Review: The Lottery and Other Stories

The Lottery and Other Stories by Shirley Jackson
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I didn't know what I was getting into with "The Lottery and Other Stories." I was pretty sure I'd read the titular short story before, but couldn't bring it to mind. But Jackson's name came up regularly on on recommendation threads, even occasionally in SF forums. So I went for it.

Reading it around the same time as "The Price of Salt" was a good choice. Both focus on middle class women in roughly the 1950s. Both are permeated by an eerie sense of foreboding. Both capitalize on the creepiness inherent in the expectations and societal roles of women in the 1950s to create that sense of eerieness. Jackson steps into supernatural territory while "Salt" stands firmly on real ground, but I enjoyed reading them both so close to each other.

One of my favorite parts of this collection was an unexpected connection between many of the stories: a ghostlike man haunts the book. He shows up as a main character in some stories, only to disappear before the story's end and re-enter in the background of a later story, over and over again. It's like a literary Slenderman.

I also appreciated the insight into the subtle horrors of being a woman - pervasive in the 1950s but not at all absent today. Jackson is all about mundane horror, everyday shadows that creep in at the edges and make life uncomfortable. Many of the stories focus on women working and living alone in the city, and even when they don't veer into supernatural territory there's an edge about them as if the characters are on alert for something to go wrong.

Overall, I very much enjoyed the collection.

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Review: The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse

The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse by Louise Erdrich
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

My boyfriend has been trying to get me to read Erdrich for a year now. I don't know why I didn't listen to him earlier, because Erdrich has everything I could possibly want on my author wishlist: she's a woman writing magical realism from the perspective of a minority who often incorporates gender issues into her stories and comes highly regarded as a master of prose. And is she ever! This is easily the best book I've read so far this year in terms of beauty of prose and emotional power of the story.

"The Last Report of the Miracles at Little No Horse" is a strange place to start with Erdrich, though. From what I understand, many of Erdrich's novels take place in an Ojibwe (Native American) community in North Dakota, so characters appear and re-appear in different novels. And this novel revolves around a huge spoiler for the rest of those novels, and you can't talk about the book without talking about this reveal, so here goes: the white priest for the community is a woman, and has been masquerading as a man (by the end of her/his life) for about 70 years.

Father Damien Modeste, also known as Agnes, has been writing to the Pope since he became a priest, and finally, it seems, the Pope has answered as Modeste nears the end of his life. A young priest has come to investigate the miracles of Sister Leopolda, an Ojibwe woman who became a Catholic nun (and often the subject of Modeste's letters), and consider her for canonization.

Modeste is old, long-winded, and absent-minded, so the young priest finds his job surprisingly difficult. Modeste alternately rambles about moments in his life and becomes lost in nostalgic reminiscence, and the reader is privy to it all. He remembers the love he has always had for both God and music, looks fondly on his life prior to the priesthood, considers his changing relationship to religion as he becomes integrated in the Ojibwe community.

I say "he" because Erdrich has cast Modeste as a character who is comfortable with ambiguity. He is perfectly at home entertaining two conflicting ideas and making a whole from those disparate parts without destroying or betraying either. This is true for his gender and his religion. There are moments where Modeste is a man, and he is a he; there are moments when Agnes is a woman, and she is a she. Both exist within the character, and each comes through in varying degrees at varying moments, and Agnes/Modeste is not bothered by it at all. Agnes grew up Catholic and maintains that love for God throughout her life, and as she becomes Modeste, she incorporates Ojibwe beliefs into her Catholicism (and converts Ojibwe by incorporating Catholicism into their existing beliefs).

Erdrich has mastered elegant nuance of character, of ideology. Her imagery is enchanting; the story is full of descriptions of nature and characters that are beautifully striking. Novels are often described as tapestries and I think that description is nowhere more fitting than with Erdrich - this book is a warmly hand-woven tapestry carefully made and illustrated with an expert's detailing, but still full of charm and heart. It evokes a natural garden, lovingly planted but allowed to grow almost wild with only a touch of carefully-placed cultivation and love. Read this, or some other Erdrich book, if you want to be woven into that tapestry and grow in that garden and in the end be wrenched out of it and it hurts to leave but you can see the beautiful whole.

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Review: The Traitor Baru Cormorant

The Traitor Baru Cormorant by Seth Dickinson
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I read "The Traitor Baru Cormorant" over a month ago, but it feels right to be reviewing it now, just after finishing "The Winged Histories" by Sofia Samatar. Both are lush, tightly constructed fantasy empires that happen to be light on the fantasy elements for most of the story. Both feature women who love women (and, in various places, are or aren't treated badly for it). Both have similar things to say about colonization, imperialism, and rebellion.

Where the two books differ, though, is in style. "The Winged Histories" was poetic, elegant, wandering, organic. "Baru Cormorant" is sharp, a perfect machine where each action triggers a precise reaction and gains momentum until every piece has fallen into place in a completely logical but surprisingly powerful ending. It's a masterwork of plot and story creation.

The titular Baru is a woman from an island nation where families are comprised of a mother, two fathers, and children (or Baru's is, at least; there may be variation we don't see). When the colonizing Empire of Masks, or Masquerade, comes, they conquer not by force but by trade. The Masquerade is ostensibly a meritocracy, totally unconcerned with inherited power; all of the public servants wear masks (at least in their official capacity) to emphasize that it's not about the person, it's about their skills. They are also obsessed with chemistry and genetics, but (predictably) focused on the more destructive aspects of these sciences, like bombs and selective breeding.

That's not to say there isn't fighting the empire, though; one of Baru's fathers leaves to fight them and never returns. Baru is smart - a savant, as the Masquerade calls her - but it's not until she's older that she realizes that he might not have died. Instead, he might've suffered the painful punishments the Masquerade deals to those who commit "unhygenic" sexual behavior. By the time Baru figures it out, she's also learned something about herself: she loves women.

She is also fiercely committed to bringing down the Masquerade and she knows it cannot be torn down from outside. She uses her savant skills to get a posting in the imperial goverment: she is the chief accountant for another colony of the empire, and in this particular economically-fragile colony, that makes her in charge.

The rest of the novel grows from this firmly established foundation. Her appointment as accountant is the first domino in a series of events that lead to Baru winning the love of the people (and saving the imperial government in the region) by destroying the value of imperial currency. She leverages that power with the nobility to foment and lead a rebellion. Baru is reticient, determined, and sharp. Her focus is the center around which this entire novel (and probably this entire world, eventually) is wound. It's hard to put so much work on the shoulders of one character and have them carry it without turning into an overpowered robot, but Dickinson has built Baru strong and fanatical, and she'll do it - and she'll stay interesting, flawed, and human the whole time.

She also forms a deep but unconsummated relationship with a noblewoman, a relationship that can't ever be real because Baru must not let the Masquerade have any ammunition to use against her. The relationship is understated but Dickinson conveys the trust and loyalty and strength between them beautifully through small, intimate moments and oblique gestures. Baru is a stoic character by nature, and hiding even the small outward signs of love buries the romance deep for even the reader privy to some of her thoughts. I think Dickinson excellently makes it so that the small hints of romance that Baru does reveal are indicative of a powerful love. Their storyline has some of the most tender and fierce moments I've seen in a fictional lesbian romance, and while I have some qualms about how it worked out, I was wholeheartedly invested in the journey.

As carefully and measuredly as each event unfolds, I do feel that if you think too hard about some of the causal connections, something is lacking. Baru's achievements and her brilliant theories seem overexalted both by the characters in the book and metatextually (the book is getting a lot of praise, and the tone of the text leads the reader to fully believe in Baru's superpowers). In retrospect, I'm highly suspicious of any secret group of elite throne-manipulating powers that decides to let someone join them just for knowing intermediate economics.

The other curious lack here is the fantasy elements. There aren't any. Some are referenced toward the end of the story and will undoubtedly turn up in the next book, if the ending is any indication. The few fantastical elements in the book lean more toward science fiction than magic, which is something that felt fresh and interesting - an old-fantasy world with almost-industrial science and some strange powers of psychological conditioning.

As ambivalent as I am about some aspects of the story, the world-building and the character of Baru Cormorant were so thoroughly and enchantingly established that I can't wait for the sequel.

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Review: The Winged Histories

The Winged Histories by Sofia Samatar
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Disclosure: I received an e-galley copy of this book from Edelweiss and Small Beer Press.

I went into "The Winged Histories" without reading its companion novel, "A Stranger in Olondria." Sofia Samatar's first book came out three-ish years ago, and I'd heard of it in passing but never picked it up. I love Small Beer Press, though, so between that and the positive buzz I jumped at the chance to review this.

Now, "The Winged Histories" is explicitly not a sequel, but for a large chunk of this book I felt like I was missing something. Much of this review is going to detail what my expectations were based on the back-of-book blurb and my experience at points in the book, and how they didn't quite match up to what the book actually was. As the blurb states, it is the stories of four women - a soldier, a poet, a priestess, and a socialite - and their involvement in a war.

The soldier, Tav, gets the first story, and we're thrown into her life as a warrior right away. This was my first stumbling block: it's difficult to tell what the timeline is in this first story, at least in the beginning. Tav is disoriented and remembering events, and she alternates between short, sequential anecdotes and summary recollections with few cues for the reader. Part of my confusion might have been due to my disjointed reading, and I strongly feel a re-read would solve all of my problems (but not starting the book with this particular sequence might have prevented them, too). Once things settled down and became linear, I had an easier time with it.

The second revelation that helped me cope with the story came from another reviewer as I was skimming reviews, about halfway through. They suggested reading this as if it were four short stories, not one narrative, and that immediately made the story 100% better for me. I thought the book was going to be a slow burn that would encompass Tav's emotional trauma and recovery, paralleling the nation of Kestenya's trauma and recovery during and after the war, mostly focusing on Tav but with the other three women woven into her narrative. And even halfway through, toward the end of the priestess's chapter, I was still expecting the rest of Tav's story. That's not exactly what I got, but from this point on, I was able to adjust my expectations and thoroughly enjoy the book with no qualifications.

So, aside from the confusion, I loved this book. All the characters were beautifully written, compelling, tragic, human. The story is, generally, about a war for Kestenya's independence, led by Tav and her cousin, Dasya. The drama of the story is based largely in the elaborate culture that Samatar has created. Inheritance goes to nephews before sons and nieces before daughters. Dasya is the son of the Telkan, and heir to the throne because he has no male cousins - only Tav and her sister, Siski. Legends of Drevedi - winged vampires who supposedly share a lineage with humans - are the fantastical element lurking in the background, waiting to step forward. The Drevedi are maligned, supposedly extinct, but intertwined with the traditional religion - which has now been outlawed in favor of the Cult of the Stone. The Stone in question is covered in fragments of writings in many different languages, and supposedly fell from the sky to the middle of a desert. All in all, the worldbuilding here is fantastic, rich, and decadently layered - and remarkably fresh and original.

The characters Samatar chose to follow - Tav, Siski, Tav's lover, and the isolated daughter of the high priest of the Cult of the Stone - are all of varying importance in the war for Kestenya's independence and its fallout, ranging from Tav, who leads the charge, to her lover, who comforts her and who doesn't shy away from reminding her of the cost of such a war to the women like her who are left behind. Tav's story, appropriately, is more narrative, but troubled by the trauma of war. Her lover's story is absolute poetry. Siski, the socialite, tells a story of romance and loss of innocence. And the priestess reveals the secrets of the Priest of the Stone, who claims to know secrets of the gods but knows nothing about people. Together they form a portrait of a country that strives for unity and independence but is itself a messy, heterogeneous collection of peoples and beliefs. This is a story about history, and how what 'history' is depends on the perspectives that construct it.

This book also shines in its prose. This is the most elegantly, painfully written fantasy book I've read in years. Samatar's language is subtle but impactful and haunting. She writes poetry, outside of her novels, and it's clear and apparent on every page. She knows the power of a word in the right place and when to hold back, to wait or omit entirely. The result is a treasure where every page is steeped in beauty and emotion.

Overall, this was definitely a challenge, but one that was absolutely worth the effort and perhaps worth more because of it. The characters, the prose, the world-buidling are rich and beautiful and I am itching to pick up "A Stranger in Olondria" as soon as I possibly can. Read this book, even if you're not a fantasy fan, because this is a beautiful book first and a fantasy book second.

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Review: ODY-C, Vol. 1: Off to Far Ithicaa

ODY-C, Vol. 1: Off to Far Ithicaa by Matt Fraction
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

I've talked a lot recently in other reviews about the kinds of things I particularly enjoy in comics - weird narrative structure, experimental page layouts, abstract and non-representational art with bright colors - and "ODY-C" hits all those marks and more! I was hooked the moment I read the description: it's a re-telling of the Odyssey, in space, and all the characters are women. And it's such a blast!

I'm going to start with the artwork, because I've already mentioned it and because it's the most immediately striking thing about this story. The colors are incredibly vibrant and alive, and they melt into each other or clash forcefully against each other as the story demands it. Christian Ward has done an amazing job creating art that stands beautifully and powerfully on its own but also serves and uplifts the story. There is often little dialogue on a page, and the art alone tells large parts of the story. Character design (and world design) is fabulous. Most of the characters are women, but their physicality and gender presentation vary wildly (and gloriously). Hera has a beard. Zeus is large, insisting on taking up as much space as the head of the gods deserves. The characters (usually) are clear and distinct (with some exceptions, see below). Some of the character designs remind me of Moebius, which is high praise coming from me. There are almost no traditional comic panels in the story. Ward does some amazing things with concentric circle layouts that are simply stunning. The flexible and non-linear layouts add to how weird and trippy this whole story feels.

I'm enjoying the story quite a bit, too. I'll admit that it's sometimes difficult to get through, because while the overall story mirrors the Odyssey, that provides more of a general structure and many of the specifics are original (or very loose interpretations of the original story). So often, my rusty knowledge of the Odyssey is more of a hindrance than a help, because those expectations are subverted or diverted to a different direction. Other reviewers have mentioned difficulty with the language, as well, and there are times when it is hard to understand what's happening. Generally, I followed the story pretty well. There were some scenes I puzzled over, moved on, and understood in retrospect. There are others where I think I know what happened, but am genuinely not sure (though a re-read or going back to the scene would have helped). Most of the confusion stems from the combination of abstract, poetic Homeric language with sci-fi plotlines, but some also comes from the difficulty keeping track of some of the characters. Their names are often substantially changed from their original Greek, and in at least one instance I confused two of the non-Zeus gods and am still unsure who is who. The confusion and difficulty are what knocked this down from a home-run five-star story to four stars, but I suspect as the story continues (as I get used to the prose, as characters get more established, and I get myself the cliff notes for the Odyssey) this will get easier.

The characters themselves are, as in the Odyssey, not necessarily the kind of characters you warm up to, find compelling, and eagerly await their whole life story. The gods get some personality, and Fraction has given Odyssia more grounding, more personal and emotional depth than Homer ever bothered with Odysseus. Otherwise, it's a grand narrative with larger-than-life events, and with more narration than dialogue, so it's not particularly character-driven. But that's okay; that works here, because it's like the Odyssey in that regard and the story choices complement that decision.

And often, it's the small choices here that make the story great. Hera's beard - I love it. Odyssia captains her ship through literal willpower and mental synchrony with her subordinates; if anyone is not in general coordination with the rest of the crew, the ships can be thrown dangerously off course, and only Odyssia has the force of will to command the ship. Fraction mirrors the Odyssey by frequently using wolf metaphors to refer to Odyssia. Circe is a space pirate. The jealousy and pettiness of the gods (though certainly not unique to this telling) was delightful. There's a lot to love in the small moments, and it shows that Fraction and Ward know how to tell a good story.

The concept itself is pretty great, and Fraction has woven a neat little SF premise into the story beyond the whole 'set in space' conceit. Zeus has cursed humans and made it so no male creature can exist. Humans are trying to get around this in various ways - gender-neutral people, and one old man creepily tries to father sons on young woman after young woman - and it appears that Odyssia's child, as in the Odyssey, is a young man. I'm excited to see where that plotline will go, because it's such a clear departure from the original text. I'm excited to read more of this in general, and I definitely recommend it if you want an SF comic that's both a challenge and a delight.

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Review: 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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Review: Rat Queens - Deluxe - Volume One

Rat Queens - Deluxe - Volume One by Kurtis J. Wiebe
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Disclosure: I received a free e-galley copy of this book from Image Comics.

Why did I wait so long to read Rat Queens?? This ARC has been on my computer for at least a month, probably more. I'd heard about the series last fall, and the local comic store clerk recommended it to me after finding out I liked Image and played D&D. Seriously, though: it's a hilarious, well-drawn, action-packed AND character-driven story about an all-female adventuring party (with some queer action thrown in)! It's everything I've ever dreamed of!

The story opens with the town of Palisade deciding what to do about the rowdy parties of adventurers that, while ostensibly protecting the town, tend to cause a lot of commotion (and property damage). Enter the Rat Queens (through the wall of the building): a beardless dwarf named Violet, a drug-and-women-loving smidgen named Betty, a necromancing elf named Hannah, and a human(?) paladin named Dee who no longer follows her god. The Rat Queens and the rest of the adventurers are sentenced to some boring, run-of-the-mill quests to get them out of jail (and keep out of future trouble), but the missions are quickly revealed to be traps intended to kill them all.

From this fairly standard RPG beginning, it's easy to assume that the story would be cookie-cutter the rest of the way, too - lots of fighting, straightforward quests, lots of dungeons and/or dragons, and not much in terms of character development or world building. Thankfully, this story upends that expectation right away. There's a large, self-contained story in this volume and while the action is certainly thrilling and frequent, it serves mainly as part of a larger story about the relationships between these characters and this town. We get mid-battle flashbacks (due to magical effects) for some origin stories, we get complicated sexual and romantic relationships, we get a sense that this team loves each other deeply and *that* drives the action and the story.

The art is pretty fantastic - a perfect choice for this kind of story. Bold, strong lines, bright colors, and the right kind of detail that reflects and adds to the personality of each character. The artists changed a bit of the way through the series, but I wasn't looking for it, and couldn't tell.

The one drawback to the series is that several times, either due to scene changes or maybe just being slightly dense, I couldn't figure out what the dialogue was referring to. Sometimes flipping back helped, sometimes I was left puzzling and moved on. (For others who have read it, here's one of the points I could still use some clarification on: When Betty tells Hannah she's scared of her black eyes, what is she referring to? I flipped back to the previous scene but I didn't see any obvious eye changes.)

This edition was also lovely, with some extras in the back that riff on the characters and show us some cute extra artwork.

Would highly recommend to anyone who likes D&D, epic fantasy, great stories, and a fun, compelling read!

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