johnny dangerously.
While this book proposes to be an account of the Diodati circle (meaning those who had in 1816 visited the Villa Diodati, including Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, Percy Bysshe Shelley, Lord Byron, John William Polidori and Claire Clairmont), it's really a biography of Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, with occasional forays into the lives of the others, most principally Claire Clairmont and Byron. A scant chapter is spared for poor, miserable Polidori– not that anyone in this story escapes being poor or miserable in some form or fashion.
I say ‘story', not ‘history', because that's what this is. I'm no expert on this subject, so I can't tell if it's well researched; I assume it is, if only for the sheer volume of detail provided in the work. However, in the greatest weakness of the novel, authors Dorothy and Thomas Hoobler cannot resist the apparently overwhelming urge to weigh fact with a narrative, insert their opinions and suppositions, and weigh events down with their own leading lines. It's especially glaring because half the time I feel I would agree with their conclusions anyway, but it's grating to see them so casually thrown out, sometimes cruelly. The authors have sympathy for Mary Shelley and loathing for her husband and his friend Byron– more than understandable, given their abysmal treatment of others, especially to Mary Shelley! But they take it a step further than it needs to go, with constant snide asides on the nature of relationships long over.
They tell more than they show, which is a horrible thing to say of a history, of nonfiction.
The book constantly details when and where Shelley got her inspiration for Frankenstein, as though they have authority on the subject. Of course, suppositions can be made based on historical evidence, but that's all they can be! Yet the authors constantly lead the reader to believe they know implicitly what Shelley meant.
Percy's changes to the manuscript also tended to justify Dr Frankenstein's behavior and portray him as the victim, rather than the creator of the evil. This reflected not only [Percy] Shelley's lack of awareness, but also his very similarity to Victor. Mary Shelley always saw that Frankenstein was deluding himself. So too was her husband.
[Harriet] had remarked to her sister, “I don't think I am made to inspire love, and you know my husband abandoned me.” So on a gloomy, rainy day, Harriet acted on the suicidal impulses that she had entertained for a long time.
Mary [Shelley] was disduredbed that [Percy] Shelley and Claire [Clairmont] had k kept from her the secret of Claire's pregnancy for so long. Feeling shunted into the position of outsider, Mary would include secrecty among the suns that Victor Frankenstein committed in his pursuit of forbidden knowledge.
Percy Florence Shelley was elected to Parliment and received a knighthood– respectability at last. As far as anybody knows, this son and grandson of four radical and creative individuals never had an original thought in his life.
Having the distinction of being so retrograde that the author can presumably be found on the cover, The French Revolution: An Economic Interpretation is an invaluable window into the French revolution from the perspective of someone who was actually there. Florin Aftalion's experience during the revolution is an invaluable resource, and it tells modern readers a great deal about what hidebound public servants actually thought and felt at the time of such momentous calamity.
Coming from the Ancien Regime's magnificent splendor, where only kings and princes could move the world, how did they explain such a monumental shift caused by commoners and peasants? Aftalion is happy to put clawed and dessicated hand to pen and tell us in this fabulous memoir. The excellently preserved husk of what was once Aftalion explains, with magnificent charts and graphs, how the revolution had very little to do with political upheaval. It was all economic in nature! This perspective is especially reasonable given that the property values on Aftalion's crypt have no doubt fluctuated in the recent economic crises. Is another revolution on the rise? We'll have to find that shaman again and find out!
If you want a seasoned and reasonable account of the revolution that takes into account the importance of the individual and the social currents of the time, this may not be the necronomicon for you! But if you're looking for an archaic perspective on a fascinating subject, devoid of all the vital currents that make this period so fascinating, I highly recommend this eldritch tome.
Also, it's pretty short.
“I'd like to say that people can change anything they want to; and that means everything in the world. Show me any country and there'll be people in it. And it's the people that make the country. People have got to stop pretending they're not on the world. People are running about following their little tracks. I am one of them. But we've all gotta stop just stop following our own little mouse trail. People can do anything; this is something that I'm beginning to learn. People are out there doing bad things to each other; it's because they've been dehumanized. It's time to take that humanity back into the centre of the ring and follow that for a time. Greed... it ain't going anywhere! They should have that on a big billboard across Times Square. Think on that. Without people you're nothing.”
This is a wonderful book, but I was doomed to like it from the start. It is exactly the kind of book I've always wanted: a history book that doesn't pander, but isn't condescending, written by a comedian, aware of social causes, motivated by democratic ideals, and dedicated to Joe Strummer. There is no conceivable reality in which I wouldn't give this book five stars. I'm sure there are some realities in which I gave it six.
Pandering to my interests and ideals aside, the book is actually fantastically well-written. It works excellently as an introduction to the revolution, but it can work just as well as a refresher or a general overview. It's not very in-depth on any issue, but it's not meant to be.
It's a straight-forward account of the facts, presented with a strong liberal, socially-conscious bias. If you're not in the market for that, you're not going to like the book, full stop. But considering how many books on the revolution are impenetrable morasses of self-conscious condemnation and snide superiority, Steel's populist and human-rights focused perspective is a much-needed breath of fresh air.
The book is a lovely ode to the revolution's ideals, if not its actions. Unlike some overly sympathetic authors, Steel never gives the revolutionaries credit when it's not due. He always remembers that these people excitedly condemned hundreds of people without a second look.
Yet, unlike other overly condemnatory authors, Steel never lets that overshadow what the revolution was originally about. The Terror is not the sum total of the revolution, and Steel does an excellent job making that clear. He shows all the working parts of the revolution – never in much depth, but nothing gets left out – and lets the reader decide for themselves what, ultimately, constitutes the sum total, if anything does.
Of course, don't let it be said that Steel doesn't give his own suggestions. The book has a bias, but every book does. Steel is upfront about his bias – about the importance of the will of the people, and the beauty of political action. That is, ultimately, Steel's thesis. The revolution is not the Terror. The revolution is the people realizing they have a future as well as a history. The revolution is the common man, the average person, getting to change the future of their country. The revolution is voting. The revolution is people.
Steel never forgets that, so if you disagree with that thesis, this book is not for you. However, if you are even slightly willing to entertain that notion, this book will be a fascinating and informative ride through the revolution.
Steel goes beyond that flat initial thesis, though: he actually makes a concerted effort to not only explain the hows and whys of the revolution, but the mindset of the average revolutionary. I have yet to see another book on the revolution bother with the average man in such detailed empathy, when few even bother with sympathy. Read the book just for that; you won't find it elsewhere.
Steel is sympathetic without being saccharine or condescending; his interest is empathetic and grounded in bringing the reader closer to the makers of history, rather than farther. Many authors on this subject sit back and laugh at the vehemence of revolutionary action, or gasp in horror. Steel shows the absurdity, but he remembers what many don't: that these people were average creatures of circumstance, realizing for the first time their power not only over history, but their own lives.
Steel asks what many don't bother with: if you were newly free, wouldn't you fight to defend it?
But he also remembers what many are afraid to consider: that fight would not be glorious; it would be an awful thing, difficult to control, and quick to get out of hand.
The inclusion of the Haitian rebellion is poorly integrated into the rest of the book, so that it seems as though these incidents took place in a vacuum. Not enough focus is given to how the French colonies were an integral part of French culture before the revolution, and continued to be afterward. The French legislative fight to end slavery, again before the revolution, is left out entirely, even though it's integral to how the revolution evolved, and charting the course of revolutionary ideals.
The French freedom principle is never even mentioned, despite explaining French republicanism so pervasive at the time.
Likewise, the chapter on atheism is a gnarled mess of personal bias and inappropriate editorializing, and I say this as an atheist. Atheism is an important part of the revolution, with Robespierre's struggle against it despite the dechristianization of France. But the section on atheism is just Steel's personal opinions as an atheist, with little historical perspective. It's completely inappropriate, and, again, I say this as someone who agrees with him. His feelings, unnecessary and un-asked-for, detract from the overall power of the work.
Ultimately, though, I believe the strengths of the book are greater than its weaknesses. It's a unique perspective on the revolution, and in my opinion, a necessary one. It's easy to read and understand, but it doesn't water anything down. I highly recommend it to anyone interested in French history, revolutionary history, political history, the history of poverty, the people, democracy, justice, freedom, all of it. Because, more than a guillotine, that's what the revolution is. It's one of the first shuddering gasps of our current political process, loathe as many are to admit it.
And it's important.
And also Desmoulin's passive aggressive personal correspondence was hilarious.
I highly recomend this book, but it is painfully dry and awkwardly paced. The writer goes on tangents– and while I generally approve of that, the pacing is awkward enough to give a reader whiplash. Information is not broken up in a manner conducive to straight-forward reading, and one cannot absorb the information presented without a constant alertness that makes the reading experience uncomfortable, if not downright stressful. That said, the book has some fantastic political theorizing (in my opinion, and I am a biased party– the ideals of the book pander to me to an almost painful extent) and some fantastic observations. They just have to be mined out of the rest of the book with effort that a better writer would have spared us. This is David Andress' first book for ‘the general public', and while it shows, it also shows what an excellent mind Andress has for the politics of the French revolution. I look forward to his other books.
An incredibly well-written and thoughtful book, The Great Cat Massacre is a love letter to the weird and forgotten corners of history. It does best when it looks into the life of the poor, and some of its best and most touching passages detail how the history of poverty is looked-over or forgotten. The first two chapters, detailing French fairy tales and the eponymous cat massacre are, in my opinion, the best; the book looses a little steam after that. Still, it's definitely worth reading for those chapters alone. I learned more in those scant pages than I did in entire books.
I can't recommend this book highly enough! It serves as a truly excellent introduction into Victorian life, all while relying on the milieu of Victorian literature, and the Victorian domestic sphere. What the book should really be called is ‘Domesticity in the Victorian Age', but I suspect that wouldn't've sold as well.
From following the unstintingly fascinating life of Arthur Munby, to delving into the secrets of Dickens, the book always feels honest yet polished, and extremely informative. The book doesn't get caught in meaningless prose and scene-setting; it tells the reader everything it can as quickly as it can while still being intelligent, well-paced, and incredibly, deliciously witty. Honestly, Flanders' dry wit is a standout feature of every chapter, and the book wouldn't be the same without it.
Ultimately I recommend this book to anyone looking to dip their toe into the waters of Victorian history. This is the book for them, so long as they're more interested in the lives of women and the poor, rather than the decadent petticoats and crystal goblets of period dramas.
I cannot recommend this book highly enough. It does a fantastic job of not only telling me about the plague, but using the plague as a jumping off point to talk about the character of medieval man, the culture of the medieval period, and the science that pervaded the period (both real – what caused the plague was very real indeed – and ficticious – New Galenism is a fascinating thing in retrospect). The book took me a long time to read, because I had to stop for a few months after the chapter on antisemitism turned my stomach, but that isn't the fault of the author so much as my weepy sensibilities. If you want to read about the medieval period through a specific, if gruesome, lens, I cannot recommend this book highly enough.
This is an excellent book, completely unlike anything I've read before, and in the best possible way. It almost seems wrong to deem it ‘fantasy', for surely a book with no human characters should be ‘speculative fiction'? Regardless of its classification, I highly recommend it to anyone interested in well-written court politics, sympathetic characters, and a reading experience they won't get anywhere else.
Of all the things I would praise most about the book, I would have to consider its treatment of childhood abuse a huge and ambitious success. Too often, characters with abusive or traumatic backgrounds are treated in the most salacious and dramatic fashion possible. In this book, the main character's abusive past is treated with gentle respect, neither leering nor dramatic. The details are never focused on, and instead the most important thing is how it effected the abused character, and how they grow and heal. In this fashion, the entire book uses the metaphor of moving forward, growing past pettiness and cruelty, and– most notably– building bridges, to great effect.
The worldbuilding was similarly an ambitious success, though I found myself at times confused by the byzantine nature of naming conventions and pronunciation among the Goblins and Elves. I was pleased to find a guide at the back of the book explaining my confusion; I only wished I'd found it sooner, or that it had perhaps been at the beginning of the book. At times, all the unfamiliar Elvish and Goblin names bled together, and I would have appreciated knowing sooner that there was a guide. That said, the worldbuilding was still excellent and fascinating, even if I wished it was imparted in a fashion that didn't necessitate a guide quite so much.
If I had to seriously critique anything in the book, it would be how some of the female characters seemed underused. I understand that this is a function of the worldbuilding– they are an oppressively sexist society– but at the same time, the female characters were fascinating, and when they did appear, they shined. I was sad that altogether they only got a handful of scenes, and the subplots involving them and their struggles (in some cases, the collective struggle of all the female characters for more rights and freedoms) were very subtly and quietly dealt with. I would have liked to see them integrated more into the overall plot.
However, overall, I found the novel a tremendous success. I adored all of the characters, the quiet (but never slow) movement of the plot, and the subtle development of the protagonist and his relationships with others. It's a book I'll be rereading in the near future, because there's simply so much life and wonder crammed into it. I would highly recommend it to anyone interested in high fantasy.
I was sent a free copy of this book from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.
I am a big fan of Brian K. Vaughan, and was interested to see him try something new; sadly, it seems, the ‘something new' involved abandoning his previous habit of methodical, precise plots and solid characters. That isn't to say that Saga is irrevocably a failure; only, the first book was, pacing-wise, a huge mess. Characters appear in and out of focus with little information, too many flashbacks, and narration that did more to obscure, confuse, and over-stimulate than it did to elucidate.
The worst failure, I think, is the addition of the narrator. Without spoiling anything, I'll say that their inclusion makes the story confusing and disjointed, adding a new perspective to a story already overladen with perspectives, and it compounds that sin by making their perspective tantamount to the survival of certain characters who are often in peril. Which is to say, basically, it takes all the suspense out of scenes which would, otherwise, be suspenseful. The narration doesn't explain things we need to know, either; it disappears in truly confusing scenes where narration would be welcome. It only adds a saccharine and unnecessary comment in twee font; it adds nothing thematically or narratively, and it stalls and slows scenes that could otherwise be gripping and fast-paced.
By the final quarter of the book, things calm down, perhaps due to BKV running out of characters to randomly introduce with no warning or foreshadowing. The story's disparate elements finally come into their own, and that's the story I'll pick up the next volume for.
As for this volume, I only wish BKV had a better editor or collaborator, someone to take him aside and tell him to pace himself. There are so many elements in this story. I don't know why, if you're so interested in splashy shocking cliffhangers (as Saga clearly is), you'd introduce all your elements and players at once, with no tension or surprise.
While not a perfect book by any means– it lacked a certain weight to the action and character that made it seem like a series of scenes, rather than a fluid whole– it was overall highly enjoyable, and I recommend it enthusiastically to anyone looking for a light read with fantasy characters and good humor.
“You don't hire a genius to solve the most intractible imaginable problem, and then hedge him around with a lot of rules, nor try to micro-manage him from two week's distance. You turn him loose. If you need someone to follow orders, hire an idiot. In fact, an idiot would be better suited.”
This is a little speech given by Miles Vorkosigan.
There were a handful of things that I disliked about Cetaganda, but what really ruined it for me was the main character, Miles. I found him arrogant, rude, paranoid, childish, impatient, overbearing, condescending, and misogynistic. These are all fine flaws to have, in a well-built character! But Cetaganda is so deeply in love with dear darling Miles that these flaws are meant to be empathized with, accepted, if they can even be flaws!
For example, Miles habitually condescends to everyone, sneering with disdain and insulting them left and right if they cannot keep up with his superior intelligence, despite the fact that this exact strain of logic had been used against him, to hurt him and bully him, if you simply replace the ‘intelligence' with ‘physical state'. Miles also judges all women by their beauty before anything else, despite the fact that, again, the same logic has been used against him due to his disability. If Miles were aware of this internal flaw in his logic, that would be interesting. If the book itself were aware of this internal flaw of logic, that, too, would be interesting. But neither care enough about making Miles ever suffer for his poor behavior, except in the most glowingly melodramatic was possible, which absolves him of all his blame and drowns him in sympathy.
Miles has a boatload of flaws that would make him a fascinating anti-hero. He could be an amazing portrait of what growing up disabled in a viciously ablist and sexist society could do to his psyche, as he clings pathetically to his ego and intelligence, insulting everyone around him and making his own problems, dehumanizing women and them blaming them for finding him off-putting. But this is not the case, not by a landslide. That would require an understanding that Miles has flaws, instead of just quirky mean things that everyone forgives him for because he's oh! So! Smart!
Sadly, Miles is supposed to be a hero, the worst sort, the sort who are never wrong, for whom the world convulses around to aid at every turn. He ruins the book, no matter how clever the plot or nuanced the dialog (not that I found either particularly outstanding, but that's besides the point) by virtue of being the center of all morality. And, frankly, it's boring.
Books that are over 300 pages tend to be remarkably uniform. If a writer feels the burning desire to craft a book large enough to be used as an instrument of blunt force, they're usually very reliable writers, who have a pretty set formula. Things will stay largely consistent over the course of the book. So with books as huge as When Christ and His Saints Slept, I knew if I wasn't charmed by page 100, I wasn't going to be.
Suffice to say, I wasn't charmed. The book's early ham-fisted approach to characterization was an immediate turnoff. All the major players are introduced within the span of 40 pages, all are caught at moments while they are not only discussing important and pivotal moments from their past, but doing so in conjunction with their major outlook on life and character motivations. How convenient! Not only that, but anachronistic protofeminist soundbites are thrown around at random to make characters seem more sympathetic to a modern audience, with misogynistic actions becoming so overdone and ghoulish to be laughable. I'm not saying misogyny wasn't a problem in the middle ages– whoo, boy, was it ever!– but when a character feels the need to remind his wife how she'll come to heel, by God! three times in the same conversation, on the first scene in which he is introduced, I start wondering what the author thought I was going to miss. It's not like Penman wouldn't've had more time for a more subtle or nuance approach– this book is 700 pages long.
Not only that, but I have difficulty swallowing Matilda's (or Maud, as she's inexplicably called in this book) characterization as a shrewd woman constantly harping on about her poor luck. Matilda was an incredibly calculating, pragmatic woman, as history has shown us. The idea that she would so publicly, loudly and obviously draw attention to her difficulties and foibles strikes me as odd for a woman who historically went through great lengths to not only demand an imperial bearing, but maintain one.
I've seen a few reviews noting how this book is a refreshing departure from the bodice ripper genre of historical literature. I wonder at that, considering, while Stephen gets an introduction deeply interwoven with his history, childhood, past and potential, Matilda's introduction focuses entirely upon wife-beating, rape accusations and, at one point, brandishing a knife at her husband. In general, I find the leering focus on medieval women's disjointed marriages troubling, if not boring and repetitive. To find the entire first leg of Matilda's character arc in the book to be consumed entirely with these tropes did not inspire me to continue reading past page 100.
Thoroughly disappointing, this book is impossible for non-academics, highly pompous and needlessly verbose, and worse, does not stick to the subject it advertises. While it gives a good general overview of the period during which Balwin IV ruled, that information is only available to you if you speak French and are willing to wade through paragraphs of disjointed and turgid prose.
I wish more books were written like this one. It doesn't waste time with unnecessary detail, the writer's opinion or siblings in scholarship, it just relates information to you the best it can in as much detail as possible without being exhausting. It's a quick and easy read, highly informative and saturated in information. And if that weren't enough, Mortimer does one better by never judging the people about which he's writing. He explains their actions, and why they are the way they are, but never stops and laughs. He points out absurdity when it occurs, of course– and it does often– and holds people accountable for their actions, but at the same time, the compassion he obviously has for his subject is a highlight.
Furthermore, most books on a similar subject will spend exhaustive detail on the exploits of the rich and noble. Mortimer remembers them, too, but he doesn't include them to the exclusion of the poor. He balances all the characters of the Middle Ages excellently, creating a book rich with information and detail.
An engaging, fascinating read, a look into a pre-Star Wars scifi world. I always love seeing genre fiction before it became hugely popular, to see what was influencing things behind the scenes. This book is absolutely amazing, and then the final sentence ruined it for me completely, and I won't be continuing.
Yes, it's gender essentialist in various ways, but I could deal with that; this book is old as anything. But then it doubled down in a way I couldn't deal with.
"Do you know so little of my son?" Jessica whispered. "See that princess standing there, so haughty and confident. They say she has pretensions of a literary nature. Let us hope she finds solace in such things; she'll have little else." A bitter laugh escaped Jessica. "Think on it, Chani: that princess will have the name, yet she'll live as less than a concubine - never to know a moment of tenderness from the man to whom she's bound. While we, Chani, we who carry the name of concubine - history will call us wives."
I just really don't have the time for that nonsense.
I read this book forever ago but was recently asked my thoughts on it, and after typing them up realized I'd basically written a goodreads review, so here's a cleaned up version:
I could honestly get over how terrible the prose of this book is, because it was originally a private project between two authors without intention to publish. That's fine. Sometimes you don't want to retool an entire novella stylistically when you do decide publish. Whatever.
But the book just doesn't work on a fundamental level. It's about love, but we never find out why the characters love each other except that they do, deeply. It's about war, but the cost of that war is never explored or felt. It's about time travel, but the time travel is only surface detail to paper over a plot hole.
The book's plot is horrible, in that nothing happens until the final quarter and then a single deus ex machina saves the day, something that was never hinted at or implied beforehand but is taken as given that this was one of the POV character's plans all along because time travel. It's basically 'because a wizard did it'.
I am not generally someone who throws around terms like ‘plot hole' and ‘deus ex machina' because in I truly believe that to enjoy fiction, you need to meet the writing where it's at; to a certain extent, saying a story is bad because it moves in a very recognizable shape is just refusing to engage with the text in good faith. But This is How You Lose the Time War gives you literally nothing. Every aspect of the book is different shades of distraction.
The prose is there to distract you from how thin the romance is, the romance is there to distract you from how thin the plot is, and the ‘plot' is there to justify the prose.
Which is all fine, it's a silly little collaboration novella that I happily read, was annoyed by for five minutes, and then got over it, except now it's fucking everywhere and I am once again the bitterest bitch at Costco.
Due to back problems, I recently spent the weekend lying down and trying to recuperate, and I chose a fairly easy-to-follow audiobook to listen to. This site isn't for audiobooks, though, so I'll try not to go too far in detail about Marc Thompson's performance (though I thought very highly of it).
These books are very highly recomended, and for good reason. The plotting is tight, and the characterization is interesting and consistent. While some characters may seem similar, they're never cut from the same cloth, and everyone's actions and responses are always unique. The plot always has interesting things for everyone to do, and no one is ever lost or left away from a challenge that suits them.
The prose leaves something to be desired, of course, but I'm not really expecting Proust from a Star Wars tie-in novel. Zahn frequently reuses phrases (‘two heartbeats', ‘what in blazes', etc) and makes word choices that, while it's clear what he means, are inelegant at best (he refers to Han's disregard for authority as his ‘automatic disobedience circuits', for example).
Still, it's the characters and plot that really shines. Zahn does an excellent job shaping the world his characters inhabit, making everything seem like it exists in a sensible yet surreal union that's become emblematic of the franchise. Unlike some other tie-in novels, he doesn't rely on jargon gimmicks to make his scenarios feel grounded, and instead just never forgets who his characters are and what they're doing. If this kind of stuff is for you in the first place, I highly recommend it.
P. Craig Russell is one of my favorite working artists, and I'll sing his praises until I'm hoarse. He has a particular skill with prose adaptations. This book, while markedly different from the film adaptation, is no less successful, and in some arenas moreso.
An imperfect, but thoroughly promising read. The premise is intelligent without being zany– this series could easily be a gag-a-minute boner joke festival, and yet the series is instead a thoughtful and uncompromising look at the awkward side of sexuality, while simultaneously being a pretty grown up take on the superhero genre. (I say ‘grown up'– as in mature– rather than ‘gritty'– this series is no Christopher Nolan, and all the better for it. It never takes itself too seriously, which is wonderful.) Funny, interesting, and with lots of fascinating characters, this volume is a promising preview of a strong series to come. The volume itself isn't the strongest, but I see potential in it.
While Fraction and Zdarsky are no slouch when it comes to comics, something about the formula seems a bit unsure, a bit forced, at times. Maybe it's the unclear way the narration moves forward: the narrator is sometimes in the panel as a flashback is happening, sometimes not, sometimes wearing distracting costumes, sometimes narrating past events in the past tense, sometimes the first tense, etc. Maybe it's the way a lot of the techniques used to tell the story feel a little gimicky– this series is already larger-than-life, it doesn't need characters who are ultra precious and educated, meeting over a discussion of Nabokov and having incredibly quirky speech patterns. But something leaves the series feeling a bit... faked, to turn a phrase.
It's not bad. It's just the sign of a fledgling series finding its wings. When Fraction stops the gimickry and actually writes, the series soars. The scene where Suzie breaks out into a stunning rendition of [song name redacted], except all the lyrics are blotted out with sticky notes because they couldn't get the distribution rights, shines as a moment of surrealist charm because Fraction doesn't try to make it precious, and it would have been unnecessarily so otherwise. (The question of whether Fraction ever really tried to get the rights to print the lyrics in the first place– which would have made a very boring and overlong scene of Suzie singing to the reader in a soundless medium– or decided it would be best to only reference the scene indirectly through fourth-wall-breaking antics, is a question for another time.)
All in all, I look forward to more from this team and the series they're creating. I look forward to watching it find its footing, so it can be the best lil' sex machine it can be.
If you are looking to research slavery in Ancient Rome, and want to read about how slavery and imperialism are good things, actually, when you, like, really think about it, this is the book for you. A pro-colonial, pro-slavery apologia of imperial excess, this book is exactly the kind of thing I mean when I talk about how a lot of UK writing on Ancient Rome treats the Romans like they were direct antecedents of the British Empire (which was, of course, a good thing). I imagine this idea was more popular in a pre-Mussolini world (the book is from 1929), but that's no excuse.
This book is only useful as a testament to the way people used to think, convulsively twisting fact into fiction so they can better lick the boot of an uncaring imperial polity. Nationalism at its worst, this book is a relic of an era that I only wish was more bygone.
If you want an actually thoughtful, well-researched look into the history of Roman slavery, I highly recommend the works of Jerry Toner, who is both a better historian and a better writer.
This book had the bad manners to take a hard turn into Christianity while an edible kicking in, which was an experience I'm not sure I'm coming back from.
I'm afraid this is will be the best book I'll read all year, which is frightening because it's so early in the year. And yet, I can't see something else surpassing it.
This book blew me out of the water. I've never seen a social critique so apt, yet set in a fantasy setting so devoid of our current culture. I've never seen worldbuilding so in-depth yet so thoughtfully in-sync with the themes of the book. I've never seen such complex characters who felt both authentic to the totally fictional cultures and struggles created for them, yet completely understandable and sympathetic to the reader.
It is, in short, a masterwork.
It's not a light, happy masterwork. This book is dark, depressing, about how imperialist structures like racism and sexism and homophobia live inside us all and in turn destroy us all, not just ‘us' as individuals but ‘us' as in our society and the bonds we make within society.
Without going into too much detail, there are two central metaphors in the book: the bounds of society and what they mean, and cancer. Both are incredibly apt. There is a huge amount of discussion dedicated to what family and culture and society and obligation mean to every person and every culture and every person within that culture. There is a huge amount of discussion dedicated, as well, to the nature of cancer, tumors and radiation, and whether or not these are actually a force for good or evil. The metaphor is clear: this alien thing lives inside you, contributing nothing, slowly killing you and those around you, as it slowly and painfully separates you from others and keeps you sick and unable to contribute to the society around you. A tumor only infects one person, but it affects everyone. The book is in places disgusting, gory and painful, but the kind of exorcism that we as readers need, especially in the current political climate.
Which is to say, if you don't want politics in a fantasy book, this isn't the book for you. Yes, this book is a fantasy, but it's also very, very, very real. Baru and her struggles mirror our own in a way that can't be understated. The characters in this book use different words, have different cultures, and different concepts, but they're going through the same struggles we are now.
I once took a film course in college, and one of the lessons that stuck with me the most was the idea that ‘all movies made durring wartime are inherently war movies'. While obviously not film, this maxim applies here. This is not a book ‘about' the current political climate, but it also undoubtedly, inarguably is. I'm generally reticent to make wide sweeping generalizations about the nature of people's understanding of books and films and the like, but I'll make an exception in this case: If you don't think this book is about where we are now as a culture, you've missed the entire point.
In short: If you want the best written political fantasy I've ever read (and I've read quite a few), with fantastic and thoughtful forward motion, pacing, worldbuilding, characters, and nuance? Get this immediately. It may make you feel sad, or uncomfortable, or scared, or frustrated, or uneasy... but if you're living in the world we are now and you don't already feel those things? You're not living in Baru's world anyway.
2025 Reread: Since I read this during Trump's first term, I figured I'd reread it during the second. The first time, I got really weird about it! I was kind of going through it. I'm not gonna pretend I'm not going through something right now, but at least I have more perspective.
Some very dramatic whinging aside, I do think this is an excellent novel, a pure distillation of what fantasy is capable of when you put aside comfort food, shallow moralism and anxious Puritainism. (If you like those things, cool! The entire publishing industry does. Go read that stuff and leave me alone.) I think this book is a masterpiece on a craft level, from the worldbuilding to the tone, the themes, and much of the prose. In terms of pacing, it's kind of stretched out, and it ends on a hell of a cliffhanger. I don't personally mind it, but I can acknowledge this is because the book is so extremely special interest content for me that I can't be completely objective.
From this series' interest in eugenics, class, corruption, forms of government, cultural anthropology, technology, inequality, economics, Enlightenment-era ‘science', and ‘magic' as a cultural phenomenon... look, I understand intellectually why people don't like this book or this series, but I can't quite ‘get' it emotionally. One of the best fantasy books of all time for me personally, topped only by the sequel. If the 4th book never comes out, I'll be content, because Monster and Tyrant are truly everything I could ever ask of the fantasy genre.
This title gets five stars straight off the bat because Deadpool calls himself ‘dadpool' and dresses up as a ghostbuster (excuse me, alien buster) to take his daughter trick-or-treating. I am fully aware that I'm reading this series for the wrong reasons, but Marvel can have my money if they continue to sprinkle little details like that in. Oh! He doesn't want his daughter to see him hurt! Sure, I'll buy it. I'll buy two.