His Majesty's Dragon
by Naomi Novik
This was a re-read, because I finally found the second and third book in the series discounted at Powell's; I can only assume that the fire alarm they had right before we got there threw off whatever jerk has been snatching up every used copy the moment before I walk down the aisle for the last two years, and I managed to get there first. But since it has been two years since I read this one, I wanted to see how much I remembered. Actually, I remembered a lot of it, but I was incredibly pleased to find that I loved reading the book, anyway; that's good writing.
I still like the characters enormously, both Laurence's staid Britishness and Temeraire's open honesty. It was fun to read about Temeraire shocking Laurence with his intelligence and his guileless and pragmatic view of things; it was great to have the fine upstanding English gentleman shocked when his dragon says, "Oh, they're going to town to visit whores. Now I understand." I also liked Temeraire's unapologetic indifference to king and country; his only loyalty is to those he personally knows and loves, and this book shows both the positives and negatives of that kind of relationship. It makes for an excellent and interesting read. Plus, there are dragons -- lots and lots of dragons. How could you not like that?
Monday, September 1, 2008
Book #56
The Lunatic Cafe
by Laurell K. Hamilton
Should I be worried that I'm growing a little obsessive with these? Have I spent too much of my time reading this series, when I could be reading something else? Should I change this system of alternating other novels with Anita Blake books?
Nah.
One nice thing, actually, about reading this series so quickly, and without many other novels coming in between these, is that I've been able to pay close attention to the ways that the characters have grown and changed. Toni has brought it to my attention, as the largest complaint against this series is the way Anita changes somewhere in the next few books; many of Hamilton's fans found the change unwelcome, and they have spent the last few years going off the deep end, becoming a sort of internet Inquisition, always on the lookout for both the faithful few and the heretics who disagree with their assessment of the series' fall from grace; anyone who continues to like the series after the change, as Toni does, are in for torture, excommunication, and burning at the stake. Considering how much I like this series so far, and how often I agree with my wife's assessment of books -- and how much I, as a writer and observer of human behavior, enjoy watching good writers deal with genuine characters -- I can pretty safely assume I'll like the coming change. At any rate, it has made me more aware of the steady changes happening in Anita, and I love that those changes are there for me to observe.
The big changes in this book: she agrees to marry Richard, sort of -- which was a huge mistake; she said yes in the heat of the moment, when he's looking all hot and sexy, and that's always a bad time, though she rightly points out that he shouldn't have asked her then -- and then takes it back shortly afterward when she has second thoughts. I liked that because it was very real and very human; I also like that I feel a little conflicted over Anita's largest personality clash with Richard. That clash is over her absolute refusal to bend to his will, while simultaneously demanding that he bend to hers. I understand it: she has fought very hard for control of her life, and she still fights, against forces that are constantly arrayed against her: the police bureaucracy and general attitude (not shared by the RPIT cops, thankfully) that a woman and a civilian should be doubly separated from police matters; the overwhelming presence of Jean-Claude and his desire for her both as lover and servant, and her own traitorous desire for him; Bert and the demands of her job, both those that genuinely come with the territory and also those Bert unreasonably puts on her against her will. All of these things, along with the several other monsters who keep trying to control her and force her to do their bidding, have made her hypersensitive to giving in to anyone in anything; look at what happened when she allowed Jean-Claude even a moment of control over her. This means she has an incredibly difficult time in compromising with Richard, in allowing him into her life, since that means allowing him to have power over her -- and what's worse, accepting that control willingly, not begrudgingly as she does in every other instance that someone controls her. I understand that desire for independence, though I . . . can't remember where I've encountered it before.
Even though I understand her desire for independence, I can't help but think, Jesus, Anita, you don't have to bristle and argue about EVERYTHING. What the hell kind of relationship is that? Plus, she's just too dead set against the idea of monsters -- though I love that she has the honesty to admit that, even though she hates it about herself, she is indeed prejudiced. That neither Richard nor Jean-Claude are human enough for her, and it's unfair of her to think so, but she still does. It is unfair, of course; she's a little too inhuman for a normal man to put up with. I could probably handle marrying an animator, but not an animator who hung out with so many truly dangerous monsters. At least, it would be hard to handle, and so Anita has no room to criticize Richard, who at least doesn't want to be a monster and is honest about his feelings with her.
The other interesting moment with Anita was when she realized that she didn't go for her cross when Gretchen attacked her, but went straight for her gun, instead. She says she won't skip church any more, but I doubt that: her faith did not protect her in the last book, when, what was her name, Yasmeen, grabbed her; instead she ended up with another cross-shaped brand. What worked was the gun, so naturally that's what Anita would go for. Her real core belief is about survival, anyway; if she was a Christian first she wouldn't be so willing to do anything to survive. But she is willing, and so her Christianity is falling away, but by bit -- and don't think her attraction to Richard and Jean-Claude, combined with her unwillingness to sacrifice her independence through marriage, can lead anywhere but sin. She'll get there, eventually. And I says, more power to her.
Otherwise: I liked Konrad and I'm pissed about how it ended up; I absolutely loathe Marcus, Raina, and Gabriel -- especially the masochist, there; that's just freaky. I liked the witch subplot, and wish more could have been done with it. I'm not sure how long Hamilton can go on whacking every single serious bad guy in these books; that's a real high turnover rate for villains. But since this book includes mentions of things like trolls and dragons, I suppose we have the near-infinite variety of all of the fantasy world to draw enemies from. All I know is, I'm going to keep reading these. A lot.
by Laurell K. Hamilton
Should I be worried that I'm growing a little obsessive with these? Have I spent too much of my time reading this series, when I could be reading something else? Should I change this system of alternating other novels with Anita Blake books?
Nah.
One nice thing, actually, about reading this series so quickly, and without many other novels coming in between these, is that I've been able to pay close attention to the ways that the characters have grown and changed. Toni has brought it to my attention, as the largest complaint against this series is the way Anita changes somewhere in the next few books; many of Hamilton's fans found the change unwelcome, and they have spent the last few years going off the deep end, becoming a sort of internet Inquisition, always on the lookout for both the faithful few and the heretics who disagree with their assessment of the series' fall from grace; anyone who continues to like the series after the change, as Toni does, are in for torture, excommunication, and burning at the stake. Considering how much I like this series so far, and how often I agree with my wife's assessment of books -- and how much I, as a writer and observer of human behavior, enjoy watching good writers deal with genuine characters -- I can pretty safely assume I'll like the coming change. At any rate, it has made me more aware of the steady changes happening in Anita, and I love that those changes are there for me to observe.
The big changes in this book: she agrees to marry Richard, sort of -- which was a huge mistake; she said yes in the heat of the moment, when he's looking all hot and sexy, and that's always a bad time, though she rightly points out that he shouldn't have asked her then -- and then takes it back shortly afterward when she has second thoughts. I liked that because it was very real and very human; I also like that I feel a little conflicted over Anita's largest personality clash with Richard. That clash is over her absolute refusal to bend to his will, while simultaneously demanding that he bend to hers. I understand it: she has fought very hard for control of her life, and she still fights, against forces that are constantly arrayed against her: the police bureaucracy and general attitude (not shared by the RPIT cops, thankfully) that a woman and a civilian should be doubly separated from police matters; the overwhelming presence of Jean-Claude and his desire for her both as lover and servant, and her own traitorous desire for him; Bert and the demands of her job, both those that genuinely come with the territory and also those Bert unreasonably puts on her against her will. All of these things, along with the several other monsters who keep trying to control her and force her to do their bidding, have made her hypersensitive to giving in to anyone in anything; look at what happened when she allowed Jean-Claude even a moment of control over her. This means she has an incredibly difficult time in compromising with Richard, in allowing him into her life, since that means allowing him to have power over her -- and what's worse, accepting that control willingly, not begrudgingly as she does in every other instance that someone controls her. I understand that desire for independence, though I . . . can't remember where I've encountered it before.
Even though I understand her desire for independence, I can't help but think, Jesus, Anita, you don't have to bristle and argue about EVERYTHING. What the hell kind of relationship is that? Plus, she's just too dead set against the idea of monsters -- though I love that she has the honesty to admit that, even though she hates it about herself, she is indeed prejudiced. That neither Richard nor Jean-Claude are human enough for her, and it's unfair of her to think so, but she still does. It is unfair, of course; she's a little too inhuman for a normal man to put up with. I could probably handle marrying an animator, but not an animator who hung out with so many truly dangerous monsters. At least, it would be hard to handle, and so Anita has no room to criticize Richard, who at least doesn't want to be a monster and is honest about his feelings with her.
The other interesting moment with Anita was when she realized that she didn't go for her cross when Gretchen attacked her, but went straight for her gun, instead. She says she won't skip church any more, but I doubt that: her faith did not protect her in the last book, when, what was her name, Yasmeen, grabbed her; instead she ended up with another cross-shaped brand. What worked was the gun, so naturally that's what Anita would go for. Her real core belief is about survival, anyway; if she was a Christian first she wouldn't be so willing to do anything to survive. But she is willing, and so her Christianity is falling away, but by bit -- and don't think her attraction to Richard and Jean-Claude, combined with her unwillingness to sacrifice her independence through marriage, can lead anywhere but sin. She'll get there, eventually. And I says, more power to her.
Otherwise: I liked Konrad and I'm pissed about how it ended up; I absolutely loathe Marcus, Raina, and Gabriel -- especially the masochist, there; that's just freaky. I liked the witch subplot, and wish more could have been done with it. I'm not sure how long Hamilton can go on whacking every single serious bad guy in these books; that's a real high turnover rate for villains. But since this book includes mentions of things like trolls and dragons, I suppose we have the near-infinite variety of all of the fantasy world to draw enemies from. All I know is, I'm going to keep reading these. A lot.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Book #55
Mistborn
by Brandon Sanderson
I've been keeping an eye out for this author's novels, because he's the guy writing the 12th book of the Wheel of Time from Robert Jordan's notes. I wanted to see if he had the authorial chops to handle the task he's taken on.
Short answer: Maybe.
I found Mistborn, the first in a trilogy, and bought it, and now spent 8 days reading it -- it's fairly long, and it's been a busy week of school seminars and home repair. It was really good; apart from the whole WoT thing, Sanderson is definitely an author I'd want to keep up with. The second book of this trilogy is already out, as is a stand-alone novel, his first; this book was a discounted re-release to promote the publication of the last book in the trilogy. So I'll be looking at Powell's for the sequel and the separate novel.
The positives: the writing was strong, though a bit plain; the magic system and the world were outstanding, one of the best fantasy settings I've seen in a while -- comparable in some ways with WoT, which is probably why he was tapped to write Book 12. The concept is that there is an absolute dictatorship ruling this world, a single world-spanning empire with an immortal god-king at the head. The world has turned ugly, with volcanoes spewing a constant stream of ash and smoke into the sky, blocking most of the sun's rays and leaving the people with brown plants and a world coated in black ash, which falls like rain. The empire has divided people into nobility and peasants, and the peasants suffer just as they did in the feudal system of the Middle Ages: they exist only to serve the nobility, who slaughter them wholesale just for amusement, and who work very hard to crush their spirits, mostly with great success.
The book is about a group of people, thieves, who try to organize an uprising in order to overthrow the all-powerful emperor, slaughter the nobles, and free the people -- and make themselves impossibly rich in the process. The cast of characters were mostly good, though some of the secondary characters were a bit cliche -- a soldier who tries to think like a philosopher, but honestly, his philosophical questions are a bit ho-hum (The best one was: if the Lord Ruler is actually a piece of God, as his reputation has it, then doesn't his divinity make his actions morally right, and thus make our insurrection the wrong thing to do?), and then there are the overweight bombastic politico, the quiet organizer, and the cantankerous old man. But the main characters were much better, and the magic system -- which is based around metals, which the magic-users ingest and then "burn" to gain magical powers -- was both subtle and intricate, as well as being basically straightforward and easy to follow.
The plot was great, though again, there were little cliche moments that irritated me slightly -- I could have done without the love interest, for one, as the lowborn main character falls for the one noble with a heart of gold. But the ending was outstanding, and the image of the villains -- the Inquisitors, horribly powerful, immortal servants of the Lord Ruler -- was inspired: instead of eyes, they have steel spikes driven through their heads, with the tips protruding from the backs of their skulls and the square ends of the spikes right where their eyes should be. That was fantastic.
So basically, Sanderson has the imagination to keep up with the Wheel of Time, but not really the storytelling skills, at least not in this book. Unfortunately, the imaginative parts of WoT are already done for him, so this doesn't play to his strengths. I'm hoping his other books show better writing.
by Brandon Sanderson
I've been keeping an eye out for this author's novels, because he's the guy writing the 12th book of the Wheel of Time from Robert Jordan's notes. I wanted to see if he had the authorial chops to handle the task he's taken on.
Short answer: Maybe.
I found Mistborn, the first in a trilogy, and bought it, and now spent 8 days reading it -- it's fairly long, and it's been a busy week of school seminars and home repair. It was really good; apart from the whole WoT thing, Sanderson is definitely an author I'd want to keep up with. The second book of this trilogy is already out, as is a stand-alone novel, his first; this book was a discounted re-release to promote the publication of the last book in the trilogy. So I'll be looking at Powell's for the sequel and the separate novel.
The positives: the writing was strong, though a bit plain; the magic system and the world were outstanding, one of the best fantasy settings I've seen in a while -- comparable in some ways with WoT, which is probably why he was tapped to write Book 12. The concept is that there is an absolute dictatorship ruling this world, a single world-spanning empire with an immortal god-king at the head. The world has turned ugly, with volcanoes spewing a constant stream of ash and smoke into the sky, blocking most of the sun's rays and leaving the people with brown plants and a world coated in black ash, which falls like rain. The empire has divided people into nobility and peasants, and the peasants suffer just as they did in the feudal system of the Middle Ages: they exist only to serve the nobility, who slaughter them wholesale just for amusement, and who work very hard to crush their spirits, mostly with great success.
The book is about a group of people, thieves, who try to organize an uprising in order to overthrow the all-powerful emperor, slaughter the nobles, and free the people -- and make themselves impossibly rich in the process. The cast of characters were mostly good, though some of the secondary characters were a bit cliche -- a soldier who tries to think like a philosopher, but honestly, his philosophical questions are a bit ho-hum (The best one was: if the Lord Ruler is actually a piece of God, as his reputation has it, then doesn't his divinity make his actions morally right, and thus make our insurrection the wrong thing to do?), and then there are the overweight bombastic politico, the quiet organizer, and the cantankerous old man. But the main characters were much better, and the magic system -- which is based around metals, which the magic-users ingest and then "burn" to gain magical powers -- was both subtle and intricate, as well as being basically straightforward and easy to follow.
The plot was great, though again, there were little cliche moments that irritated me slightly -- I could have done without the love interest, for one, as the lowborn main character falls for the one noble with a heart of gold. But the ending was outstanding, and the image of the villains -- the Inquisitors, horribly powerful, immortal servants of the Lord Ruler -- was inspired: instead of eyes, they have steel spikes driven through their heads, with the tips protruding from the backs of their skulls and the square ends of the spikes right where their eyes should be. That was fantastic.
So basically, Sanderson has the imagination to keep up with the Wheel of Time, but not really the storytelling skills, at least not in this book. Unfortunately, the imaginative parts of WoT are already done for him, so this doesn't play to his strengths. I'm hoping his other books show better writing.
Book #54
Circus of the Damned
by Laurell K. Hamilton
Continuing on with the Anita Blake series, I read the third one, Circus of the Damned. I didn't like this one quite as much as the last one, but I liked it more than the first. The bad guy in this one was good, though it centered a lot more on Anita and Jean-Claude and Anita's attempts to live a normal life, all of which are effectively ruined by her association with Jean-Claude, because she knows who the Master of the City is and where his daytime resting place is, so everybody who wants to kill him -- and it's more than a few -- wants to bribe, threaten, and torture the information out of her. It was an interesting depiction of what it's like to be a human drawn into the vampire's world. It also made Anita seem much less high-powered -- though she did have her badass moment at the end, oh yes she did.
I liked the million-year-old vampire enormously; I thought it was a fantastic idea and a wonderfully drawn character. I liked his motivation and the ways he intends to accomplish his goals, as well as his obvious personal power as seen through his control of such incredibly powerful minions. I didn't like the lamia, but I'm not supposed to, so that worked out well; it's an interesting way to handle the villain, to have a personable mastermind with loathsome henchbeings. On one level I wanted Oliver to win, mostly because I'm tired of Jean-Claude's assurance that he'll win and that Anita will surrender to him. Why? Because he's pretty, that's why. He's way too much of a prettyboy, utterly confident that his looks will enable him to get any woman, utterly convinced that once a woman gives in to her attraction to him, she will never resist him again. It's annoying. The conversation just keeps happening the same way:
"I'll never give in to you, Jean-Claude."
"But you want me."
"But I can't love you."
"But you liked kissing me."
"But I can't love you, and so there will never be anything more than a kiss."
"I'll wait, ma petite."
And on and on it goes. Now, this doesn't detract from the books, and it did make this one better for me because of the events that happen between Anita and Jean-Claude, how she turns on him and why, and the end result of her unexpected (to Jean-Claude; seems like it was always just a matter of time) betrayal of him, and I do agree with Anita's final choice of Jean-Claude as the least of the several evils facing her -- but I want her to slap him. A lot. Maybe muss up that pretty face a little bit. Although more scars would just give him character, like that damn cross scar gives to his chest.
So I'm seeing great potential in these books to go the distance: the main character is both powerful and, as this book establishes, very human and thus a bit outclassed by her immortal enemies -- though she uses all of the tools at her disposal to maximum effect, which works out quite well -- and the other main characters are complex and multi-dimensional. Because despite my irritation with Jean-Claude's prettyboy seduction techniques, he is actually much more than that, which is why I don't really hate him. But it isn't just him: Willie McCoy and her boss, Bert, and the other animators, including the new guy, all have their strengths and weaknesses. They are all very realistic, and thus very interesting. At the same time, of course, there is some serious booty-kicking going on in these books, and who doesn't like that?
by Laurell K. Hamilton
Continuing on with the Anita Blake series, I read the third one, Circus of the Damned. I didn't like this one quite as much as the last one, but I liked it more than the first. The bad guy in this one was good, though it centered a lot more on Anita and Jean-Claude and Anita's attempts to live a normal life, all of which are effectively ruined by her association with Jean-Claude, because she knows who the Master of the City is and where his daytime resting place is, so everybody who wants to kill him -- and it's more than a few -- wants to bribe, threaten, and torture the information out of her. It was an interesting depiction of what it's like to be a human drawn into the vampire's world. It also made Anita seem much less high-powered -- though she did have her badass moment at the end, oh yes she did.
I liked the million-year-old vampire enormously; I thought it was a fantastic idea and a wonderfully drawn character. I liked his motivation and the ways he intends to accomplish his goals, as well as his obvious personal power as seen through his control of such incredibly powerful minions. I didn't like the lamia, but I'm not supposed to, so that worked out well; it's an interesting way to handle the villain, to have a personable mastermind with loathsome henchbeings. On one level I wanted Oliver to win, mostly because I'm tired of Jean-Claude's assurance that he'll win and that Anita will surrender to him. Why? Because he's pretty, that's why. He's way too much of a prettyboy, utterly confident that his looks will enable him to get any woman, utterly convinced that once a woman gives in to her attraction to him, she will never resist him again. It's annoying. The conversation just keeps happening the same way:
"I'll never give in to you, Jean-Claude."
"But you want me."
"But I can't love you."
"But you liked kissing me."
"But I can't love you, and so there will never be anything more than a kiss."
"I'll wait, ma petite."
And on and on it goes. Now, this doesn't detract from the books, and it did make this one better for me because of the events that happen between Anita and Jean-Claude, how she turns on him and why, and the end result of her unexpected (to Jean-Claude; seems like it was always just a matter of time) betrayal of him, and I do agree with Anita's final choice of Jean-Claude as the least of the several evils facing her -- but I want her to slap him. A lot. Maybe muss up that pretty face a little bit. Although more scars would just give him character, like that damn cross scar gives to his chest.
So I'm seeing great potential in these books to go the distance: the main character is both powerful and, as this book establishes, very human and thus a bit outclassed by her immortal enemies -- though she uses all of the tools at her disposal to maximum effect, which works out quite well -- and the other main characters are complex and multi-dimensional. Because despite my irritation with Jean-Claude's prettyboy seduction techniques, he is actually much more than that, which is why I don't really hate him. But it isn't just him: Willie McCoy and her boss, Bert, and the other animators, including the new guy, all have their strengths and weaknesses. They are all very realistic, and thus very interesting. At the same time, of course, there is some serious booty-kicking going on in these books, and who doesn't like that?
Book #53
Conquistador
by S.M. Stirling
You know, it's hard to say why I didn't like this book. Well, no it isn't, but I can almost justify every problem I had with it -- almost. Conquistador is the story of an alternate Earth, which becomes accessible through a freak accident which opens a dimensional portal from our Earth to the new one. In this new land, European settlers never made it to the New World, and so when the portal's discoverer -- he-man and Southern Gentleman Extraordinaire John Rolfe -- steps through from Oakland in 1946, he finds himself in a California populated solely by Native Americans, and incredibly rich and bountiful wildlife. It is a paradise, the perfect place that California once was and hasn't been for a very long time, and Rolfe does what any he-man and red blooded American would do with this opportunity: he Manifest Destinies himself right the fuck over there, starts bulldozing, and builds a new nation the way he thinks it should be built, damnit. The main story takes place 60 years later, and focuses on the efforts of his granddaughter, Adrienne Rolfe, and of a Fish and Game warden from our side of the portal named Tom Christiansen, to protect this other-dimensional nation from a hostile takeover by an evil faction bent on world domination -- both worlds, that is. That's the basic concept, though the novel is much broader in its scope, covering everything from ecology to politics to world history to modern warfare; it's epic in every sense of the word.
First of all, on the positive side, it has amazing descriptions, particularly of natural scenes and the actions and habits of animals. The action scenes were great, and only marred by the ability of the heroes to do anything and everything well, and to take on overwhelming odds and win the day, but what the heck? That isn't uncommon in adventure novels like this one. I liked that he didn't dwell on the actual functioning of the dimensional gate; he makes some references to string theory and the multiverse, but for the most part, they just deal with what they've got, without obsessing over how they got it. The author obviously knows his stuff and has done huge amounts of research and planning, which makes for a better reading experience. But there's too much: on some level, this book felt like the author showing off his knowledge and planning, and while I'm impressed, I'm not terribly entertained by erudition. Plus, I think he's wrong: wasn't it just an urban legend that "Kemosabe" means "asshole," and "Tonto" means "idiot?"
Anyway, the serious problems I had with this book were with the larger-than-life characters, the sheer length of it, and the ethnocentrism of the setting and general attitudes portrayed. Okay, larger than life characters: the hero is hugely strong, and much is made of his 6'3" frame, his great slabs of muscle, his enormous strength; that's all fine and good, but he's also intelligent, sensitive, environmentally conscious, and one of those smug Libertarian survivalist type that can go into the woods with a large Rambo knife, kill a bear, skin it, cook it, and then build a log cabin to eat it in while he discusses politics and history and philosophy, in at least three different languages. It's a bit much. But at least his love interest is the feminine version of him, in every way: also large and remarkably strong, though in her case much is made of the buxom curves on top of the muscle; also a master of all trades and a jack of none, also humble enough to throw sheaves of wheat with her peasants and yet dictatorial enough to kill without remorse in protection of her homeland. What a woman. Oh, and both of them are humbled by her grandfather, the founder of the new nation, and as smart as they all are, everyone is hard-pressed to keep up with the heartless Machiavellian plotting of the bad guy. Fortunately he's dead when the main action happens, thus allowing the heroes to brilliantly exploit the weaknesses left by the poorer planning of Satan's hellspawned children, and win the day. Oh, by the way, the Machiavellian guy? Yeah, he's Sicilian.
The second issue I had with it was the length. Out of 600 or so pages of novel, at least 300 of them were descriptions of wilderness and wildlife, of settlements and farming and social order on the other side of the Gate, in Rolfe's Commonwealth of New Virginia. And almost every word of that boils down to this: in this world, there are too many people. Stirling goes on and on and on about how much more beautiful and majestic, and healthy and useful and just -- good -- the world is when the total population of California is under 200,000. And I agree, and the world as it is depicted here does sound absolutely wonderful. You can stop telling me, now. It just got obnoxious; it felt like I was being lectured, yelled at, for the things I have done to screw up this world and ruin it for people who would have preferred it the way it is in the book, and hey, I didn't do it, so quit yelling, okay?
The last problem I had with it was a certain, mm, callousness about the characters. Now, Stirling makes the point that the characters who found this world of New Virginia are from a less touchy-feely society than ours, and it's a good point; realizing the truth of that made me accept their casual racism. They use a number of racial epithets fairly early on, and you find as the book goes on that New Virginia not only doesn't have anyone but white members (basically -- they do have Jews, so, y'know, that's multicultural and stuff -- but then, they treat them like crap in some ways, so never mind), it includes Nazis and South African Boers along with the Southern Gentlemen. But, the founder is unapologetically racist, so that was reasonable, at least; but then, these characters are seen as sympathetic, as heroic, as being in the right -- so even though the author distances himself from this archaic viewpoint, it seems pretty clear he'd rather be on the far side of that divide than here on the politically correct side. Then it bothered me that the characters, all of them, were so indifferent to the fact that the coming of these extradimensional honkies caused a repeat of history: they brought diseases that wiped out 95% the Native American population. And while I understand that this is just something that happens in history, with the way people become separated from other populations and thus susceptible to their germs, I think it should be treated with some sympathy, some sorrow and respect for the victims who died. These people effectively say, "Pshaw; they died, tough luck. No crying over spilt milk. More room for us. Hey, somebody shoot that renegade Indian over there!" Though the point is made that our heroes are fighting against a group that plans even more horrible things for the non-white peoples of the world, and even though there is a token black character, still the white settlers exploit the native people in every possible way -- and the system of exploitation is seen as very clever, if a bit heartless.
Come to think of it, that's a reasonable description of the book: very clever, if a bit heartless. I'd like to read something else by this author and see if it measures up, both in the positive and negative ways.
by S.M. Stirling
You know, it's hard to say why I didn't like this book. Well, no it isn't, but I can almost justify every problem I had with it -- almost. Conquistador is the story of an alternate Earth, which becomes accessible through a freak accident which opens a dimensional portal from our Earth to the new one. In this new land, European settlers never made it to the New World, and so when the portal's discoverer -- he-man and Southern Gentleman Extraordinaire John Rolfe -- steps through from Oakland in 1946, he finds himself in a California populated solely by Native Americans, and incredibly rich and bountiful wildlife. It is a paradise, the perfect place that California once was and hasn't been for a very long time, and Rolfe does what any he-man and red blooded American would do with this opportunity: he Manifest Destinies himself right the fuck over there, starts bulldozing, and builds a new nation the way he thinks it should be built, damnit. The main story takes place 60 years later, and focuses on the efforts of his granddaughter, Adrienne Rolfe, and of a Fish and Game warden from our side of the portal named Tom Christiansen, to protect this other-dimensional nation from a hostile takeover by an evil faction bent on world domination -- both worlds, that is. That's the basic concept, though the novel is much broader in its scope, covering everything from ecology to politics to world history to modern warfare; it's epic in every sense of the word.
First of all, on the positive side, it has amazing descriptions, particularly of natural scenes and the actions and habits of animals. The action scenes were great, and only marred by the ability of the heroes to do anything and everything well, and to take on overwhelming odds and win the day, but what the heck? That isn't uncommon in adventure novels like this one. I liked that he didn't dwell on the actual functioning of the dimensional gate; he makes some references to string theory and the multiverse, but for the most part, they just deal with what they've got, without obsessing over how they got it. The author obviously knows his stuff and has done huge amounts of research and planning, which makes for a better reading experience. But there's too much: on some level, this book felt like the author showing off his knowledge and planning, and while I'm impressed, I'm not terribly entertained by erudition. Plus, I think he's wrong: wasn't it just an urban legend that "Kemosabe" means "asshole," and "Tonto" means "idiot?"
Anyway, the serious problems I had with this book were with the larger-than-life characters, the sheer length of it, and the ethnocentrism of the setting and general attitudes portrayed. Okay, larger than life characters: the hero is hugely strong, and much is made of his 6'3" frame, his great slabs of muscle, his enormous strength; that's all fine and good, but he's also intelligent, sensitive, environmentally conscious, and one of those smug Libertarian survivalist type that can go into the woods with a large Rambo knife, kill a bear, skin it, cook it, and then build a log cabin to eat it in while he discusses politics and history and philosophy, in at least three different languages. It's a bit much. But at least his love interest is the feminine version of him, in every way: also large and remarkably strong, though in her case much is made of the buxom curves on top of the muscle; also a master of all trades and a jack of none, also humble enough to throw sheaves of wheat with her peasants and yet dictatorial enough to kill without remorse in protection of her homeland. What a woman. Oh, and both of them are humbled by her grandfather, the founder of the new nation, and as smart as they all are, everyone is hard-pressed to keep up with the heartless Machiavellian plotting of the bad guy. Fortunately he's dead when the main action happens, thus allowing the heroes to brilliantly exploit the weaknesses left by the poorer planning of Satan's hellspawned children, and win the day. Oh, by the way, the Machiavellian guy? Yeah, he's Sicilian.
The second issue I had with it was the length. Out of 600 or so pages of novel, at least 300 of them were descriptions of wilderness and wildlife, of settlements and farming and social order on the other side of the Gate, in Rolfe's Commonwealth of New Virginia. And almost every word of that boils down to this: in this world, there are too many people. Stirling goes on and on and on about how much more beautiful and majestic, and healthy and useful and just -- good -- the world is when the total population of California is under 200,000. And I agree, and the world as it is depicted here does sound absolutely wonderful. You can stop telling me, now. It just got obnoxious; it felt like I was being lectured, yelled at, for the things I have done to screw up this world and ruin it for people who would have preferred it the way it is in the book, and hey, I didn't do it, so quit yelling, okay?
The last problem I had with it was a certain, mm, callousness about the characters. Now, Stirling makes the point that the characters who found this world of New Virginia are from a less touchy-feely society than ours, and it's a good point; realizing the truth of that made me accept their casual racism. They use a number of racial epithets fairly early on, and you find as the book goes on that New Virginia not only doesn't have anyone but white members (basically -- they do have Jews, so, y'know, that's multicultural and stuff -- but then, they treat them like crap in some ways, so never mind), it includes Nazis and South African Boers along with the Southern Gentlemen. But, the founder is unapologetically racist, so that was reasonable, at least; but then, these characters are seen as sympathetic, as heroic, as being in the right -- so even though the author distances himself from this archaic viewpoint, it seems pretty clear he'd rather be on the far side of that divide than here on the politically correct side. Then it bothered me that the characters, all of them, were so indifferent to the fact that the coming of these extradimensional honkies caused a repeat of history: they brought diseases that wiped out 95% the Native American population. And while I understand that this is just something that happens in history, with the way people become separated from other populations and thus susceptible to their germs, I think it should be treated with some sympathy, some sorrow and respect for the victims who died. These people effectively say, "Pshaw; they died, tough luck. No crying over spilt milk. More room for us. Hey, somebody shoot that renegade Indian over there!" Though the point is made that our heroes are fighting against a group that plans even more horrible things for the non-white peoples of the world, and even though there is a token black character, still the white settlers exploit the native people in every possible way -- and the system of exploitation is seen as very clever, if a bit heartless.
Come to think of it, that's a reasonable description of the book: very clever, if a bit heartless. I'd like to read something else by this author and see if it measures up, both in the positive and negative ways.
Book #52 -- that's the year, baby!
The Laughing Corpse
by Laurell K. Hamilton
Boy, and you thought the first one was bloody? This one was easily the goriest, most gruesome piece of writing I've seen outside of Stephen King and some of the schlock-fest fiction I've read in the past when no better option was available -- you know, trapped in a waiting room kind of thing. Actually, probably working in the discount bookstore in Esco, most likely.
Anyway, the second Anita Blake book was as good as the first, and that was a good sign. Because the second book is in some ways very unlike the first: in the first one, the murder mystery takes a backseat -- way back, like hanging off the rear bumper of one of those double-length buses with the accordion joint in the middle -- to the vampire stuff, which is very scary and shows that the vampires are incredibly nasty and overpowering and no human really has any chance. At the end of the first book, Anita feels small to the reader. And that's good, because it makes the character human, and when she says at the very end of the book that line -- "I don't date vampires. I slay them." -- it sounds desperate, like she's whistling in the dark and she knows it, because Jean-Claude already has such a claim on her, both in terms of his mind control and because of her attraction to him. It makes her sympathetic.
This book made her badass. The murder mystery took center stage, because at every pause in the action, back it came with an even bloodier and more horrifying murder scene -- and since the very first murder scene begins with a corpse that is nothing but a section of ribs, and a blood-soaked teddy bear, saying that each scene is more horrifying than the last is saying a lot. And more so than the first book, the murder mystery and the intrigue element complemented each other, because this time, the intrigue involved the killers and Anita, and so her dealings with the evil folk brought her closer to solving the murders.
As before, the villain was great -- both the evil voodoo queen and the actual murderer -- and the final confrontation was totally sweet. I definitely enjoyed this one, even more than the first, and now I'm eager to read on.
by Laurell K. Hamilton
Boy, and you thought the first one was bloody? This one was easily the goriest, most gruesome piece of writing I've seen outside of Stephen King and some of the schlock-fest fiction I've read in the past when no better option was available -- you know, trapped in a waiting room kind of thing. Actually, probably working in the discount bookstore in Esco, most likely.
Anyway, the second Anita Blake book was as good as the first, and that was a good sign. Because the second book is in some ways very unlike the first: in the first one, the murder mystery takes a backseat -- way back, like hanging off the rear bumper of one of those double-length buses with the accordion joint in the middle -- to the vampire stuff, which is very scary and shows that the vampires are incredibly nasty and overpowering and no human really has any chance. At the end of the first book, Anita feels small to the reader. And that's good, because it makes the character human, and when she says at the very end of the book that line -- "I don't date vampires. I slay them." -- it sounds desperate, like she's whistling in the dark and she knows it, because Jean-Claude already has such a claim on her, both in terms of his mind control and because of her attraction to him. It makes her sympathetic.
This book made her badass. The murder mystery took center stage, because at every pause in the action, back it came with an even bloodier and more horrifying murder scene -- and since the very first murder scene begins with a corpse that is nothing but a section of ribs, and a blood-soaked teddy bear, saying that each scene is more horrifying than the last is saying a lot. And more so than the first book, the murder mystery and the intrigue element complemented each other, because this time, the intrigue involved the killers and Anita, and so her dealings with the evil folk brought her closer to solving the murders.
As before, the villain was great -- both the evil voodoo queen and the actual murderer -- and the final confrontation was totally sweet. I definitely enjoyed this one, even more than the first, and now I'm eager to read on.
Book #51
Batman: The Dark Knight Returns
by Frank Miller
And by the way, even though it doesn't need justification, this comic book counts as a book on the list because I spent several days before this trying to read Wolf's Head, Wolf's Heart, the sequel to Through Wolf's Eyes by Jane Lindskold. I liked the first book, because the main characters, the girl and her wolf friend, were excellent, the political intrigue was well done, and I liked the interaction between the wolf perspective and the human perspective. Unfortunately, Lindskold decided to do away with all of those things in the second book: she focuses on the other characters instead of Firekeeper and Blind Seer (and she made Elation ten times more obnoxious), the political intrigue is reduced mainly to a wedding and the attempts to make the kingdoms stable, and the plot was boring in the extreme. I stopped reading it after a week or so, and I flipped through to the end: no great loss. It ends with an anti-climax after 700 or so pages; the bad guy gets defeated long before that, and the last several chapters are all about the attempt to save a young girl who was only introduced in this book and who I just don't care about. Oh, they save her, by the way. Now nobody has to read it. So after I put it down and crossed that fantasy series off my list, I went for something fast and fun. The Dark Knight.
This was a birthday present from Dad. I asked for it because if I want to have a collection of the top graphic novels -- and I do -- then I needed this one, right from the start. I read it once before, in high school, and I loved it then, and now that I've read it again, I still love it.
It's a brilliant set of stories, particularly because it gives such a dark side of the classic Batman stories. Bruce Wayne is very nearly evil in these, so driven by his obsession with fighting crime that he is close to suicidal, and even closer to homicidal; but the best part is that as nasty as he is, his enemies are even nastier. The Joker breaks out of Arkham Asylum in one segment, and immediately slaughters as many people as he can; Batman catches him and comes close to killing him, but doesn't do it -- no, the Joker kills himself in order to frame Batman for murder. One incredibly chilling scene, that one is.
But now that I'm rereading it again at my current age, and with my current awareness, the most interesting part for me was the final chapter, when Batman fights Superman and wins: because while I remembered the fight, and it was just as cool the second time around, what I hadn't caught when I read the book way back when was what Batman says about Superman: he accuses Clark of giving his power away to "Them," of selling us out, of being weak and pathetic -- he says he follows any order given by anyone with a badge. I loved it: Superman is the Man, and Batman is the revolution. It was outstanding.
by Frank Miller
And by the way, even though it doesn't need justification, this comic book counts as a book on the list because I spent several days before this trying to read Wolf's Head, Wolf's Heart, the sequel to Through Wolf's Eyes by Jane Lindskold. I liked the first book, because the main characters, the girl and her wolf friend, were excellent, the political intrigue was well done, and I liked the interaction between the wolf perspective and the human perspective. Unfortunately, Lindskold decided to do away with all of those things in the second book: she focuses on the other characters instead of Firekeeper and Blind Seer (and she made Elation ten times more obnoxious), the political intrigue is reduced mainly to a wedding and the attempts to make the kingdoms stable, and the plot was boring in the extreme. I stopped reading it after a week or so, and I flipped through to the end: no great loss. It ends with an anti-climax after 700 or so pages; the bad guy gets defeated long before that, and the last several chapters are all about the attempt to save a young girl who was only introduced in this book and who I just don't care about. Oh, they save her, by the way. Now nobody has to read it. So after I put it down and crossed that fantasy series off my list, I went for something fast and fun. The Dark Knight.
This was a birthday present from Dad. I asked for it because if I want to have a collection of the top graphic novels -- and I do -- then I needed this one, right from the start. I read it once before, in high school, and I loved it then, and now that I've read it again, I still love it.
It's a brilliant set of stories, particularly because it gives such a dark side of the classic Batman stories. Bruce Wayne is very nearly evil in these, so driven by his obsession with fighting crime that he is close to suicidal, and even closer to homicidal; but the best part is that as nasty as he is, his enemies are even nastier. The Joker breaks out of Arkham Asylum in one segment, and immediately slaughters as many people as he can; Batman catches him and comes close to killing him, but doesn't do it -- no, the Joker kills himself in order to frame Batman for murder. One incredibly chilling scene, that one is.
But now that I'm rereading it again at my current age, and with my current awareness, the most interesting part for me was the final chapter, when Batman fights Superman and wins: because while I remembered the fight, and it was just as cool the second time around, what I hadn't caught when I read the book way back when was what Batman says about Superman: he accuses Clark of giving his power away to "Them," of selling us out, of being weak and pathetic -- he says he follows any order given by anyone with a badge. I loved it: Superman is the Man, and Batman is the revolution. It was outstanding.
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