Cibola Burn - James S.A. Corey

I approached this new book in my favorite space-opera series with a mix of excitement and apprehension: no need to explain the former, of course, but the latter came from the fear that after a compelling trilogy the authors might somehow slacken their pace. So it's with extreme satisfaction that I can now say that Cibola Burn maintains the same level of excellence of its predecessors and even manages to surpass them - not a mean feat, indeed.

The narrative thread of the alien protomolecule, that was the principal device in the first three books in the series, now takes second place in favor of a more human focus: after opening a gate near Uranus, one that led toward uncountable habitable worlds, the alien construct almost fades in the background of humanity's expansionist struggle.  A ship of refugees from Ganymede lands on Earth-like Ilus, establishing a colony and starting mining operations on the planet's rich lithium deposits. The major corporations also send a scientific mission that is in truth the attempt at a foothold on the new world, provoking the colonists' dramatic reaction. The UN and OPA (Outer Planets Alliance) decide to send Holden and the Rocinante's crew as mediators before the situation escalates beyond control. The problem is, the planet itself also becomes a player, and soon enough all hell breaks loose.

In the first trilogy the social and political tension between older and more established power bases and the colonies of the Asteroid did play a major role, with the almost-racial slur attached to being a Belter - different in body, thinner and elongated due to life in microgravity; and different in language, an almost incomprehensible dialect concocted from many Earth dialects - creating new kinds of chasm among humans.

Here that tension comes to the fore in a most dramatic way.  When the RCE (Royal Charter Energy) mission lands on Ilus, the confrontation between them and the Belter colonists goes beyond the struggle for the rights to exploit the planet's resources and turns into a racial war: so far from civilized space, where there are no laws and no one to enforce them, only the strongest, most determined and - of course - more ruthless can hold sway.   One of the more chilling segments of the book is the one where the RCE ship's technicians start training in a sort of militia that keeps ready in case of insurrection from the despised Belter members of the crew.  The "us and them" mentality, the growing suspicions, the plans for wanton destruction as a means to annihilate the "enemy",  all add to an already explosive mix.

This power keg he's been sent to defuse acts on Holden's behavior in an unexpected and interesting way: until now, we've seen him as a man with a strong moral compass and willing to go out of his way to do what he perceives as right. Yet the situation on Ilus is all but clean-cut, and the need to deal with many shades of gray and conflicting sympathies tests Holden's mettle in more ways than one.  I must admit that this new uncertainty made him a more sympathetic character in my eyes: the larger-than-life aura that past events created around him, somehow obscured the real nature of the man. Here, tested by warring loyalties, the drives of his conscience and several life-threatening circumstances, the real person comes through more clearly, and he becomes far more likable than he appeared in the past.

On the other hand, Murtry - his main opponent and RCE's chief of security, is the kind of villain everyone loves to hate: a man with a single focus, one who doesn't care about collateral damage as long as the job gets done. I enjoyed this part of his character and the way he didn't change even when the situation on Ilus hit him as hard as anyone else – to do otherwise would have represented a betrayal of his psychological makeup, IMHO, so I appreciated this choice. What I didn't like were the shades of mustache-twirling that appeared now and then: for me they detracted from the general effect, even though they were not enough to ruin a well-thought-out personality.

Speaking of characters, the whole crew of the Rocinante is put through the grinder here, not just Holden: this small, tightly-knit group has always been the main driving force of the story, so it's interesting to see them separated by the circumstances, having to rely on other people and therefore tested as individuals rather than the family they have grown into. It's not just a fascinating look at their personalities, it's also a great narrative choice that keeps raising already hight stakes.  Yes, because the authors here spared no punches: there were several instances where I literally cried out in dismay at the new dangers the characters were forced to face.  The main strength of the novel, and its main page-turning impulse, come exactly from this terrifying escalation that plays out as entirely believable - both in storytelling and in pacing - and leads you to the conclusion through a breathless chain of events.

And last but not least, the final chapter opens a totally new scenario, one that made me understand that this book - good as it was - was just laying the ground for more, much more.  On one side I was happy to see again Bobbie Draper and Crisjen Avarasala, two of my favorite characters from previous novels, on the other, the conversation between them and Avarasala's words about the real motivation for sending Holden to Ilus changed the rules of the game in a major way. What awaits the readers in the next installments is an unexpected scenario that promises more trouble than whatever the protomolecule might have generated.

If you have not approached The Expanse until now, I urge you to do that: it's rare to find a series that manages to reinvent itself with each new book, and rarer still to find one that knows how to keep storytelling fresh and engrossing. Here you will find all this, and more.


My Rating: 9/10

In a Right State - Ben Ellis

I received this book from the author in exchange for an honest review.

In A Right State is a peculiar book, far from easy to review.  In a nutshell, it's a dystopian twist on a future Great Britain, one where corporations rule the country and everything is focused on business and profit.  The story opens, quite intriguingly, on one of the main characters, Duncan, as he follows with some trepidation the auction of his deceased wife's body parts: in a time when the wasteful past (our present) has been replaced by a heightened consciousness of our resources, CO2 emissions have been eliminated and solar power rules, the environmental cost of a burial or a cremation is unthinkable, hence the auctioning off of a body for research purposes. Waste not, want not.

The problem is, Duncan has a little secret that close examination of his wife's body will reveal: he grows real, organic vegetables in a plot under his home – and that makes him an outlaw, because only OGM food is the accepted norm, or rather the law. So he destroys the underground garden and runs away with a few bags of precious seeds, with the corporate police hot on his heels. 

Amy, on the other hand, is the dutiful employee of a major corporation – she might not be happy about her non-existent career prospects, but she keeps being the good drone she's been taught to be, until the day her innocent workplace association with deceased Nicole – Duncan's wife – puts her under suspicion, and she decides to burn all bridges behind her, taking Duncan along in a mad flight that will put them in contact with the mysterious Colonel, a man who seems hell-bent on undermining the system. A sort of Renaissance man in a culture that has forgotten literature, music, stage plays and movies, because the only "creative" writing is whatever goes into product promotion.  But maybe even the Colonel not as good, or as selfless as he seems...

Intriguing? Yes. The premise, starting with that weird, so very weird scene about the auction, is a sound one and some details are even chillingly realistic: take for example the constant commercial ads (the only form of entertainment in this future society), the violation of privacy that allows those ads to be played at any time in your house or while you're taking a walk, whether you want it or not – these phenomena are something that we can observe right now, although on a far smaller scale. Have you ever been tormented by constant calls from phone companies offering you great opportunities for voice and internet access, or pestered by sellers of other products? So you know what I mean...

Yet this very interesting premise at some point became lost, for me, in the uncertain mood of the story, that alternates between seriousness and tongue-in-cheek fun, in a sort of Hellzapoppin-like sequence of sketches that made me often wonder if there was a definite sense of direction. There are also long stretches of exposition (the chapter where the Colonel is introduced is one of the clearest examples), and more often than not we are told about the characters' feelings and reactions, but almost never shown. I've often wondered if this story wanted to be a sarcastic cautionary tale about the dangers in the path our society is taking, or if we were meant to be worried and take it as a dire warning.  The first few chapters of the book also suffer from some instances of mixed tenses, adding to the general bafflement I mentioned above and that is compounded by narrative contradictions that quite bothered me: for example, if there is such a constant control on citizen activity (satellites, DNA scans and other means that would make the NSA guys envious), how could Duncan build the complicated underground garden and its equally complicated camouflage mechanism?

Despite the danger, despite the number of people pursuing our "heroes" with a vast array of technological gadgets, they rarely seem to take their plight seriously, finding the time for some well-delivered prank and witty repartee.  This would seem to point toward a lighter-toned narrative, but the bloody horror and anguish of the end of the book turn this notion on its head, only to offer again a brief glimmer of sincere hope with the last sentence...

I'm confused. Or probably unable to see the point because of some inherent lack of perspective.

Not a bad book in itself, on the contrary it was a quick, interesting read, but despite that I could not… pin it down, for want of a better word.


My Rating: 6,5/10


GOODREADS review

AMAZON review

The Girl With All the Gifts - M. R. Carey

Horror is indeed a delicate medium to work with: the slightest misstep in storytelling can tip the balance either into unadulterated blood-and-gore or into grotesque mockery. This is not the case, not by a long shot, and I'm in awe of M.R. Carey's ability to spin such a deep tale of love and discovery out of a quite horrifying premise.

Melanie is a ten year old, very gifted girl whose admiration for her favorite teacher Ms. Justineau knows no bounds: the woman has enthralled Melanie with ancient myths and stories of the outside world the little girl has never seen. Yes, because Melanie and her classmates live in an underground complex, kept in cells when school is not on, and brought to class securely bound in wheelchairs...   It does not take the reader long to perceive the truth about the situation: the world has fallen prey to an epidemic that turns people into zombies, and the children of Melanie's class are test subjects in the search for a cure, because although infected, they are still capable of thought, reasoning, learning.  When all hell breaks loose, this special child will embark on a "hero's journey" that will require from her a very difficult balance between mindless instincts, willpower and the deep love she feels for her teacher.

I don't dare reveal more about this story, because it would be a huge disservice to any potential readers: even though tropes like massive pandemics, the zombie apocalypse and the crossing of a survivor group through devastated lands have been often employed, M.R. Carey managed to weave them into new shapes while creating an engrossing tale that is both a coming-of-age story and an exploration of the human soul. 

The focus is of course on Melanie - the girl with all the gifts, or Pandora, a name with several layers of meaning here - but the story is also told through different points of view, keeping it both lively and multi-faceted: besides the main protagonist there are Ms. Justineau, teacher and mother figure whose strong feelings for Melanie trespass the boundaries of her assigned task and have their roots into a past tragedy; Sergeant Parks, hardened and cynical soldier who sees Melanie only as a "hungry" (the book's name for the zombies) and not a child; Dr. Caldwell, single-minded scientist in search of a cure at any cost; Private Gallagher, born after the Collapse, a mixture of violated innocence and hero worship for Parks.  These brief descriptions might sound like well-known and well-used character traits, but in the course of the book they are often turned into unexpected directions, and can reserve a few surprises, because the author is quite skilled in delivering sudden twists and turns to his narrative.  One such example is the origin of the infection, the crossing of the species boundaries by a kind of fungus, Ophiocordyceps, that usually attacks ants, taking hold of their nervous system so that the ants are literally compelled to move away from their grounds until they reach a more suitable location for the fungus, that then proceeds to grow from the doomed ant's body.  One of the most horrifying sections of the book is the description of the next level of fungal propagation from the hapless hosts to the larger environment, an image that will certainly haunt my imagination for a long time.

Young Melanie, the protagonist, is indeed an innocent in more ways than one: all she knows of the outside world comes from books and the reader understands soon enough that her ignorance of the real state of things settles a further layer of innocence around her - and yet there is a core of maturity to this child that takes hold of her actions, once she and the others are forced to leave the dubious security of the army base, and ultimately brings her into a leading role of sorts.  The world outside belongs to the infected, and Melanie finds herself in the unique position of being a go-between or a last line of defense for the handful of surviving adults: the calm, accepting way in which she deals with her nature, and what's more important the maturity with which she finds a middle ground between nature and nurture, make her a compelling character, one that stands out in sharp detail. 

For this very reason I was able to accept the unexpected ending, one that feels both terrifying and right: like the titular Pandora, Melanie does ultimately open the mythical vase and unleash its contents, but at the same time the book's ending brings a glimmer of hope for the future. A very changed future, granted, but one that promises to be peopled by much more than mindless, fungus-driven specters.

A brilliant, powerful ending for a book that will remain with me for a long time - one that I can't recommend enough, even if your reading tastes are far from this genre: I promise that it will surprise you in many ways, and touch you deeply.


My Rating: 8/10

The Lions of Al-Rassan - Guy Gavriel Kay

My (admittedly limited) experience with G.G. Kay's writing has led me to believe that there's only a 50:50 chance I might like one of his books: I enjoyed Tigana, but when I briefly attempted to read the first volume of the Fionavar Tapestry I found it impossible to accept its premises or to get a real feel for the characters.  (On this point I have to say that a long e-mail discussion with my friend Susan brought me to reconsider and give Fionavar a second chance, because I thought that if a book can elicit such an eloquent and passionate defense from a person whose judgment I trust, I can't turn a blind eye on it).  But I'm digressing…

The Lions of Al-Rassan is, on the other hand, a beautiful story, one that held my attention from start to finish, even though it's not immune from some shortcomings - so I guess that the 50:50 rule does indeed apply.

Characters represent the strong foundation of this novel, fashioned after the era when modern-day Spain was a territory shared by Christians and Muslims and also held a flourishing, if constantly endangered, Jewish community. Here these different cultures are represented respectively by Jaddites, Asharites and Kindath, and embodied by Rodrigo Belmonte (a fearless soldier who is almost a legend of the land), Ammar ibn Khairan (poet, warrior and scholar, all rolled into one) and Jehane bet Ishak (dedicated doctor and strong-willed woman of startling modernity). The dynamics behind these characters, the events that shape their story, the complex bonds of love, friendship and loyalty that tie them together as much as drive them apart in a sort of shifting dance, all contribute to make this book the fascinating read that it is: following them as they deal with the unfolding drama of a divided land, trying and failing to find an acceptable balance, is a constant discovery, helped along by G.G. Kay's rich and elegant narrative. These main characters come across as real, breathing people, and it did not take long for me to grow attached to them, and care for their well-being, as well as that of a few equally unforgettable secondary players, like young Alvar, who is enrolled in Belmonte's company dreaming of war and glory and soon discovers the darker side of a soldier's life; or merchant Husari, who is both shrewd and humorous; or again Miranda, Belmonte's wife, an iron lady whose appearances were much too limited and distanced for my tastes.  Just to name a few, of course.

The throes of a country struggling to find a new shape and a different balance represent the other fascinating magnet of the novel: for a long time Asharites and Jaddites have vied for supremacy with one another, while battling among themselves for power, in a constantly shifting political landscape in which the third party, the Kindath, are trying to survive, always on the lookout for a change in the wind, always dealing with the certainty of the next blow that will fall from above. This side of the story is incredibly modern: to this very day, our world still struggles under the weight of conflicting beliefs - be they political or religious - and there are always those who suffer because they are crushed between rocks and hard places that are too big to avoid. In this the book manages very well to elude the pedantic quicksand of allegory, and presents the reader with a subtle commentary on the human condition, and how certain drives shape our actions and their consequences - it makes you stop and think.

But... There is indeed a "but", because some of G.G. Kay's choices in telling this story ruined the overall effect for me.

For example, there are several instances in which he leads the reader to believe that a certain character has been killed: for a good number of pages we observe the scene unfolding under our eyes and the offered clues point to a particular person, only to arrive at the final denouement and discover that it was someone else. The first time that happened I was torn between shock for the unexpected revelation and irritation at having been led astray for so long: somehow it lessened the impact of the actual loss - a character I liked very much, by the way - because I was too busy being annoyed at the deception.  When it happened again I was angry: in my opinion, an author should not make excessive use of such devices - fool me once, ok; fool me twice... I lose all faith in you.  And that's not the end of it, because G.G. Kay did it once more toward the end of the book, in what should have been the epic encounter that symbolizes the clash of two worlds. But at that point, even the most distracted reader would have been alert and suspicious as I was, not to mention offended by the cheap trick.

To make matters worse, too many events are presented in the form of a teaser (for want of a better word), where a few sibylline words create a cliffhanger, then the story traces back to return - often at a leisurely pace - at the focal point and the resolution of the story-thread: again, it is a valid narrative tool, no argument about that, but it should not be abused in the way it was in this novel.  And last but not least, the epilogue feels somewhat pedantic, with a great deal of explanation and back-story I really had no need for - and let's not forget a few parting "surprise" revelations, just for the sheer fun of it...

For these reasons I can't give this book the rating that story and characters should deserve: this could have been a 8/10  or a 9/10 book, but even the finest meal would lose some of its flavor if it was served on a chipped plate, would it not?


My Rating: 7/10

Sparrow Hill Road - Seanan McGuire

With this book, Seanan McGuire managed to surprise me once again: her main character, Rose Marshall, appeared as a "guest star" in the short story The Ghosts of Bourbon Street, and because of the tone of that story and its loose link with the Incryptid series, I thought this novel would be in the same light, half-serious, half-humorous tone. But I was wrong.

Sparrow Hill Road is a ghost story, one that carries all of the sadness and poignancy of those who dwell in the twilight and long for life: it does so in a touching, often lyrical way that touched me quite deeply with the melancholic beauty of the words I was reading. McGuire outdid herself here, both as a story-teller and as a writer, reaching out of the pages to affect both my imagination and my heart.

Rose Marshall died in a car accident when she was sixteen years old, headed to her prom night: driven off the road by Bobby Cross - who had signed a sort of devil pact, to keep his youth and good looks, in exchange for human sacrifices - Rose discovered that the afterlife was not what she had imagined. For over sixty years she's been a ghostly hitchhiker, accepting rides from travelers to try and steer them from certain death or, when that's inevitable, to speed them on their way over the twilight roads.

The story presents some fascinating details about Rose's existence (strange as the term might appear): she's incorporeal, as any ghost should be, but the gift of an item of clothing - a jacket, a coat - freely given to her, can lend her substance and make her feel alive again. She is able to consume food, but that has to be given as a gift as well, or it will have no taste. These drawbacks, shared with the reader in half-humorous, half-sad narrative, coexist with a background of longing for life, warmth, human closeness, and define her character in a poignant way that nevertheless does not slide into self-pity or useless regrets. Matter-of-fact acceptance, tinged with both sadness and irony, is what makes Rose the person (or ghost) that she is, one gifted with a clear, strong voice that immediately endeared her to me: McGuire struck a perfect balance here between her teenager appearance and her world-wise (and sometimes world-weary) attitude, giving her a three-dimensional and realistic depth.

Following Rose through her peregrinations we discover that there is no safety even in death: the world of the departed is fraught with dangers just as much as that of the living, and it obeys its own set of rules. What's interesting - or rather fascinating - is the way both worlds intersect and how many people, living people, are able to perceive the twilight world and interact with it.  Along with a wide range of incorporeal entities - some good, some evil, some in-between - we meet route-witches, a gypsy-like community of travelers whose strength comes from the long miles accumulated during their peregrinations, or bean-sidhe like the mysterious Emma, neither alive nor dead but gifted with unusual powers.

Here McGuire has taken many of he traditional ghost myths and woven them into a new and special form of folklore, one that is structured around an organic set of rules and traditions and blends with the living world's beliefs (both right and wrong ones) in a fascinating way. The strongest theme is that of travel, one of the deep-seated tropes of American narrative, of the road as another character in the story: there are almost-sentient roads here, some good, some bad, and like in the old myth of the unexplored frontier, there are places of safety and rest - the ever-present truck stops and diners.
Often placed on the border between the two planes of existence, these places are both ports for weary travelers of both kinds and nodes where everything is possible, or destinies hang in the balance.  One of the descriptions that stuck in my mind for its lyrical quality was indeed related to one such diner and its lighted beacon:

"the rainbow gleam of neon struggling to paint the night in something more than darkness"

The book itself is more a collection of stories, or sketches, tied together by the common thread represented by Rose and weaving from past to present in a seamless and gripping way. There are fear and terror, wonder, longing and sadness and humor as well. There is also a deeply touching goodbye, in the last section, that brought me to tears - and that's something that does not happen often to me.

This is Seanan McGuire at her best - and getting better, no matter what kind of story she chooses to tell…




My Rating: 8,5/10

Soulless - Gail Carriger

What a delightful, funny find!

Before I read this book, my few encounters with steampunk had not been very successful, and I was convinced that this genre was not for me: well, Gail Carriger's Soulless (the first in the Parasol Protectorate series) changed my mind from the very beginning of Chapter One.   After all, how could I resist a heroine who, seeing herself repeatedly assaulted by a hungry vampire, was shocked not so much by the attack as by the fact that “We have not even been introduced!”?

But let's proceed with order: Alexia Tarabotti lives in Victorian England - a country where vampires, werewolves and even ghosts are accepted as part of the society, as long as they conform to a series of rules dictated by BUR, the Bureau of Unnatural Registry. Part of the fun I derived from this book came from the descriptions of this strictly regimented community, with its vampire hives and werewolf packs, and regulations governing even the roves - unaffiliated vampires or werewolves. The humans observe this parallel world and its peculiar ways with the same amused curiosity we would reserve for actors, or sports stars, just to name some examples: the supernaturals are so well integrated that their differences are accepted as fascinating quirks, and are of course the subject of dinner-party gossip, but never of open fear or rejection.

Ms. Tarabotti, however, has several problems fitting into society: she's a spinster in her mid-twenties, she likes to speak her mind in no uncertain terms, her deceased father was Italian - thus bestowing on her a very unfashionable coloring and full figure - and what's worse she's a preternatural. In other words, she possesses no soul, so that contact with her can remove the supernatural qualities of other creatures: werewolves turn back into human form, vampires lose their canines, and so on.

In a world where it's been discovered that an abundance of soul is the deciding factor for surviving the change from normal human to supernatural creature, a person like Alexia is the object of both distrust and curiosity from the non-humans, thus adding to her isolation. She bears that well enough though, having created for herself a circle of friendships that include two of the best supporting characters in the book: Lord Akeldama, an old vampire quite fond of young and good-looking male minions, and Ivy, totally human but too fond of truly terrible hats. 

This balance is broken on the night of the vampire assault, because Alexia is forced to kill him in self-defense: this brings her into contact with BUR and its chief, the Alpha werewolf Lord Maccon who, despite his protestations and the heated verbal exchanges between the two of them, is quite attracted to this unusual woman.  The ensuing adventure, involving a dastardly scheme against the supernaturals, is tied to the inevitably developing love story between the two of them: I can say this without fear of spoiling any prospective readers, because the outcome is clear from their first encounter - what really matters here, what makes this book an entertaining, delightful read, is the way it's all handled.  With spirited humor and many unconventional narrative choices.

Alexia possesses all the characteristics of the typical genre heroine: she's attractive, but in such an unconventional way that she's convinced of the contrary; she's strong and outspoken, curious and stubborn, and she's not afraid to stomp in where angels (or vampires) fear to tread. Add to the mix a stern mother, absent stepfather and two vapidly unpleasant step-sisters, and the book would resemble too much a Cinderella-like scenario, or walk down a too-often beaten path. But Ms. Carriger's writing and wickedly peculiar sense of humor elevate Alexia, and her story, far above the usual and predictable fare, regaling her readers with scenes that run from funny to saucy while mystery and romance compete for the limelight in the foreground.

If you want a book that's both amusing and exciting, this will no doubt be the perfect choice.

My Rating: 7,5/10

The Lady Astronomer - Katy O'Dowd

I received this book from the author, in exchange for an honest review.

Lucretia shares her time between hat making and star gazing, living with her equally inventive and talented brothers. When they are tasked with the building of a huge telescope by none other than the king, Lucretia finds herself spirited away at the royal court, where intrigue and danger await her…

It's a delightful story that stands on the dividing line between YA and something younger children would love very much: not my cup of tea - not by a long way - but I must say up front that the feather-like hand with which the story is written, and the amused smile that peeks out of the lines will not fail to reach the book's younger audience and at the same time captivate the soul of any adult reading it to them, because both elements will speak clearly to the child still lurking inside.  

My own "inner child" seems to have gone AWOL some time ago, unfortunately, so I could not appreciate the story as it deserved: nonetheless I believe I can recommend it for its intended audience, because it will deliver all of its promises.

The tone and narrative voice, coupled with the presence of sentient animals and interacting mechanical toys, give The Lady Astronomer the distinct flavor of a bedtime story, one that's full of wonders like mechanical pigs, suits of armor that act as royal butlers and a set of working dwarves that offer a more than passing wink to the Snow White legend.

Unfortunately, the same reasons that make this book a perfect fairytale are the same ones that prevented me from fully enjoying it: first, it's more like a series of sketches than an organically developed story, and characters are pictured through dialogue rather than examined in depth - and it's often a dialogue carried in breathless, overlapping sentences, that leave little room to delve to a satisfactory depth into characters, and what makes them tick, so that it was quite difficult for me to form a connection with them as a reader.

And then there was my major nitpick, i.e. the author's choice of using a surname's initial when mentioning a person: it felt just quirky at first, but then the excessive use of it skirted the middle ground between bothersome and annoying. I understand it might have been the norm for that time period, but to my ears it sounded contrived - and a bit too much.  

Nonetheless, the story is pleasant and - of course - in the end good triumphs and the evil-doers get their rightful punishment, so if you are looking for a story to read to your kids, one that will leave them with a good feeling, this will be the right choice.

My Rating: 6,5/10

The Desert Spear - Peter Brett

Unexpected. That's the first definition that comes to mind about this book, the second in Peter Brett's Demon Cycle. 

The surprise comes from the sudden change of focus from Arlen and Co. (last seen shortly after the bloody victory against a coreling horde) to the Krasian army led by Jardir, intent on conquering the world as the reborn Deliverer. In a series of flashbacks, broken by present-day narrative, Brett gives us Jardir's life story and his path toward supreme rule of the Krasians, with a new angle on the moment when he comes in possession of the warded spear he stole from Arlen in the previous book.  What's interesting is that this specific act - while still heinous - is put into a wider context with Jardir's past and present: even though it doesn't in the least justify the theft and Arlen's attempted murder, it shows the circumstances surrounding it and the Krasian leader's feelings as the events are re-enacted, and fills the broader picture with more details.

The Krasian way of life is a harsh and cruel one that has no place for mercy or thoughtfulness: unlike their northern counterparts, who hide in abject fear of the night, the Krasians actively seek battle with the enemy, having built a culture that prizes sacrifice and glorious death. Like their distant cousins, though, they are bound for defeat, because of that almost careless waste of resources that reduces their numbers in an inexorable way.   Your people live to fight, while mine fight to live - this is how one character sums up the differences between the two peoples: in light of the revelations this book brings to light, it remains to be seen if they will find a middle ground, and through it, a way to beat the enemy.

Jardir himself is a source of contradictions, from my point of view: on one hand I can't form a bond with this character - who is so tightly focused on his desire to create a united front against the demons that for him this end justifies all means, no matter how cruel - but on the other I can see quite clearly where he comes from as a person, how the events in his life, and the people around him (especially his politically shrewd first wife Inevera), come to shape his character, and his destiny.  This is the mark of good writing, because it makes me see the persons behind the characters, makes me understand what makes them tick: even though I don't like Jardir's methods, I can still care for the way his story goes, and that's more than enough.

A further element that breathes strong life in this second book  is the introduction of a new threat with the coreling princes, the real power - mental and physical - behind the demon hordes: as fascinating as it is to discover these creatures and to look at events from their point of view, their appearance means that even the newly discovered wards, and the pro-active stance humanity is slowly taking against the attacks, might not be enough to stem the demonic hordes, let alone vanquish them. These new players are indeed raising the stakes and at the same time showing a different - and more worrisome - aspect in the nightly attacks: what before looked like the work of a mindless army of evil, now appears as a planned campaign, whose outcome looks far from predictable.

Once the focus goes back to the previous book's three heroes, we are introduced to many changes: Leesha's former home has been turned into a fighters' village, where everyone's skills are being honed against the demons; it's heartening to witness how quickly the people flourish with a little hope and courage, despite the awareness that they, like all the inhabitants of the north, will soon find themselves fighting on two fronts - the Krasian invasion and the nightly corelings' attacks.  As heartening as this vision can be, after witnessing the terror in which this world is plunged night after night, I can't avoid feeling it's somewhat forced: the change is too swift, too radical to effectively suspend my disbelief. Leesha herself turns from a convincingly headstrong woman into a super-heroine-of-all-trades: her healing skills work side by side with exceptional warding abilities and the fashioning of new weapons, making her into the de facto leader of the community - all this in the brief space of a few months. 

Only Peter Brett's compelling narrative managed to keep my suspension of disbelief up and running, and in some places it was nonetheless an effort. As fascinating as the world-building is, and continues to be, there are moments when the characterization goes somewhat over the top: Leesha's path is one such example, compounded by her later girlish fascination with Jardir - all built on secretive glances and blushing cheeks: I surprised myself thinking, time and again, that if old Healer Bruna had been present, she would have brought Leesha's back to reason with a well-placed blow from her walking stick.  Jardir suffers as well: this fearsome warrior, imbued with the moral conviction of being the new Deliverer, falls head-over-heels for Leesha and behaves like a hormone-crazed teenager from their very first encounter, and Inevera - a woman for whom the phrase "political expediency" seems to have been invented - also lapses into uncharacteristic conduct.  Nothing major, nor anything that would turn me off the book, granted, but still at the time it read like the betrayal of characters that had been drawn quite well until that moment.

All this is however counterbalanced by the narrative thread concerning Arlen and Renna Tanner, who comes on the scene as a full-fledged main character after her swift presentation in the previous book: her harrowing past of violence and abuse gives a solid background to her evolution, and makes her a believable ally/sidekick for Arlen, not least because she acts as a mirror for the dangers inherent in wearing magic wards on your own skin. This is one of the details that I most enjoyed in this story, that the way to battle demons on their own ground requires a price - a steep one: where it will lead some of the players still remains to be seen, and this further uncertainty is a promise for a satisfying continuation in the next book.


My Rating: 7,5/10

Unlocked - John Scalzi

John Scalzi is among my favorite authors: I have a bigger post in the works where I talk at some length about his books. Meanwhile, this recently released novella introduces the changed world that will be the background of his upcoming book Lock In, and is written as oral history, i.e. through several eyewitnesses' accounts.

The premise:  a virulent flu strain sweeps across the globe, killing millions in its wake and leaving an equally impressive number of people prisoners of their own bodies - they are awake, and aware, but incapable of motion, speech, communication.  The story gives an account of these events, of the profound social changes brought by Haden's Syndrome (so named after one of its most illustrious victims, the United States' First Lady) and of the consequences of mankind's attempts to deal with the disease's aftermath.

Unlocked represents a dark twist in John Scalzi's usually lighter-toned writing: even though the alternating eyewitness reports are collected after the fact, therefore getting some emotional distance from actual events, there is a palpable sense of impending doom, the perception of an unavoidable catastrophe happening before our eyes - a tragedy that both terrifies and fascinates the reader.  The stark, journalistic style of the reports does nothing to mitigate the horror of the unfolding drama and at the same time makes it both real and believable because, as we are reminded more than once, no one remains untouched by the disease. It's impossible, while reading this account, not to think about how realistic this scenario is, how it feels like a news report rather than fiction.

It hardly matters whether this flu is a natural evolution of an existing strain or the result of a willful terrorist act, as implied and discussed by several parties: both options are explored, yes, but this is not the focus of the story. What's really important is how the world reacts to a pandemic of these proportions and to the huge problem of the uncounted victims of the final stage of the infection, the one that leaves them helpless, locked in their bodies without access to the external world.

After the initial shock, the world starts to recover and to move pro-actively toward a solution for the Hadens - the collective name given to the lock-in-syndrome casualties. That solution will most certainly be the core theme of the upcoming book, so I'm not going into any spoilers here: suffice it to say that the small glimpses we are given about the social ramification of it (both short- and long-term ones) and the changes in public awareness, will allow Lock-In an in-depth point of view on disability, social standing and human rights.

As I said in the beginning, this story is darker and far less touched by the usual humor I've come to expect from John Scalzi's writing, but it's still as compelling as his other work, and promises more and better for the full-fledged book that will see the light next August. Luckily for me, not too long a wait...


My Rating: 8/10

The Ghosts of Bourbon Street - Seanan McGuire

There are many advantages for writers when offering free samples of their fiction on a website: the most obvious one is that a potential reader can get a clear idea about style, genre and writing quality from those short glimpses into an author's craft - and of course that same reader can discover new books or a new genre he/she never approached before.  On top of that, the writer can expand on an already-established world, shedding more light on situations, or characters, that did not get enough exposure in previous books.

What Seanan McGuire does, besides all that, is open a door for new characters that might find their way into existing series, or start new ones: this is exactly what happens in this short story, set into the Incryptid universe and introducing Rose Marshall, the protagonist of her upcoming book Sparrow Hill Road.

Verity Price, the heroine of the first two Incryptid books, is on a long, roundabout journey toward her family's home where she's taking her fiancé Dominic to meet her parents. Since Dominic used to be a Covenant operative - which means he hunted the cryptids that Verity's family tries to protect - she wants to make matters easier by having Dominic meet other relatives first. And who better than her aunt Rose, ghostly hitchhiker?

Threaded by the tongue-in-cheek humor that is this series' trademark, The Ghosts of Bourbon Street takes us to New Orleans on Mardi Gras, on a journey through a city that's only visible to those who walk with ghosts, a parallel world with its own rules, laws and - of course - dangers.  Rose immediately appealed to me: tough, street-smart, sharp-tongued, she's a perfect addition to McGuire's parade of strong female characters, one I look forward to knowing better when her book will be available.

As for Verity and Dominic, it was fun to meet them again - I confess I missed them both in Book 3, where Verity's brother took center stage - and the quick cameo from the Aeslin mice was a very welcome surprise. The interplay between matter-of-fact Verity and straightjacket-stiff Dominic made for a few humorous moments, as did the renewed impression that the poor man will need all his inner strength to keep his sanity with the Price family.  Hopefully McGuire will show us more along the way.

Also... more mice, Ms. McGuire? Prettyplease?

My Rating: 7,5/10

Glamour in Glass - Mary Robinette Kowal

When a few months ago I read the first volume in this series - Shades of Milk and Honey - I was pleasantly surprised: different from any kind of fantasy I ever sampled, it was both entertaining and compelling, taking me to a background that was quite familiar through my former experiences with Jane Austen and Georgette Heyer, but at the same time completely new thanks to the element of glamour, or magic that creates detailed illusions.  Part of what made Shades such a fascinating read was its lightness: I am using the term in the most complimentary meaning, of course, because the story itself needed no epic drama to keep me reading at a fast pace, so that I started this second installment with eager anticipation.

But either the novelty had worn off somehow, or the pace was a bit slower than in the previous book, so that at first I had to struggle a little to overcome my sense of disappointment with Glamour in Glass: I wondered if the bliss of married life had not dulled the main characters, especially that of Jane, the protagonist - or if the author had lost that special sparkle that had kept my attention riveted.  Luckily for me, after a somewhat shaky beginning, the novel found its rhythm and a surer footing, and I could sit back and enjoy my return to this peculiar version of the Regency era.

On hindsight I think that what irked me most was Jane's self-effacing deferral to her husband, the constant stress on her shortcomings and refusal to acknowledge her own abilities despite her husband's attempts at convincing her of the contrary: yes, I understand that women back then were raised that way, that any sense of self-worth had to come second to that of the "man of the house" and that Ms. Kowal was being true to the period's customs, but still it was as if the Jane I had know in the first book had somehow... faded in the interim.  She was not an aggressive character to start with, granted, but she could tap a reservoir of inner strength and courage every time her loved ones were threatened in any way, therefore I longed to see that person again.

Of course, I should have trusted the author's plans: because it soon became clear that such insistence on glamour itself, and its huge importance in Jane's life, would take a pivotal role. More importantly, Ms. Kowal wanted to show how the loss of it could affect Jane and her self-image: since she had been described from the very start as plain, any sense of worth she had came from her exceptional use of glamour - it was, after all, what had caught the brooding Vincent's attention in the previous book and led to their falling in love and marrying.  Having Jane lose what she perceived as her only attribute of note due to her pregnancy forced her to rely only on herself: the use of glamour can be harmful to a pregnant woman, so Jane had to deal with the loss of her only outstanding quality (according to her point of view) and the fears and sense of inadequacy that came with it.

This, coupled with the more far-ranging events leading to Napoleon's flight from the exile at Elba and his attempt at reclaiming power, forced Jane to face harrowing experiences on the strength of her wits and courage alone - and she showed the reader (and hopefully herself!) that her skills with glamour were not what made her what she was, and that she could be much more than just a magic wielder.   It was a return to the determined Jane I used to know, and one whose resolve came back with a vengeance because of the huge stakes involved: I found a marked poignancy in her actions, not just because she was getting out of her comfort zone to defend all she held dear, but mostly because she did it out of determination born of love - not simple romantic love, but the feeling that comes with the need to protect those we care about.

Moreover, I appreciated how this accomplishment was not reached without paying a steep price and the fact that I suspected early on what would happen, did not detract in any way from the dramatic developments and the pall of sadness settling on the happy ending.  It felt more honest, and true, if it makes any sense.

It will be more than interesting to see how Jane's character will evolve in the next books and how her new-found awareness will come into play - hopefully things will never be the same for her. One thing is certain, however: Ms. Kowal is one author I will always watch out for.

My Rating: 7/10

The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms - N. K. Jemisin

For me, the mark of an outstanding book is the fact that I keep thinking about it, story and characters alike, long after I've finished my reading: that is exactly what happened with N.K. Jemisin's novel - it grabbed my attention right from the start and has yet to let me go as I'm writing this review.

The core concept looks deceptively as a quest: young Yeine Darr, granddaughter of the Arameri ruler of the floating city of Sky, is summoned from the barbarian lands where she grew up to participate in the succession struggle for the throne, while trying to unravel the mystery of her mother's recent death and of the reasons she gave up her own ruling rights in favor of life among the less privileged people of Darr.

What makes this book different are the intertwining levels of intrigue and power struggle in which Yeine is enmeshed against her will, complicated by the presence of enslaved gods trapped in human form who have their own agenda.  This latter is a concept I found fascinating: after the God War of the past, the winner Itempas allied himself with the humans in exchange for exclusive worship, therefore doing what all winners do - dictating how history was to be written.   Yeine's "quest" becomes therefore the solving of a complicated puzzle whose pieces she gathers slowly and painfully, while wrestling with the burdens of the past, her feelings for Nahadot - the enslaved god of darkness - and the constant threats to her life.

The dimension of the story - despite the title that seems to hint at an epic scope - is therefore very human and focuses on the power play between opposing forces: light and darkness, love and hate, politics and loyalty. Yeine's voice as narrator is an interesting one, because she embodies this duality very well: she is the outsider looking in, she is the child of two clashing cultures and she struggles between the duty to her people and the new responsibilities heaped on her as one of Sky's heir designates, not to mention her desire to find her mother's murderer and avenge her death.   Moreover, this duality is reinforced by the choice of framing her from the very start as a potentially unreliable narrator: I am not as I once was - this is how the novel begins, casting a doubt on what Yeine recounts of the past. The doubt is further strengthened when she admits her memories might be faulty, or incomplete; or when she appears to hold a conversation with a different part of her conscience - in what resembles a split-personality syndrome - that urges her to remember correctly, or to dredge up forgotten details.

It is this mystery within the mystery that generates a compelling story, also supported by a writing style that is swift and fresh and brings Yeine's journey along at a sustained pace, while at the same time managing to touch on many topics that must be dear to the author's heart, such as racism, cultural integration and gender issues. To Ms. Jemisin's credit I would like to stress how this is done with a subtle, non-pedantic hand, always tackling the subject in a tangential way but still making room for the reader's deeper consideration.  Such subtlety is also evident in the strong vein of sensuality permeating Yeine's character, one that comes to the fore in her attraction to Nahadot: those scenes are suggestive and intense but never stray into more graphic descriptions, giving to the relationship an almost dreamy quality that never distracts you from the main story, nor becomes its sole focus despite its powerful roots.

Nahadot himself is an outstanding character: his very nature, his shifts in appearance and consistency, the strong aura of danger that surrounds him and is barely tempered by glimpses of vulnerability and honest tenderness toward Yeine, all contribute to carve him into a commanding presence and a tragic figure at the same time. In him Jemisin embodies the drama of the enslaved gods and gives them a voice that is more human because of their godlike nature and not in spite of it.   This conflict between human and divine drives and needs finds its resolution in a powerful, highly gripping finale that ties the various narrative threads in a satisfying way while leaving the door open for the welcome continuation that must be the focus of the next two books.

I found The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms to be a very original story, one that went beyond any expectations I might have had before reading it. What makes it even more extraordinary is that it's a debut novel: if N.K. Jemisin's first published work is this strong, I have no doubt her next books will be even better - and that I'm firmly aboard for the ride.

My Rating: 9/10

Divergent - Veronica Roth

I've been curious about this book for some time - understandably so, considering the huge media buzz tied to the recently produced movie - but I've kept procrastinating because I was aware I could not avoid the analogy with The Hunger Games.  It's next to impossible not to compare Ms. Collins' work with other YA dystopian books, if nothing else because of the broad success enjoyed by her trilogy and the huge wave of genre books that keep appearing on the wake of that success - the proverbial elephant (or rather mockingjay?) in the room is there, and it must be dealt with.

There might be some common traits between the two series but Divergent walks on a very different path: the world of Hunger Games is harsher, more violent, and Katniss' experiences, prior to the beginning of the story, include parental loss, hunger and despair, forcing her to a psychological growth that goes beyond her years and makes her a living, breathing, believable person. The dystopian landscape painted in H.G., a tyranny enforced through fear, intimidation and cruelty springs in marked relief from the book pages, with a stark quality that was deftly rendered in the movies.

That didn't happen for me with Ms. Roth's future Earth, and its "government" divided into factions that are meant to provide a balanced rule, because it's evident from the start that the balance is not there, and maybe never has been - which made me wonder how this society managed to last as long as it did.  I experienced the same lack of belief for Tris, Divergent's protagonist: there are too many contradictions in her character, too many unrealistic discordances - even taking into account her young age and the somewhat sheltered life she's led until the readers meet her.    For starters, I think Ms. Roth's trilogy is more markedly aimed toward a YA audience than its "competitor" (and this shows clearly both in world-building and dialogues), and therefore both the world and the characters are depicted in broader, less precise strokes - I'd say they are more tropes than people, if this did not sound too harsh even to my own dissatisfied ears.

And then there is Tris herself:  her life has been somewhat easy, any form of privation and/or violence is something that she knows exists, but has never experienced directly. So it's not a great surprise if she sounds so naive or... well, too teenager-ish. She is a teenager, with all the drives and contradictions that her age entails.  And yet there is still something that does not feel right. Something that kept me from becoming invested in her as a character and a person.

After a while what I initially perceived as naiveté was revealed as self-centeredness, if not downright selfishness - which sounds quite bad when applied to someone raised by the Abnegation faction as she is.  Tris did not earn my sympathy as a reader, because she looks quite focused on her own needs and drives: one might say that's typical of a sixteen year old, but once she makes the choice to abandon her faction - and her family - for Dauntless, her longing for her parents and brother appears more perfunctory than real.  The Dauntless initiation program is certainly quite absorbing, both physically and mentally, but I expected more from her than the casual wistful thought - and certainly not the thinly veiled contempt she feels, on the first night of her new life, when she hears a bunkmate's muffled, and quite understandable, sobs.

All Tris cares about, all she can think of, is to belong to the Dauntless faction, to carve her niche in it, even if this means changing into something she's not sure she can embrace: after all, we're made aware from the start that such a choice is made not out of deep convictions, but because ultimately the Dauntless look "cool", as opposed to the drab life of Tris' own faction, or the others' as well.  It's never stated openly, but it's there as a subliminal reminder every time Tris observes the other factions and... finds them wanting.

Matters become worse when, at some point, it's hinted she possesses some special qualities and will certainly be accepted into her new faction with all honors - she entertains the thought that she might be leaving her course mates behind (because she's better! because she's special!), and though that fleetingly saddens her, she accepts it as a fact of life. 

I don’t need any of them, not if they’re going to react this way when I do well.(...) I don’t want to lose them. But I feel like I have already.     

If I was supposed to empathize with this girl, that sentence killed any residual chance, and stomped it under its boots...

Sadly, it does not end here, because of another mandatory requirement of the genre: the love interest for a darkly brooding, mysterious boy who is Tris' instructor and is also - oh-so-unsurprisingly - attractive in a way that makes Tris' knees turn to water in no time at all. This sounded the death knell for any remaining possibility I had of enjoying this book: added to the other predictable tropes plaguing the book and Tris' character - who does trespass too much into the Mary Sue cliché for my comfort - it added trite obviousness to an already uninspiring mix.  

It was too much and I had to stop, accepting failure - not with a heavy heart though, but with something approaching relief.

My Rating: 2/10

His Majesty's Dragon - Naomi Novik

Two chapters. That's how much it took me to fall in love with this book and its main character, Temeraire. A dragon. A talking dragon.

My previous experience with these creatures was limited to Smaug from The Hobbit and to GRR Martin's dragons, the latter being only little more than background scenery in the vaster tapestry of his huge saga - at least for now.   In short, my labels for dragons were dangerous, devious, killers - and so forth.

Temeraire changed all that, much as he changes his human companion's life in the book.  

In this alternate-history novel, set in the time of the Napoleonic wars, Captain William Laurence of the Royal Navy finds a dragon egg on a captured enemy ship, and from it emerges a beautiful black dragon, who he promptly names Temeraire.  The handling of dragons is carried out by the Aerial Corps, a special division of His Majesty's forces, and these men - and women! - live apart from the rest of the military, because of the singular quality and requirements of their charges, and also because of some "taint" attached to the duty.  So it happens that Laurence abandons a promising Navy career to become something of an outcast in the eyes of his comrades and - worse - of his own family.   Hopefully in the next books this will be explained in depth, for I'm very curious to see where the general attitude comes from: in this alternate world there is no glamour attached to aviators, they are looked at with suspicion at best, if not with open distaste. Yet we learn that they are trained from early childhood because they have to learn while their mind and bodies are still pliable, and that their own families send them to "dragon school".  I'm curious to learn more about the general populace's distorted perception and the reasons for it, even though some inklings are already presented in the course of the book - as the less restrained customs observed by the Aerial Corps in the matter of  personal relationships, for example. 

Things are even more difficult for Laurence because he comes to this life in his adult years, and he has to face his new comrades' doubts about his capabilities, while battling with his standoffish character at the same time.  This two-sided isolation brings Laurence and Temeraire quite close in a very short time: Ms. Novik describes the process with an easy believability that's a joy to observe.   Laurence is somewhat too stiff and formal, both as a personal inclination and as a duty requirement, so his slow opening toward Temeraire's almost childish innocence and curiosity engenders the joy of mutual discovery and the reader's pleasure in seeing this man lose his severity and become a more likable character. 

Here lies one of the winning choices of the book: a common trope of the genre would have had Laurence's character more inclined toward roguishness and careless bravado, while his steadfast adherence to protocol and rules - one that makes him a bit boring and lackluster at first - helps put a higher shine on his later transformation, and makes the transition and his friendship with Temeraire much more real and satisfying for the readers.

Temeraire remains the undisputed protagonist though: even though the book is written through Laurence's point of view, the world is often observed - and commented - from the dragon's perspective, from his interaction with the humans and the other dragons serving with His Majesty's forces.  Temeraire is adorable indeed - not in a "cute" way, but because he's very articulate and very innocent at the same time; innocent and yet full of wisdom: Ms. Novik managed to walk in a seeming effortless way along this thin dividing line, and to offer her readers a believable, lovable creature.  And this happens for the other dragons as well: their devotion to their human companions, or their suffering in case of criminal neglect - as is the case in one notable instance in the book - helps to see them in a very different light, as thinking and feeling creatures who deserve our respect. And affection.

If I wanted to find any fault with this book I might complain of a too-quick ending: the huge build-up leading to it made me feel that the resolution was a bit too abrupt. And then there's Laurence's form of address to Temeraire: when he says "my dear" it sounds… off-key - I can't exactly say why it feels wrong, but every time it happens (and there are a few instances of it) it distracts me.  I believe that "my friend" would have sounded better and more sincere, more in tune with the man's personality, and would still have fully expressed the bond between man and dragon.

Still, it's the kind of minor nitpick that does not detract from the pleasure of a highly engrossing book.

My Rating: 7.5/10

Swordspoint - Ellen Kushner

I became aware of this book through Dragons, Heroes and Wizards' review of it and its companion books in Ellen Kushner's trilogy: the review intrigued me enough to try it out as soon as I could, since it promised to be a very different kind of fantasy than I'm used to.

It is indeed different: there is no heroic quest to be completed, no bloody war being fought between competing armies, no magic or dark entities trying to take over the world. Swordspoint is more like a peek into an eighteenth-century-like society, with complex rules centering on duel and many layers of inter-crossing currents of intrigue.  Just for once it was pleasant to immerse myself in a story where the fate of the world was not in jeopardy...

The book is quite well written, the style precise and exquisitely crafted like one of the porcelain chocolate cups used by the nobility depicted in the story. The descriptions of the two sides of society - the nobles on the Hill and the common folk in the dilapidated town of Riverside - are vivid and bring this world into sharp, three-dimensional life with almost cinematic quality. Some of the rules are very intriguing, especially those concerning duels and the whole swordsmen's code - they speak of detailed, careful and loving world-building.

But. Unfortunately there is a "but"...

Much as this book is an engaging exercise in style, it failed to involve me on an emotional level: the characters, though well drawn, did not reach out and "speak" to me - as if the highly stylized rules of behavior governing this world prevented them from connecting with me, the reader.  I saw the actors on the stage, so to speak, and they were beautifully dressed and doing an admirable job of portraying their characters, but something was missing.

The best (or worst?) example comes from the two main characters, Richard and Alec: we are told, shown, that they are lovers, but personally I could not perceive any definite feelings between them - and what's more I failed to understand what could be binding them together, or make them tick. Richard is a master swordsman, the best in Riverside, almost a living legend: besides that, little else is offered about him, except his desire to protect the flighty, petulant Alec, whose reckless behavior seems bent on provoking duels for his lover to win.  They never gave off a "couple vibe", so to speak: when at some point Alec leaves, all Richard does is take in the fact and think that maybe "it's better this way". I confess I was mystified...

On a wider scale, the other characters peopling this book feel just as sketched, as if filling the need for the basic figures in a tale: the young, restless heir of a good family; the scheming, evil noble (complete with black eye-patch); the clever duchess working her webs like a spider; and so on.  Not a single one of them gave off a sparkle of real life to me, and that detracted heavily from the beauty of the setting.

A splendid exercise in style, as I said before, but for me a book must be something more - it has to tell me a story I can lose myself in, and here I was - sadly - not lost at all. 

My Rating: 6/10

Half Off Ragnaork - Seanan McGuire

Seanan McGuire's Incryptid series might be described as the lighter side of her Urban Fantasy universe - not that it lacks any drama and/or brushes with mortal danger for her characters, but it does so in a far lighter vein than I'm used to in her highly successful October Daye series.  And that makes for a fun, relaxing reading.

Coming back to these books is like sitting comfortably down in my favorite armchair, even though there are times when the sitting happens on the very edge of that chair.  When I learned about the change in perspective for this book, with the focus switch from Verity (the protagonist of the first two) to her older brother Alex, I was somewhat dubious, having enjoyed Verity's spunk and humor-laced adventures very much.

Well, my doubts were unfounded: this story is just as entertaining and interesting as the previous ones and there is enough "transitional material", including a cameo appearance from Verity, to make the crossing as painless as possible.  Alex is a totally different personality: he's more a quiet and dedicated science type - complete with proverbial glasses - and his exploits less physical than his sister's, yet we can nonetheless see him as a productive and pro-active member of the Price family.  His choice of pet (a griffin) and the inevitable colony of Aeslin mice - my very favorite cryptid ever - go a long way in defining his character and telling us through interaction what kind of a person he is.

The main focus of interest in this series are indeed the cryptdis - the kind of creatures that would otherwise be labeled as monsters: the fresh approach chosen by McGuire is to show these creatures' perspective and point of view, not so much humanizing them but rather helping the readers see the world through their eyes. Their motivations, their strife for survival, and ultimately the sympathy elicited in the reader (unless we're dealing with really dangerous critters, that is) help to drive across the most important point of these stories: that once we understand what makes the other tick, we can see him/her/it in a different way. And embrace the difference.

The Gorgon colony described in depth in this book is one such example, even though the pride of place goes to Alex's family - not a family created by blood ties, but rather by ones of love: Alex lives with his grandparents - a humanoid telepathic predator and a patched-up zombie - and his cousin Sarah (one of the supporting characters from previous books), a telepath like the grandmother. Plus the griffin and the funny, adorable, witty Aeslin mice (yes, I'm somewhat partial to them...).   The love, loyalty and mutual support of these different creatures teaches a lesson that needs no further explanations about embracing our differences, because the teaching is done through example.

My only point of contention with Half Off Ragnarok comes from Shelby, Alex's adventure partner, and the interaction between the two of them.  First, I don't get a strong "couple vibe" from them: yes, they pursue similar interests, face dangers and are attracted to each other despite the difficulties created by their chosen profession. Yet I don't perceive any real attraction, any magnetic pull drawing them together, not in the same way as the polar opposites that were Verity and Dominic in the previous books.

And then there is Shelby herself: I'm used to McGuire's heroines being strong, determined and self-sufficient and while Shelby does possess those qualities they are quite subdued, so much that she seems more Alex's subordinate rather than his equal and ultimately she needs rescuing more than once.  True, not all female protagonists need to exercise their kickassery all the time, but still all McGuire's characters have been true to that standard, so that I'm somewhat puzzled by Shelby's presentation.

Nonetheless I'll hold any further judgment until next book, because I trust this author to always deliver on her promises.  And as long as there will be Aeslin mice and their deceptively funny wisdom, I will be happy.

My Rating: 7.5/10

The Price of Spring - Daniel Abraham

Writing this review was not easy, not because I didn't know what to say, but rather  because I didn't exactly know how to say it.  First, because talking about this series without mentioning some plot points is near to impossible, and second because when I love a book (or a series) the way I did this one, words seem to elude me... And this fourth and final book in The Long Price Quartet is more compelling than the previous ones, thanks to Mr. Abraham's storytelling style and his writing, clear-cut and lyrical at the same time.

I've finally understood the meaning of the "long price" in the title: the whole story arc points at the price paid for one's actions, and choices - and their consequences, not just for the involved individuals but for the whole world they live in. These consequences can be far-reaching, as well, given how decisions taken decades in the past can come to fruition in the present, and shape the future. 

Accepting or refusing the change that comes with this realization is what makes Abraham's characters' tick: some still ferociously cling to the past, to the old way of doing things, therefore raining more grief on an already stricken world. Until now the danger represented by the andats (man-shaped manifestations of abstract concepts) had been clear but at the same time observed from a distance, while at the end of the previous book and in this one, the reader is treated to the full, tragic power of the creatures and the way they can influence the poets, their creators and handlers, who can in turn be shaped, or twisted, by their creations. I don't think it's a coincidence that the andat that drives this point home is called Clarity-of-Sight, also called Blindness for his darker side.

The underlying conflict, that until now has been cultural and political, and only in the previous book turned to all-out war, becomes here a conflict of ideas, and one of personalities: it's only fitting, from my point of view, that it's made manifest in the struggle between Otah and Maati, the main characters. After so many years and so much history (good and bad) between them, the resolution centers on what they are in respect of each other, on how much they influenced each other in the past, and how their present actions stem from that shared past.  If their origins are the same - unwanted sons of great houses, sent to the harsh school that trains poets for the binding of andats - they come to walk on different and diverging paths: one of them still tied to the past, despite the dangers of such a vision, and the other daring to dream of a different, if not necessarily better, future. 

The beauty of it is that they are both right and wrong at the same time, that there is no well-defined boundary and that the very concepts of right and wrong shift according to any given situation.  The horrible mistakes that are made along the way all come from the desire to do good, and their inevitable consequences plague the characters to the very end: we are constantly reminded that they are, after all, only human and as such they always do what they can, hoping for the best.  That very humanity is what endeared them to me, not despite their mistakes but because of them: the story does have an epic feel, granted, but the human dimension of it is what gives it life and depth.

There is a definite feeling, in this fourth book, of the end of an era - even more definite than it was in the previous one: the sense of melancholy, the awareness that no matter what time will bring, things will never be the same anymore. Many of the characters I followed from the beginning have grown old, and the sense of loss that accompanies this natural progression only added to the poignancy of the situation, because I had to face the fact I would have to say good-bye to these characters and the world they inhabited - and it made me sad. This realization brought home the awareness of how much I had come to care for them, for better or worse, depending on their place in the story.  And yet all things - all people - must come to an end because, as Abraham so poetically states in the last pages, renewal comes only through evolution: Flowers do not return in the spring, rather they are replaced. It is in this difference between returned and replaced that the price of renewal is paid.

Even recognizing the rightness of the concept, it was hard to part from this world - harder still because of the quietly emotional ending. But I also know it will be a pleasure to revisit it some time in the future.

My Rating: 9/10

Aurora: Darwin - Amanda Bridgeman

I won this book and its twin Aurora: Pegasus in a giveaway contest. My thanks to Momentum Books for this opportunity and to SF Signal (one of my favorite places for information and reviews on spec-fic books) for hosting the contest.

Unfortunately I have to confess I could not finish this book, even though I tried hard, doing my best to hold on until the middle of it: it did not work for me on several levels - plot, characterization and a few writing choices. I'm quite sorry about it, because it sounded very promising and I always try to keep my mind open for new, emerging authors, but after a while the struggle became too much.

Promising, indeed: the idea of a ship's crew headed toward unknown danger while they try to overcome some personal troubles was intriguing, but from the very start it was mired down in too much exposition and awkward dialogues, and the author's seeming obsession to offer her readers the whole personal back-story of those characters all at once. This, coupled with the habit of giving the most minute details on eye and hair color, height and build for each of them, the process being repeated for every character present in a determined scene, weighed the story down in an uncomfortable way for me.  I'm a great believer of the "show, don't tell" school of thought, and here there was too much telling and very little showing for my tastes.

The technical side of the book felt somewhat out of synch: I'm not a big fan of excruciatingly precise explanations of every working technology present in a story, but I try to look for some believability, and a few details either puzzled or irritated me. For example we are told that the ship's weapons stores hold both laser guns and lead-projectile ones - on a ship? With no though of the danger of de-compressive explosion?  And those weapons are stored in wooden crates, that are at some point opened with a crowbar.  It's not and end-of-the-world detail, granted, but the anachronistic force of it managed to jar me violently out of the narrative flow.

My main point of contention with the book, however, came from the premise that in this future society the role of women in the military, especially the space branch, is that of second-class citizens, and both the hierarchy and the troops see the women - their fellow soldiers - as a nuisance to be (badly) tolerated, or a PR stunt to be exploited. I'm quite aware that even in today's world there are preconceived notions and glass ceilings in the modern military, but they are not so openly practiced as they are in the future society that Bridgeman depicts, and at least they are not sanctioned by the chain of command. It feels both anachronistic and annoying, especially when considering that the author is a young woman. 

The male crew's reaction to the presence of the women feels exaggerated and unbelievable as well: not so much for the attitude, but for the way it's expressed. These are supposed to be highly trained professional soldiers, and they behave like rambunctious school children just one step away from a food fight.  I would have understood grumbling resentment - not so much because the new arrivals are women, but because they are added unexpectedly to a team that's already well-integrated: this would have made a great deal more sense, both in a military and personal way. But no, these soldiers, these skilled and finely trained individuals, all but elbow each other and snigger openly when the new recruits make their appearance (and at some point in the story make lewd suggestions that are not properly addressed by the superior officers); these men can't seem to be able to remember that they are adult professionals that should follow rules about military decorum at all times, and the officers that should keep them in line do nothing about it.   It would be hard to buy in present society, it's even harder in a future one, especially when we are told that these women soldiers have all been previously tested by completing tours of duty on Earth in various operations.

Characterization suffers from a few flaws as well: the main characters' development is left to long, drawn-out inner monologues, or rather sequences of question they ask themselves trying to puzzle out situations or inter-personal problems. I could not see them as living, breathing people, but rather as sketches of what they should have been, or maybe stereotypes: the bright, spunky soldier out to make a name for herself; the seasoned commander torn between sternness and compassion; the young doctor with a heart of gold; and so on… 

Even when the crew meets their antagonists, the latter are so blatantly evil that all that's missing is some proverbial mustache-twirling, and the hints about the danger they represent are so broad that one wonders how in heaven the soldiers miss every single one of them until something finally opens their eyes. 

That was the point where I had to stop: despite the intriguing mystery that is the core of the story, I became aware that I did not care about discovering what it was, or how the protagonists solved it. The slow, cumbersome pace of the narrative and the lack-luster characters could not hold my attention any longer: a sad reality I had to accept.

My Rating: 4/10