Valerie

I'd been itching for some political fantasy, and this certainly fit the bill. If you're looking for a solid court intrigue story where everyone is in the morally questionable category, this is a great one. At times, the romantic elements felt a little stilted to me, but the overall story and exploration of Djinn mythology makes up for that. The ending definitely is set up for the sequels though, so don't read this if you just want a stand alone.

So if you're the type of person who likes neat endings with all your questions answered and characters achieving the goals for which they set out, this is not the trilogy for you.

If, however, you like books that leave the final analysis in your hands, that make you question and wonder and debate possible explanations, that are messy and open to interpretation, I can't recommend this series enough.

VanderMeer wraps up his Southern Reach Trilogy with this installment, and as the title implies, it involves a settling of a sort between Area X and the characters we've ment. Unlike the previous two books, this one is told through multiple perspectives, Ghost Bird and Control as well as the Director and the Lighthouse Keeper. It also slips through time more noticeably than the first two, back to pre-area X life and swirling in and out (as does time itself within Area X). Curve balls await around every corner and things the reader was never led to question turn out totally baseless. We can't understand because we are dealing with an intelligence utterly outside humanity's ability to interpret. The fact that this foreign element is represented by Mother Nature taking back what is hers makes me question exactly how much we understand the planet on which we all live. I love that VanderMeer pulls off this mysterious entity which catalyzes Area X in such a foreign way and that we, along with the characters, struggle to do the impossible: comprehend it.

The pacing swerves around in this one, but it still has plenty of that edge of your seat suspense from Annhiliation and the language is unique and definitely takes some thinking through. Once again, VanderMeer brings in a diverse cast without a cis, white male amongst the main players. This doesn't have any bearing on the plot (Charlie could just as easily be Charlene, but the inclusion of a gay character without his sexuality being a focus is a really nice change and makes the cast incredibly relatable.

Is it perfect? No. Is it confusing? Yes. Do I feel like I understand every aspect of it? Absolutely not. Do I still recommend it? Unquestioningly.

I really can't emphasize enough how much I love Murderbot. I listened to the whole series, then reread the 5th book for my book club, then evangelized this book to a new book club I just joined and got them to choose it for our first read, so I read it again. Murderbot is the most relatable human-bot construct I've ever read, and I hope Wells has many, many more adventures for it in the future.

After the last few books I've read sent me spiraling into depression, I looked at my shelf and thought, “what could bring me out of this?” Bruce Campbell, obviously. If you enjoyed “If Chins Could Kill,” you'll enjoy this one too. The memoir is a light-hearted romp through Bruce's post-Evil Dead/Brisco/Xena career including Bubba Ho-Tep, Burn Notice, and Ash vs. the Evil Dead. What's really fun is the myriad projects (many of which never get made) and fun stories in between. Shooting B horror in Bulgaria? Got it. Messing with meth-heads in the Oregon wilderness? Got it. It's a lot of fun, and you can read it in Bruce's voice which really helps to brighten any day.

I've been in a very Sandman mood lately, and this collection did a decent job of satisfying that feeling. My favorite story in the collection was “Chain Home, Low,” which barely features the Endless except in tone, but in that style is more powerful than ones where Death just sort of drops in as she does. Maybe it's because I'm so used to the comic format, but it is harder to accept the Endless milling about among mortals in prose than it is to literally see them in the background. A lot of the pieces are pretty forgettable, but a Sandman aficionado will definitely find something to entertain (lots of Wanda!).

Normally, when people touch things I love and essentially publish fanfic about them, I get a little edgy. However, Jill Thompson is definitely an exception. Both her Death Manga and her Little Endless series are adorable homages to the Sandman universe with stunning art and delightful dialogue (see what I did there?). It's nice to have Delirium become the focus of the story for a change both because it opens up amazing possibilities for color and randomness but also to let Dream and Death slip into the background while we explore the rest of the Endless. This was a random find at a comic shop while I was on vacation, and it was definitely worth the impulse spend.

I stumbled on the kickstarter for this some time ago and then quickly binge read through the entire webcomic. The style is very unique, and Czajkowski plays with light and focus that separate her art from a million look-alike comics on the internet. Sadly, the page by page, multimedia approach doesn't translate as well to book form, mostly because the book is about 10 times the size of Ava's actual pact. My cat hates this book because it took up so much room on my lap that he was unable to read it with me. Sill, it's beautifully put together and includes tons of extras for fans of the comics. Just understand you should stretch before trying to take it off the shelf.

The story is a science fiction, but has a fantasy feel. For as large as the book is, it barely scratches the surface of the story, and there's so much more I want to know. I highly recommend checking out the webcomic http://avasdemon.com/ if you like a complex story with a twist on the possession trope.

Wow, this book puts you through the wringer. I actually got it as an ARC way back in like 2018-19 somewhere in there, but the size of it just meant I never really found the time to commit to reading it. I wonder how differently it would have read pre-2020. If everyone had read this, would we have managed our pandemic so badly?

Wanderers is a sprawling story of the end of the world. Multi-faceted perspectives and storylines. Gut-wrenching emotional arcs. Amoral artificial intelligence. Really a book written for me. My reading time these days is often limited to before sleep, and I found myself staying up later and later just to see what happens next. It's a masterclass in plotting and pacing while still containing dozens of viscerally real characters.

That said, trigger warnings EVERYWHERE, particularly around pandemics and violence, so investigate those if you need to before you commit to this tome.

Okay, so zombies are overdone. Once it was just me and my friends coming up with zombie contingency plans. Now, everybody and their mother has one and the joke is just... old. They've officially made a zombie rom-com. I'm over it.

However, this book brought me right back into the hype. I think the main reason I latched onto the zombie meme as my movie monster of choice was because I've played enough video games to believe I could handle that. Vampires? Real ones with speed and strength and an actual desire to drink human blood, I mean. No, I would die. Werewolf? I can barely take down my 6 month old puppy. Supertech aliens? Throwing in the proverbial towel. But zombies? They are slow, stupid, and can be bludgeoned to death. Their only power is numbers, and I believed myself fully capable of not letting those numbers get out of control. I'm a smart, zealously prepared individual, right? Confidence, yo.

This book made me lose my confidence.

Brooks tackles the zombie apocalypse from every angle. I am very close to literal when I say every angle. He not only hits dozens of countries, ages, and positions in the war, he goes on to explain what the zombie apocalypse would mean both to dogs and astronauts. For being under 300 pages, this book is thorough. I have some questions on the validity of some of the other countries' view points (the way he katakana-ed his Japanese made me double take, though I was impressed with his inclusion of an Ainu), but nothing destroyed my ability to enjoy the book. I doubt it would be popular in China, but even when Brooks throws around blame, he emphasizes showing lots of characters with lots of perspectives. There are brave Chinese, terrified Chinese, righteous Chinese, thus avoiding stereotyping a nation.

The K9 unit was by far my favorite section, showing both the most human and inhumane aspects of the world, often without a zombie in sight. My Lucy would make a hell of a zombie dog... except for the whole thing where she can't bite them. Actually scratch that. Stay away from zombies, Lucy.

Back to the novel, though Brooks shows a variety of people suffering the war, capitalizing on the war, steering the war, avoiding the war. I am famous for hating war stories of any kind, but you make it about zombies, and I am suddenly interested. He also distinguishes how different a zombie war would be from fighting living humans: an army that can't be bought or intimidated or even dented. It's a fresh perspective on a stale story.

One of my biggest pet peeves with zombie media is that they are always so vague about how things start. I can and do suspend my disbelief for a catalyst to the disease (this book is no exception), but how it spreads? It's not like the flu. The mythos dictates it is transferred by bite. Honestly, how hard could it be to not get bitten in the early stages of an outbreak? Brooks introduces the idea of organ transplant as a viable infection spreader. He looks at dozens of ways the virus could get out in the world undetected, and they all make a scary sort of sense.

Everything in the book feels viable, really. Brooks gives a nod to the Last Man on Earth (LaMoe's.... hah) stories in an almost derogatory way. It is pretty ridiculous to think only a single human or a smattering of civilian groups would survive. We have governments with much higher safety protocols and stakes in this industry. This is where the movers and shakers fighting the tide would be or where the civilians would end up once they had something to contribute. Brooks' focus is global, and therefore so are his viewpoints.

On that note, the documentary style of the book is gripping. Again, it feels fresh and keeps everything pointedly realistic. It's still clearly Brooks' voice in all of the tales, and some of the people are a bit cookie cutter (not so good at writing the female perspective except in the case of the stranded pilot. Loved her story.), but they each tell their tale and keep the audience tuned in. It would make a great movie. Too bad they don't appear to be actually making this book into a movie so much as slapping its title on a completely different movie.

The interviewer remains largely unidentified, allowing me to slip into a role I actually could handle during a zombie apocalypse. Interviews! Yes, I can do that. I like that while Brooks' makes a clear statement about how people with no blue collar skills (Hi! I'm a liberal arts major!) are kind of asking for this type of danger (perhaps not in the form of walking dead, but there are hundreds of other crises where the practical skills of daily life need to be much more available), he also points out the role the arts have in helping humanity survive. He doesn't dismiss white collar jobs so much as show the disparity between them, the value of being drywall repair tech. It's the most obvious theme of the book, and one that resonates with me.

I had fun reading this book, but I rethought my contingency plan while reading it too. I thought about it, for the first time, with other people. It's a book that makes you self-assess while at the same time gives you the thrill of humanity beating back the undead waves. Recommended for zombie enthusiasts everywhere, particularly those who need a change of pace.

The animated version is one of the fondest and most frightening memories of my childhood. The graphic novel lives up to every one of those expectations. Also Peter S. Beagle signed it to me.

I was told Red Seas wasn't quite as good as Lies, but it was still pretty great. I very much enjoy Lynch's style of writing, his slow reveals, and determination not to pull any punches (save one which is the reason this book is going at 4 rather than 5).

Most of this book could stand under the same review as Lies: Locke is great. Jean is great. This book also reminds us that cats are great. The new characters are a fun bunch, and I absolutely love how Lynch decides to completely upend the “Women are Bad Luck on Ships” to “Go out to ship without a woman and you are DOOMED!” He cadre of lady pirates (which does make me think of that Muppet Babies episode with the PiRETTES! Anyone remember that? No? Awesome) are great not only because they are fabulous examples of buccaneers, but because not once does anyone every question their skill or authority because of their gender. Too many times, women are brought into “manly” roles to just have it pointed out how special they are for achieving these roles against the odds. In Lynch's world, there are no odds. People in their roles got them through skill or luck or bribery or whatever, but never because or in spite of their gender. Lynch even makes a point of mentioning both male and female extras among the guards, crews, and other Redshirts that appear throughout the book. As messed up as Locke's world can be, this part they got right.

Thrilling adventure, fast pacing, convoluted schemes. If you like Lies (and are okay with letting the Bondsmagi plotline sorta drop off for a novel), you'll enjoy this one.

The only thing that really bugged me was the teaser scene. You get this great lead in to the story and then slowly build up to that point over the course of the novel. We know Jean would never turn on Locke as sure as we know Locke is not going to die of poison anytime soon in this 7 book series. What we don't know is why he is faking it. The answer seems obvious, but Locke goes out of his way to say that Jean is giving him no hand signals. NO clue. This is getting real, y'all. Then we build and build and build and find that Locke just missed Jean's hand signal. Locke, master of observation missed this hand signal? That just doesn't pan out and was such a let down. Maybe if there'd been some sort of Bondsmagi trickery that made Locke miss the hand signal ... maybe... but that is never explained. I'd even forget it if Lynch hadn't used it as the teaser for the whole book, setting it up as some huge epic turning point only to end up an utterly forgettable moment. Boo hiss.

Rant aside, the story still stands, the world still stands, and I'm looking forward to the series continuing, though I may wait a bit to read three until four is closer on the horizon.

So this is another book I wouldn't have found without Sword and Laser but boy oh boy am I glad I did.

It's not easy to summarize this book without massive spoilers, but it exists somewhere on the continuum between H.P. Lovecraft and House of Leaves. Even when very little is happening (which is plenty of the time), you are still on the edge of your seat because you known any minute now the silt is going to get real. And then it gets REAL

The narrator in this story is a biologist who studies life without ever truly partaking in it. Her studies of ecosystems, her work, and her marriage are all things she observes without experiencing. Then she volunteer to observe Area X, a twilight zone just barely removed from on our reality. She can't trust her team, her superiors, or herself, and the resulting narrative is brilliantly original. It would be hubris to say I totally understand this book. I don't. It left me very confused and disturbed, and I'm the type of reader who is made happy by that sort of ending.

Also, I am always happy to see a sci-fi book whose away team is composed entirely of female scientists. The other characters don't get a lot of screen time, but hell yes anyway.

I liked this one even better than the last one. Badass Zoe, dinosaurs, Hero of Canton references... just super. It's only kept from being a five because it contains weird Simon and Kaylee scenes. I never like Simon and Kaylee as a couple. Kaylee can do better.

On the other hand, Shepherd Book For The Win.

I'm still not entirely sure if telling a story in the second person is clever or annoying. I felt both ways reading this book. I think it worked a little easier in Halting State with the MMO theme than in Rule 34. It didn't make sense until the very end of this book, but when it did it was with a satisfactory click, so I'm going to go with it.

There's a lot of things I like about Stross' works. A)He uses a diverse (internally and externally) cast of characters. We have a lesbian detective inspector and a closeted gay Muslim as our lead protagonists. It's fun to read a story set in future-Edinburgh too with all of the technicalities throwing a technological blanket over a World Heritage city. The theme of artificial intelligence and what it might do when “intelligence” blurs with “will” is one I'm particularly interested in right now, and Stross' picture is terrifying and fascinating. The line between Artificial Intelligence and Psychopath is a nerve-wracking one to walk.

The things I didn't care for were mostly the things I didn't understand. The tech-talk and political-talk bits both made my eyes glaze over and keep this one from being a personal favorite. Still, if you're looking for a slightly creepy futuristic thriller, this would be a great place to start. Halting State is set in the same universe, but aside from some references to how Liz ended up in her current department, there's really no need to read it first unless you are compulsive about reading things in order like I am.

NK Jemisin is just one of the best writers of my time. Her world-building is stunning, her characters are intricate and real, and her ideas are some of the most original I've ever read. The Stone Sky puts an end to The Broken Earth trilogy, which if you've started, you have to finish, and if you haven't started, you shouldn't read this book yet. Go start the series.

What really strikes me about Jemisin's writing and this trilogy in particular is how she can create this amazing mythos and world so far from our own, and then use it to viciously critique our own world without anything ever seeming heavy-handed or preachy. Jemisin has words to say about how people of color are treated, and those themes are impossible not to see. It is also impossible not to get swept up in geoarcanity and the story of.a mother and daughter, separated by their similarities.

I love this series. I love Jemisin's work. Everybody read it all.

I would have gotten to this book eventually even if it wasn't picked for book club, even if I'd never read anything by John Scalzi before, even if it wasn't Wil Wheaton's number one recommendation. I would've seen it on a shelf with its bright red cover and bought it based on the title and nothing else.

Redshirts is exactly the sort of humor I adore. It's witty, referential, clever, and the kind of break I needed during what's proving to be a trying month in the real world. I wouldn't call myself a Trekkie, but Trek has always been a part of my life. This is largely due to my father at whom I am going to shove this book the first chance I get. All right, I had a period of impressionable adolescence when I was obsessed with Voyager and all of my avatars were named B'ellana... and I did have an irritable cat named Worf, but again that's more a Trekkie by proxy situation. It was a show that was always on and one I could always talk to my dad about, so it's special to me.

That said, boy does Scalzi call original Trek on every haphazard plot device ever used. I love the concept of this book, the story of the unsung ensign. I love the blend of Galaxy Quest humor with genuine philosophical musings. I want this to be a movie directed by Joss Whedon and staring Wil Wheaton. Honestly, I'd like most of Scalzi's work adapted to films directed by Joss Whedon and staring Wil Wheaton, but this one would be especially good. Nathan Fillion could be Kerensky! Without pants! Back me up on this, internet.

Scalzi's writing always puts me in mind of a film script, and if I have one criticism for this book (and honestly his work at large), it's that he really should be writing more of those. His dialogue is brilliant, clever, and realistic, but it's also awkwardly thrust into his larger story with dozens and dozens of unnecessary speech tags, mostly “said” and “asked.” I think I've written about this in other reviews, but it didn't bother me until I listened to The Human Division on audiobook. Said said said said said. It takes all the fun out of otherwise wonderful scenes. Stop with the speech tags, Scalzi. You genuinely do not need them. I've read fanfiction with fewer tags. You are better than this.

Mini-rant aside, this book has heart, humor, and action. The philosophical overtones get a little heavy in the codas, but mostly it reads like a blockbuster film with philosophy thrown in for people who like overthinking fiction (certainly that doesn't apply to Trekkies... ). It only took me two days to read it because A) I'm not working and B) The cat would not be budged from my lap, so I sort of had to finish it. Neither of those change the fact that it was easily the most entertaining way to spend my time this vacation. If you love Trek but recognize its many flaws, read this book. If Galaxy Quest is as much your favorite movie as it is mine, read this book. If you like Scalzi at all, read this book even if you've never watched an episode of classic Trek.

If you are Wil Wheaton, Joss Whedon, or John Scalzi, please call somebody about making this movie. I want to watch it.

I grabbed this at a used book sale because I liked The Magicians, but I assumed from the title it would be science fiction. Instead, what I got was the dull meanderings of a sad white guy with awkward pop culture interjections that might work if this were visual but just come off as jarring interjections as opposed to the layers of meaning Grossman seems to want them to be. There's no real plot, no character development outside of Hollis at all, a manic pixie dream girl who makes no sense, and just everything I hate about Quentin Coldwater without any of the growth that made me like him in the end. I wouldn't really bother with this one. This book wasn't for me, and I also don't know who it was for. I know it's a first effort, and I know Grossman gets a lot better (Magicians is one of few trilogies where I like the last book more than the first), but if you're just looking to read an author's complete works, you can probably skip this.

I haven't read Tanith Lee in so long, and I don't think I ever read the Flat Earth series. This is a really interesting take on building mythology. The gently interweaving stories feel more along the lines of an Edda or some other cultural foundation. The writing is elegant (although some of the sex scenes use ... interesting figurative language). I enjoy how Lee plays with gender roles personal identity through the various stories. The ending too is satisfying, tying together all that came before while setting the stage for the next collection.

I've enjoyed both the previous books in this series, and the third was pretty much just what I expected. Scalzi's books read like an Sci-Fi action movie, and I'm honestly amazed there hasn't been any sort of film based on this series yet, possibly directed by Joss Whedon. The human drama is perfectly balanced against the epic space war and would by all rights be a rocking flick.

It's not a flick, though, it's a novel, and it has its faults. Scalzi still overuses the “said” speech tag to a distracting level, and I tend to speed-read the dialogue so I don't process the tags. The dialogue is incredibly clever, though, so I'll forgive that. This book also has a very different theme from the first two, which I thought had a lot to do with what “age” means relative to experience. The Last Colony takes a big leap away from that, and I don't get the sense that John Perry is 88 or that Jane Sagan is 16. They've both stopped showing their ages so much and act mostly like any other middle-aged couple.

That said, they are another pair for my short list of successful, effective married couples, so that's nice.

The theme of this book is much more about parenting and balancing honesty with safety. We get the microcosm of this with John, Jane, and Zoe as they try to protect their daughter who may be better equipped to handle things than they expect. This expands to John and Jane taking care of the colony and limiting the information they give to colonists, sometimes at great cost. Then the Colonial Unions information stranglehold on the colonies all the way back to Earth. Scalzi seems to be making the statement that with-holding information, though often necessary, always has consequences. I don't think he's blanket-stating: inform everyone of everything every time, but he does say that people have a right to make their own decisions and need all the information available to make the best ones. I certainly appreciate that theme.

Scalzi is always a nice break for me from heavier literature, and The Last Colony didn't let me down. It was fast-paced, action-packed, and bitingly clever. The characters are likable if not the most multi-dimensional, and everything ends with satisfying closure while still leaving room to go back. That's how I like my series. I don't have the fourth book yet, though I'll without a doubt acquire it eventually. Scalzi's world is always a fun place to spend a slow weekend.

Of all the Discworld plot lines, I think Sam Vimes' is probably my favorite. Don't get me wrong, I love the Witches and Susan Death and Moist von Lipwig, but the saga of Vimes and the Watch always resonates with me. Most of the Vimes novels deal with prejudice and the many -isms that poison society, and I think it's sort of amazing and also sort of sad that after decades of Discworld, Sir Terry is still not out of material for this.

“Snuff” is not my favorite Discworld novel, but it does contain all the wonderful traits that make Discworld great. One of the reasons Vimes' storyline is my favorite is because while it always deals with relationships, it's not necessarily about relationships. Sam and Sybil are probably my favorite power couple in the history of literature. Their relationship is always a part of the story, but it never becomes a hackneyed plot point and Sybil is never, ever a damsel in distress. They are two bright, capable people who make the best decisions available to them.

Prejudice is certainly the over-riding theme here, but also the idea of humanity. It asks us to take a good, solid look at what makes living creatures “people” and asks us to treat everyone with those qualifications as such. As always, it does this with wit, humor, and regular surprises around the corner.

So while it isn't my favorite Discworld book, that's sort of like saying glazed isn't my favorite kind of doughnut. It's still a great read especially for Vimes fans.

If you are a fan of history, time travel, and/or New York, you'll likely love this book. It's a romantic look into the New York of 1882 through 1970s eyes, and is certainly a unique read on my shelf. I learned a lot of very odd things about this time and place that I doubt I ever would have run across elsewhere. However, I think reading this I realized I'm not a big fan of history, time travel, or New York, so I found the 70s prose a little bit hard to work through. It's a book that I recognize as a great piece of fiction, but that isn't exactly my personal cup of tea.

So... White Wolf used to be a major force on my life, and it's fixing to become one again. I found this and a bunch of other novelizations of the various WW branches in my local used book store. I made myself buy only 2. This was a challenge.

It's not a great book. It's a lot of sex and violence wrapped in the cover of RPG mechanics. At one point, it contains one of the greatest typos ever invoving the misspelling of heroin for heroine. I had a great time reading it. If you enjoy playing Demon and reading about sex and violence wrapped in the cover of RPG mechanics, you'll also have a good time reading it. If you don't, no one will think less of you. This is a book for WW fans and really no one else, but it has given me some fun thoughts about where to take my new character, and that is what it is meant to do, anyway.

I got this with the Code Monkey Kickstarter, and I like it just as much. This is one of my favorite JoCo songs brought to life and getting the song in my head for days and days. The Princess Who Saved Herself is required reading for kiddos who love princesses, dragons, snakes, and giant bees.

Brian K. Vaughn is one of my favorite comic writers. Paper Girls is weird, and it's messy, and it's exciting. It also is surprisingly poignant in its portrayal of four diverse 12 year old girls considering its creative staff is four guys. Enjoying it and will continue to follow.

I really am not sure what I think about this book. There were parts that I absolutely loved, parts that itched under my skin, and parts that flat-out confused me. In the end, it's a book I'm glad I read even if I don't fully understand it.

One of the things I love best is that this is the most diary-like piece of fiction I've ever read. A lot of authors (especially in children's books) will use phrases like, “Let me go back to the beginning...” or “Maybe I should explain.” Well, no you shouldn't because this is not meant to be read by anyone. Diaries are personal and free the author from needing to include exposition. Mor writes like she doesn't intend this to be read by anyone but herself, and as such she never explains anything she isn't working out for herself. This makes for an amazing amount of suspense as reveals happen so very slowly. The reader's mind is always buzzing with questions, and I found myself urgently rushing to the next entry, hoping it would explain the one before. This structure also means fantastic events are dealt with in a very commonplace way because they're common to Mor. It cements the story firmly in reality and is by far my favorite part of the book.

A close second is Walton's use of magic. What a fresh and fantastic take on an old theme. Walton's magic is grounded in connection and seems to only work when that makes sense in the user's mind. Mor's magic is grounded in her sense of the earth and how the earth works and in her connection to the people around her. There are no spellbooks, no classes, and no rules other than the universally imposed ones. It's also infinitely deniable and ends up looking like coincidence. This makes the entire novel entirely deniable, and indeed if you take out the magic, you have a perfectly acceptable coming of age story. If you believe Mor is an unreliable narrator (and she is clearly trying to paint a picture of her own character through her diary), then you could deny all of the magical events in the story. Each one serves to emphasize a change in Mor's life, whether it is a normal adolescent transition or a far more traumatic upheaval specific to her. Whether or not the magic is real, it still serves a purpose in showing Mor's growth and change.

Walton's treatment of fairies is also quite original and yet sensible. She never fully explains what they are or how they are, just gives the readers hints that we can make our own conjectures. Their variety and communication is fascinating, and I wish I understood it better. They are not Mor's focus though, and Walton never lets them steal the show away from her protagonist.

All that said, I still don't find Mor particularly likable. It's odd because I should clearly identify with her. She's an awkward teen without many friends obsessed with books and longing to be older than she is. Everything about that describes my adolescence, but I didn't like myself much then and I don't really like Mor now. It's something in the way she denies feeling and criticizes her classmates and even adults in her life as stupid and dramatic. I think it's appropriate to her history for her to think like this, but she comes off as too harsh for me and really never makes any effort to get to know people beneath their veneer (until Wim), despite expecting them to look beneath hers. I think I'm supposed to admire how contrary she is, and certainly this aspect saves her life, but most of the time I just wish she'd cut other characters a little slack. The references also make it sound like she's desperately trying to be an adult too, but that could be the fact that I'm used to people referencing Heinlein and Zelazny to sound smart. It's different to talk about contemporary authors who were out of the mainstream. Actually, Mor's something of a late 70s hipster.

There's a lot I still don't understand about Mor (I'm still not entirely sure which Mor she is, why she chose to sign Morganna but makes everyone call her Morwenna, which name is on the death certificate of her sister) and I did find watching her cope and change interesting, but part of me reacts to her in the same way I react to all teenagers.

On similar confusing notes, the ending. I think I am so used to Hollywood endings that this one seemed painfully rushed. If this were a movie, the showdown with the fairies and with her mother would be lit up in blockbuster lights and 3D CG. As is, the ending is just another entry in a diary, and an understated one at that. It sort of encourages me in my theory that Mor is using a lot of metaphor to deal with losing her sister and coping with her insane mother (what a risk to have a shadow antagonist like this and only show her for a page at the end). She defeats the fairies by emphasizing her will to live. She defeats her mother by literally rooting herself in the earth. Mor's a clever girl, and it's entirely possible she's crafting a novel out of her life, and I love that, but I wanted a lot more closure than I got. I didn't dislike it, but it left me a little dissatisfied.

Among Others isn't like any book I've ever read, and I'm very happy S&L tossed it my way. It's definitely a story that will stay with me and make me keep asking questions.