lightreads: a partial image of a etymology tree for the Indo-European word 'leuk done in white neon on black'; in the lower left is (Default)

2/5. Orient, who can find things just by thinking about them, teams up with a cop in the town between faerie and reality to solve a drug case and murders.

And I'm two for two on finding Emma Bull books deadly boring. This one at least has an interesting setting and cast of quirky background townies; too bad about the main players, the plot, and, you know, everything else. Well, that's not entirely true – the lady cop is competent and layered and interesting, and why the book had to be about some dude instead of her is totally baffling. … No it's not. We all know why the book is about some dude.

Though, to complicate what I just said, I spent the last half of this book reading the narrator as an agender person. It's easy to do – he accepts male pronouns, but has otherwise almost zero internal sense of gender, let alone external gender signals. Is it deliberate? Is it just empty characterization? Who knows, but either way, reading it in did not make this the least bit more interesting.

Uh. It's currently $2.9 9 on Kindle, I feel obliged to mention.
lightreads: a partial image of a etymology tree for the Indo-European word 'leuk done in white neon on black'; in the lower left is (Default)
The Countess Conspiracy (The Brothers Sinister Book 3)

3/5. Historical romance. He's a controversial and successful scientist investigating inheritance patterns! She's the woman whose work is presented under his name because that's the only way it will be accepted!

Oh man, I'll say one thing for Courtney Milan, she always leaves me with a lot to think about.

This is almost awesome. It's full of things I like, including frank discussions of infertility, sex other than penis-in-vagina (this is quite rare in historicals), a network of women looking out for each other, female genius, difficult families.

But I just can't. If I wanted to make a joke out of it, I would say that I've never read a het romance during which I muttered "have these people never heard of anal sex?" so many times. (For real though, endless drama about how she can't ever ever risk pregnancy, so penis-in-vagina sex is really fraught even with birth control, but this is a het historical so even Milan won't go there). I could say that I found the extreme emotional pitch of this book way out of my taste. The hero and heroine have fraught, quavery-voiced conversations from page one to the very end, and it was just too fucking much.

But here's the real heart of it. This book is, as most people will conclude from reading the synopsis, about a kind of coming out. The heroine tells the truth about her work, eventually, to various people in various ways. And while the book does an . . . okay job presenting the social and familial consequences that come down on her head for it, the structure is enraging. It aligns the coming out with the heroine's journey to reclaim her self-worth and identity, and I hate these narratives. You know what I'm talking about, where a piece of media implicitly tells you that being in the closet is about the closeted person's issues, not about, you know, danger or fear of reprisal or privacy or or or. When done in queerness narratives, this sort of framing is poisonous. It's not much better here, in my mind, where a secret is kept to protect a woman from misogyny, but hey it's cool, she can bust the closet door down once she believes in herself. Because, as we all know, that's how you overcome misogyny. Aaaargh.

Whatever. This is a very good historical about mostly feminism, and it will not drive many people bonkers the way it did me. Also, it's on sale right now, if that's relevant.
lightreads: a partial image of a etymology tree for the Indo-European word 'leuk done in white neon on black'; in the lower left is (Default)
Foreigner: (10th Anniversary Edition) (Foreigner series)

4/5. A displaced colonial population of humans is forced to co-exist with aliens on an industrializing pre-spaceflight planet. Only one person is allowed to contact the aliens and act as ambassador and interpreter. He becomes entangled in local alien politics, and bigger things.

Wow, okay. This is my first Cherryh, and I came to it with an uninformed notion that she pumps out a lot of bland space opera. Wrong wrong wrong. This is strange and difficult, with a chilly interior landscape in ways that are hard to describe.

The first three-quarters of this book is, on the surface, very slow, consisting almost entirely of people drinking tea together and having a series of assortedly confused or awkward conversations. Then the book turns into an intense nail-biter of physical and emotional endurance. This turnabout is completely and fairly foreshadowed, mind, but I still wasn't quite ready for it. There's a richness here I did not anticipate. The foreigner of the title is the ambassador, the only human to appear in this book. The book is chiefly concerned with alienness of several kinds, the ambassador from his hosts and, ultimately, from himself. Cherryh is incredibly good at aliens here. She bypasses the physical almost entirely – these people are for the most part physically like humans, as far as we can tell – but that's just so she can put her finger on a more fundamental emotional and linguistic otherness. This book tosses out an alien word for an alien concept early on, and lets the reader come to several incorrect conclusions about what it means as the ambassador imposes his human ideas, catches himself at it, tries again, fails again. I'm not entirely sure I understand all of what happened here, but it was turning a lot of odd gears in unexpected ways, and it is supposed to be dislocating.

Clever, chilly, interesting.
lightreads: a partial image of a etymology tree for the Indo-European word 'leuk done in white neon on black'; in the lower left is (Default)
Faking It (Dempsey Book 2)

2/5. Contemporary romance. She's a gallery-owner and former forger. He's a conman. They meet in a closet while burgling the same house.

I so wanted to like this. And I did like it. Bad sex that gets better with work! People pretending to be law-abiding until they realize that they are both crooked and that makes them super hot for each other! Close communities of women! A cute dog!

But it was all so rape culturey, I just can't. JFC, he has sex with her while knowing she's not enjoying it, then gives her endless shit for faking an orgasm. Crusie has a really bad track record on exactly this issue, and I just. Yick. Clever banter does not make up for rape culture.
lightreads: a partial image of a etymology tree for the Indo-European word 'leuk done in white neon on black'; in the lower left is (Default)
The Fifth Season (The Broken Earth)

4/5. First in a . . . trilogy? About a land periodically destroyed by earthquake and resulting volcanoes, and the population that barely clings to life on it, and the few with the power to control seismic activity who are feared and enslaved for their gifts.

Excellent, depressing as hell. I was never more than lukewarm on the Hundred Thousand Kingdoms trilogy. You know, those books that broke Jemisin's career open, and that it seemed compulsory to rave about for a few years there. Interesting, but never got me there, was my verdict.

This, though. It's another iteration of enslaved gods, in a way, but this one is tighter, meaner. Thematically, this book is all criss-crossed parent/child pairs of many sorts, actual and metaphorical. It's one of those books that centers women's stories without being about mothering, specifically, if you get me. It's clever and awful and compelling.

Points of interest: Queerness of several varieties, including genderqueerness and polyamory, are represented as part of the fabric of this story, without being particularly remarked upon.

Content notes: Various sorts of child harm, including infanticide by parent and . . . many other horrible things, come to think of it.
lightreads: a partial image of a etymology tree for the Indo-European word 'leuk done in white neon on black'; in the lower left is (Default)
The Blue Sword

2/5. Young woman is abducted by the king of a neighboring nation because magic tells him to, and then she gets a magical horse and then she magically becomes the best fighter ever in the course of six weeks and then she gets a magical sword and then she does magic things, the end.

Yeeeeeah, sorry, no, this bored me thoroughly. And it had me to start with, too; the opening quarter of this book is a slow, absorbing account of this young woman's introduction to a backwater military outpost, and there's a beauty to the way she falls in love with the desert landscape that everyone else just wants to escape. But then all the magic ex machina happens, and meh.

Also, the ethnic politics, yikes. Generalized spoilers )

But Light, you cry, I love this book and I read it a thousand times and you don't understaaaaand it.* Yep. That's right. I don't.

*Well, actually I think it's more like this book is of a different era and esthetic, and I was not in the frame of mind to read it as a historical document. I just wanted a damn book to enjoy.
lightreads: a partial image of a etymology tree for the Indo-European word 'leuk done in white neon on black'; in the lower left is (Default)
Mars Evacuees

5/5. Twelve-year-old girl is evacuated to Mars as the war with the aliens drags on. Then all the adults on the Mars base disappear.

Oh gosh, burble burble, this is woooooonderful. It's about war and fear of loss and actual loss and – go with me here – it is hilarious. The obvious comparison is The True Meaning of Smekday, which I also loved, and yeah, that's valid. Plucky and sarcastic kids accidentally reaching across the gulf of a species war to make a friend. But this book is also doing very different things. Like, in case this is relevant to anyone's interests, girls in space! Female friendship! Lady fighter pilots!

Also, this is going to make people who haven't read this book go "buh?" but the brilliance of this book, and the seriousness of it, are in its lightness. This book makes the education of child soldiers funny and endearing, okay, in a way that lifts you up and breaks your heart. It is this beautifully controlled but pell-mell first person narration, constrained by our narrator's youth and fear, illuminated by her irreverence. And it trips along, making you laugh and worry and laugh again. And then it stops, and takes a breath, a perfectly placed beat that makes you stop and clench your hands and say, oh very quietly.

It is just really, really good.
lightreads: a partial image of a etymology tree for the Indo-European word 'leuk done in white neon on black'; in the lower left is (Default)

4/5. Twenty years after a group of colonists follow a woman's post coma visions to settle on an alien planet, a surprise survivor born after the initial planetfall reaches the settlement. And then things start falling apart.

File this one under it was great. Never ever reading it again.

The narrator of this book – bisexual lady engineer in her seventies – is the sort of unreliable narrator who is mostly unaware of her unreliability. The first third of the book has that slow, creeping quality you get when this is done really well: you are following along, it's interesting, it's scifi, and then once in a while you go "wait…what?" And then you start to put things together, and the narrative pulls tighter and tighter, and the narrator's sense of overwhelming, impending disaster eats you up. This is one of the more terribly skillful renderings of someone with an anxiety disorder that I've ever read. And not just the narrator – her entire colonial society is gripped by it. So much so that I had to put the book down and walk away for two days in order to calm down. (I also nearly noped out of a huge huge public humiliation squick at a climactic moment, so take that under advisement).

So yeah. This is masterful, as psychological work. Psychological horror in some places. Not horror at mental illness, to be clear – the book is in other parts of its mechanism playing with some classic horror tropes, including Poe. The scifi elements are less successful, to my mind; I was frankly disappointed with that resolution in the last 5% of the book. It was reaching for something about the co-existence of religious belief and scientific belief, but it just didn't get there, I don't think.

Happy to supply specific spoilers/content notes in comments if desired.
lightreads: a partial image of a etymology tree for the Indo-European word 'leuk done in white neon on black'; in the lower left is (Default)
How to Howl at the Moon

M/M. A professional horticulturist, refugee from a betrayal, moves into a small town which just happens to be populated by shifters (dogs into people, not the other way around). And the sheriff (border collie, natch) thinks this guy is growing weed, so poses as a dog to investigate. Like…you…do…

DNF. This is fine! Some of you will totally dig it! I…could not.

I'm trying to be more selective about M/M. I mean, I have such a low hit-rate on this stuff, it gets depressing. So I've been trying to go with more friend recs. And this is good! Easton is competent and a little creative and funny in the right ways.

But oh God I cannot with this book. It turned me into a horrible person. It turned me into a victim-blamer. But for real, the horticulturist's backstory of being taken advantage of was pitched in such a way that I snapped, "oh for fuck's sake, how stupid do you have to be to get rolled like that?" Which is on me. What's not on me is the way this book likes his ineptitude, and the way it frames a sort of learned helplessness as attractive to the other hero. That is, like, the opposite of my buttons.

Read if you like dogs and, uh, presumably relationships where one person was briefly the other's pet? This book'll deliver on that.
lightreads: a partial image of a etymology tree for the Indo-European word 'leuk done in white neon on black'; in the lower left is (Default)
Love Is the Drug

4/5. A student at a near-future Washington D.C. prep school wakes up after a party with no memory of what happened to her, and with the world in the grip of a pandemic flu virus.

This, on the other hand, is wonderful, and deserves to be hyped a lot more. It's not really science fiction, more near-future sociopolitical thriller with some speculative elements. But the flu is not really the point, and the thriller plot is so not the point (if you haven't figured that out by a quarter of the way through, this may be the first book you've ever read). No, the point is the heroine, who is struggling with competing models of how to be black in America, and working through the use and abuse of power on her and by her, and falling in love with a drug dealer.

This is the rich, complex book that her Summer Prince fell short of, in my mind. Which is partly her – she got a little less overdramatic, a little more controlled. And partly about how I'm getting really sick of specfic books about race that have to take the world at several steps remove from ours to be about race. This book really doesn't do that; it's not about race "through the lens of" or about race "reimagined." It's about this black girl and her black family and her friends and boyfriends and what they do to survive. Fuckin' applause.
lightreads: a partial image of a etymology tree for the Indo-European word 'leuk done in white neon on black'; in the lower left is (Default)
A Darker Shade of Magic: A Novel

3/5. There are four Londons in four worlds, and only a few can travel between. One of those who can takes the opportunity to smuggle, and gets caught up in a complicated magical scheme.

Overhyped. This was entertaining enough, but you know I'm kind of bored when one of the main characters is a cross-dressing lady pickpocket who dreams of being a ship captain, and I find it overbaked and kind of tiresome. Points for later establishing that she likes menswear just for the sake of wearing a good suit, though, rather than the usual fantasy bait-and-switch where the lady cross-dresses but in the end just wants to be "herself" again or whatever.

Lots of people thought the hype was called for, so maybe I'm just cranky. Or maybe this is, at its heart, just bland.
lightreads: a partial image of a etymology tree for the Indo-European word 'leuk done in white neon on black'; in the lower left is (Default)
Penric's Demon

3/5. A Five Gods novella. Through (random?) circumstance, a rural lord's younger son on the way to his wedding unintentionally comes into the possession of a demon. Subject and object purposefully left unclear in that last bit.

This is a pleasing, if inconsequential little tale. Maybe I've just read too much LMB, but I understood pretty much everything about this story by a third of the way through and nodded along comfortably to the end. Our protagonist is rather unformed – as a person, I mean, not a character – which is a bit of a departure for this universe. The whole thing works a bit better if one imagines onself, the reader, rather like the demon in Pen's head: significantly smarter than him, and seeing a great deal more through his eyes than he does. But even those things were not terribly complex or interesting.

Still, comfortable and rather sweet. Good for completists, I guess.
lightreads: a partial image of a etymology tree for the Indo-European word 'leuk done in white neon on black'; in the lower left is (Default)
Crash & Burn (Cut & Run Series Book 9)

3/5. Ninth? . . . in this M/M series about the FBI agents. I'm not gonna lie, this (and the prior couple books) have been really disappointing, since they seem to fundamentally misunderstand what is good about this series. Namely: a sense of genuine hilarity, and tropes tropes tropes.*

Let's review the glory days. The second book brought us wilderness survival straining a tenuous relationship with – if my recollection does not fail me – actual huddling for warmth. Oh, and the third book gave us pretend-to-be-married and kept boy roleplay. The fourth book gave us temporary disability, but let's not talk about that. Oh but the fifth book, that gave us zany road trip with bonus hitmen. Ooh, and the sixth book is peak whacky, with bonus meet-the-family and cowboys, and a random tiger (trust me, it's funny).

Damn, this series was good when it was good.

And, I mean, I guess you could read the first book if you want (partners who hate each other but fall in lust), but eh, it's not the best.

*Though in its defense, this ninth book did have 'roleplaying dubcon to fool the cameras while actually having intense, consensual, kind of hilarious sex.' So that's okay.
lightreads: a partial image of a etymology tree for the Indo-European word 'leuk done in white neon on black'; in the lower left is (Default)
Children of Morrow and Treasures of Morrow by H.M. Hoover

3/5. Vintage (so vintage it's not even on Kindle) post-apocalyptic YA. Two pre-teens living in a repressive paternalistic micro-society run away, guided by the voices of other survivors they can hear in their heads.

So I think Children of Morrow might well be the first science fiction I ever read as a child. It's certainly the first that mattered. And it made a hell of an impression on me -- I've been looking for this book again for about twenty years. And here it is, with a sequel!

So anyway, this informed a lot of my narrative inclinations, I think. Probably filled the niche that Mercedes Lackey did for a lot of my peers in that this, too, is about the very special children who are isolated by their specialness and go on an arduous journey to find their true home.

I will say that, as a child, I didn't grasp the true creepiness of this world. It doesn't lie in the post destruction Northern California landscape, as I thought, or in the violence inherent in the society the protagonists flee. No, the creepiness is solidly in the home they flee to, which is cozily nonviolent . . . oh and also deeply and quietly oppressive. I honestly can't tell what Hoover thought she was doing here; much is made of Morrow's superiority in intelligence which, it is implied, explains its lack of gendered power structures. And which also underlies its, um, restrictive breeding program. Awk-ward. I honestly can't tell what is irony and what is genuine enthusiasm for a "better world." A lot less irony going around than I would like, is where I came down.

It's also amazing what you don't remember. I had zero recollection of the rather casual mention of a prior abduction and forced impregnation, I imagine because I didn't understand it at all (see also: Morrow is totally morally superior you guys, ahahahahah. Ha. Ha). The WTF faces I made when that came up were quite epic.

Points for nostalgia. And for the landscape, which pried open bits of my pre-teen brain that had never seen light before. And for young children of power. But yikes.
lightreads: a partial image of a etymology tree for the Indo-European word 'leuk done in white neon on black'; in the lower left is (Default)

3/5. A "research" space vessel is invaded by two "thieves", and the three-person crew is joined by an interrogator from the totalitarian solar system government bent on getting one of the captured prisoners to talk. Meanwhile, the ship computer is slowly coming to consciousness.

I'm being a bit unfair giving this a 3/5. What I'm really doing there is giving myself a bit of room, because this is a debut, and while it's really very good, I'm going on record now and saying that one of C.A. Higgins's later books is going to be a knockout. So I'm rating on that entirely speculative scale. It's a compliment.

This is tense and twisty and claustrophobic. The entire book encompasses the inside of a single spaceship whose every nook and cranny is under surveillance, populated by a cast of fewer than ten characters. Yet the story it tells – alternating between the mental duel of the interrogation and the increasingly desperate efforts of the ship's architect to understand what is happening to it –is also the story of a revolt against totalitarianism playing out in the wider solar system. The word "controlled" comes to mind when trying to describe this book. Maybe "poised." Not words I use for debuts very often.

The tension of this one lingers.
lightreads: a partial image of a etymology tree for the Indo-European word 'leuk done in white neon on black'; in the lower left is (Default)
Planet of Twilight: Star Wars (Star Wars - Legends)

2/5. Sequel at one remove to Children of the Jedi. That one I liked; this one had one redeeming feature, and the rest can go to hell.

So for any completists out there, the intervening book between Children of the Jedi and this one in the loose sequence is Darksaber, which I skipped because I remember it and also it was written by a dude and I'm not reading books by dudes at the moment. Kevin J. Anderson, no less. You guys have fun with that shoot-em-up.

Anyway, in this book, a lot of deeply boring stuff happens, culminating in a boring and entirely predictable conclusion that has been done at least three or four times in every major science fiction continuity ever, yawn. Rendered rather intolerable by Luke Skywalker, who is being a super creepy stalker ex-boyfriend who does not understand the word "no" at all, what the fuck. His obnoxious inability to deal with being broken up with sort of makes sense if you realize he's in his early thirties and that was, like, his first relationship ever, so yeah, he reacted like a thwarted teenager because in romantic terms, he's still basically fifteen. But ugh so so so gross, and the book expects us to have massive sympathy for him, which, uh, wait, let me think about it, nope. Get a fucking grip, Luke.

The one bright spot: Threepio and Artoo have a marvelous roadtrip subplot in which they bounce around a sector together, from smuggler ship to impound facility to warzone. At one point they attempt to earn passage by making themselves into a band. Artoo is the drummer. Obviously. At another juncture they are sent by bulk mail. It's great, basically. Two stars for Threepio and Artoo.
lightreads: a partial image of a etymology tree for the Indo-European word 'leuk done in white neon on black'; in the lower left is (Default)
Children of the Jedi: Star Wars: Star Wars Series (Star Wars - Legends)

4/5. Star Wars expanded universe. Leia and Han follow rumors of a hideout where Jedi children were protected from the purges, while Luke gets trapped on a thirty-year-old imperial battle cruiser controlled by a malevolent artificial intelligence, and haunted by the ghost of the Jedi woman who died trying to destroy it.

I'm not gonna front; I like this book partially because of just how much hordes of Star Wars fanboys haaaaaaate it.

Oh, hey, did I mention this is that relatively rare beast, a Star Wars book written by a woman? Gosh I can't imagine why I felt it necessary to insert that sentence after my last paragraph, it must be coincidence, huh how weird.

So anyway, I hadn't read this since I was a teenager. I remembered it as an unusually complex and rich EU book, and I was absolutely right. That doesn't mean it's successful in what it's doing, but by God, it's doing a lot of stuff.

I could actually write a couple thousand words about this and why it's so interesting to me, but I don't have time. Short version: this book is thematically about being a remnant person: the young man whose partner could not surrender him to disease so she built a droid to hold his memories, and the Jedi trapped in the gunnery computer for thirty years. The book cycles through multiple iterations of struggle with this, and like a lot of scifi, it has a strong bias towards discounting any kind of life that doesn't comfortably match narrow notions of proper embodiment. But it tries; there are several touching and strange conversations in which various people struggle with how they seem to have lost themselves in losing their bodies. I entirely agree with Luke's response that you are who you are right now. You're never not yourself, he means, you're just a displaced you, or a frightened you, or a transformed you.

And related to that thematic line are repeated instances of co-opted self-determination. Artoo, for example, is at one point forced to spoiler ), and in parallel the droid holding the memories of that young man I mention above is forced by a restraining bolt to watch his partner imprisoned, and to do nothing. The book plays with these, and with choices taken away – from the ghost Jedi when she was left to die, from Luke, at the end of this book.

So yeah, there's a whole lot more here than there usually is in the EU. I think it's ultimately unsuccessful, to say nothing of problematic. For one thing, Hambly is forced to wrestle with one of the fundamental moral flaws of the Star Wars universe, which would like us to believe that droids are not sentient beings while also encouraging us to love them as sentient beings. You cannot spend any serious time thinking about Star Wars without coming to the conclusion that all of our heroes are, in fact, slave-owners. And, well, Hambly doesn't have a handle on this, because it's a really big fucking problem. She tries – there's a great conversation where Luke is trying to talk to someone about self-definition, and Threepio keeps interjecting with his entirely different viewpoint – but it's not enough. And she just can't fundamentally bring herself to credit nonstandard forms of life as valid, not when push comes to shove. That's what I think a couple of the key deaths at the end of this book are entirely about. But that said, it's a damn interesting book.

So yeah, the fanboys hate it because there's, like, a romance (which I'm meh on myself, actually), and Luke spends the whole book physically and mentally disabled by pain, which is apparently not acceptable, and because, well, we all know why the fanboys hate it, let's be real. But I like it, so there.
lightreads: a partial image of a etymology tree for the Indo-European word 'leuk done in white neon on black'; in the lower left is (Default)
Earth Logic (Elemental Logic Book 2)

4/5. *helpless gesture* Uh. It's fantasy? About elemental powers? But mostly about peacemaking? Except anything I say is inadequate and inaccurate, so.

Laurie J. Marks infamously has not yet finished the fourth volume in this series. In somewhat similar fashion, the audiobooks are being produced at the rate of approximately one every two years (hint: it doesn't normally work like that). You'd think this would drive me nuts, but it actually doesn't. There's something . . . meditative about taking these books so slowly. I mean, I don't know how you can think of only three books as a whole set of prayer/meditation beads, and yet, that's where my mind goes.

Anyway, yes, this series is awesome, and unusual. The obvious stuff first: it is populated by a lot of queer and generally non-normative people who build complex and beautiful poly families, and we don't have to have a whole big fuckin' thing about it. Less obviously, this series is subversive as hell in that it actively counters standard fantasy narratives. The appropriate response to violence in this book, in the end, is not violence. How rare is that?

But I think the most extraordinary thing about these books is the magic. It's elemental, like I said, and the "logic" of the title is part of the magic. The power comes as much from character as from, like, birthright. This became clear to me when I was jaw-droppingly outraged by a particular set of character actions in the first third of this book; they were just so obviously idiotic to me, I was astonished. What was wrong with these previously intelligent people? …Ah. Yes. I am not a fire blood. That is one success of these books, creating a personality-based magic system so interesting and accurate that I feel genuinely alienated from those parts of it that I don't understand. Gryffindors, WTF
lightreads: a partial image of a etymology tree for the Indo-European word 'leuk done in white neon on black'; in the lower left is (Default)
The Sparrow: A Novel (The Sparrow series)

4/5. The lone survivor of the first Jesuit mission (get it?) to Alpha Centauri makes it home and tells his story to a largely hostile audience.

I have mixed feelings about the Jesuit community, which I bring up because it quite neatly parallels my feelings on this book. For reasons, I know a lot of Jesuits – actual priests, I mean – and they are in general the sort of excellent people who thrive more the harder the work is, and who treat Ph.D.'s like a nice lark but okay where's the next one. On the other hand, I received healthcare from a Jesuit institution for several years, underwritten by a Jesuit-held insurance policy, and well. The misogyny embedded in that policy impacted my life in an incredibly expensive and painful way. So yeah. Love the people, still really, really angry at the institution. Except institutions are people – we like to pretend they're not, but they are – so it's complicated.

Anyway, this is a book about finding transcendence – in hard work beautifully done, in found family, in God – and then watching it all fall unto so much dust. So, kind of painful, then. I love good writing about transcendence, which this definitely is. Personally, my moments of transcendence are found in hard work beautifully done, in music, and in endurance sports, except as an atheist I like to be alone with myself in those moments, whereas several of the characters in this book are reaching for God.

So this book is beautiful, and wonderful, and funny, and sad. But I have mixed feelings, because this book is confronting trauma, and how awful it Is to be a trauma survivor who has been trained to believe that everything happens for a reason. And I think that ultimately this book leans too hard on the bystander perspective of people who weren't fucking there, and who didn't go through it, and who are, in the way of bystanders, really really eager to assign a comfortable reason and meaning for it all, and to impose that narrative on the survivor who doesn't want it. All of this framed in explicitly religious narratives (along with a lot of more or less poisonous general notions about the survivors of rape and prostitution). And this book is challenging these narratives, but only to a point. But maybe this is the point where my atheism gets in the way. Maaaaaaybe.

Also, I dearly wish the twist of vicious social commentary in this book had been drawn out further. Russell makes it explicit once and only once that, in judging this alien culture, we are failing to look in the mirror first. And given that this book is at its heart about predators – alien, many of the humans in Sophia's life, providence from Emilio's perspective at certain points – the congruences could have been more sharply drawn. It would have been a more obvious book, and an angrier one. But it would have brought out the . . . parable buried in the science fiction elements, and I think that actually would have been a benefit.

Anyway, I'll be thinking about this for a while. And I suspect when I read it again, I will have to think all over again.
lightreads: a partial image of a etymology tree for the Indo-European word 'leuk done in white neon on black'; in the lower left is (Default)

4/5. From early on in the current urban fantasy movement, from the early Vampire Period (you know, like the Blue Period, but vampirier). A baker in a slow-motion-supernatural-apocalypse world comes into her power after getting entangled in vampire wars.

Finally reading this, only a decade late. On the plus side: baking; a beautiful sense of extended family and community around the bakery; characters who all want to feed everybody; a protagonist whose romantic relationship is strong and steady and respectful the way two very independent people would be. On the minus side: oh, whoops, there were clearly supposed to be another eight books that she never wrote. And that, IIRC, she got incredibly snotty with people over requesting, even though this is the first book in a series, I'm sorry it just is.

I will say this about the fact that this book is 85% setup for a series that doesn't exist: it lets the vampire be the vampire. He is genuinely inhuman here, and creepy, and only sexy in the most uncomfortable of ways where it's clear the impulse is rather horrible to both parties. And the intimacy built between the baker and the vampire is . . . well, it's two aliens squinting uncertainly at each other across the wreckage, basically. And a series would have ruined that, most likely. As it is, this book can end well for everyone, but with ambiguous and uncomfortable implications, and I liked that.

So in short, a good example of the genre, with more warmth and richness than many later followers. But you've got to go in understanding that this was, like, a world-building exercise for McKinley or something. I almost wish she had turned the impulse to creating an elaborate tabletop game; it might have gotten her what she wanted and pissed off way fewer readers.

Note: Currently $1.99 on Kindle.


lightreads: a partial image of a etymology tree for the Indo-European word 'leuk done in white neon on black'; in the lower left is (Default)

April 2016

34 56789
1718192021 22 23


RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Apr. 30th, 2016 11:10 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios