Nik Kroushl
Weird and mystical, a fictional exploration of La Malinche. This book gave me so many fascinating views of history and life during the brutal Spanish invasion of Mexico (fictionalized and with liberties taken of course) and at the organization of Mexica and Maya groups at the time. It was easy to get lost (in both positive and negative ways) in some of the meandering prose, expositions of cosmology, and deep symbolism; it was also a very “internal” book based in protagonist Malinalli's thoughts and dreams rather than in scene.
I think this is my last (major) Butler book, having read all the others in the Canon. As usual we have a simmering stew full of questions and uncomfortable ideas about consent, power, compulsion, free will, imaginative family structure, justice, what it means to be human, etc. The world building about the vampire race was fun; the driving antagonistic force was not super complex but felt believable. The problem is it's really hard to get past the creepy creepy terrible sex scenes with the main character who is a child. I get that Butler is often trying to transgress in terms of sexual dynamics and ethics in her books, given that so many of her protagonists are young women and teens who enter sexual relationships with men much older than them, but uh, this was pretty bad even knowing that.
Not as fun as the other books in this series imo, but we do finally get a badass bisexual character from Butler who survives. So, major points. (I wish we had spent more time on that!!!!! Butler spends so much time interrogating and imagining sexual and romantic dynamics between men and women. Imagine if she had spent more time on queer women?!)
The patternmaster series is interesting in that the books are really only tangentially related, the first two more than the last. Wild Seed was probably the best one. Patternmaster had to spend way more time on the world building; Clay's Ark had an absolutely bleak and almost gratuitously gorey ending. At least Patternmaster ends on a high note.
I think I'm just maybe not that into historical fiction. Sarah Waters also has this habit (I say having only read two of her books) of making all the characters unlikeable and hard to root for. Tbh I preferred the movie, but this was compelling and entertaining and dark and had sapphics so there's always points for that.
It was an accessible crash course to the canon of Western moral philosophy, which was what I wanted – the CliffNotes on Aristotle, Kant, and others (including concepts that might not strictly “count” as philosophy but had relevance). Schur critiques where this group of (mostly) old white guys deserves to be critiqued. I wish he had incorporated more modern thinkers – I guarantee that there is a school of feminist philosophy out there but the only woman who gets major time in this book is Ayn Rand (getting dunked on, properly so) although Schur does quote and draw from several women philosophers discussing and critiquing the “canon”. I do have to concede that this is a book about Western philosophy for the most part, and if I want more than the brief shout-out to ubuntu in terms of philosophy outside the white Western world, I'd need to look for a different book. (But I wanted to understand this first as the bedrock of so many modern US concepts.) Schur does discuss the more radical bents of all these folks but ends up “we take a little from each tradition”-ing his end conclusion into a sort of moderate “this is what your gut was telling you anyway, here's why it's pretty much right”.
It was funny at times and overdone at others. I also appreciated some of the Easter eggs related to The Good Place.
Dense but compelling. (Most historical nonfiction puts me to sleep but this did not! It still took me a while to get through though.) I learned a lot about the period of indigenous expulsion in the 1830s formerly known to me as the Trail of Tears (though that was only a small part of it).
Most interesting to me was the way that the author was able to tie in the economic motivations of white colonists and planters, and the amount of research that went into putting dollars to the dispossession. I also had never been taught in school about the lengthy and egregious harrassment and occupation perpetuated against indigenous groups well before the “Indian removal act”, or that legislators framed the action as an act of paternalistic goodwill. It is frankly infuriating to read the primary source quotes that Saunt provides contrasted with the real experiences of Creeks, Chickasaws, Seminoles, and Cherokees (the groups on which this book focuses). I also appreciated the primary source quotes from Creek, Chickasaw, Cherokee, Seminole and other leaders and regular citizens, as their commentary is both biting and could probably still be quoted today without being out of context.
I think the thing that will most stick with me is that even though Saunt didn't always draw explicit connections between the murderous bureaucracy and political maneuvering of the 19th century and so similar happenings in modern US government, but it rang true for me throughout the book. Every time the Commissary Office decided to let private business get involved with the already heinous act of deportation, and the private business egregiously fucked over indigenous peoples, I wanted to bang my head against a wall. It's a tale as old as time, apparently.
I'd recommend this to anyone interested in learning more about indigenous resistance, economics, or state sanctioned and perpetuated misery in the name of paternalistic so-called “greater good”.
Several days after gorging on this book and I'm still thinking about it. Partially because I really should've reread or at least done a Wikipedia deep dive on the events of the previous books and lore of the world. I loved the little domestic world, the relationships between characters (especially Camilla and Palamedes.... Whew!), Nona as a character. This book made me deeply fond of and emotional about a character named Hot Sauce. And the experience to read between the lines and know what's going on when the narrator, Nona, doesn't, would've been very delicious had I remembered more about the previous books lol. I loved it and love this series.
A few days later and pieces of this novel are still sticking with me. There were many loose ends not tied up ??? but I think that???s a good thing, because not everything can be neatly squared away in real life either. We never find out whether Aria reconnects with Steph, whether she connects with any particular queer label, and I think that???s a good thing. So much of Aria???s experiences are just presented to us without a lens or agenda toward a certain interpretation. I keep coming back to think about ways that ???illusion??? can apply to different aspects of the book, characters, plot, and finding more every time I return to the idea. The relationships between characters are complex, if sometimes not as fleshed out as they could be. I wanted this book to be longer, to learn more about the deeply interesting people who populate Aria???s life, but perhaps part of the coming-of-age genre is the solipsism: the focus on the narrator. Or: the illusion of the self as center of the world.
Definitely a coming-of-age book: The summer where Aria is literally caught between two selves. It recalled a lot of that exciting uncertainty for me. I loved the Lily and Kath cameos, too, even though they felt a little forced at times.
I did expect a little more engagement with questions of class and privilege, given that the book???s synopsis discussed Aria???s experience befriending ???a community of working-class queer folks???. The class discrepancies were touched on, occasionally prodded, but often by characters who weren???t Aria. Aria noted the class differences, but didn???t really engage with them beyond observation. She seemed too busy wrestling with her emerging queerness and her emergence as a nascent artist, as an inheritor of her family???s talents and downfalls, to also engage with the implications of class that separated her from Steph as well. And maybe that???s part of the point: she is no perfect person by any means, and still has growing up to do.
A really interesting book that is broader than it is deep and has value for most folks, not just those curious about nonmonogamy. (Although I agree it gets pretty dorky at times and could've been a lot shorter.) Plenty of good writing on boundaries, owning your own emotions, dealing with insecurity or jealousy, building networks and community, and embracing a sense of abundance when it comes to love and intimacy in all relationships. Even in the 2017 edition, parts of this seem dated when it comes to discussions of gender and sexuality. But it is not for nothing that the authors have decades of combined experience building polyamorous lives and networks.
Self help and productivity type books are usually a hit or miss for me but I generally enjoyed this one and found useful ways to reframe thinking around using time. I liked the combination of philosophy and ways of thinking about time and mortality, anecdotal contributions, and concrete suggestions and action items – it was a great balance that offered value across multiple axes. Considering purchasing a copy for periodic rereads and so I can annotate. It's almost worth it alone for the references to other texts to be adapted as a reading list!
I really had a lovely time getting swept up in this book. It's certainly science fiction but reminded me of the high fantasy genre that has captured my heart for so long, in the political/court drama and intrigue. The central theme exploring Mahit's love and hate of the colonizing force of the Empire, and of course viewing the Empire from the perspective of the colonized, was a unique strength – rarely do we see empire structures in SFF treated as “imperial” in an explicitly critical way. (Like usually the king is evil or whatever but we don't get the same critique of the entire empire, the cultural assumption that the imperial model is fine.) This book drew me in similarly to Gideon the Ninth, where watching a big cast play metaphorical chess but in space and with sapphics hit many satisfying spots I didn't realize I wanted. I also thought it was really fun/interesting that the identity crisis in this book does not come from the literal brain-merge Mahit undergoes (or at least, not only from that; the imago is an accepted part of her heritage and if there are identity issues it's because of the malfunction) but from her wrestling with her position in the empire.
I enjoyed the writing, the world building (although honestly I was sometimes skimming over the detailed explanation of language, syllables, verse). I loved the characterization of cast members like Nineteen Adze and the emperor and even Yskandr, these enigmatic people with deep convictions all around Mahit who contrast her frequent internal dialogue. I enjoyed Mahit as a protagonist though agreeing that her personality and development were often obscured by stewing or plot events – enough of her came through to make me like her, root for her, want to know more about what she does next.
Shorter (I think) than the first two and not quite as strong. I liked it plot wise as an ending to the series, eg it felt full enough of a circle, but the signature character and relationship development I've usually gotten from Butler seemed less present, more rushed. I guess at some point you have a large enough cast of characters that it's difficult to juggle them all with real depth – although in this case, the final book was (unlike the others) written in first person, and it seemed to share one of the complaints I had about the Parables: the cyclical and even repetitive thinking of the narrator, parsing a philosophical question or ideal. To me it's clear that Butler shines best with multiple viewpoints. I also wish the story had done more to question the validity and righteousness of the Oankali (but perhaps that's the resister human in me). By the end of the series, none of the characters had any remaining real objection to the manipulation from the Oankali. Which is maybe the point. It is interesting to read a book that does not give as much narrative punch to the “humans resisting alien colonization” argument as to the “humans are irreparable, inevitably destructive, and maybe thus aliens aren't so bad” one.
I'm really enjoying this series and Butler's usual talent for character development, relationship building, and saying so much between the lines. I'm a sucker for a book whose characters face difficult moral choices and also for characters who pull it together in whatever ways they can to make meaning after apocalypse.
Meh. There were a few useful ideas – namely that of creating/optimizing an environment for habits and the 2 minute idea that the trigger action is the habit rather than a whole performance. A lot of it was self helpy fluff or stuff you'll have heard before. There were a lot of references to weight loss as a goal (cw I guess) and overall it felt like a bit of a bro-ey book but there were some interesting anecdotes. It probably could've been a blog post instead.
I tore through this one pretty quickly, compelled by the story. I was interested in the complex relationships between Lauren, her daughter, and her brother, and interested in the world building (or rather world-rebuilding) honestly as a model and thought exercise for survival and rebuilding and challenges to contend with in what I see as a possibly very similar descent in the real world. I appreciated the thoughts and questions on building community and cultivating resilience. But I also appreciated the new narrators interrupting Lauren's meditations, which are (intentionally) the work of a self interested philosopher. I was really interested in the people throughout the novel who kept insinuating that Lauren was manipulative and didn't actually care about people, or that if she did it was secondary to her purpose as cult leader and religion founder. Eg: Can you “shape” people and communities intentionally, for your own purposes, and yet also be a person who cares about others and wants a greater good? Questions of power, movements, demagogues. Lauren is a magnetic cult leader just like Jarret - the difference, supposedly, is the end goal and the collateral (or lack thereof) along the way.
It was of course a story in some ways brutal, in some ways beautiful, in some ways warm and others cold. Whether or not you agree with Lauren Olamina's religion, the duology ends with her goal accomplished, and after all the events of two books and several fictional decades, that conclusion feels satisfying. But with the losses along the way, it doesn't feel too perfect.
A fun escape when I needed a fantasy book to dive into, with much political intrigue (just the way I like it) and thriller elements. The two main characters were coded as having OCD and chronic illness respectively, and I can't speak to whether or not the depictions were accurate. The world building was interesting and had some more-explicit-than-most-fantasy-books critiques of colonialism and the mistreatment of indigenous peoples, but the message became heavy handed quickly, and the allegory of the Darfri as an indigenous people felt a bit stereotypical at times.