Showing posts with label 3 stars. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 3 stars. Show all posts

Tuesday, September 26, 2017

Review: Hunger: A Memoir of (My) Body - Audiobook – Unabridged

Hunger: A Memoir of (My) Body - Audiobook – Unabridged Hunger: A Memoir of (My) Body - Audiobook – Unabridged by Roxane Gay
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

It’s always a treat to listen to a memoir narrated well by its author. It makes the book feel intimate. Until recently I had only listened to happier memoirs – the kind written by TV comedians about their careers and artistic lives. Roxane Gay’s Hunger is certainly a change of pace, then, but it was a welcome one for me. To hear a woman talk about the difficult moments in her life, big and small, was poignant and powerful. As she remarks, it’s easy to forget to think about the different ways in which people move through this world. She talks specifically about bodies and their shapes and abilities, but it’s true more generally. Her voice is gentle and cozy. It sounds like she is reaching back through time to tell her younger self that it’s okay to hurt and that eventually, even if she has not fully accepted herself, things will be a semblance of okay. It was both challenging and comforting to listen to (especially as I listened to it on a flight, and I’m an anxious flyer). She does not shy away from discussing the traumatic gang rape that led her to re-shape her body into a “fortress” that would be safe from men or the psychological fallout of that event that still affects her today, but she is also unafraid to set firm limits on how much she will tell and how much is hers to keep. Some of the most moving passages for me were about more mundane things - hiding her secrets from her parents, moving to various academic positions in the middle of nowhere. This is the epitome of memoir: her life has been shaped by forces that many will never understand, and yet there are moments that will resonate with every reader’s life.

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Wednesday, August 23, 2017

Review: The Mote in God's Eye

The Mote in God's Eye The Mote in God's Eye by Larry Niven
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I read The Mote in God's Eye basically because it was convenient. I accidentally let my free Audible trial continue and paid for an extra credit, and there was a buy-one-get-one sale on specific SF books. This was one of them. It wasn't a bad choice; it's a pretty long book, the authors are classic authors I've never read, and I enjoyed parts of it.

This is a classic - and maybe the defining? - first contact story. A bug-like creature in a spaceship shows up in the middle of an inter-solar human empire, and the humans mount an expedition to the home planet. It's also a very military-SF book as the expedition is primarily military. All in all, it's not exactly what I expected from a classic first contact story... and yet it somehow is exactly what I expected from a classic first contact story. There are so many interesting ways in which the story innovates, and there are just as many where it falls back on tired tropes and uninteresting moments. The aliens are both strange and alien, and also conveniently similar to humans.

The plot, in brief (spoilers follow): a military-led expedition travels to an alien solar system. They find evidence of civilization going back hundreds of thousands of years, and yet these creatures have no faster-than-light travel and even seem to have lost some of their technological development. The aliens have several castes - worker/engineers, negotiators, masters - that are highly specialized. Negotiators can mimic individual humans down to their thought patterns. Workers can take any piece of technology, even if they've never seen it, and remake it into something better and more efficient instantly.

The humans are simply trying to see if they are a threat to humanity - and based on those two castes alone I feel like the answer should very obviously be an emphatic YES, but the humans think solely in terms of whether or not there are weapons or technology that could be used as weapons. The humans initially host one worker on one of their ships, but that worker brings some smaller versions of itself that get loose and end up making the ship unsuitable for habitation, so they have to blow it up. They really should leave at this point because, again, it's clear how big a threat these creatures are (they rerouted the warnings and weapons systems of the whole ship!), but instead they go down to the planet's surface.

They see some fascinating things - artwork geared solely toward commemorating mediation, an indoor zoo that includes "city ruins" as one of its habitats, a better-than-real mock-up of a human castle. Just as they are heading back to their ship, there's a conflict in which several human ships are shot down. At this point the narrative takes a sharp turn and follows the humans on the alien planet for a bit as they discover the big thing the aliens are hiding: they can't control their population. They've essentially been in a boom-bust culture cycle for hundreds of thousands of years, which doesn't bode well if they ever get access to interstellar travel. The resolution of the conflict isn't as exciting as I would've liked but I won't go into that here.

These are some crazy interesting aliens! They are obsessed with their population control issue and it defines every aspect of their culture. They have museums full of artifacts from previous civilizations so that they can jump-start their culture once they get back to a certain point after falling back into ruin and dark ages. There are creatures evolved to live in city ruins. And the fact that this all centers around reproductive policy is fascinating. If they don't have children on some regular basis, they die. They can't figure out a way around this that prevents them from having children entirely (though... they do have a hormone treatment that allows sterilization prior to ever having children, which seems like it could at least partially solve their issues). In some ways, this doesn't seem plausible - couldn't you remove whatever their ovaries are and only provide a fertilized egg when it's wanted? Could inducing pregnancy and then aborting solve the issue? How does this species of entirely female (I think?) creatures even reproduce, since it's shown that in isolation they cannot? But I'm willing to look past that and think about what it means for the story and the themes. There is only one woman on the human expedition (womp). If there were more women, the humans probably could've figured out the aliens' secret much quicker. I like to think that maybe this is intentional. Maybe this should make us think about why diversity of perspective is important and not just incidental.

There are other interesting critical readings that are present, even if not explicit. For example, I'm not sure if the book means to critique military culture, but there are certainly elements that sound like critique. There's a lot of formality, ceremony, rigidity in the humans even as they are confronted with a species whose defining characteristics are their irreverence and flexibility. Only the non-military humans even come close insight into the alien psychology (though to be fair, they are not much better than the military men). The commanding officer follows standard protocols and *believes* in those protocols. On the other hand, the narrative doesn't ask us to question this belief even when it precludes obvious solutions and fails to stop threats, and even when there couldn't possibly be a protocol in place for the situation at hand.

As I mentioned, though, all of the humans are spectacularly and unbelievably bad at dealing with the aliens. Isn't rule number one of NASA that there can't even be a 1/10000 chance of contaminating an alien plant if you want to launch a mission? Would you want to completely avoid interacting with alien biology until you were very damn sure there are no microscopic beasts that could kill you? Why would you even accept the *chance* of letting tiny alien creatures loose aboard your ship, and why further would you not then evacuate when they couldn't be found? All of these things and more seem irresponsible to the point of incredulity. But again, maybe Niven and Pournelle want us to think about how our ideals and rules hold up when thrown into completely uncharted territory and when managed by perfectly adequate but unexceptional people. Would we really do much better if we made first contact today?

I can't complain about a book that made me think as much as this one did, even if a lot of what I thought about were the implausibilities.


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Thursday, July 20, 2017

Review: Catalyst: A Rogue One Novel

Catalyst: A Rogue One Novel Catalyst: A Rogue One Novel by James Luceno
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

After reading this, Rogue One, and Tarkin, I have one thing to say to the Star Wars creative group: stop trying to make Tarkin happen. It will never happen.

Neither Catalyst nor Rogue One feel like a fully complete story to me. What happens in this book is basically just backstory for Rogue One and nothing really happens. But without any of the context provided by this story, Rogue One feels like an empty adventure with no stakes or connection to reality.

Catalyst is the story of Jyn Erso's parents. One is a crystal scientist, the other is a surveyor. Both are manipulated by the wannabe-mastermind Orsin Krennic, though how they're susceptible to his clumsy plotting is a mystery to me. The story is really heavily invested in convincing the reader that Krennic and Tarkin are two distinct characters who are fighting for influence in the new Empire but honestly, emphasizing their rivalry makes it very obvious that they could've been collapsed into one character and everyone would've been better off.

The most positive thing I got out of this book was an eerie comparison between the nascent Empire and today's world/US politics. Lots of people burying their heads in the sand and denying the possibility of anything bad happening despite power-hungry men taking over the government.

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Review: Fledgling

Fledgling Fledgling by Octavia E. Butler
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I love Octavia Butler. Her Xenogensis (also known as Lilith's Brood) series is my favorite series of all time. But I have to say that "Fledgling," her last book, is also her worst.

Every Butler story I've read has closely followed the same themes: a small group of people have the power to make other people love/want/need them, and those special people surround themselves with the people that need them, typically creating a commune/family. The normal people resist and often try to refuse, but are ultimately forced into the situation and eventually come to accept and sometimes appreciate the life they have now. The story centers around the mixed emotions of the oppressed, and often deals with the guilt that the oppressors feel. Xenogenesis does this brilliantly and, in my opinion, deals the best with the internal conflicts in both directions and deeply interrogates questions about power imbalance in relationships. "Fledgling" fails to do any of those things.

The opening is powerful. The story is told in first person, and we get the narrative of a person waking up with complete amnesia, blind and in pain and exhausted. As they gradually regain their sight, mobility, and semantic memory - remembering what a deer is, but not whether they'd ever seen a deer before - the reader realizes that this character is a vampire. A bit later, we discover she looks like a young girl. The opening sequence is unsettling, squeamish, and intriguing. The vampire, Shaurya (though she doesn't remember her name at this point), hitchhikes with a man and bites him. This sparks the typical Butler paradigm: he is now tied to her, and she to him. They proceed to have extremely creepy sex because she looks like a 10-year-old and neither of them know how old she actually is (the answer is much, much older than him, but that doesn't make it less uncomfortable in the moment).

Most of the story centers on Shaurya trying to rediscover who she was. She finds part of her family, only to lose them shortly after. She seeks refuge with other vampires and suspects that she's being targeted because she's different - she's genetically engineered to resist the sun and stay awake during daylight, she's part human, and she's black. Her human companions suspect all three of these are why she's being targeted and, spoiler alert, they're right. I don't have any qualms about spoiling this because there is never a moment where Shaurya or any of her human companions are wrong about anything in the whole story, which was frustrating. There weren't any unexpected or unforetold moments in the entire thing.

The main issue, though, was how emotionally unaffected it was. Shaurya is concerned for her human companions but only in the most abstract sense. She wants to make sure she can give them a house, feed them, etc. but doesn't ever think about whether this life is good for them. Her companions express varying mild levels of discomfort with the situation, but most move past it quickly, and Shaurya's concern is always about whether they will ever accept it, rather than how she can make it better for them or whether she should do this at all. The novel is rife with opportunities to reflect on whether these human companions are truly necessary, or whether the typical vampire lifestyle (forcing 7 to 12 humans to live with and adore you forever) is the only way for them to live. But it never touches those questions, instead painting Shaurya and those she associates with as 'better than' others because they don't treat their humans like garbage.

Even aside from questions about the morality of the human/vampire relationship, Butler fails to take advantage of the first-person narration. Shaurya has no memory, no history, and never regains anything more than semantic knowledge about her life. Her reactions to deaths of people she knows fall short of emotional, and dissipate quickly, even when they should continue to affect her.

If you are going to read this, I recommend the audiobook. The narrator does an astounding job with a large cast of characters with different accents. I very much prefer female narrators anyway, since their 'male' voices are more realistic than any male narrator's 'female' voices, and the narrator here does a particularly excellent job with the men.

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Review: The New and Improved Romie Futch

The New and Improved Romie Futch The New and Improved Romie Futch by Julia Elliott
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

This book totally wasn't my jam but I enjoyed the hell out of it anyway. I'm not big on Southern Gothic and I've never read Moby Dick and I'm not even a huge fan of most modern SF that deals with cybernetic brain implants (lookin at you, Nexus by Ramez Naam). But damn do I love a book that makes me like it despite my initial hesitations.

Some scattered thoughts:
I totally thought this was going to end horribly for Romie. I kept thinking his hallucinations and the voices and the blackouts might actually be due to drugs and alcohol even though Elliott kept proving me wrong. At the end of Part Two I thought he was going to die. All throughout Part Three I thought he was going to die or fuck up. I'm kinda glad it was a happy ending, but I'm not sure I'm totally satisfied by it. I've probably been watching too much Bojack Horseman.

I almost feel the science fiction parts of the book were unnecessary. The real story here was his quest for Hogzilla (and his attempts to repair the trajectory of his life) and the SF was not as important. It didn't bother me in the moment, but in retrospect it's like I read two different stories that got stitched together.

I loved the silliness and the verbosity of Romie and his buds post-op. Lots of humor plus some beautifully written sentences. Awesome.

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Review: Ninefox Gambit

Ninefox Gambit Ninefox Gambit by Yoon Ha Lee
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Disclosure: I received a free e-galley copy of this book through NetGalley.

Ninefox Gambit is certainly one of the most original and daring books I've read in a while. The premise of the story - a galactic empire that uses a kind of magic based on math and patterns - is fascinating. The core relationship between Kel and Jedao provides a solid emotional trajectory. Overall, though, I left the book feeling vaguely disappointed, both because the the premise didn't pull off as well as I'd hoped and because the character-driven story was a bit predictable.

The way the magic works is essentially confluence based on patterns of movement of either ships or soldiers that produce larger effects - like explosions, or camouflage. The scope extends beyond the military and throughout their society, as everyone in the Hexarchate follows the same calendrical patterns/schedules. It's a thoughtful metaphor for traditionalist societies where every person has their place and best serves the universe by performing their role dutifully. The main problems for me were that the patterns/formations that are used to create magical effects are abstract enough that they were usually weren't visualizable, and because the effects are magical and arbitrary, it was hard to build tension; the reader can't possible know that X formation will lead to Y effect, so when all the soldiers are getting into formation X, we don't know what that means for the next scene.

The story is driven by this magic. A rogue faction is enforcing a different calendar, and it's disrupting the very carefully woven fabric of magic that pervades the galaxy. Kel is chosen to fight this rogue faction for two reasons: first, she is a soldier who is unusually good at math; second, she suggests resurrecting the person of Jedao, a commander who went insane and killed his own troops many decades earlier. Resurrecting Jedao means incorporating him into her own mind and body, for reasons that are still unclear to me.

While the larger story of the Hexarchate is the 'pitch' story, the one that shapes the book, the core of the story is the relationship between Kel and Jedao. Kel starts remembering things that Jedao has done as if she had done them herself, and while she sees his many atrocities, she also starts to learn that the history she has been taught isn't quite right. As I mentioned above, this part of the story feels almost too familiar - an upstanding citizen must pair up with a supposedly evil traitor to defeat a common enemy, and along the way they begin to understand each other, and it's revealed that the bad guy had some good motivations all along.

It's been a while since I read the book now and I honestly can't quite remember the ending, but I would certainly read a sequel. It was a pretty enjoyable read and the most difficult part for me was that there are very few physical descriptions of anything, and it felt like I was blind while reading.

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Wednesday, July 27, 2016

Review: The Geek Feminist Revolution

The Geek Feminist Revolution The Geek Feminist Revolution by Kameron Hurley
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

"The Geek Feminist Revolution" sounds like literally everything I would want out of a book of essays. It's one of those books I heard about months ago and instantly marked the release date on my calendar. Unfortunately, while it's a pretty good collection, it definitely suffered from by super high expectations.

The collection is broken into four parts: Level Up, Geek, Let's Get Personal, and Revolution. They're roughly themed into essays about writing, pop culture, the author's life, and social justice movements, respectively. There's some overlap - in fact, a lot of overlap, which is reflective of one of the key problems I had with this collection. Much of the content is repetitive. There are a few major incidents in the author's life that are the focus of personal essays but also appear in many of the other essays, either as a core theme or in passing. The essays are, obviously, generally all related to geek feminism, which I love, but which gets treated with pretty much the same few notes in all of her essays.

It's the same problem I had with "Bad Feminist." I like all the content, but collecting previously-published thinkpieces/personal essays by one author into a collection reveals that 1) the essays are all pretty similar, 2) thinkpieces are short and 3) internet publishing favors strong, vibrant rhetoric over nuanced logical argument. To be clear - I'm not saying that either is better, or that the latter is absent from either of the collections. I favor academic writing because that's what I'm familiar with. If I'd read all of Hurley's pieces separately spread over the several years they were originally published, I'd appreciate them more. She has several pieces where she takes nuanced, controversial stances and defends them well. There are others where she argues from a place of passion for things that I also strongly believe in, but her approach loses all steam if you don't already agree with everything she's saying. Not every piece has to be written to argue, to persuade, to convince - some can just be written to 'y'know what? I think this sucks, don't you?' and vent some steam. But there were too many of those for me in this collection.

It's a breeze to read, though, and I especially loved her essays on her history and her writing. I read the essays in the first section slowly, one at a time, because every time I finished one I immediately wanted to spend the rest of the night writing stories. It was inspiring. And for such a young author, she's lived a (hard, but) incredibly interesting life.

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Thursday, March 31, 2016

Review: Patchwerk

Patchwerk Patchwerk by David Tallerman
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

"Patchwerk" is the third selection I've read of Tor.com's novella publishing series. It's nice that I can read these in a brief afternoon. I finished this one while at the library on the day it was due.

It's hard to talk about Patchwerk without spoiling the conceit of the novel. I had a similar difficulty with The Last Witness, the last Tor.com novella I read, but these stories couldn't be more different. Patchwerk doesn't try too hard to hide its premise, so I don't feel bad about spoiling it. Dran Florian, an inventor in a near-future world, has invented a machine that can pull matter from parallel universes. Dran realizes the extent of that power when he's confronted by his estranged wife and a sociopathic bureaucrat-inventor. As Dran repeatedly nears death, his machine pulls he and his wife (and unfortunately his enemies) into parallel universes.

The constant pushing forward and stepping sideways is the centerpiece of the story, and rightly so. If it hadn't worked, if it had been clunky, if it weren't compelling, this whole story would have failed. (And it easily could have been any of those things.) But it worked, and it was a delight to jump through many different genres and tropes along with the characters. There's a typical spy story, a steampunk airship, a bug-Earth, and a fantastical Egyptian barge. It's fun, it's a little campy, and it's full of vivid imagery that has stuck with me for weeks.

The character relationships and the plot itself are simplified somewhat, since the characters don't necessarily retain their identity as they switch worlds, but this simplicity allows Tallerman to tie up the end of the novel neatly while giving the idea driving the story some space to get complicated.

Overall, I didn't love it, but I certainly enjoyed it. I'd like to see it expanded and made into a movie because it would be a beautiful spectacle.

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Saturday, March 12, 2016

From Under Mountains #1, by Sloane Leong, Claire Gibson, Marian Churchland, and Ariana Maher

From Under Mountains #1
Publisher: Image Comics
Art and colors: Sloane Leong
Story: Claire Gibson and Marian Churchland
Letters: Ariana Maher
Rating: 3/5 stars, with potential

So this is a new thing I'm trying: quick reviews of single-issue comics. I've picked up a bunch of first issues lately and I'm slogging through them, and I think doing a 100-200 word review for each one will 1) keep me motivated and 2) help me keep track of how I felt about all of these once I'm done, and see which ones I want to keep an eye on or add to my pull list.

I picked up From Under Mountains #1 because I like Image comics, the art looked vibrant, and I liked the setting. Once I opened it, I noticed the all-female creative team, which I like, a lot. It's hard to find a comic with even one woman involved so this is a grand slam.

Unfortunately, there wasn't a lot here to keep me interested. The art was bright and bold and I love the use of colors and layout in the first third of the book, but after the first spirit-summoning sequence, all of the backgrounds were flat and monochrome, which left me visually bored. The body and face proportions seemed off in some of the panels, too - little details not quite in the right place.

There is some potential in the story and characters, but there's an awful lot of info-dump-y dialogue paired with those flat-background panels. Looking at it now, the art and story are at their best when they rely mostly on visual action and less on dialogue. It's hard to tell what the main plot is going to be, but there's a pair of noble siblings (the brother gets to have adventures while his sister stays at home),  some women summoning lethal spirits, a drunk would-be assassin, and a scruffy hero. Some of the scene changes (and plot-line introductions) feel a little disjointed, and I had a hard time keeping track of what was happening and who was who. It feels like there's a rich mythology behind this, but that it didn't quite get conveyed in the telling.

Still, I'm intrigued enough that I might pick up the second issue to see if it improves. When the art is good, it's lovely and uses some great bright jewel tones (which are my favorite), and I suspect in the future the dialogue will flow a little better.

Tuesday, March 8, 2016

Review: Invisible Republic, Vol. 1

Invisible Republic, Vol. 1 Invisible Republic, Vol. 1 by Gabriel Hardman
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

"Invisible Republic" isn't my typical choice for SF graphic novels or comics. I like flashy, bright, colorful art and tend toward stories that play around with narrative structure. "Invisible Republic" is darker, grittier, and has a straightforward story - but both the art and the story have such a tight focus that it's a gripping read. The 'what if...' at the core of this SF story isn't particularly wild: what if the disenfranchised people of a colonized moon took power, and then potentially damning information about their leader threatens to leak after he is deposed? The story follows two threads, one in the 'present' and one, told through the journal of his young cousin, about the rise of a populist dictator.

I'm not sure what the stakes are in the present-day part of this story line, as the dictator - Arthur McBride - has already either died or been deposed, marking the end of the Malory Regime, and the economic/political scene is already in chaos. A journalist has discovered a journal written by McBride's cousin, Maia Reveron, that begins with McBride's murder of two soldiers, kicking off the story of his rise to power. I'm a little muddy on the exact politics in either of the story arcs. I think that at the beginning of the earlier story, they live on a moon that was settled prior to FTL travel and so was fairly rural and poor, but now that FTL exists and there are new, higher-tech powers settling the moon, there is conflict between the original and new settlers. I think. Either way, there's a dearth of clear sci-fi elements in the story which was kind of disappointing for me as an SF fan. I suspect we'll see more of those, though, as the story continues. Still, the story is the most compelling aspect of this volume, and I'm eager for more.

Although the characters are the vehicle for the story here, and in fact the story is essentially the story of two people and the journalist covering them, the characters really take a backseat to the politics, and aren't particularly memorable. Maia is a promising lead, and I enjoyed her sojourn into beekeeping, but I have no idea what makes her Maia - I don't know her desires, what she enjoys, any character ticks or traits. Same goes for pretty much all the rest of the characters (with the partial exception of McBride, because we know he wants power and we're also supposed to be unsure of his motivations).


I mentioned before that the art is not my typical style. I like abstract art, things that aren't super representational. In that respect, "Invisible Republic" strikes an okay balance for me, because the art style is pretty loose and sketchy. The rough edges and unfinished quality fit the feel of the story, which is nice. I liked the visual distinctions between the storylines - mostly in terms of color, with brighter colors for the past - but I'm not sure they were entirely intentional, since much of the earlier storyline takes place in rural places while the later one is entirely in the urban centers.

Overall, I enjoyed this and I will probably pick up another volume if I stumble across it, but I'm not sure how good a grip I'll have on the plot, politics, and characters at that point, because even now it's hazy and muddy for me.

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Sunday, March 6, 2016

Review: Star Wars: Darth Vader, Vol. 1: Vader

Star Wars: Darth Vader, Vol. 1: Vader Star Wars: Darth Vader, Vol. 1: Vader by Kieron Gillen
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I loved the Star Wars EU, so I was pretty sad when they de-canonized them (for months, I teared up every time I saw a bunch of them on a shelf at the library or bookstore). But I was also cautiously hopeful - maybe we'd get new stories that were more inclusive, or maybe as fun as the old ones with a more professional shine to them! Then we'd have two great universes to read in! But honestly, the tone of the EU that I loved, the craziness and campiness and never-ending space opera, was the result of individuals who loved Star Wars. There were some real out-there stories, some terribly bad stories, but they were usually bad because people took risks and they failed. It was fans who made the old EU happen, because they loved it, and the EU grew from the bottom up. And the new novels are entirely the result of top-down story direction, with Disney deciding what plots and character types to include so they can market the books to as wide an audience as possible, and "obsessive, life-long, passionate Star Wars fans who loved the EU" is a very niche audience. You can see it in the recurring bland character types they use for every truly new character. They won't have any Starcaves or MindHarps or Sun Crushers (oh wait...), but I think it will take a while for the books to get back to the beloved, well-worn feel of the old EU, if they ever do. I think it would require Star Wars falling out of the public consciousness for a long time, and there's no way Disney's going to let that happen if it can still make them money.

(Above taken from a comment I made on reddit.com/r/StarWars to provide some context for my feelings).

So, obviously, I've been disappointed by so much of the new EU. But this first volume of the Star Wars: Darth Vader comic has finally given me a new hope for the future of the new canon! For the first time, we get some crazy, strange ideas that aren't slick, consumer-tested plots and characters guaranteed to offend no one, or re-packaged ideas from the original trilogy. And, like in the old EU, I'm not sure these ideas do work - but I'm so excited to see how they work out! There's a woman who's draws heavily on Indiana Jones, an archaeologist-turned-thief who gets recruited to work for Vader himself. And on top of all of that, they're mucking about in the plotlines directly relevant to the original trilogy! Palpatine has a secret group of apprentices(? maybe?), beings trained and scientifically augmented to be weapons that don't necessarily draw on the force. There are psychopathic twins, a person who controls a swarm of flying robots - this is weird shit, folks, and it's all happening during the original trilogy. It's glorious. I want all Star Wars to be like this again.

The story also continues the new EU theme of Vader's ambivalence toward his role as Palpatine's apprentice, and his constant memories of the life he lived before. I don't know yet how I feel about this. In some ways, it makes his conversion in Return of the Jedi make a little more sense, and it provides some character continuity; Anakin doesn't immediately become the monster Vader and change personalities. In others, though, it kind of cheapens the work Luke does throughout the original trilogy. If Vader is doubtful, if Vader has always questioned his choice to embrace the dark side, then Luke's job wasn't actually difficult at all (or at least not as hard as it was made out to be). It definitely works better than in Lords of the Sith, because at this point, Vader's old life has been forcibly re-awakened by Luke's entrance into his life.

I'm not a huge fan of the artwork, though. It stays in incredibly safe, well-trodden territory. I like my art weird and symbolic and colorful and abstract, and Star Wars comic art has generally always been fairly iconic and strictly representative (though I like the strange color palettes for some of the pre-Republic tales in the old EU).

I will gladly keep reading this series, because it's kickass. I want to see more of Indiana Jones-lady. I want to see more of Palpatine's insane kill squad. I want more risky, strange, fun stories in the Star Wars universe.

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Thursday, March 3, 2016

Review: Understanding Comics: The Invisible Art

Understanding Comics: The Invisible Art Understanding Comics: The Invisible Art by Scott McCloud
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I'm fairly disappointed in "Understanding Comics." In the best lit course I ever took, we read the second chapter, "The Vocabulary of Comics," and it was a mind-blowing read that has shaped the way I read comics since. Unfortunately, it's easily the best chapter in the book and only two or three other chapters are anywhere near as fascinating. The meat of the book is in a few central chapters, and the rest is insubstantial fluff about how amazing comics are - or could be, if the medium were taken seriously. It's also clearly dated. While comics are still looked down upon and not generally treated as equal to written literature, the genre has gained a significant amount of prestige in the past twenty years, so McCloud's frequent protestations against how maligned comics are and his insistence that comics are worth respect are now unnecessary.

Several chapters are certainly worth reading. The aforementioned "Vocabulary of Comics" introduces the basic elements of comics writing and the idea of symbols, signs, and icons. McCloud goes into serious depth about how variation in style can be used to deliberately evoke either distance or empathy with characters, to 'other' or include the reader. The section on panels and the spaces between them is another highlight. Essentially, any time he digs into the structure of comics, how that structure can be used, and how that structure is different from literature and useful in ways that written literature can't match, I'm sold on comics as a medium all over again. When he's waxing eloquent about how amazing comics are, he loses me, because I don't need to be told: I want to be shown. The book starts out strong in this regard while the last several chapters are a bear to get through.

I like his frequent references to important comic artists, stories and styles (and his reproductions), because as someone with little knowledge of the history of comics, those moments do a great job of illustrating his point while simultaneously broadening my knowledge. He disclaims at the beginning that this isn't a history of comics, but I could have used a bit more history nonetheless. Still, he cites some great sources that I immediately read and were great resources in themselves for understanding comics, art, and history.

I also love his efforts to tie comics back to visual sequential art throughout history; it's one of those things you don't think about until it's pointed out to you, and then it makes a world of sense. The book is full of such things and I don't ever tire of them.

Overall, I recommend at least the first half of the book. If you have a bit more patience or indulgence for dated ideology than I do, then the whole thing might be a home run for you.

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Wednesday, March 2, 2016

Review: The Liminal People

The Liminal People The Liminal People by Ayize Jama-Everett
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

"The Liminal People" was a slim, quick read in the vein of Octavia Butler's Patternmaster series with a slight gritty-superhero vibe.

Taggert's power is healing, but as he says, the best healers are the ones who know how to hurt. In his youth, he dated a woman with powers like his (though she controlled fire), but in the years since he's traveled across Africa healing all those he found, then joined up with a crime lord who also has superpowers. As in Butler's books, the story is largely concerned with power; all of the liminal people have powers that put them above normal humans, but there are superpowers behind the scenes who outrank even Taggert's boss. We see characters form similar relationships - the strong taking others under their wing to 'protect' them but also to use them, people fleeing from that control to form familial bonds with equals, other people squirming at the idea that maybe they must serve one power or another.

At this point, it's been a little over a month since I read the book, and while I felt pretty good about it immediately after reading, it hasn't aged well. Taggert wasn't very compelling. One of the surprise reveals wasn't at all surprising (though I don't know if it was supposed to be surprising for the reader - perhaps just for Taggert). I'm fascinated with bits and pieces of the story, like the drastic change of events after Taggert has dinner with his ex-lover, and the true identity of the power running London. But the story doesn't have much pull beyond those odds and ends. I still may pick up the sequels because the resonance with Butler's work lends this a certain fondness, but I don't love it, and I'm amending my review from 4 to 3 stars.

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Tuesday, March 1, 2016

Review: A Guide to Being Born: Stories

A Guide to Being Born: Stories A Guide to Being Born: Stories by Ramona Ausubel
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

I am getting way too far behind on my reviews, so I'm going a bit out of order on these. On the blog, you'll notice I've started tagging reviews with months - those are the month the book/story was read, to better keep track. I read "A Guide to Being Born: Stories" immediately after reading "Find Me," by Laura Van Den Berg (review forthcoming), and the two share a lot of immediately striking similarities. (I'm hoping this review will make the other one easier; I have a lot of feelings and no proper words to explain them for "Find Me.")

This was an impulse read, something I found on the library shelf when I was ostensibly there just to pick up some long-planned reads that came in from on hold. This happens a lot to me. It's like going shopping on an empty stomach, only I'm always hungry for more books. It was a quick read, too; I finished it in one sitting.

As the title indicates, it's a book of short stories, many following the theme of birth, life, and death. It shares with "Find Me" a kind of deliberately disaffected, dark curiosity about birth and motherhood that suggests someone trying desperately not to reveal their obsession. In one story, a pregnant woman's husband wakes to find he has empty drawers in his chest. He fills them with significant odds and ends to feel like he contains something important, too. In another, a young woman who finds herself accidentally pregnant can't believe she's actually having a human baby, and instead imagines her child will be any of a variety of animals. The stories oscillate between pointedly oblique - directing your thoughts exactly to one specific place without ever saying it outright - and commandingly, heartwrenchingly plain, laying out exactly the meaning as they grasp your heart by the collar and shove it up against a wall. That is to say, the collection attempts that dichotomy, but often falls short of the emotional strength needed.

The thematic concern with life is emphasized by stories about death and not living life well. One of the stories most vivid in my memory takes place on a boat. Everyone on the boat is a grandmother, and none of them know how they got there. There are many kinds of grandmothers, but all of them are on this boat, and some, in desperation, choose to jump off. Another is about a young girl who plays catch with the ghost of a Civil War soldier. The young girl lives alone in the woods with her mother and grandmother. She thinks she knows a lot about how she was born, but much of it is a lie.

These stories are sweet pastries, easy to consume quickly but perhaps better to chew on slowly, doled out one by one. There's no plot to be found in any of these stories. As with much stereotypical high-literature short fiction, they are mundane slices of life (in this case, mundane turned fantastical). If that's not your thing, this isn't for you, but the collection certainly made for a pleasant evening.

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Monday, January 4, 2016

Review: The Circle

The Circle The Circle by Dave Eggers
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

"The Circle" is a book that has gotten a lot of buzz. Several schools made it required reading for incoming freshmen. It's getting a movie starring Emma Watson, Tom Hanks, Karen Gillan, and John Boyega. It's written by Dave Eggers, whose short stories I have read and enjoyed in the past, and who is generally an acclaimed author. And it's a literary novel with a sci-fi genre coating, which usually appeals to me, so I took it on with some enthusiasm.

Mae Holland begins work at a giant company called The Circle that is an amalgamation of Facebook, Google, Twitter, and any other site you can think of - an account with the company unifies all of a person's online accounts and ties them to their real names, which has the effect of making the entire internet polite. But despite the grandiose, heartfelt, well-intentioned projects spearheaded by the company, something feels wrong to Mae. She believes that the company's philosophy - and I'm paraphrasing, but it's generally 'knowledge solves all problems, so if everyone knows everything, then all problems will go away' - is right, but she doesn't understand why they question her initial lack of participation in company social media, or post about her occasional kayaking trips. It feels, at first, invasive.

This book wants very much to be the modern "1984." And, on the surface level, it is: it's a dystopian near future concerned with the privacy, independence, and rights of the individual citizen under the power of a powerful super-entity that controls behavior (though in this case, instead of hiding information from the masses, they share everything with everyone). The Circle's slogans, including "Sharing is Caring," are deliberately constructed to mirror the infamous "War is Peace. Freedom is slavery. Ignorance is Strength." Mae's initial resistance to and eventual complicity with the Circle's endeavors follows Winston's path. Even her relationship with Kalden, who urges her to break free of the Circle's grasp and work against them, is similar to Winston's relationship with Julia.

The striking, damning difference, though, is that "1984" contains compelling arguments against totalitarian government and obfuscation, while "The Circle" simply asserts that voluntary surveillance and always-on internet culture is bad, because privacy is good, with no explanation as to why privacy is good beyond 'surveillance is bad.' I'm not saying I disagree with Eggers, here - I think he's generally right, that people are too willing to hand over freedoms for convenience, that people should be able to opt out and increasingly are unable to do so, that privacy is a good thing. But he relies entirely on my a priori idea that privacy is good, and his few attempts at conveying *why* it's good are flimsy and shallow. Mae likes her private kayak trips because they make her feel connected to the world, yeah, but she likes keeping up her internet presence for the same reason. (We're supposed to believe that the former is more fulfilling because while doing the latter, Mae often feels a gaping emptiness inside her, but you can feel that gulf sadness and unfulfillment no matter where you are or what you're doing, and Mercer, her anti-tech ex, tries to go off the grid and tells Mae that the Circle is bad because it doesn't let you opt out or have real privacy, and suffers for his attempts, but this is again the circular logic (pun fully intended) Eggers uses: surveillance is bad because privacy is good because surveillance is bad.

My other huge gripe with this book is how whiny it sounds. It's saying the same things that anyone who doesn't 'get' technology says, a litany of complaints and accusations with little evidence - we're addicted to technology, there's no such thing as privacy anymore, we spend all our time staring at screens. So many screens. Every time Mae gets promoted or funneled into a new program, she gets a new display screen added to her computer; I think she totals 8 by the end, and each scene is increasingly absurd. But it's not an effective, message-bearing absurd. Instead, it reminds me of parents who grumble that their perfectly normal children spend too much time online and not enough connecting with people or reading books (not understanding that many younguns use the internet primarily *for* connecting, for which it is an effective tool, or reading and research). Because regardless of whether there's truth to Eggers' and grumbly parents' complaints (and I do feel there is truth there), and even considering that this is a dystopian satire where things are purposely taken to their logical extremes, the fact that it feels driven by pathos instead of logos and the sheer amount of absurd and ironic but repetitive sequences of 'this technology is presented as good but is obviously an atrocity' make it feel like we're reading a rant, a litany of Eggers' personal annoyances and nightmares.

(Also, because the progression to absurdity follows a pathos instead of a logos or ethos, many of the doomsday-inducing scenarios fall apart with a little thought. Yes, again, it's satire and exaggeration, but it's tough to swallow some of the bigger assumptions the novel makes - not the least of which is that the culture and dominance of technology in America will take hold in the exact same way globally.)

Despite its logical and tonal problems, the book does work, to a degree, as an indictment against a sometimes mandatory plugged-in culture that is prevalent in some circles (again, the pun is definitely intended). I think more now about *why* I want to post things, and what I gain versus what the company whose platform I'm using gains. And that's really Eggers' point, so it's successful there. Still, I'd give my firstborn and probably most of my rights to privacy to work at a campus like the Circle's. And its prose is strong, if incessant and not particularly beautiful. While I read, it was a page-turner, but the minute I put the book down I didn't want to ever pick it up again because it didn't give me anything new after the first hundred pages.

Overall, it's a too-long tirade against technology, but a well-written one that has some valid points and definitely instilled a bit of fear or caution in me.

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