Review: On a Red Station, Drifting

On a Red Station, Drifting by Aliette de Bodard
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This novella pairs well with two books I've read and reviewed recently - "The Traitor Baru Cormorant" and "The Winged Histories." All are focused on women (and generally women of color) in a setting with colonial or imperialist elements, and are concerned with navigating power in both interpersonal/familial and political contexts. "On a Red Station, Drifting" is more about family than diplomacy, but both threads are still there. This is one of my favorite kinds of stories to read and I'm lucky to have read three that are so delightful and so different in such a short period of time.

My only qualm with "On a Red Station, Drifting" is that it isn't longer. I've read many interviews with Aliette de Bodard, I've read some of her short stories before in various anthologies, and I've certainly heard this story in particular praised many times. But somehow I didn't retain that it's a novella, not a novel. It didn't occur to me until I was about halfway through and thought, "Hm, things are coming to a head way sooner than expected..." at which point I checked my progress on my ereader. Anyway, the story is set in what she calls her Xuya universe, and while there's no longer work set in that continuity there are a host of short stories (one of which ended "The Mammoth Book of SF Stories by Women," which I read last year). I'm sure I'll be reviewing one of those shortly.

De Bodard's stories focus on family, especially in the Xuya universe where many people live with neural implants containing the consciousnesses of their ancestors. In Red Station, Quyen flees her Imperial post when rebels attack and travels to Prosper Station, where she has distant relatives. She does not hit it off with Linh, the woman who runs the station. Quyen is an academic (and recently wrote a treatise denouncing the Emperor who would let her planet fall to rebels) and a privileged success story of the meritocratic system of the Empire; Linh is a home-making wife who has nothing but her family, and many of the more prestigious family members have left for war and have yet to return.

The conflict between these two women, the conflict between family and duty, the conflict between duty to family and personal dislike, are the heart of the story. Linh is alone, and while she proudly asserts herself as the one keeping the station together, we know she doubts she can keep the station going much longer by herself. She tells the sentient AI-cyborg creature that has run the station for hundreds of years that she can't do it alone; she mourns her family's absence; she resents Quyen because she assumes Quyen thinks of her as a lesser spouse. Quyen is resentful, too; she resents that Linh won't give her a position that will use her skills, that she won't accept Quyen's help with family or station matters.

It's a beautiful, elegantly written story. The characters are compelling, and the story builds to such a satisfyingly character-driven conclusion. I'm sorry it's not longer, and I'd love to read more in this universe.

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Review: Sex Criminals, Vol. 1: One Weird Trick

Sex Criminals, Vol. 1: One Weird Trick by Matt Fraction
My rating: 2 of 5 stars

"Sex Criminals" was a disappointment from beginning to end. Matt Fraction and Christian Ward created ODY-C, which I enjoyed quite a bit, and they've received rave reviews for Sex Criminals, so I'll admit my expectations were high, but the bar would've had to be pretty low for me to love this. On the upside, it was pretty funny, and I like its frankness and its attempt to speak to the awkwardness and shame attached to sex (especially for adolescents).

Right away I could tell the art wasn't for me. The character designs are boring and lack style, and it was hard for me to tell characters apart. The effects they use for "The Quiet" or "Cumworld," as they call it, are tacky and superficial. In general, the art is meh at best and feels cheap at worst.

Also confusing is the general story format and layout. There are at least three, maybe four storylines spread throughout time, and it's hard to tell which one is happening at any given time. When the main female character described her late teen years, it took me a while to understand it wasn't happening in the present, because she looked the same and there was no difference in the artwork to indicate it. This happens repeatedly throughout the novel, and didn't ever really get better.

Another device that didn't work for me, related to the above, is the breaking-the-fourth-wall element. The main character speaks to the reader directly. She narrates her life, with several panels devoted to her speaking 'face-to-face' with the reader (and shows up, as an adult, in scenes from her childhood). But this only happens occasionally, and wanes as the story continues, until I'm not sure why they included it at all because it only made the beginning more confusing. And again, if they had clearly demarcated with the art what was happening and when, this wouldn't have been an obstacle. I wish they had done something with the art to separate either the narrative voice from the story or the different eras from each other. Even using a larger panel at each transition to clearly establish setting. Or anything to give the reader a sense of time, location, and weight.

The story premise is ridiculous, and I wish they had taken that absurdity and run with it, because there are hints of the silly hilarity that could have ensued. The real Cumworld (a sex shop they frequent) always has laugh-out-loud worthy videos and products. (My favorite porn section: "Obamacore - socialist/medical themed.") There are innumerable puns. Some of the characters are off-the-wall, but in the fairly grounded and serious setting, all these wild elements feel tonally out of place. I get that the story is, at its core, about the relationship between these two people, but it's also a story about people who can stop time when they have sex! And there's a sex-world police force! You can keep the serious, grounded characters and still have a zany, strange world, but I think the overall effect here is that there are some really weird, strange things that are played down or played straight when they should've been played up. It's a crazy world, but no one in the story treats it that way.

As I mentioned earlier, I like the cheeky humor throughout, and I do appreciate the attempt at an allegory for teenage sexual awakening. But the latter feels pretty obvious and unsubtle, so while I like the idea behind it, it didn't stick the landing with me.

Either way, it's not that bad. I was entertained. I just don't think it was very good, and I certainly don't have any desire to read any further.

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Review: 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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Plutona #1, by Jeff Lemire and Emi Lenox

Plutona #1, by Jeff Lemire and Emi Lenox

Publisher: Image Comics
Art: Emi Lenox
Story: Jefff Lemire and Emi Lenox
Colors: Jordie Bellaire
Rating: 2/5

I think that Plutona is directed to a much younger age group than the one that I belong to, and most of my criticisms can be reduced to that. It's a simple story, with young characters who are broadly and sparsely sketched in this first issue. It's also a sweet story, though, with a cute premise and a diverse cast that will probably appeal much more to kids.

In Plutona, five kids - snarky and self-centered Mie and her younger brother Mike, quiet superhero-watching Teddy, unhappy, cigarette smoking Ray, and Mie's downtrodden friend Diane - find the body of a superhero named Plutona in the woods. That's essentially all that happens in the first issue, after the introduction of our cast.

The dialogue can get pretty cloying and too on the nose, in the way that writing for kids gets sometimes. Hopefully the characters will be more than just the fairly wooden stereotypes from the first issue.

The art is beautiful, with pastel watercolors on the cover and a kind of saturated-pastel color palette inside. I particularly liked the switch to Plutona's POV, which featured an emphasis on traditional comic elements and stylization.

This isn't for me, but I'd definitely recommend it to a younger child (partly just to see whether they actually like or not - I'm worried that it might be a little too twee, too written-down).

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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At the End of Babel, by Michael Livingston

"At the End of Babel," by Michael Livingston. Art by Greg Ruth. From Tor.com, edited by Claire Eddy.

Published: July 1, 2015

Word count: ~7600

Rating: 4/5 stars

As a linguist and avid reader, I live for words. Stories about words are the best kind of stories, in my opinion, and anything referencing the Tower of Babel immediately jumps to the top of my 'to-read' list.

In Livingston's "At the End of Babel," words are powerful - but most of them are forbidden. All languages have been outlawed except one (which I assume, but I don't think is specified, is English). Tabitha Hoarse Raven is the last remaining member of her clan, and the last speaker of Keresan. She watched her father and the rest of her community get gunned down for speaking Keresan and dancing the moondance when she was a child. Now, she is going back to her ruined village to dance the moondance and call the gods in Keresan.

The story is anchored on Tabitha, and although we know a lot about her life, I feel she's lacking in personality. Still, she has a persistent, focused determination to complete her mission, and the story feels much the same. It is focused, constantly moving forward, and while it leaves little time for niceties (like elaborate character touches), it grabs your interest and marches you through this tightly-written story. Her determination is Livingston's determination is the reader's determination. We are all in this together, and we want her to succeed.

Until it happens, it's left a mystery what this 'success' entails - and when it does, it provides the most fantastical element of the story. In the beginning, I almost didn't recognize the story as SF/F, because the premise of a country (especially a dry region of the southern US, where I imagined this taking place) outlawing any minority languages under the pretense of 'unity' is hardly far-fetched. Livingston starts the story off, even, with a quotation from a proposed amendment to the Comprehensive Immigration Reform Act of 2006 that states:

No person has a right, entitlement, or claim to have the Government of the United States or any of its officials or representatives act, communicate, perform or provide services, or provide materials in any language other than English.

This isn't a dystopia; it's modern-day America.

Livingston, though, shows us the visceral strength of language, the surprising and powerful things minority languages can do, in his closing act. Tabitha sings to the gods and they rain lightning down on her enemies in a storm that doesn't dissipate but travels on. And like that storm, Tabitha and the other native people she accumulates along the way show that people and cultures don't simply disappear, either, but persist.

Limbo #1, by Dan Watters, Caspar Wijngaard, and Jim Campbell

Limbo #1

Publisher: Image Comics
Art and colors: Caspar Wijngaard
Story: Dan Watters
Letters: Jim Campbell
Rating: 4/5

Another first-issue review! I have a lot of great things to say about Limbo. The comic takes place in what I imagine is a southern US town - lots of Spanish names and signs, but I also got a New Orleans feel from the city. Clay, our main character, is a detective straight of a noir film. He's got his own mystery to solve, though, because nine months ago, he woke up with no memories. A lounge singer named Brigitte asks for his help dealing with a crime lord (The Thumb) who she witnessed some freaky shit involving a sacrificial goat and a staticky TV set.

I'll say right off the bat that the one reason this isn't a 5-star comic for me is that it's just not my thing. Everything about it is quality and I liked it quite a lot, but it didn't hit that right combination of buttons for me to love it. The art is awesome, it's just not my favorite style, etc. I suspect that will change as the story grows in scope (and grows on me), but I've never been a huge fan of noir - it's just not my cup of tea.

That said, the art in this is awesome. The city is full of neon lights and Wijngaard conveys that by using cool neon blues, pinks, purples, and greens against sharp black backgrounds. It's a neat effect and gives the story great visual and stylistic coherence.

I'm also impressed with how well-paced this is. In just one issue, Clay takes on and (perhaps) completes a case, so we have a sense of continuity and closure, but that case also introduces us to the major players in the city. Best of all, it's clearly tied into some crazy otherworldly magic that's affecting the city as a whole, so we get a glimpse of the overall plot.

I'll definitely be picking up future issues of this, so stay tuned for more reviews!