose.

3. Red Plenty by Francis Spufford
An in-depth piece of history through way of a novel or, as some have argued, science fiction applied to speculative economics rather than physical divergence. Either way it concerns a large cast struggling to get by in Khruschev’s Russia, with a long-burning attempt to achieve the utopian potential still pulsing in the bowels of the Soviet system. The book is unstinting about the abuses of the Bolshevik experiment, from high government to police repression to the contractions of daily life. Yet the work also captures better than almost anything I’ve seen the appeal of the far-left alternative, and the way that individuals continued on with their own dignity and sense of priorities. It’s the rare truly great narrative of history, well researched and capturing also the feel of history as it plays out, the transition among differnt Soviet policies managing to feel as monumental as any other traumatic counter-revolution. It’s a great novel both because of the genres that it dislocates and because any one of them--the period drama, the historical epic, the political assessment, the historical component--are done surpassingly well.

4. Oh Pure and Radiant Heart by Lydia Millet
It’s mainstream fiction using a speculative fiction premise, in this case the conceit that Oppenheimer, Fermi and Szilard are transported from the Trinity Explosion to the present day. Often when writers outside the genre tackle a science fiction concept it’s awkward, ending up reinventing the wheel or using a problematic assumption of what does or doesn’t need to be explained. Here the flimsiness of the main time travel conceit damages the story not at all, allowing a forceful and well balanced story of how nuclear capability developed before and after Trinity, and the existential degrading of humans that has accompanied it. The story seems to invite either comedic farce and there are points of comedy, but the energy of the piece is in a frightening, pathos-filled and vivid condemnation of where things are at now, particularly relating to increasing fundamentalism and militarization of politics. It also manages some of the best characterization I’ve seen, in the historical recreations as well as the contemporary anchor, which also show an outstanding instances of well-defined scientists and female characters that are unapologetic about being such.

5. A Visit From the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan
2010’s outstanding literary work, a hyperlink story that describes a diverse set of characters portrayed with consistent skill and nuance. It grabs interest from the first lines and never relinquishes this, managing frequent shifts in perspective and style that disorient and reward repeatedly. It works as a supremely entertaining story as well as a meaningful one, showing both the surreal connections of the modern world and the march towards death that faces all the characters across social ranks.

6. Stoner by John Williams
The earliest book on this list, Williams’ brilliant deconstruction of academic indepence. The novels first pages describe evaluates its subject, William Stoner, as failing to make a positive impact or to be remembered much in his life, and the book ruthlessly lives up to that premise. The icy and unlovable protagonist has considerable integrity, and ability to accept without complaint hardship in his life. These same qualities lead to accepting of powerlessness and treating disaster for himself and those closest to him as the sad necessity rather than anything alterable. At the same time Williams builds Stoner up as a credible and interesting figure, making his doomed and overly quiet life more suspenseful than most war stories I’ve read. And in the process the novel evokes the attraction of academia while also condemning its rivalry, male-privilege, sterility and basic lack of empathy. Yet the vivid collective norms are ultimately secondary to the individual focus and Stoner is at base an epigraph delivered on its protagonist from first page to last, a severe judgement but a well defined one. There are weaknesses to the novel, particularly its positioning of Stoner’s wife as a shrewish villain, but the power of Willaims’ prose, story and stark tone builds to an extremely satisfying whole.

7. Embassytown by China Mieville
The only book on this list that was actually published in 2011, and one that comes off an author I’ve found almost constantly excellent. Embassytown isn’t quite as effective as some of his best work, but in contrast to his recent lackluster Kraken and the speculative fiction world more generally it’s sheer gold. Embassytown succeeds partly on strength of concept, weaving together an invented language, tumultuous political intrigue and a progressively more and more strife torn alien city. The book works on many levels, as a creation of an intricate imagined urban space, in bending concepts of the possibility of language structure, and in relating this to a forceful anti-imperialist subtext. It even at points works as a zombie eschatology par excellence. Most of all it succeeds in balancing the different genres and climates, existing within Mieville’s best-plotted story and an ambitious departure from his usual norms. Finally the book plays to the best traditions of science fiction in emphasizing the vast scale of the wider setting, the way that the size of the polities and even more the physical environment put the intense micro-events in a wider context.

8. The Affirmation by Christopher Priest
Priest is consistently interested in themes of duality, questionable identity and the impact of written texts. The Affirmation is his most effective exploration of these themes to date, that introduces a deep ambiguity into its presentation of reality early on, and builds tension over this question up through the last page. It’s recognizably speculative fiction but not of any of the usual variants, framing compelling and largely credible worldbuilding that is never larger than its protagonist. That setup could be irritatingly claustrophobic but it develops into an interesting exploration of memory, immortality, amnesia and hedonism.

9. Soul Mountain by Gao Xingjian
I read this as part of a Nobel Laureate listing, with this novel as one of the relatively few high-returns of the past year. It’s effective primarily in showing character detail through cultural resistance and vitality, an array of strange quasi-episodic details unified by a common desire for reinvention. It works extremely well even as an alien culture, and I can only imagine how effective it would be experienced by someone more familiar with the context China. Like a lot of my favorites from recent reading it’s a novel of identity, focusing on the ambiguous and exciting reaches of self. Unusually for my reading this was basically a plot driven by travel, with journeying and the situations encountered are enough to compel interest across the story.

10. Old School by Tobias Wolff
Among other things the book has a crushing, spot on assessment of what meeting living literary fame would actually feel like, varying slightly on individual (including a deconstruction of Ayn Rand’s basic viciousness) as well as the principal of a celebrated life in itself (as in a tale of Hemingway’s actual presence deflating a lifetime of an instructor allowing everyone to assume a close personal friendship to the man). More centrally Wolff brilliantly uncovers the meaning of texts in themselves, the thrill of encountering a book, the process of different literary tastes, the easily-compromised mechanisms of authorship and the tangle of scholastic identity. I know nothing of Wolff beyond this story but it feels autobiographical, moreover its power lies in producing a similar resonance in the reader. It’s an extremely quiet tale, but also one of the most effective in its statements and silences.
This is second book on my list for this year that was published in 2003, set in the early 80s and with a deeply interior focus it seems a different world than Le Carre’s confrontational information thriller. In an odd way they do make appropriate thematic parallels, with Wolff’s focus on the creation of fictions and the insecurity of masculine identities a reasonable link to the year of Operation Iraqi Freedom.

Dhalgren

2011-09-17T11:58:00.000-07:00

Dhalgren by Samuel Delany

I've admired most of Delany's books that I've read, but felt distant from them to a degree, that didn't happen here. The presence of language does a lot with this, it seemed. The text engages in some very ambitious use of represented mythology, boundaries of different genres, construction of racial and gender identities. This never came across as remote, though, in large part because speech effectively expressed a sense of lived in space, the way that people (particularly younger people) would plausibly think and talk about both race and sexuality. The sheer length of the book does play a major part in this (and it earns the right to its 800 pages more than about any other long novel I've encountered since Infinite Jest) building up impressions, sexual encounters and patterns of the city's dynamic such that it forces an impression. It still comes across as shocking, although not as much as it must have in '75, and not primarily due to the eroticism--yet it's still fascinating to see Delany be as unconcerned with describing the nature of the catastrophe and rebuilding process, instead centering on a bubble of lived identity in relation to the larger dislocating shift.

The irony is that in giving such a non-systematic view of the new community, so free of usual pattern of establishing big-scale assessments of community, it is a powerful structural challenge. It shifts the focus of science fiction pretty dramatically, onto an awareness of the body, the way that it is used, benefited and exploited through sex, violence, politics, and constructions of racial difference. In a lot of ways this forms a great companion piece to the near-contemporary The Dispossessed. Le Guin's book has a more elaborated pattern of political analysis, opening up of utopian alternates as well as questioning long-term tendencies of such patterns. Dhalgren goes further in looking at character within the limits of change and breakdown, in what I take to be a recognition of how pre-crisis systems were already virtually science fiction, already constructed and contrived across very precise narratives. That is to say the biggest point I take on this first reading is that there is no community or personal narrative, or science fictional narrative, without some kind of grappling with race, gender and sexuality, that our ability to even imagine these things is bounded. It's somewhat convenient to see that (and I'm sure that I am missing a lot in the book) as it's something I've been persuaded of for awhile, a bit through Delany's articles and from other academic texts more widely. It's still staggering to see that emerge as the push of a novel, particularly one of such raw power.

This is exactly the sort of book that needs to exist, and that demands more attention and general reworking of assumptions that it challenges. I have a great deal of respect for genre fiction of the '60s and '70s, particularly the New Wave, and even by this standard it's a stand-out. This is exactly the type of book that justifies the past and continued existence of science fiction. It also gives a rather sobering reflection on more recent take. Recently I've read a lot of science fiction and fantasy from across the last fifteen years, much of it very good. In recent years I'd have no hesitation in referencing Lavinia, The Dervish House, the City and the City, Windup Girl, In Great Waters, as indication that speculative fiction is still very much involved with issues of quality. Yet I don't think any of these are anywhere in the same league as Dhalgren, and I'm not sure that I've encountered anything from the past ten years which is. I wonder what that implies.

On the other side of the recognition, looking back I see that the Hugo voters didn't even nominate this book, although the Nebula's did, as one of the unprecedented before or since eighteen nominees. Only to give the award to The Forever War, also bypassing The Female Man. Forever War was a major work and an important statement on recent reality, but come on.

Vortex

2011-09-17T11:49:00.000-07:00

Vortex by Robert Charles Wilson. 2011.

*This is the book that rounds things out, and gives a fuller explanation for the nature of the Hypotheticals and their long-term implications. Which in itself makes the biggest problem I had going into the book, and to an extent at the end, in that I found it difficult to be very invested in the Hypotheticals, the nature of the Spin and the wider mechanics of the universe. I thought that Spin itself was a decent exploration of those issues, and that the wider questions didn't need further answering. It's been a long time since I read Spin, and Axis didn't further whet my appetite on these matters---quite the contrary.
*Yet in the end Wilson proved a lot of his mettle and made a very good book, well worth reading. Not great, though, and in the final analysis I'd say it falls significantly short of Spin and slightly short of Julian Comstock. Partly it's a problematic evoking of the big-scale issues, partly the near-future Earth sections not being as compelling. A bigger issue is that characterization doesn't seem to be as good as is usual for Wilson, partly as a consequence of the jumps around in setting and point of view I felt far less engaged by the people and their particular personality issues. It took too long for me to care about the main people for the book to really click on that level.
*Still there does remain a lot of value. Wilson is great at presenting a sense of scale, creating a representation of massive spatial and chronological limits that is grander than any other fiction we're likely to see this year (Baxter is going small scale this year, Reed doesn't seem to have anything major coming out). The notion of interconnected worlds, the nature of the Hypotheticals themselves and particularly the last forty pages capture a sense of truly cosmic scale and drama.
*Also great is the outgrowth of some of the blander elements from Axis, particularly the politics of Equatoria. Vox Core is a great construction, and quite complex--on the one hand more genuinely democratic and egalitarian than current societies, but also far from a one-note utopia--they have a single linked conscience that makes it easy to tolerate the slaughter of rivals, and they are in basis a descendant of a fanatic faction that finds it easy to reinforce their own rather biased assumptions. The dynamic of how this plays out, from the slaughter of the Farmers to their own destruction through misplaced veneration of the Hypotheticals, is very strong material, and has a lot of value to say on religious both explicitly and symbolically.
*In the end I still can't say that Spin sequels were really needed, but there's a lot of pleasure and interest to see this series finish out. I'm quite interested to see where Wilson goes after this.

Grade: B+

Fuzzy Nation

2011-09-17T11:44:00.000-07:00

Fuzzy Nation by John Scalzi

The first line of dialog in the book is "I can't believe we have to go through this again". I concur. In the end this seems one of the more aggressively pointless works, largely due to its reboot qualiteis. In the introduction to the piece Scalzi tries to present it as all things to all people--it's a new version of the story to bring the main themes up to date, it's an autonomous story that happens to use some of the same characters, it's an homage to the original that can bring more attention and readers to a past classic. The result is to make me quite unsure on why Scalzi actually settled on this project.

My own connection to the original franchise is minimal, I've heard it mentioned a few places and read the last volume a long time ago. I don't feel that it's a betrayal to revive it again, and am not as critical as if it were, say, another butchering of the Foundation Universe. I don't much like the practice of taking over abandoned genre sand-boxes, and it's hard to fight the impression that Scalzi is doing this as a way of provoking more discussion and a sense of newness over his writing while at the same time is explicitly becoming less original.

All that aside, what emerges from the story is quite generic, even if it were rebranded enough to have no relation to the original series I'd still feel safe calling it heavily derivative. There's dynamics of colonization, alien contact, a bit of corporate intrigue, and a protracted high-impact legal battle. The story isn't terrible, but it doesn't do very much with any of these elements, or do more than slightly warm over the stock SF narrative of past decades. Scalzi has in the past brought a lot more humor and energy to proceedings that can push through his employment of cliches, here the plot is slow enough and the dialog labored such that it settles into mediocrity early, and only pushes past that in brief flashes across the book. For all that we were laboriously told about the impact of the proceedings on the planetary ecology, on the characters' finances and ideals, on indeed on the larger colonial economy, it was very hard to feel that there were real stakes at any point. I've read worse books from 2011, and even books less distinguished, but this had a sense of controlled mediocrity that felt particularly frustrating, like Scalzi was consistently hitting safe groundballs to push forward his story, and in the process draining it of real interest.

I gobbled down the Old Man War trilogy, a fun ride with a fair bit of substance below the surface, particularly in worldbuilding. Since then I've felt a deep sense of diminishing returns, Scalzi's contribution to the 2008 Hugo Shortlist meltdown with the breezy, inconsequential tie-in Zoe's Tale, the deeply inert God Engines, and in the 'real world' his own insistence on defending fandom against the whiners and critics--which is to say defending it as a zero-challenge exercise in mediocrity, among other things. I guess given that it shows an avoidance of hypocrisy to carry that into his own writing, in which the very reboot format declares his intention to boldly chart a story of change and revolution in an echo of past forms, staying strongly within a particular box. Which isn't the worst thing in the world, and I'm sure a lot of people will be pleased by Fuzzy Nation, but I'm not pleased by the way things seem to have gone. I think I'll add Scalzi to the category of Dropped Authors (with Stross, Sawyer, Martin, Bear and Haldeman) authors that I had followed pretty regularly, but are not delivering at a level to reward that attention, whom I'll avoid in the future unless I encounter a review or other reason to suggest things have significantly changed.

Grade: C-

Similar to and better than: God Engines by John Scalzi

Similar to and worse than: Newton's Wake by Ken Macleod

2011 Hugo Award Winners: Immediate Reactions

2011-08-20T21:50:00.000-07:00

*Campbell Award for Lev Grossman*
Significant disappointment, both for Beukes not getting the recognition, and for it going to what seems a more tedious and generally unengaging fantasy author. I'll count this as the second year since I've been actively following that an exceptionally talented author has been nominated but not awarded it. Although looked at more broadly in the last decade a number of winners have been very far from best rising stars--Kowal, Scalzi, Burstein, Doctorow, and it seems the award has always has a pattern of missing some of the most significant genre-changing writers.

*Best Fan Artist for Brad Foster*
My third vote, out of five. I don't have terribly much memory or direct reaction, I recall him as being not terrible, but significantly less impressive than Starkey and Wayne. A relative shrug category, not sure we even need this.

*Best Fan Writer for Clare Brialey*
This is quite good, the only writer I voted for above No Award. In my view she had much better level of analysis than anyone else, literally any other pick would have been extremely dispiriting. A cheerful thought, at least. I still feel a bit disconnected from this, as none of the writers I've found most entertaining and informative made the cut--for a shamelessly fan-centric view it's not my extended fandom, and I feel less overall relation than with most of the more conventional categories.

*Best Fanzine for The Drink Tank*
Good. Again, this was the only nominee that I voted above No Award, the only installment that justified the existence of the category. This is proving somewhat encouraging as a run, albeit among the categories I least care about and am unlikely to even remember in a week's time.

*Best Semiprozine for Clarkesworld*
My third pick, above no award. I think it's a good zine, but didn't think based on the sample they had the strongest year, and am more than a little skeptical about the need for this category.

*Best Graphic Story for Girl Genius*
As I predicted. Very weak writing, carried unfortunately over the Unwritten in particular. The third consecutive time Girl Genius has won, in the three cases this award has been awarded. It shouldn't be hard to see a problem with this picture, particularly given the convoluted, overly jokey steampunk nature of the work in question. It continues with a huge fanbase, though, for some reason. Probably the steapunk thing. It seems at the awards ceremony the comic creators removed themselves from the running for next year. Decent as an act and a gesture, but also shows how ridiculously tight the circle of consideration is for this category.

*Best Editor Short Form for Sheilia Williams*
No reaction to this at all, I had no preference for votes in this category.

*Best Editor Long Form for Lou Anders*
Also no reaction.

*Best Dramatic Presentation Short Form for the Pandorica Opens/Big Bang"
Fairly pleased. That matched my top vote for the category, as well as my prediction for winner. Hardly a big surprise, the Doctor Who bloc has been really strong of late, there weren't many quality alternates last year, and few of them nominated. Glad that fandom can now hopefully get past the 'f--- me Ray Bradbury' fanvideo, and possibly regrow a little maturity. As well, hopefully next year one or more episode from Game of Thrones can challenge the Doctor Who monolith. G. R. R. Martin was presenting the award this year, foreshadowing?

*Best Dramatic Presentation Long Form for Inception*
Severely disappointing, but as I predicted. A lot of very strong nominees on this ballot, but also Inception--probably Nolan's weakest movie, and his film that's most focused on seeming cleverer than it is. Toy Story, and to a lesser extent Scott Pilgrim and How to Train Your Dragon, were robbed. For the most forceful rejection of Inception in a review I've seen, there's:
http://bigother.com/2010/08/08/seventeen-ways-of-criticizing-inception/
I voted to nominate but not to win, and the more I think about this the more unhappy I am with this film as cinema, as science fiction and especially as an inquiry into the nature of identity.

*Best Professional Artist for Shaun Tan*
Again, my third vote out of five. Above No Award, I don't have a great deal of personal or general reaction to this win.

*Best Related Work for Chicks Dig Timelords*
My second vote. Above No Award for me, but I consider it a lot below Bearings, so mixed reactions. Well, Valente's piece in it and a few others are good. On the other hand this does contribute to the dominance of Doctor Who and a type of more populist level of analysis that I'm not very thrilled at. This year's slot of Related Work nominees is a large step down from last year. Still, Chicks Dig Timelords isn't a bad book and at least the Heinlein biography didn't win, so on the whole I can be happy with this one.

*Best Short Story for 'For Want of a Nail by Mary Robinette Kowal'"
My second vote, one of only two above No Award. Didn't go for The Things, my (reluctant) pick as well as prediction for the award. Interesting to see things be kept a little unpredictable and the story wasn't terrible--but I can't pretend it was even close to being one of the best science fiction short stories of the year. Disappointing ballet, decent award-winner from that setup.

*Best Novelette for "The Emperor of Mars" by Allen Sttele
Infuriating, although what I feared in the lead-up to the vote. There was only one worse pick on the ballet and three substantially better, and instead the mass voters went for an unabashed recreation and celebration of all that's conservative in science fiction writing. This is a story that does not withstand even a minimal amount of thought on it, examined beneath the self-congratulatory aspect it falls apart. This is the first pick of the evening's ceremony to really get me angry. "The Jagaur House" should have won this in a landslide.

*Best Novella for "The Lifecycle of Software Objects" by Ted Chiang
Thoroughly predictable, but also completely deserved, and a relief to see an actual top-rate writer get the award recognition. This is his fourth piece of short fiction to win a Hugo. This is the type of fiction that should be encouraged--specific, forceful, ambitious while being low key, writing future forms of life in the spaces within which most SF narratives leap.

*Best Novel for Blackout/All Clear by Connie Willis*
Well, the second worst novel on the ballot and the fourth worst book that I read from 2010 has won the Hugo, along with the Nebula. As I expected going into this voting, and clearly people do see real value in the text. I'm not one of them, and have to regard this as a terribly disappointing pick, for a work that I find less well designed than Anasi Boys, probably making the worst Hugo win since Hominids took the medal. As with The Emperor of Mars, I see this as a general tendency towards embracing sentimental, regressive, contrived science fiction over the other kind. A shame that a novel as intricate, ambitious and well written as The Dervish House lost to an exercise in tedious poorly designed historical recreation. Willis taking it over McDonald at this point is something I'd expected for quite awhile now, but it doesn't make me any happier at this point. A bit dispiriting that a process as corrupt as the Nebulas here echoes the decision of the largest gathering of Hugo voters in its history. More a shame that Willis can make such an over-sprawling account and be lauded by having made the best science fiction novel of the world. Even more unfortunate that the SF community finds it's measure of greatness in character through Willis' cutsey well-wishers, its guideline for worldbuilding a haphazard recollection of historians and its model towards the future in a return to the London Blitz.

Betrayer by C. J. Cherryh

2011-08-18T16:15:00.000-07:00

2011 novel.

*Quite good, all in all, although it's only going to appeal to people already decently invested in the Foreigner series, who are also invested in the formula at play here--a political thriller rooted in conspiracy, intrigue, assassination and threats of anarchy in which the protagonist never discharges his gun, and works to enhance the alliance and power of who seemed the biggest threat two books ago. For my money the book does quite a lot that's effective and interesting. It has to be admitted that the advancement of the story and the wider setting is incremental--and I still wish Cherryh would followup on the plot points of Explorer and that book's greater pace--but the atevi are emerging as one of the most extensive, intricately designed alien species.
*The book isn't without problems. The leading one by far is the character of Barbara, consistently written as irritating, a danger to herself and those around her, a whiny plot-complication with continuing unrequited interest in Bren. Bizarrely, given the complexity elsewhere on display, Cherryh seems content to make Barbara a thoroughly one-note complication, who all the other character know no good can come of. She's portrayed as slightly more sympathetic and capable here than in the past, but it's still a pretty unengaging portrayal. At this point I also wasn't terribly interested whenever the perspective shifted from Bren, as it seemed to involve slowing down the action.
*The series as a whole also deserves commentary, now finishing it's twelfth volume and fourth trilogy. I found Foreigner itself somewhat awkward and unengaging, particularly around Bren, but it built up to be top-rate science fiction rapidly, each subsequent book shattering the past status quo, propelling structural change, disrupting expectations and forcing a wider network and state of perceptions. The second trilogy, Precurosr, Defender, Explorer, got very good, in multi-species negotiation-focused space opera with a fascinating focus on the way language and culture operate. The third trilogy was probably the least satisfactory, revolving around intrigue and atevi civil war. They were intimate, complexly crafted political scenarios, but the larger setup seemed like a divergence, an overly small-scale portrait that delayed the more interesting possibilities setup by Explorer. As well, the deeper drama of the series appeared based on a too stark division; in reading I never believed that Cherryh would break up the Western Association permanently or undermine the progression of atevi development, and the unwillingness to pull the trigger against any significant characters despite the continual flood of assassinations undermined investment in the drama. The fourth trilogy seems to have a lot of the same issues, but I found it more satisfying. Perhaps my expectations have changed at this point, but it also seems that the representation becomes more intricate. Conspirator, Deceiver and now Betrayar focus not on the familiar atevi political terrain but fragmented forces to the east, areas never brought into real acceptance of humanity, and with much deeper structural problems, ones that can't be solved in terms of thwarting individual powerlust. The recent books also encourage a greater degree of ambiguity towards longstanding atevi allies, an awareness of how fine-crafted their manipulation has been, of how dangerous they really may be.
*For all this effort, the world constructed seems oddly separate from our own climate, to a degree unusual for contemporary science fiction. Most works don't comment directly on current circumstances--and those that do are not terribly effective--but I've seen in most of the 2011 genre I've read and expect to find more of an underlying zeitgeist. In a lot of ways even more far-fetched work will show awareness of, if it does not directly comment on, the post-2008 economic situation, political fragmentation, impact of technological disorientation and ongoing geopolitical tensions. The Foreigner series is working off its internal timeline, setup in 1994, and continuing on without real adjustment to ways our world has changed since that point, it's the only long-running series I've followed that seems so disconnected from our own times. Which has value, certainly, escaping the short-sighted extrapolation or didactic settling of lessons that I've often found frustrating. And yet, this aspect gives me a bit of pause. Perhaps the pendulum has gone a bit too far in this
instance. While the series is certain attuned to the impact of structural poverty and grasping politivcal hierarchies, and has more of substance to say about the ways reactionary forces can fight on than most science fiction I've read, there are assumptions that seem a bit dubious. The notion of increased trade and global integration promoting a progressive moderanization of society, in particular. Of course the technology isn't our own and neither is the underlying psychology, but there are aspects of the series that feel a bit dated, or even tending towards an escapist alternative to the direction our planet seems to be taking. The Foreigner series certainly has a lot of grim elements, but I wonder in the end if it will fade towards a somewhat unfounded utopia of cooperation and effective political balance arranged by Bren, if it will tend to have less of substance to way than it's 3,000+ pages (and counting) could otherwise support.
*It's a pity that the larger series aren't going to get any award attentions, at this point despite a bit of introductory recap the whole venue is blatantly alienating for anyone not already a fan. Even if this book were perfection and the Hugo fanbase were a lot more conscientious than they are, you aren't going to have enough people drawn in. Perhaps if Cherryh were British there would be a chance that the series would get a nod at some point, but there doesn't seem a venue for that degree of off-brand nomination among major American-focused genre awards.
Overall assessment: A-. Unlikely to be a Hugo nominee for me, not just on the grounds of it having no chance at all, it's in the end not *that* good. If it were put up as some kind of Best Installment in a 4 Book+ Series I suspect I'd nominate it. In the past few years only the Psalms of Isaac and Culture series seem likely to give real competition.

After writing this I encountered the recent Strange Horizons review, which is worth a look. It's significantly harsher than I am, but it pretty well-formed and interesting.
http://www.strangehorizons.com/reviews/2011/07/betrayer_by_c_j.shtml

Game of Thrones Season One

2011-07-12T21:29:00.000-07:00

Twelve thoughts on HBO's first season of Game of Thrones, about ten years after reading the first book.

(1) This is a major accomplishment on multiple levels, succeeding far more than most television I've seen. I haven't seen better television from the past academic year outside of Mad Men, and unless I'm very much mistaken the show will deserve Emmy nominations on a wide number of counts, especially best Dramatic Series. I highly doubt it will get nominated, though, since there's a lot of precedent for dismissing out of hand unambiguous fantasy from serious consideration.

(2) It also rather dwarfs Lost a number of recent serials shows, with the claims of novelistic television. The pace was very brisk, plot movement changed things irreparably, the larger scenario made sense and transition happened. Above all, the show showed characters paying for their mistakes, with Catelyn's impetuous seizure of Tyrion and Ned's rigid commitment to his honour leading to full-scale civil war and thousands of deaths, including Ned's own. There's an effective momentum in the way things are handled that's very powerful, a willingness to go to very dark places.

(3) The show is relentlessly realistic, in the end. Not just because the fantasy elements are at present relatively minor, but because it deals with political conflict in a way that is very credible on how poorly a genuinely idealistic ruler would fare in a setting like medieval Europe. There's also good things that come from the scale of the setting, showing a degree of interaction among the secondary cast. There's the way Jon is deeply impacted by all the events that transpire yet forgotten by everyone else, the different ways everyone reacts to Tyrion and his abduction, the way that Lannister power is experienced by people across Westeros. The show is very good at following through on its life and death premise fairly, and feels more honest in this matter than any show I can think of outside of Breaking Bad and the Wire.

(4) Above all, the show works in building an alternate setting to our own history in a complex and well-integrated manner. By the end of the season King's Landing, Winterfell and the Wall all feel like real places, and they feel like places with different core atmospheres and social geographies. The Dothraki exploits are a lot more isolated, but one of her close followers is show to be a spy for Varys, and the debate on assassinating Daernys or not does play into the clash between Robert and Ned. In the end it feels like a cohesive region, and moreover one with a deep history. Things like the war against mad king Aerys seem real and close to the present, for all that they haven't been directly seen at all, and Westeros feels like a complex, credible and engaging place, one on the verge of being torn apart by another political clash, in which regular people are disconnected from power yet will be the ones to suffer the most. If the show lacked the compelling storyline it had and just built up the setting, I'd still consider it a major success. First-rate worldbuilding is something that exists in a lot of fantasy and science fiction book series, but is much rarer in television--I'm not sure there's been anything as evocative and richly detailed before. There is a substantial additional pleasure in seeing this fleshed out to life. Ironic, given how much of this epic fantasy series involves monologues, storytelling exposition and quiet dialog, but there is a keen pleasure in itself from hearing characters talk about their shared past.

(5) In the seventh episode Renly gets two important speeches. The second is to Ned, outlining the failings with his refusal to be pragmatic, and flatly denying that Stanis will make a better king just because of birthright. Ned does eventually learn to compromise his honour a bit through kneeling to Joffrey, but by that point with Renly he wasn't ready. Littlefinger and Cersei also made excellent points on the politics of the situation, but both are more obviously corrupt and self-serving, Renly came across as a relatively decent if ambitious man who was a lot more clear-sighted about what needed to be done to prevent vile people from dominating. His first speech was an even more effective deconstruction, challenging Roberts' notion that there was a better past time, emphasizing that the legacy of abuse of power, bloody internal divisions and moral compromises went back a long time. Both very effective statements, forcefully stated. Renly as a character didn't get that much to do this season (and in casting was a little too physically similar to the far more central Littlefinger) but his character had enough believability to support these speeches, which in itself makes him a strong personality in my book.

(6) The Lannisters stand as a pretty effective addition to the ranks of television's crime families. Effectively when you strip through the crown, title and degree of relative wealth they are basically another mafia, focused on defending and expanding their position. I'm not very fond of incest as a plot device, here or more generally, as it seems too easy a way to signal depravity. Except for that, though, things are pretty much note-perfect, from Twyin's business-like longterm pragmatism to Joffrey's utterly monstrous egotism. Even Tyrion, although heroic compared to his family, has a very vested selfishness and privilege built into his identity. Characters like Jaime and Cersei, meanwhile, prove to have a lot more layers and a more compelling history than they first seem to. What's most interesting about the family is the way they work in relation to the wider society and within their own dynamic.

(7) Another sign of how effective this show is at building up its mythology is the way it gives a sense of character's shadows long before they appear on stage. Partly there's the presence of John Aeryn and the mad king, but even more forcefully the significance of Tywin Lannister. When Ned issues the order for his arrest we already have a very good sense of who this man is, the power he holds, the things he represents and the reasons why going after him is virtuous, but also utterly stupid. And then he shows up in the flesh and builds the sense of underlying menace perfectly. There's a similar position with Lord Stanis, yet to feature on-screen, but already a major character with his own well-defined set of interests.

(8) Not everything about the show works, though. There's all the naked women, for one thing, with so much open flesh shown around characters delivering exposition that it becomes practically a parody of itself, as well as by far the shallowest element in the show's appeal to viewers. The worst scene in this vein was the episode seven Littlefinger and two prostitutes scene, as you mentioned before. It went on and on, and was utterly dumb on about every level: why is one of the wealthiest men in the kingdom taking time to micromanage two of his prostitutes? Why is he risking everything by indicating in so heavy-handed a fashion that he's going to turn on Ned? Why does the show feel this necessary to setup his later betrayal, when the foundation for it had been laid pretty clearly already?
The scene in the finale with Roz and the Maestor was almost as bad, given neither character had, unlike Littlefinger, ever been important. It makes up for it a little in how utterly and openly bored Roz is at his diatribe.

(9) There's also the Daernys plotline. I have to say, this still doesn't work for me, seeming by far the weakest part of the show, an entire subarc that's not at the same level of writing, characterization, realism or basic interest. I don't see the ending as compensating for the problems I had with this earlier on, while there's stronger moments in her arc there aren't very many of them. Vaerys' death and the emergence of the dragons doesn't in itself make up for twenty scenes of relatively arbitrary violence, or become invested in Drogo and Daerny's relationship. I always knew his death was coming, but unlike Ned's I was actively looking for to it, as he had minimal appealing traits, and wasn't an interesting variant of human evil in the way that Joffrey or Lannisters more generally were. I also don't see any particular acting strength in this, save for the presentation of a couple scenes Emilia Clarke seems to play most scenes as overly blank and one note, not adding to the relatively basic dialog the series provides. She's the character that suffers the most from the loss of internal narration, I'd say, to expand on her adaptation, intelligence and more appealing qualities.

(10) There's another way of thinking about in, in comparison with Jon Snow. Jon was also one of my favorite characters from the novel, who I found far less impressive in the series. There's also a similar pattern of him following a more cliched story arc, and existing in a way that's largely isolated from the rest of the storyline and peripheral to the setting, which also contains the most direct supernatural legacy. Yet for all that Jon's storyline does work a lot better for me this season than Daerny's, for a couple reasons.
[a] it is closer integrated to the main fate of Westeros, Jon regularly hears of and is effected by events to the South. In contrast while Westeros activates spies and assassination, nothing that happens in Westeros beyond that is reported to Daernys, and it doesn't seem she'd care if it did. The disconnect is more considerable.
[b] Taken on its own terms as something of a show within a show, the Wall is a lot more interesting than the Dothraki land. It's better in atmosphere, creepiness and a sense of history, as well as being integrated into the history of Westeros' undesirables. The Dothraki are defined as being without real culture, and just exist as a crude barbarian caricature.
[c] The Wall features better people, the only community that is able to have some longer term perspective and to genuinely try putting duty above family. In contrast Daernys has minimal real connection for people, and her growing into more self-confidence and personal power is synonymous with her mobilizing the Dothraki to murderous aggression. Daernys seems considerably more morally blind in the series compared with the book, and with far less justification, to the extent that she is shocked Robert tries to have her killed when she was actively planning to invade Westeros with an army. She encouraged Drogo to move on the attack, with him explicitly rallying his forces with a call for rape and enslavement, accordingly her effort to halt some of the atrocities seems fairly half-hearted and inauthentic ethics. Basically everything that the witch said to Daernys was true, which works as a deconstruction of her heroism, but makes it very difficult to be invested in her. Arguably she's worse than the Lannisters across the season, since for all their abuses they mostly want to defend their current position of power. Darenys has the option of living out her life in comfort away from larger politics, but is focused on claiming the thrown, through an invasion of slavers and thugs that will kill tens of thousands of people at a minimum.

(11) I think there's a general joylessness over the universe, which has good and bad elements. It definitely plays into the realism of the setting, and the real bite given to the political intrigue. Life is nasty, brutal and short for people that are nobility, and even the most ethical of the upper-class individuals give no more than a brief moment of regret to the death of commoners as they needlessly occur, such as with Ned's minimal reaction to the butcher's son being killed. There's a socio-economics at work with that which plays very well with the whole aesthetic and plot. At the same time, though, it's a bit of a cheat. Grim as things were, it's not like there wasn't any fun in medieval Europe, but in Westeros no one except Tyrion and his crew seem to feel that way. That's part of the many reasons why he's easily the most appealing character, but it's an approach that could be taken a bit more widely. Does no one else in this world ever relax, engage in non-sadistic humor, play drinking games? There are ways of broadening the horizons of presenting other characters, and they're not taken, which shrinks the horizon of the show more than it needs to. This becomes a problem as the whole tendency of the series is to have things get progressively worse, more and more brutal even when it seems the characters can't fall any further. However at present there's not that much in the way of of good times to fall from.

(12) Another issues that's a bit weaker than it could be is on the Stark family themselves. On the whole what's been done with them is very strong as individual characters, although there seems to be some problems with storycrafting of both Bren and Jon which will hopefully improve as they're given more to do. (Special note of praise to Sansa, who went through some the period of wide-eyed naivete to a very effective portrayal of a crushed, disillusioned hostage). What's missing is a real sense of the family as a unit, how all the children related to each other, their dynamics to the extent the Lannisters operated. There are also broader political questions involved with them, as to the extent that Stark's unyielding honour translated into a over policies of justice and gain for the population at large. We don't have as firm a confirmation on many of the abuses common to the villain houses, and that makes the moral ambiguity of the piece a bit less effective than it might otherwise be. Still, that's a problem that's largely behind the series at this point, given how thoroughly the family is shattered.

2011 Hugo Award Shortlist: Initial Reactions

2011-04-24T16:20:00.000-07:00

Nominees have just been announced. This will be my second consecutive year as a Hugo voter. My initial response to each category:

Best Novel:

Cryoburn, Lois McMaster Bujold (Baen)
Feed, Mira Grant (Orbit)
The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms, N.K. Jemisin (Orbit)
The Dervish House, Ian McDonald (Pyr; Gollancz)
Blackout/All Clear, Connie Willis (Spectra)

This is a terrible shortlist. I appear to be in the minority on my dislike for Blackout/All Clear, and am in the distinct minority for my objections to Feed. I retain objections, though, and don't see these works as at all representative of the best of the year, in ambition, writing, basic quality control or in using tools of the genre. Willis' work is profoundly boring and stylistically framed. Feed banks heavily on the thoroughness of its imaginative concept while failing to think through its setting effectively and indulging in the worst kind of political strawmen and idiot plotting. One can read the novel in a more effective sense in, as the recent Strange Horizons review has it[1], as a sharp media satire, and that takes a little of the bitter taste from my mouth. Not all of it, though, as I'm not at all convinced that was the book Grant wrote. Cryoburn isn't as bad as either, but is in some ways even more disappointing: a strong writer returning to a familiar setting and doing about the minimum effort to string together a conventional plot. At least Feed and Blackout/All Clear were clearly significant investments in their author's time, for all that I felt it was misapplied they were labors of enthusiasm. Cryoburn suggests quite strongly that Bujold was bored and making little effort, re-running familiar scenarios into predictable plot that doesn't challenge or grow the characters. The politics are simplistic, the only powerful moments come in a coda unconnected to the main story, and the whole thing looks very tossed together. It's very dispiriting that readers will be so eager to embrace a familiar author and setting that they'd give nominee status to such a weak return.

The Dervish House is magnificent and hopefully it can win, but nothing else on the shortlist comes close to meriting its place. The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms is pretty good and does approach some themes in an interesting manner, but it fails to follow through on the implications enough. And while there's no Sawyer here, the result remains a shortlist that's 60% mediocre. Much weaker than last year's novel list, and almost as bad as 2009's. Although there at least is something to be said that the list isn't as familiar, with a number of new authors and returning ones at least not nominated recently. I'll also note that it's an 80% female shortlist, for what I'm guessing may be the highest ratio. It's a pity that on the level of content the voters seem to have generally embraced a conentional style over substance, with a focus on familiar World War Two moralizing, a regurgitation of the Vorkosigan setting and yet another exploration of the zombie phenomenon. In part I'm reacting to the disconnect from my own top preferences and votes, but beyond that I do feel there are a number of objective problems with this as a set of best science fiction and fantasy of the year. At least there is Dervish House, and to a lesser extent the Hundred Thousand Kingdoms.

[1] http://www.strangehorizons.com/reviews/2011/02/feed_by_mira_gr.shtml

Best Novella:

"The Lifecycle of Software Objects, Ted Chiang" (Subterranean)
‘‘The Maiden Flight of McCauley's Bellerophon'', Elizabeth Hand (Stories)
‘‘The Sultan of the Clouds'', Geoffrey A. Landis (Asimov's 9/10)
‘‘Troika'', Alastair Reynolds (Godlike Machines)
‘‘The Lady Who Plucked Red Flowers beneath the Queen's Window'', Rachel Swirsky (Subterranean Summer 2010)

Three of these items I've read, two I voted for. Not at all surprised to see Chiang get in, am surprised and pleased that Reynolds made it. I've read the Swirsky and didn't vote for it, but I'm not too disgruntled it made it on, it's a decent enough story is not exceptional. Haven't read the other two, or their authors before, will look forward to this in the Hugo packet. Will have to see how they turn out, at present this looks like a stronger shortlist than last year's. 40% female shortlist.

Best Novelette:
‘‘The Jaguar House, in Shadow'', Aliette de Bodard (Asimov's 7/10)
‘‘Plus or Minus'', James Patrick Kelly (Asimov's 12/10)
‘‘Eight Miles'', Sean McMullen (Analog 9/10)
‘‘The Emperor of Mars'', Allen M. Steele (Asimov's 6/10)
‘‘That Leviathan, Whom Thou Hast Made'', Eric James Stone (Analog 9/10

Haven't read any of these. Aliette de Boddard I was impressed with in her recent novel and I've heard good things about McMullen, beyond that it's a mystery. Look forward to diving into this, it seems the novelette category is usually pretty good and I don't see any glaring indications of clunkers. 20% female shortlist.

Best Short Story:
‘‘Ponies'', Kij Johnson (Tor.com 11/17/10)
‘‘For Want of a Nail'', Mary Robinette Kowal (Asimov's 12/10)
‘‘Amaryllis'', Carrie Vaughn (Lightspeed 6/10)
‘‘The Things'', Peter Watts (Clarkesworld 1/10)

No Resnick on this or the other short fiction! Somewhat disturbing indication of the low attention given to short fiction, though, as there were only enough votes with 5% to clear four nominees. I've read the Watts and viewed it as fairly weak, undermined by his usual failings and not offering as much substance as his short fiction usually delivers. I'm familiar with Johnson and Kowal, both have done good stuff and I've seen Johnson do great work. Not familiar with Vaughn. 75% female shortlist.

Best Related Work:

*Robert A. Heinlein: In Dialogue with His Century: Volume 1 (1907-1948): Learning Curve, William H. Patterson, Jr. (Tor)
*The Business of Science Fiction: Two Insiders Discuss Writing and Publishing, Mike Resnick & Barry N. Malzberg (McFarland)
*Writing Excuses, Season 4, Brandon Sanderson, Jordan Sanderson, Howard Tayler, Dan Wells
*Chicks Dig Time Lords: A Celebration of Doctor Who by the Women Who Love It, Lynne M. Thomas & Tara O'Shea, eds. (Mad Norwegian)
*Bearings: Reviews 1997-2001, Gary K. Wolfe (Beccon)

One of these works I voted for, the Wolfe reviews, which are really quite nice. Beyond that I've heard of the Chicks Dig Time Lords anthology, sounds a little shallow and fannish but has work by Valente and has an intriguing topic so I'm looking forward to it. I'm fairly indifferent to the Writing Excuses one at this time, but I'll leave room to be impressed by the voters' packet samples. The Business of Science Fiction looks actively irritating to me--a twist of fate that he's finally off the short fiction nominees but I'll have to read him regardless. I suppose I should reserve judgement, but given his business plan over at leas the last few years of getting sales and awards from terrible fiction, I'm not optimistic. And I'm almost certain I'm not going to like the Heinlein-focused work, I'm not at all interested in hearing more about him, and am pretty anti-Heinlein as a whole.

Best Graphic Story:

*The Unwritten, Vol. 2: Inside Man, Mike Carey; art by Peter Gross (Vertigo)
*Girl Genius, Volume 10: Agatha Heterodyne and the Guardian Muse, Phil & Kaja Foglio; art by Phil Foglio (Airship Entertainment)
*Grandville Mon Amour, Bryan Talbot (Dark Horse)
*Schlock Mercenary: Massively Parallel, Howard Tayler (Hypernode)
*Fables: Witches, Bill Willingham; art by Mark Buckingham (Vertigo)

Not interested in this category at all. I do notice that it's largely the same comic lines as it was last year.

Best Dramatic Presentation Long Form:
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 1
How to Train Your Dragon
Inception
Scott Pilgrim vs. the World
Toy Story 3

The most predictable category. I've seen Inception and Toy Story 3, and indeed voted for both, they're worthy nominees although I'm more interested in Toy Story 3 despite its weak genre content. Haven't seen the other three but they seem to be well regarded, I hadn't pegged Harry Potter getting in for some reason, but I'll take a look at these. There weren't a huge amount of options available for this category.

Best Dramatic Presentation Short
Doctor Who: ‘‘A Christmas Carol''
Doctor Who: ‘‘The Pandorica Opens/The Big Bang''
Doctor Who: ‘‘Vincent and the Doctor''
Fuck Me, Ray Bradbury
The Lost Thing

Not all Doctor Who as I'd expected, never heard of the other two. The majority that is Doctor Who is far from ideal. "The Pandorica Opens"/"The Big Bang" is quite deserving, but I've never thought "Vincent and the Doctor" was worth the claim, and "A Christimas Carol" is incredibly low-stakes fluff with major plot holes. There were much better episodes to pick for the past season.

BEST PROFESSIONAL EDITOR LONG FORM

Lou Anders
Ginjer Buchanan
Moshe Feder
Liz Gorinsky
Nick Mamatas
Beth Meacham
Juliet Ulman

BEST PROFESSIONAL EDITOR SHORT FORM

John Joseph Adams
Stanley Schmidt
Jonathan Strahan
Gordon Van Gelder
Sheila Williams

BEST PROFESSIONAL ARTIST

Daniel Dos Santos
Bob Eggleton
Stephan Martiniere
John Picacio
Shaun Tan

BEST SEMIPROZINE

Clarkesworld
Interzone
Lightspeed
Locus
Weird Tales

BEST FANZINE

Banana Wings
Challenger
The Drink Tank
File 770
StarShipSofa

Don't care about any of these.

Best Fan Writer

James Bacon
Claire Brialey
Christopher J Garcia
James Nicoll
Steven H Silver

These are none of the people I voted for, and I'm not even sure I've heard about these.

Best Fan Artist:
Brad W. Foster
Randall Munroe
Maurine Starkey
Steve Stiles
Taral Wayne

The only name I recognize is Randall Munroe. Mixed feelings here, xkcd is a great strip, but not one that really deserves to have artwork as such lauded.

John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer:
Saladin Ahmed
Lauren Beukes
Larry Correia
Lev Grossman
Dan Wells

Full backing for the Beukes, relative ignorance for the rest. Interesting that all of this shortlist are in their second year of eligibility.

The 2011 Clarke Award shortlist

2011-04-22T22:25:00.000-07:00

Running through the shortlist in ascending order of preference:

6. Declare by Tim Powers. This one doesn't seem to have a large amount of defenders, and seems to have earned the general 'does not belong' standard that usually puts one nominee as significantly lower in ambition and quality than the others (Retribution Falls for last year). I don't hate the book, and my initial review was a lot more favorable than a lot of others. Still, the book doesn't work that great as speculative fiction, as spy fiction or as a take on history. It's the last element that, ironically, looks most vulnerable for the book's resurrection. It would probably have been possible to make a case for the book's weaving of mythological strands, conspiracies and the Cold War in 2001, but there's been too much great stuff written that melded speculative fiction with history since then. The Baroque Cycle, Baxter's Time's Tapestry series, Galileo's Dream which I've now mostly come around to liking, and especially Roberts' brilliant recent take on fanciful Soviet Union intrigue. Given that, Powers' work looks almost embarrassingly over-literal or, as I argued in my immediate reaction, very shallow.

5. Generosity by Richard Powers.
It's certainly more ambitious than the other Powers, and gives some interesting arguments and presentations on near-future science. I wondered for a bit in reading reviews, and even while reading it, if this wasn't actually a good book that I wasn't effectively positioned to appreciate. I'm still ambivalent, but I maintain that the work doesn't gel in some significant ways, the characters and story are awkward rather than truly effecting. I can recognize that a lot of people see great value in the work, and unlike Declare I don't view it as a real disappointment that it's on the list. Yet I don't get any value from the novel itself that I couldn't have obtained from some of the well done favorable reviews. Call it a testimony to overall analysis, but there still seem to be some non-trivial structural issues.

4. Zoo City by Lauren Beukes.
Very intriguing setting and overall tone, but there's a question of not quite enough plot to carry the work through, as well as this halting and drawing attention to some less justifiable aspects of the work. My views on the work have shifted several times, always thinking it's good but not quite consistently great. At present I'm in a lower level of regard currently, finding it easier to remember the awkwardness of the novel and a lack of meaning behind some elements. There's still a great setting though, all the more interesting for pushing a rich history, intricate urban fantasy and South African context. The book seems more substantial when read in relation to other works than in isolation.

3. Monsters of Men by Patrick Ness.
The last and least satisfying volume in the Chaos Walking trilogy, and it brings the whole universe to conclusion that's less than I had hoped. Still, that's a minor grudge compared to the number of things this work does right: non-romantic male female relations, ambitious space environment, effective exploration of gender, aliens and personal identity. Pretty stunning ambition, all in all, compared with the genre as a whole, and in a way that makes YA exceedingly relevant in consideration of quality literature. My criticism would be that Ness in some ways tries to answer too much, and ends up filing off some of the more interesting ambiguities and questions of the series. It's not a cataclysmic drop in quality and it doesn't prevent the trilogy as a whole from being a major work, but it does seem to close off a lot even as it opens some other questions. In the end I find it a bit difficult to judge compared with other shortlisted items, it's still very entertaining and ambitious, but feels somewhat more restricted in its rounding-out-the-story format, and in how that story settles into a somewhat conventional framework. What is offered is interesting and challenging enough, in the setting as much as in the story, that in another year I'd have no hesitation in embracing this as the Clarke nominee, or finding some other way to laud the series as a whole. Not this year, though.

2. Lightborn by Tricia Sullivan
Very impressive work, and one that I feel somewhat similar to Spirit and Yellow Blue Tibia of last year. It's an excellent, genre-breaking and reconstruction work, a great novel that's close to the top for the year. Yet it doesn't quite make my own top five books, and is distinctly secondary to the best on this shortlist. Moving beyond comparison it's worth championing in its own light. It's a pretty narrow book, focusing on a couple of characters experience as they slowly develop understanding of the SFnal premise. There's perhaps more plot movement here than any other book on the shortlist, and Sullivan succeeds in establishing a great deal of happening in some brilliant writing.

1. The Dervish House by Ian McDonald.
A work that I probably was too harsh on after my initial reading, but that's grown on me after a bit of time. Partly from drawing out the great strengths of the piece, particularly the way it re-centers expectations, but also because a different context allows me to compare it to things other than River of Gods and Brasyl. Taken as a shortlist I've not doubt that it's the strongest book by a considerable margin, four of the items are pretty great, but McDonald's is really the outstanding piece. Above anything else it's the best structured work here, as well as the best structured of McDonald's novels and arguably one of the most precisely designed narratives in recent science fiction. From first line to last the book connects prose, characterization, setting and plot in a very powerfully structured work. Even better is that McDonald has a lot of substance to say through this, and he offers it effectively in the direct arguments and the subtle, especially in relation to the market. It shows a future and more prominent Turkey, and one hovering at the brink of even more substantial changes but the leading thing is what the book shows as already happened: a richly woven past that includes unfamiliar non-Western cultural patterns, invented future circumstances and the record laid by anticipations of the future. It's more technically effective and beautiful than almost anything that gets written, ultimately.

The shortlist as a whole:

It's a strong list, certainly, almost certainly better than any other genre award is going to present (and quite likely the non-genre lists, although I lack enough familiarity to assess with real credibility). I experienced it as being a bit less than last year, as the two new items I read didn't really satisfy as against last year's discovery of Far North, a quite magnificent work. I was also in a position of reading Beukes and Ness' latest shortly after earlier ventures that I found more effective, giving the list a second-rate feeling that seems undeserved. So there's a lot of circumstantial factors at work here, although I also think there's some objective ground for criticism, in particular concerning the absence of Surface Detail, Red Plenty and the Windup Girl from this list, as it seems very hard to argue against any of these in terms of quality or core creativity. For all that I only guessed 50% it seems in some way to be an unsurprising list, or at least one that follows a fairly conventional pattern: the long-acclaimed discussion-provoking standpoint science fiction of the year (The Dervish House), the effective narrative deconstruction (Lightborn), the literary work previously given an enthusiastic Strange Horizons review (Generosity), the dubious claim to be science fiction but popular work (Zoo City) the surprising and widely praised choice (Monsters and Men) the surprising and widely condemned work (Declare). Largely non-British in character this time, one previous Clarke-winner, another that has been nominated, four other authors shortlisted for the first time. Most of the authors have a well built reputation, although Beukes has only been practicing for a few years. Two women, four men. Six different publishers.

Themes on the shortlist:
The titles do run together in some interesting ways, put it another way it's one of the shortlists that's stronger than the sum of its parts although not as a whole achieving the level of the strongest of them. It's a very presentist list, even for the Clarke, with three works basically a clock's turn from the current day (Generosity, Lightborn and Zoo City) one set during the Cold War (Declare) and one within the next generation (The Dervish House). Monsters of Men is the only distanced SF, for time or space, being set on another planet centuries in the future. It's also unusual in being one of the few YA books nominated, and a work that's not standalone. There have been books linked to a series that have been nominated, and even one (Baroque Cycle and Bold as Love) but not recently, and to my knowledge this book is unique for being the third volume of the trilogy and the first one to be nominated. Looking at this list in comparison with 2010's it seems more standalone titles, less meta-fictional. If last year's science fiction depended to a large degree on familiarity with preceding texts, for detective noir (City & the City), the Count of Monte Cristo (Spirit), science fiction as a whole (Yellow Blue Tibia), the adventure template and Firefly (Retribution Falls), Galileo's texts (Galileo's Dream) and The Road (Far North) it was a set of texts rather uniquely framed as commentary on what the condition of writing was at. This year seems more focused on where people are in terms of larger community, the main focus seems less on literary patterns and texts as such, and more on questions of wider community. The Dervish House makes this centrally, with different lives from the city used to flesh out an invented future and unfamiliar past, for a story with much plot around literary codes in a near-occult investigation it's ultimately concerned with the ways of understanding and remaking community. Lightborn focuses on very similar things in the context of a traumatic transition that proves less apocalyptic than the setup or standard conventions would seem to demand. The same point could be made with Monsters and Men, although there's some tension with specifically YA questions of personal accomplishment the story is much more about how opposed communities can co-exist, and how the politics of information impact on this. There's arguably some similar concerns at work with Zoo City, although with less overall coherence which points to some of the problems in embracing this novel. As well Generosity brings in a concern with social process relating to happiness as well as the individual level, and Declare is about the (magical, conspiratorial) processes offered as gloss over large-scale political stability in Britain and the Soviet Union.

To an extent most science fiction is about imagined communities, but the items on this year's shortlist seem particularly interested in exploring strains and rebuilding of this in close relation to the present day. It's notable that in this process it's less dystopian than most other shortlists that come to mind. All the invented societies have problems and profound tensions, but none of them are doomed, and all rally elements of hope and even optimism.

Conspicuous absence from this shortlist: Mieville. He's been almost consistently nominated, and usually won, since Perdido Street Station, and Kraken was less fantasy-linked than two of the current nominees. I'm pleased to see this development, though, while Kraken was quite good it seemed a step down from his recent material, and Mieville has gotten quite enough Clarke exposure. I'd be inclined to not see him on the Clarke unless he again comes up with something awesomely challenging and distinct from anything he'd previously written. Perhaps I'm putting impossibly high standards on him, but for a triple Clarke-winner it makes sense to use a pretty high bar.

Predictions:
The Dervish House will win, as it well deserves to. It's a book that subsequent years will be seen as even more significant than it is now, a moving beyond customary assumptions that yields insight in context of McDonald's larger career and science fiction as a whole. The awarding will be one of the choices that people looking back will use to show it's effectiveness, as one of the relatively uncontroversial, popular and critically beloved works that stands the test of time--much like 2006's award Air. Lightborn should also age pretty well, in the context of female science fiction, inter-generational stories, deconstructions of zombie fiction, Sullivan's larger career and post-cyberpunk. Zoo City and Monsters of Men will be decently regarded five years from now, and the nomination will help draw deserving attention to both authors. Declare is unlikely to look any more appealing in another ten years time, and the clunkiness of its Cold War focus and the anachronism of the nomination will probably make this seem a bit of a puzzler looking back, a rough equivalent to Martin Martin or Streaking, although it is much better written than either. Generosity is the wild card in terms of long-term trends, as it's not generally classified as SF for most of its readers, and will either age well or badly. Confessing that I don't really get the appeal of it now, it might be seen as a neglected classic that the Clarke jury shrewdly recognized--I'm not sure.

Science Fiction and Fantasy from 2010

2011-03-23T14:47:00.001-07:00

Here's the novels that I read from the past year, in descending level of quality by my own estimation.

First Tier: Excellent, future classics. Will stand the test of time as great accomplishments.

Red Plenty by Francis Spufford
The Dervish House by Ian McDonald
The Habitation of the Blessed by Cathrynne Valente
Surface Detail by Iain M. Banks
The Dream of Perpetual Motion by Dexter Palmer
Who Fears Death by Nnedi Okorafor

Second Tier: Great. Not perfect, but all of these are beyond usual quality by a significant margin, showing good prose, plotting and an effective central concept.

The House of Discarded Dream by Ekaterina Sedia
Stone Spring by Stephen Baxter
Moxyland by Lauren Beukes
Zendegi by Greg Egan
The Golden Age by Michal Ajvaz
Harmony by Project Itoh
The Half-Made World by Felix Gilman
Our Tragic Universe by Scarlett Thomas
Zoo City by Lauren Beukes
Terminal World by Alastair Reynolds
Kraken by China Mieville
2017 by Olga Slavnikova
Noise by Darin Bradley
New Model Army by Adam Roberts
The Thousand Autumns of Jacob De Zoet by David Mitcehll
The Strange Affair of Spring Heeled Jack by Mark Hodder
The Quantum Thief by Hannu Rajaniemi
Sleepless by Charlie Huston
Monsters of Men by Patrick Ness
Lightborn by Tricia Sullivan
Horns by Joe Hill
Antiphon by Ken Scholes
Under Heaven by Guy Gavriel Kay
Deceiver by C. J. Cherryh
Cold Earth by Sarah Moss
The Fixed Stars by Brian Conn
The Sorcerer's House by Gene Wolfe
Redemption in Indigo by Karen Lord
I Shall Wear Midnight by Terry Pratchett
The Ninth Wave by Russell Celyn Jones
Above the Snowline by Steph Swainston
Up Jim River by Michael Flynn
The Dream of Max & Ronnie by Niall Griffiths
The Third Bear by Jeff Vandermeer
Ship Breaker by Paolo Bacigalupi
White Ravens by Owen Sheers
He Walked Among Us by Norman Spinrad
Bitter Seeds by Ian Tregellis
The Restoration Game by Ken Macleod
Light Boxes by Shane Jones

Third tier: Good. More to praise than to condemn about these, although enough limitations that they're unlikely to stand the test of time in the same way as the above, and in some cases severe problems become apparent.

Servant of the Underworld by Aliette de Bodard
The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms by N. K. Jemisin
Meeks by Julia Holmes
Shades of Milk and Honey by Mary Robinette Kowal
The Evolutionary Void by Peter Hamilton
The Meat Tree by Gwyneth Lewis
The Orange Eats Creeps by Grace Krilanovich
Dark Matter by Michelle Paver
The Poison Eaters by Holly Black
Zero History by William Gibson
Artificial Night by Seanan McGuire
Chill by Elizabeth Bear
Kill the Dead by Richard Kadrey
Super Sad True Love Story by Gary Shteyngart
The Mammoth Book of Apocalyptic SF
How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe by Charles Yu
Mr. Shivers by Robert Jackson Bennett
Black Hills by Dan Simmons
The Bookman by Lavie Tidhar
C by Tom McCarthy
The Trade of Queens by Charles Stross
Yarn by John Armstrong
Warm Bodies by Isaac Marion
A Local Habitation by Seanan McGuire
The Waters Rising by Sheri Tepper
A Special Place by Peter Straub
Cryoburn by Lois McMaster Bujold

Fourth Tier: Bad. Would not recommend any of these, and would not have read these if I'd known the net experience. A range of problems and qualities, from the merely disappointing to the infuriatingly terrible, but these are either a misuse of the author's talent or evidence that the author doesn't possess any.

The Dead-Tossed Waves by Carrie Ryan
The Radleys by Matt Haig
Changes by Jim Butcher
Feed by Seanan McGuire
Blackout by Connie Willis
All Clear by Connie Willis
The Passage by Justin Cronin
Starbound by Joe Haldeman

So, overall the first lesson from this is that it was a high quality array, and in ratio I think better of this collection than I did the 2009 works.

Second, some fun with numbers. 45 of the 82 novels were science fiction, 34 were fantasy and 3 I'd describe as unclassifiable. I noticed in going through this a much higher ratio of the books I considered great were science fiction than fantasy, although it more evenly balanced at the top and bottom of quality. I didn't have as much an impression this year compared with the 2009 reading that many of the most engaging breakout successes were fantasy, while there were a lot of works I enjoyed a lot in fantasy, the SF I read seemed overall better. 37 of the 82 were by authors I had read previous to this project, 45 were new to me. Another aspect that vindicates this project, since I doubt I'd have read more than 10 of the new ones without this focus, and overall they were pretty rewarding.
54 by male authors, 28 by female. Relatively slanted ratio there, not sure how much is caused by published trends or my own pattern of selection within that.

In more subjective terms this appeared to be the year a lot of bigname authors returned with new works, but a lot of them were disappointing. Not entirely--Baxter and Egan were at their usual form, Banks and McDonald were superb, Cherryh was quite good--but there were a number ofre under-performing works from familiar names. Bujold's Cryoburn is perhaps the strongest example of that, because she returned after a long absence to a very rich setting and set of characters, and made what was just minimally competent. Macleod's Restoration Game was a lot better made, but still far under what he's shown himself capable of, and Gibson's Zero History proved a basically unnecessary rephrasing of his earlier triumphs, plus a plot that's forgettable even for him. Add in my very low opinion of Willis' historical retro-epic and Haldeman's indefensibly awful Starbound, and as a whole it doesn't look like the year for trusting long-established major writers. Instead a lot of the greatest surprises and most enjoyable experiences came from relative newcomers, many of them writing for the first time, or writing adult genre for the first time. This seems to indicate that keeping up with the potential for the field involves embracing the newer voices and different techniques. In some areas concepts of the future are just beginning to be uncovered.

For themes this was a good year for apocalyptic fiction, in both overall numbers and relative quality. There were weaker stories in this theme that I read, certainly, most revolving around embracing cliches of the zombie subfield. Yet there were also great books written about the process of collapse (Noise, Cold Earth, Sleepless, 2017) and the weird alternative system that could arise (The Fixed Stars, Who Fears Death, Lightborn, Shipbreaker). It seems to point to a connection with larger cultural circumstances, as the right regrouped and seized major areas of government, new disasters flourished and the future of civilization and consensus derived from this seemed tenuous. Yet many of the authors didn't just use this as a sense of gloom, but took the form of disaster to imagine how the mentality of collapse and aftermath would feel like. In imagining what comes after there's some major hopeful aspects that seem to reclaim the notion of science fiction as a basis for championing human dignity in crucial ways.

Going along with that, in the bigger picture it's surprising how much optimism there across the narratives of this year. There are the range of apocalyptic stories and dystopias, naturally, but also a lot more explicitly utopian content than one would expect--expected in Banks' return to the Culture universe, but also featuring in Harmony's societal reimagining, to an extent in the alternate society of Habitation of the Blessed, and also optimism towards the future that appear in Dervish House, Zendegi, Terminal World and The Golden Age. It's a different atmosphere than last year, impacted so heavily by the appearance of City & the City and Windup Girl, and in seems in certain ways more welcome to hopeful themes.

Of course these generalizations apply more to science fiction that I read than fantasy, about the latter I find it hard to make larger conclusions. Almost every work seems clearly driven by the author's unique stylistic tendencies and larger goals, it seems that on the whole these aren't bodies of work that are in strong dialog with each other. To a large extent this could be my own methodological bias, but I feel that it's possible to compare the contrasting near futures of, say, New Model Army, The Dervish House and Zendegi for the similarities and differences in what they say the future will be like, and how the narratives set out doing this. It's harder to compare, say, Shades of Milk and Honey, The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms and Black Hills, as they're addressing very different areas with separate concerns and sets of internal dialog. Looking through this there are a lot of fantasies that I thought succeeded or failed on the strength of their characterization, the degree to which they rendered main characters caught in unique circumstances as effective human complexities. The House of Discarded Dreams, for instance, which in its specific details brought the work to a much higher level of quality than I would have expected from a plot description. Or take Our Tragic Universe, rather ambiguously genre, and which succeeds entirely in terms of the small everyday aspects that it's able to render. Perhaps the shift I traced from 2009 to 2010 above wasn't so much alterations in the genre as changes in my own reading. It does appear that a lot of the books from 2010, and particularly the ones that I most valued were quieter than I usually expect of science fiction and fantasy. Even many of the apocalypses were intimate instead of noisy (Cold Earth in particular) and The Dream of Perpetual Motion was exceptional in its small-scale focus rather than any wider sociological construct. Perhaps that's why I didn't find Mieville's Kraken anywhere near as good as his earlier books. In its overall rush and thriller plot it seemed somewhat less thoughtful than previous efforts, making him at least in my view out of step with the very best that SFF is producing.

It'll be interesting to see how well this slate of books ages in even five year's time, but at present I'm well pleased with where the field is now and where it seems to be going.

All Clear

2011-02-06T15:57:00.000-08:00

by Connie Willis

I really didn't like this volume, and felt that it shared most of the failings of Blackout rather than raising the quality of the overall work. Beyond specific problems this extended novel feels self-indulgent, committing too much to the author's interest rather than providing an unique, interesting science fiction scenario. At an even more basic level it fails to entertain, not doing enough with especially the characterization and plot. The sense of this being a work not very oriented towards the reader's enjoyment comes with the whole setup for the novel. Blackout had so little indication going in that it was half the story, with no attempt to leave off at a satisfying people that it seems to have annoyed quite a few readers. Clear Air doesn't do much better, picking up the story without any real summary, character overview, preface or indication of the story to date. There isn't even a specific title given to the Blackout/All Clear duology. Someone could pick this off the shelves and, if they didn't read the Acknowledgments, believe that this was somewhat of a stand alone volume. As was it's such a continuation that apparently Willis expected readers to purchase volume 1 after it came out, and either reread it or absorb it for the first time directly before purchasing volume 2. That's asking a fairly large leap of faith.

With the story itself, it's a frustrating one. At some point my criticisms here are going to fall into the book not having the story I would have wanted, but as is I don't think the story provided is very good. Extremely little happens, and that through a glacial pace. There is nowhere near enough plot in the books to justify 1,100 pages and the process of having this play out quickly becomes tedious. Long conversations where people slowly uncover the obvious and coincidental near-misses act to make huge sections of the book fee unnecessary. Even on its own terms, without a lot of contrivance things should have come to a head hundreds of pages earlier. One particular soar spot were the chapters that showed 2060, with one character trying to assess data and preparing for his own trip. It's unnecessary, overlong and ruins the shock value when someone in '41 thinks she sees him, since we know too much to fuel the drama here. Not even Stephenson at his most bloated went so long with so little narrative basis, and Willis' unfortunate approach in this book also builds up the redundancy in the book to an intolerable degree. It feels by the end that there were dozens of separate conversations between the characters about the issue of the retrieval team, waiting for the retrieval team, wondering why the retrieval team hadn't yet managed to retrieve them, and so forth.

Of course the bulk of these books and the rather thin plot are all in service of Willis' main interest, an exploration of the daily lives and crucial heroism of the small people during the Blitz. Certainly the dedication page and the final thematic point hammered that in, and it is in itself a touching notion, to use contemporary science fiction as a tribute for a specific historical time period. That's an approach that makes the time travel in itself of minimal significance, and focuses attention on the juxtaposition between the past and the future, grounding things in a heavily researched environment.

The problem was that I didn't believe any of it. Partly it was the errors Willis made in representing this period in the past. More significantly was the unbelievable way the future historians would written, with the whole plot depending on relentless, over the top stupidity. The main characters and their larger situation shattered my suspension of disbelief continually, acting in a manner just too unbelievable for historians, time travelers and specifically time-traveling historians that had been prepped for this era and knew there was a history of things going wrong. Behind the rather dubious notion of sending historians to active war zones, we also have Mr. Dunworthy knowing full well that slippage was occurring, that people might not end up where they were expecting. Yet he rearranged things in an attempt to minimize the really dangerous points, sending people that got into areas they weren't sufficiently familiar with. This was setup in the first book, but we also see his perspective here, and it really drives home the fact that there's no adequately explored reason for why he went through with the trip under the circumstances.

Beyond that, the main characters are both interchangeable and stupid, sounding far too alike in their thought patterns and not having enough sense to be believed. These are historians with only vague knowledge of aspects of World War Two beyond the specific dates they expected to go, with no backup plan besides waiting for the retrieval team when the slippage occurs. Beyond that they aren't conversant with variants of sources and the archival process that we have even now. At one point there's several pages of drama sucked from the idea that Polly doesn't know the year of the Reign of Terror, and is left in anxiety and uncertainty as to whether it was more than three years after the French Revolution. [page 122] The way the plot develops and specifically its slow pace forces awkwardness to the characters, and ultimately serves to make the whole situation pointless, undermining credibility in all the interactions with the past. The story is woefully dependent on the situation of time travel and the characters that experience it, making the basic incredibility of these elements problematic.

Beyond that I just don't think Willis is a very good writer, on the level of prose, expressing emotion and expressing thoughts the whole text comes across as labored, awkward and rather redundant. I suppose this will have to remain a point on which we agree to disagree, but for a book where so little was happening it made the reading rather a draining experience. I do think there is a pretty clear case that sentiment runs in the way of effective drama in this book, where the cutsey, personalized details run against the attempt at real grimness. Willis' instincts run more to strength in comedy than tragedy, leaving the attempted representation of grimness as rather halting. So, for instance, the attempt by the characters to imagine the horror of interference and a German occupation of Britain [page 400] is little more than a list of names for friends that would be executed, there's a failure in imagination of how this horror would actually feel. Similarly the reluctance to really kill or damage main characters makes the story too comfy, too sage to really suit. What hampers this is a strong lack of subtlety, in the way that Agatha Christie's stories are blatantly name dropped, then she appears in a cameo, then a major character's presence is setup through a Christie-style murder mystery. There's no nuance in how this is applied, and the lack of trust in teh reader to figure out a more involved mystery weakens the book. It's all too contrived and reductive to have the necessary dramatic presence. At best its a fairly specific formula which overstays its presence in the text.

In the last hundred pages we're finally provided an explanation for some of what's going on. This is, at least, something, which gave the project a bit of energy and sense of meaning that was rather lacking in Blackout. I didn't experience it as enough, however, either on its own terms or in view of how long and slow the buildup to this point was. The notion of the continuum as being living and willed if not conscous in some fashion isn't in itself a hugely creative insight, and offers the type of general pantheism applied to SF tropes that have been done elsewhere and done better. Likewise, the notion that the historians' presence might actually be making changes that are needed for the larger system is a pretty obvious inversion, and doesn't show the characters in a good light when the reader is able to guess this hundreds of pages earlier. I also have a problem with this mechanism as it's presented, as it plays to the overly sentimental nature of Willis' writing again. Her eventual resolution depends on the assumption that the whole network of timetraveling depended on the defeat of Nazi Germany, that while it couldn't prevent the rise of the Third Reich it did manipulate individual historians' positioning in the Blitz to allow crucial small details to add up. For this resolution to be credible we have to accept that the continuum shares twenty first century liberal humanist values, that the defeat of Nazi Germany is a common necessity. That's not something the book has demonstrated enough, there hasn't been the detailed examination of the nature of this historical evil that would make sense of the existential struggle. An apparently gnostic situation turning to a deus ex machina should have more force than this, but for all the focus on detail it depends on general representations of 'Churchill Good, Hitler Bad' without manifesting them in a compelling fashion.

In the end I'd say the Blackout/All Clear text is ambitious in all the wrong ways. It goes on very long in focus of a single idea, but it does so in service of rather trite conclusions that aren't expressed in a well written, interesting or well characterized manner.

Similar to and Better Than: Harbringer by Jack Skillingstead

Similar to and Worse Than: Time Travelers Never Die by Jack McDevitt, a book I also didn't like.

Surface Detail

2010-12-15T13:23:00.000-08:00

by Iain M. Banks

In short, I was very impressed. Excellent read, very engaging and with a lot of substance to say. It's a return to form for Banks, while not nearly at the level of his greatest Culture books, it was much, much better than Matter. The work felt like a meaningful addition to the Culture universe, offering very new areas and themes that felt like an expansion of previous books. In the process it offered a take on virtual reality, particularly the politics that might ensue, that managed to make a very well worn SFnal theme feel unique.

The plot was quite strong, juggling a lot of different elements into a cohesive hole. There were plenty of surprises and twists but they never felt gratuitous, it was almost always clear why people were acting in the manner they did, and the whole scenario held together quite well. The obnoxious political preaching that dragged down Transition so much was basically absent. While there was a clearly unfavorable representation of conservativism and a brutal satire on traditional values---we need our eternal Hells for social cohesion!--it's left implicit in the way the story unfolds rather than emerging through prolonged preaching. The characters were also much more engaging than I've seen from Banks for almost a decade. Yime was a bit too irrelevant in the way the story developed--an element which was noted in the epilogue--but apart from that it felt like a fully developed cast with a lot of interesting arcs, even in situations where they were mostly observers. Things didn't seemed to be forced, instead there was setting up a lot of people from different positions and then running through them to flesh out the story and the wider narrative. The way Chay became much more prominent than she initially seemed posed for was good, and her story developed in perhaps the most surprising direction.

Vepper was a much more interesting villain than has appeared for awhile. At first I wasn't very impressed--that first chapter with him as a corrupt rapist and killer gave me a rather unfavorable expectation beginning the book. Yet, as it developed his position proved quite an interesting one. Undoubtedly evil, he wasn't nearly as over the top as he seemed, and also featured as a lot smarter than first appearances suggested. The very ending where he's finally killed didn't completely work for me, but most of the stuff in the middle balanced out quite nicely, and provided a very effective pivot to hang the narrative on.

Above all, I loved that the Banksian tone was back, the excellent use of humor, control over these elements without getting lost in them. And all with a very prominent viscous edge, a level of dark humor that makes Banks' writing utterly distinctive. It showed up a bit in the mechanics of the Hell, but even more effectively in the Culture-centered portions, the way past and current violence is rendered. In this regard the Legdedje-Demeisen dynamic was probably the most engaging. Overall there's an energy and lightness of tone, even when coupled with some rather harrowing scenes, that made this perhaps the most enjoyable science fiction book from 2010 that I've yet read. The length of the piece never grates, and is used to build up some very interesting species, invented history and wider characteristics. The new insights into the Culture were also welcome, from an extended look at how the devastation of Orbitals in the Idiran war operated to a look (for the first time) at military and intel branches beyond Special Circumstances.

The ending epilogue was quite an interesting move. I'd have previously thought that tie ins to earlier books were best avoided, that Use of Weapons was best left a completed story in itself. Nevertheless, the final line and the tie in of what had previously been an isolated character was very interesting, and added a level of complexity and wider ambiguity to the preceding account.

An Artificial Night

2010-11-21T14:49:00.000-08:00

by Seanan McGuire

An unexpected pleasure, this. Certainly a lot better than Rosemary and Rue, Feed, or even A Local Habitation. There are problems--the overall thinness of the worldbuilding, emotional flatness of the not too bright protagonist, the book consistently snarking in a way that is about as tenth as amusing as the text seems to think it is. Nevertheless, it's a step up in quality in a number of ways. Unlike all her other novels up to this point, McGuire wrote a book that doesn't depend on any kind of mystery or conspiracy with a psychotic mortal. Instead it's a standoff with a creature of myth and terror, someone who makes no attempt to hide and who everyone knows immediately is the villain. That avoids the utter idiocy of the previous Toby Daye books as well as Feed, and settles into an overall momentum that's quite engaging. The book feels significantly better paced for the main part, with action sequences spread across the bulk of it organically, and some areas where things are really quite tense. There are also some very appealing supporting cast members, I'd like to have seen more of them but as was they brightened the book considerably. Tybalt is one of them, naturally, the other has to be May, Toby's harbringer of doom that just keeps hanging out. She's so cheerful and weirdly optimistic that there's a lot of pleasure in seeing her interact with people.

The book is far from perfect, and has some issues that should have been cut in the first draft. Blind Michael is rather anti-climatic when he finally appears, for one thing, and doubly so when he's killed off far too easily. It doesn't really make sense why Toby is being employed in this crucial matter, and she continues to not be smart enough to keep the work viable. And there was a reappearance of Julie that that was completely unnecessary, serving no plot or emotional point beyond dragging things out for another chapter. I also wish the worldbuilding made even a little sense, the whole practice of conservative xenophobic changelings routinely entering their children into public school with humans is rather silly. Plus for this book there's the notion of a group of immortals being surprised by Blind Michael's kidnapping, despite him doing this for ages every hundred years. Still it was fun, exciting and makes me interested in McGuire's next book, even if it's in the Newswatch series.

Similar to and better than: Dead Beat by Jim Butcher

Similar to and worse than: Daughter of Hounds of Caitlin Kiernan

Blackout

2010-11-14T07:33:00.000-08:00

by Connie Willis

I read Blackout several months ago. Atrocious in quality, an incredibly dull experience that makes me even more puzzled over Connie Willis' high reputation.
Too much of the book revolves around coincidences and people not quite meeting each other, the future is thoroughly anachronistic (phones with cords in 2060 Oxford?) and the setup is exceptionally derivative. It's unfunny, unexciting and relentlessly dull. Exceptionally little happens, the characterization is thoroughly cliched, and as a take off time travel it's thoroughly flawed. Time travel has been done so many times, often quite creatively, that for Willis to come along in 2010 and simply recreate the experience of the Blitz is not enough, it's failing to offer anything like an appropriate amount of creativity. What's worse, Willis isn't a very good historian. Not in the context of the details of London as such, but in her writing historians in a credible manner, which given most of the protagonists are historians makes a rather large problem. For one thing, there's the notion that given timetravel a future Oxford can think of nothing better to do than send people into the most dangerous hot-spots of the past to observe what's going on. Second, the people that go back are exceptionally stupid, focused on a very narrow portion of the past and left floundering when the inevitable happens and they can't easily get back.

Another problem is the whole presentation of history that emerges here, where apparently the point is to witness heroics and accomplish them. In a rather clumsy update for modern conditions 9/11 is added to the list of great heroic exploits under crisis, to which is also included the Blitz and Pearl Harbor, among others. It's a thoroughly Eurocentric view, for one thing, it's also one that prioritizes individual exploits and flashy altruism above a real understanding of complex social conditions. There's one point where one of the historians fears that Churchill is dead, which would cause the loss of the war to the Germans. This is frankly a stupid viewpoint that shows the historian in question to be a moron, there's no credible reason to believe the Germans could have been able to land on British soil regardless of success in the bombing campaign. Furthermore to accept Churchill as the one bulwark is to buy into the worst kind of simplistic propaganda. It's fairly obvious the ways that this book fails as a novel, but it's also quite underwhelming taken as serious engagement to the past. As a corrective, Clive Ponting's 1940: Myth and Reality is a short read and an effective dismantling of the more simplistic nostalgic view.

I hated this book thoroughly and have zero interest in reading the concluding volume or really anything else Willis has written or will write. There is quite literally no point. I would be curious to hear from people who liked this book more though. What is the appeal? Obviously there's a lot of subjective impression involved but it's pretty blatant that as a piece of science fiction this book doesn't add that much, that the plot is by any standard exceptionally slow, and that the characters are not terribly complex.

Out of the Black

2010-11-14T07:32:00.000-08:00

by Lee Doty

There's a scene early on in Out of the Black where Ping is being questioned by the FBI. He's introduced to two agents of differing personalities and promptly declares: "'You know Garvey, I already like and trust you, but Bad Cop here scares me. You know...' Ping paused, stroking his chin in a parody of deep thought, '...the weirdest part is that the two of you together make me want to cooperate fully.'" [120]

Ping subsequently continues to think of the two as Good Cop and Bad Cop, and the narrative follows this approach. That moment captures a lot of the sense of this novel, and is probably a guide into whether a given reader will enjoy this work or not. If you found this interlude and the direct self-awareness of the moment a clever point of energy and humor, then it's likely you will enjoy the larger book. There is after all a fair amount to recommend it, fast pace, decently twisting plot, an unfolding setting, and a work that balances overt humor with a fairly light tone throughout. This is a book where it's easy to see why many people have responded favorably, and if someone approaches the book and likes it on those terms fine for them.

I didn't like that early scene, however, and have to count myself as one of the people who were put off by the overly self-aware narrative and the wider tone it supported. The problem is that this writing fundamentally is a case of cliches, and having the characters be aware of and engaging with such cliches doesn't ultimately make it any more creative. This lack of creativity, the courting of low ambition made the story drag at just the points where it put the most emotional emphasis down. I can be accused of holding too high standards, perhaps, but at some level this remains a five hundred page piece of speculative fiction, and there is the potential for the author to do noteworthy things with that area. Instead what's provided is ultimately a thin narrative, working decently when it's trying to be frightening, working less effectively for my money when it's trying to be humorous, but in any case working for a fairly low bar of action. There's nothing that precludes a novel from being both an effective action-experience and delivering a something of substance, but in this incarnation the later seems to not have been on the table. It becomes most apparent near the end when truly cosmic horror emerges and the narrative would benefit from a sense of real collapse and menace. Instead, what emerges are specific scenes of tension framed by talk of ninja-zombies, in a way that shows the story ultimately failing to take itself seriously.

This all makes it sound like I'm harsher on the book than I really am. There were some good lines and inspired moments--"Most were wearing that evil gonna-get-to-cut0someone grin considered socially acceptable in pre-muder situations." [183] but the work as a whole suffers from over-statement, over-emphasis, forcing a measure of character response that suits a type of wry meta-commentary but is not credible in the situations depicted as such. Along with the story showing too little, ultimately, of real credibility and force there is too much of some of the characters, reveling in their thoughts and cultural comparisons, to an extent that it makes the whole venture appear as rather silly. I'd take Issak Kaspari picturing himself as a mad scientist [223] as a strong example of this, where his quirks and imagination are inflated to a point where any sense of his complexity or larger believability as a character get smothered. What people are saying and thinking is far too obviously in for the state of allowing the novel to position itself in the field.

With all this I'd still have considered it fairly passable, considering the relative effectiveness of the final story, but there's a final major factor that weakens the text. The worldbuilding is where the lack of creativity really becomes crippling, and the issue of taking the future seriously becomes much harder. In essence, this does not feel adequately like a believable extension beyond the present. While there are clear indications of technological change the political dynamic is overly conventional, and the cultural references are incredibly overt. The constant references by characters to Blade Runner are implausible but perhaps can be excused thematically, but the issues go beyond that, with people having a deep working familiarity with The Matrix, Cool as Ice and similar films of that era, but not anything beyond that, or really any cultural construct after the present. It would be as if the whole of our current literary references had no one latter than Henry James. It's incredibly implausible, and features as a real point where more authorial innovation and willingness to go become the conventional would have been effective.

Not a terrible book by any means, but an overly unambitious one, without strong enough humor or sentence-by-sentence writing to give the book enough substance.

Similar to and better than: Feed by Mira Grant

Similar to and worse than: Revelation Space by Alastair Reynolds

Concerning Robert A. Heinlein and Stephenie Meyer

2010-09-14T20:15:00.000-07:00

Thinking it through, I've decided that Heinlein and Meyer are largely similar as writers, in terms of underlying approach and why they have their popularity. This is a somewhat counter-intuitive judgement. After all, Heinlein was a foundational writer in 'Golden Age' science fiction, noted for contributing to the focus on sex and violence, and generally resistant to sentimentality. Myer writes young adult vampire fiction with a strong romantic focus. The way they're marketed is different, the direct subject matter is significantly different, and there doesn't appear much overlap between the two groups of fans. Most Heinlein enthusiasts I've seen snarl at the mentioned of Twilight, and I suspect the typical group of Twilight fans would dislike Heinlein's classics. What is the commonality then? Well, they're both popular authors that I find grotesquely overrated, but that's not sufficient grounds. I dislike Twilight and Hylozoic, but see very little similarity between the two. Heinlein and Meyer are ultimately more complementary.

It's somewhat revealing that the similarity is rejected so forcefully, I suspect most Heinlein fans would snarl at the prospect. Certainly it's not that Rico and Bella are identical in the main positions of their life, the external focus are very different. What's similar is the lack of a real personality, the way they are in fairly character-oriented books but are without much defining personal detail, larger interests or a sense of inhabiting a world beyond the pages. The main advantage to this is it enables the reader to construct their own position on the blank slate that is the protagonist. Like in some Role Playing Games, one is given a name, a set of skills and a larger story to follow through on, but the more direct aspects of who the person is remains undefined. The narratives are largely open-ended, ambiguous in a key presentation even while they're very insistent on key arguments elsewhere. Obviously there are major differences in the stories, genres and way the two are constructed, but someone that rails against Meyer's poor characterization while taking Heinlein as some kind of model for effective characterization is being inconsistent. This doesn't necessarily say that the two writers are on the same level of quality, and as written works Heinlein's are aesthetically better. Both authors are monumentally flawed on aesthetic grounds, and on the level of compelling well thought out ideas, which suggests there are other components behind the popularity.

The structure behind the two authors writing for this is obviously fairly different, but also complementary. I take both Heinlein and Meyer to be misogynist writers who presume and validate the primacy of men in their idealized narratives. Male drive is taken as the force behind events, masculinity is the basis of public action and power, and unstable male behavior is accepted as an acceptable price for adoration. Where the two authors differ markedly is what they take as the focus of their stories from that point. Meyer is all about femininity within this male-dominated structure that her stories accept: the female protagonist is passive, self-injuring, self-loathing, alienated from her body and in continual need of rescue. The rescuing male is highly creepy and intrusive, but that's accepted as a sign of love. Heinlein takes the standpoint from the perspective of men, showing the protagonist as rough, super-competent, generally a sex magnet, generally witty, whose success with women is justified by the sheer possession of machismo. Heinlein did a lot to introduce sexuality into science fiction narratives, and it increasingly became an obsession in his late writings, particularly through the form of incest. I'd say that for Heinlein particularly late in his career it's not about casual and nonconventional sex as leading to any type of societal shift, challenging norms in general. Sex is a matter for individual men to exercise and achieve, with the behavior of the masses not really a matter of concern for his stories. Nor does it even really seem fuelled by hedonism, in the way it's generally understood. I'd say it's about a man being able to get a woman any time he wants, a variety of women, up to and including blood relations. That marks him as the ultimate model of virility, power, superiority. It's tempting to read Heinlein's stories as directly sexualized and polygamous while Meyer's are non-physical and monogamous, but that contrast doesn't really hold with Heinlein. For all his exploring themes of group marriage and group sex, in an equal number of his stories he ends with pairing off a couple and settling things down rather conventionally.

In a strange way this brings it back to Twilight. That book took heterosexual monogamous love to blatantly idolatrous extremes, famously teaching that a woman should cherish a man's love even when it was accompanied by stalking and menace. Heinlein doesn't prioritize romance, or even sex, to anything like the same extent, but when he does it's not exactly free of dysfunction. His books teach that a woman can still have a stable and happy monogamous relation with a man, even if he belittles her, tries to kill her or rapes her. Ultimately Meyer and Heinlein's gender representations aren't as far off from each other as they may seem, and can actually be quite compatible. That's perhaps the best indication of how screwed up both standards truly are.

Mostly the discourse on Heinlein as against Meyer seems to emphasize the skill of the former more--since he was such an influential figure in the genre, since he ostensibly had such interesting thinking on politics and political systems. Meyer is seen as just a YA vampire romance writer, and particularly as a lot of the mass cultural critique of her turns on her belief system she's assumed to be more naive and thoughless in her writing. Looking at the two I find it just the opposite. Heinlein plainly puts himself on the page a lot more, and a lot of his main world systems are the expression of different contradictions that he seemed to be trying to work out. Meyer's main story seems the more controlled, the more calculated, the one focused on delivering a specific type of formula in a new and stronger fashion and appealing to a specific subset in the population.

One could say that Heinlein is the utopian spirit within capitalism, producing the narratives that sell an image of heroic individuals fighting for their right to market forces. Meyer's Twilight, in contrast, in the working of the capitalist process on the level of genre fiction more consciously, and without illusions as to what it's doing. As a book Twilight aims to produce a certain fantasy that will appeal, and provides as much plot and as little character as appeals to that end. In it's content it's precisely about living in unrewarding economic situations without the dream of libertarian betterment and heroic uber-masculine success. Instead it pivots on a fantasy of rescue through the technology of romantic infatuation. In a world coded for despair and psychological under-fulfillment, utopia comes from outside the self, outside the conventional economy, outside the natural. The Cullens are wealthy, aristocratic, but beyond that they exist outside the regular economy, offering a non-religious salvation that transcends physical boundaries. In that sense it's not surprising that Heinlein can't get enough of politics while Twilight is entirely void of it.

The anti-Twilight standpoint is interesting to look at in this light. There are certainly things worth criticizing in it, but I think a lot of that standpoint has been already outmaneuvered. There's no magic bullet of criticism that will convince a fan that the work is fundamentally wrong and twisted. There usuaully isn't, that's not how reviews usually impact, but it's particularly difficult in this case. Share with a Twilight fan the idea that Edward is a sick, dangerous puppy that should be avoided and that Bella is suicidally reckless for trusting him? That belief is already in the text, expressed within the narrative. It's quite extraordinary. If these viewpoints had showed up in later volumes, after Twilight became a huge phenomenon. It would seem then an obvious after the fact way to block against the dominant criticisms. But those are built into the template from the beginning, as if Meyer anticipated the amount of success it would gain, and the backlash, and so she went out of her way to build in the anti-Twilight story within Twilight.

There are a number of implications of this, perhaps the most pressing is suggesting a new approach to framing the anti-Twilight discourse. Much of the structure of this rhetoric uses transparently weak grounds: focusing on the Twilight readers as ignorant squeeing fans incapable of proper thought, or focusing a xenophobic distrust on Meyer's status as a Mormon. In alternative, it may be useful to understand Twilight not just as an uncountably popular failed book with a dysfunctional gender message, but as a well-calculated and successful book that is working to produce and replicate certain specific things. Analyzing the rebuking the flaws of Robert Heinlein, in aesthetic skill as well as representations of men and women, may be a productive approach to a fuller gender analysis, and to framing a more effective response to the appalling misogyny embedded in Twilight.

Feed

2010-07-01T12:05:00.000-07:00

A book review of Feed by Mira Grant aka Seanan McGuire

Takes as its premise a zombie rising that kills a sizable chunk of the population and a radically traumatic war of living against the dead. The book isn’t about that moment, however. It opens twenty years later, where zombies are still an ongoing daily threat but no longer an existential menace for all of humanity. Feed explores the conditions of the world under this point of departure, in the United States as people soldier on with regular zombie sensing devices. The story focuses on a political blog writer that’s following a presidential campaign.

The shift in emphasis to a post-Rising war rather than showing the conflict itself is a good one, and allows for a powerful range of creativity and exploration of the invented future. The most effective thing in the book is the redefinition of the zombies as a menace. The book focuses on them not as a mob of cannibals but as viral carriers. McGuire has done a lot of amateur epidemiology work and it shows, and the book delivers a coherent and comparatively plausible notion of how the zombie virus could work to deliver the familiar setup. In this setting everyone is infected, however people only turn into mindless flesh-eaters if bitten by another active or if they die for any reason. Much of the horror comes from the ubiquity of the threat, the notion of an elderly man suffering a heart attack and then turning to attack his wife before anyone can do anything, the notion that one might have to kill a monster with the face of a loved one but with all capacity for reasoning and restraint blotted out. Even more dangerous in a strategic sense is animals being bitten or otherwise dying and attacking people, as the change in behavior isn’t as noticeable, and as a result the legality of pet ownership is hotly debated.

There are other nice twists in the invented world. George Romero is considered a hero for helping spread knowledge of how to survive zombies in his movies, so George and Georgia are the most popular names for people born post-Rising. Traditional media has been largely discredited by their skepticism on the early stages of the zombie outbreaks, and blogging is the regular and accredited system, with different classes of bloggers. There's Newsies--those that sit back and report the news, Fictionals, that write made up things, and Irwins, that go out and poke zombies to see what happens. In another interesting notion widespread standards of gun violence have been applied as self-defense against the possibility of the undead, and it’s difficult to tell if someone shot in the face was killed because of being a zombie or because they had just been shot and then the attacker said they seemed zombieish.

However the setting that is the book’s main draw also ends as one of its biggest weaknesses. This is at the core of my issues with the book, and where I seem to most significantly part ways with most other reviews. I have issues with other aspects of the writing, but if the fleshing out of the Feedverse were as innovative and cool as the underlying concept I’d probably give vastly less attention to the mechanistic faults. I'd have regarded it as good book, and been engaged by the interesting idea of a human world not just menaced by but also reinvented in light of the zombie threat. However I didn't ultimately accept the coherence of the societal model given, and that made me more critical, to the extent that the review will have to take a rather harsh tact overall. Feed had entertaining and interesting elements, but the ultimate problems in conceptualizing the invented future makes for a deeply problematic text. It's not a small failure because this isn't a horror novel with some incidental future details, it puts a huge amount of stress and length on how the wider human environment works. And so, the fact that it doesn't ultimately make sense is a fatal one.

Beginning with the basics, the book suffered from having its setting at once too close to the zombies and not close enough to them. Too close insofar as everything about politics and daily life focuses on zombies, every point of analysis and overview relates directly to the zombies and not to wider elements of life. A question for the presidential candidate on the death penalty had the response that he was opposed to it, because there were enough dead already. Fine, that’s natural enough. A question on gay rights had the response that faced with onslaught of the dead differences between humans looked pretty insignificant. A question on health care brings up the issues with the zombie threat and quality of life. So does abortion, so does education. It could work as a form of satire on single-issue voting where a campaign zeros in on one minor element, but the book clearly has it that such is the normal state of affairs in the United States twenty years after the Rising, at a time when single digit thousands of people die years. It would be as if every single question of politics and much of the wider social interaction in the modern world involved focusing on handguns at every point, and it quickly feels rather unbelievable. There's a core failure in imagined diversity, in being able to conceive of significant things that happened between 2014 and 2020 that weren't all about zombies. Clearly it’s a case of the author trying to show off different ways of how zombies would alter life, but it does so with a single-minded focus that destroys any sense of plausibility or a complex future, and ultimately ruins the appeal of the book’s main premise. Simultaneously, the book is also actually too far away from zombies insofar as things haven’t really been transformed by the rising. Despite losing over 20% of the population the United States is still largely the same country. There’s a major point made of how media practices have shifted over to blogs as the faster, more ready to report zombie stories, but that emphasis on discontinuity only drives home how most other things are the same. Fashion hasn’t changed, the mention of consumer products and companies is the same, and the sundering of world trade and increase in instability has caused only incremental alterations in basic lifestyle. In a place that’s lost so much of its population so suddenly and has a continued ubiquitous danger of attack there should be an environment like after a civil war, with massive political and cultural shift. Instead it’s still the same layout for culture, the same two party political system, with at most perhaps one wing of the Republican party further into religious fundamentalism and paranoid militarism. Again there’s not a real effort here to write speculative fiction on how things would change, and so things alter only in very partial and stylistically driven ways. If one is going to take a basic horror element and hang a whole world on the wide-scale implications, it’s necessary to actually give some thought to the wide-scale implications. Had McGuire given the same amount of research and consistency to the political aspects as the viral ones it would have been great. In the end I didn’t believe the book’s representation of politics and society. The occasional minor detail was intriguing, but the larger picture of daily life that emerged was not believable, requiring a continual and increasingly problematic effort to suspend disbelief.

The book could perhaps slide on weak forethought of its main premise if it were otherwise effective. It would be weak on wider speculation and real contributions to the fantasy/horror/SF format, but could be an engaging and intriguing book. Certainly the idea of needing to navigate political intrigue in a zombified world seems to lend itself to a fairly fun and fast moving book. Unfortunately it ends up as anything but that, due in large part to numerous technical failings, ending up as quite awkward, dull and plodding. Most directly there’s the problem of writing, which is never more than competent and frequently becomes rather problematic. Looking at the prose specifically there are a number of issues demanding a basic level of editing, and others that show rather strained construction of description and cliche-anchored rhetoric, increasingly putting my teeth on edge as I read.

"Besides, I have a well-established--and well-deserved--reputation for being the sort of interviewee who walks away leaving you with nothing you can use as a front-page quote or saleable sound byte." (66)

"Whether we sank or swam, there was no going back; once you make alpha you can never be beta again." (82)

"My mother once told me that no woman is naked when she comes equipped with a bad mood and a steady glare." (391)

"Under the strict interpretation of the law, the CDC would have been within its rights to come into the valley, shoot us, sterilize the surrounding area, and deal with our remains. The fact that it took us alive for extensive testing was unusual--no one would have questioned it if the CDC had killed us." (400)

The plot hosts another and rather pivotal single point of failure. Ultimately things are revealed to be happening because a politically ambitious state governor wants to unleash zombies selectively to kill off political rivals and gain his way to the presidency, there to take America to "traditional" theocratic-fascist values. Three problems here. One, he’s far too stupid a figure to be really credible in this position, having an arbitrary and poorly developed plan. For all that he’s declared to be calculating and a dangerous adversary he fails in pretty much every discrete action he tries to do in the novel, and largely succeeds in tipping his hand enormously. Second, his underlying reasons for doing this are entirely vague, and rather contradictory. At best he’s an enormous hypocrite that doesn’t seem to have noticed he’s undermining the things he claims to want to protect, at worst he’s a completely psychopath that inconsistently does whatever the plot requires. Related to these issues is that he’s not even a unique or notable poor villain, but a stock caricature that’s used extremely often in thrillers of this type. Third, he’s all too readily identifiable as evil. From the moment he’s introduced as a political challenger the outline of his views make it clear he’s immoral and unworkable, and there’s never anything given that indicates enough of an appeal to attract political support. The later plot depends on Tate’s ability to have convinced another blogger to help him, but it’s left incredibly general what points of ideology are at work here. It’s even worse after we meet him, as the interview scene and every subsequent action just ooze menace and deception. Given that, when the characters figure out that some well connected figure is trying to kill people by proxy it’s immediately obvious that Tate is the only possible candidate, and the obviousness of this and the subsequent shenanigans drags down the last third of the book enormously.

As a result, the plot is effectively unbelievable and of fairly arbitrary meaning. There’s an attempt at a big message with the end in showing the free bloggers as against the evil power-hungry political forces that want to keep people afraid and thus controlled. However Feed shares issues with Cory Doctrow’s Little Brother in this whole regard. For one thing, having the antagonist political figure be so relentlessly, over the top evil destroys the chance for a real political statement, instead it allows the grinding down of strawman by having the fanatic figure be completely without morals and without any ability for long-term planning. Similarly, by making the well connected political figure so stupid that he’s defeated by several bloggers it undermines the real stakes involved here and delivers a petty wish-fulfillment political story in a bait and switch of a dystopia. Very much like the teenager bringing down the Department of Homeland Security in Little Brother. Overall it’s less egregious here than Doctrow’s writing, because it’s not as prominent, but insofar as the political elements fold into the plot it’s a pretty thorough failure, producing a situation at once hard to believe and not at all out of the ordinary. General Tate is the sort of power-hungry politico who regrets he has but one mustache to twirl for the sake of his country.

Characterization works somewhat better, but ultimately comes across as overly flat and unengaging. At points different people seemed believable, but in that moments they were rarely appealing to spend time with. One could easily imagine a setting with continual danger producing irreparably damaged characters that have basic issues of normal human relation, but the story veers away from such psychological darkness and complexity. What’s given instead is a one-note supporting cast and relatively petty forms of alienation at the core. The protagonist, Georgia Mason, is the worst in that regard. She’s bitter, judgement, hardened and world-weary. She’s also absurdly competent and the narratives takes a point of reminding the reader continually how careful and prepared she is, in a first person narrated that makes her come across as rather conceited and overly distant from everyone beyond her brother. The problem becomes worse as she fails to react sufficiently to people around her dying, reacting directly at the time but long term failing to express more than a minor riddance or at most slight regret. There could be an interesting setup to someone rendered sociopathic or at least very cold through growing up in such an unsettled world, but again the layout is far to conventional for this, not being willing to go out on a limb and expecting the reader to engage with its protagonist despite not making her interested, realistic or particularly nice. It’s a measure of the flatness of the story and the characters within it that Georgia’s needing to wear sunglasses all the time for medical reasons constitutes one of the strongest and most appealing aspects of her nature. Another major problem is how Georgia doesn’t act, talk or think remotely like someone that’s grown up her whole life in a post-zombie world. Rather, she functions like someone that’s just entered into it, so as to provide acres of well watered exposition for the reader on every basic aspect of her world. Some of that is to be accepted in a narrative of this kind, but having the character of Georgia show such a minimal inner life beyond the reflections of exposition make for a weakness at the core of the story.

In a good point, and one involving heavily spoilers, the book kills off Georgia Mason forty pages from the end of the book. She begins to turn into a zombie, makes a last blog transmission, and is shot by her brother who takes on the viewpoint perspective. It’s an effective dramatic climax, and brings forth the reality of the menace and the horror invoked with zombification centrally. It’s not just that I disliked Georgia by that point that I welcomed the development. Centrally, having the protagonist in a first person character die near the end of the first book in a trilogy isn’t something that’s commonly done, and this subversion gives real energy to the end. The switch to the brother, Shaun, and seeing how completely unhinged he is by having to kill his sister--to the point of hallucinating her presence--helps bring in some of the psychological edge that I missed from earlier on. Despite the stock show down with the villain that follows the ending is more engaging because it’s brought in the real instability of life in this novel and in relation to the zombies, and it suggests that the second book may be rather more interesting in showing such psychological and political fallout. However, that moment cannot in itself redeem Feed for its multitude of issues as a current text, and the larger staleness of writing and world building that went into it.

This book is a failed one on the terms of science fiction, horror, political thriller, or character drama. It does not effectively worldbuild based on its point of departure. It does not provide consistent tension or particularly dramatic encounters with monstrosity. It does not give a layout of political tension that’s remotely original or believable. It does not provide a complex or sympathetic personality for relating to the world. The main premise of the novel is fascinating, and some very intriguing setup is done, but the book does not deliver on that potential to any substantial degree. There needs to be more than a question of what happens after the zombies attack, a degree of interest, energy and complexity to the invented strategy that do more than toy with genre cliches or exposit about the surprisingly little that has changed in the world. From the book it’s become clear that the world after zombies could be interesting. Equally clearly McGuire isn’t the author to deliver that.

Better than: World War Z by Max Brooks
Worse than: Rosemary and Rue by Seanan McGuire

Path of Empire:

2010-07-01T12:04:00.002-07:00

Panama and the California Gold Rush by Aims McGuiness

Thoughtful, engaging and highly effective historical text. Traces the lines of encounter and transformation of Americans and Panama in the mid nineteenth century, with heavy focus on racial politics accompanying both colonialism and resistance. The scale is that of macro-level politics and continental tensions, the way Panama developed transit and in so doing was undermined as an autonomous society. Yet it also incorporates an effective presentation of individual lives, with the stark economic structures and tortured political choices invested in this period.

Recommended.

The Homecoming

2010-07-01T12:04:00.001-07:00

Harold Pinter

Nobel laureate, a short play. Quite displeasing, featuring a long sequence of arbitrary and unpleasant action, revolving around characters that are even more simplistic and unappealing. The dialog fails to be very believable, and fails even more at being rhetorically appealing. I’m left baffled by Pinter’s fame and critical success, and am thoroughly uninterested in reading his other material.

Worse than: The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart by Jesse Bullington
Better than: Hylozoic by Rudy Rucker

Female Citizens, Patriarchs and the Law in Venezuela

2010-07-01T12:03:00.000-07:00

Arlene Diaz

An history tracing the late eighteenth and nineteenth century political conditions in Venezuela, and the way this balance was highly gendered. Looks at different stages of the colonial and republic history to see how new legal rights were highly patriarchal in tone, focused on property rights, family unity, honour and maintaining female subordination. It also shows challenges to these conditions by women, and intense political involvement through the legal framework with individual petitions and communal associations.

Overall quite effective, and well structured. Almost too well structured, really. The clear layout of the main argument proved exhausting after a bit, the run through of gender detail and overall argument so effective that it proved predictable where the account would go next, making for an effective presentation of the main argument but not the most lively of accounts. Nevertheless, for the close detail of the topic and clarity of overall approach this work is recommended.

Effendi

2010-07-01T12:02:00.002-07:00

John Courtney Grimwood

Sequel to Pashazade, second volume in the Arabesque trilogy set in the alternate history Ottoman Empire. Started off a lot slower and less generally engaging, to the extent that a hundred pages in I was sharing some of the reservations I had on End of the World Blues, and was beginning to question Grimwood as a novelist. After that the story improved a lot, different elements of the backstory and unfolding action became stronger. For all that the initial glamor with entering this universe has worn out it proves itself to be a quite interesting and engaging story. Down plays the mystery format for a more thriller oriented setup, with lots of international intrigue that indicate not just the alternate Ottoman Empire but also how other powers impinge on it, making for an interesting layout. Has a better conventional climax than Pashazade, and by the end might be a bit more satisfying. I'm quite interested in the third volume.

At point I felt that Grimwood was leaning too heavy on the darker aspects of his invented setting, showing a society too violent, too corrupt, too dysfunctional to really be invested in. On the whole the picture works, but I feel it could benefit from down playing the classic cyberpunk angle a bit, and perhaps uncovering a type of hard-ridged uneasy optimism along the lines of Morgan’s Woken Furies. What we get in terms of an energetically violent and ruthless but not amoral protagonist is good, and the continued integration of past history into the course of events is good. The work lacks a bit of extra force that would make the polity really feel unique and plausible, and at times I grew a bit tired of the characters’ violence and struggles. Grimwood is still at least a major second tier science fiction writer, however, and he shows indications that he may attain real greatness.

Better than: Pashazade by John Courtney Grimwood
Worse than: Evolution’s Shore by Ian McDonald

Paradiso

2010-07-01T12:02:00.001-07:00

by Dante Alighieri

Third volume of the Divine Comedy, focusing on the narrator’s ascent into the height of religious truth, mystery, beauty and goodness. This volume suffers from an interest issue compared to the previous ones in that there’s a direct absence of drama or real striking, and lends itself to a staleness that usually occurs in an attempt to intimately describe the ultimate good, whether it’s God, utopia or heaven. Surprisingly, that didn’t happen in this work, and the result proved itself actually quite engaging. It wasn’t flawless, and in the early sections particularly was rather slow in pace, seeming to drift somewhat and struggle to find the proper balance between description and speeches. Another persistent point of irritation was the stopping of the heavenly focus to have some character deliver a pointed Take That against a corrupt politician or pontiff of Dante’s time. Of course a large purpose of the Divine Comedy had been to threaten and torment people that Dante didn’t like. At least it was the main point in Inferno, here the drawn out condemnations feel redundant and jarring. Similarly, the views on politics don’t emerge as hugely productive, seeming at once over conventional and too dated by the context of the time.

Ultimately the volume works on the strength of its poetry and the way it’s able to energetically imagine what it insists is beyond imaginable. This structure builds up a surprisingly effective source of dramatic tension, between the format offered by aesthetics and the effort to explore religious summit. Ultimately while I’m thoroughly not a believer and found the whole Christian labeling rather irksome there are a lot of scenes of great emotional energy and literary talent. It scopes about explicitly eternity, and offers an attempt at working in ultimates that is quite powerful.

Better than: Purgatorio by Dante Alighieri
Worse than: Revolt of the Angels by Anatole France

World Histories

2010-07-01T12:01:00.001-07:00

collection of articled edited by Marnie Hughes-Warrington

An excellent array of articles, offering a powerfully written overview of the field of world history. It’s an immense topic, but the work focuses in on specific thematic aspects and main historiographical issues, in a detailed, up to date and deeply intriguing account. The piece is interesting partly in terms of which earlier historians are continually references in their different attempts at a total perspective, most recurrent seem to be Wells, Toynbee and McNeil. The account generally offers a perspective on world history that emphasizes the immense challenges in it as well as the great potential. Also provides a compelling argument for attempting to move beyond Eurocentric paradigms, needing to better integrate earlier “prehistory” and the benefit of working in gender analysis to such accounts more effectively.

Forge of Heaven

2010-06-29T13:52:00.001-07:00

C. J. Cherryh

Sequel to Hammerfall, and much more satisfying on about every level. Foremost is the better situating of the setting, with thirty pages of enclopediac detail explainingn the worldbuilding of the series, and putting the happengs of the first novel in a much more reasonable and better understood light. It’s a book that manages to redeem the earlier flawed work extensively, both through providing more context as well as moving the story on to a more interesting place,. Besides the invented future that we’re shown here being interesting in its own right--although it is--it fuels a good layout for the intrigue of the novel. In the bureaucratic-heavy setting there’s a complex interplay of station governor against Outsider world interest against central Earth control against unknown alien presence against immortal survivors from the first book. It’s a dance of factions in a highly complex and enjoyable manner, particularly in the extent to which different groups have overlaping interests and different timescales. The scenario benefits from taking the issue of "The Gene Wars" in a more extensive treatment than it usually gets in science fiction. Rather than show the initial struggle between self-modifying and the group opposed to genetic change the story explores some of the long term consequences of after the latter faction has won, and the way they have to continually work to keep political stability and social coherence going. There’s a sophisticated examination of the interplay of police, radicals and strategic competition, as well as the momentum carried by bureaucracies harmful and beneficial. As well, Cherryh continues to be one of the few speculative fiction authors that delivers a believable and thought out pattern of economics.

Some flaws occur. The beginning third of the novel lacks real urgency--a common issue with Cherryh’s novels--and there are a couple character arcs that feel excessive to the existing story. The bratty Freethinking-affiliated daughter for instance--her escapades later force a rather powerful character moment for her father, but as an actual story it runs on too much and doesn’t benefit from receiving a point of view. It’s also disapointing that the aliens remain basically ciphers here. The history of their interactions gives a fair bit more credibility, but the actual nature of the species, their goals, intentions, interest, politics remain a blank slate. It’s disapointing to not have them fleshed out to any great extent, to the degree that characters in-universe wonder without being able to answer what they’re after. Disapointing both because I know Cherryh could deliver a fascinating picture here, and because the current form leaves the underlying situation of human intrigue fueled by fairly arbitrary alien behavior.

Overall a well plotted and at times quite intense science fiction piece. The ending third, in particular, frames some of the most effective writing I’ve seen from Cherryh. It also makes good use of engaging the narrative with a complex future that’s very different from both the Foreigner setting and Alliance-Union.

Better than: The Warriors’ Apprentice by Lois McMaster Bujold
Worse than: Destroyer of World by C. J. Cherryh

Dubliners

2010-06-29T13:51:00.000-07:00

James Joyce

A number of short stories focusing on different aspects of life in the city. I can’t speak as to it sociological value, but taken as literature almost all of the discrete pieces is very nicely done. The stories are very short--most under ten pages, and within the limited narrative scale Joyce provides a lot of punch to his depictions. There’s never the space in any single story to manifest the same scale or psychological complexity afforded by novels--and right here is the basis of my main reluctance with short stories--but there is some very good plotting and characterization on display. Best of all, the fact that all these stories in some degree make Dublin a central character in the drama allow them to be read in aggregate effectively, showing with skill a wide variant of scholars, merchants, priests, sensualists and politicians. Highly recommended.

Better than: Welcome to the Monkeyhouse by Kurt Vonnegut
Worse than: A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce

The Wayward Bus

2010-06-29T13:48:00.000-07:00

John Steinbeck

Reading the story involved a continual type of experience-formed tension, a sort of race running within my enjoyment, involving a contest between all the characters being fascinatingly neurotic and all the characters being neurotically irksome. On the whole the former element won out and I enjoyed the book, but there were definitely some cracks and underwhelming sections. The novel looks at different aspects of ambition and frustrated ambition in the fulcrum of a single busride crossing from the United States to Mexico. It’s a pretty strong indictment of different aspects of class-bound prejudice, blindness and at points fundamental mental disconnect. The families in this novel cry out for qualified psychological help more than even most famous novels and the process of the book shows some rather amusing points linked to the main presentation. There’s no main central chracer or unifying plot beyond watching these people exchange with each other, so it sparkles when the encounters are believable and damning, and falls flat when it becomes too much. It does at times, but mostly functions effectively to intrigue with the vivid imagination of somewthing like realism.

There’s an enormous focus on sexuality in the book, traced from various sides and with a lot of depicted hang ups over it. That component shows the main success as well as disconnect in the story, as Steinbeck often made a quite arch narrative point but then moved on to some rather dated or essentialized claim regarding erotics that I found rather jarring. Not a bad book but neither is it exactly excellent, and for all the forthwhile elements and easy reading pattern it has some jarring elements. In a way reading this book immediately after Desolation Road and To the Lighthouse is approrpriate, as it contains elements of the main pattern from both books mixed together. It’s a weird mix, but better and more fun for reading than might be expected.

Worse than: In Dubious Battle by John Steinbeck
Better than: The Pearl by John Steinbeck

To the Lighthouse

2010-06-29T13:47:00.002-07:00

Virginia Woolf

There’s one point in the novel in which one of the characters reflects on the form of perceiving others. Looking at people from a distance, she thinks that this way of identifying and following others through their outlines is one workable approach. It can be taken, as I believe it’s meant to be, as an analogy for the whole form of the book. In a way it’s a book of intensely realized, complex, three dimensional characters each of whom encounters the other as if the outsider were a two dimensional sketch, lacking real substance. More than direct conflict, this aspect of the perception renders a deep insubstantiality in the social ties that people build, and the deep distance that they build more effectively. The isolation doesn’t emerge just from self-absorption, rather it’s a sense of lacking the language or real community for authentic relation. In this amazingly writen account that manifests not in the major dramatic disconnect we might expect but in quiet, subdued points of systemic, often unnoticed, rupture.

It’s a beautiful, heartfelt and deeply sophisticated novel. Says a lot about class, gender, family and the way such conditions shifted into the first world war, all in under two hundred pages. Deservedly classic, and indicates that Woolf applied a comparable level of talent to her fiction as to her essays.

Similar to and worse than: Remembrance of Things Past by Marcel Proust
Similar to and better than: The Custom of the Country by Edith Wharton

Desolation Road

2010-06-29T13:47:00.001-07:00

Ian McDonald

Much quirkier than I had expected. It’s an inevented future that’s highly bizarre on many levels, with a weird array of characters in their phsical and psychological characterisics. It’s a thoroughly strange environment, from the traveling carnivale selling ’make a baby’ kits, to the near-random timetravel and the widely shifting rate of politics. It works because there are clear emotional journeys for the characters even among all the bizarre and at times grotesque detail. It feels at times like McDonald is being too playful for his own good, but on the whole the push of the main characters onto their various successes, tragedies and wacky hijinks works well.

In the representation of larger events it’s hit or miss. At the best moments the book functions like an intensely genre version of the series Deadwood, showing the growth in complexity, numbers and mechanisms of community into an elaborate hypermodenr civilization. In this vein, the arc with escalating conflict between labor and the corporate management is particularly effective, particularly in the hectic narrative pace set once a full revolution breaks out. It’s interesting, intense, tragic and defined with lots of unique little details that tie the events to this specific invented future. On the other hand, at points the big picture stuff simply gets too far out there, straining suspension of disbelief overly and making for an excessively arbitrary story universe.

It was McDonald’s first novel, and is very different from the larger direction he ended up going. Well, it’s good to see that he wasn’t locked into a single recurrent formula like a lot of authors. Moreo, though, I have to say that I’m quite glad he moved beyond the writing pattern of Desolation Road. Overall it was good and it had a lot of strong elements, but I was also a lot more disatisfied than I’ve been with any other McDonald and there’s something about the way the whole narrative is formed that was a bit alienating. It’s not incoherent in the sense of a Hylozoic, but at points there are indications that might go in that direction, and as a text it’s one that could have used a bit more restraint. We always read a book under the shadow of the book we were expecting to find, and I’d say that factor was particularly strong here. Beyond that there are problems in the basic story, and I wouldn’t consider this boo a classic in the way Evolution’s Shore was. It’s a fair distance from aesthetic ruin, in no small part because of a lot of engaging pieces of characterization.

Better than: Hammerfall by C. J. Cherryh
Worse than: Ubik by Philip K. Dick

Welcome to the Monkey House

2010-06-29T13:46:00.001-07:00

Kurt Vonnegut

Collection of short stories, some within the science fictional mold, others more mainstream in content. A rather focused way for me to look at the strengths and weaknesses of Vonnegut as a writer, and assess my own ambivalence with him. I’ve enjoyed almost all his books yet have rarely made an effort to seek them out, generally picking them up when I’m around. I find him amusing but less insightful than he seems to think he is, creative but often too awkward in what he’s trying to do that the larger project falls apart. By fame and general influence he’s certainly a major figure in twentieth century writing, but on the strength of my own reading I wouldn’t place him in that category, as with Gunter Grass but to a greater extent I find him lacking some quality that would allow real excellence. Part of that has always been my dislike over his self-marketing and scampering away from genre lables ’yes my books have time travel and aliens but they’re literature, not that science fiction trash’. As with Margaret Atwood, there’s something about that basic attitude that I see as either very calculating or very ignorant and dislike in either case. Strictly speaking that’s not a valid issue to bring against their writing, which should be assessed for its basic effectiveness and not the labels attached to it.

The stories in Welcome to the Monkey House are a mix, and a lot of specific stories I’m deeply ambivalent about. They’re engaging, maintain a fast pace, and a very good talent in quickly establishing character and situation. At times they also provide some great creativity and imaginative use of some unconventional setups. At the same time I’ve got more than a little kickback to most of them. They often seem too impressed with their own cleverness, for one thing, playing up thier position as hilarious in a way that sets my teeth on edge. Additionally, in terms of actual stories the sequence of events is rather predictible, I was frequently able to predict the next step several pages in advance. Vonnegut has significant skills, but the way he uses them I don’t find altogether fitting, and after a number of stories in a row I grew rather alienated from the (consistent) tone of the narrative voice. I definitely prefer Vonnegut’s novels, and this reading has made me interested enough to try to finish reading his main corpus, but I retain some sizable reservations.

Worse than: A is for Alien by Caitlin Kiernan
Better than: The Deceitful Marriage and other exemplary novels by Miguel de Cervantes

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

2010-06-29T13:45:00.001-07:00

James Joyce

My second Joyce, after Ulyssess some six months prior. This novel is a vastly more direct and comprehensible text, benefiting from a clarity of presentation that allows intense absorption in psychology. It’s a highly effective novel on multiple levels, excelling at showing an unconventional proccess of transition into adulthood and through it a biting analysis of society, modernity, religion and art. It works to the way it shows the protagonist with deep intimacy and emotional acuteness, but yet refuses to grant him any easy outs or transcendence. His status as a future artist doesn’t bring him enlightenment or greater intrinsic natural worth, and it doesn’t free him from the nusances and challenges of the society he inhabits. It’s a very intense account, never more so than when it engages with the protagonist’s struggle with his religion, his sexuality and their intersection. There’s an intricate and gorgeously vivid presentation of what the tenets of traditional Catholicism feel like to someone who believes in them yet doesn’t live up to their moral code. His absorption with intellect as well as sex, and the tortured guilt he derives from the later, make for a perspective that is so convincing it’s hard not to assume strong autobiographical motifs. It’s a level of intimacy combined with quality of writing that often feel more real than reality, and that turn a very sophisticated eye on questions of faith, politics and the modern world. The debates on Irish nationalism are particularly intense, and are of a specific content that I feel the need for more historical conext before I can really situate the literary incorporation here. The novel gives a strong sense of the basic appeal and tensions inherent in the desire for an autonomous society, in that respect functioning very similarly to the whole spirituality/sensuality axis, generalized to a more collective level. It’s indisputably potent stuff.

And yet the book in the end suffers by comparison with Ulysses, not having anywhere near that volume’s power or raw, disorienting literary expertise. It’s still a wonderful novel however, and points up the great things that can be done with well crafted writing.

Worse than: Notes from Underground by Fyodor Dostoevsky
Better than: The Mayor of Casterbridge by Thomas Hardy

The Great Russian Invasion of India

2010-06-29T13:44:00.001-07:00

A. Dekhnewallah

A nineteenth century British military account. Not travel, military, for fresh and compellingly unique primary history reviewed for your pleasure. The description is fairly basic but reasonably structured, and the minor details and substantive value judgements have their appeal. As an actual piece of entertainment the direct conflict give it a bit of more direct appeal. It’s still not the sort of thing I’d expect to find much general readership, and it retains a number of inhibiting quirks from its time.

The Mayor of Casterbridge

2010-06-29T13:43:00.000-07:00

Thomas Hardy

Nineteenth century literary classic, details a man seeling his wife and daughter and the long term consequence. It’s a pretty powerful and deeply ambitious story, one that makes up for a couple feeble plot stimulators with a powerful psychological representation. What’s most interesting is the protagonist, the titular individual. A man so committed to drunk and evasion that he will sell off his own family. Also a man that works across the rest of the novel to redeem himself from this moment, but not without much backsliding and fresh egotistical mistakes. He’s also capable enough to claw his way up into a position of wealth and authority, but then later lose that fortune, and the book is quite effective in showing the degree to which his admuirable qualities are tied in with his core defects. He’s far from a monster, and for all the damage his pride and spiteful rejection cause to other lives there is much to admire about him, his strength of character, his general optimism and the way he’s able to come forth with strong ethical choice at the most surprising moments. He’s an intriguing, complex and overall plausible character, most notably in the way that none of his grand transcendetal moments lack, the way he continually reverts back partially to his earlier ways.

More generally, the work shows an engaging cynicism about the status of class, gender and hypocrisy in contemporary England. There are some very strong critiques in here against Victorian society, to the extent that I’m surprised it attained the popularity it did in its own time, and these are always coonected to an engaging novel. It makes me a lot more interested in reading the other nineteenth century literary classics I’ve so far neglected. And more Hardy, of course.

Worse than: Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky
Better than: A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens
Also better than: Jude the Obscure by Thomas Hardy

Hammerfall

2010-06-29T13:42:00.002-07:00

C. J. Cherryh

Somewhat disorienting and flat worldbuilding, wrapped in a decent and intriguingly twisty plot. The weakness of the setting was a major issue for me, though, partly because of where I thought the book would be entering onto, particularly because of some pivotal background stuff that isn’t very well situated. For instance we have the future human barbarians on an alien planet ruled by a technological immortal, with how that got established not being really explained. We also have other humans making contact with the world in an even more shadowy way, along with aliens that want to depopulate the planet but show a kind of strangely hesitant timeline in doing such. Given Cherryh’s usual dexterity in crafting complex, plausible future, this made the book rather underwhelming.

The book does have strong elements, however. While I wasn’t overly fond of the protagonist or main supporting cast--largely because, linked to the above, they seemed rather stock--but the things they do in the course of the novel are interesting. The protagonist sets off to destroy the immortal dictator Ila andliberate his people, but soon feels compelled to be her direct servant to work against a larger doom threatened against the planet. Given this isn’t stock epic fantasy they don’t succeed, and indeed it’s shown that the threat (aliens sling rocks on the planet, everyone dies--the titular Hammerfall) was never something that could be opposed. Rather the characters work to understand the danger and then preserve what little they can against the impending apocalypse. It makes for a fairly well laid out structure, and some strong creepy moments of high technology intruding on the lives of people with no context to understand it. In this vein appears both the planetary bombardment and a point where a nanotech-backed personality seizes control of an indigenous human. While there’s drama here and much that works precisely because of the juxtaposition of elements, the core of the invented future is a rather weak element in the book. Cherryh has certainly done a lot better.

Better than: Matter by Iain M. Banks
Worse than: Incandesence by Greg Egan

Pnin

2010-06-29T13:42:00.001-07:00

Vladimir Nabokov

A book I’ve tried to read several times, but didn’t get into. I’m not sure why, having sat down with it with some more focus I found it extremely readable, entertaining and fast paced. It’s also quite funny, and overall captures the lighter expression of life with a lot more substance and general engagement than Glory did. The book is all about the titular professor Pnin, with his odd manerisms and only partial successful adaptation to the United States, and the array of odd encounters he has. It’s clearly aiming for less ambitious and more surface story than Lolita or Pale Fire, and on that grounds it succeeds, making a fun, interesting and well written book. At the same time, by the end it doesn’t seem to have offered as much of insight or underlying meta-drama as I’ve come to expect with Nabokov. The degree to which it’s autobigoraphical may be debated, on the whole certainly less than Transparent Things, and it should be said that this factor doesn’t inhibit the presentation of deep intimacy with the subject. That’s what being a skilled writer means, one can convey more than just their own life with utter conviction.

Off and on in this novel I was reminded of an East European professor I know, not quite as quirky or generally off beat but having some similar issues in incomprehensibility with American youth, alienation from modern society and less than fully effective academia. At times this worked in favor of my pleasure in the account, making it easier to sympathize with him and his perspective. At other times it undercut it, in points where the story went for comedy and I was reminded of the professor, and the way I’ve generally found his situation rather sad.

Better than: Glory by Vladimir Nabokov
Worse than: Bend Sinister by Vladimir Nabokov

The Tin Drum

2010-06-29T13:41:00.001-07:00

Gunter Grass

Nobel Laureate. I found this novel powerful and affecting, but not everything I had hoped for. In part I may be guilty of coming in with overly high expectations. Gunter Grass is someone I’ve heard a lot about, and heard a lot of endorsements concerning, for quite some time, on the level of personal reactions and academia. In the later I have seen a number of descriptions of Grass as one of the key German post-war writers, and as someone who brought a lot of necessary challengs to the general cultural climate with its specific national burdens and issues. After that, I found the novel strong and intriguing, but not great, and not something that establishes Grass as that unique an author. It abounds in intricate characterization, gifted situational description and basic mechanics of good writing. It lacks a certan measure of je ne sai quoi, though, a magnitude of literary quality or special insight into the character of human existene, a larger force to the plot, something.

The story focuses on the recollections of a rather quirky individual--quirky to the extent that he’s writing his backstory from a mental asylum. It shows the progress of his life through two world wars and socio-political unrest, with the consistent metaphor of music used for both underlying patterns and madness. It has a lot of funny and very striking scenes, and one thing the novel does do very well is tying such a weird and comical figure into very substantive reflections on the process of history. It’s a juxtaposition that makes the book at once utterly absurd and very serious, building a measure of seriousness in with comedy in a way that most authors couldn’t manage but that Grass pulls off as if it’s second nature. The insights provided in here are in no small amount about Nazism and the relation of the general populace to it. Two particular moments come to mind. The first is where the narrator reflects explicitly on the fact that he wasn’t in the resistance in the Nazi period, and that his petty acts of juvenile disruption shouldn’t legitimately be considered a political strike against the Third Reich. In this approach he offers a strong indictment of the conventional rationalizations prevalent in postwar Germany (see some of the history texts from a bit ago) and offers a strong contribution to arguing for a shift in general responsability and cultural self-awareness. The second moment is a description of the entry of Germany into savagery through "the gas man", in a few pages of powerful horror that represent the most effectively written part of the book.

Other themes that emerge forcefully include normality, sex, class and physicality, all delivered in some quirky and illuminating scenes. The family situation as elaborated was some of the most interesting material, but by the end I wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it, what the author was driving at and how it connects to the central biazarre formula at the heart of the novel.

On the whole it’s funny, it’s meaningful, and I can see that it deserves to be widely read. I don’t quite see it as great literature though, and reserve judgement as to whether Grass is good enough to merit a Nobel prize. There’s nothing particularly wrong with The Tin Drum, but I do feel the potential for it to have gone further on character and story.

Worse than: The Revolt of the Angels by Anatole France
Better than: Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

Independent People

2010-06-29T13:39:00.000-07:00

Haldor Laxness

Nobel Laureate. This time it’s an Icelandic farming epic. The switch in locales isn’t a great improvement, and the movement in authors is only a slight improvement. There is a fair bit more drama and basic quality of interst in the narrative. It also benefits from a more complex provision for the main characters. I even won’t deny the high quality of writing for the story and some considerable subtlety in showing the movement of modernity and politics onto an agricultural community. Nevertheless it shares the same basic aesthetic problem of Growth of the Soil; in binding the plot to the development of agriculture it makes for a pace much to slow to drive consistent interest. Under the stress of little happening beyond interaction with the characters, these individuals are forced under a level of depiction that doesn’t benefit them. It’s not that they’re overly simple, rather they are unpleasant, being too dysfunctional and strongly petty to have much interest in rooting for them. That makes the continued long term presence of them with little that they do to take the novel outside of them rather exhausting.

I’m ambivalent as to the effectiveness of the main and titular theme of the novel. A lot of the book is about putting forth notions of freedom, and the protagonist’s desire to live as a free man against all obstacles. To a large extent this ambition is contextualized and deconstructing, making some rather satisfying representations of it as petty and largely incapable, showing wider social complexities and government moving in beyond any sort of juvenile Heinlein-esque focus on the rugged autonomous individual. In the moments of showing contradiction, and the way this independence can be born on the subordination of others, the novel achieves some strong insights and real interest. Yet it seems at the end to come down on some level to admiration of this desire for total independence taken as a behavioral approach and ideal. I may be misreading it, and to an extent my frustrations with the aesthetic experience may have blunted my grasp of the subtlety of the ultimate message. Still, as I see it presently the story appears to side uncritically with the rather disjointed individualist view in a way that undermines itself. Not least due to how unplesant the protagonist is.

Better than: Growth of the Soil by Knut Hamsun
Worse than: The Forgotten by Elie Wiesel

The Revolt of the Angels

2010-06-29T13:38:00.000-07:00

Antaole France

Nobel Laureate. Excellent, starts a bit slow but proves itself to be a tour de force of comic invention, emotional intensity and general creativity. The story appears for the first forty pages to be a setup for a rather dull society world with one Maurice the owner of a vast collection of books and discovering one of them to have gone missing. After a bit of by the numbers effort to see who might have taken it, Maurice is met by the being responsible. It’s his guardian angel, and as the result of reading the rationalist literary text the angel has decided that religion and the bonds of heaven are tyranny, and sets about to spread emancipatory consciousness among the order of angels. The title of the book wasn’t symbolic, it features the direct plot of the book, with lots of unexpected turns, good insights and general hilarity. The strength of the discordant relationship between Maurice and his ex-guardian angel could carry the book in themselves--there’s lots of hilarious and surreal scenes like where Maurice tries (unsuccessfully) to preach the virtues of religion, or when he challenges the angel into a duel over an issue of personal honor. Ultimately the book’s scale is a lot wider than just that aspect, and it benefits from it.

Much of the book is a direct satire. It’s from the early twentieth century and bits of this humor haven’t aged well, but a lot of it has. For instance there’s the effort by one angel to talk another into rebellion against the celestrial arrangement and the current social arrangement in France. The second angel protests, on the grounds that France needs no change and was already completely perfect. It then goes on a speech on how the main credit bank of Frane was particularly refined "as pure and chaste and the Holy Virgin."
The novel also has, late on, one of the most affecting inversions of Christian myth that I’ve seen. The text had previously established a gnostic worldview where the entity ruling by the name of God was a lying oppressor of less than ultimate power. It had also shown Satan and his followers to be free thinkers, who tried to defeat God from humanitarian altruist notions. Across the novel the new outbreak lead by Maurice’s ex-guardian angel linked up with the old resistance and formede plans for a new front, gathering strength to a march against the status quo. In the last chapter Satan has a dream, whereby his invasion is successful, the God-being is cast down and he takes on the celestial throne. The scenario plays out longer, with Satan becoming more cold, distant and egotistical, remote from and callous towards the human suffering that motivated his earlier fighting. He starts to shroud himself in mystery and hierarchy and govern as a tyrant. Simultaneously, cast down from the seat of power and command, God begins to observe the suffering of the small people and has a turn towards compassion and activity. Satan awakes from the dream, sees that a successful invasion of Heaen would just switch roles, and calls off the attack, resolving to maintain his spirit of compassion and work to help in smaller ways. There’s a basic attitude of decency built into this story that’s rather affecting, combined with the very strong and narratively surprising ending tone of anti-militarism. Such moments, of which the above is only the culmination, establish a writer of great sensitivity and complexity as well as humor.

The novel is enormously rewarding and entertaining. Proof that at least sometimes the Nobel Award for Literature wen into deserving hands. I’m definitely going to look up more of Anatole France’s writings.

Similar to and better than: Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett
Similar to and also better than: The Hunchback of Notre Dama by Victor Hugo

So Forth: Poems

2010-06-29T13:37:00.000-07:00

by Joseph Brodsky

Nobel laureate. Now, this one is more like it. The poems here have a crispness, intensity and basic clarity sadly lacking in Eliiot, and it gives them a great range in bringing to life specific situations. In the format most of the poems are attached to a definite situation or story, making them more like very short fiction that happens to be beautifully and strangely expressed, rather than a whole reflection of literature on literature that I found ultimately alienating about the Wasteland.

And that’s it. Not surprisingly I find it even more difficult to comment substantively about poetry that I like than to criticize it. I do think that Brodsky merits the Nobel Award he received,, and I could be interesting in seeing his other writing at some point. It also makes me interested in what other great literary poets are like, and the type of range that might be developed in mining this field more.

Better than: The Wasteland and Other Poems by T. S. Eliot
Worse than: Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes

The Wasteland and Other Poems

2010-06-29T13:36:00.000-07:00

by T. S. Eliot

Nobel Laureate. Very difficult to approach with a clear setup or even as a fair reader. One, I don’t generally read poetry, and I enjoy it even less. Two, Eliot’s work is really too famous to engage with, and has been alluded to or quoted in part so often that it’s difficult to factor through the connections to the actual writing. I was always going to be a hard sell on this particular text. And, unsurprisingly, I can’t count myself highly moved, enlightened or entertained. There are good elements in here, with the obvious control over language on display, and some striking imagery. On the whole, however, I found it dull, awkward, overly dense to follow and not delivering appreciable insights when parsed. In part this issue comes round to Eliot’s distasteful politics and simplistic religious endorsement that I find displeasing, and which it’s hard to disentangle my view. In either case, though, ther seems to be a fundamental limitation in the vision of what to say with the poems and how to say it, a type of writing that at points seems to purposely distance itself from ready access.

Above all what struck me was how upper bound it was, how insistent Eliot’s poems were in citing earlier classics as the ground for becoming classics themselves. It’s overwhelmingly elitist, increadibly focused on an education available to few and which was accessed by even fewer in Eliot’s time. That makes for a fitting, is aesthetically deflating, pattern in the fame and widespread literary allusion to which the poems, and especially the Wasteland, have been subject. Reading it felt often like a closed book, it was so heavily bound up in referring to previous literary classics, and had been so often alluded to in a similar fashion, that all the nicely craften literary quality seemed self-contained. It’s a well formed exercise, and one can easily see how it gives generations of scholars work in parsing and interpreting. Beyond that, though, it seems to be self-contained and purposefully detached from possible application for the world in a manner that I do not see with most literature.

Worse than: Purgatorio by Dante Alighieri
Better than: Effi Briest by Theodor Fontane

Remembrance of Things Past

2010-06-29T13:35:00.000-07:00

Marcel Proust

Technically speaking this work should be "In Search of Lost Time", as that’s a closer translation of the original french. The above title is what’s in wider cirulation, though, plus I prefer it on it’s own sake, as connecting better to the sentiment of the novel, the way it focuses on bringing in the past is always tentative There may seem to be a contradiction in switching the author over wording for the title and then trusting the source enough to follow the narrative for three thousand pages. So it goes, and the above titular modification isn’t a criticism of the larger text, which I enjoyed a great deal. It’s awesome, complex and highly engaging literature that has a lot of substance to say about the modern world. It bears the impact of its time but it is by no means dated, and the chief insights it delivers are readily applicable to conemporary times. A lot of classics struggle to find a main relevance to later reading, seemingly either overly constrained to the factors that made them initially popular or such that it’s puzzling why they took on great success in the first place. Proust doesn’t have these issues, and it was apparent fairly early on in the reading what made it worth taking seriously as great literature and, even more pressingly, produced an engaging text.

As a novel it’s about a lot of things, bringing in attention and a lot of insight into class, sexuality, anti-Semitism, literature, death, politics, nationalism and modernity. Beyond all these, what drives the book is the exploration of memory, reflection on previous events and the way they are recalled. In a large sense the protagonist isn’t so much the main character as an individual but rather the memories of that person and the way they play themselves out. It’s here that the immense length of the account works as a virtue rather than a flaw, providing a real sense of scale in depicting the mental relation to externality. It’s a very wide ranging account and provides a real feeling into the experience of decades, offering a work highly condesnsed yet feeling solid enough in its arching over a whole lifetime. For lare segments this recollection seems to be hijacked by the biography of other people the protagonist encounters, giving substantive detail on their own ambitions, successes and failure. The extensive focus in on Swann in the first volume of the work is probably the most extensive embodiment of this theme, and by reports it’s this aspect and volume that often repulses interest in the book. Yet I don’t see this aspect as a main problem, and certainly don’t object to the use of the formula of absorbing others’ lives in the way I did recently with Auster’s Moon Palace. Partly it’s because the focus doesn’t get as thoroughly sidetracked away into other people and incidents. While a lot of attention gets devoted, especially early on, to following the lives of others it’s still the protagonist that’s following them, giving a central unity and level of nuance to the recollection that binds it together. Partly the format works better, seeming more natural in the way it intersects with what happens to others over an extended period. Finally it also works better for this specific protagonist as exprssed in the book. Ultimately he’s a pretty passive person, and it works that his attention moves from his own life for sizable periods. It doesn’t ultimately diminish the interest in seeing his memories play out over his own experiences,a dn the fact that the novel is not insular on just his private experiences works to build the main sense of scale. There’s a way that this book primarily focused on society meetings, refined parties and aristocratic conversations is epic, and in certain ways passes even a high fantasy, intricate piece of worldbuilding like Lord of the Rings. The novel gives, even relative to length, a very great feeling of range, pushing into the way that an array of different people form and contest community.

A main aspect of the depiction of memory is how awkward it is, the way it works amongst a certain necessary void in the core of most people. The mental representation of the past is never in full accurate relation to the events as they happened. This imbalance is a truism, but it’s expressed with great literary force and grace by Proust. It’s substantive in itself that the book centers on a subtle margins-bound essence of human consciousness. It’s doubly impressive that the narrative works this theme into the process of recollecting so effectively. There’s the basic element of showing rather than telling writ large here--while there are a number of direct passages reflecting on the nature of memory and the insubstantial descriptive quality of thinking about others, such musings are never autonomous assertions of definitive claims. They are always elements bound within the process of memory, reflections that by their very self-declared claims are rendered ambigious. Moreover the notion of the impossibility of fully relating to others because of the warping of the past through personal consciousness is fundamental to the course of events in the novel. If people can’t maintain firm lines of continuity along their own lives--and the novel shows graphically how they can’t--then understanding another person beyond the part of oneself that is projected into them becomes doubly problematic. Yet it’s a quest people are continually compelled towards, the ultimately hopeless effort to overocome the barriers placed by their own perception, recollection and intuitive reformation of events. It’s a tension that frames much of the internal disconnect within the people of Remembrance of Things Past. The most direct manifestation occurs in extended romantic relationships of which the other partner is revealed to have been a serial adulterer, which causes a tortured re-examination of the remembered incidents. The same general pattern occurs even more gradually in the movement from childhood to adulthood, and then eventually to old age, and the way this alters the whole pattern of relating to society and family. The genius of Proust isn’t just in using extraordinary literary skill in the depiction of remembered sentiment but in how he approaches that not as a static atmosphere to be depicted but as something fluid and continually reconstructed.

Sexuality develops as one of the leading ’secondary motifs’ of the novel, rendered variously with intensity, in general reflections, in personalized encounters, as humor and as tragedy. This element was one of the most famous and controversial things when the book first appeared, and even now there’s a frankness and honesty to the representation of bodies and their encounter that stands out. The appealing part of this representation lies largely in how varied it is, how its shown to have wide-ranging modes and facets among different individuals and within a single lifespan. Sex for pay, for romance, for sheer eroticization, sex proscribed by society and illicit, sex in a relationship, outside of it or in violation of it. There’s even an extended assessment of homosexuality both male and female, the later of which it is rather surprising to find acknowledged in a text of the early twentieth century. The way it’s rendered as something integral to consciousness and behavioral life but occuring in varied states builds up the complexity of the work. In single motifs, perhaps the most striking cases are those that show a pattern of awkwardness in relation of sexuality to larger life, from the faintly comical effort to transition into and out of an erotic interlude in the larger mundane day to the wider hypocrisy of society’s prurient gossip on mattters of sex. Most tragically it emerges as another angle of the central disconnect between people that develops in some degree or other for everyone in the novel. Here it functions as both metaphor and actuality, in the way bodies can be in the most direct contact possible yet the bounded selves are ineffable distances apart.

Class is a heavily mined and heavily featured element. A large part of the direct action involves the social life of the French aristocracy and upper bourgeoise, in the habitual actions by which it constitutes itself as a group. Lifecycle events of members, general parties, rampant gossip and petty intrigue and an effort to police its boundaries by admitting or excluding others. It’s not a pretty picture that emerges, and the slow playing out of snobbery, destructive obsession, judgement and tangled morals is more damning than any direct satire would have been. It’s consistently entertaining however, largely because the range of rhetoric on display is ultimately very amusing and often pretty to witness. As with The Picture of Dorian Gray, the way aristocratic judgements express themselves are generally appaling but still highly fun to watch, and not just in a context of rooting for the participants downfall.

Anti-semitism plays a major role in the book, far more than I had expecting. Given the context of its writing it wasn’t surprising to find the Dreyfus affair featured, but the larger social engagement with the situation are explored at great detail. Here the representations of the aristocracy dovetail closely with specific politics and general efforts to build nationalism. The spurious treason charges against one Jew becomes a general paranoia of the Jews as a definable element, and from there an effort to define French identity through racial categories and enforced sentiment of loyalty. The text is really scathing on the general anti-Dreffussard and anti-semitic views circulating in the aristocracy, about how petty murky judgements connect to grandiose assertion of patriotism on the backs of self-inflated ignorance.

Another major focus involves death, and the way it’s built up to and experienced after through morning. This motif isn’t as consistently focused on as some of the others, but it’s very prominent for some key sections. The main insight I take on this element is the juxtaposition between individual reactions and the standard soceital model that’s given as approrpriate, and how awkward it can be to contextualize the loss of a loved one in the long-term, after the point where the immediate scripts apply.

The novel doesn’t express its main elements through a plot, in the conventional sense of the word. The layout of the story all technically occurs as a flashback from a later time, and the links between main specific moments is provided by the momentum of time’s passage rather than a strict relation of drama and action. This overall format lends itself to a far more engrossing work than might be imagined, one that is almost never dull by sheer force of Proust’s skill at chracterization, subtlety of theme and raw writing ability. If there’s one issue I had it’s that the sheer size of the secondary cast becomes a bit unmanagable at points, some of the less consistently appearing characters being hard to distinguish when they pop up again. Nevertheless, on the whole it manages with manifest excellence in small issues and large. This is one three thousand page literary classic I’m glad I read, and I’d say it both merits the length and is not overrated. Highly recommended.

Better than: The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver
Worse than: Nothing

Informal Empire: Mexico and Central America in Victorian Culture

2010-06-29T13:34:00.001-07:00

Robert Aguirre

A simple but well presented look at how late nineteenth century Britain treated and represented Mexico in its culture patterns. There’s less focus on literature or formal texts as widespread public spectacle, specifically looking into the networks by which fairs were organized and how the relevant producers worked to give a consistent and racialized hegemonic message.

Wirtten in a direct and engaging style that gives direct presence to the historical associations contained within it. The type of work that more effectively engages with its aspects of both complex specific style and a general structure that should be welcoming to those outside academia.

Yvgenie

2010-06-29T13:32:00.000-07:00

C. J. Cherryh

There are elements that are the most engaging of the trilogy, and it benefits from having the magic and wider community come more clearly into focus. However the pre-existing series and Cherryh's general writing approach is ill-suited to the amount of teenage angst that is introduced in this book, and the centering on this element weakens the interest in the story. Again good, but the weakest volume in the series.

Worse than: Exile’s Gate by C. J. Cherryh
Better than: Paladin of Souls by Lois McMaster Bujold

Moon Palace

2010-06-29T13:31:00.000-07:00

Paul Auster

Has its witty and insightful elements, but far too much of the book is the main character hearing stories from other people. The tales themselves go on to long, are frequently somewhat uninteresting, and ultimately don’t add up enough to enough to make the novel seem wortwhile. Small moments occasionally shine, but as a whole it’s shot through with an omniprescent, increasingly forceful flaw.

Worse than: City of Glass by Paul Auster
Better than: Solar by Ian McEan

Chernevog

2010-06-29T13:30:00.000-07:00

C. J. Cherryh

Good but not great. Better than Rusalka, because it enters the story with the characters more fully defined and fleshes out the relevant backstory and cosmology more. It also begins with the characters is a higher state of stability and happiness and then brings them crashing down threatened with utter ruin, which works in a classic dramatic sense. This is the way to make this kind of scenario play out, and shows Jim Butcher to quite fully be a third rate hack by comparison. Nevertheless, as the series proceeds some of the appeal thorugh deconstruction of Western fairy tales and horror elements wears off somewhat, and the final arc somehow lacks the full urgency implicit to the scenario.

Worse than: Finity’s End by C. J. Cherryh
Better than: Rusalka by C. J. Cherryh

Cuban Counterpoint: Tobacco and Sugar

2010-06-29T13:29:00.000-07:00

Fernando Ortiz

Extended early twentieth century analysis of the titular themes, tracking the comparative impact of Tobacco and Sugar on Cuba. Starts with the premise of a very dry subject matter, but quickly makes it fascinating, rolling off fascinating insights, neat connections, stunning juxtapositions and effective systemic analysis. The look into the philosophy and aesthetic behind each plant is entertaining, the argument for how each substance is gendered intriguing, but it’s in the overview of how the economics functioned that really make the book take of is the insight into economics. Ortiz argues persuasively that while it’s the most pleasant crop, sugar has also directly accompanied a process of standardization, mass production, mechanization and foreign exploitation of Cuba that connects a very destructive long term legacy. In contrast, he explores venues by which Tobacco has had the potential for autonomy and overall financial advantage.

The first half is a surprisingly engaging and fast moving chain of analysis that offers much of worth in asssessing colonial and postcolonial conditions generally. After that, the second half is far less satisfying, as it goes into listing and specifics to substantiate the main thesis, slowing the main pace down to a crawl and rendering large setions frankly boring. Still, taken as a whole this is an exciting and virtal work.

Veniss Underground

2010-06-29T13:26:00.000-07:00

Jeff Vandermeer

His first novel. Interesting, fast moving, inventive, grotesque. Well worth reading, although lower in quality than both Finch and City of Saints and Madmen. It’s directly science fiction which doesn’t actually mean much sylistically. In principle things are more physically possible

This point is useful to demolish the whole assumptions of a separation between science fiction and fantasy, ’backward looking’ and ’forward looking’, possible and impossible. In some positions that type of binary makes sense, and if we’re talking about Tolkien or his endless clones it makes sense on some level to distinguish a type of wide-trend focused writing from the story of epic adventure with all its romanticized view of the aristocracy. But of course those lines aren’t at all clear or inrevitable in practice, and generally serve mostly as a kind of self-righteous attitude by science fiction only fans that live in ignorance of the strongest voice in modern fantasy. This description, I should add, applies to me up until about a year and a half ago.

In any case, knowing that this is a VanderMeer novel tells me vastly more it than knowing that it’s set in the future. There’s a similar type of grim creativity at work, and a directly comparable focus on portraying a whole wide-functioning culture. What we’re persented at here more than in City of Saints and Mademn is a social enviornment already in the process of disintegration, suffering from collapse of central authority and a general process of anarchy. The main plot concerns the protagonist (eventuallly revealed as such) working to stop a mad scientist crimelord from his effort to replace humanity in the successive battle of the city. He’s foiled, but the larger issues of the society remain beyond direct counteracting, in a state of technological fervent and communal erosion.

It’s not a weakly dying polity, and it doesn’t by any means make for a feeble narrative. Very well written, standout setup for characters and a very inventing backdrop. One surprising element in the story was that the mad scientist crimelord wasn’t shown as a campy or deliberately ironic figure. Instead he was written quite seriously, and by the end of the story he’s done enough damage and demonstrated enough sadistic combinations of art, slavery and living creatures to serve as a quite viable antagonist.

Worse than: City of Saints and Madmen by Jeff Vandermeer
Better than: Dune by Frank Herbert. Not a judgement most genre fans would share, I believe, but such is my view. Bettter characterization, certanly, and if one looks at the worldbuilding line by line I see it as having a lot more creativity and overall sense of credibility. In no small part because it’s not coded as sylistically fantasy like Herbert’s is. And of course one could make the case tht without Dune’s success there wouldn’t have been the pattern of elaborate worldbuilding in speculative fiction so that it enabled VanderMeer’s later creativity. Even if that’s true however it makes Herbert influential, not necesarily good.

Rusalka

2010-06-29T13:25:00.000-07:00

C. J. Cherryh

In the layout of the story this book is different than the Cherryh I'm familiar with. Not because it's fantasy primarily--the Gate of Morgaine books were as well stylistically, for all that they also tied into Alliance-Union. That series was recognizably a similar approach to her larger canon, the focus on politics and intrigue, the outsider as central figure. Here it's recognizably the same hand with characterization and prose, but the plot layout looks fairly conventional. It takes a pre-Christian Russian fairy tale, but at core it's a dramatization of a stock mythological concept with a focus on building of relationships rather than sustained reflection on the larger community. As a book it works pretty well, slow and a little disorienting to get into but after that point quite gripping, with some strong writing and good moments of horror and wonder. Also, after awhile of finding myself displeased by the characterization of Bren, here the layout of more flawed and believable people is good. They’re characters without a firm grasp on the answers for their universe, without a blueprint for their future. That works in many of the most intense scenes, where they have to grapple with their own ignorance and the strange metaphysics of a world that is actively coming around to kill them. The novel toys with a lot of the forms of magical horror, but ultimately turns from it because the victory lies in obtaining knowledge and clarifying ambiguity. Some initially menacing forces turn out to be co-opted into alliance, and there’s usually a lot more room to work with than killing or being killed.

I'd view this work as more minor than a lot of Cherryh's work, though, and the focus is in many ways narrower and less ambitious. At a certain level I think her approach to writing doesn't capture the fun potential of exploring stories and mythology in the way a Neil Gaiman can do.

Better than: The Shining by Stephen King
Worse than: King Rat by China Mieville
Roughly equivalent to: The Steel Remains by Richard Morgan

The Origins of the Modern World: A Global and Ecological Narrative

2010-06-29T13:24:00.000-07:00

Robert Marks

Doesn’t go as far with the main premise as it could, or indeed as the author seems to think he did. Fundamentally this is a work too slim and too general to really deliver the force of ecohistory promised in the main argument, and to an extent it runs into similar tension of the McNeil work of beign uncertain who the history is marketed towards. That notwitstanding there is a lot of value in here, and the focus on human history as told through impact on the environment, diffusion of diseases and overall ecological processes is a compelling standpoint. In particular the definition of an "ecological ancient regime" to the planet and the way it was shifted by trade, travel and more direct material control over the environment is a compellin gone.

The Moon and the Sun

2010-06-29T12:43:00.002-07:00

Vonda McIntyre

Nebula-winner. Reading this book the setup suggested parallels to two other books, which made this one appear quite unfavorable by contrast. The first was Kit Whitfield's In Great Waters, with the mutual focus on a sapient underwater species in a historical backdrop. However where Whitfield created a complex and interesting species whose presence changed the whole pattern of history, McIntyre makes an idealized perfect sea-person, using it's almost saintly attitudes as a way to shine unfavorable light on humanity. The other book I was reminded of was McIntyre's Hugo-winning Snakedance, with its compelling exploration of gender, femininity, and its restriction. Here, that takes a far more basic approach, outlining ways the France of Louis XIV restricted women and made for an exploitative environment. The point is well served but ultimately the analysis is pretty obvious, and there's not enough character complexity to support a more ambitious reading. Beyond the parallels The Moon and the Sun is ultimately a weak book because it feels too slow. It's padded, the plot spends too long bouncing off the obvious potential outcomes and the level of intrigue produced in the story is ultimately too little spread over too long. This book definitely shouldn't have won any major awards.

Worse than: The Orphan’s Tale by Cathereynne Valente
Better than: Whre Late the Sweet Bird Sang by Kate Wilhelm

Wonder Boys

2010-06-29T12:43:00.001-07:00

Michael Chabon

Highly disappointing. After The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay I had a fairly sizable appreciation, goodwill and interest towards Michael Chabon, and didn’t wait long before obtaining another of his works. This novel, however, was rather weak, failing to make any of the same sense of wonder, energy or interest. Rather it shows the over-familiar formula of an author struggling with writer’s block and the process of writng. He also has a pattern of serial infidelity and assorted dysfunctional relationship.

I have to ask why. Why does Chabon expect me to be invested in the story, when he makes the character unlikeable and overly bound to archetypes? When he uses main elements already done before, and done more imaginatively? What was the mental process that lead to such a bland setup and underwhelming narrative? The meta element common to Chabon’s other writing reappears, then, but in a far less unique or interesting format. Perhaps the most encouraging thing about this work’s failure is that it occured earlier in Chabon’s career, and perhaps it reflects an ongoing process of refinement for his literary direction. It’s still a poor choice, and it makes me more skeptical about the wider literary investmnet. I don’t think this is the same case as Number9Dream, where I couldn’t disengage my perception from the shadow of Mitchell’s earlier success but it was still a competent work. Here, there are real and fundamental problems.

It’s not entirely a bad book, being engaging enough to go through and having a number of amusing incidents. On the whole, however, it delivers a very limited amount of insight, and the more one moves from individual lines and scenes, the emptier and less compeling the experiment seems. By all means an author can give us nothing but failrues for characters, throw the environment into despair, destroy the whoel world with their imagination. There needs to be more point to it than the kind of liftless failure Chabon offers up here.

Worse than: The Yiddish Policeman’s Union by Michael Chabon
Better than: Secret Son by Laila Lalami

The Birth of the Modern World 1780-1914

2010-06-29T12:42:00.000-07:00

C. A. Bayly
Tracks the world’s past through a set of eras and linked major themes, looking at the way major political upsets spread beyond the boundaries normally assumed for world history. It’s particularly effective in showing the highly diffused nature of ideologies of revolution, and tying China directly into what occurs with Europe and North America much earlier than the standard political account does.

Has a couple of rough patches and doesn’t do quite as good a job as it could in maintaing continual engagement, but there’s an effective argument here well backed by organization of amassed detail. Good history.

Destroyer

2010-06-29T12:41:00.002-07:00

C. J. Cherryh

Start of the third Foreigner trilogy. The story returns to the atevi, to find them in a civil war. I have a mixed response to this. On the one hand this plot development feels like a bit of a detour, the sort of thing that doesn't actually imperil human-atevi relationships but creates temporary conflict to allow a new level of prosperity. On the other hand it does work as a good followup to the awkward liens of the future history, that everything isn't always in a straight progression. As well, the notion that this crisis might have developed because of Bren's pushing human values onto an alien society is welcomed, it serves as a good corrective for the personal level as well as the meta one of reading too much conventionality into aliens. And on a thematic level an atevi civil war works well with the ongoing challenge of understanding, balancing intrigue and culture, and switching power to the next generation.

On a direct reading level, though, the book dragged a little. It's still complex and engaging stuff, but it wasn't nearly as good as Explorer and featured not enough actually happening. A prohibitive part of the book was Bren hearing about what had happened recently on the planet, and there wasn't enough emphasis on his decisions, movements and interactions. It's a complex setting and story that's unfolding, but this novel felt like an underwhelming segment in the larger block.

Worse than: Explorer by C. J. Cherryh
Better than: Foreigner by C. J. Cherryh

The Asutra

2010-06-29T12:41:00.001-07:00

Jack Vance

Third volume of the Durdane trilogy. After the previous two, and especially "The Brave Free Men" I found this a bit of a disappoint. Basically it seems like a competent standalone, not very connected to the preceding volumes. That's a bit of a shame given the potential for pulling foreward the character work and political development, instead we're left with a basically stock Vancian character doing stock Vancian things--investigating an alien threat, bluffing his way across borders, getting captured, rescuing himself, triggering major alien social collapse. The details all work fairly well but the larger picture ends up being a bit lacking. I think I prefer Jack Vance when he's a little outside of his comfort zone.

Better than: Planet of Adventure by Jack Vance
Worse than: The Brave Free Men by Jack Vance

Black Hole

2010-06-29T12:40:00.001-07:00

Charles Burns

Graphic novel, set in the '70s, with a group of teenagers and the very strange mutating-STD that develops. Primarily a character-driven piece, using the weird disease as both metaphor and the driving plot to character transformation. Also has a somewhat unnecessary horror mystery arc put within the larger narrative. The artwork is beautiful, very distinctively and evocatively drawn. I first saw this book in the gift shop for an art museum, and I can see why. The story is also reasonably effective, if not quite as breathtaking. The use of genre elements is poor (the bug pretty much has to be magical, no explanation for the origin is given and people seem remarkably unconcerned about a disease that causes a second mouth to grow on someone's neck). Still, it's effective for some very creepy moments and some solid character progression.

The Bookman

2010-06-29T12:39:00.000-07:00

Lavie Tidhar

2010 book, Israeli science fiction. Victorian punk, taking and reworking a lot of elements from nineteenth century history and literature. Verne, Wells, Jack the Ripper, Moriarty (as prime minister) and dozens of other recognizable icons feature predominately. That in itself is a part of the problem, with Tidhar using a lot of familiar elements and stirring to produce a story that doesn't offer enough new stuff to be worth a story. Sill, there is a certain charm in watching the intersection of different elements, with a few creative wrinkles and fun world building details (like an anarchist political group that makes a point of distracting geniuses so their writing of books will be disrupted). The political intrigue that works in the intersection of myth, story and class are pretty good.

Not good enough for a Hugo and I won't be voting it on my shortlist, but still a reasonably entertaining story. Similar in tone to Boneshaker to an extent, but better worked overall.

Better than: Boneshaker by Cherie Priest
Worse than: New Model Army by Adam Roberts

Vurt

2010-06-29T12:38:00.000-07:00

Jeff Noon

A Clarke-winner, and not quite as strong as I'd expected from my reading of other books of that type. Vurt wasn't bad, but I'm not sure I'd call it a very good one either. A gritty, character-driven exploration of near future society. Most of the story revolves around the use and misuse of virtual reality, linked to certain other cybernetics as a form of addictive element. The whole thing reminded me a lot of Dick's Ubik, a comparison that didn't do the book any favors, drawing attention to its reduced energy of story and reduced amount of creative detail. As well, unlike with Ubik, things are grounded enough that we're supposed to accept this story as a plausible future, which I take issue with. It's not precisely cyberpunk, but shares a number of stylistic and political overtones. Which brings up a level of unrealistic backdrop that I generally find incredible about cyberpunk--the presentation of technology leading to an absence of a real community, of a state, or wider political sovereignty.

There are some very interesting passages, moments and concepts, but the whole thing never came together for me into a compelling story.

Worse than: Ubik by Philip K. Dick
Better than: Retribution Falls by Chris Wooding

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay

2010-06-29T12:37:00.000-07:00

Michael Chabon

At this point in the reviewing I’ve caught up quite a bit, I’m now covering books that I’ve read weeks ago instead of months. There’s also a feedback loop involved at this point in the writing. When I finally got around to my Moby Dick review and got back on the path of regular commentary I found myself talking about Michael Chabon quite a deal. Partly because writing up my thougts on The Final Soloution made me realize just how much I liked it, partly because for awhile I was comparing a number of other mystery-type works with it and reflecting on the basic talent involved. Under such a context I was finally motivated to read The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, a work that had been on my to read list for quite awhile, given the high amount of praise I’ve seen attributed to it, and the way it was generally considered a more succesful take on the Yiddish Policeman’s Union. Having read it, I can concur on both judgements, and was enormously pleased in it as a talented and engrossing piece of writing.

It’s the story of two Jewish immigrants in New York during the early ’40s who start a comic book strip. The story involves their lives up to and after that point, their families, the state of the culture at the time and the specific issues involved with early comic book production. It’s intense, funny, engaging and unique. Most notably, despite all the scnearios I’ve seen of Jewish life in 1940s U.S this narrative manges to make everything feel fresh. It’s above all a thoughtful and respectufl look at the depicted lives that doesn’t slack down on the potential for fun and sheer delight along with tragedy. Also features a psychologically nuanced exploration of minority identity, Jewish, homosexual and other, and makes a rich period piece not limited in application to the time. It’s this book that makes me realize Chabon is definitely an excellent writter, when he’s not undermining his main approach as he does in the Yiddish Policeman’s Union. Chabon also provides a great use of tying mythology to the narrative, in this case the Jewish legends of the golem, in a way that has much of the same appeal as Gaiman’s books. Fundamentally in its portrayal of comic book as a medium Chabon brings in a great deal of intense interest that allows the imagined historic characters an intense freshness and narrative energy.

Often I hedge my praise for books that I really like, indicating that this one should be appealing unless you don’t like this type of analysis, or aren’t found of post-modernism, or don’t like fantasy literature, or don’t tend to embrace elaborate prose. This book I’ll be less cautious: I think most people will enjoy this book and would benefit from reading it. It’s virtues are not remote, and as a text it is not inaccessible. It’s a bit long, but if one is attracted by the first segment it should draw people in readily. It’s a great book that is not in any major way intimidating.

Worse than: The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver
Better than: Final Solution: A Story of Detection by Michael Chabon

The Return of the King

2010-06-29T12:36:00.000-07:00

J. R. R. Tolkien

I've managed to never quite finish the Lord of the Rings trilogy, for all its status as *the* classic work of epic fantasy. I read the Hobbit a couple of times in early teenage years, then read both Fellowship and the Two Towers six years ago in the span of a month, but then lost interest in the project. I picked up the third volume a few times in the intervening years but never even really started reading it. I knew the basic story and how it ended, and the combination of the pace and prose were somewhat alienating, plus it was at a time when I was mostly turning towards science fiction and away from fantasy. More recently, over the past year and a half my fantasy consumption has become a lot more extensive, and my not having finished Tolkien was starting to seem an ever larger gap. So several months ago I made a definite commitment to finishing the third volume, had it sit on my shelf for that time, and then finally picked it up and read Return of the King in the span of a day. Interesting to compare this delayed followup to my experience with Dante, perhaps the recent pleasure in that played another influence in following up with Tolkien.

It's quite good, and I think I appreciate Tolkien a lot more than I did on the last runthrough. The high quality of writing is a draw, once one gets in past a certain point, seeing the flow of eloquent language and even better description makes for a nice appraisal. There's also the immense detail of worldbuilding, the little snippets of detail thrown in that make for a sense of a complete, enormously complex world. The unfolding history of Gondor and its long-term crisis along with the immediate all out battle with Mordor were of particular appeal. Tolkien's experience with and rejection of the first world war come through strongly, and it makes for some forceful dramatization of the battle with modernity.

It's not perfect, though, and I'd still say the trilogy doesn't deserve the monumental status it has. There's the reactionary politics as one defect, the veneration of monarchy and nostalgia for the rural past. It works to make the worldbuilding ultimately somewhat contrived and less persuasive even in speculative fiction, the way aristocratic institutions apparently work better for some reason on Middle Earth. Related to this issue is the stark moral binaries, the lack of any real ambiguity in the account, weakening the ultimately complexity of the narrative statement. More central is the weakness of characterization, the fairly flat tones given to the protagonists. The format of the story doesn't for the most part make it a large problem but where charaterization becomes an issue is the Frodo and Sam section, where the interior focus and issue of the Ring's corruption makes it awkward how stylized and unnatural these people seem. There are also issues of pacing, the way the book draws out some elements and erroneous details at tedious length and then speeds through key sequences at breathtaking pace.

Nevertheless, a good book. I was more interested in the story after the overthrow of Sauron, the breaking up of heroic acquaintances, the return to the Shire, and especially the battle against the roaming men and quasi-fascist internal corruption of the hobbits. Insofar as Lord of the Rings has a claim to real greatness I see it not in the story of destroying the Ring and fighting Mordor itself, but rather the way that's set up and transitioned out of. The invented history of how all these societies came to be in this position, and the passing of the age that happens after the quest.

Better than: A Game of Thrones by George R. R. Martin
Worse than: In Great Waters by Kit Whitfield

Retribution Falls

2010-06-29T12:35:00.000-07:00

Chris Wooding

I didn't like this one. Yes, it's low-ambition adventure story, and it benefits from a fascinating setting, but the actual layout of the narrative never did it for me. In part it's my inability to really connect with the characters--far from being a lovable rogue I found the main crew fairly despicable from first to last, a collection of overly archetypes without many redeeming characteristics. Frey was the worst, a stock petty outlaw that's also unforgivably stupid and selfish while being convincing of his cunning. The basic plot is decent enough, but seems too easy at key points--when point A in the conspiracy is worked it easily rolls over on point B, who after a moment's work is eavesdropped on to implication point C. There is the requisite number of shoot-outs and capture of the protagonists, but no enough sustained difficulty at any point for real drama.

Across this work I was reminded again and again of Firefly, but the comparisons did no favor to the book. Additionally there's a major troubling element in its use of gender, particularly the relegation of female adventure to sexuality and the scorn poured within the narrative on denigrating women Frey has used and thrown aside in the past. There are the elements in here to push for a major redemption, but the story just doesn't carry Frey far enough to make this effective. It wasn't entirely a waste, but I don't view it as any stronger than Boneshaker. So, I'd say I'm significantly harsher than the general reaction to it, seeing the book as a weak piece that didn't belong on the Clarke or other shortlists and it does drag down the quality of that set somewhat. Although it is better than Wake, Flesh and Fire or The Love We Share, and overall the Clarke emerges as easily the strongest genre shortlist of the year.

The Iron Dragon’s Daughter

2010-06-29T12:34:00.002-07:00

Michael Swanwick

The fourth Swanwick book I've read, and the first fantasy. I also discovered after the fact that it was a Clarke shortist candidate. I'd consider such a status deserved, this was one of the more compelling fantasy sagas I've read in awhile. It's just so purpusefully bizarre and interesting, taking apart a lot of stock fantasy elements and rebuilding them into an awesome new setting. Above the environment, though, what I like the most about this piece is how the situations get conveyed, with a lot of major weird encounters and exchanges. This work is also one that makes better use of extreme continual sex than Bug Jack Barron, mixing in a lot of play on it which builds to the situation. In the story, I'm particularly impressed with how seamlessly the plot goes from a forced-labor camp to a surreal magic university. A little difficult to organize my thoughts coherently on this one, I do plan to reread this book a few years down the road, and it also moves up my interest in reading Swanwick's other work.

It works particuarly well by playing with conventions on fantasy, taking a lot of very familiar elements and completely demolishing the whole post-Tolkien convention on what they’re supposed to behave like and want. The society that emerges is a lot more chaotic, diverse and alive than the typical fantasy setting, and it’s also a lot more interesting. Even more believable, within the confines of a very weird mix of college antics, apocalyptic dragon-oriented intrigue and shadowy quasi-religious forces. Particularly enjoyable is the way the account largely doesn’t halt for exposition, instead it dives on following its protagonist through a weird array of circumstances that are funny and bizarre enough to be appealing even when there’s no context, and to pick up the sense of large understanding later.

Better than: Un Lun Dun by China Mieville
Worse than: Iron Council by China Mieville

The Human Web: A Bird’s-Eye View of World History

2010-06-29T12:34:00.001-07:00

J. R. McNeil and William McNeil

A rather short and general account by which to try to trace a world history. The main conceptual development, focusing on networks and specifically webs that frame larger human communities is a persuasive one, on the whole. It is rather general however, and limits the argumentative force of the book by making the main idea seem a bit vague and watered down. This aspect isn’t helped by the line by line style of writing, or even the two authors, seeming to express a main ambivalance as to whether the book is a specialist path-setting work of historiography or a general history intended for the wider public. The tension is not entirely a productive one.

Worse than: After Hitler by Konrad Jarausch.
Better than: History after the Three Worlds by Arif Dirlik

The Brave Free Men

2010-06-29T12:33:00.000-07:00

Jack Vance

Very entertaining, and a step up in quality from the first volume in the trilogy. Primarily this gain is because of the focus--having taken over the seat of power the hero has now become the ruling institution, and must deal with all the political fragmentation, complications, betrayals and ambiguities of rule. It's a carrying of the victorious narrative further than a lot of science fiction normally goes, asking what happens next in the ambiguous situation, and bringing in a more nuanced understanding of societies and their transition than was given in the last edition. It's oddly stationary for a Jack Vance novel--the protagonist remains in the same basic position of power first to last for this novel, and the skills in improvisation and bluffing are involved in managing the existing fronts rather than climbing around the galaxy in pursuit of a specific quest. This element, along with the entertaining cast gathered to the end, makes for a quite interesting setup in Vance's complicated future. It’s carrying the necessity of consideration beyond what the ndividual agent can do, putting a more complicated responsability for herosim and political transformation than Vance usually delivers.

By the end this angle has shifted somewhat, a new underlying alien threat has been detected and some earlier political divisions prove to be attributed to this force. It's pretty well done as far as it goes, but feels a bit more conventional, as indeed do the main characters' roles in reshuffling society and instituting the titular Brave Free Men as a liberated force. It seems a little too facile a political resolution, like the trilogy is resolving its main potential too lightly. Still, overall it's a very effective piece, and I'm curious to see if the third volume gives a more conventional or ambitious structure in resolution.

Better than: The Anome by Jack Vance
Worse than: Inversions by Iain M. Banks

Land's End

2010-06-29T12:32:00.000-07:00

by Frederik Pohl and Jack Willaimson

Strong mix here. By that I don’t mean a mixture of elements that forms a strong book on the whole, rather there’s a type of meld here between quality and less so in the novel. The main premise is interesting and there are a lot of very powerful and creepy moments, and the larger setup of disaster, conflict and survival works well. The representation of underwater life in the Eighteen Cities is also quite good, and brings a bit of Pohl's satirical edge to the Clarke-esque range of technical detail. On the other hand, the main alien force in this work feels rather abruptly written and is given far too many scenes of doing nothing but establishing its nature. Linked to this problem is the excessive buildup to the main event, the first hundred pages really drag. Finally, there's some corporate villains that are generic, shortsighted, wholly malicious evildoers, and the intrigue with them really weakens the book. Worth reading but has some definite cracks involved, and falls pretty far short of greatness.

Better than: The Golden Grove by Nancy Kress
Worse than: King Rat by China Mieville

Twilight

2010-06-29T12:24:00.000-07:00

It seems like just the time to miss being cutting edge by five years. Basically I'm going to read Stephanie Meyer's novel Twilight and offer various thoughts on the book as I read it, chapter by chapter. For the moment I'm trying to disengage from the impact of the sequels, the media, the online presence. My understanding is that the main popularity of the Twilight phenomenon came from the first book and I'm going to treat it to that end. By everything I've heard about it I don't expect to particularly like it. I'm not a fan of romance fiction in generation or paranormal romance fiction specifically, the YA market it's oriented at isn't me, and by general descriptions I've been given it looks to have poor writing and some objectionable gender messages.

So why read it? And why go to the effort of writing up on it bit by bit to inflict on the general forum? A few reasons.
1. Twilight is a significant phenomenon. By sheer number of sales and press attention it's something that reflects and changes the wider culture. Being part of that culture already I've had more osmosis of this book than most I haven't read--I feel I could name the main characters and themes, and make a guess at the major narrative moments and basis for love and hatred for the book. That's necessarily incomplete, though, and I'm better equipped to understand it if I take the marginal time to read the whole narrative and understand it on its own terms. I'm certainly not in the habit of focusing on popular culture or the more published things as a general standard--that would involve a lowering of my reading quality that I'd consider unacceptable. I can certainly read one, however, amidst the books that I generally read expecting quality.
2. Precisely because it's reputation suggests it's badly written and has some troubling gender attitudes. These things are rarely a matter of fixed absolutes, complete binaries of acceptability or abomination. So, it's worthwhile to see what this narrative indicates about both. Particularly in the degree of sexism--how extreme is it? How disturbing is its portrayal, how much more problematic are the assumptions beyond a culture and genre of writing that were already sexist?
3. Understanding the context of people writing after Twilight. Whether they're trying to push some of the same appeal or if they're writing very distinctively with an anti-Twilight approach.

For this work I'm trying to get away from the question of Meyer as a writer, Meyer as a bad writer, and so forth, and take the text as a presence in itself. Two reasons. One, I've been interesting in breaking through the habit of assessing or personally critiquing authors as a reviewing strategy more generally. Second, with Twilight specifically a lot of the criticism seems to quickly degenerate to attacks against Meyer's writing ability, character, values or religion--and the last element in particular lends itself to the kind of genial xenophobia towards an uncommon religious sect.

So, death of the author approach for my part in this review, as a buffer against a conversation that often seems to focus on calling for the death of the author. And no, a work doesn't in itself have to of literary quality to make literary tools useful for interpreting it. In part this is no different from work as an historian, looking at often badly written things for key motifs and insights into a given culture--the only difference is the culture is near-contemporary. A few main themes I'm looking to explore:
*Is there anything in this novel that indicates why it became so enormously popular? Was it simply a case of writing and marketing to a niche audience or is there anything else in the layout that indicates why this one became the major phenomenon of the last few years?
*What is there in this novel that tabulates with the extreme backlash against it? How much is the usual line of criticism warranted, if this is a bad book how strongly and uniquely bad is it? Actually reading the work should present a better grounds to criticize both the book as well as the hype against it, as needed.
*What is up with the gender portrayal in the story?
*How is capitalism represented in the book? Status of wealth, poverty, commerce, the market, the role of or lack of the state. I'd be interested in seeing what indications of this develop in the presentation of atmosphere--there's been a lot of debate over gender in the book but I've seen less on this angle. Which could be interesting, if there's any relevance in. Twilight definitely became a major factor in capitalism, and I'd be curious if part of the appeal in the story is in offering a supernatural romantic liberation from the world of currency and work.

-The beginning quote is from Genesis 2:17, tree of knowledge of good and evil. Put with the large apple on the cover it pretty clearly indicates a focus on immortality, evil, or both. Useful to set the stage I suppose if one had no prior idea of what Twilight was, and of course initially it was completely obscure. Makes for a kind of ironic juxtaposition with the later success--the quote from Genesis refers to the conditions of paradise, a fall from grace and into mortality and sin. In contrast Twilight's situation was a rise from obscurity to extreme fame, financial success and cultural presence. As I understand the larger story of Bella across the series it's somewhat parallel--shy awkward girl becomes loved, beautiful and immortal. If the terms of the book's protagonist triumph are the same as that underwent by the book itself, it makes for a kind of intriguing situation, a meta-fantasy narrative.

-Even questioning the grounds of fantasy itself. In Adam Roberts' recent novel Yellow Blue Tibia a Soviet SF writer is asked whether he believes in alien visitations. He says he doesn't believe in the physical reality of alien encounters, but does believe that millions of people themselves believe in them, and to that extent they do have an actual social presence of reality. If enough people buy into a fantasy it becomes an actual presence, to the extent of influencing people directly detached from the story. The issue of course is that some fantasies can't be implemented in reality, they take the energy and wish for it without necessarily understanding the full implications or underside. Anyone can start a fantasy narrative with their own lives if they have a desire or expectation for such a thing, the question is how the narrative concludes, where people actually end up. It'll be interesting to track that against the larger story of Twilight, in the book and in the "actual" world.

-There's the Preface, half a page on a first person narrator being faced with threatened death from "the hunter". Clearly an insertion from later on in the narrative, putting a teaser of action and threat in to compel interest. It's often inherently awkward when books do this--the teaser is meaningless until the narrative catches up with it, and here it strongly suggests that nothing engaging is going to start out the narrative proper. It's telling us to have patience, that things will happen later--effectively beginning with a deferral.

-Also kind of interesting approach for a first person account. Commonly that's done to introduce empathy or at least some measure of common perspective with the narrating character. Here, by giving us a future snap of down the road for the story we're immediately primed to be more aware, more genre savy than the main character.

-The preface pushes the theme of "beyond imagination" pretty hard. Both the notion of the actual circumstances of the death (which remain unclear) being what Belle "would not have imagined" as well as the wider context "When life offers you a dream so far beyond any of your expectations, it's not reasonable to grieve when it comes to an end." So, the story is going to be wish-fulfillment, Cindarella lifted from her position. And the reference to dying in the place of one you loved as a good thing clearly fills in the bit of the detail.

-Sort of interesting that Bella doesn't reference her love for Edward by name [Spoilers!] at this point. Presumably all the vagueness is to keep suspense going about what happens with the love plot, but it also makes it seem a lot less tangible in this introduction to the character--someone actually devoted to a real person rather than the idealized sensation of being in love would think of the name and distinguishing characteristics, one would assume. I'll hold judgement on how this situation actually plays out, but it looks possible that Twilight just undermined its core concept within the first five sentences, which had the sole purpose of establishing the core concept.

Chapter One: First Sight.
-If I still had no clue from the series fame, marketing, side-cover or preface, the chapter title here pushes me to anticipate a romance, love at first sight. The text lays itself out fairly directly, which could be a large part of the appeal--if one is reading for a certain expected situation (romance, actor, humor, military tech) there could be an inherent attraction to it being done transparently and directly. No point in waiting a hundred pages for the murder to be committed in a murder mystery after all, or for the main conceit of troubled cross-species romance to be established.

-Off that, Twilight is longer than I expected. The edition I have from the local library is 498 pages, albeit some larger font than is needed but that's still more than I thought, in the discussions and media concerning Twilight I'd gotten the impression it was closer to 300. Let's see how the story develops in that kind of length.

-At this point my commentary has run longer than the actual Twilight lines I'm reacting to. That's not going to continue.

-The actual story. The beginning few pages feature a lot more geographical musings than I expected--specifically extended comparison between small town Forks and Phoenix. Bella is put as the outsider, the new arrival at an environment that doesn't suit here. On one level this format is unsurprising--it sets her up to be sympathetic, showing a situation of alienation and feeling out of place that most people have experienced at some point. It does go on a bit with the problems with Forks, I wonder how many small-town readers the book has gained. Does it appeal more to people that live in larger communities and hate the idea of small town life, or more to people living in small towns that want out?

[QUOTE]When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I didn't see it as an omen--just unavoidable. I'd already said my goodbyes to the sun.[/QUOTE]
Kind of strange phrasing, and more than a bit melodramatic. Not necessarily unrealistic for a teenager's thought process. Related to this facet, there's assessing the prose, the line-by-line writing. Honestly, by the first chapter at least, it's not as bad as often claimed. Yes, there's far too much purple prose, excessively generic claims and description that doesn't actually give a good mental picture of what's being described. Still, it's hardly unreadable, manages dialog okay and overall is competent to follow the unfolding of events. The first person account gives some excuse for the more silly phrasing, and overall it's not transcendently worse than a lot of genre stuff.

-Page five there's a mention of Bella's desire to buy a car, "despite the scarcity of my funds". A bit surprising, and doesn't fit the mental picture given of Bella thus far, I'm preemptively putting in the 'not anti-women' category to assess the larger presentation of her character; the motivation given (faster not being driven by a cop car) is fairly trivial but it also indicates some desire for mobility and independence.

-Of course there's also the particular class status established here--Bella has enough disposable income to conceivably purchase a car, but not very much.
-Page seven, reference to both her father (Charlie) and Bella herself not being comfortable with expressing emotions verbally. File for further reference.

-"No need to add that my being happy in Forks is an impossibility. He didn't need to suffer along with me."
Okay, this is starting to get a bit much. The self-pitying expectation of unhappiness because this town is too small and limited at this point is making Bella look fairly elitist and purposefully bitter. Nothing has actually happened yet to justify this reaction.

-All the stuff with Bella's family is really weird, particularly the overly distant and cautious way she has of engaging with her parents. Seems to suggest some major dysfunctionality or at least some past tragic backstory.

-Page nine, Bella moving into her room is interesting and kind of poignant.
[QUOTE]The room was familiar; it had been belonged to me since I was born. The wooden floor, the light blue walls, the peaked ceiling, the yellowed lace curtains around the window--these were all a part of my childhood. The only changes Charlie had ever made were switching the crib for a bed and adding a desk as I grew.[/QUOTE]
Alright the language here is especially awkward ("It had been belonged to me?" What is the word "been" doing there?) but it's kind of an interesting dynamic described, a subtle way of feeling confined and predetermined to a familiar juvenile role. It makes sense on a direct level--she and Charlie haven't seen each other that much, but it also suggests that on a level of material environment and assigned possessions she'd reducible to a much younger and more restricted environment. Even the computer in there is mentioned as a way for her mother to keep in closer touch, it acts as another form of parental control. Not wonder Bella wanted a car and liked it (specifically for its indestructibility) so much, it's arguably the one thing that marks her.

-Similar indication page eleven, suggesting that the kitchen as well hasn't changed in eighteen years, a basically static layout of possessions.

-Page ten, Bella describes herself:
[QUOTE]But physically, I'd never fit in anywhere. I should be tan, sporty, blond--a volleyball player, or a cheerleader, perhaps--all the things that go with living in the valley of the sun. Instead, I was ivory-skinned, without even the excuse of blue eyes or red hair, despite the constant sunshine. I had always been slender, but soft somehow, obviously not an athlete; I didn't have the necessary hand-eye coordination to play sports without humiliating myself--and harming both myself and anyone else who stood too close. [/QUOTE]
This is not good. It's a character who thinks of herself almost entirely in terms of negatives, who has a major self-loathing expressed throughout. What's worse is the huge emphasis on clumsiness, to the extent of actually injuring herself and others--it's an overdone portrait designed to make its subject alienated from the possibility of normal happy relation to society. And the fact that she's female really sets the stage, the way expectations of others factor in. What's troubling is that the defining oneself by what one isn't is probably a major issue of the book's popularity. Making the protagonist a blank slate like this allows more identity and connection to the alienation, but it's directly fueling a form of pre-romantic romantic focus, establishing a neurotic perspective of being incapable and unlovable until someone comes along to love her. In essence, this representation makes for a disturbing romantic subtext before the romance is actually introduced.

-Page thirteen, Bella thinks Forks High School isn't like a real school, and is nostalgic for chain-link fences and metal detectors. Seems an intentional point of irony there.

-Bella parks her truck.
[QUOTE]I was glad to see that most of the cars were older like mine, nothing flashy. At home I'd lived in one of the few lower-income neighborhoods that were included in the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing to see a new Mercedes or Porshce in the student lot. The nicest car here was a shiny Volvo, and it stood out. [/QUOTE]
See, I don't need to fish that hard for indicators of capitalism. This one is fairly intriguing, suggested that Bella mostly sees class and possessions as fitting in, or at being shamed by an environment of greater affluence. Here's a way that despite feeling more out of place in Forks she's actually closer. Of course, there's also the fact that I'm assuming the Volvo is Edward's, which sets up an ambivalence with the whole nature of wealth--a desire at once to be invisible in material possessions while also being drawn to them as an indicator of higher value. I'd suggest that there's a basic contradiction here, born from an awkward situation of middle-class America within the larger world economy and individuals in relation with the middle class. In the perspective of this work there's a basic embrace of conflicting values that can only be resolved through sparkly vampires.

-Bella receives a classroom reading list: Bronte, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner, she sees it as basic and had already read all of them. Is Faulker really standard for high school these days? That doesn't track with my past experience.

-Page 16, Bella is approached by Eric trying to be helpful, but she is dismissive because he has skin problems and seems overhelpful. There's the elitisim again.

-First view of the Cullens. Beautiful, distinctive, similar, impressive, mature.
[QUOTE]The girls were opposties. The tall one was statuesque. She had a beautiful figure, teh kind you saw on the cover of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue, the kind that makes every girl around her take a hit on her self-esteem just by being in the same room...I stared because their faces, so different, so similar, were all devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful. They were faces you never expected to see expect perhaps on the airbrushed pages of a fashion magazine. [/QUOTE]
Two striking things here. One is how infused this impression is with commercial metaphors, the way Bella reaches for comparisons with celebrity glamor and models before great artistic tropes. This passage will be interesting for future generations as they look back and try to contextualize the Twilight phenomenon, to see the ways that the summoning of transcendent beauty is determined by an understanding from specific forms of media. Nothing is timeless or innate here, the whole form of aesthetic appreciation for another human being has to come through the operation of the market. Second, the presentation of female beauty here is more drawn out and striking than the male, which is far more generic. Even the first overview of Edward practically gets lost in the crowd. Why? And no, there's not any same-sex attraction here. Instead it's because female beauty is held to negate that of every other female, it further establishes an imbalance and sense of awkwardness about Bella in her own body. It's the direct mythological counterpoint to Bella looking in the mirror a few pages earlier. That character and negation of character seem to flow directly into the whole presentation of the story's universe. Again, not good.

-Edward's furious glare at Bella. So, that's the first sight the chapter was referring to. Hmm.

-Bella chats with another guy Mike for a bit, and is less immediately dismisive than with Eric above.

-In reference to her car: "It seemed like a haven, already the closest thing to a home I had in this damp green hole." See, significant.

So, that's chapter one. In itself it doesn't seem hugely more or less impressive than the general paranormal romance mixed with YA. At this point I'd speculate that the book's popularity came from the way the protagonist isn't too defined, and yet is still coherent as a personality. The problem is the way this level of self-image connects to the gender portrayal, and the role of women as narratively erasable at just the point in which they become identfiaible. As well, given that I've gathered the whole book, and indeed series, is all about the beautiful romance of Bella and Edward, it's somewhat disturbing that there first meeting involves a death glare, and the way the vampire beauty is taken as so transcendent and automatically effacing to people, especially women people.
Chapter Two: Open Book.
-You know, this type of running commentary would have a lot more value from someone that had managed to sit out the whole hype thing and had absolutely no idea what Twilight was going in. There's never an unbiased or unconnected reading of anything but at this point I have knowledge of later plot elements from wider discussion that make for a juxtaposition of the series. For instance, by the title here I assume that it refers to Edward's telepathy, which is able to read people's minds but not Bella's. This isn't knowledge I should have relative to taking the book on its own terms, and it's likely to make me more impatient with the unfolding story than it really deserves in its own right. Oh well.

-Bella is forming a circle of friends or at least people she sits with at lunch, and feels less alienated, page 29. That's nice, better than if she was completely isolated all the time until the romance sweeps her up.

-Bella gets really tense and obsessed over Edward not being present at school, to the extent that it's basically her full day. I don't get it. If she's remotely as unpopular and alienated as everything about her prose indicates, is she truly so impacted by someone that glares at her to the extent that his absence unnerves her? Of course this case is different because the larger narrative is about True Love, but even accepting that all Bella knows at this point is that Edward glares at her and doesn't seem to want to be around her. The only distinguishing thing about the issue is his exceptional beauty, which just makes her look shallow.

-Page 33 Bella's mother is over-anxious to get an e-mail response. On one level the way this familial pressure plays out seems dull and meaningless, on the other hand it feels fairly believable and makes me a bit more sympathetic towards Bella, which is what the narrative should be doing at this point, so I'll give the interlude passing marks.

-Charlie describes Dr. Cullen:
[QUOTE]a brilliant surgeon who could probably work in any hosptial in the world, make ten times the salary he gets here...We're lucky to have him--lucky that his wife wanted to live in a small town[/QUOTE]
This description reminds me a lot of the setup to Everwood--world famous neurosurgeon chooses to go to a community in the middle of nowhere which mystifies everyone. That was a great show. Anyway, more directly this passage reinforces the notion of Cullen superiority to everyone else, here in relation to talent beyond beauty, although Charlie also rather awkwardly makes a description of Dr. Cullen's great looks and sex appeal to nurses at the hosptial. Not entirely sure why he feels the need to mention such to his teenage daughter, as it seems most readers would assume Dr. Cullen was beautiful just like the rest of his family.

-More of Edward's absence for subsequent days. Bella is described as being able to relax and not be bugged by this, but focuses in on this angle a bit too much to make us believe it’s not totally about him.

-Page 38, she checks out the local library but finds it so small she doesn't bother getting a card, resolving to drive up to Olympia or Seattle find a good bookstore, then worries about the involved gas mileage. Another indicator of the ongoing capitalist stress in this book, the fear of a gap between what's available and what's wanted. As well, file under 'non negative gender things', Bella is shown to be a significant reader, and that the range of thing she's interested in is more than available in a small town. This is a type of frustration I can relate to, and insofar as it expects the reader to be engaged with other books that seems positive. Though I'm not sure why Bella doesn't just use Amazon to ship in books rather than drive extended distances to physically purchase them. This book seems a bit disconnected from available technology in some ways--the Internet so far has featured only as a means for communicating with her mother, and that at the mother's insistence.

-There's reference, page 38, to a trip to La Push Ocean Park in two weeks, Mike and others. Bella accepts the invitation, although not without a lament for the low quality of regional beaches. Presumably this forms a plot point, since the story focused in on it and it rarely describes Bella's day in any detail. Some of the criticism I've seen on the novel expresses frustration at the slow pace, and that may become a problem down the road. At this point, I'm more struck by the opposite issue, with entire days passing with only very fragmentary description of what's happening. More detail on what Bella is doing in her interactions would actually be desired, it would make her story feel more lived in and her character authentic.

-Edward reappears.
[QUOTE]They were enjoying the snowy day, just like everyone else--only they looked more like a scene from a movie than the rest of us.[/QUOTE]
Deliberately highlighting the multi-media characteristics of some of the characters but not all. It seems to be deliberately showing the Cullens as less real but more desirable than regular people. Par for the course for vampire romance, I'd suspect, although again the infusion of media culture mechanisms into the idealized romantic imagination.

-A similar passage later, page forty. Description of Edward, post-snowball fight:
[QUOTE]His hair was dripping wet, disheveled--even so, he looked like he'd just finished shooting a commercial for hair gel.[/QUOTE]
Again, romantic aesthetics cannot be imagined without consumer culture.

-Earlier there's also a direct overview of the Cullens with wealth.
[QUOTE]I saw the two Cullens and the Hale twins getting int their car. It was the shiny new Volvo. Of course. I hadn't noticed their clothes before--I'd been too mesmerized by their faces. Now that I looked, it was obvious that they were all dressed exceptionally well; simply, but in clothes that subtly hinted at designer origins. With their remarkable good looks, the style with which they carried themselves, they could have worn dishrags and pulled it off. It seemed excessive for them to have both looks and money. But as far as I could tell, life worked that way most of the time. It didn't look as if it bought them any acceptance here.
No, I didn't fully believe that. The isolation must be their desire; I couldn't imagine any door that wouldn't be opened by that degree of beauty.[/QUOTE]
The Cullens' wealth shouldn't be that much of a surprise, given Charlie mentioned the father was brilliant and could make a higher salary, one might assume he did in the past. Directly Bella here reflects on high wealth accompanying other appeal as part of the inherent unfairness of life. Yet, significantly, this wealth is made to be secondary to their character of overall beauty. They don't look good because they're wearing expensive clothes and have a god car, instead their beauty is so innate and overpowering that at first it distract from the wealth they have access to, and Bella emphasizes that they'd be gorgeous even if wearing rags. There's the ambivalence about the capitalist process here again--wealth is unavailable but appealing, crucial yet unimportant to ultimate nature, resented and yet impressive. Again it comes down to an emphasis on their beauty, which Bella assumes is automatically enough to establish whatever role their desire, their isolation from other people must be their choosing. Agency accompanies beauty.

-First conversation between Edward and Bella. Lots of discussion about names and knowledge, followup romantic tension while doing school science. Having it be a biology experiment is perhaps a bit too much on the money. As far as their actual interactions go, it's not really that creepy. Fairly disjointed in terms of how the conversation goes, but not in a very unrealistic way, and at this point Bella herself notes how strange it is.

-And the last moment is Edward standing nearby and staring at her, disturbing enough to almost provoke an accident.
Chapter Three: Phenomenon
-The first chapter title I don't know exactly what moment to expect from reading it. Presumably something odd and vampire-related, but not a specific encounter.

-Bella sees the ground has been frozen solid:
[QUOTE]I had enough trouble not falling down when the ground was dry; it might be safer for me to go back to bed now.[/QUOTE]
All the emphasis on Bella as barely capable of avoiding injuring herself is really rather creepy, it plays into the whole fantasy of needing a man to protect and help her. Writing her as continually incapable of navigating basic life challenges also plays up childlike aspects, which makes the romance genre rather problematic. Related to the self-danger issue, it turns out that Bella can drive easier than anticipated because Charlie had put snow chains on the truck.

-Related to this theme, when Bella thinks of Edward she's far more critical of herself and her "babbling" than his unexplained hostility and staring at her.

-Bella almost gets hit with a car, Edward rescues her. See above. This is also the first scene that the quality of description becomes an actual dramatic problem--the scene as it unfolds should be fast moving and tense, but it's dragged down by the way it's narrated, making the order of events somewhat awkward.

-I'm reminded a lot of the pilot to the show Roswell in this sequence--paranormal boy saves girl and romance results. That worked better though because they didn't have a previous connection--it was effectively the occasion of their meeting, random gunshot that causes him to interfere. Here the past interest undermines the ongoing romance, and implies that Edward wouldn't have exerted himself to save Bella if he hadn't already had an interest in her.

-Anyway, hospitalization ensues. In talking about Edward's character, here the narrative rather missteps--it takes him saving her life and manages to make it into a negative by him being so hostile and defensive in insisting he displayed only perfectly normal capabilities. I assume that he's reacting this way because of a long history of secrecy by the clan, fear of attracting fear and hostility from normals, government dissection and the like, but his attitude here is still off-putting. Not really an indication of fear or self-concern, but instead a lot of blank dismissal and arrogance. At this point the story should be making us be drawn to Edward in some capacity. A measure of remove from the character goes with the terrain for this stage, but there should also be appealing chracteristics beyond his beauty and strength, and I'm not really getting that from his personality. When he tries to cover his secret by sneering things like "I saved your life--I don't owe you anything" it doesn't make him sympathetic or do an effective job concealing the truth.

[QUOTE]"You think I lifted a van off you?" His tone questioned my sanity, but it only made me more suspicious. It was like a perfectly delivered line by a skilled actor. [/QUOTE]
I think the prose is getting worse, or I'm becoming more aware of it as the book develops, and in intrudes on scenes where things are actually happening. Here the last line in particular just takes me out of the flow of the narrative entirely, it's the epitome of telling rather than showing, distancing me from the event and the protagonist.

-Still, there are things happening in the story, and as set up the situation with the wider Cullen family has its interesting elements. More than anything else at this point I'm curious about Dr. Cullen now that he's been met--the type of intergenerational thing within a vampire society while being a lot more involved in the local community than Edward is has its intriguing elements.

Chapter Four: Invitations.
-Bella's dream of Edward: it's very dark, but light is radiating from his skin. That's it, the whole dream. The account seems to be going for angelic qualities, but at this point it's impossible to separate from my knowledge of the sparkly vampires that have been so mocked.

-A month of time conveyed in several pages, it mostly involves Bella worrying about Edward and thinking he hates her again.

-Some love triangle drama gets drawn up--Jessica is interested in Mike who is interested in Bella. There doesn't seem much point in this element--Mike and Jessica have previously existed as characters only to explain elements of the town and the Cullens to Bella, and this element seems to just add another tangled element to the main story. Mike's interest here is received with more surprise than it seems to warrant--Bella previously reflected to herself that she was a lot more popular than in Phoenix, and knew that Eric (haven't seen him lately) and Mike were both interested in her. One might think that this type of situation and centered interest would make Bella less self-pitying about how loathed and unpopular she is, but one would be wrong.

[QUOTE]Gym was brutal. We'd moved on to basketball. My team never passed me the ball, so that was good, but I fell down a lot. Sometimes I took people with me.[/QUOTE]
This continues to be the most disturbing thing about the book. On one level the initial image of Bella looking at herself in the mirror wasn't that bad--one could accept that as a self-assessment it's not untypical for many teenage girls, the cultural norm for being too harsh in judging themselves. However, the story makes it deeply problematic by backing up everything she said in her later behavior--she actually is so clumsy that even moving across the court without a basketball she's unable to stop injuring herself and others.

-Eric reappears out of the aether to also express interest in Bella and the upcoming dance. She says no. He vanishes again. That serves to emphasize how pointless he is as a character, just serving to echo a sentiment that's already happened. The effect is the opposite of which was presumably intended--it serves to make me less sympathetic to Bella. As currently portrayed there are people who like her, romantically and non, but she holds out all of her attention for the beautiful guy that acts cold and hostile. That's a romantic fantasy at once self-entitled and self-effacing.

-And then Tyler, the one who almost crushed her with his car last chapter, also asks her to the upcoming dance. So, calling this arrangement a love triangle was a bit of an understatement. And I know from things I've heard online that someone named Jacob is going to show up at some point to play a similar foil. And also to be a werewolf. Spoilers.

-Page 81. Edward shows up again, using his super speed to rush in and when challenged about that replying "Bella, it's not my fault if you are exceptionally unobservant." That's really not very encouraging. So they talk a bit, Edward invites her to ride with him to Seattle while continually laughing at her, mentioning in veiled terms how dangerous he is and continuing to attract her with his intensity. I'm not exactly liking the way this is developing.

Although I'll admit I found the rational for carpooling sort of amusing: "The wasting of finite resources is everyone's business." The environmental justification comes out of nowhere and attaching a socially conscious collective sentiment to what's so heavily individual-centered romantic melodrama is kind of a fun juxtaposition.

Chapter Five: Blood Type

-Bella worries because Mike doesn't sit by her in class, but then is met by the door "so I figured I wasn't totally unforgiven." Awkward double negative in there. More broadly while it would normally be nice to see Bella give some attention to someone that's not Edward, the assumption that she would need to be forgiven for turning down a request to a date is rather possessive and creepy. I'm sensing this is how romance and gender relations are structured across the book, not just with Edward.

[QUOTE]It was hard to believe that someone so beautiful could be real. I was afraid that he might disappear in a sudden puff of smoke, and I would wake up.[/QUOTE]
It's kind of interesting that the story keeps reinforcing the unbelievability of its main conceit in this way. It's dwelling on the main issue that the reader has to have suspension of disbelief on, and maintaining it as a fairly generic type of beauty that's impossible to actually visualize. At this point I think it's a deliberate strategy, a way to bring in imagination and romanticization of the reader.

-This moment launches another Bella-Edward scene, in the lunchroom. He continues to mention how dangerous he is, and how she's stupid for wanting to be around him. Beyond the disturbing context of this conversation it's redundant with earlier ones in the plot--it could have been folded into that one or cut entirely.

-I note that in speculating about Edward's character Bella references Spiderman and Edward Superman. I'm hoping this sets up some long passionate argument later with them respectively debating the merits of Marvel as against DC, although I don't think that's where this trend is going. I do wonder at this point how much the novel is aimed at people that already have some contact with genre ideas and how much amateurs. Of course Spider and Superman are the types of things that are pretty well distributed into the larger culture and I'd assume to be recognizable but I seem to recall some ambiguous passages earlier on.

-The science class requires everyone to take blood samples of themselves to determine blood type in preparation for the impending blood drive. Seems really unlikely and a contrived manner to transition into the whole vampire thing. Bella then faints at the sight of blood, Edward comes up and laughs at her for it. You know, it would take so little effort for Edward to not come across as an asshole here. I suppose we could be charitable and assume that, in addition to explicit warnings, he's also trying to act like a jerk to increase the distance with Bella for her own safety. That doesn't track with his increasing number of encounters with her, however. As well this story is from Bella's point of view, and the continuing attraction she has says more about her than anything. And it's sort of disquieting--either she's ignoring everything except Edward's beauty or the callous way he acts is also part of the appeal.

-Page 103, Edward pulls Bella by the jacket into his car, threatening her several times. She relaxes and chats with him a bit once she recognizes the music playing. Similarly, there's Edward's casual assertion that he'll send Alice around to bring her truck back. The assumption is that women are to be commanded and controlled.

[QUOTE]"Don't be offended, but you seem to be one of those people who just attract accidents like a magnet. So..try not to fall into the ocean or get run over or anything, all right?" He smiled crookedly. [/QUOTE]
Yes, that largely sums it up.
Chapter Six: Scary Stories.

-A visit to the La Push beaches. Wait, wasn't that announced for two weeks in the future over a month ago? Did they delay it or something or do I have the timeline wrong?

-Enter Jacob Black, page 119. Ah, so he was the son of the person Charlie bought the truck from? I suppose if we're going to have another major character it's better to have some kind of connection in a small town rather than them just popping out of nowhere.
[QUOTE]His skin was beautiful, silky and russet-colored; his eyes were dark, set deep above the high planes of his cheekbones. He still had just a hint of a childish roundness left around his chin.[/QUOTE]
None of the these elements are too ineffable in themselves, but add them together and it doesn't seem like a face.

-I gather from larger knowledge of the series that Jacob forms the other side with Bella-Edward of the true love triangle of the series, the ultimate and transcendent love triangle before which all the Eric/Mike/Tyler stuff is shown to have been just training wheels for the serious relationship melodrama.

-First impressions: the story tries to hard and tells overly about how intelligent and funny we're supposed to find Jacob. Still, his dialog feels more authentic than Edward's and is a lot more grounded in daily components of life--ages, building a car, details on what mutual acquaintances are up to. It works both to tie him to the real world and gives him a more unique and distinguishable personality. He also has a sense of humor that doesn't revolve around sneering at Bella and lets her in on the joke. A breath of fresh air in several ways.

-I'm also predisposed to like him because he actually explains the wider setting and the grounding for the plot, doing more necessary exposition in a few minutes than Edward provided in months after using his superspeed overtly. That backstory is as follows: many legends, but the accurate one is a conflict between werewolves and their descendants and the cold ones. The Cullens were vampires aka cold ones granted special disposition because they were more civilized, refraining from hunting humans. The Cullens being immortal have remained the same people with a couple new editions. As backstories go, so far this one isn't bad. Combining mythologies of vampires and werewolves as rivals with some exceptions is fairly unique, and a group of vampires that decide to stop hunting humans to draw less hostility on themselves actually makes a fair bit of sense. There needs to be a lot more detail on fleshing all this out, of course, I'll be pissed if the preceding is all the explanation given for an urban fantasy this size.

Chapter Seven: Nightmare

-Bella's dream of Edward as a vampire and a wolf. Mike also features, poor schmucks Eric and Tyler don't get to feature even in Bella's subconscious any more.

-Bella does a web search for vampire.
[QUOTE]I turned to my computer. Naturally, the screen was covered in popup adds. I sat in my hard folding chair and began closing all the little windows. Eventually I made it to my favorite search engine.[/QUOTE]
Apparently Bella has lousy spam subtract software and blocking. Also, "my favorite search engine"? In 2005? Not just Google? This description appears rather distant from the actual daily use of the Internet.

-Ironically do a google search for vampire now and the first result involves the latest Twilight-verse novel. The book's success has been enough to change the mundane minor conditions described as part of the book. This element is part of how Twilight's cultural success has to be taken stock of. It makes everything meta.

-Anyway, Bella looks through vampire stuff and finds only one minor mythological reference to good vampires, somehow managing to not see any of the Anita Blake or Buffy stuff. She then wanders into the forest and thinks about Edward's possible vampirism for awhile, thnking about just avoiding him:
[QUOTE] Iwas gripped in a sudden agony of despair as I considered that alternative. My mind rejected the pain, quickly skipping on to the next option [/QUOTE]
This instinctive reaction and decision not to think about avoiding the bloodrinking supeerhuman that both Edward and Jacob at this point have confirmed is in continual danger of losing control--that's Bella's character for us in a nutshell. It's not just character defect, though, it's the way she stands in as a Reader Avatar. After all we basically all know even without Twilight's success what kind of book this one is, and presumably most of us aren't in this as a project of cultural deconstruction. For the story to proceed on, to grapple with the actuality of Edward is a necessity. The form of the genre insures that Bella can't do the sensible thing and break off all contact forever.

-On page 140 of my copy, after Bella settles on the decision to keep things going because she ultimately cares about Edward, someone has written in marginalia "Cheesy. Off the heezy." What better demonstration can there be of the fluidity of reading encounters, the way the text is mediated by outside context? Flipping through it doesn't seem there is any other marginalia in this library copy, more's the pity.

-In Bella's reflection on her father we learn that he's a burned out ex-romantic, slowly fading in vibracy and engagement. "but when he smiled I could see a little of the man who had run away with Renee when she was jsut two years older than I was now."
That actually explains a whole lot about Bella and her family background.

-It appears that Bella's essay that she's mostly finished with is "Whether Shakespeare's treatment of the female character is misogynistic." Page 143. Given what this book has and the issues that most reviews of Twilight have brought up, it's extremely interesting to see a character like Bella actually bring up the question of weighing an author's writing for misogyny. It has no follow through, of course, and given the book's somewhat lackluster approach to showing schooling I doubt there'll ever be any detail on this topic, but the mention of this topic suggests Twilight is somewhat aware of the issues it raises. That might easily make it worse, mind you.

-In the context of explaining he was helping her friends find dresses "I wouldn't have had to explain this to a woman." The essentialized gender distinction rings loud and clear.
Chapter Eight: Port Angeles

-Bella, Jessica and Angela go out to try on dresses. It's all in relation to attracting men, of course, but despite that is one of the nicer moments--it feels comparatively natural and relaxed to the usual pace.

-Bella gets chased by four men trying presumably to assault her. Considering the text's continual adoration of the Cullens and the wealth and beauty they have, it seems significant that the account emphasizes their grimy clothes, and it's an area of the city with warehouses. Basic class paranoia here, and the way that Bella is immediately suspicious of them as opposed to how she generally reacts to Edward.
On the actual incident, Edward appears out of nowhere and rescues her, of course.

-Edward and Bella go out to a restaurant, the waitress there ignores Bella and keeps trying to flirt with Edward. That scene and the interactions really remind me of Thomas Raith and his reaction on people, apparently some kinds of archetype are pretty similarly marked.

-Bella speaks: "I've always been very good at repressing unpleasant things." Now that's a very interesting character trait to self-define as. It was hinted at several points already, most strikingly when she just shut down her whole worry about hanging out a vampire.

-More conversation between Edward and Bella with direct romance and threats, and some half-direct statements about Edward's abilities. His dialog implies Bella's freakish attracting of danger might actually be significant metaphysically and in terms of the plot.

Chapter Nine: Theory

-Direct disclosure of Edward's telepathy, and that it's unique to him among the clan. He can't read Bella's thoughts because her mind works on a different frequency somehow. As well, vampires aren't burned by the sun, don't sleep at all. And his clan abstains from human blood, although they're continually tempted by it.

[QUOTE]"I decided it didn't matter," I whispered.
"It didn't matter? His tone made me look up-I had finally borken through his carefully composed mask. His face was incredulous..."A hard mocking edge entered his voice. "You don't care if I'm a monster? If I'm not [I]human[/I]?"
[/QUOTE]
Honestly after the buildup it's somewhat of a relief to see Edward consider Bella's attitude towards romance sublimating self-protection as completely insane. However it's somewhat undermined by Bella continuing to insist on a romance, and the whole template being laid for the series in Edward continuing to need to work to keep Bella alive. It lays a whole dependency angle to the whole thing that's ultimately as problematic as the whole predator of the night thing.

-Bella's closing narration helpfully sums up the whole series:
[QUOTE]First, Edward was a vampire. Second, there was a part of him--and I didn't know how potent that part might be--that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.[/QUOTE]
The formula of vampire romance isn't a terrible one in itself. That's part of the problem with a lot of hype against Twilight--it dismisses the whole premise of any worthwhile storytelling in a teen vampire romance and then, not surprisingly, finds a lot fatally wrong in the course of the book. While it touches on some major issues and problematic subtext (the eroticization of the vampire attacks which goes back at least to Dracula) it can be done effectively. Twilight isn't because it makes Bella so totally devoted to Edward, effacing most of her own defining characteristics to focus in on her. As well the way this "developing romance" has been presented to date has been four fifths Edward being cold, mocking or directly menacing. It seems to be a love story not entered into above and beyond the possibility of the man brutally murdering the woman but it's a love story where the strength and beauty that are the whole appeal are directly linked to the danger.

-On a more direct plot level, it seems that everything in the last two chapters could have been introduced much earlier, soon after the car crash incident. Beyond padding and slowly building some of Bella's circle of friends, crushes and antagonists it doesn't seem to offer much purpose.
Chapter 10: Interrogations

-From the Roswell comparison earlier I had this image of Edward being tortured by the FBI like Max Evans was in late S1. It would be kind of out of left field, but I sort of liked the Roswell shift from intense teenage melodrama with some of the people happening to be aliens to direct life and death confrontation with psychotic authority figures. It does sort of reinforce how Twilight doesn't factor in the external world at all, pretty much all plot stimulus comes from the magic side. That's something I've always been puzzled about for some urban fantasies, that aren't actually about intersections between the modern and magic worlds. Harry Potter was basically about the escape from modern society into a self-contained alternate magical worlds. As well, I recently read Seanan McGuire's Rosemary and Rue/A Local Habitation, which had the characters immersed the modern environment of gritty San Francisco--yet every single character was a full fae or hybrid, and there was no interaction with actual full humans. It makes for a different template for fantasy then it seems to present on the label.

-Anyway, the actual story. Bella opens by considering if the previous events were a dream. She does this sort of thing a lot, I'll return to this concept later in the context of reflecting on the text's relation to the Edward/Bella relationship.

-Edward is still as asshole, insisting that Bella really is extremely delicate, and rebuking her for making it hard to tell what she's thinking. There's an assumption of control here both for use and protection that reinforces all the problems in their interactions.

-Bella turns in a paper for English. It's unnamed at this point, but if I'm tracking correctly this would be the one assessing misogyny in Shakespeare's works (or maybe just in Macbeth, the descriptions are unclear). Ironic.

-Bella and Jessica chat a bit about her situation with Edward, page 204.
[QUOTE]"I do have some trouble with incoherency when I'm around him," I admitted.
"Oh well. He is unbelievably gorgeous." Jessica shrugged as if this excused any flaws. Which, in her book, it probably did.
[/QUOTE]

In [I]her[/I] book? This passage is perhaps the most glaring hypocrisy in the text to date, and a hypocrisy that runs to a core of the book. Bella was basically impressed by Edward's looks, everything about how he drew her in despite his personality was related to his transcendent beauty, and we've seen how she respects beautiful people (Edward and to a lesser extent Jacob) vastly more than average guys like Mike and massively more than people with acne like Eric (who seems to have been MIA for quite awhile now). And yet, it's crucial to the whole format of the story that Bella not see herself, and the audience not see her, as being shallow. So we have Jessica's viewpoint dismissed as taking Edward's beauty over anything else, while just recently we had Bella so awed by his beauty that she continued on despite the expressed danger of being murdered by him. Bella will constantly berate herself and express self-loathing about different aspects of her life, but the flat out most problematic thing about her--her disregard of her own safety and life in pursuit of a visually appealing talker--apparently gets a pass in the name of being a virtue. Here is the basic disconnect at the core of the book, why Bella's point of view on Edward is fundamentally unhealthy.

And then page 208 we have an encapsulation of how the relationship is twisted in regards to Edward's motivation.

[QUOTE]"I warned you I would be listening."
"And I warned you that you didn't want to know everything I was thinking."
"You did," he agreed, but his voice was still rough. You aren't precisely right, though. I do want to know what you're thinking--everything."[/QUOTE]

Consider that what first drew Edward to Bella was her immunity to his psychic scanning. And he has a desire to overcome that metaphysical limitation and find out everything she's thinking. There's a discomforting text here--attracted by resistance yet seeking to overcome it, desire to know all and in the process controlling all. Eavesdropping considered as a right is the logical outcome of this stance.

-Pages later, Edward describes how special and extraordinary Bella is. This attitude has to speak to the idealized model of romance being done here, telling everyone whose felt out of place that they are actually transcendent, unique, and can be valued above all else. Here's part of the disquiet of Twilight, especially following the above. I don't see the creepy relationship context as something that can be detached from the whole story, it's the basis of the appeal. The idea of a relationship that runs across all bounds and restraints, that shows the man recognizing no limits on privacy and focusing on control. That shows the woman as so invested in love that she repeatedly spurs warnings on her own self-interest. That's part of the fantasy, the type of secular religion being offered here. I think it's deliberate that the relationship has disturbing components, shown to reinforce how the sheer transcendent specialness of Edward and Bella transform everything that should keep them apart. What makes the book somewhat unique is that it's not at all the standard teen melodrama in this regard. It's not about external circumstances as a barrier. Even the love triangle stuff doesn't as of yet have much dramatic force. The main pressures against happy heterosexual union comes from within the characters themselves, specifically the danger of murdering and being murdered. It's a fairly good embodiment of the teenage romantic self-absorption--and the whole concept of love as a two person thing isolated from the world and done in defiance of all rationality. The notion of love as being insane, transcending normal standards and basic comparison. To that extent the core of the book is going to work insofar as one accepts that paradigm for love, or demonstrates some basically problematic conceptions is passion as total and isolating.

-Edward describes his hunting of bears and mountain lions. Predatory analogies becomes more explicit.

Chapter 11: Complications

-Bella playing tennis.

[QUOTE]I somehow managed to hit myself in the head with my racket and clip Mike's shoulder on the same swing.[/QUOTE]
-Normally at this point I'd ask why the story hates its Reader Avatar protagonist so much, but it actually follows pretty logically from the larger role of the story. Bella is there to be pathetic and incapable in her own life so it builds the inherent appeal of a supernatural protector that's totally devoted to her. It's not really insulting the reader who identifies with Bella by making her so clumsy, as it's offering them a fantasy of failure and then vindication.

-Lots of back and forth with Charlie concerting the drive up to Seattle, having him feature more in the story than he has for a long time.

-Billy and Jacob renter the narrative.

Chapter 12: Balancing

-Again in contrast Jacob seems much more friendly, non-menacing and grounded in realworld detail than Edward. On a direct story level this encounter seems like a detour, however.

-Edward again flat out states the concern that being alone with Bella will lead to him killing her.
[QUOTE]I realized slowly that his words should frighten me. I waited for that fear to come, but all I could seem to feel was an ache for his pain.[/QUOTE]
One of the interesting things about Twilight is how strongly it appears to build the case against it. It's not like there's a huge amount of work necessary to mine the text for creepy sentiments and issues, instead the novel keeps drawing attention to the disconnect at the heart of the relationship. One could almost at this point of the book believe all the emphasis is a deliberate subversion of the romantic cliches--that at the end the relationship will be shown to be a mistake, Edward's beauty not enough in itself to counteract his disturbing behavior and Bella's equally disturbing reaction to that. It's pretty clear that's not in the cards, and even without wider culture hype I wouldn't expect that from the story to date. It does seem to have built up the case for the anti-Twilight fervor rather effectively though, and continues to emphasize precisely those aspects that one would think would be quickly glossed over.

-More dialog relating to the preparations for the Seattle trip. I realize this is setup for a significant development in the book's terms, but it is still rather excessive and unnecessary. Given this book was before the cultural success one would think there were be stronger editorial presence. The ideal reader at this point is breathlessly waiting on the next Edward/Bella scene, right? By that standard what does all the back and forth about the truck really add?

-They go on the trip finally, go over to a forest trail, and in a dramatic chapter cliffhanger Edward "stepped out into the bright glow of the midday sun." There is actual meta-suspense at this point, as I can anticipate that one of Twilight's most infamous and easily most mocked elements of vampire mythology is about to come to the fore.
Chapter 13: Confessions

[QUOTE]Edward in the sunlight was shocking. I couldn't get used to it, though I'd been staring at him all afternoon. His skin, white despite the faint flush from yesterday's hunting trip, literally sparkled, like thousands of tiny diamonds were embedded in the surface. He lay perfectly still in the grass, his shirt open over his sculpted, incandescent chest, his scintillating arms bare.[/QUOTE]
This is the part that everyone has heard about. We have achieved the point of sparkly vampires. In retrospect it would have been better if this scene wasn't setup as a major dramatic and aesthetic impression, I can't visualize this scene in a way that's not ridiculous.

-Edward shows off his speed and strength, Bella reflects that he's never been less human...or more beautiful.

-Edward also describes different levels of temptation to kill and drink humans.
[QUOTE]"So what you're saying is, I'm your brand of heroin?" I teased, trying to lighten the mood.
He smiled swiftly, seeming to appreciate my effort.
"Yes, you are [I]exactly[/I] my brand of heroin."[/QUOTE]
And of course this particular draw to consume her is the basis for Edward's whole romantic and sexual attraction towards Bella. Just as Edward's general menace, and later capacity and urge to kill her make him more appealing to her. The creepiness in this setup largely speaks for itself, and it's just an intensification of what I said on chapter 10--it's a core element of a certain formula, and a lot of people have bought into it emotionally and financially.

-Some interesting hints about Edward's family and their different temperaments and capabilities.

-And then back to the main issue at the core of this novel.
[QUOTE]He closed his eyes, lost in his agonized confession. I listened, more eager than rational. Common sense told me I should be terrified. Instead, I was relieved to finally understand. And I was filled with compassion for his suffering, even now, as he confessed his craving to take my life.[/QUOTE]
Late in S2 of [I]Dexter[/I] there's a moment reminiscent of this in some ways. Lilah, the ex-girlfriend of the titular serial killer has been tracking his movements, and comes across someone locked up in a cage. She's rather puzzled by this, and moves to let him out, when he mentions that he's a cop and that Dexter put him in there, because he's the serial killer Miami has been focusing on for months. Lilah stops short and is struck by a moment of incredible compassion and empathy, the cop says he's not in such a bad shape. Lilah corrects him, she wasn't feeling sorry for him, all her feelings are for Dexter, finding out how much inner darkness he had only deepens her feelings for him. This moment is the point of the series where Lilah becomes confirmed as a full on psychopath, she kills the cop immediately after, and sets herself up as a general menace to society, such that Dexter can without qualms kill her off. I prefer that take on this type of attitude.

-There's another reason to draw in the parallel between Dexter and Twilight. Melissa Rosenberg was a writer and co-executive producer for the former, and the main writer behind all the films of the later. To me, this common link to dissimlar products and dissimilar levels of quality show that the promoting machine know what they're doing, who they're writing for, and the commerical success of the films is not a mistake, or unconnected with things that a lot of reviewers have found frustrating. The machine of commerce works, on its own logic. How much of that is present in deliberate intention for the underlying novel is a separate question, but I'd say it's a lot.

-Edward also recaps earlier scenes from his point of view, including at one time his strong urge to kill the receptionist and then drink up Bella. Bella has a moment of compassion and concern for the receptionist, but no equivalent reaction to the possibility that she was nearly killed. This attitudes manages to be at once entirely selfish while having no concern for her own continued existence. It's not like if Edward killed her it would be an effective, if perverse, sacrifice to her love--by everything the story has said so far he'd feel horrible about it, it wouldn't be a net gain. If we accept the (itself deeply sexist) notion that Bella herself is a unique temptation, the best thing she could do for both of them is to maintain a wide distance. As opposed to, you know, dating him.

-The superspeed run through the forest, the kiss. The story seems to be hitting the proper buttons for pre-sexual attraction of a teenager for a beautiful superhuman.

Chapter 14: Mind Over Matter

-Edward's backstory, born in 1901, dying in 1918 of the Spanish influenza. Description of Carlisle and the process of bringing him and other individuals into the vampire clan. Fairly interesting setup, particularly in Alice and Jasper developing a conscience separately and finding them out.

-The notion of distinct superpowers for specific vampire individuals (Edward telepathy, Alice precognition) seems unique from most vampire mythologies I've enocuntered. It's not entirely satisfying though--it seems like a doubling of suspension of disbelief, much like with the X-men or Heroes. Okay, the main premise of the series is a basically magical gene that allows weird effects. Now this magical gene creates effects of massively different character for no readily explored reason. By not connecting the powers to any defined magical system (at least at this point) and insisting they're just a side-effect of being a vampire, a natural instinct, the book seems to waver in its own coherence. I'm also wary about Alice, while the hints of her lifestory at this point are quite interesting precognition is very hard to pull off effectively, more often than not it turns the precog into a huge plot device that doesn't make sense in retrospect.

-In the end there's more direct speculation, it seems the Cullens' don't know their own mythological backstory or mechanism behind themselves, all they have are some general guesses. At a point this item feels like an evasion--reminiscent of the whole Lost non-answering 'Oh, it turns out that the shadowy mysterious Others and Dharma Initiative don't know the real answers either'. On the other hand relative to the story and direct situation we've probably been given enough background for the moment, and there's something kind of intriguing about vampires that don't have a huge defined scripture or explanation of themselves, that can be agnostic about whether they're a product of evolution or something more mystical.

-Then there's the other famous scene from Twilight now--Edward describes, with basic glee and to Bella's only mild annoyance, how each night he came into her room, spied on her and listened to her talking in her sleep. I wish I could say I was surprised, but the moment follows pretty directly from the buildup of the relationship--Edward despite initially being a normal human, knowing people's thoughts and trying to be inconspicuous for a hundred years has zero conception of or respect for people's privacy. When faced with this disclosure, Bella is embarrassed for what Edward might have heard, rather than creeped out by the stalking behavior. I wish I could say that this is the most dysfunctional relationship I've ever read about that's presented as appealing, but it isn't. It does deserve to be condemned, however.
Chapter 15: The Cullens

-More back and froth from Bella and Edward. They visit the Cullen house.

[QUOTE]The house was timeless, graceful, and probably a hundred years old.[/QUOTE]
Four years younger than Edward, in that case. Connection of glamor and wealth comes across fairly clearly in the description of the appeal.

-Seeing Esme, the last of the Cullen family Bella hasn't yet seen. "Something about her heart-shaped face, her billows of soft, caramel-colored hair, reminded me of the ingenues of the silent movie era." Again, aesthetics deriving from media culture, and an explicit description that emphasizes the unreal aspects of vampire beauty.

-Alice is friendly to Bella on sight. Edward composes and plays piano music. Rosalie is jealous of Bella because she'd like to be human. Esme is a bit B/E shipper.

-Edward exposits:
[QUOTE]"Nothing's wrong, exactly. Alice just sees some visitors coming soon. They know we're here, and they're curious."
"Visitors?"
"Yes...well, they aren't liek us, of course--in their hunting habits, I mean. They probably won't come into town at all, but I'm certainly not going to let you out of my sight till they're gone."
I shivered.
"Finally, a rational response!" he murmured. "I was beginning to think you had no sense of self-preservation at all." [/QUOTE]

It's disconcerting to find myself in full agreement with Edward. Again, it's not surprising to come to Twilight after all the discussion and see that it shows Bella to be disturbingly singleminded in focusing on Edward and willfully overlooking all danger. It is surprising that the book lampshades this element so strongly.

This quote also indicates something like real tension that doesn't involve a random car accident or equally random lower-class rapists. From these lines it seems that the Cullens are just going to schmooze with the other vampires for awhile--there's an interest in keeping Bella safe but apparently not confronting the other vampires and stopping them from murdering random people now and for generations to come.

-Carlisle is apparently 362 years old, from London, born to common folk. He was an active inquisitor type under the service of his father, helping hunt down vampires. In this process, he was attacked and turned. See, that is an interesting backstory, particularly as put against the current persona of the effective, bellow his payscale country doctor.

Chapter 16: Carlisle

-More background exposition. After being turned, Carlisle tried to kill himself but found himself unable to do it, either by drowning or jumping off great heights. Yeah, WyldCard hasn't been exaggerating their feats in vs debates. In the context of the background this makes sense--if vampires weren't physically durable and quick it's harder to accept that they wouldn't have gotten wiped out long ago. And, ironically, the fact that the common vampiric folklore on weaknesses--garlic, sunlight, stakes, crosses--is unconnected to the reality of vampires is a more realistic approach than the common one for vampires. Contrast with the whole Dresden Files approach to worldbuilding, or that of Lovecraft--all myths everywhere are largely true, extraordinary stories could not have existed unless inspired by extraodinary beings, so mix lots of myths together, stir, and you have the underlying reality. In contrast, the notion that vampires would be very different from the forms circulating in the last few hundred years makes sense, particularly in the underlying notion of people dealing with a supernatural threat by comforting themselves with some basic weaknesses and artifacts that can repel them.

-So, anyway, three hundred and forty years ago or whenver Carlisle stumbled on the whole "vegetarian" option of not eatng humans, developed a philosophy of saving human lives and the medical knowledge to do it, perfecting his self-control to the extent of being able to work in a hospital. He went with some refined but still predatory humans, he tried to talk them out of eating humans, they tried to talk him into it, things were left at a general impasse. Eventually he separated and made his way to North America, where he recruited new vampires starting with someone already orphaned and dying.
This is all very interesting. Clearly the novel should have been about Carlisle.

-Edward describes a period of youthful rebellion where he followed a very Dexter-like path: gratifying his darker urges by killing only evil men, using telepathy to identify the guilty, indulging his hunger in a way that saved lives.

-Edward and Bella flirt for a bit amidst him lunge at her and restrain her. Again, creepy.

[QUOTE]"You will be watching," Edward clarified. "We will be playing baseball."
I rolled my eyes. "Vampires like baseball?"
"It's the American pastime," he said with mock solemnity.[/QUOTE]
That seems to come out of nowhere. Works in story, though, I think, as a setup with a precog talking about a story and then suddenly moving into baseball, it's surreal enough to be engaging.

-While this chapter had the requisite seen of increasing the level of proprietary menace that Edward shows, in was probably the most engaging and interesting of the book thus far. There is some effective use of heavy exposition by way of storytelling, and having both Edward and Bella be briefly interested in and impressed by something besides each other works. One hundred and fifty pages remaining for the book.
Chapter 17: The Game

-Billy shows up and warns Bella in foreceful but vague terms about associating with the Cullens. Doesn't really seem to advance things very much, and it could have built up more detail on the werewolf-vampire things. Jacob is present for a bit as well, and does nothing.

-Jessica gushes about Mike kissing her. I wonder if she thinks she's the center of the story. Of course her whole thing here is intended to be boring compared with the dreamy vampire romantic danger, but by all indications it's a more stable and less menacing relationship even if Mike is still overwhelmingly interested in Bella.

-Bella tells Charlie about Edward. Writing the sentence out makes it seem like a a high school word problem for math, we just need an Amy and Daniel in to complete the set and calculate money transfer or train times.

-After Edward comes by to pick her up, Charlie asks him to make sure she's safe, all wacky textual doublemeanings. Edwards promises he will. Bella stalks out, and Edward and Charlie both laugh together for a moment before Edward follows. Creepy little moment there, not in the usual way of suggestion of physical violence, but in showing Edward and Charlie as basically on the same page with regards to Bella for a moment. It gives an even more patriarchal vibe to the larger relationship.

-Esme talks with Bella and casually mentioned how her child died, and that was why she jumped off a cliff in her first life. Women's priorities always come down to men or maternity in this series, don't they?

-Baseball played at superspeed. It doesn't seem like it would actually be as much fun to watch as Bella appears to believe.

-Alice senses the other vampires coming in sooner than anticipated. Apparently they love the idea of vampiric baseball as much as the Cullens do.

Chapter 18: The Hunt

-The other vampires show up. Bella's first impressions are that they're far more catlike, physical and sinister. Also beautiful, but hardly in the transcendent terms used for Edward and his siblings. How convenient that the bad guys in this universe are easily distinguishable as more sinister, while the most gorgeous people around all those rare vampires that have dedicated restraint in not feasting on humans. This format is pretty pathetic, and is less sophisticated than YA books and fairy tales for ages--the visually stunning stranger is often the most dangerous ones, evil having a seductive face and all that. Isn't that what the whole Christian mythology on Lucifer is? Most beautiful of all the angels, and so forth?

-The newcomers are Laurent, Victoria and James, They don't really have any personality--nothing in their dialog or stances suggests long established character beyond the generic. The threat they pose is pretty well conveyed, though, how quickly everyone starts talking about the need to flee completely, get Bella completely out of town, prevent picking up the scent, etc.

-Not sure why Alice is against killing them, looking for other options even though they outnumber them. I suppose the dynamics of the situation, as seems to have been implied, are that the vegetarian vamps are a tiny minority, tolerated at presents but seen as somewhat weird. If they started killing more sociopathic brethren they'd be viewed as going rapid, and would be hunted down. If that's the calculation so be it, but there should still be some recognition of the fact that leaving unrestrained vampires around means that innocent people will die, people beyond Bella.
Chapter 19: Goodbyes

-The fake fight with her father to mislead the rival vamps, driving away.

-Edward describes the psychology of James, the hunter:

[QUOTE]"If you didn't smell so appallingly luscious, he might not have bothered. But when I defended you...well, that made it a lot worse. He's not use to being thwarted, no matter how insignificant the object. He thinks of himself as a hunter and nothing else. His existence is consumed with tracking, and a challenge is all he asks of life. Suddenly we've presented him with a beautiful challenge--a large clan of strong fighters all bent on protecting the one vulnerable element. You wouldn't believe how euphoric he is now. It's his favorite game, and we've just made it into his most exciting game ever."[/QUOTE]

That's a fairly credible presentation for a creepy adversary, particularly considering how much more physically capable vampires are to humans. It's also striking that the single-minded psychology described here is quite similar to Edward, except with the aim for homicide rather than romance. That underscores how creepy the main relationship is of this book. Edward is similar to James except that he's trying not to kill Bella, and that's nowhere near enough to not make him demented-creepy.

-Apparently the only way to be sure of killing a vampire is tearing it to shreds and then burning the pieces.

-Alice is the first of the vampires to ask permission before lifting Bella and speed running somewhere. Bella's response to that is wry amusement.

Chapter 20: Impatience

-Flight for awhile.

-Alice admits that the range of vampire abilities is superfluous, more weapons than are reasonably required. Including a paralyzing venom which if bitten and then left unchecked eventually changes humans into vampires in an agonizing fashion.

-Mention again of Alice's total amnesia of being human.

-Alice has another vision of James, things shifted so that he was waiting at a ballet room. Some intresting stuff of tracking James, trying to pin him down in or en route to Phoenix.

Chapter 21: Phone Call

-Alice has a vision of Bella's mother's house. The mother calls, sounding panicked, then James takes over and in an agreeable, generic voice directs her on what to say to not tip off the others, directing her step by step on how to get away to prevent harm to her mother.

-It's actually a pretty tense situation set up. The threat to a relative by phone, the combination of explicit superhuman violence, intelligent planning and a polite form of direction to that end make for a fairly strong development. This book is a lot better as a horror and thriller than as a romantic melodrama.

Chapter 22: Hide and Seek

-Bella shows more adaptability than she's done before to outmaneuver a precognitive vampire and another protector in order to get away and be killed by a homicidal vampire. There's the usual shtick from a lot of suspense thrillers of not telling allies the full situation to come up with a less suicidal plan, but as always would you really be prepared to gamble with the fate of a loved one? Here I'd say the interior logic for the setup and the momentum of the event works fairly well.

-James took the precaution of moving the mother to the nearby ballet studio and leaving a number, to prevent himself getting stormed in the house. And then in transpires that he never had her hostage, he just used a video tap of her saying "Bella, Bella" in a panicked tone to draw her in. Well, it has the unfortunate effect of making Bella's previous decision the wholly wrong one--but it's a clever enough trick, and again I'll give the story that for the interest of momentum.

-James monologues his planning up to this point to the human he's about to kill for no reason except to fill in the readers. So typical.

-James turns on a video recorder to show his somewhat drawn out taunting and killing. This part works better--it fits his intention of getting a more thrilling hunt by ensuring that Edward will come after him, and makes an intelligent if basically insane sense. He also explains his role in Alice's mysterious backstory--she was previously the Bella to someone else's Edward, made into a vampire as part of protection. Eh, that seems a bit too neat a coincidence.

-And we've now caught up to the preface, after only four hundred and fifty pages. I will say that the description for the past while hasn't been as much of a problem as earlier--it's certainly still bad prose, but it no longer interferes with the comprehension of what's happening as much.
Chapter 23: The Angel

[QUOTE]And then I knew I was dead.
Because, through the heavy water, I heard the sound of an angel calling my name, calling me to the only heaven I wanted.
"Oh no, Bella, no!" the angel's voice cried out in horror.[/QUOTE]

Heh. The story had been going fairly well with the last few chapters, but then Edward returns with a huge dose of Narm. I should probably analyze the implications of this explicit linking of teen romance to a transcendent religious force, or at least be creeped out by this level of devotion to Edward and his incessant predatory stance, but honestly I just want to laugh uproriously at how inappropriate these lines are in continuing a sentiment of menace, doom or horror. "'Oh no, Bella, no!' the angel's voice cried out in horror." Hilarity. Okay, granted Bella has a literal head injury at this point so messed up perception can be excused to a significant point, but it's just so cliched and jarring as a tone that it doesn't work.

-Bella writhes in pain as the only chance to prevent transformation is for Edward to suck out the venom. This standoff doesn't really work because:
1. I'm still laughing at the unintentional hilarity of Edward as a sad angel.
2. It's a point where the telling rather than showing of description really lets down the ability to feel akin to Bella's situation. "Other pains came, stronger pains" indeed.
3. I keep remembering the How it Should Have Ended for Twilight.
[url]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nqvg0C90FhM[/url]

Part of the liability of seeing the parody before the original movie/book.

-Anyway, Edward sucks out the venom, problem solved, Bella sleeps. Kind of anticlimactic, particularly since the viewpoint character is either distracted by pain or losing consciousness at that point.

-Hmm, only one chapter left.
Chapter 24: An Impasse

-Seems like of an awkward chapter title for the end of the book.

-Edward told her mother that Bella's injuries were from falling down two flights of stairs and through a window. Really bad abusive boyfriend vibe just imagining that scene.

-So James got pulled away and killed by Emmett and Jasper off-stage? Kind of a weak finish. Really that whole plot arc should have been introduced earlier and definitely developed to a more satisfying conclusion.

-Bella's mother tries to caution her about Edward, Bella reflects this is the first time she's tried to be parental since she (Bella) was eight. Puts things a bit in context.

-Bella flat out asks Edward why he didn't let the venom change her.

[QUOTE]"I'll be the first to admit that I have no experience with relationships," I said. But it just seems logical...a man and woman have to be somewhat equal..as in, one of the them can't always be swooping in and saving the other one. They have to save each other equally."[/QUOTE]

Edward counters that he's not ready to have Bella throw her life away, she says her parents are already fairly unconnected. Both of them make some reasonable points, but and setting aside the days of pain thing the way they seem to, there's also creepy elements in both sides. For Bella, the total willingness to throw away everything about her life and other relationships outside of Edward. For Edward, precisely ensuring that there won't be equality in their relationship, that she'll never be able to save him, assuring a specific form of very looming dominance. And the ongoing prospect that he might kill her at any time he looses control. Besides, my inner transhumanist says they should just spread the venom in the water supply or something, transform all of humanity into supercapable immortals. Stops that whole danger of dying thing, plus nicely undercuts the problem of unrestrained vampires preying off humans.

Epilogue: An Occasion

-This title is also an awkward one for the end of the book.

-Alice is now dressing Bella in frilly dresses. Sure, let's run with that.

-Edward tells off Tyler, ending his extremely mild range of pursuing Bella. Seriously, have we seen him in the last two hundred pages? In any case it would be a romantic epilogue if we didn't have the boyfriend demonstrating a creepy possessive attitude towards the girlfriend.

-The prom ensues. Jacob reappears. His presence in this book is extremely fragmentary--it feels like nothing so much as a long-running television series that they can only get his actor for occasional guest star status. This time, again, Billy apparently sent his son to warn Bella to break up with Edward. I've been saying that since the beginning, Jacob. Honestly, this book has vastly less of the love triangle with him, Bella and Edward than I was anticipating. And whatever happened to Eric? Or, for that matter, James' partner in the hunt Victoria? I think she was never tracked out, and might have some interest in revenge on Bella and groups for the death of her clan-leader. At an a minimum there are a lot of non-vegetarian vampires out hunting people down, but there not in a wonderful love relationship like Bella and Edward are so they can just get slaughtered.

So, that's the novel. I'll writeup some general assessment on [I]Twilight[/I] soon, different aspects of the story, the popularity, the hatred and of course the whole gender angle. Before that I'll probably respond to some specific comments people have made in the last couple pages, as well as any other thoughts people might want to put down on my commentary not that the read is concluded. This manner of approach was about the most exhausting way to write up on a book--a lot of redundancy as I'd comment on an element in the book that appeared in minor form, then it appeared a chapter later with much greater force and needed it's own assessment. It does give a much different sense of reading and assessing a book in 'real time', though, and might be interesting to do with a book of higher quality. Maybe the next Culture series book as it comes out--that could be intriguing to approach in this way, especially given Banks' past effectiveness and more recent mediocre quality.

Assessing Twilight: The Writing

The basics here--is Twilight overall badly written, and if so to what extent? Core elements of assessment: prose, plot, characterization, genre elements. Any given novel can be weak in one or even two of these areas and carry through a strong work if they hit the other two effectively. Fail in all four areas and the book is aesthetically damned without hope of redemption. Twilight's prose is indeed bad--overwritten, gushing on description, oddly lacking in detail, and at some major points wrecking the drama for a given scene. It's not terrible, however, it carries the meaning across, isn't grotesquely slow, and allows a decent momentum across most scenes. It's the type of writing that is easy to laugh or sneer at if studying almost any given line for writing, but to be fair most people for most of the book aren't going to stop to look at the

Characterization is a thorough failure on multiple levels. Some of that is linked to the ideology of the piece, others to what has to be the intent to create blank space for the readers to juxtapose themselves, but at best that's context for the failure, not a mitigation of it. While there are decently framed personalities, vampire and non, they exist on a small minority, and the overwhelming majority of the book features Bella, and most of that features her having or wanting encounters with Edward. And this arc is not done effectively, creating blank slates to interact with eachother where there should be the most intensity. The lack of establishing detail of personalities is a crucial problem here.

Genre elements are fairly effective, in terms of this book doing what it situates itself to do. The main genre here is YA romance, so lots of physical attraction and awe at beauty without any actual sex. A lot of the commentary I've seen on this dichotomy tends to attribute it to Meyer's Mormonism, I think it's at least as plausible as a writing approach. It's about a very sentiment focused romance, beauty and touching without actually dealing with bodies terribly much, and seems the type of approach better suited to sex as an ideal rather than a practice. I understand Edward and Bella consummate their relationship post-marriage, I'd be interested to see how that compares.

In terms of other genre elements, the fantasy, this part goes over decently. As mentioned above, the material offered as to vampire origins and character are fairly coherent and make sense. That they're different from traditional forms of vampires is arguably a strength for the layout, and given the main focus as a romance it makes a great deal of sense that it takes this approach. As to this type of thing being a travesty of a vampire novel---well, it features a group of blood-drinking immortals with superhuman strength, speed and durability. They're vampires, and the book is under no inherent obligation to use them in particularly the way another genre subset would prefer.

So then the plot. I think my initial reaction on the length (huh, it's two hundred pages longer than I thought it was) was fairly direct--this work could have been a lot stronger if it had been condensed to that length. As is, it's quite padded, meanders in its main arc of Edward and Bella particularly. Still, it is a story. It's not a plotless as, say, Blindsight or Little Brother, and features an actual narrative of events happening and a timeline that works to propel characters along, albeit in a somewhat drifting fashion. The horror/thriller section works almost as a self-contained book with in the main book. It's a lot tighter and more urgent than the larger story of romance, and managed to work decently even though I didn't really care about Bella as a character or feel invested in her well being. That part doesn't redeem the main plot, however, since James' entry is far too late and unforeshadowed relative to the main story, and his actual existence along with threat is resolved very anticlimatically.

Overall Twilight is definitely a badly written book, with some persistent minor issuues that could have been tweaked and some fundamental defeacts that sink the main endeavor. Genre writers should and frequently have done better, same with YA writers and writers sans subdivsion. However it's not a terribly written book, and is by no means as badly written as I'd have been led to expect by much internet commentary, including multiple posts on the first page of this thread that suggested I was either a deviant for seeking out [I]Twilight[/I] or a minor hero for talking on the immense burden of subjecting myself to it. Neither is the case. It wasn't boring, it didn't lag through the work and it had numerous positive points along with major problems. It's not even the worst book I've read this year, offhand the one that comes to mind for that category is Rudy Rucker's novel [I]Hylozoic[/I], far more contrived and increasingly incoherent in its main story. So, I'd currently say that certainly Twilight's popularity is not reaching for the best, even among YA books, but in terms of direct writing it's not a harbinger of the cultural apocalypse.
Twilight: The Gender Angle

One of the benefits of looking at the bad treatment of something is a thorough job of critiquing something[1] is you also have to formulate an ideal of a better system. Bring up problems with a book's writing and you have to, implicitly or explicitly, have a system for what one needs to accomplish to do such writing effectively. Talk about a sexist gender portrayal, as I'm now doing, and you have to have some criteria of how sexism is represented and what one can do to make it more feminist. Let's start with that. Giving Bella something to do beyond focus on Edward is fundamental. Making her have other relationships beyond the nominal. A romance should by no standard mean the woman care about nothing except the romantic partner, that's a sentiment born from desperation rather than genuine connection. Have Bella care about and have interest in her family, the other people she meets at Forks.

Also, for a non-misogynist Twilight, one would have to have Bella be attracted to Edward's good qualities as a romantic partner. Which would mean actually giving him some. As currently written he's gorgeous, superhuman, dangerous and obsessed with her. The first two are largely neutral qualities, the last are enough to reasonably veto the relationship up front.

Twilight is indeed sexist, and I'd argue for a moral imperative for people engaging in the text to be aware of and bring criticism on this element. However, there's two issues that often seem to get brought up in such an approach. First is arguing for Twilight as a single critical node of gender failure, that it's transcendently more flawed in its representation of women than everything else. This claim is untrue. Twilight's portrayal of stalking as love and menace as sexy is disturbing, but not nearly as much as, for instance:

-The preteen group sex at the end of Stephen King's It

-The representation of rape in Nobel Laureate Jose Saramago's Blindness. Specifically his equation with it as humiliating to the women rather than the perpetrators, going so far as to refer to husbands of the raped women as "cuckolds".

-Ira Levine's novel This Perfect Day, which features the male protagonist explicitly raping a woman to break brainwashing on her, and the two soon after marrying to a happy life together.

-Similarly, in Robert Heinlein's Friday there's the "strong capable female protagonist" being gang-raped by enemy agents early on, one of them was gentle about it. When he meets up with her near the end they link up, marry and live happily ever after.

-For more recent matters how about Rudy Rucker's Hylozoic again? A women in her thirties forcing sex on a fourteen year old autistic boy? Admiteadly done through alien drugs but still presented as fairly titilating, and gossiped about by characters after the fact in the same way.

-Piers Anthony's book And Eternity, or really most of the things he's written.

Twilight is not a single critical node of failure, and it should be seen as part of a larger culture, political system, economy and science fiction ethos that are themselves sexist. The solution isn't just sneering at Twilight as something in isolation, as damaging in itself. The answer is not just scuttling the whole vampire romance thing as uniquely problematic or the root of the problem for poor behavioral models of young women. We need better writing, promoting and reviewing of feminist materials and a level of critical scrutiny brought against misogynist texts. I'm not trying to be fanatical in this--for the major disturbing elements listed above I still consider It and This Perfect Day well written, effective and aesthetically admirable works.[2] That doesn't mean they get a pass though, and there needs to be a culture of questioning and inquiry, to realize that we as a society do some terrible things to women and in the representation of them in fiction, and that it's possible to do better, and worth doing better.

The second issue with assessing the anti-feminist character of Twilight is a lot of the hatedom is itself rather sexist. Commentators that bash Stephenie Meyer as weak, stupid woman specifically often take of this tone, or the anger against Twilight as a stupid teen girl phenomenon. Assumptions of basically stupid women and femininity abound, on this forum among others, this whole mode of writing for romance being seen as a deficiency next to the really important non stupid things in life--like calculating firepower for different fictional universes and determining which would prevail in a crossover.

[1] Of course one could also try to fight the beast by making up stories of demented Twilight fans or assuming all of the problems are the fault of the Church of Jesus Christ and Latter Day Saints, but I'm not terribly enamored of either approach.

[2] The relation of judging effective literary value as against gender issues is a complex one. I don't believe one should simply veto all books that show a disturbingly sexist message--goodbye all nineteenth century Russian literary classics--but I also don't believe in holding the gender issues as something unrelated to the story. Books should be available to wide readership access, and if there's fundamental grounds in the work for an entire gender to be represented poorly, then that's half the species effectively being bared. No solid rule for assessing such, but it depends partly how prominent the sexism is, how fundamentally it's tied to the main story, and how much else of wroth is going on. Suffice to say some works are still enjoyable despite a deeply problematic gender message, others are so flawed and focused enough that the issues with women put them over into the negative category, others are massively flawed such that the poor treatment of women is only one oft he problems, and even if done in a wholly egalitarian way I would probably still have detested the book (Hylozoic and Friday both fall into this category).

Escape From Kathmandu

2010-06-29T12:23:00.000-07:00

Kim Stanley Robinson

This work feels somewhat like it's aiming at the same ground as Vance--satirical, fast-paced, traveling in strange areas. Doubtless that impression was boosted by the order in which this book was read, but it clearly stands as different than most of Robinson's productions. Which is somewhat unfortunate, as it's not playing to his strengths, and as a result the comedic energy never fully jarred for me. It was interesting at point and I admired some of the story construction, but it didn't really sparkle for me as a text, and there seemed a bit of tension between this work as an adventure story and it delivering a message. At times Robinson has stumbled over that last element, but I do think he's better off in a full fledged social representation, whether creating his own histories or commenting directly on our own.

In minor details, this piece was interesting for the focus given to Buddhism, which of course reoccurred more prominently in the Science in the Capital Trilogy and The Years of Rice and Salt.

Worse than: Forty Signs of Rain by Kim Stanley Robinson
Better than: Sixty Days and Counting by Kim Stanley Robinson

The Anome

2010-06-29T12:22:00.000-07:00

Jack Vance

Enjoyable, energetic, very recognizable Vance. A fast moving account that unpacks a wonderfully inventive background well-connected to a fun story. Not hugely deep, but the environemnt of the Shant and its factionalized collections of cantons is one worth uncovering, and the tale of shifting from religious youth to slave labor to musician to master of the planet is made gripping and surprisingly plausible. It's interesting to compare Vance to Clarke at points, since his layout of skills is so different and his futures tend to be vastly more cluttered and violent. Perhaps Vance's biggest asset is his throwing in of implausibility that works and feels credible, strange human variations and cultural customs that add history yet are clearly beyond the main human environment. Reading this text shortly after Vance's autobiography does make me think of it as more like wish fulfillment compared with the relatively sedate pace put in. Above all this is enjoyable and with enough interesting ideas put in to be worth the effort.

Worse than: The Book of Dreams by Jack Vance
Better than: Consider Phlebas by Iain M. Banks

Nobilis

2010-06-29T12:18:00.000-07:00

the game of sovereign powers by R. Sean Borgstrom

Another reading of a RPG sourcebook. Benefits from a great scale of imgaintion, a type of extensive mental reach that fantasy could use more of. There’s the notion of magic as actually being radical and transformative, and a truly epic scope of action involved with players. What really builds the appeal of this volume is the "nanofiction" scattered across it, with short little stories of a few lines that give a real flavor for the magic, the major players and the whole tone of living in thuis world. My one disapointment was the major factions, while some of these were very creative and ambitiously formed (the Excrucians that seek to destroy the universe by wiping out basic concepts) others were too dependent on a revamped Christian mythological binary, Heaven and Hell, Light and Dark as factions. There are interesting things in all of these, but it felt like there could be a lot more, and that the reach for various mythologiacl systems is overly Eurocentric.

History After the Three Worlds

2010-06-29T12:17:00.000-07:00

edited by Arif Dirlik

Anthology of historiographical articles. Some useful opening analysis into the field of world history, and makes a commendably nuanced effort to move beyond Eurocentric views and into the direction of more progressive politics. Looses a lot of credibility with me for its characterization of and assault against postmodernism and postcolonialism, definign them (misleadingly) as overly general and insufficiently grounded, proving counter-leftist by effect if not intention. There’s a kernel of a good critique in here and it’s probably a dialog worth having, but this collection demonstrates too much simplisticity in layout and redundancy in elaborating claims to really feel productive. The pieces actually written by Dirlik are the weakest, some of the ones by other people get into more specifics of different regional or thematic issues and deliver more productive histories.

Worse than: Orientalism by Edward Said
Better than: Reading After Theory by Valentine Cunningham

The Remarkables

2010-06-29T12:16:00.000-07:00

Robert Reed

A strong effort, although not one of Reed's best and seems to lose a lot of momentum in the middle. Very strong opening and close, however, and the main premise sustains itself for a lot of neat idea-centered story. The whole question of humanity's symbiotic relationship with an alien species is well conveyed here, and serves as a slow revelation to how alien and potentially menacing the 'normal' humans are. What also works here is the sense of scale, the sheer numbers involved with the wider galactic civilization and then the degree of mental power hinted at with the aliens and made explicit in the end. Much of science fiction gestures at huge expanse, particularly in space opera, but tends to go with a lot more small scale circumstances to ground the narrative in the conventional. Reed works with a similar balance generally, but seems to have a lot more awareness of the sheer numbers that would be involved with reaching into space, and in turn how that changes the whole quality of society and any narratives formed from it. There's a tone to that which I find irresistible in virtually all of his books, a linking of story and setting that pays off quite well. On one level this book like most of his is a very conventional, classic piece of SF, but there's an energy to investing the premise and focus on coherence that make this work worthy of notice. It doesn't transcend a stock premise in the way that a lot of the best science fiction writers do (see Richard Morgan, for instance) but it invests in and fulfills his setup in a way that feels relatively rare. There's something about that which makes Reed's futures seem uniquely real, and the larger strength of the author is in making his works fairly detailed in tone and scale.

Among other things Reed may be lowering my opinion of Stephen Baxter, since he shows an enormous commitment to wide-scale futures without sacrificing character and politics in the way that Baxter does most of the time.

Better than: Swiftly by Adam Roberts
Worse than: Marrow by Robert Reed

Lamentation

2010-06-29T12:15:00.002-07:00

Ken Scholes

Well, I really should have read this work before Canticle. Very impressive stuff, took awhile to get into and the frequent jumps among characters is still overly jarring but I found a level of basic connection and awareness that I didn't reach in the sequel, and it made for a very strong debut fantasy. Great worldbuilding, intense and interesting story, and a wonderfully imagined theme connected to both these involving the acquisition and loss of knowledge. The characters weren't quite as good, and at times proved a little flat, but they were competent enough and their variety and gradual transformation over the course of the story worked well. What was less effective were the romance elements, which came across as fairly rushed and unconvincing, a way to attribute changed motivation to a couple key characters that never came across clearly. Another criticism I had for much of the book was Sethbert, and just how flat, stupid and relentlessly evil he was. I still feel that could have been done a lot better (I had similar thought with regards to Banks' Matter and the medieval villain in that) but the ending disclosure of him being merely a dupe for other forces worked to remedy that somewhat. It still could have been better though, and there still seems some contrivance in a major politcal player being as overtly evil as he was--at times he went out of the way to emphasize his cruelty and erratic violence in a way that alienated his forces. Overall this book was everything that high fantasy should be doing, showing a great talent for worldbuilding, plot and the intersection of the two. For full effectiveness I suppose I should reread Canticle to see how it better flows with a stronger grounding, but think I'll probably pass for the moment, although I might skim it or read a number of reviews. Given this series is announced for three more upcoming I'll make an effort to pick up the new elements, with an eye both to my own enjoyment and a possible Hugo watch.

Better than: Canticle by Ken Scholes
Worse than: The Broom of the System by David Foster Wallace

Prelude to Space

2010-06-29T12:15:00.001-07:00

Arthur C. Clarke

After the last two works, this one inevitably felt a lot lighter and more comfortable in tone. It's about a situation where things work out effectively--the characters are competent and enthusiastic in their jobs, such jobs are ambitious and socially beneficial, and the larger society is striving for greater technological and moral sophistication. Putting it this way makes it seem a remarkably cozy work, and one absent of real tension. To an extent this judgement is true--there's some stuff with the counter-scientific forces and religious extremism in the book, but it's rather shallow and doesn't give a sustained sense of tension or drawn out conflict.

Regardless it's still an engaging and interesting work, in the way technical details unfold and the way characters debate and implement various approaches. It's a friendly book, perhaps unambitious by comparative lights, but it's still fun and reflects a part of science fiction that deserves to be heard. As such an early work by Clarke and the genre at large it's also worth reflecting on in a meta sense, given the actual space travel that developed after this novel's publication, as well as the varied formulas for space-related fiction that blossomed. Prelude to Space indeed. I continue to be impressed by the general quality of Clarke's stories, including his less famous ones.

Better than: The Deep Range by Arthur C. Clarke
Worse than: Spin by Robert Charles Wilson

Bug Jack Barron

2010-06-29T12:13:00.000-07:00

Norman Spinrad

My second Spinrad novel, based on the copy I'd borrowed from you that had been sitting on my shelves for quite a while. An interesting work, somewhat uneven but with a lot of substance. Reading this piece I was struck a lot more than I am with most past works on when it was written, checking and then confirming the date several points, and that played a role in how I assessed it. It feels like a very New Wave book for one thing, all fired up with the ability of using science fiction to take about the grittier side of life, serious social issues and full engagement with sexuality. This last element doesn't work entirely well--the rather graphic scenes do serve an important role in building up the sense of the main character and his position in the world but the story revels in this element rather too much. The core of this angle comes down to Jack Barron's relationship with Sarah, and their encounters are mostly worthwhile to the story. I'll also give the text one of the sexual relationships prior to the reconciliation with Sarah as a way of forming contrast. The second one is dramatically unnecessary, however. More broadly speaking, on the whole the book gestures in a lot of directions for effective use of gender--the way masculinity becomes so important as a point of pride for people--but at the end it doesn't use these elements to great effect. In the end Sarah's purpose becomes suiciding to motivate Jack Barron's defiance, and there seem a number of wasted opportunities.

More effective is the book's centering of race, and its connections with both class and politics. This element is something that's still fairly rare in science fiction, and gives the book a real intensity and relevance. Rather than the kind of detached, focus on technology and reaction to it take for life-extension, here we're given a scenario where it plays out in something closer to the realworld, with all its divisions and inequalities. It's this element, and the tone of defiant cynicism that animates the scenario that make the book most engaging and relevant even to today. The media representation is good to this end, but feels a bit overstated and somewhat implausible with just how much publicity Jack Barron is able to attain. However this element still builds to the book's unique tone.

Unfortunately it's rather let down by the plot. In both SFnal terms and the standard thriller there's not that much here--lots of corporate intrigue and political manipulations, the promise of immortality, the reality of immortality, the sinister underbelly of said immortality, the piling up of bodies, the big disclosure. Two main problems in here are that Benedict Howards is a very stupid antagonist and the functioning of the plot depends on too much contrivance. Howards has some very creepy and effective moments, particularly when he declares that he's going to live forever, but in the larger narrative he's too inept and easily foiled. He's quick to reach to murder that signals his presence, gets easily flustered on camera and for all the book declares his amoral brilliance he makes a number of strategic errors. That he might have bad television presence and be flustered into saying more than he expects is perhaps believable, but given that it seems he should notice this and stop appearing on television. There’s a more central issue with his whole scheme, in expecting that duping Jack Barron into complicity with child-murder will keep him quiet on his (Howards') much more extensive actions in the same field. There’s a basic logical flaw built into that which becomes expressed fairly rapidly. Or his whole pattern of killing people in ways that point to him far more than the individuals left alive would have. On coincidences, the one that really irks me is someone happening to call in to mention selling his daughter, he turns out to be one of a few dozen people that this process happened to as part of the immortality procedure. Out of an audience of a hundred millions, and hordes of callers each day, the people just happen to screen in the one who alerts Jack Barron to the later plot. That's the worst implausibility, but there are some others scattered around that make this a less well-constructed book than it could have been.

Worse than: Cocaine Nights by J. G. Ballard
Better than: The Iron Dream by Norman Spinrad

Cocaine Nights

2010-06-29T12:12:00.000-07:00

J. G. Ballard

I came to this one by unusual patterns, the title was mentioned in a grad seminar discussion about a month ago, in the context of immigration and organizing capitalist communities. I had checked out a collection of Ballard's short stories at that time, the title and desription of the main premise stuck in my mind and I eventually followed up on it. I'm glad I did, it impressed me a lot more than any of his short fiction did. The story concerns the protagonist investigating a small leisure community after his brother is accused of arson. It soon becomes an examination of a community consciously united by its crime, and the way it seeks to spread a form of meaning and activism through that.

The main plot is a bit obvious in some ways, but it's very well interesting and has great measure of its characters and its main premise. The first hundred pages are a bit of an overview, poking around at the edges of the town with a sinister element looming in. Then in the last two thirds different levels of the facade are pulled back, and the slow growth of psychological tension is quite strong. The main premise is an interesting one, as sociological SF goes, and the picture of crime as the ultimate promotive factor for a fragmented community is worth reflecting on. The sociological portrayal makes a power explicit statement on the issues of community and its lack in modern consumer capitalism. In some ways it parallels the approach of Greed, although with less intensity and from a whole diferent basis of imagination. Here, by critiquing the critique of our modern condition the story delivers a powerful argument for the fluidity and dysfunction in our collective lives. It’s politics as text, but in a fashio that manages to be thoroughly unpolemic and overall a well-stylized and very entertaining novel.

Better than: Polystom by Adam Roberts
Worse than: Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace

Russia: A Long-Shot Romance

2010-06-29T12:11:00.001-07:00

Jo Durden-Smith

This travel account is from the late twentieth century, showing an American’s experiences in Russia just as the Soviet Union collapsed. Quite different in tone than most of similar works described above, partly because of era, partly by the specific situation of the author and the tone he adopts. Certainly after a certain point he becomes less a descriptor of Russia as a static, surveyed thing, and is more a witness to major change. Nevertheless some similar motifs continue, enough to make use of the account to shine comparative light on other accounts.

Most notably, Durden-Smith is utterly explicit in how directly he eroticizes Russian women and uses sexual encounters as metaphors for the basic character of Russian civilization and its encounter with the West. "And when I get back, Yelena is beneath the sheets in the big bedroom, naked and languorous: smiling. As I put down the bags I think for some reason of something I’ve read: that the Russians, as well a having had no Renaissance, Reformation, or Enlightenment, have no tradition of romantic love. I wonder whether it matters as I take off my jacket. It’s created nothing but trouble in the West. "(Jo Durden-Smith, 84)

The claim to special insight and representation as directly accompanying sexual conquest is one of the creepiest, most colonial things I’ve seen in a travel account on Russia, and signals a continuance of certain lines of traveler perspectives up to the end of the Cold War. I’m definitely planning to give some weight to this aspect of things, possibly to the extent of having a dissertation chapter focs on the later manifestations of this kind of thing.

Explorer

2010-06-29T12:10:00.001-07:00

C. J. Cherryh

Continuing my exploration of this series. More probably could have been done with the dystopian aspects of the setup with Reunion Station and Bren remains an excessively talented and insufficiently interesting personality, but beyond that I have no major complaints. Interesting, complex, at large sections slow-moving even for Cherryh but ultimately a major story of two species expanding their understanding of a third, with lots of inter-group factions and tensions. Great science fiction, and probably the most engaging and substantive of the series. Unlike all the preceding volumes this one also feels definitive enough that it could have ended the universe with this second trilogy--a lot remains unexplored but the main personalities and factions have been established. Nevertheless, I'm very interested in seeing where the story goes next.

The kyo form the third species of the account, and propell a large amount of dramatic acclaim even through the slow account. The formula intrinsic to them is on an unknown alien nature that’s more technologically advanced than you, and forces terms of contact that can’t be just ignored. It’s particularly engaging when there’s a writer as skillede as Cherryh, so the aliens are neither monolithic evil nor just humans by any other names. By the end of the book the immediate crisis has been ended and the terms for good relations seem to have been established, yet it closes off with a lot of ambiguity and potential warning. The fact that the kyo don’t give up a contact, and that their cultural history seems to see no distinction between grade and slow cultural absorption, renders the future a rather suspect terrain. A similar issue is their whole reluctance towards the first peson plural that emerges here, a rather tangled history with the notion "we" that the book expresses here. All this makes for some rather interesting question marks for the universe’s future, while at the same time in no way undermining the generally optimistic and progression-focused narrativel. As a tehnique by the characters and the authors, humans bringing the interstellar gap and breaking through their own language issues with the kyo through another alien species they brought along from another planet works brilliantly. The Foreigner universe is ultimately about the developing of lexicons, or translations, or techniques for relating to the Other. In that venture it continues to delight. The series has some of the best, most complex and well developed alien spcies in science fiction, and it’s able to do that without leaving humanity completely in the dust either.

Better than: Defender by C. J. Cherryh
Worse than: A Deepness Upon the Sky by Vernor Vinge

The World At the End of Time

2010-06-29T12:09:00.000-07:00

Frederik Pohl

A mixed bag. Starts out quite slow and generic--practically a textbook Pohl scenario and a protagonist very similar to what he's offered before. It becomes more engaging about a hundred pages in, showing the gradual transformation of the human settlement and the long-term challenges they have to confront. The frequent interludes with the alien intelligence that's posing all these problems is quite flat, however--far too familiar an archetype and rendered with a preponderance of stylistic humor that grates. It feels after a certain point less like use of sharp character moments and humor as a part of the story and more a way of marking time while we check in with the big science fictional developments that overhaul the setting. Even though I haven’t seen this specific formula of galactica alien civil war and long-term growth of a planetary colony, but in the way events deveop and the style by which change grows it feels like I have. What keeps it grounded to an extent is Pohl’s commitment to humanity, his focus on delivering a story rather than flattering fan sentiment or groving some path that only interests him. Overall one of Pohl's less engaging novels, but it’s worthwhile to look at it and see that even in his weaker aspects the things that prevent Pohl from deliveirng a dull or structurally failed novel. So far I haven’t seen a work that falls into the narrative pit that infected even Clarke and Asimov’s later writing, and that became the stock in trade on a grandiose scale for Heinlein’s later career. Given that, there’s perhaps more reason to regard Pohl as a well balanced science fiction author worth taking seriously as one of the greats. Even when he writes at his most dosjointed and predictible, he’s still not bad, and that’s worth celebrating.

Worse than: The Space Merchants by Frederik Pohl and C. M. Kornbluth
Better than: Harbringer by Jack Skillingstead

Magic Seeds

2010-06-29T12:08:00.000-07:00

V. S. Naipaul

Nobel laureate. A rather odd book, less a real story than a drawn out circumstance of dialog, general country descriptions and opportunities to render the intricate backstory of its main character. It works pretty well, though, because all of these elements are well done, and the book sustains an energy that made this a fast read. In terms of big insights the work is a bit modest on that score, but the juxtaposition of different parts of the past and reflection on the process of memory has its thematic weight, and the description of the foreign (to me) society has its intricate and affecting aspects.

Worse than: The New Life by Orhan Damuk
Better than: Growth of the Soil by Knut Hamsun

End of the World Blues

2010-06-29T12:07:00.001-07:00

John Courtney Grimwood

I'm intending to read the two sequels to Pashazade, but I was curious to see how Grimwood's plots and writing nuances would play out in something not that part of the series, so I did this one, largely a character-centered thriller set in the near future. I found it significantly less interesting, mildly good but not a very impressive novel. For one thing, here it seemed to wear the forms of a thriller, a murder mystery and cyberpunk far more directly without as much interesting variation. As well, the worldbuilding here is pretty meager--it's near-future, and the world of 2018 looks excessively similar to the world in 2007 (continuing war in Iraq, fear over terrorism and some new tech). It recalls Richard Morgan in a number of ways, particularly it’s fairly violent, ultra-sexualized intense personal narrative. It didn’t seem to have as good a handle on the deconstructive elements of the narrative as Morgan does, and didn’t seem interested in contextualizing masculinity or militancy to the same extent. In large part the story appeared to devolve just to what was on the surface. While there were other components and ambiguties going on these weren’t enough to transform or significantly deepeen the main story. So what the story is left with is some interesting character work, questions of self-ambiguity and a plot that was engaging but fairly flimsy. The whole venue left me somewhat underwhelmed.

Worse than: Pashazade by John Courtney Grimwood
Better than: The Love We Share Without Knowing by Christopher Barzak

Greed

2010-06-29T12:06:00.000-07:00

Eldriede Jelinek

Book by a Nobel Laureate, disturbing and powerful. Very dark subject matter, and it’s not the type of book that’s compelling and effective in spite of this. Rather it’s a great novel precisely because it jumps straight on into some very dark subjects, moving unflinching into the disturbed patterns of misogny, didsgust, masochism and sadism that drive character snetiments in the story. The environment is contemporary rural Austria, although much of the story isn’t bound to that particular locale, and what renders it distinct is less the foreigness of the environment than the particular authorial view proivded, the deep and unsympathetic focus given to drawn out character encounters. It’s a book where the relation of people to each other drives the pace, or rather how people relate to others as objects, seeking exploitation, benefit, making use of, with an enormous distance from any real sentiment or emotional connection. That disconnect emerges particularly forcefully in the presentation of sex, of which there is a great deal in the novel, much of it disturbing and morally troubling, the rest merely disquieting. In any case, however, it’s undeniably intense, and provides a very strong sense of how materiality can function, how the limits of bodies becomes the defining aspect of all one’s perspective on the world, and how this view distorts the main psychology. That all this fetishization and pain/pleasure melding is rendered because of modern consumer-driven capitalism is made quite clear without having to be made at all preachy. Greed was a consistently disturbing novel, but that was completely intentional, and it shakes up expectations in a way I feel works, politically and aesthetically. Also distinguished by great quality of writing and a simply extraordinary command over voice. One of the best Nobel laureates I’ve yet read.

Worse than: The Sleepwalkers by Hermann Broch
Better than: The New Life by Orhan Damuk

Russia: Travels and Studies

2010-06-29T12:05:00.002-07:00

Annette Meakin

"The peasant women of Great Russia are not as a rule so good-looking as the men. I attribute this to the great proportion of Finnish blood in their veins. In all purely Mongol races the men are the handsomer sex." (Meakin, 57) Very similar format to most other nineteenth century travel accounts in Russia, down to the rather bland and undistinguishable title. The work is different from others of the era on Russia by at least three major facets. 1. A less criticial view on the society than was the norm. 2. An even heavier emphasis than was typical on studying women and assessing their conditions. 3. A more modest situatng of this travel account in the wider field, Meakin doesn’t claim to be delivering unique insight into the true soul of Russia.

Defender

2010-06-29T12:05:00.001-07:00

C. J. Cherryh

Things heat up even further, and the revelations in this one serve to put the coup attempt in "Precusor" as well as the larger behavior of the Phoenix in a lot more context. This one reminded me a lot of the revelation in Cyteen of the Gehenna project, although things play out a lot more quickly and decisively in this case. As a disclosure driving the plot it's surprisingly effective, and the speculations at the end that Tabini might be a genuine menace are quite well done. Each volume of the series seems to add more complexity and effective unfolding of the setting. At this volume the stuff with Bren's family starts to grate a bit, and there are a couple things about the deathbead confession that seem a little implausible. At points one can see the author moving in the text to push thngs along, and even while the revelations shed some effect light on the space-born side of things the actual manner in which information is shared seems a bit strained. However, overall another improvement for the series, and shows an admirable amount of momentum and interest for the middle volume of a trilogy and fifth volume of a series.

Better than: The Algebraist by Iain M. Banks
Worse than: Use of Weapons by Iain M. Banks

The Age of Empire

2010-06-29T12:04:00.000-07:00

E. J. Hobsbawm

Part of Hobsbawm’s magnus oprus on the history of Europe. Focusing in largely on economic facets he delivers an effective survey with some good identification of main socio-political structures. The work does sufferr from being somewhat dated and being a bit plodding in style, but overall retains its force as a major piece of systemic history.

The New Life

2010-06-29T12:03:00.000-07:00

Orhan Damuk

Noblel Laureate. Awesome book, extremely engaging, unique, fast moving and funny. Starts with a teenage Turkish boy reading a specific book. It transforms his life, launches him on some rather cult-like devotion to the text, and also propells him on a road trip across Turkey. A lot of fast-faced ssatire and engaging encounters depicting modern life ensue. The characterization is pitch perfect, and carries with a lot of energy and inherent interest. The plot was engaging, at the edge of incoherent, but ultimately felt strong. Very little complaint here, and I enjoyed it in a way that makes it difficult to really pick apart or analyze extensively.

Better than: Detective Story by Imre Kertesz
Worse than: Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell