I wish I had enjoyed this book. I really wanted to love it - 'queer arranged-marriage-to-love by Foz Meadows' is a pitch that I was all in for - but uI wish I had enjoyed this book. I really wanted to love it - 'queer arranged-marriage-to-love by Foz Meadows' is a pitch that I was all in for - but ultimately, I simply couldn't connect to the characters, and with their romance as the core of the plot, that was a dealbreaker.
Velasin and Caethari are perfectly pleasant people, and they have a pleasant and respectful romance, but by the end of the book I would be hard-pressed to tell you what either of them want outside of each other. Who were they before this arranged marriage? What are their passions, their interests, their likes and dislikes? Hell, after 500+ pages, I'm not sure if either of them even have a favorite color, let alone what it might be. That lack of character depth in turn made their romance feel flat and lifeless.
There is an overall lack of tension in this book, both in the romantic plot and in the political/murder mystery plot, which is... startlingly unthreatening, in no small part thanks to the fact that the protagonists keep just wandering around the city unguarded and unconcerned throughout. I also found the way this plotline was resolved to be unsatisfying, as the antagonist very quickly deteriorated and what was a decently complex scheme gave way to a lot of senseless violence which felt deeply out of place with the rest of the book.
I did enjoy many of the secondary characters, especially Markel and Yasa Kithadi, and the worldbuilding of Tithenai culture in particular was interestingly detailed. (Ralia was kind of a homophobic blank slate by contrast.) I also think that, while it is jarring to have a rape scene within the first 20 pages, the overall recovery and healing arc which followed was one of the strongest parts of the book; in fact, I think that Velasin's recovery and adjustment to a new culture could have carried the entire novel, without the murder/political violence angle needed at all. (Politics, yes, but nobody needed to die especially if it never actually changed the protagonists' actions other than being a puzzle to solve.)
Weirdly enough, I actually think that if this book ever had a sequel, I'd be more interested in the story going forward than I was in this one. As far as I know this is intended as a stand-alone, but there's potential there, and I think that these characters would click better for me in an established romance....more
At this point I'm not even gonna try writing a review until the entire series is out and I've had a chance to read it in one go.At this point I'm not even gonna try writing a review until the entire series is out and I've had a chance to read it in one go....more
It's weird to read the Goodreads summary of this book after having actually read it, because I feel like that summary highlights a discrepancy I noticIt's weird to read the Goodreads summary of this book after having actually read it, because I feel like that summary highlights a discrepancy I noticed while reading: Angelou's recounting of being raped takes center stage in most discussions about this book, but not at all in the book itself. It's a significant event, obviously, but this is not a Book About Being Raped, and I think the way it's often presented and discussed as if it were does Angelou a great disservice.
What this is: a book that is absolutely gorgeous to read. Just the way Angelou puts sentences together is magical. She strikes a perfect balancing point between lyrical and readable, and it's honestly a wonderful thing to experience. It was hard to put the book down sometimes; I felt completely drawn into the times and places she evoked. I enjoy autobiographies a lot of the time, but I've never wanted so strongly to keep reading one. That addictive quality is usually reserved for fiction, for me.
That's not to say it's always a comfortable read. In addition to a harrowing description of being raped as a child, Angelou does not shy away from depicting racism and her anger at the way she and others were (are) dehumanized for being black. Because of the time period in which she grew up, some of the things she describes feel like they bridge the gap between slavery and what we now might call 'microaggressions'. As a child, she works for a white woman who one day decides to call her by another name, because her given name is 'too long' - today, this same pattern repeats when a white interviewer decides that Quvenzhane Wallis's name is 'too difficult' to pronounce; it's the same devaluing of personhood and identity for someone else's convenience.
While I feel like it took me maybe longer than it should have to read this book, I'm also kind of glad that I read it this year. First, because I think that at some points when I was younger I wouldn't have absorbed it the way I did - in particular, I'm very glad I didn't encounter it in a class, because while a classroom discussion could be interesting, there's nothing like reading a book on a strict schedule for a grade to really squash the magic out of it. And second, because it is frustratingly relevant and topical in 2020. Fifty years after this book was published, nearly a century since Angelou's birth, and her experiences and her just anger feel incredibly topical. It is a salient reminder of how much work remains to be done, and how much cannot be erased by time alone. ...more
Ooh man, just skimming over the other reviews showed me this volume is... controversial.
First things first: I do find it jarring to return to the comiOoh man, just skimming over the other reviews showed me this volume is... controversial.
First things first: I do find it jarring to return to the comic art after watching the Netflix movie. The casting and cinematography was just so good and I find this art kind of... uh... ugly. A lot of the more dramatic expressions, in particular, come off almost as caricatures of emotion designed to be uncomfortable to the eye, and while I can sort of see the pairing of that art style with this storyline making sense, it isn't my jam. Also, movie!Andromache's short hair makes way more sense than comic!Andromache's long locks. (And I'm gay for Charlize Theron with ripped arms and an axe, but really who isn't?)
I have mixed feelings on the plot of this installment. It's not too much of a spoiler to say that it centers around the return of Noriko, long believed dead by the other immortals. (I mean, if you watched the movie you know this, so...) Her characterization is... mm. On the one hand, she lived in a constant cycle of drowning for centuries, and frankly that would drive anyone out of their mind. On the other hand, she's got a bit of manic pixie behavior going on in her body language/mannerisms and in how she talks, and it didn't feel quite right somehow. I think Rucka is walking a fine line to make her a character both pitied and feared, but it didn't come off with as much nuance as I would wish for.
I do find it weirdly comforting to realize that the plot of a second movie (if we get one, which I'm rooting for) will basically have to be completely different. This volume definitely has second book syndrome - it's clearly a bridge to a third installment rather than a story arc that stands on its own, and there are a LOT of elements which will have to change in any film adaptation; my hope is that those changes will keep the movie from feeling similarly like just a connecting piece. I'd especially like to see more exploration of the experience of morality across time - what does it feel like to literally live long enough to see yourself become the villain, and how do you reconcile a desire to do good with the realization that you have done so much harm? That's a truly fascinating angle on immortality, and fascinating angles on immortality are what this series does. (There's obviously plenty of room for that in the third volume as well.)
I'm kind of sad that this series has a definitive end point after V3, because I find this cast and concept so engaging, but that also has me hoping that we're pointed towards a satisfying, tightly written and well-planned finale. Fingers crossed it won't take too long to get here!...more
Picked this up on Hoopla because the trailer for the Netflix movie intrigued me and I wanted to know more than just the hints it offered. I ended up rPicked this up on Hoopla because the trailer for the Netflix movie intrigued me and I wanted to know more than just the hints it offered. I ended up reading pretty much the entire book while on hold with TAP Air Portugal, which kept me from going completely bonkers from the hold music.
I read some of the critical reviews from people who didn't really like this concept or find it boring, and I... see where they're coming from but disagree. Any story about immortality has to touch on the question of 'with such a long life, what do you live for?' and this book's answer seems to be... doing the things that mortals can't live through. It's a cynical take on eternity, to be sure, but one which feels logical, and I rather like the angle of taking something which seems like a positive and showing how it can become horrific.
Primarily, this has made me more interested in the Netflix movie, which I was already pretty curious about. I found myself reading the comic and thinking 'wait, that looks familiar' - and afterwards when I watched the trailer again, I realized that's because they've recreated some scenes almost exactly, which is kinda neat. I'll be curious to see whether they adapt just this arc, or whether they'll either add new material or delve into the second book, because honestly I don't think there's a full movie's worth of plot here unless they've dedicated a lot of screen time to flashbacks and/or drawn-out action sequences.
Within the first few chapters I could tell why Octavia Butler is such an icon of science fiction. This book was fantastic - a nuanced, morally complicWithin the first few chapters I could tell why Octavia Butler is such an icon of science fiction. This book was fantastic - a nuanced, morally complicated story about humanity, the other, free will, social structure, relationships, and so much more. That Lilith is a black woman wrestling with being, essentially, in captivity which pretends not to be captivity made it all the more haunting.
Definitely something I want to come back to when I'm back to writing in-depth reviews.
Content warnings for attempted rape, situations of dubious consent, and violence....more
Here's the best I think I can say about this book: it was better than I expected it to be.
Granted, my expectations were not high. I have long had an iHere's the best I think I can say about this book: it was better than I expected it to be.
Granted, my expectations were not high. I have long had an idle curiosity about Sarah Douglass's work, but approached reading her with caution as reviews were pretty frank about the level of melodrama, sexual violence, and general soap-opera-ishness that should be expected. Those reviews were not wrong; this book is basically a Bronze Age soap opera which serves to introduce a larger, century-spanning story.
The thing that took me by surprise was... well, that Douglass actually had some pretty nuanced characterization in there. Cornelia, in particular - I spent a lot of the book worried that she would be another rape-victim-to-loving-wife character, and to some extent she did go that direction internally, but Douglass used other characters' perspectives to reframe this as Cornelia seeking security any way she can. She managed to show Cornelia as an unreliable narrator in a way that actually made her more sympathetic, even when Cornelia just kept going back and trying in vain to win Brutus's heart.
Ultimately, though, a bit of interesting character writing gets me through one book, but no more. My Douglass curiosity is sated....more
On the one hand: the concept of people's memories being bound into books and wiped from their own minds is fascinating.
On the other hand, I only got tOn the one hand: the concept of people's memories being bound into books and wiped from their own minds is fascinating.
On the other hand, I only got to the interesting parts because of my own dogged determination to DNF only in the most extreme circumstances and, frankly, the first 150 pages of this book bored me out of my damn mind.
If the 'sandwich test' is whether the reader finds the book too gripping to put it down to make a sandwich, the beginning of this book failed what I'll call the 'reverse sandwich test'... as in, I was actively looking for other things to do than read it. It took having four days off in a row and putting myself somewhere I had nothing to do but read it for me to actually power through that beginning and, even then, I don't remember much of it because very little actually happened.
What did happen was this: I figured out the Big Twist. Between the flap copy and an unusual interaction between two characters, it wasn't too difficult... and then I spent another hundred pages or so waiting for the twist to take place. Reader, I nearly quit.
And then the twist happened.
And I finished the last 280-odd pages in one night.
This is why I find this book difficult to review - once the plot stopped dawdling around in the background, it was engrossing and un-put-downable. Sandwich test? I didn't even get off the couch for fresh tea! That's about as much praise as I can give to any book. I'm not sure that makes it good, per se, and will fully acknowledge that some of what pulled me along is the same gawking tendency that leads drivers to slow down to look at a wreck on the highway, but it makes the book... something.
Two stars, then, because it did somewhat reward my perseverance. No more, because it didn't really leave me with much - this book has a good high concept, but doesn't really use it to its full potential IMO, and in particular did not really explore the results of restoring bound memories or the way this magic system could be used to pass on anything positive. (There's a brief mention of 'deathbed bindings' but most of the bindings we see are focused on getting rid of unpleasant memories - but imagine if you could read a book of memories from a lost loved one and truly see through their eyes! That's a beautiful, wonderful thing that doesn't seem to exist in-world.)
Also, content warnings for homophobia - including familial rejection which may hit people close to home - and discussion of/allusion to rape, as wealthy men wield bindings in this book like they use NDAs in our world. It gets nauseating....more
The thing about The Wicked + The Divine is that every time a new volume comes out, I feel like I need to reread the preceding volumes - but not as I'vThe thing about The Wicked + The Divine is that every time a new volume comes out, I feel like I need to reread the preceding volumes - but not as I've been reading them, as digital library loans, but in print. I can't shake the feeling that by not being able to flip back through the pages I'm missing things, small details and connections that would explain the underlying mysteries of the plot. There's just SO MUCH going on here!
I have to say, this volume reminded me why I enjoy this comic as much as I do. The art is gorgeous, the writing is intriguing and markedly modern, and there's always something new going on. I particularly loved the magazine issue in this volume, especially after learning that the 'interviews' were conducted via Kieron Gillen RPing with the guest writers.
Plot-wise? Gods, am I ever confused. I might honestly end up re-reading the first four volumes because... after this one, I'm starting to suspect that one of the protagonists is very much the antagonist. And I'm anxious as hell about it....more
Ohhh, this struck a chord. I find myself increasingly fascinated with explorations of liminal spaces - the blurry borderlands where ordinary rules areOhhh, this struck a chord. I find myself increasingly fascinated with explorations of liminal spaces - the blurry borderlands where ordinary rules are, for whatever reason, suspended - and Trees is exactly that. On the surface it's a story about a strange alien presence and its impact on people around it, but the common theme is that the humans surrounding the Trees exist in a separate sort of world from the rest of the species. Things are permitted in the shadow of a Tree that are, for better or worse, forbidden in 'normal' society, and it's up to the individual to decide what to do with that liberty.
The sci fi story's interesting too. I love the idea of alien intelligence not even deigning to notice humanity, and the technological/biological fusion of the Trees as we've seen them so far. But mostly, I'm here for the people and the choices they make, both in reaction and in action. Definitely a series I want to keep following....more
Beta is a shining example of an idea that was clearly just not thought through enough.
Its basic concept is one with obvious appeal: clones allow for aBeta is a shining example of an idea that was clearly just not thought through enough.
Its basic concept is one with obvious appeal: clones allow for an interesting exploration of ideas of personhood, and making them property of the uber-rich brings issues of class into the mix. This premise could have been a fascinating and philosophical one, but… instead it gets dragged down, reflection on the nature of humanity drowned out by romantic subplot.
Perhaps most important, though, is Cohn’s choice to tell this story from the perspective of a blonde, white girl who (as we are constantly told) is conventionally attractive. This is not a choice made with ill intent, but at the same time: as an American reader, it was impossible for me not to see parallels to historic chattel slavery in this book, from the roles the clones play (some relegated to physical labor, some favored playthings of their masters) to the sexual exploitation they face, the way everyone around them insists they are by nature soulless, the fact that they’re denied relationships amongst themselves, and finally (view spoiler)[Elysia’s ‘brother’, Ivan, brutally raping her - an act that his mother had apparently been expecting the whole time - perhaps the reason she bought Elysia in the first place (hide spoiler)]. While much of this is an element of any kind of slavery, given the background of the United States, I found myself wondering why a story touching on things that actually happened to black women was told through the eyes of a white woman.
In general, I got the feeling that the book never quite wanted to engage deeply with the issues it raised. Teen drug use is a major component of the plot, but is hardly examined. The inhabitants of Demesne live in absurd, over-the-top luxury, but even as the audience is shown how this is built on the back of enslaved clones, we’re also treated to pages-long descriptions of Demesne’s fashion and fripperies, as if we are also supposed to admire or long for this life. Elysia is property, but she’s uniquely privileged and (generally) better-treated, until the climactic end of the book. Much of the violence and tension of the building rebellion happens off the page, far from her seemingly charmed life, while romantic entanglements and teen drama make up the focal point of the on-page time.
The romantic plot is riddled with a lot of the usual attitudes towards sex found in YA. We get some slut shaming (one of the secondary characters is called a slut, and then brushed off as boring because there’s ‘nothing mysterious about her’; later, Elysia wonders if the First from whom she was cloned was a slut, because - gasp! - she feels lust for two different guys), an actual physical relationship, and then what feels like hasty reassurance that though the characters involved have been giving each other orgasms, they haven’t done “the actual deed”. Because… it’s penis-in-vagina sex that’s the capstone of all intimacy, folks. Everything else isn’t as real, and apparently nothing else they did qualifies as actual sex? (not a good message to have directed at teens, who often don’t get nearly enough information on consent and STDs anyway.)
Anyhow. This book was published in 2012, which is way too recent for this kind of crap.
The book’s ending is… well, it’s a mess. There’s a lot revealed/explained/set in motion in the last three chapters or so, and all this information is delivered in a rush. Additionally, the level of violence escalates rapidly and shockingly, with long-term consequences which make it all so much worse. By the time I finished the book, I was thoroughly worn out and disgusted, and you could not pay me to read a sequel....more
It's a little weird for me to throw five-star ratings at something I read in volumes (that isn't Fullmetal Alchemist, at least) but this story... thisIt's a little weird for me to throw five-star ratings at something I read in volumes (that isn't Fullmetal Alchemist, at least) but this story... this has that spark, you know? Consider this a review for the first two volumes (eleven issues worth of content), as I read them pretty much back to back and can't really separate them enough for individual reviews.
First off, I should admit that WicDiv has some tropes I love. I've always enjoyed reading about mythology from different parts of the world and different eras, and I adore All Myths Are True and Gods Need Prayer Badly as worldbuilding mechanisms. When handled well - as they are here - they make for a fascinating, chaotic, magical mishmash of wonder and delight. (Whether WicDiv plays 'Gods Need Prayer Badly' straight is somewhat debatable; I'd argue that the Pantheon's shared addiction to performance qualifies.)
I think the thing I like most about this story, though, is how rooted in the modern world it is. It's set in 2014, and it feels believable, even though its central premise is reincarnated deities, because the writers have a clear and deft grasp on what modern youth culture is (can be) like. The celebrity obsession, combined with the creation of celebrities via viral Internet media; the technology, the desperation, the ridicule by older generations, the search for independence combined with continued dependence - and something else. I can't quite put my finger on how or why, but speaking as a Millennial: this spoke to me in a way most stories don't.
It's diverse in almost every way you could ask; it uses mythology in a new and interesting way; it raises interesting questions about how we seek wonder in the modern world. I'm definitely onboard to see where else this story goes....more
CONTENT WARNING: This book, and by necessity this review, contains discussions of rape.
I received this book from NetGalley in exchange for an honest rCONTENT WARNING: This book, and by necessity this review, contains discussions of rape.
I received this book from NetGalley in exchange for an honest review. No outside considerations went into this review. All quotes are taken from a galley copy of the book, and may differ from the final printed version.
It's been over a month since I finished this book, and I've been putting off writing a review for it because I just... don't know what to say. Partly this is because The Devourers deals with heavy, uncomfortable subjects, many of which I'm unsure how to approach in a review; partly it's because this book is such an incredible experience that I don't want to give too much of the game away in talking about it.
This is fundamentally a book about what it means to be monstrous. Monster-as-allegory is an old concept in fiction, but... I feel that its most common use has been to designate that which is other, in behavior and appearance. In a way, such metaphors export the worst aspects of humanity to non-humans, allowing a writer and their audience to engage philosophically with ideas but never asking them to accept that such monstrosity could be found in someone they know.
We see this in politics, as well, every time people try to attribute gun violence to mental illness despite the fact that mentally ill individuals are far more likely to be victims of violent crime. Perhaps it's human nature to want that separation - I can certainly understand why, in the event of something horrific, people would want to distance themselves from the perpetrators. But in a lot of ways - especially in fiction which purports to explore the darker side of human nature - I find it dishonest.
This is a book about monstrosity, both of strangely eldritch werewolves and of humanity. It... there's no way around this: it's a book about rape.
I don't want to disclose too much of the plot, but I think that does need to be mentioned first. One of the key events of the story, which happens early on, is one of those eldritch werewolves raping a human woman. It's told first from his perspective, and he attempts to justify it extensively. I expect that for some readers this will be a deal-breaker, and that's understandable. It is every reader's prerogative to avoid works that may be traumatic.
Truth be told, I considered not finishing the book at that point, but in the end I'm glad I chose to continue. Part of what motivated me to go on was the fact that earlier, in a frame narrative told in the voice of a different character, Das had shown an awareness of consent. Part was a suspicion - confirmed later - that the story would later be told from the woman, Cyrah's, perspective. I don't wish to spoil her story, and obviously reader viewpoints will differ, but I can say that I felt like Das handled her reaction and subsequent action deftly and respectfully, and that the question of what she wants for her life dominates the latter half of the book.
The frame narrative, too, validates Cyrah. This is significant - the structure of this book is such that the frame narrative characters are interpreting and responding to the framed stories, and this allows Das to offer new perspectives on them. "Am I supposed to be sad for the narrator here?" one asks, angry at the treatment of women in these stories. There is a sharp awareness, a meta-commentary, to this frame narrative, and it's put to excellent use.
Back to the metaphor of monstrosity. One of the most powerful lines in the book is this:
"He raped me." "I know," he said. "Like I said. Human."
It would have been so easy for Das to write as if rape were an act of inhuman monsters. Instead, one of those very same monsters attributes it to humanity. Das's werewolves are terrifying, bloodthirsty, vicious predators of our species - but they are predators, their actions animalistic, their rituals marked in blood and urine, and all of their violence is animal. Human violence is treated as something wholly different from what they do. It makes the story more uncomfortable, allowing for no pretense on the reader's part that such actions are separate from our own societies and history.
At the same time, though, this is a story about recovery and moving forward, and it's not wholly pessimistic towards humanity. I would love to be able to quote some of Cyrah's dialogue later in the book, but as I mentioned - I don't want to give anything away.
There are other elements that are significant in this. Race is one - the book takes place in India, past and present, and the majority of its characters are not white. The werewolf who rapes Cyrah is one notable exception, and the fact that he is a white European man attacking a brown Muslim woman is not ignored. Gender and sexuality also come into play, particularly at the end of the book. Appropriately for shapeshifters, nothing about the werewolves is set in stone beyond their personal choices - but they're not the only characters fluid of identity or presentation.
I think I struggled to write this review for so long, not just for the reasons I mentioned before, but also because it's fundamentally a book that asks for introspection from its readers. What does it mean to be the people we are? What, or who, made us that way? What values do we hold, and what choices have we made that may contradict those? It... left me pondering, with a deep sense of weightiness, and that's a hard thing to convey in a review. I'm still not sure I've done it justice. I hope I've encouraged someone to read this book, at least.
One last thing - Indra Das ends this book with a lovely Acknowledgements section, which I read through because... that's just how I roll. The last line of these acknowledgements had what I find to be one of the hallmarks of a thoughtful content creator: "I'm willing to listen and learn so I can do better next time."
Between that attitude and the incredible quality of this debut novel, Indra Das is definitely an author to watch....more
This is one of those tricky books where the nature of some of the content addressed leaves me feeling that I should rate it higher than my actual likiThis is one of those tricky books where the nature of some of the content addressed leaves me feeling that I should rate it higher than my actual liking of the book would dictate. There's a lot of weighty content in here that I hadn't expected: most notably, within the first few chapters the main character is the victim of brutal prison rape, which ends up coloring a lot of his life thereafter as he struggles to recover from something he can't even speak of. This plotline is handled with nuance and... I think it could be reasonably said that it's done with sensitivity and sympathy for Liam's struggles.
The narrative of the Irish Troubles and Liam's recovery takes the lead in this book, over the fey conflict the description promises. Since it's part of a duology, I don't think this is really a downside; it's clear by the end of the book that the focus will shift. Still, that description is deceptive, and certainly gives no idea of what the central drivers of the book actually are.
As an American, I don't know much at all about Irish history. Obviously this book isn't a nonfiction account of what the Troubles were like, but it is certainly a window onto the level of brutality and violence of that time. I suspect that someone more versed in the context might get more out of this book; I mostly got a desire to hide under a bed and never face humanity again. (As a lifelong atheist, the hatred some people have for other religions - including, in this case, a different sect of the same mainstream faith - is baffling and terrifying to me.) I'll admit that I came out of it with a desire not to learn more. The reading experience of this book was upsetting enough.
Despite the fact that the fey plotline promises to pick up in the second book, I'm not particularly interested in reading it. This book was brutal enough, and I went into it unknowing; I wouldn't choose to repeat the experience....more
After reading the titular novella of this book, I was sure it would be five stars all the way through... but, not surprisingly as this goes with the tAfter reading the titular novella of this book, I was sure it would be five stars all the way through... but, not surprisingly as this goes with the territory for short story collections, it was a variety of hits and misses. The first and last stories stand out: "Fire Watch" is a breathtakingly well-constructed narrative that withholds just the right amount of information, giving the reader glimpses at a future world through the protagonist's interactions with the past. Of all the stories in this book, this one had the best reveal and narrative tension. "Blued Moon" comes close, though it falls into humor more than drama. After those two, "Daisy, in the Sun" has the next strongest ending.
The rest are somewhat weak, which could just be me - I have a strong preference for longer-form stories in terms of narrative structure - or it could be that the seeds of explanation are planted too early (making the 'reveal' obvious) or too late (making it seem shoehorned). Though actually, reflecting, I think this is a case where one of Willis's biggest strengths is also a weakness. Her worldbuilding in these stories is fantastic, filled with offhanded little details that flesh everything out and make it feel more real - but this often ends up detracting from the emotional content of the story. "A Letter From The Clearys", for instance, was an emotional story related in a detached manner which robbed the ending of much punch. "Samaritan" gave information on the world's background, but seemed to lack crucial details about its present. "Lost and Found" felt like more of an exploration of concept than a real story; had it had fewer characters, it might have come off a little better.
That said, I'm definitely going to read more Willis. I picked this up as a manageable (compared to Doomsday Book, I mean) introduction to her work, and I'm thoroughly impressed despite my specific misgivings.
(necessary warning: the reason this gets shelved as 'trigger warning' is for the story "All My Darling Daughters". you can put the title + shelf together to guess why it goes there. It's a very, very unpleasant reading experience and I recommend skipping it if you're wavering.)...more
First things first: strong trigger warning for rape in this book.
I am of... mixed feelings. I picked this up at a library book sale because I remembeFirst things first: strong trigger warning for rape in this book.
I am of... mixed feelings. I picked this up at a library book sale because I remembered reading the first book, but by the time I got around to reading it this year I could barely remember its predecessor. I have, therefore, no idea how it compares or how many of its qualities are factors in both books.
I can discuss this one on its own, though. The question is: where to start?
I guess the best way to classify this book would be as a veiled satire. It's brash, sexual, violent, and widely different in cultural norms, language, and structure than most science fiction's projection of our species' future. The thing is, though, that Barnes uses those differences to make sharp points about societal structures we are familiar with. I don't think some of the extremes he took it to were necessary (related to the above TW: (view spoiler)[using Shyf's sexual exploits and disregard for consent to highlight the corruption of absolute power and lack of concern for other people's lives and agency (hide spoiler)]) but I was pleasantly surprised to see a book that started out as a wacky college drama turn out to be about unionization and workers' rights in a hypercapitalist society.
Barnes also does a surprisingly good job at writing genuine, unfettered affection in the friendships between male characters - and complicated friendships, to boot. Jak and Dujuv have a surprisingly close, intricate, and sometimes strained relationship, and it's portrayed with a lot of heart and sensitivity despite the light brush-off tone of the book.
I don't think I could say that I recommend this series to others, but I'm interested enough that I may track down the third book someday....more
I brought this book up over dinner with my parents and grandmother one night, when I was... maybe a third of the waWell, this was a pleasant surprise.
I brought this book up over dinner with my parents and grandmother one night, when I was... maybe a third of the way in, just past the geologic and ecological set-up chapters and starting to touch on the human story. Immediately, all of my family members started talking about having read it and seen the TV series, and about the connection they feel to it - both of my parents were raised in Colorado, and my grandmother's lived here for most of her life. What I thought would just be me chugging through an impressively long, if dry, novel turned out to be something of a Coloradan initiation ritual that I fell into ass-backwards.
And honestly? I'm really glad I did.
I don't know what this book is like for people who don't live in this state. Different, I assume - it's probably harder to have a strong sense of the place. The physical landscape shapes life in Colorado and always has, and without being familiar with that I imagine some of the aspects of Michener's narrative fall flat.
But more than that: there was an insidious feeling of being an interloper that grew and grew as I read further. I had kind of expected, before I knew what I was getting into, a positive attitude towards westward expansion; perhaps this would even be a strident justification of Manifest Destiny and the conquest of the American frontier. Instead, Michener meticulously chronicles (in his fictionalized context) the very real injustices perpetrated by white settlers against... well, pretty much anyone they didn't like, starting and ending with Native Americans. By the end, wherein one of the last dialogue exchanges highlights the miserable conditions of reservation life, I was left feeling distinctly uncomfortable with living in Colorado or... well, anywhere in North America. Which, weirdly enough, is good - it's proof that Michener belied my expectations and told a holistic story, instead of just presenting a narrative of white American triumph.
That's not to say that there aren't problems with this book, of course. As might be expected, female characters are limited and often seem to be present to sleep with men for either comfort or motivation, or to give birth to the next chapter's focal (male) character. Women, in reality, did help to build the west, but here they are helpmeets at best, flighty and lusted-after at worst.
Additionally, pacing is a problem - chapters are densely descriptive and long, sometimes over 100 pages, and in fact the first tenth of the book is entirely a recounting of geologic and evolutionary history, and not a succinct one. To his credit, Michener makes much of this information relevant later, but it's a rough start to the novel and I wouldn't blame anyone for giving up instead of slogging through it.
Centennial's biggest strength, though, is this: it taught me more about the human history of my state than anything else ever has. History classes in school are global (read: Western European and American) rather than local, and so though I studied Louis and Clark and the Oregon Trail as a kid, I never would have learned about, say, the importance of beet farming in bringing immigrants to Colorado, or just how long the legacy of seasonal migrant labor is here. (Immigration is often treated as a recent issue in the political arena, but the truth is that Colorado farmers have been propping up their agriculture with transient workers from Mexico for the better part of a century at the least.) While the names and locations are obviously inaccurate, the pattern of events is not, and after I read this I found myself recognizing issues and demographics discussed on the local radio news much, much better.
This book is not an easy read academically or psychologically, and I want to particularly warn for graphic depictions of genocidal violence against Native Americans. With that warning, I'd say that I recommend it, especially to Americans currently living (or raised in) the Mountain West. It's always good to know where you come from, and what that really means. If you're not from the region... it could still be worth a read, but you'll have a bit of a different experience. Either way, you'll probably learn something....more
Brief disclaimer: I do know White from Tumblr, and I'd call us friends - but that's no influence on my reaction to this book. In fact, I initially fouBrief disclaimer: I do know White from Tumblr, and I'd call us friends - but that's no influence on my reaction to this book. In fact, I initially found them via another novel-length writing project, so we wouldn't be friends at all if they couldn't write like hell.
This doesn't read like a self-published novel, or a debut novel, and especially not a self-published debut novel. That may be because White has already done a massive amount of writing - starting with 45000 words of Paris Burning and building into an entire fictional universe with a significant following. That they've got a lot under their belt is beyond a doubt.
But honestly? Having read Paris Burning, having read everything in the Cityverse, I was still not prepared for Hearth.
This is a book with depth to it, layers upon layers of worldbuilding and machinations and tiny, intriguing hints. The world(s) within it at first seem comprehensible - there's the real world and the dream world of Beltane - but nothing quite fits perfectly within that binary. The real world is strained by hints of a recent war - borders are closed, cities possibly destroyed, nationalist lines drawn. Beltane, too, is more than simply a quest location or a metaphor for Ivy's grief: it exists in its own ancient cycle, and there are clearly schemes afoot that few people understand. Layers upon layers: laid down like sediment, they give the story a sense of scope and age that make it powerfully compelling.
While I'm on the subject of settings, the atmosphere was simply unbelievable. The town of Hearth has about it an air of creeping horror and unreality. It's amazing how effective this indirect approach to building fear becomes, particularly as more information is revealed and less is understood. It didn't take me long to want all of the characters out, for their own safety, but at the same time I longed for more information...
It's deeply disconcerting to have a story like this get under your skin: it's literally a tale about losing oneself in a fantastical realm, and I found my mind drifting back to it much like Ivy's drifts back to Beltane. I'm reasonably sure there were no supernatural factors involved on my end, but in that case it's a pure testament to the strength of the narrative and the writing.
Ivy Fairholm, the lead character, is a knotted ball of memory and insecurity and grief. She begins struggling to deal with her mother's death and its mundane aftermath, but as Beltane becomes a part of her life she seems to lose her grasp on her identity, slipping further and further away from her ordinary life. As the Dreamer, she's at times naive and unsure but often courageous: she carries with her a certain amount of genre savvy which later turns into a sense of duty as she becomes her role in Beltane to a greater degree. She's also confused, out of her depth, and at times impatient and impetuous, but even at her most flawed she remains compelling both as a subject and as a heroine.
Her supporting cast are fabulously diverse, both within Beltane and without. Like Ivy, many of them are mirrored across the paired settings, giving the reader a view not just into how they behave but into how Ivy perceives them. Many of them have barely begun to be explored, and after the explosive climax of this book, a lot of their positions have changed - I can't wait to see what more we learn about them.
One of the aspects of Beltane's setting which was fabulously well-employed was the idea of titles: every resident has no name, simply that of the role they occupy. As we see Ivy's identity and sense of her 'real' self swallowed more and more by her role as the Dreamer, the implications become clearer - that Beltane limits the self for everyone in it, and in order to exercise true freedom of will and make independent choices one must actively re-define that identity.
I'm still not quite sure what to make of the ending. It was certainly explosive, with a series of reveals and semi-reveals that changed my perception of the narrative. It also ended on a cliffhanger, so I finished the book with far more questions than I had anticipated. I can't quite say that I wished I'd waited until the sequel was finished to read this, though, because it really was a fantastic experience.
The one critique I have to offer is this: the book could have used another close-read copy-editing pass, because it had quite a few run-on sentences that I found distracting. However, in the grand scheme of things, I've seen worse in professionally published work.
I leave you with a quote I particularly liked, from a scene where Ivy first sees the squalor some of Beltane's residents live in:
"It's exactly what the Queen wants you to feel. If you're disgusted by those beneath you, you're less likely to want to help them, even if it was those like you who put them in that position in the first place."
...no wait. One last thing, but spoilery. (view spoiler)[There's a scene in Ivy's final fight with the queen that just broke my heart -
"All you do is ruin everything and hurt people so why don't you just die." ... "We may be the same," the Queen hissed, desperate. "But I doubt that was me you were talking to." Ivy smiled a little. "Yeah," she said quietly.
This is something it's hard to talk about without revealing the Queen's identity, hence spoilers, but the way that the conflict with her manifested Ivy's own self-hatred and the way she blames herself for her mother's death was really stunningly done. I was, for a time, expecting her mother to be the Queen, even though it made little narrative sense, but this is so much better. One of the things that intrigues me most about where Ivy's character could go in the second book is that she's now gotten a look - a real, physical look - at some of the darkest and most vicious sides of her psyche, and she's confronted and acknowledged it. Then she ends the book on another deep loss, and I find myself wondering where she'll go from here: will she make the Queen's rage her own and seek pure revenge? Or will she, now more aware of her own mind than ever, find another way? (hide spoiler)] ...more
TW for this review: long discussion of rape and consent.
Edit: No, one more thing. WHERE ARE THE CONTRACEPTIVES. WHERE.
Edit x2: Is it bothering anyone TW for this review: long discussion of rape and consent.
Edit: No, one more thing. WHERE ARE THE CONTRACEPTIVES. WHERE.
Edit x2: Is it bothering anyone else that Phedre's name is apparently pronounced close to 'FAY-dra', but the accent on the first e is an accent grave? as opposed to an accent aigu, which would actually produce that hard 'a' sound in French? Because it's bothering me. If you're gonna do expy!France, don't fuck up the language. What's written there is closer to 'Fedruh'. Edit x3: I stand corrected.
I first encountered this book when I was much younger and just getting into Orson Scott Card's work - they're shelved next to each other in most bookstores and libraries, and after a while I got curious about the huge books with the rather prominently placed half-naked women on them. Reading the dust jackets, I concluded a few things: 1. that these were Sex Books; 2. that the main character would get raped, probably repeatedly; and 3. that they were not for me.
I was, as it turns out, correct on all counts.
A friend of mine convinced me to give them a shot this year, insisting that the political intrigue was fascinating and the sex wasn't that bad, really. I don't like gainsaying my friends, especially in an area where they objectively have more knowledge than I do, so I agreed, tracked down an ebook, and slogged through it. I came out the other side with... well, I guess I can argue back if anyone tries to convince me to read them again.
There were two major disappointments for me in this book: court intrigue and consent. Consent is, obviously, the more important one, so let's talk about that first.
One of the interesting things about this book is that it's written as if Phedre is looking back on the events of her life - there's a lot of "if only I had known then" which, believe you me, gets annoying. What this means, though, is that there's no room for character development to change perspective. The perspective of the narrator is that of adult Phedre and is cast as knowledgeable, omniscient as a result of hindsight. I mention this because, were this not the case, some of Carey's choices could be explained by Phedre's lack of knowledge or self-reflection in earlier stages of her life - but that's not an option.
Maybe it's an asexual thing, to be hyper-tuned to situations of dubious consent and grooming? I definitely seem to be in the minority both here and with regards to Deathless; I can only guess that, because compulsory sexuality is so inherently threatening to me, it stands out more than it does for allo people? The Night Court runs on child grooming. They raise kids from infancy in a situation where sex work is normalized, start teaching them about it sometimes as young as six, and initiate them at 13. (not that they weren't sexual objects before then - a 10 year-old boy is once told that "They'll be marking their calendars until you come of age".) Now, here's the thing: I don't believe there's anything wrong with choosing sex work freely. However, the Night Court and its influence are coercive - we see this in Alcuin, who nearly gets himself killed trying to make his marque and get out of his contract, and earlier in a comment a Valerian House adept makes regarding the use of flechettes as a sex toy: "He gave an involuntary tremor beside me and his voice changed. 'I hate them.'" Both of these characters have clearly been put into sexual situations in which they weren't comfortable, and continued to participate as 'Servants of Naamah' nonetheless. That's coercion, not consent. And then there's Phedre, who gets pleasure in pain, and so whose contracts always include a safeword. Which she then never uses, even when a client burns her skin with a poker. The thing about this is - yes, technically speaking, it's possible for someone to have a safeword and never encounter a situation that crosses their boundaries. But that doesn't work here. This whole situation is constructed; Carey chose to give Phedre a safeword but never to show her using it. This means we never see her exercising control over her assignations, nor do we get a demonstration that the nobles of Terre d'Ange would actually respect her choice to end a scene/encounter. The safeword, unused (view spoiler)[except for when Melisande orders her to use it (hide spoiler)], has no power. Finally: the handling of rape in this book. As I said, I anticipated it and rightly so, but what I didn't anticipate was Carey's choice to draw a division between kinds of rape. Minor spoilers: Terrible things happen and Phedre gets drugged by the series antagonist and sent to be a slave to the not!Germans over the border. Before she's sent away, though, the antagonist rapes her. Well. I say 'rape', because she was drugged and bound and never asked for consent, and because the sex was literally used as a coercive attempt to get information from her. What Phedre - and thereby Carey - says is this:
What she did to me that last night... she would have ended it, if I'd given the signale. I do believe that. It was my choice to withhold it.
So, when someone feels they can't safeword out of a situation because of other pressures, that somehow becomes consensual? Since when is rape defined more by whether the attacker will stop if the victim gives them what they want, rather than by the fact that they started against someone's will in the first place? This is made worse by the way that Phedre's hindsight is used to emphasize it: "It was my choice". 'Choice' it might nominally be, but consent can't be freely given when the choice is weighted with the lives of people you love and the stability of an entire kingdom. 'Submit to assault or betray your friends and family' isn't a balanced decision at all.
The entire setting is built on the idea of "Love as thou wilt" being the guiding precept of the land, and while I sort of see where Carey was going with that idea, it just wasn't carefully considered enough. (For a smaller example, as other reviewers have pointed out, 'whore' is still an insult in this culture even though one of their minor deities was literally a prostitute by trade.) If compulsory sexuality is a problem in the real world, it's even more so here, where everyone is expected to be just merrily fucking their way along. (Well - at least, the people we see most of are. Which are the nobles and wealthy merchants. Does 'love as thou wilt' extend to the peasantry? Does Carey care? We may never know.)
Right. So. Consent: F-. Abject failure.
On to the thing that persuaded me to read this book: the promise of court intrigue!
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I finally put my finger on why this book's 'intrigue' didn't work for me, and it's this: there's only ever one thing in play. Everyone wants the throne. Right. I get it. But because the major players all have one sole interest, they rarely interact in complicated ways - they're all just rivals for a single thing. Nobody is, say, out to get a better trade agreement with so-and-so, but will trade a favor for a favor even though they don't care about the rest. The 'machinations' at work here are ehh... I'd say maybe four steps at most? This is partly because none of them are playing within the system (if there is a system - we got very little info on the actual political structure of TdA) and they're all just gathering up armies to smash it from outside, but it just had no spark. The intrigue was, well, unintriguing. There's little more to say about it because it was just so damn shallow and dull.
I'm still a bit iffy on giving this book two stars, but for the moment that rating stands. The reason for the second: the last quarter or so was pretty much straight up epic fantasy fare (clashing armies, desperate alliances) and that, despite everything else, was pretty enjoyable. Not that there weren't issues involved in those parts - see 'Phedre has hardly any close relationships that don't involve sleeping together' and 'sex is the solution to every problem' - but the pace picked up. So, extra star for that.
Oh god, and before I end this review: the writing and the constant insistence that Terre d'Ange is the greatest thing that's ever existed, and all D'Angelines are supernaturally beautiful and no one else will ever be as pretty as them and blah blah fucking blah. Ugh. Infuriating. By the end of the book I about wanted TdA to get razed to the ground by invaders - though I suppose then all the characters would just wax poetic about its lost beauty. You can't win against this arrogance....more
I read this as the first textbook for an anthropology class on Asian cultures, and I am... conflicted about it. On the one hand, Katherine Boo craftedI read this as the first textbook for an anthropology class on Asian cultures, and I am... conflicted about it. On the one hand, Katherine Boo crafted an engaging and readable narrative, and I certainly had an easier time getting through it than our second text, Born Out of Place: Migrant Mothers and the Politics of International Labor. On the other, the things that make Nicole Constable's work dense are also what makes it more scholarly. Unlike Boo, Constable shows the reader clearly where she exists in the narratives she presents, exposing potential biases to her readers like any good scholar should. Where Constable discusses extensively how she met all of her research subjects, this information is missing in Boo's book, which makes it difficult to extrapolate the situation she projects to other cases.
As for the actual content... I don't really know what there is to be said. It's probably much as you expect: stories of grinding cyclical poverty, government corruption, neighborly hatred, and death. Not a cheerful read, certainly, and not one I would have undertaken without the requirements of a class....more
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