Liam RW Doyle
Classic Jack Campbell. If you like the Lost Fleet series, this is more of the same. And I love it! It's comfortable and familiar because of that. And I love how we see the far, far beginning of the Alliance and the Syndics... but particularly, the “ancestors” of the Lost Fleet characters that those characters are always fighting “for the honor of.” And as always, great, believable space combat!
A little disappointed. It took me a good quarter to a third of the book to really get into it, then about three quarters in I was back to slogging through it. Waiting for a plot, still. Some things happen, a lot of it seemingly improbable and off-stage. Until a climax that kind of jumps out from nowhere and leaves you wondering exactly what happened, what does it mean, and do I even care. Sadly, it's my least favorite Gibson book.
I was recommended this book from a Goodreads forum for good horror novels; so, after seeing how many stars it has on Goodreads and Amazon, I was excited to get my hands on a copy. I did my usual “Let's read a couple of chapters and see if it grabs me,” and before I realized it, I was 1/3 done. (It's a fast read.) But by that point, I had to really think whether I wanted to even continue. I read that much in one evening, and so far there's only one book I've ever read that I've intentionally stopped reading, so I figured I'd shoot through this one just to see what happens.
I didn't realize it when I got it, but EERIE is a self-published novel. After the first couple of pages, I got a feeling and checked the publishing page and discovered that detail. It certainly could have used an editor! The writing was mediocre at best, and littered with illogical actions and embarrassing gaffes. For example (not a big spolier), a character's hands get soaked in blood. Then, he sits down with his head in his hands, thinking about what just happened. His head should be smeared with blood now, right? He talks to someone who takes a while to notice the blood on his hands–evidently no blood on his head. Gaffes like that that would have been caught by beta readers at least, if not an editor.
Then, the ending. It felt like the authors wrote without a plan until they got themselves stuck with how to end it. Then, came up with an ending that sort of explained everything that happened before... but very, very poorly. It's not that it's just a twist – twists are OK. But this was pulled out of their...hat, and run through a deus ex machina machine. Nothing that happens in the last quarter of the novel matches up with what went on before. It was a cheat. And the final ending, the fate of some of the characters, make no logical sense at all regarding why what happened did. There's holes and questions abound. Not your standard, “Ooh, that's ambiguous–I need to think about that” way that's a good thought-provoking ending, but in a “WTF?!” sort of way.
(Here's what bugs me: As a self-published author myself, and huge supporter of independent publishing, I agree that what is vital to the legitimacy of independent publishing is good editing, quality control. Which is why I workshopped my novel, got beta readers, edited the heck out of it. But this EERIE book reads like it hadn't, and yet, has 4/5 stars! (Not to mention the success of the “50 Shades” books and Amanda Hocking.) Makes you wonder if the naysaying of the defenders of the status quo, the established system, is irrelevant when obviously poor novels like these can still be so popular.)
This was a huge surprise of a book! John Scalzi is a favorite author of mine, and an inspiration to my own writing. And based on the description of the novel and much of what I'd been hearing about it, I thought this was going to be a purely fun, action-packed, quirky romp. And, indeed, the first two-thirds certainly had a lot of that! But then, starting at the end of the main story and carrying through into the three codas, the book takes a very serious turn that left me both inspired and emotionally wracked. The codas are, from what I've read of his, the most sentimental (in the good way, not the sentimentality-bad way) stuff he's written.
What's funny (not in the ha-ha way), is that I did read some reviews of the novel before hand, to get an idea of the book before I bought it, trying to not spoil myself. And, I read a lot of comments saying that, “This is a great book! Until the stupid codas. They're pointless and totally don't fit.” A lot of those kind of comments. So, I was prepared to enjoy the satirical and fun first two-thirds of the main story, and then just kinda gloss over the rest. Whoa, was I wrong! No... boy are those comments absolutely wrong! See, despite the fact that most of the book is the story of a bunch or “red shirts” on a space shift figuring out newbies on the ship tend to die on away missions and figuring out how to overcome this apparent curse, that's not the real story. In fact, I see that as the preface for the real story, which is the three codas! The sci-fi action story is a necessary setup for the themes and conflict that are dealt with in the codas which investigate the nature of finding yourself. Discovering who you are, what you want to be and do, and how you deal with the life you're “given.”
I really can't say more without spoilering the book. And this is a book that I highly and heavily recommend reading! It's a short book, and very fast – you could probably read it all in a day and evening. I would recommend listening to the audiobook as Wil Wheaton (also no stranger to star ships and red shirts), does a fine job! Although, I don't agree with some of his inflection and tone choices. Until He gets to the codas. Then, I can't imagine anyone else reading it. He's absolutely brilliant, and I'd recommend anyone listening through the first part in order to hear Wil Wheaton read the codas. He's an actor, so very possibly the emotion I hear in his voice toward the end of the last coda is acting... but I don't think so. I think, considering what and how he talks about his own life in his blogs, he's truly feeling the emotion of that last coda, and it's bringing tears to my eyes right now as I remember it.
Read Redshirts. Even if you're not a sci-fi fan, even if you don't think you'll get the satire and the in-jokes. That's okay. Remember, the main action story is just a prelude for some of the best contemporary literary fiction that is the core of the book.
Year Zero is about the wacky hijinks of aliens, and their human copyright lawyer, trying to deal with the recently discovery that they owe the Earth literally the entire universe's wealth in music licensing fees for all the music they've been pirating for the last 40 years. It was written by Rob Reid who is no stranger to the world of music and copyright law. The very, very absurd and ridiculous world of music and copyright law. This farcical and comedic novel is a perfect foil to point up just how comedic (in a black comedy sort of way) the reality of the subject is. In fact, the slowest parts of this fast-paced novel is where copyright law and licensing are discussed. But the thing is, the real subject – the revolving-door lobbying, the absurd legal penalties, the paranoid and spiteful barriers to licensing improvement – is so absurd that it actually doesn't take away from the farcical fiction of the story.
One of the ups and downs of the book is just how much it tries, tries hard, to emulate Douglas Adams. Maybe not quite a “Hitchhiker's Guide” novel, but at least a “Dirk Gently” novel. At times Reid handles it quite well and I laughed aloud at the pun or slapstick or wacky description, but much of the time, I listened with a small smirk the occasional eye-roll and groan. The novel bounces around from clever to silly to clever quite a bit, and the number of times aliens are depicted saying, “Well, duh!” got a little tired. ...and then, like a Family Guy gag, it was to over-used that it almost became funny again.
In any case, it was a fun read, well written despite the groan-worthy puns. I hate puns!
I stopped reading Accelerando, but not permanently. (Not like Dies the Fire, the probable inspiration for the upcoming TV show, “Revolution.” That book is the only one that I've put down mid-way and said, “Nope! I'm done, thank you. No more.”) It really is a fascinating book that depicts the coming singularity, the advent of the posthuman age, in a believable and detailed manner. Unfortunately, I'm finding it a bit too dense, too inscrutable when it comes to the detailed, and far too often, explanations of intellectual property rights and venture investing and whatnot.
In contrast, Glasshouse, like Halting State, is more action and adventure. Where Accelerandoexplains the posthuman rise, Glasshouseexists in it. We don't need to be told what's happening, it just happens. In the opening pages, the first scene, the reader is thrust right in the middle of a strange, new existence where bodies are interchangeable and minds can be backed up and restored. At first, you have no idea if the characters are players in an advanced online RPG, a virtual reality, or what. But soon we come to accept that this setting is post-Earth, post-human, post-normal expectations of what it means to have a body or even an identity. The protagonist, Robin, goes through a crisis of identity involving his past life (lives – in the metaphorical sense, not any metaphysical “reincarnation” sense), while at the same time dealing with his current situation as a test subject in a closed environment meant to simulate late 20th, early 21st century Earth.
One of the most clever conceits of this novel is making most of it take place in a setting that's vaguely familiar to the reader, if a bit askew (like a collision between the village from “The Prisoner” and the town from “Leave it to Beaver,” with Shirley Jackson's “The Lottery” and an Ikea display showroom), and allowing that to counterpoint the characters and their floundering in this environment. We can understand the posthuman world better because of the way the characters who live in that foreign world react to the things and ways of our world–and at the same time provides the cognitive estrangement needed to examine our own ways and mores with their arbitrary restrictions and customs.
Meanwhile, Robin must solve a couple of mysteries, one involving who these people are running the experiment, and the other involving his missing memories.
Glasshouse is well-written and moves reasonably quick, but there are annoying moments where characters occasionally do or say something odd that pulled me out of the book. Whether it was something that was unmotivated, or awkwardly phrased, I found moments that my reading ground to a halt, I would have to go back and re-read the passage to see if I missed something, and just ended up shrugging and moving on. Fortunately, that was a rare occurrence. The only other complaint, is that some of Robin's background and history would be presented in flashback with teasingly little in the way of context and explanation. This is fine, when explanation does eventually come and the tangles and loose ends get wrapped up; however, too much of his flashback went unexplained for too long, making it difficult to understand how it motivated some of his fears and goals. By the end, when the whole story starts to come together, I felt it was too late to make me really grasp who he was and what was going on in the past.
Indeed, difficult not just in understanding Robin, but the history of the book as well. The greater wars and conflicts that happened before the novel begins, which helped shape the condition of transhumanity in this story. Some of it in intentional, as, and this is difficult to explain without spoilers, much of history is actually lost to the characters and must, therefore, be lost to us readers. But I feel as though there are too many holes that Stross let go in the backstory that I really needed to have filled before the climax.
Stross and his works appeal to me because of my own keen interest in the topic of post- and transhumanity. It's been a focus on my own graduate work (and, hopefully, will be the focus of my doctorate work when I finally get to attend Trent University. Oh, yes–one day I shall!), my writing, and my hobbies. I've written recently on my love for the pencil-and-dice RPG, Eclipse Phase. The creators of that game, set in a quasi-posthuman universe, have listed Charles Stross as a “writer to watch,” and it's no wonder why: I don't think it's unfair to say that Eclipse Phase was heavily influenced by Glasshouse (and Accelerando), as much as it was inspired by Richard Morgan's Altered Carbon, and maybe a bit by Cory Doctorow's Down and Out in the Magic Kingdom. (I really want to see reputation (i.e. Doctorow's “wuffie”) used more as currency and capital n the game!)
So I just finished Patrick Rothfuss's second “Kingkiller Chronicles” novel, Wise Man's Fear. In general, not quite as good as Name of the Wind, but still a brilliant novel. Rothfuss has a command of the language and ability to paint with words that's just awe inspiring. I'm not going to be spoilery in this, well, more of a reaction than a full review. But I must be specific in mention how, in Wise Man, there's a picnic scene near the end that is heartbreakingly beautiful and, and gut wrenchingly tragic. Rothfuss is able to manipulate emotion with words the same way his Kvothe can do it with song. Even the almost-Tom Bombadil-superfluous segment of his adventures in the land of fey is a roller-coaster of drama.
One of the things about Name of the Wind that kept me on the edge of my seat and constantly unsettled (in a good way), is the way he constantly changes the fortunes of his picaresque hero on a dime. One minute Kvothe is doing something so brilliantly, he succeeds at something so skillfully, that I would be shaking my head incredulously if not for being thrilled by the process of success. A success that almost invariable makes me think in some small voice, “Oh, that's a bit too convenient. He can't lose, now!” And then, before the thought is fully formed–wham! Kvothe is blindsided by a problem, an issue, a challenge, a loss that is actually worse than the previous success was wonderful, in such a way as to make me gasp and wonder, instead, “Yikes! How the heck is he going to recover from that? That's really going to cost him.” And then, what follows, is an entirely believable and well-earned overcoming of misfortune.
The one problem I had with Name of the Wind was that the ending felt anti-climactic. But, when you consider, it's really meant to simply be a first act, it works okay–especially since I was able to carry right on into the next book.
The problem(s) I had with Wise Man's Fear is that it felt too much like his escapades were unearned, and Marty Stu-ish. Such as the afore-mentioned time in fey with a “lust goddess.”
[caption id=”attachment_608” align=”alignnone” width=”300” caption=”“When Larry Met Mary””][/caption]
(Oh, that's funny. Re-reading that comic's title, I just realized realized the very connection to the complaint I just made above! Duh! [Larry Stu is another name for Marty Stu, which are both variants of Marry Sue. See trope link.])
And then his excursion into the realm of, yeah, what's essentially the equivalent of a ninja-factory, and all the fantasy sexinating he does there. (Another tangent: His time there reminded me way too much of the hero Anjin-san's sexedumacation of the free and lusty way of feudal Japan in James Clavell's Shogun.) It just didn't have the same realism of the first book.
But then, what we're reading in these two books, is the bildungsroman of a man who would become a legend, a subject of fantastic tales. He has to develop as a young man from urchin to world-wise proto-myth. He has to have the adventures and experience to create the mythic figure. And, I said before he doesn't seem to earn the rather too-good-to-be-true romps, and as I think of it, he does... but doesn't. sigh
Before he enters fey (like, literally stumbles into it from out of nowhere), he has an experience during a fight that is rather horrific. It's horrific for him, and it's wonderfully and properly horrific for the reader. On the surface it's an event that should be worthy of a positive turn for him. A piece of Kvothe's “soul,” if not his sanity, should have been harmed in that event. But, then, really, it's not. Rothfuss creates this event, this scene, that should have been extremely formative to Kvothe's psyche, but it's dropped almost as soon as it's over. He does have a very negative event in fey with an enchanted tree (not as silly as it sounds–it's described quite wonderfully!) that does in fact harm him and he carries the pain through the rest of the book. But, in my opinion, the tree event is a far lesser terror than what happens in the battle, and the lasting reactions and terribly flipped.
...unless, it's intentional. Unless the the reason why Kvothe is able to shrug off the one and let the other emotionally haunt him, is very telling of the kind of man he becomes. If so, well, it needs to be more apparent in book three.
And, speaking of the man he becomes, this is the last thing that bothers me: The books are the story of Kvothe's early life wrapped around a frame narrative of the man that he became telling his story. But the man in the “present” is constantly shifting, as if Rothfuss isn't very solid on who Kvothe is these years later. One minute he feels like he's in his 50s and has done and seen many great things before essentially retiring, and the next minute, he's only a couple years older than the character he's telling the story of. It's very shaky.
Okay, the criticism aside, Wise Man's Fear, not as good as Name of the Wind, is still one of the best fantasy books I've read. The emotion feels so authentic, the drama is compelling, the dialog is extremely believable, the writing is endlessly skillful yet completely painless to read. The wait for book three has been two days long for me and is already interminable!
(As usual, I'll try to keep it non-spoilery to begin with, and then if I have to talk about spoilery things, I'll keep that for the end and with decent warning.)
I don't like to recap novels, you can go read what it's about somewhere else. But the short of it is it's a noir mystery novel set a few hundred years in the future, and told by the protagonist “detective,” Takeshi Kovacs. He's a reconditioned ex-special forces-esque soldier with a shadowy past, skeletons in closets, grudges tightly held, and a pencahant for losing his temper and killing people. But that's OK, sorta, because in the future, death is rarely permanent. Most everyone has a “stack,” a computer chip in the brain that holds their identity, memory, personailty, and should you die (and not be a Catholic), you can be re-sleeved in a new body. (So long as your stack remains undamaged. However, Kovacs ocassionally finds the need to damage stacks.) He's been given an offer he can't refuse, literally, to solve the suicide of a wealthy “Meth,” or a Methuselah – a person who's been around for a couple hundred years or so. Hired, of course, by the victim who doesn't believe his own death was a suicide.
And so begins Kovacs' tale of pavement-beating detective work while being gunned for by crazy assassins, tortured by people he gets in the way of, and involved in love affairs (or just pheromone-enhanced sexcapades) with girlfriends of the man whose body he's wearing and wives (singular, actually) of clients (also, singular). Yeah, it gets pretty crazy, plot-wise. But one of the great things about Altered Carbon is how it keeps the twists and turns well-organized, easy to follow (with some furrowed eyebrows), and more or less within the realm of internal consistency. Very impressive for a first novel, by the way!
(Pause for scene cut...) Yikes! Since I started this review, I've read and finished another novel and started another! If I'm going to have any hope of getting reviews out the door, I need to keep them quick and superficial.
So, general thoughts: Basically, Altered Carbon is like a marriage of a Charles Stross novel with early 80s William Gibson. Morgan creates a future world where, because of the ability to re-sleeve your mind, life has become cheap and the commodification of the human has reached an apex. Or at least a crisis moment. The plot is superficially a noir in which the hero is a reluctant near-anti-hero who, thanks to becoming a target of the “bad guys,” takes the case personally, and jumps from femme fatale to femme fatale to get closer to his goals.
The writing was extremely compelling, expertly balancing descriptive and utilitarian. Morgan writes so you can easily picture the people and places, almost smell and touch it. The pacing was excellent with even the “slow parts” situated and developed within the narrative so as to remain compelling. While it's a relatively thick novel, I read through it and a good clip, and never found myself lost or confused as to what was going on.
The posthuman elements and the depiction of future technology was quite convincing and believable, although we only see a very narrow slice of this future world, depicting both the lifestyles of the ultra-rich and the seedy underbelly of the dispossessed and terminally exploited. Nothing of the in-between classes.
And, for that matter, neither did the early cyberpunk of Gibson. His goal was to show the machinations and motivations of the corporate capitalists which controlled humanity, and the lower-class of people who were the only ones with the relative freedom to fight the system. Altered Carbon inhabits the same essential world.
In closing, I had dog-eared a few pages where something that resonated with my Marxist-materialist Critical Theory outlook jumped out at me. Granted, the entire novel is a critique of postmodern capitalism (again, just as cyberpunk in general is), but here are a few passages that really stood out. Instead of commenting on them, I present them as-is:
But this was worse than personal. This was about Louise, alias Anenome, cut up on a surgical platter; about Elizabeth Elliott stabbed to death and too poor to be re-sleeved; Irene Elliott, weeping for a body that a corporate rep wore on alternate months; Victor Elliott, whiplashed between loss and retrieval of someone who was and yet was not the same woman. This was about a young black man facing his family in a broken-down, middle-aged white body; it was about Virginia Vidaura walking disdainfully into storage with her head held high and a last cigarette polluting lungs she was about to lose, no doubt to some other corporate vampire. It was about Jimmy de Soto, clawing his own eye out in the mud and fire at Innenin, and the millions like him throughout the Protectorate, painfully gathered assemblages of individual human potential, pissed away into the dung-heap of history. For all these, and more, someone was going to pay. (437)
“The value of it. The value of a human life.” Kawahara shook her head like a teacher with an exasperating student. “You are still young and stupid. Human life has no value. Haven't you learned that yet, Takeshi, with all you've seen? It has no value, intrinsic to itself. Machines cost money to build. Raw materials cost money to extract. But people?” She made a tiny spitting sound. “You can always get some more people. They reproduce like cancer cells, whether you want them or not. They are abundant, Takeshi. Why should they be valuable? Do you know that it costs us less to recruit and use up a real snuff whore than it does to set up and run the virtual equivalent format. Real human flesh is cheaper than a machine. It's the axiomatic truth of our times.” (491-92)
“Kristin, nothing ever does change.” I jerked a thumb back at the crowd outside. “You'll always have morons like that, swallowing belief patterns whole so they don't have to think for themselves. You'll always have people like Kawahara and the Bancrofts to push their buttons and cash in on the program. People like you to make sure the game runs smoothly and the rules don't get broken too often. And when the Meths want to break the rules themselves, they'll send people like Trepp and me to do it. That's the truth, Kristin. It's been the truth since I was born a hundred and fifty years ago and from what I read in the history books, it's never been any different. Better get used to it.” (524)