Jeff
This book is a wonderful treat–on the surface it's a fairly lighthearted tale, but it also has insights into some of the quite complex goings-on in our minds as we grow up. The conveys all of this beautifully, with “simple” drawings that telegraph all of the complexities involved. It also has one of the best ending lines of any book I've ever read, which I won't spoil for anybody reading this review.
I also love this book as an object–it's got heft, a strong binding and a smooth, cool cover, perfect for summer reading.
Picked this one up after a friend mentioned he might read it, and after having read a few reviews. I like the metaphysics that Jemisin has built–it's an odd mix of classic mythologies and the newest “weird” worlds of fantasy. I like the straightforward storytelling, and even like that Jemisin isn't afraid to flaunt the “show-don't-tell” conventions that sometimes bog stories down. I'm not much for fantasy books that are mostly about kingdom politics, but this book thrusts us into the hot seat in place of the protagonist, so even the political intrigue was interesting.
There are myriad relationships in the book that are fascinatingly complex, but there are also a few that are disturbing to me in ways that I am not certain Jemisin was intending–since this books deals with mortals interacting with gods, themes of what makes us human are explored, but also there's no getting away from the fact that the protagonist is at one point in love with what amounts to a scary, abusive boyfriend who also happens to be a god.
(UPDATE: It's likely Jemisin was intending for the reader to feel some discomfort: “Most of you have read The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms, which was my first attempt to examine rape culture in my long fiction.” http://nkjemisin.com/2012/05/sexual-violence-in-the-shadowed-sun/ )
Despite all of the positives, I wanted more from the writing–this felt like an amazing first novel, which is a pretty good thing for a first novel to feel like. I suspect that subsequent books will have a bit more polish, more cohesive plotting. I'll read the next one to find out...
Started off giving this three stars, but I can't stop thinking about it, so it's one of those books that is better than I thought it was, in that it's having an effect on me.
I'm grateful for this story being told–it seems like the comic format mostly works really well for Carey's story, but it still remains difficult to convey the pleasure of music through comics, and that holds this one back just a bit.
I have avoided Clowes for no good reason, really, and I kind of regreat it now. Ice Haven is a deeply tragic set of stories, and has the kind of fascinating structure that the medium of comics can encourage, but rarely finds. A series of character vignettes, all of which revolve around a child abduction, all done is varying styles and tones. One of the most interesting books I've read in a while.
I read this one back in high school, and often cite it as one of my favorite sci-fi books. I think it will keep that status, if mainly beause it was like nothing I had read up to that point. Interestingly, the technology in the book isn't very dated, but the characterization and limited plot do feel a bit dusty. (There is a paragraph explaining how boobs work in zero G, as if female astronauts wouldn't wear bras, just as a for-instance.) And yet, it's still a fun book–in a way it reminded me this time of the straightforwardness of Old Man's War by Scalzi.
It's still a fun, quick read, if one likes first-contact stories. I remember not loving the sequels much, and probably won't go on to them, but it was fun to revisit this one.
I have tried a few times now to read a Gibson book, but I just don't enjoy them. Yes, there are neat, sometimes revolutionary ideas there, but I have never attached myself to any characters or plot lines. This book starts with quite the Mary Sue moment, as the central character has sex with the first (and one of the few) women he runs into randomly. Just kind of weak writing to me.
I also realize this is sci-fi heresy. But there it is.
It's refreshing to read comics that aren't obvious screenplays for movies (though I like those too)–I'm confident this would never get made into a film, and that's just fine. A nice look at how theism might work if all the gods (or, many of them) actually existed and came back to earth. This book is a nice excuse to see Odin battling Zeus, and though it seems odd to me that Gaia is one of the “new” gods, the ending of this arc is still satisfying.
Aside from all that, this is a nice little treatise, in comic form, on theology and atheism. Gods coming back to earth seems like the logical endpoint of fundamentalism, and this is a fun exploration of ideas, while still getting to see Gaia kick Zeus' ass.
This book is great in spite of (not because of) the Frank Miller covers. Solid story, perfect conveyance of tone, interesting ending. Above all, some great characterizations, including two of the better female leads I've read in comics. One small flaw, if it can be called that, was a fairly easily-spotted bad guy in hiding. But in crime genres, that's not always a flaw...
I didn't like this one as much as Gun with Occasional Music, and plot-wise it's a two-star, I think, but there are moments of genius that bump it way up, like the wonderful sex scene involving a curious woman and her tourette's-having partner, who is mirroring her hands on his body as a tic, but also as a loving touch. Lethem, of course, describes it better than I can.
Box Brown is the perfect artist to do this book–his deceivingly simple lines work really well with showing us a man who was a relatively complex person. I was left wanting more detail and depth in Andre's story, however, and some more depth. This book is great for what it is–a non-comprehensive biography. I guess I just wanted to know much more about Andre...
The art is glorious in this book, in part because it isn't what one would expect from something along the lines of a conspiracy thriller. But then, this isn't exactly a conspiracy thriller either–it's a kind of meditation on reality, driven more by that kind of exploration than by plot; I like the mix, but I need a bit more plot to make it interesting.
It is a beautiful hardcover book (I checked it out of the library)–when I see a book like this which is only 20 bucks, I don't understand how other graphic novels cost the same, when one is getting way less.
The art is lovely, the physical book is really well-crafted, and this is a heartfelt memoir. I wanted a bit more narrative structure, and (even) more introspection, but I often want that more than most folks who like memoir. This book is worth the price of admission for one thing alone: The portrayal of a pet chicken. She nails the sounds chickens actually make (hint: it's not bawk bawk).
There's also a lot here about love and friendship, and being queer–I find myself looking forward to her next book, but won't likely read this one again.
Definitely feel mixed about this memoir. It starts off strong with insights into Young's art, work and relationships with family, other artists and her partners–and she really bares her soul, which almost always makes an interesting memoir. Very intimate details about her relationships are given, with some thought, but something about the style of writing left me wanting a good deal of the time. The book begins and ends with much self-examination, and these are the parts I liked the best. The bulk of the book is a series of loosely related life events, which is kind of how we all live our lives, but that choice didn't give me the meaty, explicit connections that I like in memoirs.
On the other hand, it is this style that lends the books some of its strength–when we look back at our lives, we can try to force a simple, coherent narrative, but that's always a bit contrived. Young leaves her life messy in this memoir, and that's to be commended, even if as a reader it sometimes wasn't as satisfying.
I suspect that future memoirs, if she continues writing them, will be better than this one as she hones her writing craft–a book centering on the founding of Femina Potens would be most welcome, for instance, as the bits and pieces we get about it skim the surface. I want to hear (even) more about how feminism, art, submission and motherhood all play out for her.
Started out in a quite promising way, but once the narrative shifted to include another son's take on his dad, presented like a school report, I lost interest. Love the riffs on religion, not so much the cutesy take on life of half the narrative (at least for the first third of the book–I am not going to finish this one).