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1963355261
| 9781963355260
| B0DWKQYCLM
| 4.10
| 30
| May 29, 2025
| May 29, 2025
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it was ok
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Although I was charmed by Melinda West: Monster Gunslinger, I was also wary. I want to challenge myself when it comes to the subgenres I read, yet I r
Although I was charmed by Melinda West: Monster Gunslinger, I was also wary. I want to challenge myself when it comes to the subgenres I read, yet I recognize I often have good reason for not reading those subgenres—and there is nothing wrong with having preferences! That might be the case here. On the other hand, I also think this is a novel that could be much, much stronger. I received an eARC of this book from NetGalley. Spoilers for the first book but not for this one. This book picks up some time after the first leaves off. Melinda and Lance have retired from the monster hunter lifestyle—or so they think. Melinda is struggling with post-traumatic stress disorder, seeing monsters where she thinks there is none. Then someone from another town arrives seeking their help, spinning a tale of gremlins running roughshod. At first, Melinda and Lance balk. But then, of course, they agree to do this One Last Job. And with that, the plot is off to the races. Soon, Melinda and Lance are joined by a pregnant woman and her protector and an ornery scientist with a shady past. The actual premise for this plot might be superior to the first book: the gremlins are a more concrete adversary than the soul-snatching demon who was largely off-stage during the first book. Once again, Grifant offers up a great balance of exposition and suspense, accompanied by some intense action scenes. The plot moves at a brisk pace, the stakes rising accordingly. Indeed, probably my favourite thing about this novel is its structure. I also enjoy how Grifant is working at the worldbuilding. Again, we seldom get as much exposition as one might desire, and that’s to the good. I’m sure she has far more about this world worked out than she has let on in these two books, and one of the joys for readers of this series will be seeing that evolution over time. This book brings us to a new setting, one mentioned in the first book but not visited. The themes are variations on what we saw in the first book: Melinda is once again stubborn, once again offered power with strings attached. She’s a great protagonist. However, I think I’ve identified one of the reasons this series doesn’t hit for me: she and Lance are supposed to be this amazing team, both as husband and wife and as monster hunters. But in the first book, Lance is sidelined because he’s got part of his soul sucked away … and in this book, well, Lance gets sidelined for much of the action again. Indeed, most of the other characters get more development than Lance, and that feels like a problem. The denouement also represents a pretty interesting hard reset on Melinda and Lance’s circumstances. That’s all I will say about that. Gutsy move for Book 2—then again, I understand why Grifant might choose to go this route. I don’t know if I would describe the ending as satisfying. Much like my reaction in my first review, I might just shrug and say … it’s fine? After reading Melinda West and the Gremlin Queen, I’ll reluctantly conclude that maybe the problem is me—I don’t think I am the audience for these books. That’s OK! I gave it a try. If you like weird west and stories of monsters that are more than they seem, you might want to give these a try too. Alas, I cannot rave about them the way I might like. Originally posted on Kara.Reviews. [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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May 21, 2025
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May 26, 2025
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Jul 05, 2025
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Kindle Edition
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195753737X
| 9781957537375
| 195753737X
| 4.16
| 161
| unknown
| Feb 02, 2023
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liked it
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Somehow I’ve never heard of the “weird west” subgenre and now it’s everywhere on my book social feed. So it goes. It’s not my usual niche, but Melinda
Somehow I’ve never heard of the “weird west” subgenre and now it’s everywhere on my book social feed. So it goes. It’s not my usual niche, but Melinda West: Monster Gunslinger, by K.C. Grifant, looked interesting enough to branch out. I received a review copy via NetGalley. The eponymous Melinda West is, as the title suggests, a monster gunslinger. That is, she is a gunslinger who kills monsters, not a monster who slings a gun. Her partner Lance is also her partner in life. The two of them have just about saved up enough to retire when something happens that forces them to take on one last job going up against an enemy craftier and more dangerous than they have ever dealt with. The stakes? Nothing short of the souls of Lance and Melinda and Lance’s friend. Since this isn’t my usual haunt, it’s hard for me to compare this to other entries within the weird west. I’ve certainly read a few other entries in this, though none jumps out at me. Rather, I’ll just look at this through the lens of other paranormal fantasy stories. Let’s consider the world Grifant builds here, the characters we’re supposed to cheer for, and the success of the plot overall. Melinda lives on a frontier known as the Edge, some kind of anomaly that spits out monsters. Most of the monsters are nuisances more than anything, yet some are very dangerous—that’s how she and Lance have made their money. Beyond this and some magic, however, the vibe is more western than fantasy, with frontier towns and gunslinger showdowns and train battles. Not my style, but probably great for other readers! Melinda and Lance are pretty good main characters, although Lance doesn’t get much development in this book. Instead, Grifant focuses mostly on Melinda and her stubborn nature. This works really well as the moral centre of the book: at each turn, the antagonist offers Melinda a chance to surrender, and her refusal is what powers us into the next phase of the plot. The plot overall is … fine. I really like Grifant’s writing style and how she balances exposition with suspense, slowly unspooling the mystery of the enemy behind everything. It kept me reading! However, I also wouldn’t describe the plot as all that complex. Melinda West: Monster Gunslinger is perfectly fine fare. I already have the sequel, so I will read that soon, and it might make the series grow on me—that is often the case with these kinds of genre works. Even if it is doesn’t, I would still recommend this book to people who already like this genre. Originally posted on Kara.Reviews. [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Mar 17, 2025
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Mar 18, 2025
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Apr 05, 2025
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Paperback
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1443451606
| 9781443451604
| 1443451606
| 3.61
| 2,105
| Sep 10, 2024
| Sep 10, 2024
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really liked it
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Mmm, mmm, mmm. Heather O’Neill can serve it. As I reflected in my review of
When We Lost Our Heads
, her skill as a writer has only deepened and ma
Mmm, mmm, mmm. Heather O’Neill can serve it. As I reflected in my review of
When We Lost Our Heads
, her skill as a writer has only deepened and matured since its precocious and sublime debut almost two decades ago. The Capital of Dreams wasn’t as revelatory or enchanting for me, yet it was still a fascinating work of storytelling. Sofia is a fourteen-year-old girl living in the Capital of Elysia, a fictional European country in a state of war against an Enemy in a thinly veiled WWII analogue. She finds herself lost in the Elysian countryside, a talking goose her only companion. The two of them wander as Sofia seeks out the mysterious Black Market. She hopes to recover her mother’s manuscript, which her mother dispatched to safety along with Sofia, only for Sofia to lose it in the ensuing chaos. Despite not having the warmest relationship with her mother, Sofia clings to the hope that she can somehow find the manuscript at the Black Market and then return triumphant to the Capital. Of course, that isn’t how it works. Once again I find myself reading a book that feels strangely appropriate for our current political climate. The Enemy are portrayed as fascist aggressors (although, to be fair, more of that feels inferred from the book’s parallels to real-world history than actually stated in the text). The book’s secondary conflict is Sofia and her mother versus the Enemy’s patriarchal oppression of Elysian culture, particularly their openness to sex. Part of Sofia’s journey is, in some ways, her sexual awakening and coming of age. Through various encounters with boys around her age, a slightly older girl she once knew, and other characters, Sofia is exposed to different ideas about relationships and values. In many ways, this book reminded me of The Curse of Pietro Houdini , which also features a child as a protagonist. Substitute Pietro for the smart-talking goose, and it’s basically the same story! OK, not really. Still, the mood is similar. Both O’Neill and Miller manage to capture the bizarre normalcy of civilian life under an occupying force. Even as Sofia wanders from place to place, she is never safe, yet there are few moments where she is in actual danger. Rather, it’s the omnipresent threat of danger, and her own relative powerlessness, that adds tension to the story. Meanwhile, O’Neill uses this setting to ponder girlhood, womanhood, motherhood, and the narratives we create about these states of being. Clara and Sofia’s relationship is so rocky because Clara didn’t want a child. I love the complexity with which O’Neill draws these characters: there are moments where Clara expresses genuine love for her daughter as well as moments that are chilling, borderline cruel. All of this is filtered through the limited third-person perspective of Sofia’s memories, usually relayed through Sofia’s mouth to the goose, so of course, we don’t get an unbiased view of Clara. Nevertheless, O’Neill’s illustration is very much her classic characterization of a parent–child relationship where neither quite seems to have a hang on what is going on. Similarly, the rest of the characters we meet along the way bear O’Neill’s trademark stamp of archetype and allegory. From the philosophical goose sidekick to the two boys Sofia meets early on to Celeste and, of course, Sofia’s final meet-cute with her very own manic pixie dreamgirl … all of these characters exist really just to help Sofia develop. In the end, O’Neill tells us that Sofia has to be brave enough to step into the new future ahead instead of clinging to what she left behind—mother, manuscript—a bittersweet message of optimism through gritted teeth. I won’t say that I loved The Capital of Dreams as much as some of O’Neill’s previous works, especially When We Lost Our Heads. This was an enjoyable read, one I might revisit one day but not any time soon, and one I highly recommend for fans of O’Neill or dreamy literary fiction in general. While I’m not sure it really says anything new or bombastic, it has a journeyman feel to its craft that is sure to satisfy your literary craving. Originally posted on Kara.Reviews. [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Mar 13, 2025
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Mar 16, 2025
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Apr 02, 2025
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Hardcover
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0063021420
| 9780063021426
| 0063021420
| 4.15
| 467,682
| Aug 23, 2022
| Aug 23, 2022
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it was amazing
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If my reading lately has a theme, it seems to be stories about storytelling. Or in the case of Babel: An Arcane History, stories about language. The p
If my reading lately has a theme, it seems to be stories about storytelling. Or in the case of Babel: An Arcane History, stories about language. The power of words. Writers are so meta sometimes, eh. In this alternative history, R.F. Kuang confronts the very real-life history of British colonialism and imperialism and asks us to consider how our relationship with language affects our willingness to participate in—and perhaps even incite—systemic change. Newly orphaned Robin is plucked from Canton, China, by Professor Lovell of the Royal Institute of Translation, also known as Babel. For years, Robin studies under Lovell, first privately as his ward and then as a student at Babel. He is one of four translators in his year cohort—two others, Ramy and Victoire, are similarly racialized, imported for their facility with language or languages, while the other, Lettie, is a white woman determined to buck the trend that says women neither need nor desire an education. But all is not right at Babel. Robin quickly finds himself in the middle of, shall we say, shenanigans most dark. His loyalties divided, Robin must decide what role he wants to play in this system. Does he want to be a collaborator? A dissident? A rebel leader? A fugitive? A martyr? Or something else entirely? So I’m reading this book, and quite honestly by about page twelve I realized that Kuang is both smarter and better read than me, and I’m here for it. Like we’re talking some Umberto Eco–level shit. Kuang’s writing here will run circles around most readers, which some will find intimidating, but if instead you’re willing to set aside your ego and soak up the majesty of the moment, you will not only learn but be entertained. For Babel is a book perched on a pinhead: sprawling and epic in some ways; powerfully precise in others. Let’s ease into the discussion by talking about the magic, for it’s probably the least interesting or important part of the story, and that’s saying something. In Babel, you can engrave words from different languages that are connected in some way into silver bars. When you speak these “language pairs” out loud, the bar activates some kind of magical effect—for example, some pairs can create invisibility; others might help make a garden more serene. One can only activate a bar if one understands the languages used on it, for the actual magic needs human understanding to close the circuit. Hence Robin’s utility as a Mandarin speaker. The British are preeminent in the field of translation and silver-working, but they are running out of pairs to mine from European languages, so they have cast themselves further afield but need minds that understand these increasingly foreign (to them) tongues. The magic system is neat, a nice twist on the eternal quest to seek a balance between rigidly systematic spellwork schemes versus visualize-it-and-it’s-done willpower schemes. This system requires both the rigorous academic knowledge acquired only through years of study, as we see Robin and his peers embark on, along with the kind of understanding and mental awareness that goes deeper than mere scholarship. Its exclusivity, lack so many magical systems, creates a power dynamic that Kuang slots neatly into the existing class system of nineteenth-century Britain. Which brings us to the politics of Babel. Holy shit. I was expecting the trenchant analysis of colonialism but I wasn’t quite prepared for the intense focus on labour (more fool me)—that hit me harder than I anticipated given the current political situation in Ontario and my own involvement in unionism. (It is, of course, all connected, as Kuang seeks to demonstrate.) There’s more to be analyzed here than I can manage in a simple review (I hereby summon the literature undergrads to pick apart this book in a thousand essays). Suffice it to say, Babel is a hot mess—intentionally so. The main theme is simple: revolution is messy, and dismantling the intersecting structures of colonialism, white supremacy, capitalism, etc., are not without compromise. We see this most acutely in how each character wrestles with the consequences, both real and potential, of decolonization. How, even for oppressed people in the system, there are conveniences and perks that maybe we aren’t willing to give up. This felt so real to me, because it’s something I see in a lot of my white colleagues when I start talking about antiracism work—and if I am being honest, it is of course something I feel within myself, as a white woman. Changing this system—truly dismantling it and building something better—will be uncomfortable because it does mean giving up some of the things we currently enjoy, either because they are part of the package of privilege bound up in our whiteness or the end result of unsustainable, extractive processes that are both dehumanizing and degrading. So Babel is a masterclass in depicting how colonial structures persist only because of compliance of the masses. Sometimes this compliance is forced or coerced, as in the case of enslavement; other times it is cajoled. For people whose marginalization exists outside of racial and ethnic axes, our compliance is usually purchased through irresistible convenience. There is a climactic moment in the story—resolved, actually, in a footnote, because that is how Kuang rolls—where Robin’s actions indirectly lead to a dramatic incident that kills people and destroys an important London landmark. And … no one cares. Or rather, people implicitly decide that maintaining the structure of society as it exists requires the sacrifice of some people’s humanity and dignity. Kuang pointedly comments on this through several characters, and it resonates given what’s happening right now in Ontario, as municipalities like Toronto simply refuse to open warming centers for unhoused people, or in the US, as various state legislatures compete to see who can most creatively precipitate trans genocide. We keep underestimating the depths of cognitive dissonance we are willing to practise, as a society, to uphold the existing structure rather than risk discomfort and chaos. Robin and his peers have different views on this fact and what their role should be in revolution. While the three racialized characters agree the system is bad and should be dismantled, none of them agree exactly on what that process should look like. Lettie, meanwhile, very much acts as a stand-in for white feminism, and I am here for it. Kuang’s desire to present revolutionary activities as nuanced not only mirrors myriad examples from history but helps the reader conceptualize the difficult truth: that movements are not monoliths, that some people who say they are allies balk when that means following up with acting as allies (and accomplices), that there is always an unyielding pressure to surrender to the inertia that is “that’s just the way it is.” Kuang’s willingness to explore the messiness of revolutionary politics is what makes Babel such a standout work. The revolution, when it comes for us, will not be neat or orderly—indeed, it probably won’t even be a single, discrete revolution. I don’t think it’s a spoiler to say that, by the end of the book, Robin and his allies haven’t toppled the British Empire. At the same time, the empire is irrevocably changed as a result of their actions. And their revolution, Kuang very explicitly points out, was more successful as a result of the gains won from previous revolutions, strike actions, revolts, etc.—a single act cannot unmake a system, but consistent pressure over an era can erode it to the point of collapse. So although in terms of our characters’ journeys, without spoiling much, this book might be deemed a tragedy, Babel seems to be a relentlessly optimistic story. The characters—and more specifically, their relationships with each other—might be the weak point of the book for me. Robin is decent as a viewpoint protagonist; I often had to take a step back and remind myself that I’m seeing the story from a wider angle than him and have the benefit of a twenty-first–century perspective on colonialism that he fundamentally lacks by dint of being in the thick of it. But Robin was also a little … I don’t know, boring? I found myself a lot more interested in the internal lives of Ramy, Victoire, and even Lettie. Aside from occasional interludes told from the perspective of each of them, Kuang keeps the book firmly focused on Robin, for better or worse. And Robin just … kind of exists, his relationships attenuating and then springing back to tautness like an elastic. He and Ramy have this initial spark of attraction that I thought was going to become so much more. His relationship with Lovell is marred by the latter’s one dimensionality as an antagonist. Similarly, I never saw him truly connecting with Griffin or his other revolutionary comrades. So while I could feel Robin’s angst, especially as he wrestled with his sense of guilt over his class privilege, I never quite felt that connect to the struggles of the characters around him. Nevertheless, even if some of the characters strike me as one dimensional or otherwise unsatisfying, I think Kuang overall has put a lot of thought into what she is trying to say with each character, and that’s valuable. As I mentioned at the top of this review, her intelligence and the breadth of her knowledge is apparent on every page—but it is most apparent, I think, in how each of the main characters connects to their personal backgrounds, cultures, and histories. The way that Kuang weaves in allusions to English literature, Haitian politics, or the repression of Punjabi people under British rule in India … seriously. This is no shallowly researched yarn spun for entertainment. I can only imagine the binders, real or virtual, of notes that gird this manuscript, which itself is a hefty thing. I pitched Babel to someone on Twitter (a linguist) as “Neal Stephenson but without all the squick of ponderous white male privilege,” and I stand by this comparison. This is a novel that overstays its welcome deliberately and without apology. It demands your attention and your thoughtfulness. Yet unlike many other researched and dense books that do this, Babel carefully balances its heavy themes with plot and characters that remain entertaining and fun and, yeah, heartbreaking. Kuang’s writing flits from being bold and brash to quiet and understated. While I don’t think everything she attempts in this book works, longtime readers of my reviews know that I much prefer big swings, even when they don’t completely land. And in the case of Babel, it hits far more than it misses, which is impressive. If science fiction shows us what our society could be (for better or worse), fantasy shows us what our society is, albeit reflected through the funhouse mirror of alternative histories and worlds. Babel achieves this. Originally posted on Kara.Reviews, where you can easily browse all my reviews and subscribe to my newsletter. [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Jan 30, 2023
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Feb 02, 2023
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Feb 11, 2023
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Hardcover
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0316422010
| 9780316422017
| 0316422010
| 4.02
| 105,962
| Oct 13, 2020
| Sep 28, 2021
|
really liked it
|
This was one of those cases of the cover truly attracting me while in my local indie bookshop. I hadn’t read anything by Alix E. Harrow previously, bu
This was one of those cases of the cover truly attracting me while in my local indie bookshop. I hadn’t read anything by Alix E. Harrow previously, but the title, description, and cover sold me on The Once and Future Witches. And, given the climate of hostility towards women and people of marginalized genders in the United States in 2022, this book set in 1893 feels oddly, uncomfortably familiar. Taking place from the spring equinox to summer solstice, roughly, of 1893, The Once and Future Witches is set in a slightly alternative version of the United States. Salem, Massachusetts was razed by a witch-hunter who is now regarded as a hero. Near its ruins rose New Salem, and for a couple of centuries, women have kept their magic minimal, hidden, for fear of persecution and death. Against this backdrop, the three Eastwood sisters find themselves unexpectedly reunited (and recriminations will abound, don’t you fret) in New Salem on the equinox, where they witness a vision of a tower that could, if located, help them bring witchery back into the world. So they form a radical organization, even more radical than the suffragists that attract Juniper Eastwood to the city, a sisterhood that will stop at nothing short of liberating women from the patriarchy’s fear of witchcraft. Or, you know, they might themselves be jailed and executed. Such is the danger of revolution. I’m getting the sense, looking at Harrow’s other published novels that have now swiftly been added to my to-read list, that Harrow is very interested in telling stories about storytelling, and I am here for it. Chapters of this book occasionally end with a story—always a fairy tale, always familiar yet somewhat different from how you might have heard it. Harrow tries to draw from a variety of folklore, not strictly European. She emphasizes that women’s magic is from every culture and does her best to confront the whiteness and racism that was present in the suffragist and other women’s liberation movements of the late nineteenth century. Indeed, this book is also queer. One of the main characters, Beatrice Belladonna, is lesbian. I was pleasantly surprised when at one point one of the minor characters is revealed to be a trans woman (with some clever foreshadowing prior) so that Harrow can make the point that women’s magic is not gender essentialist. (There is also men’s magic, and it’s implied that the division between these two disciplines is itself arbitrary rather than fixed, but I won’t get into that too much for fear of spoilers.) The way that the Sisters of Avalon prove to be more radical than the suffragists and align themselves with a labour movement also speaks to my unionist heart. I really like how Harrow uses this book as a platform for emphasizing that we are not free until all of us are free, that the struggle for liberation must be an intersectional one. This is probably most apparent in the interactions between Beatrice and Cleo. I love how, in presenting us with the Daughters of Tituba, Harrow reminds us that even as white women have viewed themselves as saviours of Black people, Black women have done a fine job of liberating and protecting themselves. And that’s really why I loved this book so much. It mixes my love for story with my passionate beliefs regarding freedom and liberation. And it stokes those beliefs, reassures me. This book does not end where I expected it to. In fact, the initial mystery gets solved early on—only for it to be a brief calm before the larger storm as there is an intense backlash against the emergent witches of New Salem. I really enjoyed how Harrow handled this pacing and plotting, presenting us with a larger conflict and a reminder that progress is neither linear nor inevitable. Perhaps the most obvious weakness to this book, in my opinion, is the villain. First, his identity is rather easily guessed long before it is revealed. Second, he is almost a caricature of the evils of patriarchy. Although I appreciate the way Harrow ultimately paints him as a frightened little boy, I think that embodying the antagonist in a single figurehead like this does a disservice to the fact that patriarchy is a structural issue. Even if this one person is vanquished, there is still so much work to do before women can approach equality or witches are accepted. To be fair, the book acknowledges that in its coda. Nevertheless, I just felt like the machinations of the villain and the confrontations the sisters have with him are the least interesting and fulfilling parts of this book. In contrast, I loved the complicated relationships among the Eastwood sisters. As the book begins, they are estranged. Each one blames the other (or others) for letting her go, betraying her in some way. There is a lot of distrust and hard feelings. Harrow captures the damage that betrayal—real or perceived—can wreak on the relationship among sisters, as well as the long road one must walk to repair it. As with the social progress depicted in this book, the progress of repairing these relationships is far from linear. Yet in both cases, Harrow’s message remains one of an abiding, persistent hope. The Once and Future Witches is a novel set in the past yet speaking to our future of possibility. Women are, to quote amanda lovelace, “some kind of magic,” and all of us have power even when society does its best to make us feel like we do not. But we have to come together to wield that power in solidarity. We have to believe we can make a difference, collectively, rather than shrinking ourselves so that we can merely survive within the system that seeks to harm us. This is something I truly believe, and in this novel, I encountered a sublime telling of that story in a way that inspires, empowers, and awes. Originally posted on Kara.Reviews, where you can easily browse all my reviews and subscribe to my newsletter. [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Jun 13, 2022
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Jun 18, 2022
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Jul 01, 2022
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Paperback
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154203650X
| 9781542036504
| B09BZ9J3QL
| 3.80
| 4,205
| Jun 01, 2022
| Jun 01, 2022
|
liked it
|
Although I read fewer murder mysteries these days than I did in my youth, I still have a soft spot. Add in the allure of an alternative world in which
Although I read fewer murder mysteries these days than I did in my youth, I still have a soft spot. Add in the allure of an alternative world in which Europeans never colonized what we call North America, and … yeah, I’m into it. The Peacekeeper is both a satisfying mystery and a thoughtful work of science fiction, and as such, it works for me on multiple levels. The novel takes place in and around what we would call Sault Ste. Marie but what the Anishinaabeg call Baawitigong. (Blanchard is a member of the Sault Chippewa nation.) For those unfamiliar with it, Sault Ste. Marie is actually two cities—one on the Canadian side of the border, in Ontario, and one on the American side, in Michigan. (This is actually more common than you might expect, though they don’t always have the same name.) In The Peacekeeper, of course, it’s one place because there is no border. Baawitigong itself is a village, small enough for everyone to know everyone (and their business). Chibenashi is one of the village’s three peacekeepers. On the night of Manoomin, a festival celebrating harvest, someone murders a close friend of Chibenashi’s—twenty years to the day that someone murdered his mother. Chibenashi leave behind his fragile sister, Ashwiyaa, to seek answers in the nearby metropolis of Shikaakwa. Not only is he unused to the big city, however, but he is unprepared to confront ghosts from his past—an ex-girlfriend turned Advocate, and the estranged son of the murder victim. This case might prove Chibenashi’s undoing. I love how Blanchard goes about creating a flawed protagonist in Chibenashi. He is not your stereotypical hard-boiled detective with an ex-wife and a chip on his shoulder and a drinking problem. He doesn’t drink. He doesn’t do much of anything, really, except his job (which is not exactly demanding) and trying to take care of his sister. This latter duty has kept him from expanding his social circle or setting his sights on a life elsewhere, like Shikaakwa. Yet the murder of a close friend, someone who was like an Auntie to him and Ashwiyaa, forces Chibenashi to leave Baawitigong. In an unfamiliar milieu and confronted by a peacekeeper from Shikaakwa who gets on his nerves, Chibenashi’s patience is tested. Is it any surprise when he breaks? I appreciate that our protagonist is flawed—I would say he teeters on the point of being unlikeable, yet for me he never quite crosses that line. Rather, he’s just never really processed his trauma. Now that this crime has stripped away the time that has passed since that trauma occurred, he has no defences left to keep his demons at bay. The mystery itself is pretty good. I guessed who the killer was pretty early in the book (I mention this only because this is rare for me). Nevertheless, Blanchard handles the reveal and climax quite well. This is a case of a whodunit where I solved it because the clues were laid out plain to see—indeed, if Chibenashi were not so distracted by his own issues, he would have seen them too. Through this mystery, Blanchard asks interesting questions about our obligations to our kin. How far would you go to protect your child? Your sibling? Your parent? Chibenashi and Ashwiyaa’s relationship is one of intense co-dependency—it is not healthy—yet neither are the relationships between Sakima and Wiishkobak or Meoquanee. When Chibenashi meets Daaksin again, he is reminded that she chose to left—he sees this as a betrayal, but it is in reality perhaps one of the healthiest relationship endings we get in this book. Sometimes you have to walk away. Chibenashi doesn’t learn that for a long time. I suspect, however, that for most readers of this book the standout aspect will be the worldbuilding. It certainly was for me. Blanchard does not spend much time justifying this alternative world—we never learn why colonization didn’t happen. And that’s OK. I’m happy to leave that blank, take it as read, and simply consider the consequences—and there are many. This is a world that has developed parallel to ours: there are cell phones and tablets, movies, guns, etc. Yet at the same time, so much is different. The justice system is restorative rather than punitive (or at least, it tries to be). Settlements try to coexist with the natural world. Movies get dubbed into Anishinaabemowin because most of the characters in this book don’t speak English. The African slave trade never happened, and so nations in Africa have flourished in various ways. Despite colonization never happening, Mino-Aki (the nation where Chibenashi lives) is not a paradise. As we know, there are crimes. The novel features an incident of domestic violence, abuse, and stalking that has a grisly end to it. Through Takumwah, Blanchard explores how conflict among nations, and issues of assimilation and discrimination, is still possible in an uncolonized world. In so doing, she affirms that this alternative world is different but still realistic—humans are flawed creatures capable of darkness no matter who we are, where we live, what societies we build. Nevertheless, I loved this thought experiment. As a white person, I can’t pretend to comment on this from an Indigenous perspective. But I would love to see more stories like this—not just stories of possible Indigenous futures, but also stories of different Indigenous presents! In imagining a different world, Blanchard helps us to imagine alternatives to the current world we inhabit. She reminds us that, in fact, none of the world we inhabit right now was inevitable. It is the result of a series of choices, and we can make it different—can decolonize, build something new—if we choose. So The Peacekeeper is many novels in one. It’s the story of a man whose relationships are attenuated and fragile. It’s a murder mystery that hides a tragic truth at its core. And it’s a testament to imagining a different present, one in which the nation on whose land I reside (I’m in Thunder Bay) was able to continue thriving as it was long before European contact. It succeeds at all of these things, to varying degrees, and certainly enough that I would love to read the next book Blanchard writes in this world. Originally posted on Kara.Reviews, where you can easily browse all my reviews and subscribe to my newsletter. [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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May 28, 2022
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May 29, 2022
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Jun 06, 2022
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Kindle Edition
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1447256239
| 9781447256236
| 1447256239
| 3.74
| 65,270
| Dec 15, 2014
| Jan 15, 2015
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liked it
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This was a lot of fun in exactly the way I needed right now. Books about books and libraries are, of course, like catnip to a reader like me—yet at th
This was a lot of fun in exactly the way I needed right now. Books about books and libraries are, of course, like catnip to a reader like me—yet at the same time, they can often be a letdown. Not so with The Invisible Library. Genevieve Cogman understands how to take the premise of an interdimensional library and wrap it up in enough mystery and intrigue to keep a story going. Irene is a Librarian, and her job is to acquire books from alternative realities for the Library. Sometimes this means she is a spy and a thief, if the book is hard to come by. Hot on the heels of returning from a stressful mission, Irene gets saddled with an apprentice and sent on a dangerous mission to an alternative Victorian London with vampires, werewolves, and Fae. The book they’ve been sent to retrieve has already been stolen, and as Irene and her protégé Kai try to investigate, they get pulled deeper into this reality’s politics. Meanwhile, a clear but chilling warning from the Library alerts Irene to the presence of a dangerous nemesis—a former Librarian who turned his back on the Library and all it stands for. I enjoyed pretty much every aspect of this book. It’s a page-turner, with excellent cliffhangers at the end of each chapter. Cogman balances exposition and narration, letting us in on just enough secrets of the Library without spending too much time showing us how proud she is of this multiverse of hers. Irene is a good protagonist: solid, reliable, sassy, but also fallible and prone to enough setbacks that she doesn’t becoming annoyingly invincible. Similarly, the character dynamics in this book are top notch: I loved how Irene navigates her professional relationship with Kai, and I also enjoyed the way that Vale grows in importance as the story progresses. The plot went in directions I didn’t expect but which only enhanced the story. As I said in my introduction, I think that books with this kind of premise often fail to realize that an interdimensional library is in and of itself a setting, not a story. So it’s for the best that most of this takes place within a particular version of Victorian London (yes, there are airships, don’t fret), and aside from the beginning and ending of the story, the Library is more of an idea, an affiliation of Irene and Kai’s, than an actual place or power. While that might change in future books in this series, I think much of Cogman’s plotting decisions in this book make so much sense. So all of this combines into what I would describe as a romp as the characters move through a series of set pieces—investigations, parties, runaway carriages, airship chases and whatnot—that culminate in quite a spectacular showdown with the Big Bad. I found the ending to be rather rushed—not just the battle itself, but the denouement of the story offers precious little resolution, just the promise of more fun for Irene (and, presumably, the reader) in the future. It isn’t quite a cliffhanger—you could read this book, and only this book, and have a satisfying adventure story—but it is most definitely a tease that the best is yet to come. How you feel about such an ending is dependent on you; sometimes it excites me, but in this case it actually cooled my flames a little. Nevertheless, I don’t want to damn this book with faint praise! The Invisible Library is delightful. It absolutely lives up to its premise, from the very first page onwards. As long as you don’t expect it to be more than it promises, you are going to be very satisfied with this cute and clever read. Originally posted on Kara.Reviews, where you can easily browse all my reviews and subscribe to my newsletter. [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Jan 26, 2022
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Jan 27, 2022
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Feb 09, 2022
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Paperback
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0765337584
| 9780765337580
| 0765337584
| 4.22
| 1,365
| Sep 28, 2021
| Sep 28, 2021
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liked it
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Oops, I am only now realizing as I sit down to write this review that I read
Empire Games
, the first book in this trilogy, but not Dark State, the
Oops, I am only now realizing as I sit down to write this review that I read
Empire Games
, the first book in this trilogy, but not Dark State, the second. When Invisible Sun came out earlier this year, I was just so excited to get back to this story that I forgot to check if I was caught up! Turns out I was not. So, if you are wondering if you can read this book without reading the one prior … the answer is yes. Charles Stross brings this trilogy to a conclusion with a bang—several hundred nuclear bangs, I should say. In one timeline very similar to ours, NSA spooks hunt a refugee from another timeline. She’s a princess, or at least could be, and politically valuable to all the players in this game. Meanwhile, in her home timeline, Miriam Burgeson (née Beckstein) and her daughter, Rita Douglas, do a delicate dance during the mourning period for the First Man. If either steps awry, it might possibly spell the end of this experiment in democracy. Finally, in a timeline where humanity is extinct but a mysterious Dome encloses a gate to yet another parallel timeline, the invasion of a swarm of machine intelligences threatens to spill out across all the timelines we might care about. My experience with Stross has rather mirrored the trajectory of his own writing career. I used to be very much into far-future, posthuman science fiction that posited nigh-omnipotent artificial intelligences and such. After I had my fill of such stories, however, I started to get bored. I dip my toe back into that subgenre here and there, but I have also appreciated Stross’s urban fantasy and near-future science fiction, including this series and its prequel series. I was a little hard on Empire Games, and honestly, Invisible Sun didn’t offer up anything else new in comparison. But it got the job done, if you know what I mean. There’s just something very enchanting about how Stross writes, something that makes me want to keep reading and devour the book as quickly as possible. Yes, the book lacks the focus of a clear protagonist—who should I be rooting for, everyone? Yes, the book is about 78% exposition—but really, what do you expect from Stross at this point? I’m not here for an engrossing story so much as for this incredible thought experiment: what if some people could travel to parallel universes, and what if in the deep past some of their ancestors came into conflict with an unfathomable intelligence that then also acquired that ability? It’s heady stuff. Something I did enjoy a lot more about Invisible Sun, though, was the commentary on the fragility of democracy. The republic for which Miriam fights is about a decade old and it is already experiencing its first succession crisis. Thanks to the omniscient narrator, we get to see things from all sides—including the Commonwealth Guard leaders who plot the coup and install a junta. I appreciate how Stross draws parallels with events in the twentieth century for which I wasn’t alive, and how he demonstrates that even when one has the best of intentions, sometimes coincidences or missed connections mean that everything goes pear shaped. This is why I’m not quite willing to stop reading Stross’s books despite the fact that sometimes the plots themselves are a little thin on the ground: he still makes me think. Invisible Sun offers up commentary on democracy, surveillance states, statecraft, spycraft, and of course, the importance of family. It has plenty of weaknesses yet also quite a few strengths, and I can’t deny that I devoured the book, so I can’t complain too heavily about it! In the end, this won’t win you over if you are new to this series. The original trilogy really holds up better in my mind. I appreciate how Stross has indicated that this story is done, but that he might revisit this multiverse one day. I think that’s a good call. For now, if you are curious about these books, go pick up The Bloodline Feud and prepare to be very entertained. Originally posted on Kara.Reviews, where you can easily browse all my reviews and subscribe to my newsletter. [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Nov 23, 2021
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Nov 24, 2021
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Dec 09, 2021
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Hardcover
| |||||||||||||||
0765358085
| 9780765358080
| 0765358085
| 3.91
| 2,620
| Oct 02, 2007
| Jul 01, 2008
|
liked it
|
Did Kara read this book totally unaware that it’s the middle of a trilogy? Absolutely I did that. I picked this up for $5 from a used bookstore becaus
Did Kara read this book totally unaware that it’s the middle of a trilogy? Absolutely I did that. I picked this up for $5 from a used bookstore because it’s a Jo Walton novel I haven’t read, and I really like Jo Walton’s books. Even when I don’t love them, I like them, which is the case here. Honestly, you couldn’t tell from this book that there was one previous—obviously the first book would have filled in some of the backstory to how we got to now, and I would have met Inspector Carmichael sooner. But Walton is really good at making Ha’penny feel like a standalone novel. It’s 1949, and the Second World War ended with a peace that left Hitler in power in Germany and fascism rising in Britain. A bomb went off in the home of an actor, Lauria Gilmore, killing her and another man. Were they terrorists, planning an attack? Or innocent victims? Inspector Carmichael of Scotland Yard is on the case, getting heat from above to get results soon, close it, and move on. Meanwhile, actor Viola Lark (former Larkin) is cast as Hamlet even as one of her estranged sisters reaches out to bring her into a bombing conspiracy. Viola must decide if she is capable of helping them blow up Hitler and British Prime Minister Normanby on the opening night of her play. But will cutting the head off the snake save Britain from its fall into fascism? Or, like the hydra, will an even worse head climb into the power vacuum that awaits? This is the central question of Ha’penny. When is violent revolution effective? When is civil resistance effective? When is it sufficient to depose a despot, and when is wider education and persuasion necessary? This might seem like a lot for a book about the theatre to tackle—but that is Walton for you, always meditating on complex issues in the most interesting of environments. This might be stating the obvious, but even the choice of play for the backdrop of this drama supports the question: Hamlet is about the main character’s indecisiveness over how to deal with his knowledge that his uncle murdered his father for the throne. Walton’s choice of a counterfactual 1940s in which Hitler has held onto power makes the stakes all the more interesting. There were, of course, actual plots to kill Hitler with a bomb at several points leading up to and during the Second World War. I don’t know enough history to understand if that would have toppled the Third Reich and stopped the war dead in its tracks, but it seems to me like Hitler being in control of a consolidated peacetime Germany is a far different situation. Similarly, the grip that fascism has on Britain is fledgling—which seems to be harder to dislodge, in a way. People like Viola shrug at the violations of civil liberties visited upon Jewish people and non-British people, because they seem minor. In a world before mass television, the rumours of what is happening concentration camps are just that—rumours. So it’s more difficult to observe the descent, and people like Lord Scott seem more like alarmists than patriots. Then we have Carmichael, who feels over the barrel because his superiors know he’s gay. Without spoiling the ending, he basically gets promoted into a position he really doesn’t want. He’s forced to hope that he can use his newfound power to “do some good” or at least mitigate the damage being done in the name of the state. The road to Hell and all … I can only imagine this is exactly the kind of thinking that many collaborators used during Nazi occupations and similar situations, including today. Do we stick inside the system and try to change it from within? Or do we disappear, go underground, even if that means leaving behind our lives? Carmichael is in a hard place, and there are no easy answers. In the end, this isn’t so much a mystery novel (because we already know whodunit) as it is a suspense novel (will they be successful in their bombing plot, and will it make a difference)? Again, without spoilers, I’d also assert that given the ending it’s a bit of a horror story. At least a cautionary tale. I’m tempted to read the previous and subsequent books, which will hopefully give me a fuller understanding of the journey that Carmichael is on. We shall see what my library and used bookstore turn up for me! Originally posted on Kara.Reviews, where you can easily browse all my reviews and subscribe to my newsletter. [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Sep 19, 2021
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Sep 23, 2021
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Sep 30, 2021
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Mass Market Paperback
| |||||||||||||||
0765379074
| 9780765379078
| 0765379074
| 3.99
| 2,418
| May 28, 2019
| Feb 04, 2020
|
really liked it
|
If there is one thing I can say about Jo Walton, it’s probably that her novels never fail to surprise me in various ways. Some of her novels I have lo
If there is one thing I can say about Jo Walton, it’s probably that her novels never fail to surprise me in various ways. Some of her novels I have loved—years later and I still can’t stop thinking about
My Real Children
, whereas others I only tolerated or didn’t quite enjoy. The more I read of Walton’s work, the clearer it is she has certain motifs she likes to return to time and again—ideas of parallel universes, timelines, time loops, and altered realities—but she also enjoys cloaking these tropes in different literary and historical frameworks. So while sometimes she is writing about alternative British history, she might equally be writing about a real historical monk at the end of the fifteenth century in Florence. Here is my very brief spoiler-free review: if you like books that combine medievalist and Renaissance philosophy, particularly humanism, with supernatural and religious allegory, this book is going to push all the right buttons for you. I really want to talk about Lent in its entirety, so I’m going to spoil the book for you. There is a pretty big twist after the first third of the book. If you think you might want to read Lent and don’t want that twist spoiled, stop reading my review for now. I didn’t know the twist and greatly enjoyed its revelation! Still with me? Ok, here we go! Girolamo Savonarola is a Dominican brother—First Brother, in fact—at San Marco in Florence. When the novel starts in 1492, he attends the deathbed of Lorenzo de Medici and thereafter begins jockeying for more political power while making prophetic proclamations that occasionally even come true. This angers the corrupt Pope Alexander, a Borgia and a Spaniard and not at all enamoured with Girolamo’s style. So he persecutes Girolamo, excommunicating him, all while Girolamo does his best to turn Florence into a holy city. Oh, and—this is important—Girolamo can see and banish demons, which are literal creatures from Hell. After he is hanged and burned for heresy, Girolamo wakes up in Hell to the crushing realization that he is a demon, a fallen angel. Soon after he is pulled into another iteration of his life as Girolamo, only this time a strange stone awakens his demonic memories of all his past iterations while he is still on Earth. From there on out, Lent becomes a series of time loopy lives as Girolamo tries to figure out how to escape from Hell, as well as from Hell on Earth. The idea of needing multiple iterations of one’s lifetime to earn redemption is not new, of course. Most famously Groundhog Day did it, and more recently The Good Place explored this idea. The latter explores the idea of what it means to be a good person through many facets of moral philosophy. Here, Walton takes a more spiritual track. Much of Lent reminds me of Umberto Eco and The Name of the Rose . Walton weaves a framework of Christian theology that underpins Girolamo’s choices and experiences throughout his lifetimes. The first life of Girolamo’s that we experience (we don’t know how many lifetimes he has led) is special for both the reader and Girolamo because of our shared ignorance of his nature. Indeed, when I was only a third of the way through the book and Girolamo’s death was imminent, I remarked to a friend, “Something is going on” because I knew how much more book there was—and I suspected Walton of being up to her usual tricks. Sure enough, that moment where Girolamo wakes up in Hell is mind-blowing, the type of twist that utterly alters the trajectory of the whole novel. His return to Earth and subsequent awakening launch him on several lifetimes of experimentation. Each death lands him back in Hell, however, no matter how good he tries to live his life, how he tries to use the stone, etc. Girolamo’s frustration and despondency over not knowing how he can prove himself good enough for God’s love becomes palpable. It is tempting to dismiss the ultimate resolution to Girolamo’s eternal cycle as trite and underwhelming. All he had to do was give the stone to Crookback after all? And suddenly he’s in heaven? That was definitely my initial reaction. Yet as I sat with Lent on my mind for a couple of days, the beautiful simplicity of the act unfolded before me. The most touching acts in this book are the moments where Girolamo does something selfless and compassionate for another person even though it doesn’t benefit him or his cause. When Girolamo gives the green stone to Crookback—when two demons cooperate, which is possible only on Earth because such communication is literally impossible in Hell—he has no guarantee that Crookback will actually help him. After several lifetimes of believing God must have granted him the stone for a reason, that he therefore must be the one to use it rather than Crookback, Girolamo surrenders up the idea that he can save himself and instead has to trust his demonic brother. That’s pretty powerful on several levels. Lent took me a while to read, far longer than a novel of this size would—especially reading most of it over a holiday break. Partly that’s because I got caught up in knitting and coding as well. But it’s also because this is a book that subtly asks you to think about big ideas of spirituality and morality. Walton’s choice of time and place and main character locate the book at these intersections: Savonarola the historical figure was greatly interested in creating a purer, more moral society; he believed that was the role God meant him to play. This happened during a time of intense corruption within the Catholic Church, belying the idea that clerics were the closest people to God. This paradox is central to the novel, for Girolamo himself is a demon seeking redemption, doomed to relive the life of a priest who will be tortured and burned for heresy, even though his heresy is mostly just defying the corruption of the Church … it’s just so wonderfully twisted, and somehow Walton perceived the potential that Savonarola’s life had for this type of story and then told it, which is truly the remarkable accomplishment here. So I think, on balance, Lent goes into the “yeah, this was a good one” pile of Walton novels I have read. Big on ideas and excellent in execution, it’s a great example of an author telling a story small enough in scope to feel human while large enough in scope to have room for the reader to fill in one’s own interpretations. I’m quite happy I finally got around to reading this one. Originally posted on Kara.Reviews, where you can easily browse all my reviews and subscribe to my newsletter. [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Dec 17, 2021
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Dec 22, 2021
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Jun 05, 2020
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Paperback
| |||||||||||||||
0345522931
| 9780345522931
| 0345522931
| 4.17
| 13,661
| Jun 14, 2016
| Nov 29, 2016
|
liked it
|
So here we are, over 2 years after I read
Blood of Tyrants
: the last Temeraire novel! It’s times like these I always want to take a deep breath bef So here we are, over 2 years after I read Blood of Tyrants : the last Temeraire novel! It’s times like these I always want to take a deep breath before I dive into writing this review. Let’s get the verdict out of the way: League of Dragons is a good conclusion to the series, but it is not without its strange elisions. Naomi Novik proves up to the task of wrapping up her sprawling and epic alternative history of the Napoleonic Wars (plus Dragons!). In so doing, she reprises the characterization and charm that has suffused this entire series since I started it 8 years ago. These books are damn fun to read, and I wouldn’t change that for the world. Laurence and Temeraire are in Russia, pressing Napoleon on the Prussian front with their allies. Soon, they are flying across the world to rescue Temeraire and Iskierka’s egg, however, from Lien’s clutches. After a series of events I won’t spoil here, our buddy cop protagonists end up pressing Napoleon to the brink of defeat. Do they win? How much does Novik depart from established history? I’m not going to tell! I shall limit this review to my observations on this book and the series overall, spoiler-free. Let’s start with the obvious: Laurence and Temeraire. This book is our last chance to see them in action together, and I love it. There is a certain depth of trust here that is a nice contrast to the events of the previous book, when they hardly knew one another. Yes, they don’t always do what the other expects or desires, as both of them demonstrate at different points in this story. Yet they always find their way back to the other again. This is a love story in the strongest, richest sense: a love story of family bonded by mutual trust and aid, not blood. Laurence and Temeraire’s love is the strongest love there is in this series, and it’s beautiful. Laurence’s growth over the past 9 books is on full display here. From stuffy Navy captain from a somewhat well-off family to traitor and now to … well, no spoilers … Laurence has had his share of ups and downs. He has gradually come around to the idea that dragons are intelligent creatures deserving rights commensurate to human beings. It’s cool to see how his tireless championing of such rights, and the impact he and Temeraire have had on European attitudes towards dragons, all come together in this final book. League of Dragons is probably too short to ever fully satiate my need for closure with this series. Novik seems to be aware of this issue, for she does her best to draw together many of the threads began in earlier books. We at least hear about the Incas, the Tswana, China, etc. We are left with a likely trajectory—the title of the book is a hint—along with the promise that there is still more, always more, left to accomplish. I love the little hints that the Industrial Revolution is approaching, particularly Perscitia’s ruminations over cannon that will fell even the mightiest dragon in a single shot. There is a richness to this world that, after so many novels, is so evident in every page and every exchange. Four hundred pages is just not enough! I want to know what happens to all the side characters! Moreover, while I’m satisfied with the overall conclusion to the story, I am very disappointed by the climax. Without going too far into spoilers here: Lien plays a very small role in this book, and after building her up to be this master strategist, we see precious little of her in League of Dragons. It’s perhaps the one bit of closure I really miss from this book. So, where does that leave us? I already rendered my verdict up top, and I’m not about to betray you now. If you have stuck with this series, you will not be disappointed. I suspect that, like me, you’ll find that some aspects leave you wanting more, both in a good way and a bad way. Would I read more books in this series? Hells yes. Maybe a spin-off set fifty years in the future, at the height of industrialization? (Dragons do live a long time after all.) However, I know that Novik has moved on to writing other, different fantasy series—and I’m all for that too. It’s always bittersweet when a long-running series of books comes to an end. All I can say is that I’m happy I have these to return to, any time I feel like wrapping myself in the warmth of the relationship between Laurence and Temeraire, and distracting myself with this alternative history of the nineteenth century, but with dragons. If any of this sounds appealing to you, I can’t recommend this series enough. [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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May 13, 2020
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May 18, 2020
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May 13, 2020
|
Mass Market Paperback
| |||||||||||||||
1683319443
| 9781683319443
| 1683319443
| 3.70
| 15,740
| Aug 09, 2018
| Feb 12, 2019
|
it was ok
|
From women writing subversive TV now to women inventing time travel! The Pyschology of Time Travel is a quirky part mystery, part love story. As the t
From women writing subversive TV now to women inventing time travel! The Pyschology of Time Travel is a quirky part mystery, part love story. As the title suggests, Kate Mascarenhas focuses more so on what it would be like to be a time traveller rather than on the social, historical, or future repercussions of mucking about with a timeline. Along with bringing up the usual questions of free will versus determinism, etc., this book seeks to address such burning queries as: what would you call it if you had sex with your future or past self, and is that cheating? I’m being tongue-in-cheek—there is a lot of serious, weird stuff in this book. But my overall impression is that there were better stories that could be told here. There are two main characters: Ruby and Odette. Ruby is the granddaughter of Barbara, one of the four women who invented time travel in the 1960s. Barbara fell out with her fellow inventors after she had a breakdown on national television, so Ruby and her mother have always lived at a distance from the world of time travel. This changes in big ways, for a mysterious note from the future prompts Ruby to look into the Time Travel Conclave. Odette, on the other hand, thinks the Conclave holds the answer to what killed a dead woman she discovered in the basement of a museum. She joins up to look for those answers, but of course, the reality is much more wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey! Mascarenhas follows a block time, self-consistent approach to time travel: if you know the future, you are doomed to complete it, no paradoxes allowed. She delves a little into what this does to time travellers’ attitudes towards deaths of loved ones—how do you grieve someone who is accessible to you by travelling to the past? Similarly, how do you live a life when you know the outcome—your date of death, how you die, who your friends and partners are at that time? We humans are so accustomed to the linearity of our time, and to the arrow of time being such that we know our past absolutely yet our future in no true sense—what would time travel, really, do to us? (It seems strange to me that Ruby is a therapist, yet she spends little enough time ruminating on this herself.) I, for one, do not want to know how or when I die. I like that uncertainty. Time travel affects more than just romantic relationships. The relationships people have with Margaret Norton, the Conclave’s inaugural director, are an interesting example. Apparently she gets nastier as she gets older, and many characters remark that they prefer dealing with her younger selves. What would a job be like if you could talk to your boss across different time periods? Mascarenhas never actually takes us on a time travel adventure. She offers up interesting tidbits on how our society has evolved after a few centuries of time travel. Perhaps the most tantalizing is that it’s impossible to travel beyond 2267, as if the time travel machines just disappear after that. Oooh, what a cool mystery! But that’s never brought up again—and in a weird continuity error any editor should have caught, they keep mentioning how time travel justice is inspired by “twenty-fourth century British law,” even though the 2267 cap is in the twenty-third century. Oops. Speaking of errors, I’m not sure if this is a stylistic faux pas or a typesetting issue, but the dialogue habitually runs together—the speaker changing mid-paragraph. This kind of thing annoys the hell out of me, and honestly there were moments I wanted to put down this book simply because of that habit. So, in short, this book could have used another editing pass, I think. The main plots are all well and good, but in the end I guess I was just hoping for more after that set-up. I feel like there are more stories, better stories, more interesting stories happening here, yet we are on the periphery looking inwards with Ruby and Odette. Furthermore, while I give Mascarenhas due credit for attempting to use her time travel framework to tell the story in a non-linear yet comprehensive way, I wish she had taken more risks. I wonder if this is because this book attempts to be a more “literary” approach to time travel? In any case, The Pyschology of Time Travel has a great premise, but the story itself and the characters within fall flat for me. Originally posted on Kara.Reviews, where you can easily browse all my reviews and subscribe to my newsletter. [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Oct 24, 2020
|
Oct 24, 2020
|
Feb 01, 2020
|
Hardcover
| |||||||||||||||
1250236967
| 9781250236968
| 1250236967
| 4.35
| 9,813
| Jul 14, 2020
| Jul 14, 2020
|
really liked it
|
I didn’t realize until I started reading that The Relentless Moon, while technically a sequel to
The Fated Sky
, is more of a spin-off in the serie
I didn’t realize until I started reading that The Relentless Moon, while technically a sequel to
The Fated Sky
, is more of a spin-off in the series. Mary Robinette Kowal writes from the perspective of Nicole Wargin, a white woman who was a side character in the first two books. She is one of the original astronauts (or astronette, ugh) alongside Elma York, the Lady Astronaut and narrator of the first two books, who is on her way to Mars during the events of this book. Nicole is also the wife of Governor of Kansas Kenneth Wargin. So Kowal gives us a healthy mixture of political intrigue, semi-religious fundamentalist terrorism, and true physical danger. The Relentless Moon is the mystery I wish
Artemis
had been. Trigger warnings in this book (and review) for mentions of anorexia/eating disorders, anti-Black racism. Nicole Wargin is headed back to the moon, albeit not as a pilot like she has always craved. No, the IAC still doesn’t let women fly the rockets, eh? Nicole is entrusted with a secret mission: help the administrator of Artemis Base figure out who is working with the terrorist group Earth First to sabotage missions. Some of that very sabotage nearly finishes Nicole before she can begin, however, and after that point The Relentless Moon becomes a slow drumbeat march against the inexorable ticking clock. As blackouts become more frequent and the enemy seems to get bolder and bolder, outside events put Nicole under the most stress she has ever experienced. Yet it’s up to her and a small group of trusted colleagues to unravel this conspiracy before humanity’s presence is space is doomed forever! So, no pressure. For anyone worried that Nicole isn’t as formidable or enjoyable a narrator as Elma, let me just reassure you right away: Nicole’s great. She’s different, of course. She has the political experience that comes with her upbringing and her marriage, so she knows how to put on a face and schmooze in a way that Elma came to a lot later in her life. Nicole is very pragmatic in that way, even though we are privy to her true thoughts about the boorish or unproductive behaviour of some of the men around her. Perhaps what sets Nicole apart the most from Elma would be that Nicole likes being slightly out of control. She relishes the edge, and the moments that make her despair most are the ones where she shares with us her fear that she might not get to do that anymore—might not get to fly, might not get to go to space, etc. The Relentless Moon has two very relatable elements for me. The first one, almost everyone will relate to: quarantine in the face of an infectious virus! I don’t want to go into too much detail for fear of spoilers, but let’s just say that “polio on the moon” sounds incredibly scary. Kowal in her author’s note had the opportunity to comment on the parallels between polio epidemics in the mid–twentieth century and the COVID19 pandemic. Just be aware going into this book that if you want to escape from pandemic protocols, you might not get that chance here! The second relatable element is Nicole’s broken arm. Again, no spoilers. But I broke my arm in June 2019. Much like Nicole, I wondered how much mobility I would recover after physical therapy, whether or not I’d be able to do the tasks that I had up until then really taken for granted, such as typing, knitting, and riding my bicycle (which was how I broke it). Now, I didn’t have to worry on top of that about the brittleness of my bones from living in low gravity! Nevertheless, Nicole’s experience really rang true for me. (In case you’re wondering, I’m doing great! I have less mobility in my left wrist than in my right, but not to the point where it limits my daily activities. I now have a “weather elbow” as they say.) I wasn’t sure exactly what to expect regarding the plot. The first act of The Relentless Moon takes place Earthside and is very concerned with politics and the optics of the space program. I was tempted, at first, to dismiss this as boring. But that’s very shallow of me. One of the best parts of Kowal’s Lady Astronaut universe, or LAU as she calls it, is how she is shaping the alternative history of the 1960s. We see this unfolding with the U.S. capitol now relocated to Kansas City, and a very different political landscape from the one we’re familiar with from our 1960s. I am very intrigued to see how the situation on Earth, with its drastically accelerated climate change timetable, affects the development of technologies that we take for granted, particularly when it comes to electronics and computing. While one might argue that a lot of those inventions will still occur because of necessity from the space program, there is room for Kowal to delay certainly, and perhaps bypass entirely, certain developments, should she choose. After we get to the moon, the plot definitely kicks into a higher gear. I enjoyed every moment of Kowal throwing Nicole into a new and different problems to help solve—or, frustratingly, when Nicole realizes she can’t really help solve the problem and has to wait. I really like that Kowal isn’t afraid to sideline her protagonist—obviously when this is done at an inopportune time it’s annoying, but when done appropriately as Kowal does here, it helps keep the protagonist humble. That way, when they do pull off little miracles, the reader is more impressed than if they were a superhero the entire time. I can’t remember if Kowal hinted at or outright mentioned Nicole’s eating disorder in the earlier books, but it features heavily here. Kowal says she put a lot of effort into avoiding triggering portrayals; I, not having experienced eating disorders, can’t evaluate that. All I can say is that I appreciate that Kowal depicts Nicole’s eating disorder so complexly. It’s not something she “beats” and then she’s fine. It’s a monster that is always lurking in the background, something that she battled when she was younger and now it rears its head over and over throughout her life, especially in times of stress, which The Relentless Moon certainly qualifies for. As much as I love books that are about people struggling with mental health issues, we also need books that show protagonists who just happen to have mental health issues. I want to say Kowal is normalizing eating disorders, except, you know, this is a book about an alternative 1960s where people are colonizing the moon. Speaking of which: hats off to Kowal for tackling the thorny issues of colonialism and eugenics in space. Although the Earth Firsters are, broadly speaking, terrorists and their actions are reprehensible, Kowal carefully finds a way to make it clear that they have a point. In the rush of various countries to make space, the moon, and Mars a viable alternative for human habitation given Earth’s dire prognosis, there are serious questions about who will get to survive in this new future. Kowal doesn’t hesitate to address racism in space, particularly as it relates to the Black characters of Eugene and Myrtle Lindholm. Similarly, she mentions the problematic selection criteria for space travel—both the practical, physical requirements as well as the highly political ones. All in all, The Relentless Moon is just as good as the original LAU novels. I’m holding back on five stars only because I don’t want to give the impression that this is better than the original novels; I’d need to re-read those first. But I ran, not walked (ok, I drove my privileged ass) to the bookstore to buy this book the week it came out, and I have no regrets. If you want a book about women on the moon, solving mysteries with math and guile, The Relentless Moon is the book for you. [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Jul 20, 2020
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Jul 25, 2020
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Jan 01, 2020
|
Paperback
| |||||||||||||||
076539894X
| 9780765398949
| 076539894X
| 4.27
| 15,558
| Aug 21, 2018
| Aug 21, 2018
|
it was amazing
|
If it feels like just yesterday that I read
The Calculating Stars
, that’s because it practically was! I seldom read sequels so close together, but
If it feels like just yesterday that I read
The Calculating Stars
, that’s because it practically was! I seldom read sequels so close together, but once in a while I manage to buy them at the same time. In this case, I rushed out and bought The Fated Sky the weekend after I finished the first book and very deliberately made this my first book of 2019—I like to start my reading year off with something I know I will enjoy. Part of me really just wants to say: what I said in my review of The Calculating Stars, but more so. Honestly: at first I was worried the book would feel too similar to the first one, and so I wouldn’t like it as much. Fortunately, Mary Robinette Kowal nails the balance of having the same atmosphere yet with a very different plot. It’s a couple years after the events of the first book. Elma finds herself assigned to the IAC’s first crewed Mars mission, although the decision to do so ruffles many a feather. But it’s a politically savvy move to have the “Lady Astronaut” on the mission, even as racial tensions and other tensions flare up commensurate with the flares in Earth’s temperature. Eventually, the mission gets underway, and the bulk of the book is spent aboard the Nina, in transit to Mars. With communication with Earth only possibly via teletype, the crew of the Nina and its sister ship, the Pinta, are very isolated. They must conquer the challenges caused not just by the environment of space itself but by the interpersonal conflicts that are always going to arise in such a long-duration mission. This isn’t really a book about going to space, or even about going to Mars. Kowal certainly provides an interesting look some of the things that might happen to a pair of crews travelling to Mars. Really, though, the space travel is just an excuse. This is a book about racism and sexism, about race and gender relations, about knowing when to lead and when to follow. Once again, Kowal gives us a flawed protagonist that many of us should recognize in ourselves. Elma is well-meaning in all her actions, yet she constantly screws stuff up, because her privilege and experiences mean that she doesn’t always understand how intent doesn’t necessarily equal consequence. She makes a lot of mistakes, and more importantly, she learns from those mistakes. I also like that Elma’s learning and the apologies that accompany it don’t always equal the people she has wronged immediately changing their minds and liking her—that wouldn’t be realistic. Sometimes you screw things up, and it means people are going to take longer to forgive you, or maybe never forgive you. The interpersonal dynamics on this mission are so good because every person’s attitude towards Elma is unique. Like her, love her, hate her, indifferent to her—she has a real and different relationship with everyone aboard. In particular, if you were a fan of the interactions between Stetson Parker and Elma, then boy howdy, hang on to your hat for this book. Kowal just kicks that into overdrive, and again, I love the three-dimensionality of Parker’s antagonism. I also really like the relationship between Elma and Nathaniel. Earlier in the book, when she is debating whether or not to accept the offer to join the Mars mission, Nathaniel helps her talk through it. He asks her what she would be doing if she didn’t go. She’s thinking of having children. But that would mean quitting her job (ahhhh, the sexism of the 1960s), and then she would do various charitable things, and then she would be … unhappy, she realizes. It’s a poignant scene made all the more poignant by Nathaniel’s unconditional acceptance of her desire to go, despite the three-year absence it will mean. It takes a lot of strength to let someone you love go and do their thing even when it means you’re going to miss them. I know I’ve wrestled (and continue to wrestle) with this—but Nathaniel and I know that you can’t ask or tell someone to compromise their dreams just so they’re closer to you, because the person who stays is going to be a more bitter version of the person you love. And if you love someone, you should want them to grow and succeed and flourish on their terms, not yours. So after I stopped crying from that little moment of heartfelt resonance, I kept on reading the book. And it is a delight. Here’s the thing about the spacey stuff: so many people—so many people—practically orgasmed over the technical details in The Martian and, to a lesser extent, Artemis (or maybe you literally orgasmed—no judgment). Fair enough; the level of technical detail is impressive. But, in my opinion, Andy Weir’s writing style isn’t much to write home about. It’s competent, but his characterization leaves much to be desired. The Fated Sky delivers a comparable level of technical veracity in how Kowal depicts the voyage to Mars. However, I vastly prefer Kowal’s writing style. It’s smoother; the characterization is far deeper; the story itself is more interesting in its structure and substance. All this is to say that you can have technical verisimilitude and a good story, and as I have said time and again, good story is always going to be more important than the former for me. I’m ambivalent about the epilogue, honestly. I would have been happy enough with the book ending before that. Maybe I need to re-read “The Lady Astronaut on Mars.” Anyway, it isn’t bad—it just feels quite tacked on, a very obvious postscript to the rest of the adventure, yet it does little for me from an emotional point of view. Definitely read The Calculating Stars before you read this one. Theoretically you could just jump into this one, but I don’t recommend it. These two books are a close-knit duology, and if you like the first one, you’ll need this second one for closure. What a fun two-book reading experience. [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Jan 02, 2019
|
Jan 04, 2019
|
Dec 07, 2018
|
Paperback
| |||||||||||||||
B0DLT1ZR1S
| 3.95
| 37,861
| Jul 03, 2018
| Jul 03, 2018
|
it was amazing
|
How much did I love The Calculating Stars? When I picked this up at Chapters, I didn’t realize that its sequel was already out! So when I finished thi
How much did I love The Calculating Stars? When I picked this up at Chapters, I didn’t realize that its sequel was already out! So when I finished this on the evening of December 28, I was very tempted to rush out and buy that sequel right away. But Chapters was closing in 20 minutes, so I waited until the next day, and then I bought The Fated Sky with the intention of making it my first read of 2019, because I love starting off the year with a book I’m certain to enjoy. I was pretty sure I would like The Calculating Stars, but it did more, surprising me with the rich layers that Mary Robinette Kowal manages to fit into what is actually quite a short novel. Trigger warnings in this novel for moments of extreme social anxiety related to public speaking and consequent anxiety attacks. Elma York (née Wexler) is a computer for NACA in 1952, when a meteorite strikes off the coast of the United States and triggers what will eventually be an extinction-level event. This accelerates international plans for space travel. Elma’s husband, Nathaniel, is the lead engineer for the International Aerospace Coalition, and the two of them work together closely. But in addition to her love of crunching numbers like nobody’s business, Elma loves flying. A WASP during the war, she yearns to join the fledgling astronaut corps. Except, you know, blatant sexism stands in her way. The novel opens with the kind of in media res disaster sequence a Michael Bay film would kill for: deadly earthquakes, a daring escape along a highway, a shockwave that totals your car, and then flying a prop plane through flaming ejecta only to have to manage a crash landing just short of the air base. Wow! From there, Kowal wastes no time getting us into the thick of things, establishing that there is a ticking clock thanks to the accelerated climate change: humanity needs to go to space. From there, this mission becomes the background plot while the novel focuses on Elma’s personal struggles. What elevates The Calculating Stars for me is just how complex Kowal manages to make her main character. It’s one thing to write someone as a firebrand feminist who doesn’t take “no” for an answer, stands up for herself, and keeps making noise until she makes some history. Kowal throws in all these layers of nuance, though, providing Elma with plenty of flaws and missteps, that help avoid turning her into a larger-than-life type of heroine. Elma is unabashedly feminist in the sense that she believes women can do, and should be allowed to do, anything that men can. Yet this novel is, in many ways, her own personal journey towards becoming a revolutionary. For example, there is a memorable scene where Nathaniel tells her in confidence that her public efforts to agitate for women joining the astronaut corps has started to have an effect, and the IAC Director is embarrassed. Elma’s first reaction is, “I’ll stop doing what I’m doing if it’s making trouble for you.” It’s not that she thinks, as a wife, she has a duty to submit to her husband and make things easier for him—rather, she cares for this person she loves deeply and would rather quash her own aspirations than harm him. Fortunately, she has a good ally in Nathaniel. Similar nuance is evident in how Kowal deals with intersections of race, ethnicity, and gender. The Calculating Stars receives a lot of comparisons to Hidden Figures, and I totally get why. I think it’s important not to compare these books too directly, however, for two reasons: firstly, the latter is non-fiction, a chronicle of what actually happened, whereas this novel is alternative history; secondly, the latter is the story of Black women, told by a Black woman, which is definitely not happening here. Elma is Jewish and white; hence, she experiences oppression (and this is just after WWII, and Kowal has some excellent moments addressing the aftermath of the Holocaust) but she also experiences privilege compared to Black women. There are numerous moments, big and small, in the book where Elma, as a white lady, steps in it. As a result of her privilege, she fails to consider the barriers that women of colour might face that she doesn’t. It takes her a long time to become more intersectional in how she approaches her fight for women’s rights in astronaut training, and even by the end of the book, she certainly isn’t perfect. In this way, I love the portrayal of Elma. Kowal gives us a protagonist who is idealistically in the right but occasionally, in practice, in the wrong. It’s wonderful to watch her learn from her mistakes. Similar to the issues of race and gender, there’s a subplot involving taking medication for anxiety. Again, Kowal has Elma start off in one place, with one type of attitude towards this, and then she changes her mind over the course of the book. She isn’t the only one like this either. The principal antagonist, Stetson Parker, is a boorish, groping jerk who does his best to foil Elma’s astronaut dreams—yet he is far from a moustache-twirling villain or misogynistic stereotype; again, there are layers and nuance to his personality that make him far more believable and enjoyable to read. Finally, Kowal makes sure to give us a plethora of personalities among the women Elma meets. Some of them are enthusiastic about her plans from the start; others take time to win over as allies. Still others throw in with Elma only as far as it aligns with their personal goals. It’s almost as if having a multitude of women in one’s book means that one can give them different motivations and none has to speak for all womankind! I read “The Lady Astronaut of Mars” years back when it was nominated (and then won) a Hugo award. I liked it! I had no idea that Kowal would take this universe and spin it out into a duology, yet here we are, and I’m really glad she did. Over the past few years, some cranky misogynistic and racist people have jumped aboard a “Sad Puppies” train and complained that “SJWs” (“social justice warriors”) have hijacked science fiction and fantasy, “ruining” their pure and good stories with awful attempts at politically correct fiction. This, of course, is utter hogwash—there has always been plenty of good, socially progressive science fiction around, much of it written by marginalized authors. The Calculating Stars, more than many science fiction novels I’ve read in a while, admirably demonstrates that the divide between “hard” and “soft” SF is bogus, gate-keeping malarkey, and that socially-conscious science fiction can definitely have a compelling story. This is a novel that features a woman doing equations in her head and fighting for social justice. This is the type of science-fiction story I want to be reading. Bring it on. [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
|
Dec 25, 2018
|
Dec 28, 2018
|
Jul 03, 2018
|
Paperback
| |||||||||||||||||
0345522907
| 9780345522900
| 0345522907
| 4.00
| 16,098
| Aug 13, 2013
| Jul 29, 2014
|
liked it
|
I’ve finally figured it out: this is a buddy cop story. Wait wait wait wait wait—it makes total sense! Think about it. Laurence is the by-the-book, har I’ve finally figured it out: this is a buddy cop story. Wait wait wait wait wait—it makes total sense! Think about it. Laurence is the by-the-book, hardnosed detective who has been on the job for years when, one day, out of the blue, this smartass rookie with a talent for learning languages and blowing hot air waltzes into his life. The two become partners and start working cases together, and Temeraire keeps getting Laurence in trouble, but Laurence always has Temeraire’s back—because even if Laurence does value procedure, deep down, his heart agrees with his new partner. I figured this all out because Blood of Tyrants takes one of the most tired, soap operatic plot devices of all time (amnesia, oooooh, scary) and turns it around and uses it to good purpose. Although the first half of this book still feels a little too long, most of it is actually a pretty good story. As someone who, unfortunately, isn’t sad to see this series end—because it rather feels like it has lost the wind from its sails—this is a much better penultimate story than I was looking for. Naomi Novik manages to remind me why I fell in love with Temeraire and her storytelling in the first place. As mentioned above, the story opens with Laurence having amnesia after being tossed overboard. This isn’t really a spoiler, I hope, because it is literally in the back cover copy and also on the first page. He winds up in Japan, which is closed to foreigners at this point in time, so that’s rather bad news. Meanwhile, Temeraire is beside himself wanting to look for Laurence, but there’s a dragon transport to fix and the whole closed-to-foreigners thing to be mindful of. The storyline unfolds in parallel for a hundred pages or so until the two are reunited (again, not a spoiler, it’s on the back of the book), though it’s unclear whether Laurence’s memory will ever return. So we have a dude who thinks he’s a Navy captain being told he’s actually an aviator for a very independently-minded dragon. Oh, and they are traitors. Were traitors. Napoleonic War Facebook status is: it’s complicated. Oh man is it ever complicated. At this point Novik’s alternate world looks extremely different from the nineteenth-century Earth we’re used to, and that isn’t a bad thing. In particular, this novel gives us tantalizing glimpses into what the American colonies, one place Laurence and Temeraire haven’t managed to end up, are like at this point. We meet a dragon from those colonies who is part-owner of a shipping company. It appears that basically everywhere except a handful of European countries treats its dragons as competent persons, and that’s a subtle but intriguing revelation. It was also nice to return to China after so long away. We spend less time focusing on China itself and how its dragons and humans co-exist. But there are some nice moments, and of course, a new Chinese dragon general character who accompanies Laurence and Temeraire to Moscow. Chu’s cool. Once we finally make it to Moscow, the plot really picks up the pace. We see the frustration of trying to account for all the logistics involved in dragon warfare. We see how close these allies come to being defeated, not by superior weapons or numbers on the side of the French, but a simple inability to cooperate and listen to each other. It’s some of your typical military fiction themes, of course, but presented very well. There are a few side-plots to keep things interesting and keep us on our toes, and I like how Novik dovetails them all together towards the end, instead of letting them just lapse. Laurence runs into Napoleon in person again. And there is an interesting exchange between Laurence and the Russian general towards the end of the book that aptly underscores the entire series, I think: Kutuzov basically accuses Laurence and Temeraire together of having almost as much, if not more, of a world-changing impact as Napoleon himself, what with their abolitionist, pro-dragon politics being spread literally the world over. It’s one of those “huh” moments when the protagonists realize how far they’ve come from the first book when they are pretty much nobodies, and it is a nice chance for the series to acknowledge, without being too meta, how far it has come. One more Temeraire novel to go. As I already said, I am not sad to reach this point. Blood of Tyrants is another solid entry in the series, so I’m optimistic that Novik can deliver a satisfactory finale. But it’s time. My reviews of Temeraire: ← Crucible of Gold [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Jan 19, 2018
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Jan 21, 2018
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Jan 19, 2018
|
Mass Market Paperback
| |||||||||||||||
1481410334
| 9781481410335
| 1481410334
| 3.54
| 1,866
| Feb 02, 2016
| Feb 02, 2016
|
really liked it
|
A Criminal Magic hooked me from the start. A friend gave this to me for my birthday (apparently it was on my to-read list, not that I’d remember). I s
A Criminal Magic hooked me from the start. A friend gave this to me for my birthday (apparently it was on my to-read list, not that I’d remember). I started it on Saturday, and 25 pages in I texted her to let her know she had picked well. Lee Kelly’s story of sorcerers labouring under a magic Prohibition in an alternative 1926 is just captivating. From parallel plot-lines to a careful, judicious use of magic, Kelly tells a story that is about love but isn’t necessarily a romance, a story that is about loss but isn’t necessarily about revenge, a story that is about rolling with the punches when you realize the universe is going to keep knocking you down. The story opens with Joan Kendrick, an eighteen-year-old who has recently lost her mother. We learn more about the circumstances of her mother’s death, and why Joan feels so guilty, fairly soon into the book. For now, though, Joan reluctantly picks up the mantle of her magic and heads into Washington, D.C. with a stranger who is almost certainly a mobster because this is her family’s last chance to make enough money to avoid losing their house. Joan soon finds herself in a competition and experiment to narrow down 15 candidates into a circle of 7 sorcerers—all for the purpose of making better shine, of course. Because in Kelly’s alternative 1926, it isn’t booze that’s illegal: it’s sorcery, and the intoxicating byproduct sorcerer’s shine. I love this premise. I also love that Kelly doesn’t spend too much time explaining how her magic works. We learn enough to understand plot points (magic doesn’t last longer than a day) and receive tantalizing hints that there is much more to learn, that magic is a far deeper and more intense phenomenon than this story can explore. Rather than falling down the rabbithole, however, and providing too much exposition or tangents that don’t make sense, Kelly wisely reins herself in and keeps things focused on the action. The other protagonist, Alex Danfrey, is also a sorcerer down on his luck. With his father imprisoned for smuggling, Alex joins the Federal Prohibition Unit to use his skills for the government. But he has a chip on his shoulder and an ego to match, and he soon gets in trouble and gets manoeuvred into taking an undercover job. He finds himself infiltrating the same gang that Joan is working with. They don’t meet until well into the novel, and even then their lives only cross occasionally for another few chapters—but the payoff is great. Sometimes, when an author splits the story equally across two characters and (eventually intersecting) plots like this, I’m not happy. I end up preferring one story to another and resenting the author for switching gears on me. That’s not the case here: I was always happy to return to the other’s story, with Kelly leaving me just enough from the previous protagonist to feel worried but not so much that I was resentful. Kelly’s gangsters and mobsters are not lovable scoundrels, nor are they cartoon villains. They are dark, twisted, often violent people. Gunn comes across as so tightly-wound in his malevolence, with the long game he is playing and the way his interactions with Joan feel like he can barely contain an envy-inspired rage. Yet I appreciate, and frankly, am relieved, that Kelly never resorts to cheap devices (read: coercion, sexual violence, needlessly killing a character) just to demonstrate someone’s villainy. The same goes for Boss McEvoy, who enters the story with a reputation as a kingpin but whose role shifts markedly as we learn more about his operation. Just when I thought I had this book figured out and could predict the ending, Kelly throws a few twists in there. I expected the sting not to go off as planned, of course. What I didn’t expect, though, was the way in which Joan so brilliantly comes into her own. This was totally my mistake, because Kelly foreshadows it so plainly in the first act of the novel when she is competing against/with other sorcerers! She reprises this crowning moment of awesome in the climax, seizing control of the moment when no one else will and making snap decisions with far-reaching consequences. If you had to make me choose between the two protagonists, Joan would be my favourite, hands down. Though this book has elements of romance to it, I wouldn’t necessarily say that’s its principal component. I don’t want to go into spoilers for the end, so let’s just say that I’m pleased by the way Kelly resolves Joan and Alex’s situation. It’s a less conventional, though by no means an original, solution, and I like the tension that it creates. She sets us up for a sequel, which I’d happily read—yet if no sequel is ever forthcoming, I would still be satisfied with this book as a standalone. In the end, I suspect that some people will see the magic or the plot or the characters here as somewhat shallow. I get those objections. Kelly’s narration and dialogue don’t always make the scene come alive. Yet I can’t deny that I was hooked from the get-go, and any flaws I can see in this book I was happy to ignore for the duration of reading it. A Criminal Magic is just a delightful, suspenseful story of mobs and magic and making hard choices not because you’re hard but because you’re only trying to survive. [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Sep 23, 2017
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Sep 24, 2017
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May 05, 2017
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Hardcover
| |||||||||||||||
0553522310
| 9780553522310
| 0553522310
| 3.81
| 53,203
| Jun 28, 2016
| Jun 28, 2016
|
liked it
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So I read this book nearly a month ago but am only now getting around to writing a review, because I have literally spent all my free time knitting a
So I read this book nearly a month ago but am only now getting around to writing a review, because I have literally spent all my free time knitting a SEKRIT PROJECT because I want to give it to my friend Amanda, who has been away and out of contact for a month. Project is almost done, and so now I can resume my regular reading and reviewing, just in time for summer! However, my memories of this book have of course dulled with time, so this review will not be as detailed as my reviews often are. And I Darken is that interesting form of historical fiction where the author takes a lesser-explored historical figure and takes certain liberties to create a fascinating alternative history, if you will, that is fun if not entirely accurate. In this case, Kiersten White has reimagined Vlad Dracul, aka Vlad “the Impaler” as Lada Dragwlya, a young woman fiercely determined to seize control of her own destiny—at least one day. Sent to the heart of the Ottoman Empire as a hostage to her father’s good behaviour, Lada and her brother, Radu, find themselves the unlikely friends and allies of the sultan’s heir, Mehmed. As they grow older, their father eventually assumes they’re dead, and when Mehmed accedes to the throne, Lada and Radu are in a position to help him against his enemies. Except … he should be their enemy, right? Or is there a love triangle? It’s a mess, in the best possible sense. What drew me to this book, other than the fantastic cover art of course and the intriguing title, is the promise implicit in both: this is a story about someone losing themselves to their darker impulse. Originally, before I read the cover copy more closely, I had thought this was about some type of fantasy protagonist morphing into an antagonist. Heel turns are so compelling when done well! I don’t think this quite lived up to my expectations in that sense, but there was still a lot here that I liked. For example, I liked the ambivalence when it comes to the romantic attraction between Lada and Mehmed. I’m done with books pushing a male and female lead together just because. I like that Lada acknowledges the attraction Mehmed has, and I like how Radu also feels attracted to Mehmed and the tension that results. It all feels very complex and messy and real, which I always appreciate, but which I doubly appreciate in a young adult book. I also enjoyed the characterization of both Lada and Radu. They are very distinct siblings. Lada can certainly be dark and pragmatic in her approach to winning, whereas Radu is craftier and, as she might put it, softer. Throughout the book, White puts them into situations where their loyalty to one another is tested, where their wits are tested … it’s great. And they both have a lot of agency, despite technically being hostages. They both make important, life-altering choices, both for themselves and also for Mehmed. They don’t start the book with much power, but they build up their own power bases over time. Radu steps out of Lada’s shadow, becomes his own person, finds his own way. And Lada eventually starts to develop plans of her own, begins to channel her darker impulses into scarily productive directions. Put it simply (and somewhat vaguely, sorry), this is an exciting read. It’s a setting I’m not used to, both in terms of time and place, and the characters are great. I enjoyed the arc of the plot, both the pacing and the actual story. I’ll be honest: I’m not sure if I would read a sequel (Goodreads seems to indicate this is the first in a series, don’t know if that’s accurate). And I Darken didn’t stand out as being incredibly entertaining or sublime, and I’m not all that invested in Lada or Radu or Mehmed’s stories. Nevertheless, this is a good, standalone story on its own, one that will have you thinking and caring about its trio of main characters. [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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May 22, 2018
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May 28, 2018
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Dec 11, 2016
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Hardcover
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076533268X
| 9780765332684
| 076533268X
| 3.80
| 6,402
| May 20, 2014
| May 19, 2015
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it was amazing
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OH. MY. GOD. WHY DID NONE OF YOU MAKE ME READ THIS BOOK SOONER??? I’ve previously read two of Jo Walton’s books. The first, Among Others , was a Hug OH. MY. GOD. WHY DID NONE OF YOU MAKE ME READ THIS BOOK SOONER??? I’ve previously read two of Jo Walton’s books. The first, Among Others , was a Hugo-nominated, Nebula-winning novel that I enjoyed but didn’t love. The second, Tooth and Claw , was a more straightforward story which was basically “what if Regency England was intelligent dragons” and, as such, was a delightfully clever romp of a book. My Real Children is a slow burn of simmering something else and it blew my mind backwards and forwards across time. It’s 2015 and Patricia is in a nursing home, suffering from dementia. Her mind alternates between two sets of memories. In one timeline, she marries a man named Mark shortly after finishing her schooling after World War II. She has four children with him and a very unhappy marriage, although along the way she discovers her own ambitions and makes a life for herself. In the other timeline, she doesn’t marry Mark; she travels to Italy, writes popular guidebooks, falls in love with another woman, and they end up raising three children together. Tragedy strikes their lives in a few ways, but they get through it, as a family. Walton’s use of a parallel universe structure isn’t unique. A very long time ago I read The Post-Birthday World , which does a similar thing, albeit in the present rather than traversing past worldlines. Walton’s use of it is quite divergent; after Patricia decides to marry or not marry Mark, her life changes rapidly. I call it a slow burn because it took me a while to understand what Walton was doing with these parallel lines and where they were going. At first I was firmly on the anti-Mark train. The guy’s a rapist jerk, and “Tricia” endures an awful first few years of marriage. In contrast, her independence as Pat, the way she develops a career and a wider social circle, definitely looks more attractive. Her love with Bea is easy, even when it gets hard later in life. And there’s the rub: pretty soon, Walton drops the other shoe. Tricia’s life turns around as she carves out more agency for herself and develops independence as well, including meaningful relationships with her adult children. Meanwhile, Pat and Bea have their shares of setbacks, from questions around powers of attorney and agency to Bea’s disability and the state of the world around them. Eventually it’s clear that neither of Patricia’s possible lives is superior to the other. It’s not a question of which life is better but an exploration of the myriad ways in which we encounter happiness and unhappiness as we go through life. This is a slow burn because it’s character-driven, heavy with narration and description of Patricia’s life and lighter on dialogue or action. It is a meditation on life. Either of Patricia’s lives alone would make for a worthy novel, but it’s their juxtaposition that enhances them into a masterpiece of storytelling. I read this over the weekend after a very draining week. I wanted something cathartic, something meditative—and My Real Children was exactly that. Sometimes, when my own life is feeling small or difficult, reading about the difficulties of other people’s lives is just what I need. I guess it’s a form of recharging my empathy and commiserating with these fictional personalities…. Anyway, there’s something about Walton’s writing, the way she tells Patricia’s stories, that really touched my emotions. I found myself laughing and crying at various junctures over the smallest of life events. As the years turned into decades, I found myself getting to know Trish and Pat intimately; I felt connected to them. As I mentioned above, both timelines have their shares of ups and downs. This is what Walton is really getting at with My Real Children: she’s reminding us that there is no way to live your life without regrets or setback. Even if you can go back and do it again, there’s no way to “win” at life. You can always have happiness, but you can also always have sadness and regret; that’s just the way it is. What really matters are the relationships you develop with the people in your life. Who do you love, and who loves you? To what lengths will you go to care for those around you when they are ailing, infirm, or upset? This past year has been somewhat tumultuous for me in terms of caring for others. During this time, I’ve become so very grateful for the support I receive from my own friends. Reading about Patricia’s lives made me think about my own friendships and the people in my life who are so important to me. Yes, my life can be difficult sometimes—but here I am, 29 years old, with a house of my own and friends who text and call me daily, a friend who watches Doctor Who with me every Sunday, friends who check up on me and tell me I’m enough. These are the things that make the darker times easier to bear. These are what add to my pile of good things (my favourite moment of Doctor Who ever). We could spend a good amount of time discussing the extent to which Patricia’s alternative lives are “real.” It’s possible that her two sets of memories are entirely a result of her dementia, of course (kind of like the doubt inherent in Woman on the Edge of Time ). Alternatively, Patricia could indeed be remembering two actual parallel lives among many others. Perhaps that’s what dementia is! And, as she observes in the coda, these memories are interesting because there were so many divergences beyond ones probably caused by her decision to marry/not marry Mark. Both worlds are distinct from this one of ours as well. This book is vanilla enough in its presentation and marketing that it might actually escape the speculative fiction ghetto in some places and attract a wider audience. I think people should give science fiction a try more in general, but if they pick up My Real Children not really knowing what it’s about, I don’t mind that either. This is the first book I’ve read in a while that I think almost everyone might want to read at some point. It’s moving and heartfelt and beautiful. Definitely one of the best books I’ve read all year—one of those books, like some of Ursula K. Le Guin’s work, that are just so beautiful they hurt. [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Oct 07, 2018
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Oct 08, 2018
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Dec 02, 2016
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Paperback
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0345522869
| 9780345522863
| 0345522869
| 3.99
| 19,080
| Mar 06, 2012
| Mar 06, 2012
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liked it
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After over a year, I stumbled across the last three Temeraire books while browsing Chapters and realized the time has come to pick up this series and
After over a year, I stumbled across the last three Temeraire books while browsing Chapters and realized the time has come to pick up this series and put it to rest. Crucible of Gold, the seventh instalment in these adventures, sees Laurence and Temeraire reinstated in the Aerial Corps for an urgent mission to Brazil. Napoleon has a shaky alliance with the Tswana, and they are raiding the Portuguese colonies there for their enslaved kin. Along the way, however, Laurence, Temeraire, and their party are sidetracked by shipwreck, the French, and the Inca. As with many long-running series, it becomes difficult to recap and review these books without sounding like a broken record. Worldbuilding, characterization, blah blah blah—it’s all here. Overall, I definitely liked this over the last book, because it doesn’t drag. Novik constantly changes up the game, raises the stakes, and generally keeps us guessing as to how this will all work out. A little bit of foreshadowing at the beginning warns us that even once Laurence and Temeraire reach Brazil, they aren’t just going to let the Tswana slaves remain in bondage to the Portuguese—some kind of abolition is on the table, even if it makes their Portuguese allies unhappy. Fans of the series (and I assume that makes up the large majority of the people who survive to book 7) will love the character development here. The relationship (if that’s the right word) between Temeraire and Iskierka deepens. Granby undergoes a dramatic change in fortunes. We even learn a little more about Gong Su’s role beyond cook and camp hanger-on. Similarly, I like Novik’s portrayal of the Incan empire. In particular, she takes the time to show us the Sapa Inca’s perspective on the British party’s arrival. I like that we’re shown how the Sapa Inca wants to play the British and French off against each other long enough to avoid any of her local suitors to become a rival for her power. Too often, foreign ruler characters in a book tend to exist solely as obstacles for the protagonists to overcome, with little thought for how their actions towards a protagonist will affect their own power base. In Crucible of Gold, it feels like Temeraire and Laurence have genuinely stumbled upon a very delicate situation, one that their arrival could upset or aid. I could have spent a lot longer in the Incan empire. Still, Brazil poses a whole new set of challenges for the team. Once again, Novik achieves a fine balance between intense fight sequences and the sweet, sweet song of negotiation. I love how, as the series branched out from military action in the Channel, Novik found ways to keep the action going even while giving us breathing room. Crucible of Gold is a fine return to form for this series. You can easily skip the previous book and jump straight to this one. My reviews of Temeraire: ← Tongues of Serpents | Blood of Tyrants → [image] ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Sep 30, 2017
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Oct 02, 2017
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Jul 12, 2016
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Hardcover
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4.10
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it was ok
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May 26, 2025
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Jul 05, 2025
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4.16
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liked it
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Mar 18, 2025
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Apr 05, 2025
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3.61
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really liked it
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Mar 16, 2025
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Apr 02, 2025
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4.15
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it was amazing
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Feb 02, 2023
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Feb 11, 2023
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4.02
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really liked it
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Jun 18, 2022
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Jul 01, 2022
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3.80
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liked it
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May 29, 2022
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Jun 06, 2022
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3.74
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liked it
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Jan 27, 2022
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Feb 09, 2022
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4.22
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liked it
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Nov 24, 2021
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Dec 09, 2021
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3.91
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liked it
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Sep 23, 2021
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Sep 30, 2021
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3.99
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really liked it
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Dec 22, 2021
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Jun 05, 2020
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4.17
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liked it
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May 18, 2020
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May 13, 2020
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3.70
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it was ok
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Oct 24, 2020
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Feb 01, 2020
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4.35
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really liked it
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Jul 25, 2020
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Jan 01, 2020
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4.27
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it was amazing
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Jan 04, 2019
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Dec 07, 2018
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3.95
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it was amazing
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Dec 28, 2018
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Jul 03, 2018
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4.00
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liked it
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Jan 21, 2018
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Jan 19, 2018
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3.54
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really liked it
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Sep 24, 2017
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May 05, 2017
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3.81
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liked it
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May 28, 2018
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Dec 11, 2016
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3.80
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it was amazing
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Oct 08, 2018
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Dec 02, 2016
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3.99
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liked it
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Oct 02, 2017
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Jul 12, 2016
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