witzelsucht
Another Le Guin win for me. It's largely slow, dense and cerebral, but it builds up a potent emotional momentum as it goes, like all of her books I've read. The setting is at once desolate and carefully detailed, and the ambisexual alien society is fascinating. I loved the varied narration styles and the main characters' journey, both physical and psychological. And I cried.
The good, almost: this book is slightly better written on a sentence level than the first. It's not prose to write home about, but it's not as jarring. The telling-instead-of-showing is less constant, though still prominent, with a heavy reliance on “Rin thought X” and “Rin felt Y”. “Lackadaisical” and “ensconced” only clock in at two or three uses each this time, though there are eleven instances of lips curling, so maybe it's not that much better written. (Yes, I counted, and yes, I'm picky.)
The bad and the ugly: Rin sucks. A dislikeable main character still needs to be interesting and show development that makes it worth spending 650+ pages in their company. In the first book, whether likeable or not, Rin had a clear arc with momentum, driven by her own wit and tenacity. The Dragon Republic sees her wallow around being a gullible, myopic, charisma-free bonehead with no drive, initiative or tactical strengths other than being a magical Chosen One. James Thayer gave good advice when he said a main character should not be a fool, because a reader won't want to follow a character they don't respect. A few mistakes are fine, often important setup for plot and growth, but the protagonist shouldn't persistently be a fool. Rin is a fool and always the last person to know it. She's also a repellent combination of hateful and wishy-washy that is no fun whatsoever to read.
Even a warlike villain should have a moral compass and guiding logic in their own mind. Instead, Rin flip-flops between gleeful cruelty and moping about the tragedy of war; between being a hot-headed renegade and a passive sadsack with no agency. She snarks at everyone in sight but crumbles as soon as a male authority figure gives her a stern look. She's hostile and suspicious yet still a credulous moron. She has no philosophy, politics, or principles; her whole personality constantly turns on a dime. While some of her erratic behaviour could be attributed to grief, PTSD or addiction, none of those subjects are explored with any weight. The other characters don't inspire confidence that all Rin's flaws are by design, because almost nobody behaves or speaks like a fleshed-out, distinct human being.
Kuang pulled a couple of audacious moves in the first book, but this sequel lacks the emotional depth needed to address the aftermath in a meaningful way. The fate of not-Nanjing seems to have made less impression on Rin than the fate of Altan, who was at worst a cardboard cutout and at best an asshole she hardly knew, which is... something. It just begs why such horrors were invoked at all, because their impact is nothing compared to this guy's! Nobody can convince me that Altan had enough substance to loom so large over this story, and the author's pushing of that retcon left me baffled and annoyed.
Worst of all, this book is boring. I hardly liked The Poppy War at all, but it had more going for it than this. Any progression in Kuang's craft is set back by tepid pacing and one of the worst-written main characters I've read. No plot or character events feel truly significant until around the two-thirds mark, and the climax doesn't feel worth the wait. I might pick up the last book to see where this flaming wreck goes, but it would be a fully fledged hate-read and I'm trying to avoid that.
A beautiful and wonderfully written book - my first by this author, and a complete delight. I loved the romance, melancholy, and subtlety of it. I was at first unsure of the multiple viewpoints, but quickly felt at home in each one, drawn in by the characters' warmth and flaws and Kushner's eloquent prose. It's a “small” story but I would gladly have spent much longer with it.
A beautiful ending to Earthsea. The series is a five-star experience overall, somehow more than the sum of its parts. Each book feels quite modest in scale, short and carefully slow-burning, but their cumulative effect is powerful and sort of inexpressible to me. Being able to observe the growth of the characters – and author – through decades of their lives has felt like such a privilege.
An interesting concept, lacking in its execution. As it progressed, more and more things bugged me about it.
The telling. Swathes of time, character development, and worldbuilding opportunities are glossed over in summary and so much telling. The book often reads like a plot outline that never got fleshed out, making the actual character scenes and conversations feel unearned when we get them. A harrowing war story doesn't really work when you don't care if the main characters live or die.
Kuang's writing is functional on a sentence level, but also over-modern in a way that feels generic and lazy, and this is shown at its worst in her dialogue and character writing. People describe things as “cool” and “awesome” and say they have a “photographic memory”. So does photography exist in this setting where wars are fought with swords, bows, and magic (but there are also gas canisters)? There's an abundance of cartoonish clichés (so much sneering, shrieking, and lip-curling) and thesaurus words (take a shot for every “lackadaisical” and “ensconced” and you'll soon need divine intervention yourself). Characters that are meant to be the nation's best and brightest all act like squabbling kids. The shallow vocabulary and limited emotional palette really undermine a book that's billed as a serious, challenging work for adults.
Many issues could've been ironed out with more attention to detail. In Chapter 4, the main character's never heard of Mysterious Hot Guy; in Chapter 12, she's inexplicably mooning over him as her “childhood hero”. Someone who's been through weeks of gruelling combat training doesn't know how to make a proper fist! So many small moments like these just made me go, “Oh, come on, really?” and they add up.
When that infamous chapter comes around – a wiki list of graphic real-life atrocities that are better served by a nonfiction book than a mediocre fantasy novel – it just feels tasteless, and again, unearned. I have no problem reading about violence, and I understand the author's good intentions, but in practice it comes off like a gimmick to earn that much-vaunted grimdark label and age up an otherwise unremarkable YA book.
While I could overlook a lot of The Poppy War's flaws as the debut work of a young author aiming too high, I had many similar issues with Babel, which makes me think this is just Kuang's M.O. as a fantasy writer and won't be changing any time soon.
To its credit, it was a brisk read and kept me turning the pages, even staying up late to read it, though I don't know how much I enjoyed that time. I'd like to see what happens next, but I'm not sure if my curiosity will outweigh my dislike for the characters and writing.
Well-written, never boring, and sometimes moving. Simultaneously very heavy and not quite substantial. The deliberately fragmented presentation allows the nameless narrator to reflect widely on writing, books, grief, friendship, death, and dogs. Like her, the book is smart but all over the place, lacking focus and closure. My first book by Nunez and though I didn't totally love it, I was impressed by her skill.
I really enjoyed this. The setting Martine creates is fascinating, playful and strange, and the booksmart but beleaguered Mahit is a great main character through which to explore its intricacies. I loved the concept of passing memories down from person to person via an implant, and it's a rich vein for intrigue and skulduggery here.
It took me a while to acquire a taste for the writing, which still niggled frequently; Martine is an eloquent writer who undermines her own prose with fuckloads of italics. Once you notice it, you can't stop noticing it, until you just want to shake the author by the shoulders and shout, “Your writing's good! You don't need these!”
The pacing is languid in places, but the book builds up to a third act that impressed me. I wasn't always sure if it would, but it left me really looking forward to reading the next one.
Even after finishing it, I'm unsure whether this is an interesting fantasy story burdened with a series of unfinished essays, or an interesting series of essays burdened with a unfinished fantasy story.
The themes are commendable but Kuang's spoon-feeding and footnotes came across as defensive and grating to me, as if the author was watching over my shoulder, butting in after every scene to make sure I definitely, definitely got the message. I wish she'd given the reader more credit and let the story speak for itself.
I liked and disliked it pretty much equally in the end; despite the above, it could also be intriguing, gripping and enchanting. Three stars for ambition and for doing something inventive with its etymology- and translation-based magic, which I did really enjoy.
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(Oh, and one thing that bothered me, for a book that's well-regarded for its research: One character is repeatedly said to specialise in Gaelic, and jokes that she was born too late to have “grown up around Gaelic”. But what's “Gaelic”? Scottish or Irish? Because those languages are not the same. I assumed from her name that the character, O'Neil, is Irish or of Irish descent. O'Neil is later mocked for being “so English” due to serving boring, boiled... potatoes. Um...)
Totally gripping but jumps the shark as it goes on. It was a razor-sharp five stars for me at the beginning, but by the end could've been a two. Overall, I really liked it, but it left me feeling like it didn't know how to end and didn't fully do justice to any of its many ideas. It's still Kuang's best work for me, and the one context in which her too-onlineness is an asset.
A great book about writing: to the point, well written, actionable, and with some compelling advice I hadn't heard before. I enjoyed how Bell laid out his process from the big picture right down to word-level detailing (going as far as making hit-lists of hackneyed words/descriptions that he avoids, e.g. “chiseled features” and “manicured lawn”). Motivating and engaging.
The first book in my chronological SK readthrough that I find hard to rate. There are elements of it that I loved but others that I really wish played out differently.
I would have enjoyed a whole book about the characters dealing with good and bad “luck”, twists of fate, and troubled personal relationships. I loved the dread and sadness of the early parts of the book; the idea of an accident unlocking a frightening new power in you, its isolating effect on every interaction and relationship you have, and the loss of years of your life. But the plot ends up being fairly pedestrian “What would you do if you were psychic?” fare, i.e. solving crimes and altering world events, of course. I preferred the more personal scale and stakes before that.
I really liked the fragmented storytelling style, with short vignette-like chapters switching between different characters - it's one of my favourite aspects of the book. But I can also see how this maybe worked against it, with villains not really given enough groundwork with the protagonist for their storylines to land for me.
Great character writing, brisk pacing, dodgy plotting, and a very King ending that I'm not sure how I feel about. I enjoyed it and was gripped by it, but ultimately it frustrated me a bit.
The first third of this book is slow and heavily bogged down by long, dry passages of O'Brian showing off his scholarly knowledge of ships. I like ships and admire the attention to authentic historical detail, but God, Pat! It's turgid stuff. You cannot and will not understand all the nautical jargon in this book, to such a degree that another dude wrote a whole other book just to help.
The quicker you can get through those early rocky waters, the better. The sprinkling of great Aubrey/Maturin character moments just about got me through, as their relationship is the star of the show from the first chapter. Their different types of naivety and dog-vs-cat contrast in personality are so entertaining and endearing. O'Brian's character work is wonderful and witty, and I also really enjoy his omniscient, bygone-era style of narration.
The book gets exponentially better as it goes on, delivering the ship-based combat, tense pursuits, bad weather, and interpersonal drama I wanted from the start. I understand that the later books in the series are less laden with dumpings of encyclopedic technical detail, so I look forward to getting into those in future. This one's a challenging but ultimately worthwhile opener.
Though this is a more positive and well-written book than Anne Lamott's almost malevolent Bird by Bird (which I'm still annoyed I read), I came away with the same net result: learning very little and feeling like these autobiographical, write-your-feelings, self-help author-gurus are the most annoying people alive. Spare me the poetry exercises about your childhood and write about shit that rocks, like a haunted car that tries to kill you or something.
Writing Down the Bones is OK for bite-sized nuggets of insight. There are some genuinely heartwarming and thought-provoking bits that made me contemplate a third star. But there's a whole lot of motivational platitudes and navel-gazing waffle to get through to reach the material of substance - the actually interesting parts about craft and practical process. It didn't leave me with a bad taste in my mouth, but it didn't leave me with much of anything, really.
I have so much time for this man – I could read him talking about writing and wiping his arse with poison ivy all day long. I enjoyed the memoir and the “on writing” elements equally. His plotting process (or lack thereof) is still bewildering to me. A welcome palate-cleanse after reading Anne Lamott's memoir/writing book Bird by Bird, which was the churlish antithesis of “inspiring”.
This book starts well but meanders off the rails, as many of Lamott's anecdotes and examples are not as useful or amusing as she seems to think. When it's good, it's one of the more enjoyable books about writing that I've read so far. When it's bad, it's a toxic cocktail of condescension and insecurity that comes off as more repellent than relatable.
I started out taking notes, then stopped. By the end I was just relieved not to be Lamott's friend or student. Whether she's jokingly wishing cancer scares on her successful peers, likening being a writer to having a mental illness or autism, pouring scorn on students who dare to dream of being published, describing a Chilean author's work as “like primitive art”, or saying that people at the Special Olympics all “bear a familial resemblance”, her off-putting tangents quickly outweigh the usefulness of her advice. Add a dose of irrelevant God-bothering and it's like she set out to get on my last nerve.
At one point, Lamott describes receiving a note from a magazine editor, which says, “You have made the mistake of thinking that everything that has happened to you is interesting.” She says it was mortifying, but it clearly wasn't mortifying enough to prevent this book.
Anyway, the advice boils down to: persist with writing, even if it sucks, and don't be afraid to ask for help. You already knew that.
Enjoyably varied mix of stories, only a couple of which didn't land for me. I especially liked the killer inanimate objects and the crossovers with ‘Salem's Lot. Some really imaginative and exciting concepts here, even if many lean on the silly side. Rankings by running order:
FAVOURITE: Jerusalem's Lot, I Am the Doorway, The Mangler, Quitters Inc, Children of the Corn, One for the Road
GOOD: Graveyard Shift, The Boogeyman, Gray Matter, Battleground, Trucks, Sometimes They Come Back, Strawberry Spring, The Ledge, The Lawnmower Man, I Know What You Need, The Last Rung on the Ladder, The Woman in the Room
LEAST FAVOURITE: Night Surf, The Man Who Loved Flowers
As much fun as the first book. It steps back in time from its predecessor to establish more of Vlad's past, such as meeting his wife (she stabs him in the kidney - it's lust at first sight) and managing the general admin woes of being a (literally) small crimelord on the up. Like the first book, it's essentially a crime mystery in structure, with Vlad and friends cracking a conspiracy using smarts, networking, and meetings over dinner as much as combat. I really like that. Looking forward to the next one!
A really snappy and fun sort of fantasy heist. Vlad Taltos - assassin, social climber, male witch, short king - is an enjoyable first-person POV character despite his career in murdering. He's clever, tongue-in-cheek and debonair, but fallible and mortal enough to not get annoying. The worldbuilding can be a bit confusing but is original and intriguing. The writing is pacey and modern, a little rough around the edges but already confident. I'm happy to see there's sixteen more of these.
If you can meet it halfway as a children's wish-fulfilment tale in which a moody tweenage girl can outwit numerous adults to get into the wrong school, befriend the king of thieves, and swordfight a demigod, then it's fine. The world and characters lack detail, the writing is basic, and the whole thing's a bit too cute and convenient. I enjoyed the training stuff the best. The climax is nonsense out of nowhere. All that said, there's something I fundamentally like here, and I gather Pierce's books get better. I'll check them out at some point.
Such a mixed bag for me. I loved it at first - the world felt delightfully whimsical, fun, clever, and bursting with promise. A secret agent solving crimes against literature in a setting where dodos still exist and Wales is a separate socialist republic. How could this be boring?
Quite easily, it turns out. Before the halfway point, the novelty wore off for me. It becomes quickly apparent that Thursday Next is a charmless character to be stuck with in first-person, which Fforde seems to realise because he ditches her off for third-person at jarring intervals. She gets a bland, tacked-on romance subplot, of course. There's very little characterisation for anyone else beyond having joke names that get old fast. The dialogue is functional at best and conspicuously rubbish at worst. Despite all the colourful meta potential, a lot of the story and writing comes off as oddly po-faced and boring.
I really expected more craft and wit from a book whose whole schtick hinges on the literary, but the execution fails to live up to the lofty premise. Maybe the series gets better, but I'm not rushing to find out.
