Shawn Rider
It's easy to see why this novel has been getting so much acclaim. It is gripping, fast-paced, and incredibly relevant. It brings a grim sense of humor to its story, and walks a path between mystery-thriller and comedy-horror.
The expanding of the plot at the end and non-specific conclusion is something I'm still wrestling with. On one hand, it seems to make the rest of the story less "serious." On the other hand, it sort of gives a weird symbolic meaning to the story that feels very rooted in contemporary pop culture.
This is an absolutely horrifying book in many ways, yet strangely understated. It manages to both describe a world in which the most gruesome possible acts are glossed over and made palatable (literally!) through euphemism. The veil of prose also allows the reader to maintain enough distance to read the novel, and the overall effect of feeling lulled into tolerating the actions in the story is discomforting. I didn't have trouble completing the book, in fact it pulled me along rather well, but it definitely stretched the limits.
The ending does throw me off. I would otherwise appreciate it as a subversive story that conveys its world effectively to the reader. With the ending, it gives the whole thing a more simplistic twist that, unfortunately, almost requires me to see the story as much less than I felt it was during the reading.
This is a book for book lovers. It is both full of fan-service to those of us who deeply love reading and who read voraciously, and a really engaging story of transition that beautifully captures our often ugly moment in time. The story is well told, the characters are lovable, and the emotions felt throughout are real.
The quote that stands out to me even a few weeks after reading is, “Books contain everything worth knowing except what ultimately matters.” Thinking of that in the context of 2020 and the Trump years and what has come after, I feel like it is so apt to describe our situation. We can argue with facts and evidence as much as we want, but if people are motivated by fantasy or emotion, that's what governs their actions. In the end, there is no way to document “understanding” on the page.
The Power is well-deserving of all the praise that it has received. I am a bit late to the party on this, but couldn't skip it thanks to all the recommendations I got from friends to read it. I'm glad I listened to them.
The story of women developing a power that is strong enough to allow them to undo the forces of patriarchy is engaging, thoughtful, and well-paced. It keeps you trotting along at a rapid speed, but avoids feeling too lightweight or superficial. I applaud Alderman's ability to let the blank spaces carry so much weight, since this book feels very much like an ongoing conversation about gender, equality, history, and justice, but it never hits too hard as didactic or preachy. That is a singularly difficult task, and probably the thing I admire the most about this book.
To anyone who reads this as a screed against men, that is somewhat true. And not without warrant. But you cannot call this a purely pro-feminine story, either.
As the frame story makes clear, Alderman shows us that an inverted oppressive situation is not that different from the original situation to the observer (although it changes a lot for the people involved). She depicts a cycle of violent matriarchy that mirrors the previous epoch of violent patriarchy.
The exploration of how power (literal “power”) changes dynamics in large and small ways is deep, and hidden below a surface of smart, lean prose that pulls the reader forward. It is a book full of terrifying lows and gut-wobbling highs. Read it.
Marlon James' second book in the Darkstar Trilogy tells the story covered in the first book, Black Leopard, Red Wolf (BLRW), but this time from the point of view of Sogolon, the Moon Witch and sometimes adversary of the previous book's protagonist, Tracker (aka Wolf Eye). At first, I was unsure how I felt about learning the same story again from another perspective, but after the first few chapters that fear dissapated. Moon Witch, Spider King (MWSK) is a wholly unique and standalone book in its own right, dovetailing tightly with the previous book, but accessible even to readers who have not read BLRW. It is an epic story that goes far before the events of BLRW and provides such a significantly different context for that story that it really changes my understanding of the world, the characters, and the events I previously read about.
The explosion of imagination and new mythologies is evident here, just as in BLRW, and I imagine first-time readers of this series will feel similar disorientation giving way to marvel as they learn about all of these fantastic beasts, monsters, and people James populates into his world. He weaves epic fantasy histories of nations with personal stories so poignant they bring a tear to the eye. His world is brutal, but not without kindness, and dangerous, but not without heroes. Of course, his heroes are rarely the polished knights in shining armor we see in so many fantasy novels. They are flawed humans, and demi-humans, themselves. They are born into the world as ignorant of its operations as anyone else, and they are struggling to make sense and meaning of their lives just like everyone else. In this way, James' characters are relatable even as they are completely magical and fantastic.
James is an incredible writer. He weaves complex plotlines and complex characterizations, often setting up payoffs in terms of realization and knowledge attainment that don't come for hundreds of pages and feel all the better for their long run-up. Halfway through BLRW I began to wonder if James or Tracker hated women because of the way Tracker constantly derides women and witches. Two thirds into BLRW Sogolon calls Tracker out on his misogyny, and I realized that James was constructing the character this way. After reading MWSK, there is no doubt that the anipathy for women I sensed was coming entirely from Tracker, and that energy provides really interesting turns and subtleties of characterization. James explores ideas of prejudice and discrimination in many ways throughout his novels, and this is no exception. That he is willing to imbue his characters with such incredible vulnerability and obvious weakness is a testament to his skill in drawing an entire world.
I cannot recommend MWSK enough. It is, in several ways, a more readable book than BLRW, especially if you've already become familiar with the world James creates in the Darkstar Trilogy. But even without previous experience, I would guess this book, with the much more linear narrative and somewhat less gruesome content, will be a common entry-point to the series for many readers.
There are many things to discuss in this book, and in relation to BLRW. But this is not a thesis, so I'll leave that for other forums. I love what James is bringing to the pantheon of Fantasy literature. I'm more than happy to welcome him to my bookshelf.
My only disappointment is that I have a hard time seeing how this is not my favorite book of the year, yet it came out so early. I feel like every other book this year will have a hard time matching the energy and enthusiasm James creates in me for his characters and story.
I was introduced to Stephen Graham Jones through My Heart is a Chainsaw, which I read last summer. That book was good, but this one is exceptional. I very much appreciate the way he subverted my expectations as a reader and kept me on my toes the whole book. This is a novel that stretches far beyond the constraints of its genre, and I highly recommend it.
The stories here range from slightly fantastic to very science-fiction. I am new to Vandana Singh, and I find her stories a bit ephemeral and strange. The setting is mostly new to me, and her portraits of regular life in India already provide a vivid portrayal of something I know nothing about. Combined with the fantastic, speculative, and magical realist elements of her stories, the result is a collection that often left me feeling decentered and thinking for a long time about what I had just read. The title story, for instance, is an absolute standout that should be on the TBR list for any scifi or speculative fiction fan. It should be in anthologies.
These stories challenge in terms of form and content. The language is lush enough to be caught up in, but the actual plots and characters demand more contemplation. Singh's stories do not clobber you with life lessons, but they are naturally imbued with deep and resonant truths about humanity, how we treat each other, what we owe each other, and more. Everything from the nature of colonialism to religious terrorism is presented in these stories, in deeply affecting and resonant ways.
Leone Ross has created a vivid, magical (literally) world in Popisho, which explores questions of love, loss, and obligation from a number of perspectives. The protagonist is a “macaenus” – master chef – of the highest regard with an addiction to eating moths and a wounded heart from mourning his dead wife. When the governor demands a traditional wedding feast prepared for his daughter's wedding, the macaenus begins his preparations, which lead him all across the island and expose many elements of intrigue and passion.
It is hard to summarize the many delightful and incredible details brought to life within Popisho. It is a land where everyone has a magical power, tho it may range from earth-shattering to mundane. Macaenus has the power to season food exactly right. Others have the ability change the colors of objects, to feel when others are lying, or to walk through walls. Ross draws characters quickly and effectively, filling her story with strong women, heartbroken men, and passionate revolutionaries.
The start of the story is a little slow and touches on many plotlines. But once the big calamity (not a spoiler) happens things coalesce into a fast-paced and compelling narrative. It is a story of women's power, of obligation and responsibility, and of freedom. It is an absolutely beautiful read.
Sayaka Murata is new to me, but I will be looking out for more of her work in translation (she is Japanese). Like the excellent “Convenience Store Woman,” this story focuses on an atypical young woman who finds herself caught up in a tragedy, a mystery, and a shocking, bizarre love triangle. The story is not for the feint of heart and contains graphic depictions of violence and depravity.
It is a stark, powerful rebuke of many (most) modern cultural values (or at least Japanese cultural values) and hearkens back to the heritage of shock-genres across all forms. It plays on the edge of real/magical, and succeeds at presenting a distinctly different protagonist in pretty much all ways. This is a big part of what makes Murata such an interesting writer: She is deft at presenting both neuroatypical and misfit (sometimes both) characters in a way that makes them compelling. Although these characters are nowhere near as lovable as Convenience Store Woman, I can see the same authorial presence.
If you're looking to be both “grossed” and “engrossed” then I highly recommend reading.
This book has stuck with me through several months and keeps coming up in conversations. It is relevant to an intense degree, but also timeless. The cli-fi concepts seem precient, and it does feel like Bell has an extraordinary ability to grasp the nuances of the climate crisis at all levels: from planet to individual.
Also extraordinary is Bell's ability to craft characters and scenes out of so little, yet have them become so meaningful. The approach keeps the story moving at a rapid pace, while still allowing for more philosophical themes to run throughout. This feels more appropriate as an environmental story for the modern era than anything else I've read so far. It should be on everyone's list this year.
Sorrowland is an incredible creation: The story of Vern, a super-powered woman escaping a life of repression in a community of radical Black religious conservatives, it pulls together themes of race, heritage, gender, and obligation. Vern gives birth to twins at the outset of the story, and raises them throughout. She depends on others, is betrayed, and eventually learns the truth behind the community she was rasied in and the powers that have blossomed within her.
It is a book that is surprising in many ways: Surprisingly political. Surprisingly emotional. Surprisingly sexy. It moves and works its path efficiently and keeps the reader turning pages.
I cannot recommend Sorrowland enough. I look forward to reading more from Rivers Solomon in the future.
I enjoyed the film-like approach to World War Z and was disappointed the actual movie didn't come out feeling as much like an independent documentary as the book. Here, the formula is tweaked and the narrative is built around a longer ongoing series of journal entries from a woman who experiences the freak attack of Sasquatches. This is sort-of supposed to be a secret (I think?) but also so obvious from the outset that it seems like it is trying to build suspense and fear in the open.
Overall the whole thing falls flat. The journal entries are intercut with other interviews and text fragments, which is something in common with World War Z. In this case, tho, these fragments are less engaging or informative.
The story is also hindered by pretty wooden characterization relying on a lot of contemporary stereotypes and dubious pop culture references. The prose is unimaginative. In the end, the whole thing is just kind of boring.
I really wanted to enjoy this one, and I love the idea of a pro skater telling real stories. There are certainly a lot of great stories to be told, real and fictional. Unfortunately, the route Walker Ryan takes here is a mostly pedestrian retelling of the most common stories in skating: the vague junky redemption arc, the glossed-over Nyjah “rise up” arc, and a lot of angsty almost-middle-aged filler. Even though Ryan clearly knows the history and details of the sport and culture, he doesn't come anywhere near telling a story as compelling as most Loveletters or Nine Club episodes. Instead of the mind-blowing narratives we read about in the history of skating, we get a much more mundane slice-of-life.
It's clear Ryan knows skating and the world around it. It's clear he's been somewhat thoughtful about the situations that grow around skate spots and the people who frequent them. He sees some of what skating can mean to people coming to it with different background and hopes. The best parts in the novel are where he is deep in description of tricks, lines, and describing the thrill of skating as only a former-pro skater could. These almost reach levels of wildlife or nature descriptions in other novels, or of the thrill of competition and struggle in high adventure stories.
Unfortunately, in the end, the writing is just not very good. The words on the page are not engaging. The characters lack depth and definition. They rely on slight caricatures and conglomerations of well-known figures in mainstream skating. Even Gary's wackiest exploit doesn't compare to Andy Roy. Dizzy Dev's story is a watered-down version of Nyjah's real story. And Henry Phillip's philosophizing is rank compared to actual words spoken by folks like Mullen and Grosso. If one were going to simply mash together skaters to make a definitive skate philosophy story, the cast of this novel would look very different.
In the end, I think Ryan wanted to tell a “real” story (of life in the big city – with drugs and hijinks) that used skateboarding in the way that Kids or Mid-90s used the culture. In the end, he has not created as good of a story or presentation as those other works.
A grim, tho far from grimmest, and tight story that embodies a post-apocalyptic western fiction. Like Cormac McCarthy meets Wallace Stegner. The prose is clear and sparse and conveys a psychological condition effectively. The narrative is compelling and draws the reader through. The grim apocalyptic story is cut through with meditations on nature and landscape, flying and fly fishing. It all fits together tightly and provides a very satisfying read.
I love how Ishiguro can write about the future and about things like robot friends and dystopic cityscapes in a way that feels old-fashioned and even “traditional.” It's a wonderful juxtaposition that brings light to bear upon lesser-explored facets of speculative fiction. In this case, the ruminations around destiny and religion and perception are so well-handled and delicately arranged. This is not a book that has an agenda it is pushing on you; nor is it a workbook for your self-improvement. It simply illuminates a series of scenes in a way that makes readers consider Klara, her motivations, and her perceptions of the world in a way that also reflects upon themselves.
Lots of valuable essays written by skaters talking about pretty much whatever skating inspires them to talk about. I enjoyed the photos and the personal essays. Some essays really bring to life the history and personalities that changed the world. Others are less life-changing, but it all builds to a really important collection of memoirs.
Octavia Butler creates a precient and compelling story of a slow-motion apocalypse and a young woman struggling to survive it. The story of Lauren Olamina follows her from childhood to adulthood, and along the way she encounters all sorts of challenges. There is no mistaking this as anything other than an apocalypse book, but the depiction feels so much more real and current than any other story I've read/seen.
The apocalypse in the Parable novels is a combination of climate crisis, corporate greed, whithering governmental capabilities, and growing population. Food shortages, wildfires, and divisive politicians all feature prominently, which makes it easy to see why these novels have hit so hard during the past few years, which have seen many echoes of the book in reality.
I can't believe it has taken me so long to read the Earthseed books, but I am very glad I have done so now. I highly recommend this novel and the sequel, Parable of the Talents.
Although it is a bit superficial and hints at several interesting topics to dig more deeply into, Our Band is a compelling historical biography of the bands that made some of the most influential indie music of the 1980s. I knew all of these bands to some extent, some better than others, but learned new things about every one of them. Azerrad is not really looking to “ask the hard questions,” but he does mention details that could fill other books with history and interpretation. The arrangement of essays fits neatly into a timeline that allows Azerrad to make some observations about the core features and qualities of indie music. But this is a casual history, not a dissertation, so his insights about the indie movement and how it would evolve are kept to a minimum. This is probably for the best, since the book already tops out at a hefty size without a lot of additional commentary. I started out assuming I'd skip some of the less-interesting bands, but Azerrad made each one worth reading and illuminated details that let me understand the value each group played in forming the overall picture of indie music in the 1980s.
On a more personal level, it is fascinating and inspiring to read about bands that affected me in real-time during the era. It reminded me of how revolutionary those sounds were, and how important it is to keep creating no matter how limited your resources are.
I read this book when it first came out and was struck by the satire, the clever writing, and the excellent artwork. It resonated deeply with me then, at the start of my career. Almost 10 years later, I keep coming back to this book, re-reading, and wanting to recommend it to friends. Chmiel's story gets to the heart of our modern world and work-life balance in a way that is immensely enjoyable. Lanz's illustrations are bold, somewhat reminiscent of woodblocks, and imbued with a strength that makes them feel timeless. If you can find a copy, get it, read it, and lend it to a friend.