Broken Harbour (Dublin Murder Squad, #4)Broken Harbour by Tana French

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


Proving that, along with everything else, French can bring the creepy. Investigation of a triple familial homicide reveals a house with holes knocked in the walls and cameras pointing into them, which is just the start.

This was, hm. I can't say I wasn't riveted, because I was. And I can't say it isn't a good book, because it is. It's more complicated than this sounds, but it's about the order that we keep to shut out the wild, and about where violence comes from. Our protagonist genuinely believes in victim-blaming – it's not that he won't pursue justice, he's just so very sure that anyone who gets dead did something to open up a crack in their life and let the violence in. And it doesn't take much, just the smallest slip will do it. The book is – I won't say sympathetic to him, but it is even-handed. We know why he thinks that – he has to think that – and French is very, very good at complicating the viewpoints of people with those kinds of self-serving blinders on.

But for all that, and I've said this before. I really wish she'd write a different book. Like around the 20% mark of this one, two characters began deliberately building a strong, healthy, functional emotional connection, and I knew instantly that it would be destroyed, and had a pretty good guess as to how. French writes that kind of destruction beautifully, but come on. We've seen this before. Maybe I've just read all of her books too close together, but there's a sameness to them which is frustrating given her obvious and ridiculous talent.




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EmbassytownEmbassytown by China Miéville

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


One of those books whose wild inventiveness leaves it very difficult to describe. Let's go with scifi about an alien language spoken simultaneously through two mouths by one consciousness and thus inaccessible to humans and computers; a species incapable of lying or sustaining metaphors because it cannot lexically account for anything that isn't true; a human woman who is made part of that language by enacting a simile so that it is true and can be used; a society-wide catastrophe; a war; a bloody birthing into a new kind of consciousness through the transformation of language.

My problem with Mieville books is that I'm always left wondering what they're for, after they're done being absurdly clever and beautifully written. This one has a lot more going for it – it has that Mievillian chilliness when it comes to character, but there's a far greater emotional range. Maybe it's just that the territory he's exploring is so rich and interesting; the book had to grow a soul, the way bacteria has to grow under the right conditions. Who cares why if it was horrifying and sad and tense by turns in ways his previous books haven't been for me.

That said, and this genuinely is my favorite Mieville so far. That said. There is something . . . off about this book. It's the story of a tiny human foothold on an alien planet, a human-introduced catastrophe, the transformation of an entire species through the act of learning, from humans, to lie. Is it a love letter to language and the order it regulates over thought? Is it a frightening but ultimately satisfying cultural coming of age story for a technologically-advanced species? Is it, ironically, a metaphor – for human intellectual evolution, for the artistic journey, for flipping capitalism? Or is it, when all's said and done, just another celebration of the colonial destruction of a native species? It's all of that, rather messily and undecidedly. And uncomfortably, I have to say.




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The Crown of Dalemark (The Dalemark Quartet, #4)The Crown of Dalemark by Diana Wynne Jones

My rating: 2 of 5 stars


Huh. I said of a previous book in this series that I didn't really understand what DWJ was doing; having finished it, I'm not sure DWJ understood what DWJ was doing.

This was supposed to pull everything together. And it tried to, I think – structurally this series is supposed to be woven (like a story coat) with characters moving through time, taking each other's places, etc. etc. And it just . . . didn't. The threads swapped out too many times and I was never sure who I was supposed to be caring about at any moment.

And, well, file this under 'thinking about it too much,' but this is epic fantasy of the sort where "revolution" is actually an incredibly conservative act that shores up the system of power rather than reordering it. You know, the evil king is bad, so we fix it by replacing him with the good king. All the problems of hierarchical hereditary political dictatorships being contained in the caliber of the dictator, you know. Here its evil barons replaced with the good king, but same damn thing. I'm not asking for the great democratization of fantasy land – that has its own perils, and they are many – it's just that let's not pretend here. Books like this play with the emotional rush of political uprising while never, for a second, meaningfully threatening the social order they spend so long calling corrupt. It's not like people aren't still writing this sort of political fantasy that parades around in the trappings of radicalism while actually being intensely conservative. I just happen not to read it that much anymore.




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London FallingLondon Falling by Paul Cornell

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


Man, the subgenre of urban fantasies about London cops dealing with the supernatural is hitting it out of the park lately, isn't it?

I was hearing about this book before it was published, and to be honest, for the first thirty pages, I couldn't tell why. I was reading a well-executed but not-my-thing book about an undercover operation staffed by a bunch of really unpleasant people. And then it all dislocated bloodily hard to the left. And then did it again, more viscerally and frighteningly. And where we ended up was a magical London whose rules remain largely unknown, and those four cops I didn't really like were much more complicated in its weird light. The obvious comparison is to the Peter Grant books; that's fair, superficially, but the esthetics here lean way more towards horror and less towards detective. I like them both quite a lot, though with different parts of my brain.

This is about accessing power through trial and error and pain. Uniquely in the genre, there's no mentor here. No one explains shit to these people, which means shit just don't get explained. It's a book, a little bit around the edges, about how already being the other – black, queer, traumatized – can make it easier to slip into the cracks of a world beneath ours.

And if nothing else, this book managed that oh-so-rare trick of signaling the awful truth to me over and over again, but only letting me figure it out a page before the characters did, so I spent that whole page going "no no oh no oh no." That stuff never works on me – I always figure it out too early or not at all.

Basically: aces.




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Disability in Science Fiction: Representations of Technology as CureDisability in Science Fiction: Representations of Technology as Cure by Kathryn Allan

My rating: 3 of 5 stars


Read the day before and the day after a con, so I am reconstructing my thoughts around a gaping pit of distraction and exhaustion. They were super brilliant thoughts at the time, I swear! Anyway, the full ToC is available here and worth looking at, as is this book. Overall, I'm glad I read it, though the only pieces that jump strongly out from my memory now are the ones I feel negatively about. Though Woiak and Karamanos on Samuel R. Delany were eye-opening, and Christy Tidwell on autism in The Speed of Dark and "Movement" was a pleasure. There were some odd editing choices here – Allan prefers "dis/abled" to "disabled," and yet repeatedly used "confined to a wheelchair" or "wheelchair bound," which was confusing and distracting as these language cues tell you a lot about a person's politics, and Allan's language was telling me really inconsistent things. Anyway. Some notes:

"The Metamorphic Body in Science Fiction: From Prosthetic Correction to Utopian Enhancement" -- António Fernando Cascais: One of the worst examples of academese I've seen in years. This provoked me to half an hour of seething rage over dinner about the thin line between critical theory and utter bullshit and, more to the point, the way academic writing, at its worst, is intensely exclusionary, full of meaning only to the tiny be-doctored in-group (and, I would argue, not even to many of them, who won't ever admit they don't know what the fuck he's talking about, either). It's just such a waste – I think he had some interesting things to say about the way science fiction pushes at notions of the singular self as an identity, but he went to extraordinary efforts to make sure I didn't follow exactly why the fuck I'm supposed to care.

"Great Clumsy Dinosaurs -- The Disabled Body in the Posthuman World -- Brent Walter Cline: Interesting. Postulates, among other ideas, that the category of disability will expand to include all embodiment in post human scifi futures because the physical body will limit access to the uploads or the cloud or whatever other ascendant technology we are theoretically climbing toward. I appreciated this as a mental exercise, but I also . . . hm. I balk a little at these "ooh, let's speculate about theoretical expansions of the concept of disability in nearly unimaginable futures!" I mean, Clein should have fun with his bad self, but I have a hard time really taking these exercises seriously. Not when there is so much complexity and unexplored territory in, you know, our actual category of disability. There's something . . . diluting? Misdirecting? Unhelpful? … Something about working to expand the lexical category of disability to include people so far from us, they definitionally aren't human anymore when the construction of that category is so persistently human and contextual. Something. I'm not getting this out right.

"Animal and Alien Bodies as Prostheses: Reframing Disability in Avatar and How to Train Your Dragon" -- Leigha McReynolds: This one bugged me. It's an interesting enough idea, which you can get from the title, but seriously, any essay on Avatar which does not seem to notice all the rampant race and colonialism issues is just not doing its job. And it doesn't do any good to say that's not what she was writing about; it was inherently, because she was using disability theory to talk specifically about the co-optation of an alien culture and an alien body as a kind of prosthetic. I mean, this is how intersectionality works – you really can't separate these things! And yet . . . *crickets*.




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Ball & Chain (Cut & Run, #8)Ball & Chain by Abigail Roux

My rating: 3 of 5 stars


Another M/M FBI caper, this time stranded on a tiny Scottish island for a wedding, at least until the bodies start dropping.

Hm. This made me think about series structure and the necessity of releasing tension in order to build it again. Because, I think for the first time in my life, I was hoping for a mystery-of-the-week, and I didn't get it. All the markers were there – last book was over-the-top intense! This book started with hints of whacky hijinks! – and I thought oh good, we can all decompress a bit. And then no. It's like Roux couldn't stop herself from injecting a whole new set of interpersonal dramas, with yet more awkwardly back-filled history.

And, I mean, I don't read M/M just for the porn, okay? For one reason, that would be really fucking sad, considering the abysmal quality of most published LGBT erotica (this series being a pleasant surprise there). I also read it for the personal drama, to wallow in it and – yeah – to mock it a lot. But I'm genuinely in this for people having complicated, difficult feelings at each other.

But seriously. Once in a while? Have a freaking caper. Remember the thing a couple books ago with the tiger and the terrible, terrible puns, and how hard I laughed on a flight home from London? Can't we do that again?



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The Midwife: A Memoir of Birth, Joy, and Hard TimesThe Midwife: A Memoir of Birth, Joy, and Hard Times by Jennifer Worth

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


Late-life memoir recalling the author's youth as a midwife in London's East End in the 1950's.

Picked up for the from-the-trenches view of birth (not that much has changed in 60 years when what you're talking about is midwife-assisted, largely unmedicated delivery). Kept for the other 70%, which turned out to be a rich, compelling, complicated, sometimes uncomfortable personal/social history. And for Worth herself, who was smart, and driven, and talented, occasionally racist, and often struggling to find compassion. This is a memoir of someone who was powerfully compelled into exhausting, difficult work that challenged her social comfort zones for reasons she never fully understood, and that resonated with me. As did her explicit recounting of her repeated struggle to see the person under the most abject degradations of poverty. The book is not so well-observed when it comes to ethnocentrism and, in a few startling instances, gendered violence, but there is something about the strength of Worth's writing that makes it all go down as a capsule, her strength and her charm and her painful blind spots.

I want to watch the TV show now.




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Gregor the Overlander (Underland Chronicles, #1)Gregor the Overlander by Suzanne Collins

My rating: 3 of 5 stars


Eleven-year-old Gregor falls with his baby sister from their NYC apartment to the Underland, where they have a series of adventures with talking animals (the creepy kind).

Cute, young. You can sort of see traces of the person who would write The Hunger Games -- children assuming responsibility for a sibling in the absence of a parent, political power arriving too young – but it's all dialed down to, like, a four. Also, the prophetic poetry is truly, hilariously awful. I dunno, I think I'm finally admitting that I just shouldn't read middle-grade fiction. I just don't have the brain for it; I'm always unsatisfied and a bit restless through the whole thing.




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The Disabled Woman's Guide to Pregnancy and BirthThe Disabled Woman's Guide to Pregnancy and Birth by Judith Rogers

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


A full-service book from pre-conception to post-partum, written based on extensive interviews with a cohort of women with disabilities.

I picked this up thinking there might be something for me here. It turns out none of the interviewees share either my major or minor disability issues, but I found this so interesting, I skimmed through it anyway. This book would be particularly useful for a woman with spinal issues, or any of the neuro-degenerative disorders, or amputations, or paralysis, or fibro. In fact, I bet this would be an invaluable resource, since the experiences of others are one of the very few reliable resources pregnant disabled women have. If nothing else, this book proved just how lacking the research is; it cited studies where it could, but it would usually be with a lot of caveats about how this was conducted in the sixties oh and the study population was ten people oops.

So I'm kind of rating this positively just for existing. It is good in its own right, though dated at this point. But it is thorough and well-intentioned, and it has that particular body frankness that a lot of disability writing does. There's something refreshing about a series of disabled women describing in hilarious, graphic detail all of the bodily substances that came out of them during labor. You don't see that in a lot of pregnancy books.

Still, dated. And quite heterocentric. And full of great advice about all sorts of practical issues like dealing with muscle spasms while pregnant, or transferring in and out of the wheelchair in the third trimester, or adjustments that may need to be made to prosthetics as pregnancy progresses, and on and on, but less good on, hm. On some of the trickier, more fraught stuff. Like, the book would throw out a series of anecdotes about the horrible way many of these women were treated by the medical profession – this one was forced to have a caesarian because her doctor did not believe paralyzed women can give birth vaginally (they can) and refused to do the relevant research, this one was threatened and not allowed to leave the hospital because she couldn't prove she could feed her baby with the inaccessible tools on offer even though she had perfectly functional accessible solutions, that one was abused by nurses when they discovered she was incontinent, this one was pressured repeatedly to have an abortion because her doctor did not believe she could care for a child, and on and on and on. And the book's response to that will be like, "so find a medical professional who is educated regarding your disability!" Um. . . . Wow. That's, like, step zero to the complex set of legal/interpersonal skills and emotional resilience a person needs to navigate these waters.




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If at Faust You Don't Succeed (Millennial Contest, #2)If at Faust You Don't Succeed by Roger Zelazny

My rating: 1 of 5 stars


A thief takes the place of the selected representative of humanity in a history-hopping contest between heaven and hell for the destiny of humankind.

Picked up because I wanted something light and fun. Finished because sometimes my hatred for a book is so strong I have to see it to the bitter, misogynist end to fully grasp its awfulness.

Truly terrible. Flabby and unfunny – unpunny? – and, um. Look, I expect a certain amount of misogyny from Zelazny. I mean, don't get me wrong, I dig a lot of his books, but with a few exceptions the dude was not good at conceiving of women as something other than vaginas with legs. But there's that and then there's whatever the hell this is, and what this is is the fuck not okay. At one point a woman character notices all the shit going down and is like, "you realize you're a raging asshole who treats women like objects to be stolen from other men, fucked and then traded for favors with other men, and discarded, right?" And then the book is like, "oh, huh, yeah, I guess. Let's get back to that, though!"

Ick. I need to scrub my brain out.




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The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency  (No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency #1)The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency by Alexander McCall Smith

My rating: 3 of 5 stars


A series of unrelated and predictably boring mysteries are solved in a predictably boring fashion by a really unboring detective.

I went back and forth on this a lot. It has a certain light-handed charm; this is a very simple narration with unexpected flashes of emotion beneath, and the protagonist has that unbending quality of people who don't break under grief because it simply wouldn't occur to them. But then again, I think I learned maybe three things about Botswana that I didn't already know, and let's be real here, I don't know that much. Fiction doesn't have to teach me something to be good, but if it is set in an unfamiliar cultural milieu and I don't learn much, something has gone awry. And the real problem – this book is written in that particular distanced third omniscient which renders people less transparent, rather than more. You know, that thing where you spend a book watching people do things and catching edges of their thoughts, but it all has that quality of watching ants in an ant farm under glass. One of my least favorite stylistic choices, basically.




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The Summer PrinceThe Summer Prince by Alaya Dawn Johnson

My rating: 3 of 5 stars


This sounds overbaked, and it kinda is, but you've gotta go with it. Brazil, centuries after the apocalypse, a young man is elected summer king. He will reign for a year, rockstar and figurehead, and then he will select the new queen as he dies. Our teenage girl heroine achieves various pitches of quivering emotion about all of this.

Okay, the thing is, this is actually a really good book. Our heroine fancies herself an artist – excuse me, Artist – and the book is about her struggle with her political protest art, and what it means and what it doesn't, and how real she's willing to make it. And the book is wry but kind about her youth and her, um. Well. Put it this way: if this girl had access to Tumblr, she'd max out the posting limit every day reblogging pictures of graffiti with hundreds of tags explaining her FEELS. She has a lot of growing up to do, and the book rides that well.

It also has this crisp way of de-centering itself, either by replacing the cardboard star-crossed teenage romance I was expecting with a functional bit of queer polyamory (no really). Or by letting the heroine talk our ear off about her city's class structure for a hundred pages before hugely complicating the entire thing by explicating the racial politics she doesn't understand. The whole book is just that little bit slippery, that extra turn of complexity ready to unfold.

And yet. As much as I liked this in theory . . . as much as it plays with traditional growing up narratives in a story about one kid who will never get the chance to grow up . . . It's still very, very young. This book takes Art so seriously, it ensured in several instances that I couldn't take it seriously at all. These characters use their bodies as canvas, their talents, and, in at least two cases, their deaths. And even as the book is pushing at that, it's also so fucking invested in *gestures* the myth of the protest artist in this particularly . . . Tumblr way. Like it can't really commit to complicating the narratives when it's just so overcome by the romance of it all, OMG. So . . . young.

Still. This has lovely moments. And complexity to spare. And a lot of you will really like it.




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A Scanner DarklyA Scanner Darkly by Philip K. Dick

My rating: 2 of 5 stars


Police informant in a dystopic future America begins to fracture his consciousness as he takes increasing quantities of drugs to maintain his cover.

Hm. This is a confused, rather disarticulated book, so I have no problem talking about it in the same manner:

• Like a lot of dystopic futures, this one feels incredibly dated. Dystopias are projected anxieties, and this particular projection of America rapidly losing the drug war is so specific to Dick's personal trauma, and to a specific moment in American culture, that it's hard to understand now. If nothing else, it's bizarre to read a novel about illegal drug usage which is not also, fundamentally, about race, which is something this book is almost entirely oblivious to. But Dick wasn't having those conversations because their cultural moment had not yet arrived.
• Speaking of dated, it's also difficult to really appreciate a book which so thoroughly rejects the notion of addiction as illness. Dick specifically set out to write about what drugs did to his generation the way other scifi authors write about a meteor striking earth. Like an extinction event, some unstoppable natural force that just . . . happened to all of them. And yet they all chose it, or so he says in the afterword. And yet again, he's clearly conflicted; almost no one in the novel gets the drug origin story – the first hit, all that – except for a very few people. And with only one exception I can think of, they were all forced into addiction – raped and forcibly injected, etc. etc. It's all self-contradictory and conflicted and vaguely embarrassing in the way novels about personal trauma can be. Like, throw your dirty laundry out on the lawn, that's cool. That's good art, sometimes. But at least look at it as clear-eyed as you can first.
• This actually is a good book, from a craft perspective. For obvious reasons, Dick could really put his finger on the pathetic/hilarious/dreamy thing. Except he did it too well, because this book is roughly 60% conversations among stoned people, and you guys, for real. Stoned people are annoying. So fucking annoying. So he really got that part, and it made a lot of this a miserable slog.
• I don't know. When you come right down to it, I just didn't like this. I thought it was shallow and indecisive, with that particular helpless sort of nihilism that I neither respect nor enjoy. Revelations about the nature of identity? Sure, I guess, if you've never, you know, read about that before, ever. Also, it is really hard for me not to laugh at a book when the author informs me that "There is no moral in this novel: it is not bourgeois." I mean, lol.




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Saturn's ChildrenSaturn's Children by Charles Stross

My rating: 3 of 5 stars


In a solar system populated entirely by the artificial intelligences built by humanity and left behind after its extinction, a now obsolete sex robot has various spy capers.

Sort of Heinlein transformative work, except without the depth of treatment I was hoping for. This is one of those books where the world building casts a long shadow. He kept pitching these notions – how android society became a rigid class system in the absence of humans – and I would go 'ah, I see,' spinning out the implications in a few free brain circuits on my commute. And then, a hundred pages later, the book would pause to carefully explain the implications to me, and there wouldn't be a wit more to it than what I came up with on the fly with my shoulders wedged between two sweaty government workers waiting for their stop. Sometimes less. Basically, one of those books that left me sighing and asking, 'yes, but what are you for?' which is not really a fair question to ask a piece of art, and yet, honestly . . . it made me.




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HildHild by Nicola Griffith

My rating: 3 of 5 stars


Fictionalized account of the early life of the seventh-century Anglo-Saxon woman who would later become a pivot point in the conversion to Christianity, and a saint.

I read this directly after Kay's Under Heaven, which was accidentally brilliant. Both are fictionalized historical accounts of great cultural transition, and yeah they're set about half a world and a century apart and their respective projects are different, but sometimes contrasts are the most illuminating.

This was a subtle, very human endeavor set against all Under Heaven's contortions and greek choruses, and I liked this much more. Hild straddles multiple spheres: she is a member of the queen's inner circle, and thus embedded in all the political, gynecological, marital machinations thereof; she is the king's seer and the only woman to attend his councils; she is an owner of slaves; she is chattel to be dealt or withheld. The historical accuracy or inaccuracy here is of no interest to me, except that my definition of good historical fiction is the kind where the people feel simultaneously real and familiar, and also dislocatingly alien because their world is not ours in fundamental ways. Griffith got at that.

All that said, this book is the very definition of a thing that is good and that is also not my thing. What I said above about not caring about the historical accuracy? I seriously don't, and will glaze over at anyone who attempts to buttonhole me about it (not a guess, I have tested this out). (Though I will pause to say that I eyeroll at all the people complaining the LGBT content is inherently anachronistic. Yeeeeeah. Because, as we all know, the twenty-first century invented queerness and absolutely no one was queer and unbothered by it before then.) Anyway, I suspect you do have to care about the historical accuracy to really enjoy this book. You also probably need to be the sort of person who likes maps, family trees, the intersection of politics and religion, and keeping track of roughly two hundred people with similar names. (Though I did enjoy a rousing game of 'guess the Anglo-Saxon spelling' in which I would look up words from the audiobook and then goggle.) So basically, not for me, but I can see why a bunch of people really, really dig this.




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Under HeavenUnder Heaven by Guy Gavriel Kay

My rating: 2 of 5 stars


Eighth –century…ish fantasy….ish novel set in China….ish about the second son spending the mourning years for his father burying the dead from an old battlefield, before his service draws him into the heart of imperial court politics.

Yeeeeah. This is the second Kay in a row I've bounced off of, and it's for exactly the same reason. This is the sort of book that words like "lush" and "gorgeous" and "poetical" get slapped on, and that's fair enough. But here's the thing. That lushness is so much less enjoyable when you realize that an inextricable part of it is sexual violence against women. Seriously – this book has multiple female narrators as well as a few female side characters, and there isn't a one of them – save arguably one, and it's definitely arguable – who isn't bought/stolen/sold/owned for sex. Which is one thing to write about, and it's another thing to make that part of the . . . the texture the book is rolling around in. Part of the cultural fabric that we're supposed to look at and say, "oh, how exquisite." Not uncomplicatedly, but we're definitely supposed to have that reaction on a basic level.

This really came home to me when I started wondering why no one was pregnant. Really remarkable, considering the number of courtesans sleeping with multiple men per night (generally somewhere on the wrong side of the spectrum of optionally) and the privately kept concubines whose function is to play exquisite music and be beautiful objects and to get fucked nightly. But not a single oops in mumble hundred pages, with no explanation. I mean, you could explain that away if you wanted to – though not plausibly – but Kay didn't want to. That would have destroyed, like, the art.

Ugh, I just feel icky after that, and it's one of those things where the more beautiful the book tried to be, the worse the effect was because of how it was framing that beauty.

I'm really hoping I can get to Tigana before Kay sinks any lower in my estimations, since I'm told that really is worth the price of admission.




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Takedown Twenty (Stephanie Plum, #20)Takedown Twenty by Janet Evanovich

My rating: 3 of 5 stars


I read these on a week's vacation I took with very little notice back in the first trimester,* in that stage of pregnancy which felt, for me, like walking through quicksand. I was struggling to stay awake, to sleep, to eat, to think clearly, to process the fact that I was about to sever my relationship with my parents. All while compiling the central nervous system of baby-probably-a-girl.

And reading these books. I have found pregnancy to be an intensely dislocative experience. It's one thing to say, yes, I need to let go, I need to let it happen and it's another thing to do it. Or at least to do it gracefully while wondering every morning what fresh wonders and horrors your body will throw at you today.

So I read these books, and promptly forgot their content within 24 hours. They were just like the previous 18 books, except less funny than the first half dozen. They didn't change. They won't ever change. I've accepted that, after years of saying but if she'd just--- and they would be so much better if--. If only she would just, and they would be so much better if. This was something I could let go of, and right about the time I was realizing there was not a single food stuff in the western hemisphere I could imagine putting in my mouth, they were golden.

Don't worry, my critical faculties returned with a flipping vengeance around week 11.

*Yes, it worked. Yes, they are absolutely over the moon. Yes.




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Maskerade (Discworld, #18)Maskerade by Terry Pratchett

My rating: 2 of 5 stars


This was great, until I metaphorically threw it across the room. I love the witches books; they are wry and a little grim around the edges and about women's power and agency. And this one – about the Discworld opera – is calibrated to my taste and humor.

But if anyone can come up with a reading of the ending of this book which avoids either concluding that (1) mental disability is, in fact, all in the mind and if only he really wanted to he could be normal, or (2) mental disability should be erased by a magical cure . . . I'd love to here it. 'Cause I've looked at this from five different directions now, and nope, not a one of them comes out the least bit okay.




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Mystic and Rider (Twelve Houses, #1)Mystic and Rider by Sharon Shinn

My rating: 3 of 5 stars


The story of a glorified road trip through a fantasy kingdom during which our heroes talk endlessly about the looming evil and yet have an incredibly hard time grasping it's obvious plans, at least until they finally meet up with looming evil, who proceeds to narrate the evil plan but never actually do a single thing, and then the book ends.

I liked this, but *points up* I'm not really sure why. The strength of this book is in the romance, which is pretty rare for these fantasy/romance hybrids, in my experience. But this one – there was something about this older, weary pair, their wariness and mistrust, and how that changed with time and work.

Still, there is a fundamental clumsiness to Shinn's writing, not to mention her worldbuilding, and while I'm curious about the next book, I have a feeling she's going to be one of those hit-or-miss-but-mostly-miss authors.




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