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Chasm CityChasm City by Alastair Reynolds




I am so jaded: you read one book about plagues that eat nanotechnology, and religious experience as the result of an indoctrinal neurovirus, and the particular kind of psychosis that results from decades-long sublight space flights, you’ve read them all.



Particularly when you’ve actually read three, all by the same guy. Seriously, Alastair Reynolds, think about something else!



And this book is a mess anyway – bloated, terrible dialogue (seriously, the narrator of my audiobook did the best anyone could, and everyone still sounded like they were reading off teleprompters), oh and some deus ex alien. Reynolds generally has better gender politics, too. And he is one of the worst offenders of the ‘don’t write about how the whosit drive works, write about how it feels to use it,’ thing.



That’s too strike outs for him – I didn’t much like Century Rain either. I wonder if any of his later stuff is better edited? Or, you know, about some-fucking-thing else.





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Century Rain Century Rain by Alastair Reynolds


My rating: 3 of 5 stars
Half nanotech posthuman twenty-third century space opera, half alternate history 1959 with no World War II Parisian noir detective story.

Cool in concept, limp in execution. Ham-handed character work, kind of plodding in places, even as the cool skiffy ideas keep coming. Reynolds can do better. But enough about that, let’s talk about me!

I am so pleased to have read a book that didn’t actively piss me off, I’m feeling quite beneficent over here. That, and not coincidentally, my pain levels have precipitously dropped in the past few days. (Seriously, it was the retina with less scar tissue this time, but I swear to God I could feel it throbbing in my jaw). But now it is over, and this book was inoffensively entertaining, so it’s getting an extra star from me. Extra stars for everyone!

Someday I really need to glance back through the last half dozen or so books that collectively left me hostile. I think they’ll still all piss me off, but there was an awful lot of ow going on there, so you never know.

Yay proper blood flow! Yay books! Yay stars! Yay Goodreads!

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Sequel to the impressive but flawed Revelation Space. Another 550 pages of interstellar plotting – one of those rotating POV books tracking multiple factions all located somewhere along the sympathy-repulsion spectrum while they maneuver against each other for advantage while an external danger closes in. The external danger being the Wolves, ancient alien machines whose job it is to prune life from the galaxy for reasons not as evil as you might think.

The best part is still the worldbuilding – war propaganda sent by implanted dream! Alien oceans that imprint neural patterns! Awesome nanotech plague! Oh and the gender politics, by which I mean that there nearly isn't any. Women are just people who do jobs well and poorly, end of sentence, no flourishes, no grandstanding.

His timing has gotten better, but the people are still awfully difficult to really empathize with because they're so impressively and appropriately futurified. And the whole thematic arc is more of a vague gesture.

But still some of the best hard SF I've read this year, for the worldbuilding alone. You have to like hard SF to like this, but if you do, you should.
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Humans of the twenty-sixth century live in a galaxy more empty than it really should be, haunted by the ghosts of species long extinct. There's 550 pages of intricate plotting here, so I'll just say it's a hard SF novel that jumps from an archaeological expedition to an alien plague to quantum mechanics to neuroprogramming.

The good: Women! who are cool! and who do very cool things! Shiny hard SF ideas. A scattering of really disturbing and effective images that will stick with me. Excellent and creative worldbuilding.

The meh: Choppy timing. A few stupid writer tricks. Over-stretched dramatics.

I think hard SF is like a gecko. I'm like, "ooh, you're an awfully cool little reptile, aren't you?" and it totally is, but at a certain point I start thinking, "you know, my dog is nice and furry. I like furry." Which is an overtired way of saying that I enjoyed this book and will be getting the sequel, but it suffers from the perennial hard SF problem -- characters who are so futurified, there's very little to latch onto.

But really good, for hard SF -- definitely my favorite of the recent reads (Stephen Baxter, Greg Bear, etc). Also see above re: women, because that really can't be over-emphasized.

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