Mar 18 2018

Lovecraft Country by Matt Ruff

What a terrific book. What it lacked in pathos for me, it more than made up for in the breadth of its empathy and historical vision.

Structured as eight short stories and an epilogue connected by their cast and timeline, Lovecraft Country plunges an ordinary black family of the 1950s and their friends into the kinds of eldritch terror made famous by that dreadful racist, H. P. Lovecraft. If anything, the main weakness of Matt Ruff’s book is that it doesn’t reach the levels of creeping supernatural horror often achieved by the book’s namesake. However, it more than makes up for it by exposing the all too real horrors of American racism, something far too many Americans want to forget or pretend were never that bad. Mr Ruff does something extraordinary with this book by not only putting this terrible evil front and center but also by making it a worse villain than anything dreamt of in natural philosophy, as the occultists in this book call their branch of study.

My favorite stories were, interestingly enough, the ones with female protagonists. Hippolyta Disturbs The Universe was easily my favorite of the bunch, both in the dream-like quality of the storytelling and for the sheer scariness of it. And the emotions! As a mother and an intellectual, I very much connected with Hippolyta and with Ida. It was also hard not to connect deeply with Ruby’s story in Jekyll In Hyde Park, even after coming to sympathize so well with her brave and clever sister, Letitia, in the first two stories. Which isn’t to say that the male characters aren’t also well drawn and sympathetic, just that Mr Ruff does an exceptional job writing of black women, a demographic which he does not have a natural advantage in, not being a part of either.

Anyway, I’ve already added another book of his to my To-Read pile because this extraordinary book shows off a mind that is at once keenly intelligent and determinedly kind, a combination I particularly love of my authors. Also, Mr Ruff’s writing is funny as hell. Atticus’ deadpan response to Samuel’s big speech in the opening story still makes me laugh just thinking about it. I have a feeling that reading more of Mr Ruff will be both a pleasure and a reminder to be a force for good and the truth. Not many authors can pull off both.

Permanent link to this article: https://www.thefrumiousconsortium.net/2018/03/18/lovecraft-country-by-matt-ruff/

Mar 17 2018

The Girl Who Drank The Moon by Kelly Barnhill

I really wanted to like this more, after the strong recommendation I got for it from Saladin Ahmad, but it was so weirdly annoying! It was very hard for me to believe that a 500 year-old witch who had been instrumental in helping to maintain the health and happiness of a large populace through one-on-one interactions could be so absolutely bone-headed in raising her own child. And I’m not saying that parenting is easy — I have an absolutely lovely 7 year-old and adorable 4 year-old twins who are a trial — and I absolutely 100% believe that discipline is hard but it felt like Xan just didn’t even try to get Luna to focus before locking away all her magic with a half-assed spell. I get it, children are exhausting, especially if you’re no spring chicken, but there was a distinct element of “oh, Luna is too lively for me to contain through actual parenting” that I found exceptionally irritating.

There were some fun twists on the typical fairy tale, and I thought the parable of the Protectorate and its politicians to be quite apt for our present times, but the book felt a little too pleased with its idea of its own cleverness overall. I suppose I might have liked it as a young reader, but as a parent, I thought it was pretty meh, and I’m usually a sucker for the parent-who-will-do-anything-for-their-child storyline, of which this book had not just one but two!

Permanent link to this article: https://www.thefrumiousconsortium.net/2018/03/17/the-girl-who-drank-the-moon-by-kelly-barnhill/

Mar 11 2018

The Stars Are Legion by Kameron Hurley

The fuck was that?!

And I don’t mean that in a bad way either, it was just weird as hell and kinda gross. Pulling my professional pants on, I’m pretty sure the greatest part of my disorientation is the fact that, while this is billed as an outer space opera, I couldn’t shake the impression that this was all inner space and that these women were really anthropomorphized cell structures within a greater biological organism, of which the world/ships were also a component. I would love to see what an actual biologist would have to say about this (and don’t think I haven’t trawled the Internet looking.)

Anyway, there’s this character, Zan, who wakes up with amnesia after coming back from a failed raid on the world/ship Mokshi. Apparently, she keeps going in and keeps getting shot back out, the sole survivor, to return to her war-like people, the Katazyrna. At least, she thinks they’re her people, as Jayd, the beautiful woman she instinctively knows she loves, keeps telling her when she returns. But there’s something rotten in the state of Katazyrna, and when Jayd leaves Zan to form a political alliance with the world/ship Bhajava, whose warriors are ostensibly the reason Zan keeps failing to complete her raids on the Mokshi, Zan finds herself adrift and unsure who to trust, especially after all hell breaks loose and she finds herself facing a fate worse than death.

So far so space opera, and Kameron Hurley hits all the notes, even the ones that feel perfunctory (see: the climax, of a sort, in the Mokshi control room.) The emotions felt less than inhabited, particularly as the book wore on. Jayd wasn’t a terribly convincing character emotionally and while I enjoyed the idea of the change in her relationship with Zan by the end, I didn’t care about the actuality. Maybe it’s because I didn’t at all feel the impact of her earlier and greatest betrayal, and so I didn’t really understand the need for change viscerally. Like, I get it intellectually but there were also a lot of intellectual reasons for their relationship to continue as it was so idk.

Definitely a wild ride of a book and recommended for anyone wanting something entirely fresh in science fiction. It’s still tough for me to think of this setting as the future of outer space, tho, instead of a clever retelling of biological processes at the cellular level.

Permanent link to this article: https://www.thefrumiousconsortium.net/2018/03/11/the-stars-are-legion-by-kameron-hurley/

Mar 08 2018

Going Postal by Terry Pratchett

At different parts in the Discworld books, Terry Pratchett considers what might happen when something like a modern technology appears in the magical, quasi-medieval societies of the Disc. Moving Pictures was the first of these, back at the 10th book in the set, and they become more common later in the run. The Truth introduces newspapers. Going Postal features a revival of Ankh-Morpork’s Royal Mail. The clacks, a semaphore system that has effects a bit like the telegraph and the internet did in our world, was introduced in The Fifth Elephant, though it was not the main topic of the story. Looking at what other people have written, I see that I have a few more ahead of me in the eight books that remain after Going Postal.

I started out skeptical about Going Postal. The setup struck me as a deus ex Vetinari: using the powers and abilities of Ankh-Morpork’s ruling Patrician to set the story in motion, rather than having it emerge more naturally from the setting or from previously established characters. The authorial hand is very visible in the beginning. Pratchett wants a certain kind of character doing a particular thing with the postal service. On the other hand, the kind of character Pratchett wants at the center of this book is interesting: Moist van Lipwig is a con man, a thief, a reprobate. He has been looking out for number one so long that looking for a way to get away with the loot is a reflex.

The clacks have been taken over by a bunch of caricature capitalists, and Vetinari wants some competition in the business of delivering messages, so he puts Lipwig in charge of reviving the ancient postal service that was once the pride of Ankh-Morpork but has since fallen onto hard times. It’s not so much administrative ability that’s necessary to restoring the post but rather the ability to inspire people to believe that it will function. And getting people to believe things is Lipwig’s specialty.

I think that Going Postal, like Monstrous Regiment, would have been better if it had been shorter. In particular, the first third of the novel feels like it is wandering around, with comic bits playing out longer and more slowly than necessary, and with other developments unfolding at a pace that’s more languid than leisurely. It’s Pratchett, so it’s never hard going, but it’s looser than earlier Discworld books, not always to its benefit.

On the other hand, there are funny bits and arch observations throughout, and the action really is headed somewhere interesting. In some ways, Going Postal is an extended meditation on belief — inspiring it, harnessing it, and taking advantage of it.

“You want to deliver this letter to [the god] Offler?” [the priest] said, yawning. An envelope had been placed in his hand.
“It’s addressed to him,” said Moist. “And correctly stamped. A smartly written letter always gets attention. I’ve also brought a pound of sausages, which I believe is customary. Crocodiles [the god’s aspect] love sausages.”
“Strictly speaking, you see, it’s prayers that go up to the gods,” said the priest doubtfully. …
“As I understand it,” said Moist, “the gift of sausages of Offler by being fried, yes? And the spirit of the sausages ascends unto Offler by means of the smell? And then you eat the sausages?”
“Ah, no. Not exactly. Not at all,” said the young priest, who knew this one. “It might look like that to the uninitiated, but, as you say, the true sausagidity goes straight to Offler. He, of course, eats the spirit of the sausages. We eat the mere earthly shell, which believe me turns to dust and ashes in our mouths.”
“That would explain why the smell of sausages is always better than the actual sausage, then?” said Moist. “I’ve often noticed that.”
The priest was impressed. “Are you a theologian, sir?”
“I’m in … a similar line of work,” said Moist (pp. 332-33)

Pratchett had also been listening to the women in his life, and believing them. Moist is in a disreputable bar, meeting up with a woman from the golem trade, Miss Dearheart.

When [Moist] returned, his seat was occupied by a Currently Friendly Drunk. Moist recognized the type, and the operative word was “currently.” Miss Dearheart was leaning back to avoid his attentions and more probably his breath.
Moist heard the familiar cry of the generously sloshed.
“What … right? What I’m saying is, right, what I’m saying, nahrmean, why won’t you, right, gimme a kiss, right? All I’m saying is—” (p. 292)

Miss Dearheart drives a spiky heel into the drunk’s foot, and tells him how hard she can kick with the other spike.

With great care the man stood up, turned and, without a backward glance, lurched unsteadily away.
“Can I bother you?” said Moist. Miss Dearheart nodded, and he sat down, with his legs crossed. “He was only a drunk,” he ventured.
“Yes, men say that sort of thing,” said Miss Dearheart. (p. 393)

Once it gets underway, though, Going Postal is zippy fun with just enough seriousness to keep the deliveries from going astray. Much of that comes from Moist looking at the world with new eyes, as he sees both the perils and the possibilities of having people truly believe in him for ends greater than quick cash.

Permanent link to this article: https://www.thefrumiousconsortium.net/2018/03/08/going-postal-by-terry-pratchett/

Mar 07 2018

The Last Days of New Paris by China Miéville

I should not have taken as long as I did to get through China Miéville’s novella, The Last Days of New Paris. The main story is less than 180 pages; the afterword tacks on another 15 or so, and I mostly did not read the notes that are appended afterward. That the words “get through” are the first that spring to mind is telling, though I suppose the larger lesson is that Miéville’s work is hit-or-miss for me. I’ve read eight of his 13 published books (tried a ninth, Un Lun Dun, but bounced). Perdido Street Station felt like a revelation when I read it; The City & The City is terrific, an amazing mash-up of Cold War, maybe-magic, and the human tendency not to see what we don’t want to see. I’m not sure that it fulfills all of its promises, but even getting nine-tenths of the way there is an achievement. I’ve been told that Embassytown is as good as these two; it’s on my shelf of books to read, and I’m looking forward to reading it at some point. On the other hand, This Census-Taker didn’t do much for me.

In the world of The Last Days of New Paris, a massive, mystical bomb exploded in the French capital in 1941, releasing strange energies into streets newly occupied by the invading Wehrmacht. Within a certain yet uncertain radius around the point of detonation, the laws of physics have been pushed aside and Surrealist works have manifested themselves into reality. The top half of the Eiffel tower remains suspended in midair though the bottom half has been destroyed. The novella opens with one of these manifestations, which Miéville calls manifs, headed toward a German barricade somewhere in the streets of Paris. The manif is a “torso, jutted from the bicycle itself, its moving prow, a figurehead where handlebars should be. She was extruded from the metal. She pushed her arms backward and they curled at the ends like coral. She stretched her neck and widened her eyes.” (p. 4) Another woman is riding the manif, which is a thing that Miéville’s narrator, Thibaut, says should not be. He is not able to find out much more. The Germans shoot both manif and rider. Thibaut scampers from his hiding place long enough to hear the rider’s dying words and receive a playing card from her.

Continue reading

Permanent link to this article: https://www.thefrumiousconsortium.net/2018/03/07/the-last-days-of-new-paris-by-china-mieville/

Mar 03 2018

Annihilation (Southern Reach #1) by Jeff VanderMeer

The more I think back on it, the lovelier this novel grows in my mind. The atmosphere and tone are unsettling and consistently oppressive: I kept thinking how Lovecraftian it was, and yet so much better for not being rife with horrible stereotypes. Bad shit happens early to our four explorers who’ve been sent into Area X, the mysterious region that many expeditions have tried and failed to examine, and things gets crazy in a way that is both horrifying and disturbingly lyrical, with shades of horror and sci-fi — general, psychological and ecological — washing over everything as relentlessly as the incoming tide.

Above all, however, this is a deeply affecting love story between an introvert and the man she lost and is, perhaps, still looking for. It’s the kind of book that had me running to get the sequel. It’s the kind of book that makes me more interested in watching the movie adaptation than otherwise (especially since, hello, that’s Queen Amidala getting it on with Poe Dameron!) I’ve heard that the movie is quite different from the book but I’m willing to forgive it that because of all the wealth the book has to offer, tho I’ll likely be annoyed more by any changes to The Biologist’s relationship with her husband than to any changes to the constantly mutable Area X and whatever happens there.

Oh, and the only weakness of this book was the exceedingly wooden dialog. Granted, Annihilation takes the form of a journal written by The Biologist, who often seems a little deaf to the nuances of human interactions, so that’s forgivable once you figure that out, tho is quite jarring in the early stages of reading the novel. Regardless, I’m looking forward to experiencing more of the series, books, movie and all.

Permanent link to this article: https://www.thefrumiousconsortium.net/2018/03/03/annihilation-southern-reach-1-by-jeff-vandermeer/

Feb 26 2018

The Naive and Sentimental Novelist by Orhan Pamuk

If I had read The Naive and Sentimental Novelist before reading Orhan Pamuk’s novels, I probably would not have bothered with them. That would have been a pity because most of them are very good, and one, Snow, is among the best I have ever read. So there’s a considerable gap between this collection of six essays — delivered in 2009 as the Norton Lectures at Harvard University — that describe how he thinks about novel writing and the actual results. Pamuk certainly isn’t the first to be better at doing what he does than he is at explaining it.

I think there are several reasons the essays annoyed me so much, some of them relating to personal tics, at least one related to the process of making this book, and others relating to what Pamuk actually has to say. To take the middle first, Turkish has just one pronoun, “o,” for the third person singular. A person writing in Turkish, as Pamuk does, will not necessarily have to consider whether “he” or “she” is appropriate, whether a more clearly inclusive construction such as “he or she” is necessary, or whether to draw on the venerable but lately deprecated tradition of the singular “they.” Nor will such a writer consider taking the time to recast the sentence to avoid pronouns completely. Pamuk can use “o” any time he writes about a generic individual. His translator, however, has to figure out a way to address the issue in English. In this case, Pamuk’s translator has opted for the generic “he” throughout. I stumbled over that quite a bit, and if there’s one thing I feel strongly about in translation, it’s that you don’t want your readers stumbling over your part of the work. Authors can make silly arguments, sure (some of mine have), but you should not be adding barriers between your readers and the work.

Another problem I had with this work is also related to pronouns. It’s a bit of a personal tic, but it has grown to become one because I think it speaks to a deeper issue in essay writing. Pamuk, like many people writing about literature, uses “we” and “us” quite a bit. The authors show us this; we see that; we read; we feel; writers tell us the other. I doubt that there is a two-page spread in all of The Naive and Sentimental Novelist without at least one “we” or “us.” But in Tonto’s immortal words, “What ‘we’, white man?” Or less flippantly, who does Pamuk mean by “we” and “us”? Assumptions lurk in pronouns, and I do not think that Pamuk has examined his much in this regard. Who is he talking about? Who is he talking to? Greater care figuring this out and answering this question would have produced better essays.

Continue reading

Permanent link to this article: https://www.thefrumiousconsortium.net/2018/02/26/the-naive-and-sentimental-novelist-by-orhan-pamuk/

Feb 25 2018

Delivering the Truth (A Quaker Midwife Mystery #1) by Edith Maxwell

Wonderful heroine, great setting, intriguing (but not super clever) mystery. I loved all the attention to period detail (even if my copy had some really weird lapses between the use of “thee” and “you”) and especially enjoyed the blunt way in which pregnancy and delivery are treated. As this book is set in 1800s Massachusetts with a busy midwife heroine, you can expect a bunch of dead babies due to the high mortality rate of the times, so if that puts you off, read elsewhere. Edith Maxwell does not shy away from the horrors of childbirth and pregnancy, and as a mom of three who really, really hates when people act as if pregnancy and childbirth are all magical sunshine and rainbows, I was very much a fan of her pragmatic approach to the subject.

I was less a fan of her treatment of the mentally ill and drug addiction, however. I’ve gone into detail about authorial voice vs character perspective elsewhere, so even giving Ms Maxwell the benefit of the doubt, it’s hard not to conclude that she’s more dismissive of the two issues than warranted (which is also weird because she’s clearly sympathetic to the manic depressive as well as to those suffering from postpartum depression.) There’s entirely too much unnuanced “crazy is crazy” and “drug addicts are terrible people” in a book that is otherwise very careful to love all as equals, in the way of the Society of Friends to which our heroine and the author belong. I’m hoping this is a thing Ms Maxwell grows more empathetic to and clear in writing as the series continues (as I have to read the next one for work,) but I do hope Rose Carroll keeps her warmth and wit, as she is truly a standout creation in a field littered with amateur detectives.

(Also, is there something about old-timey safety bicycles that makes them harder on the knees than modern bikes? As someone who keeps putting off knee surgery, I know it hurts less to ride than to walk, so there were bits about bicycling that left me going, “wait, what?”)

Permanent link to this article: https://www.thefrumiousconsortium.net/2018/02/25/delivering-the-truth-a-quaker-midwife-mystery-1-by-edith-maxwell/

Feb 23 2018

The Belles (The Belles #1) by Dhonielle Clayton

Ah, jeez, I feel like a total asshole criticizing this book but I got so huffily mad reading it. So much of this book, like over 70% is really terrific and smart and interesting and fun but the other 20-odd just made me want to break my Kindle, it was so dumb.

First, that cover is gorgeous, and a large part of why I wanted to read this book. The premise is amazing, and I was touched by Dhonielle Clayton’s afterword (even if I’m one of those people who is still impatient at those who care too much about the opinions of others. I can understand how that can traumatize you as a young person, tho.) The first twelve percent of the book was a pretty tough slog for me as a reader, however. It was wildly over-written, with the worst part being food metaphors littering each page like bushels of overripe fruit. But once the Belles completed the selection process, it became a lot easier to read.

Camille, our heroine, grew up sheltered and with one purpose alone: to bring beauty to the realm of Orleans by using her innate arcana to magically change the inhabitants from their natural forms (grey, wrinkled skin; colorless hair like straw; blood-red eyes, and filled with a sadness that inevitably turns to madness) into beautiful, happy people. Orleans is a kingdom obsessed with beauty, no matter how expensive, no matter how painful, and as Camille makes her debut into society and becomes entangled in royal intrigues, she discovers that beauty in Orleans can exact a higher price than anyone should be willing to pay.

Cool premise, right? And after that over-stuffed first 12%, everything is pretty good, even if there are certain tiresome YA tropes that rear their daft heads. Camille makes some poor decisions, understandable since she grew up so sheltered, and her love triangle is dumb as hell. But then the climactic scene with Claudine happens about 90% of the way through and I was so thoroughly irritated by a) how absolutely ridiculous Amber was, and b) how there were no safeguards for the Belles considering they’re hovered over and narrowly regulated everywhere and any time else. And when the truth about Princess Charlotte was revealed, I literally wanted to slap everyone for being too stupid to live. Generously, one could consider these scenes under-written: perhaps if more had been written of the feelings and reasonings involved, it would all seem less idiotic, but honestly, it just strained the bounds of credulity too much to enjoy. I didn’t even need more words so much as I needed more world-building.

So I kinda want to read the next book to see what happens, but I’m already inwardly cringing away from whatever dumb shit happens to mar my enjoyment of what is a genuinely interesting setting which raises some very worthwhile questions regarding the commodification of beauty and how far people will go to attain it. I’m also curious regarding the mythology of Orleans and why the people are as they are (nuclear disaster, perhaps?) I guess Ms Clayton has me for at least one more book: I only hope it’s more like the awesome 70+% than the incredibly awful 20+% of this one.

Permanent link to this article: https://www.thefrumiousconsortium.net/2018/02/23/the-belles-the-belles-1-by-dhonielle-clayton/

Feb 20 2018

Embers of War by Gareth L. Powell

Intriguing space opera with lots of twists and turns that I kicked myself for not anticipating sooner (tho to Gareth L Powell’s credit, there were so many red herrings that I was constantly second-guessing myself!) The writing is wonderfully descriptive, and I loved the concepts and definitely want to see where our ragtag group of heroes will go next. I wish I could say more about specifics but there are so many cool surprises from the get-go that it’s hard to talk about the plot without giving anything away.

What was kinda weird tho was that when it came to emotions, this was definitely a book more of moments than of arcs, and that was a pity. Our cast of characters is put through the wringer, but I didn’t really feel for anyone besides Ashton Childe and Trouble Dog, which seems like a missed opportunity. I especially wanted to feel more empathy with Captain Sal Konstanz, who is a great character, and I’m not sure why exactly it was so hard for me to do more than care for her objectively. None of her feelings were presented in a way that felt, to me, organic, as opposed to just something we’re told about. It was however really nice to read so many well-drawn characters who weren’t tied to gender roles. Trouble Dog especially is a terrific and refreshingly original character, with her mix of human and canine genetics and behaviors.

Anyway, a great entry into the sentient ship genre, and I’m looking forward to reading more. And while I’m looking forward to reading more of our crew, I am hoping we get to see more of the intriguing Laura Petrushka in the sequel too!

Oh yes, and Titan Press sent me this to review.

Permanent link to this article: https://www.thefrumiousconsortium.net/2018/02/20/embers-of-war-by-gareth-l-powell/