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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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Accelerando Accelerando by Charles Stross


My rating: 2 of 5 stars
Hard SF. Three generations of an entrepreneurial family invent and scheme and survive the singularity, the point where artificial intelligence power bypasses old-fashioned organic brains, and humans first augment themselves, then disassemble the planets to build a solar-system wide computer and become something else entirely.

What a disappointment. I can forgive unapproachable characters in hard SF, and frequently have. I tried hard to cut some slack, because the point of the book is the screamingly insane pace of progress and just how fast and how far we would change into something entirely different. But indeed, I did have the revelation, around the three-quarter mark, that not only didn't I care whether any of our protagonists permanently bit it or not, but the supposedly precarious fate of the entire human race also made me yawn copiously.

But when I forgive that failing in hard SF it's because the big ideas are awesome enough. And these ideas were big, sure, all intergalactic packet-switched router systems and AI cats and what all. But there was something so . . . smug? Self-involved? I can't really put my finger on it, except that a lot of this book was so in-jokey to such a specific stripe of internet-age scifi geekery that it tipped over from pleasing into masturbatory. Something like that.

Does Stross have anything better to offer?

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