The Duchess War (Brothers Sinister, #1)The Duchess War by Courtney Milan

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

He's a duke with a rather obnoxious case of the privilege guilts. She's an apparently timid young lady whose tragic past, for once, has nothing to do with illegitimate children. They do exactly what you think they are going to do.

A lot of my friends rave about Courtney Milan. I thought this book was okay, if not spectacular (the duke's aforesaid angst about the terribleness of being so wealthy and powerful grated on my nerves, but ymmv). And I really think a book with a reference to war in the title and a setup promising a competition should have . . . you know . . . more competition. But that's just me being disgruntled because I love romances where the leads spend the whole time attempting to best each other, and this said it was that but really was not.

But what I meant to say is, the entire book was saved by the wedding night sex. Which, first time through, was terrible. Ahahaha, I love it. And our heroine is flat out like, "no, you totally did that wrong, that can't be it." The whole book was worth that.

Not sure where to jump to next in her catalog – thoughts?

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EchopraxiaEchopraxia by Peter Watts

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Follows Blindsight, which was that hard scifi first encounter space horror novel arguing – rather revolutionarily at the time, less so now – that consciousness (the singular I self) is an evolutionary mistake, and a costly one.

Blindsight was interesting as hell; this book less so. As Watts himself says in the end matter, "Echopraxia is to autonomy as blindsight is to consciousness" (and if you can follow that, you are officially his target audience). He's referring to the conditions, but of course it also applies to the books. Watts himself admits that the examination of autonomy in an age of neuro programming isn't terribly interesting. It's not, particularly compared to Blindsight's genuinely mind-expanding concepts.

And what this book is doing, I don't think it does terribly well. It's what Watts calls "faith-based hard SF" – a future which posits that certain types of advancements in physics require a return to religious frameworks and a melding with science. Watts has some interesting tidbits in his notes (the notes being my favorite part of any Watts book) about what religious belief does to the brain. Makes it better at pattern-matching, for one. Which is interesting and all, but I never thought this faith/science meld went beyond some suggestive imagery (hive-minded monks speaking science revelations in tongues) and a lot of wordplay about God. It just didn't . . . well, honestly. It just didn't ever make more than "that's a nice party trick" sense.

Still. Being able to identify God as a virus running in a universe ruled by a digital physics model is fun. And I give points for the effort here, and the endeavor. It just ain't Blindsight.

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The Ninth Circle (Tour of the Merrimack, #5)The Ninth Circle by R.M. Meluch

My rating: 1 of 5 stars

Right, it's been a while, so as a refresher, this is the military scifi series where the Roman Empire went underground for a few thousand years, only to re-emerge in the space age and set up a whole new empire in opposition to the U.S. in space, and then a lot of homoerotic things happened. Got that? Good.

I stress-read the first few books in this series and enjoyed the hell out of them. You know, where you make a Cartesian plane with good/bad on one axis and enjoyable/not enjoyable on the other – this series was waaaay deep in the bad/enjoyed quadrant. But we've been through a few twists and turns, killed off some major characters, sent others off to get married to a random, and it turns out the enjoyable was coming from a very specific scenario, and when you erase that, well.

What you're left with is Meluch's politics (pro-military to the point of jingoism), her series-long disdain for civilian peacekeeping forces turned up to eleven, and this really awful moment where I realized she's genuinely interested in a bunch of teenaged boys who deliberately set out to become spree killers because daddy didn't love one of them enough (no, for real, that's his actual reason). There's also a lot of frankly weird back-and-forth about how the right-thinking people can recognize a hostile species on sight (it's . . . genetic? Apparently? Evil aliens just look . . . wrong?) but those stupid scientists, they want to talk to the ugly aliens before starting a shooting war and don't recognize the superiority of the cute aliens, what bullshit.

Blech. Someone let me know if she resurrects the bio-engineered vicious Roman genius. Otherwise, I'm out.

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The Magician's Land (The Magicians, #3)The Magician's Land by Lev Grossman

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Well that was . . . disappointing. Which is a funny thing to say about a book written as well as this one, and that made me as happy as this one did at certain points (really, I would read hundreds of pages about the magic in this universe and how it works and doesn't, no plot required).

The thing is, this book doubled down. The series as a whole has been playing with coming of age narratives and coming into power narratives, trying out different ones, contrasting them, complicating them. And then this final book just . . . plays it straight. I was worried by the jacket copy which, in my edition, actually says something about "a boy becoming a man." Okay, but not really, I thought, that's just stupid marketing nonsense.

Guys. This book is about a boy becoming a man, and what that means for a boy who loves magic and stories about it. Really. Like, this book actually thinks Quentin is interesting (he is, in flashes, but come on, not really). It is actually invested in Quentin's angst over not being quite as special as he thought he would be. And then it's really interested in having a little interlude about how very special he truly is – no one loves fantasy literature like Quentin, apparently, to the point where the universe takes notice. For real.

Here's the thing. In every book of this trilogy, I found myself thinking at least once, okay, but why aren't we reading a book about her? It's always a her, and she's always interesting as hell, and her story is always more complicated and harrowing and difficult than Quentin's. In the second book, we did actually get to read about her, thank you very much, and it's no coincidence that book is my favorite. In this book, we don't get to read about her. And I would much, much rather have been. Because as this book was winding up, delivering a few thematic statements and the like, I just kept saying, wait, really? You're really . . . going with that? That's what this has all been for? We did all this to talk about the hero's journey of . . . getting over the ennui of being really lucky and privileged?

But as I said to my girlfriend, you can object to a lot of what Grossman is doing, but it's harder to object to how he's doing it. I really would read Grossman on magic for books and books. A sample:

And lately, they'd [books] begun to breed. Shocked undergraduates had stumbled on books in the very act. Which sounded interesting, but so far the resulting offspring had been predictably derivative –in fiction – or stunningly boring – nonfiction. Hybrid pairings between fiction and nonfiction were the most vital. The librarian thought that the problem was just that the right books weren't breeding with each other, and proposed a forced mating program. The library committee had an epic secret meeting about the ethics of literary eugenics, which ended in a furious deadlock.

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Smoke and Shadows (Tony Foster #1)Smoke and Shadows by Tanya Huff

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Trilogy about a gay production assistant on a, by all appearances quite terrible, Canadian vampire detective show.

Hey, check it out, these are books I actually finished!

So, I could just say 'too much boyfriend: not enough production assistanting,' and leave it at that. But actually I don't think that really gets at the problem.

These are quirky, well-intentioned, fun little books about a former street hustler turned PA turned wizard. I remember people talking excitedly about them ten years ago, the way we did when we had so little commercial LGBT fiction to read, let alone genre fiction. But the thing is, even if I hadn't checked the copyright dates, I could have accurately dated these books by the shape of the romance.

See, this is one of those 'gay guy falls for beautiful unattainable straight guy' stories, except oh wait maybe he's not so straight – oh wait he totally is – touch me – touch me not, where the allegedly straight dude plays mind games and is generally an all-around dick, but hey it's cool guys, finding out you like guys is really hard okay. And you just don't see that much in LGBT fiction anymore. At least not played for romance, as it is here.

I'm tempted to make some sweeping statements about cultural esthetics of queerness, and how allegedly straight dude's convulsions and reversals and spewings of internalized homophobia are actually a larger commentary on the place of queerness in the general psyche, or in genre fiction. And I think that's pointed in the right direction, though it's painting with too broad strokes. I mean, there's a reason the esthetics of queer romance shift over time – when's the last time you read an actual we're not gay we just love each other story written in 2014? But that was, like, the narrative of the 90's – the trappings of queerness without ever having to use the word. The shifts over time reflect the cultural reckoning that a lot of straight writers were doing with queerness, and it's not as if queer writers like Huff are immune to the tides.

Anyway, my point being that the particular esthetic of queer romance in these books is pretty uncomfortable to read now. It was better when I flipped gears to read as historical document, but still. Yikes.

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The Windup GirlThe Windup Girl by Paolo Bacigalupi

My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Post food apocalypse scifi with tremendously original and genuinely frightening world building.

DNF, and right on the verge of finishing, too. I've just swapped audiobook players, meaning I lost my place in everything on the SD card, and yeah, okay, three years later it's probably time to admit I'm never going to finish this. I wouldn't bother saying anything about it because I don't remember much aside from repeatedly thinking how great his short stories are and how badly constructed the novel was, and how he should go back to shorts.

Except that I apparently left myself a note attached to the file, and that note says:

Robot rape for emotional effect/robot rape complicit in sexualized violence?

And you guys. I got nothing. Three years ago me, I'm glad you had apparently deep thoughts about robot rape?

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Grimspace (Sirantha Jax, #1)Grimspace by Ann Aguirre

My rating: 2 of 5 stars

DNF. Hard-bitten lady space navigator is broken out of prison for blah blah revolution adventures.

#Thatthingwhere a bunch of people are excited about a new science fiction series written by and featuring a woman, and you try it because you try that sort of thing, and then . . . no.

It takes chops to pull off first person present tense for an entire novel. I mean, you've got the uphill battle of convincing me that the book isn't actually stitched together emo wailings of a sixteen-year-old Tumblr user who writes in first person present the same way my teenaged generation put safety pins in our jeans – it's edgy, yoe. Spoiler: these ain't those chops.

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Deadline (Newsflesh Trilogy, #2)Deadline by Mira Grant

My rating: 2 of 5 stars

DNF at 70%, though I went and spoiled myself when I realized just how little I care. And nope. Don't care.

It's interesting how polarizing Mira Grant/Seanan Mcguire is. The people who love her looooove her, and the people who don't are utterly baffled at all the fuss over such terribly written tripe. I've been on both sides of this: I have friends who speak in trembling, delighted voices of the Toby Day books, whereas I thought they were so poorly written as to irritate my brain like nails on a chalkboard. Then again, I genuinely enjoyed Feed, even though it had all the same leaden character work and thudding prose. So I wondered . . . which was the fluke?

Yeah. It was the book I liked. This one, without the political foreground designed to appeal to me, and without the emotional climax? *whistles between teeth*. All you've got left is writing that I find irritating to a really extraordinary degree. I mean, I read original M/M! I know from bad writing, and have excellent mental muscles for tuning it out! But there is just something to her writing that is unignorably bad, and reading it makes my brainstem hurt.

Maybe it's the endless, endless repetition of detail. I would put down solid money that, at some point, someone really impressed Grant with this idea that to build convincing characters, what you do is choose some distinguishing characteristic and emphasize it. So she was like, I know! I'll make these people drink Coke! That's character-building!

And I wander off with a terrible headache, muttering about how brand association isn't the same thing as characterization, and also oh my God please please stop with the Coke we know stop stop stop.

Or maybe it's how her world building is not done through variation and elaboration, but repetition. Characters in this book take repeated blood tests to assess zombie infection status. Every step of this process is described in such precise and identical detail, over and over and over again, that at one point I started reciting the paragraph along with my audiobook narrator, and I had most of the words right. That's not world building, kids. That's bad writing.

These are just guesses. Neither of those things alone could account for my near allergic reaction to her prose. It's just. Nails on a chalkboard. In my soul.

I dunno, maybe she'll happen to drop another book right on my buttons some day. She seems to publish something every ten minutes, so it's possible. I just don't see why I should bother irritating myself trying to find it.

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Heart of Stone (Negotiator Trilogy/Old Races Universe #1)Heart of Stone by C.E. Murphy

My rating: 1 of 5 stars

DNF around 60% through. A largely unobjectionable if boring urban fantasy about the lawyer who encounters the supernatural while out jogging at night. But you know how we all have these specific things that a book has to get right? Like, the author can invent a magical creature out of nowhere, no problem, but she better get the details of how the heroine bakes biscuits exactly correct?

Well, it turns out one of mine is poverty legal services. Who knew! And this book gets that so completely and offensively wrong. I mean, the heroine doesn't have a caseload of 80 open matters, she has one "big" case (which is exactly the sort of case that never lands on the desk of someone like her since private defenders would have been lining up to try it for free for the publicity). And that one case -- yeeeeeah. It's really telling what an author chooses to do when she wants to amp up someone's heroism. And what this author chose to do was erase an ethically complex, grinding, in-the-trenches-of-the-race-war reality with something apparently way more palatable, which is to say ethically unchallenging and full of righteousness about racism without ever engaging with the realities of the heroine's mixed race status. The actual heroism of defending drug dealers and pimps and rapists because everyone, absolutely everyone, deserves someone standing up for them and ensuring the state proves its case beyond a reasonable doubt because that's what motherfucking justice is -- yeah, that's too icky and complicated.

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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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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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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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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 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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