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

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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 Expanse Trilogy - James S. A. Corey

James S.A. Corey is the pseudonym for authors Daniel Abraham and Ty Franck, the first best known for his Long Price Quartet and Dagger and the Coin series, and the second for his collaboration with GRR Martin.  Together they have penned one of the best space opera series I ever read and, to my extreme satisfaction, are hard at work on a second one: talking with Mulluane from Dragons, Heroes and Wizards about the new book, I thought it was a good idea to share a few details about the first three volumes, so here we go…

What makes these books stand out is the human dimension of backgrounds and characters: the words space opera often make us think about vast empires, galaxy-spanning wars and wondrous technology, but this is not the case here. The theatre where the action unfolds is our own Solar System in an advanced stage of colonization, where the older and more established outposts - like the Moon or Mars - enjoy a comfortable way of life, while the newer ones, like the civilization growing in the Asteroid Belt, still deal with problems like microgravity and its deep effects on human physiology, or the rising prices of air and water in a hostile environment.  Political and economical tensions are always one step away from flaring into all-out conflict, and there are forces working - more or less covertly - to tip the balance one way or the other.  Add to that a few realistic details like communications lag across vast distances or the problems of space travel, which requires a constant battle against the pain of acceleration - endured through the use of drugs - and you have a very relatable universe, as are the characters that people it.

Summing up the story is far from easy, especially when trying to avoid any spoilers, so I'm not even going to try. The first book, Leviathan Wakes, follows mainly two characters: Miller – a middle-aged police officer who has lost all his drive and motivations, and wakes up only when what looks like an open-and-shut case he's been assigned turns into something else, something both suspicious and frightening; and Holden, ex military now working on an ice cargo hauler: he's the kind of person who wants to do the right thing, to be a good guy, and more often than not makes huge mistakes, with unpredictable consequences. The novel alternates chapters between these points of view until the two men meet and face an unforeseen danger that adds some touches of horror to the story.  The other two books, Caliban's War and Abaddon's Gate, expand on this core theme, widening the picture to include complex political scheming tied with economic interests, and convoluted games of power that still dare to go on despite an all-encompassing menace.

All this, however, is just background - a solid background, granted, that helps move the story along, often in unexpected directions. The real focus is on characters, on the way they deal with events, on the way physiological and mental changes affect people from the different habitats where human expansion brought them.  One of the interesting aspects I encountered is indeed in these differences, because the physiological adaptation that has made the Belters thinner and taller than Earth norm, seems to have created a sort of racial differentiation that goes beyond skin color. In other words, we might go to space someday, but we will still bring our short-sightedness and prejudices along with us…

Most importantly, though, the novels deal with choices, with the often tragic consequences engendered by those choices, even when they are made with the best of intentions. Because we all know what paves the road to Hell, after all…

Holden, and his crew of almost-rogues, embody that concept very well: enmeshed against their will in something too big for them to handle, they try to do their best with the limited options at their disposal. In the first book there's a marked antithesis between Holden and Miller, between idealism and the need to set things right on one side, and tired cynicism on the other, the bitter acceptance of the impossibility of seeing the "good guys" win. Despite their differences - or maybe because of them - these two men form a strange alliance that will be the one of the driving forces of the story.

This focus on humanity goes on in the following books, exploring more deeply the characters of Holden's crew - a closely-knit group for whom I felt an immediate attachment - and several other players, big and small, who feel as fleshed-out and solid as the main protagonists. A special mention goes to the female characters, that the authors created without using a single strand of cliché in their DNA: Naomi, of the Rocinante's crew, smart, though and outstandingly excellent in her job, gifted with a wry sense of humor; Martian marine Bobbie, steadfast and powerful, a fighter in more ways than one, but still possessed of a softer side; shrewd politician Avarasala, who knows how to wield her power, and can cuss like a hardened sailor; minister Anna, gifted with a steel resolve under the caring attitude.  They are far from perfect, but I liked them exactly for this reason - because they feel real.

Given that each of the separate books of the trilogy managed to raise already hight stakes, it's hardly surprising I was waiting with feverish anticipation to read the next installment (the first in a new trilogy, according to what I've read online): even though the main narrative threads have been brought to an end, many more have appeared and they would seem to point to a further widening of the picture, both in scope and in setting.   Cybola Burn, the fourth volume, came out on June 5^th and so far it looks very promising so… stay tuned for the forthcoming review!

My Rating: 9/10

Favorite Authors: John Scalzi

Browsing through the GoodReads list of books I read in 2013, I noticed that one of the authors featuring more prominently is John Scalzi: both his ongoing Old Man's War series (now counting 5 volumes) and his stand-alone titles never failed to offer entertaining and thoughtful reads.  On top of that there's the person himself: as a follower of his blog I've found that he's a witty, intelligent and considerate person who often takes the time to promote other writers' work through the recurring series of "Big Idea" posts. Every time I've tried one of those books because the core theme interested me, I made a pleasant discovery (Mary Robinette Kowal being the most notable so far), so that now Mr. Scalzi is not just one of my favorite authors, he's also a trusted, if indirect, advisor on reading materials. 

While waiting for his next book to come out, I'll try to put down some thoughts on what I enjoy about his storytelling.

The Old Man's War series is set in a not-so-distant future in which the elderly are offered, on their 75th birthday, the chance of a new life - literally - serving in the Colonial Union's military and assisting humanity's expansion through the galaxy: all this in exchange for a second youth. How this is made possible is something best discovered through reading the books: suffice it to say that it adds an interesting twist to a trope explored in well-known books as Heinlein's Starship Troopers or Haldeman's Forever War.  The twist comes from the fact that these are mature (and probably wise) people, not adventure-seeking youths, which gives an added layer to their personalities and actions.

The storytelling is both light-hearted and thought-provoking, in a delightful balance that is one of Mr. Scalzi's writing trademarks. The five books written up to today expand on that universe with a true space-opera scope that nonetheless never forgets the human side of living beings - even when they are aliens - giving the reader three-dimensional characters that feel true and believable.

This was one of the pleasant surprises I encountered with this series: the militaristic premise of the first book is slowly removed - as if peeling away a camouflage's layers - to reveal unsavory truths and, more importantly, individual reactions to those truths that allowed me a deeper look into some characters' personalities.  A few of those glimpses moved me deeply more than once, and further raised my appreciation for Mr. Scalzi's way of dealing with important issues in a deceptively light and offhand way.

What's more, it looks as if the first book will be soon turned into a movie: I can hardly wait to see how it will translate on screen.

Redshirts is a stand-alone book, one that won the 2013 Hugo Award by the way.

It pokes some well-written fun at one of Star Trek's most recognized tropes: if you're part of the security or technical crew (i.e. you're wearing a red shirt) your life expectations don't amount to much...      The junior officers aboard the Universal Union's starship Intrepid have come to a frightening realization: every time one of them goes on an away mission with the high-ranking officers, it's certain that he or she will die in a horrible way. Most of those in the know do their utmost to avoid crossing the officers' path and therefore being chosen for a team, but a group of newcomers understands there is a deeper reason behind what's happening: I'm offering no spoilers here, except by saying that it's a tongue-in-cheek joke aimed at serial tv.  Once the truth has been discovered, the young crew members decide to take the matter into their  hands to save their own lives and those of their shipmates.

This book has a Galaxy Quest flavor, yet it goes further on in the way it exposes the clichés of a long-standing tv show that sticks to its formulas and is afraid to "explore the strange new worlds" it's supposed to.  The author John Scalzi was creative consultant on the set of "Stargate Universe", the short-lived spinoff of the SG franchise: it's no mystery that many of the die-hard fans of SG1 did not embrace SGU because it was "too different", "too dark". Because – and here I'm expressing my own opinion – it left the beaten (safe?) path to try and find new ways to tell a story. 

When some of the Redshirts characters face the person responsible for their destinies they ask him if he can't find a better way of reaching his goals, one that does not require the death of throw-away people.  Because a good story, more often than not, comes from the exploration of the unexpected, from a bold move in a new direction.  That move might even require the death of a character, but that death must have meaning – this is what the young crewmembers are asking: thoughtfulness and respect, which is what every character in a story – any story – should receive.

Despite the humor peppering the pages, and the many hilarious in-jokes, there is a current of seriousness that runs beneath the surface because the story expands to explore more serious territory, as questions about what it means to be alive, and the meaning of life itself, assert their presence - especially in the three delightful and unexpected "codas" at the end of the book.

Fuzzy Nation is another stand-alone story, featuring a planetary prospector who discovers the proof of intelligent life on a planet whose resources are being drained by human greed. 

The story itself concerns a classic trope: the big, bad corporation working to exploit a planet’s resources and trying to ignore the existence of a sentient indigenous race, so that the controlling authorities will not stop them. Of course the trope also requires a brave hero who will defy the big, bad corporation and win against all odds.

The way John Scalzi deals with this story makes all the difference, though: with his usual humorous and carefree style he manages to present the situation without falling into clichés, so that the tale remains consistently entertaining, engrossing and delightful.

For starters, the indigenous sentients - the Fuzzies - are not simply cute creatures: they are built, page after page, toward a surprise revelation that defies any reader expectation. Their antics, in the course of the novel, are thoroughly entertaining and I found myself laughing out loud in more than one occasion.

The hero himself, Jack Halloway, is hardly hero material at all: he’s more of a rogue watching out for his best interests, and even when he sides with the Fuzzies he does so with an eye to his  advantages as well. Which makes him very human, and therefore even more likable, as are secondary characters Isabel (Halloway ex-girlfriend) and her new fiancée.  These three often engage in delightful verbal sparring that is reminiscent of comedy movies from the ’50s and ’60s and livens up an already sparkling tale.

A special mention should go to Carl, Halloway’s dog, trained detonator of explosives and wonderful comic relief, both on his own and in the company of the Fuzzies. Even if you’re not a dog person, you will love Carl without reservations.

As I’ve come to expect by now, under the first layer of humorous, entertaining storytelling, Scalzi deals with more serious issues and manages to blend the two sides of the equation in a seamless way, at the same time keeping his readers interested and involved.  The pace is quick, the characters believable and likable, the story engrossing: I could not have asked for better.

Agent to the Stars: John Scalzi's very first novel, a work that was a sort of challenge to himself, to see if he could. Granted, it's not on the same level as his other books, and yet the seeds of his narrative style are all there. It's another light and funny story about aliens - nice ones - who want to meet Earth people but are aware that their appearance might work against them, so they employ a Hollywood agent to promote their image.

Delightful, entertaining and surprisingly deep as well.

The God Engines: this is a strange story indeed, quite unlike the usual pace and tone I've come to expect from the author. First the genre, that is a curious mix of science fantasy with a dash of “magic” (for want of a better word); then the mood, quite dark and unrelieved by the characteristic wit I've become accustomed to with Scalzi's writing. And last but not least the abrupt and scary ending, that left me very unsettled.

As usual, the core themes - freedom, choices and what makes us human - raise many thoughtful questions, but still I wonder if he wrote this one while in a dark, hopeless mood...

On the other hand, a series of announcements on his blog indicates that more serious, not to mention terrifying themes, are forthcoming - at least judging from the microscopic peek Scalzi offered on his next book, Lock In, which should be available next August. You can read about it HERE. After reading the related novella Unlocked, I can hardly wait...

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

With Morning Comes Mistfall - George R.R. Martin

This short story is part of the two volume collection Dreamsongs by GRR Martin, a sort of writing journey illustrated through single stories: the first time I became aware of With Morning Comes Mistfall was by listening to its audio version read by Australian actress Claudia Black - it was an incredible experience, both for Ms. Black's amazing performance and for my discovery of the lyrical side of George Martin's writing.

Until that moment I had only read his A Song of Ice and Fire novels:  a new (for me) way to present the fantasy genre, gritty and uncompromising in its depiction of violence, cruelty and bloody political schemes.    Even though the ASOIAF books do contain vivid descriptions, because Martin is indeed a masterful storyteller, I was not prepared for the emotional impact in his portrayal of Wraithworld: the author's skill in bringing these images into sharp focus is seamlessly matched by Ms. Black's rendition, enhancing the story's a magical quality that is perfect for the theme being developed here.  

Wraithworld is a place where mists rule the lower depths by day and rise to cover most of the mountain peaks by night, and those mists are said to be a shield for the Wraiths - dangerous creatures, as unsubstantial as fog, that prey on unwary travelers.  Much of the mystique of the planet comes from this mystery that also fuels a steady influx of tourists who lodge at Castle Cloud, an eagle's nest over the tallest peak dominating the sea of mists below.   Through the eyes of the narrator - a journalist who's come to Wraithworld to cover the scientific expedition bent on disproving the Wraiths' existence - we soon learn that what really matters is not that evidence but rather the beauty of the planet, something that catches the journalist by surprise as he starts exploring the place and lets himself be fascinated by its savage charms.

As I re-acquainted myself with the tale I saw how it fits the never-ending argument about speculative fiction: does it really matter whether a story is "true", meaning based on real, everyday facts, as long as it's entertaining and enriching? Over the years I've had to defend my reading preferences against this kind of argument: many people, some of them close friends, have commented with amused bafflement - or thinly veiled mockery - my penchant for reading science fiction and fantasy.  Their claim being that it's silly to lose oneself in stories about worlds, peoples and creatures that don't exist.

These skeptics' attitude is embodied, in the story, by the scientist Dubowski: he comes to Wraithworld with a plethora of scientific instrumentation that should help him vanquish the figurative mists clouding tourists' perceptions.  Proving that the Wraiths don't exist will - in Dubowski's eyes - shine the light of truth on the planet, freeing it from what he perceives as foolish superstition. The scientist is so driven by his goal, so fixed in his attachment to reality, that he never sees the natural beauty of Wraithworld, never wastes his precious time in watching the mists rise at night from the depths of the forests, or being vanquished at dawn when the sun rises revealing the mountain peaks.

I believe that as Dubowski willfully blinds himself to such beauty, so do those who are unable to accept the wider horizons of imagination, restricting their path to what's known and tangible and closing their eyes to what could be only because they can't touch, measure or weigh it.  There is a deep vein of melancholy running through this story, the sense of something precious being ignored and abandoned by the wayside: to me it means that when we forgo our sense of wonder, our willingness to ask ourselves "what if...?", we deprive ourselves of something vital that could only enrich us. 

In a way, it hardly matters if "magic" exists or not: what matters is that we believe in the possibility of it....

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

A Retrospective Look: Dune, by Frank Herbert

Thanks to a recent discussion with Mulluane from Dragons, Heroes and Wizards over at Pinterest, I've been thinking about this book, one of my all-time favorites, and one of my rare multiple re-reads. I think I revisited it almost as much as I did Lord of the Rings, which is interesting, since Dune might very well be my iconic science fiction book, as LOTR is for fantasy.

Interesting because - and that was part of the discussion I mentioned above - Dune's genre has long been the subject of debate, my idea being that it stands on some undefined middle ground between the two: the action unfolds in a very distant future and concerns a vast galactic empire, spanned by ships that travel enormous distances almost in the wink of an eye, and yet the technology is… subdued, for want of a better word, and  is never the focus of the story. Many references are made to the Butlerian Jihad, the movement that banned the use of computers and stressed the powers of the human mind, and such powers are reflected in the use of Mentats - humans who have been trained in logical thought - and the abilities of the Bene Gesserit, the all-female secret society working, slowly but surely, toward their mysterious goals.

These elements, coupled with the murderous political intrigue that constitutes the backbone of the story, the internal strife between the Empire's noble houses and the amazing world-building underlying the concept of Arrakis, the desert world, would not be out of place in a fantasy novel, and the same can be said about the protagonist's story-arc: Paul Atreides/Muad'Dib goes from sheltered heir of House Atreides to religious leader of an oppressed people seeking freedom, passing though the harrowing grind of loss and betrayal.    Moreover, there is a heavy emphasis on esoteric powers, prophecies and melange-induced prescience: all concepts that can be found in many fantasy storylines…

Apart from the debate about genre, that I believe will go on for as long as Dune remains one of the pillars of spec-fic literature (and that's a good way to label it, nicely skirting the issue…), the question I asked myself is: what makes this book so unforgettable, and what compels me (and others) to go back to it time and time again?

One of the reasons must be its timeless quality: Dune is almost 50 years old, and yet does not show its age, as some of the classics of that period do.  Frank Herbert's language, though sometimes ponderous and convoluted, does not carry a time stamp that immediately identifies it as a product of the mid-sixties.  Some of its themes, as well, are even more actual today than they were at the time of the first publication: the war for precious, finite commodities that engenders political schemes and conflicts is something modern readers are acquainted with in many ways.

But I think that the characters are the real magnet of the story: what's amazing, and also very modern, is that most of them - if not all - are not totally likable people, are not "hero material" according to an old-fashioned, black-and-white concept. And yet we, the readers, root for them and want them to succeed.

Seen through today's filters, Paul Atreides - who ultimately exploits the Fremen's desire for freedom riding a corpus of religious legends he tailors after his needs - would not be so different from GRR Martin's Tyrion Lannister, just to quote one of my favorite examples: not a bad guy, but not a good one either. Just the right blend of light and darkness that makes today's "heroes" more interesting, and believable, despite the shadows lurking behind their backs.

All of the above are good reasons, granted, but sometimes the need to analyze a story makes us forget the main one: we are captivated by it because it's a great story, a compelling tale of honor and betrayal, of sacrifice and determination, love, hate, passion and wisdom. And let's face it, that's all that matters in the end, isn't it?

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

"Repent Harlequin!" Said the Ticktockman - Harlan Ellison

I have been meaning to re-read this short story since I saw the promising news about an upcoming movie based on it: the very fact that Harlan Ellison and J.M. Straczynski will renew their creative cooperation from the times of Babylon 5 - one of the very best science fiction series ever - gives me great hope and not little expectation for this movie.

The story is a classic: in a future world where time - and being on time, always - represent the one law whose transgression can mean death, a mysterious rebel tries to put a monkey wrench into this perfectly oiled mechanism. Not with impassioned speeches or acts of terrorism, but with pranks - and so he styles himself as Harlequin, the ultimate jester, hunted by the dreaded Ticktockman, upholder of the establishment and Master of Time.

The story appears fresh and actual even now, almost fifty years after it was written: it made me think about how Ellison's writing style feels timeless, as do many of the topics he developed in his works.  Repent Harlequin, Said the Ticktockman, is one such example: time does indeed rule our days, either when we try to keep our busy schedules or when we wish for some free time of our own, the latter being such an elusive beast…. 

In this future dystopian world Time and punctuality have eaten humanity's soul, robbing it of every joy that makes life worthwhile: there are two such examples in the course of the narration, and though they are polar opposites in mood, they give a clear picture of the society. The first concerns a woman receiving a dreaded Termination Notice from the Ticktockman: she desperately hopes that it's for her husband (as it indeed is), because she's terrified at the notion of losing her life - to the point that she wishes that fate on her spouse, or even on one of her children. As long as it's not her. This chilling little detail speaks loudly about the way the totalitarian rule of Time has changed people.  As does the other snapshot, the one about a medical convention whose participants laugh in high amusement at the Harlequin's antics, as if they had forgotten the simple act of laughing, or the meaning of it.

I'm curious to see how the upcoming movie will portray all this, and much more: considering the involved parties, I have high hopes about the outcome.

Revisiting old favorites: The Vorkosigan Saga by Lois McMaster Bujold

Some time ago I embarked on a re-read of this series, one of my all-time favorites, and discovered that the intervening years have only  enhanced my enjoyment of the story, of Ms. Bujold's writing style and of her approach to important social issues. 

It might be somewhat difficult to characterize this series: some have labeled it as "space opera", others as "military sci-fi", and so on, but the truth is that there is a bit of every sub-genre one can think about in Bujold's work, combined into a well-structured, compelling story that grows and expands with each successive book, gaining in power and depth as it entertains its readers.

The hero - or better, anti-hero - of the saga is  Miles Vorkosigan, born with serious physical impediments on a world that makes strength and military prowess the pillars of society. Far from being crushed by his disabilities, Miles fights against them all his life, driven by the need to prove himself, sometimes beyond the limits of human endurance. He does indeed manage, through sheer force of will and great intelligence, to emerge and carve a place for himself, all the while regaling us with fun, exciting and wonderful adventures.

What I love most about Ms. Bujold's writing is that it flows along simple lines while at the same time managing to convey deep meanings and touch on significant themes: the mark of her ability is in the down-to-earth approach that needs no preaching to drive her meaning through.

Above all, Bujold's work is... well, "trans-generational" is the best way I can describe it: Miles' adventures can be quite satisfying both to young adults (to whom they can teach a great deal without ever being pedantic) as well as to older people. The style of writing is such that it can be enjoyed no matter your age or your preferences.

One of the reasons this character grows so quickly on his audience is that we look at the world through his eyes, experience his outer troubles and inner turmoil in a direct way. Far from self-commiserating on his shortcomings (even though they cut deeply), Miles faces them with wry, sarcastic humor that's often more mature than his years. What's more important, he's not one those stereotyped "boy geniuses" that we often encounter in books and tv, the ones that breeze through obstacles as if they weren't there, the ones, let's admit it, that we love to hate.  Miles is fallible, he constantly doubts himself and he makes mistakes, sometimes fatal ones. His path is one of constant strife, against his shortcomings and against himself, and his victories are more often than not tainted by painful losses. This must indeed be one of the reasons Bujold's readers learn to care so much about him. 

Once I encountered a sentence that sums up quite effectively this character: he happens on people - usually unsuspecting ones - and he changes their lives forever, whether they want it or not. This is true both for the fictional people in the stories and for the readers, especially those - like me - who rediscover his old stories or greet new ones with the same enthusiasm reserved for a dear friend.

Red Rising - Pierce Brown

Powerful. This is probably the best word with which to define this surprising book: not so much for the story itself, or the motivations that drive the main character - these are tropes I've encountered before - but for the way the tale is told. The language is stark, almost pared down to essentials, and yet it manages to convey a great deal of emotion, even in its deceptively remote way.

But let's proceed with order: in the bowels of Mars live the Reds - miners who drill for Helium-3, the substance that will render the planet's terraforming possible. They live harsh, brutally short lives, but are told repeatedly that their sacrifice will pave the way for future generations - unfortunately it's all a lie, as Darrow, the main character, discovers in the worst possible way. Mars has been terraformed for generations, and the privileged live on the surface in comfort while others are enslaved in darkness - both real and metaphorical.

On the wake of personal tragedy, Darrow is recruited by a rebel group to impersonate a Gold - the higher caste in a rigidly structured society - and to try and break the cycle of slavery and lies from within the system.

Rage and hatred are Darrow's main motivators, for the losses he had to endure, for the lies he was fed all his life, and these emotions drive him over the obstacles he has to overcome. Yet his anger and loathing are not always focused toward the outside, because he realizes soon enough that to blend in with his enemy he has to become that enemy as well - speak like them, act like them, even think like them.  As he forges ahead toward his goal, he feels the growing distance between his past, his old self, and the person he needs to become. And he despises that person as much as he despises the pampered exploiters among whom he's gone to live.

As if that were not enough, in time he finds out that some of them are capable of friendship and loyalty just as much as his own people down below, and this further unbalances his perceptions. 

For these very reasons I found Darrow's character quite unusual: he's not a standard hero, he's not driven by noble ideals - at the beginning he wants vengeance, pure and simple, and he does shift his focus only through prolonged contact with the above-ground world and the realization that even the Golds' path to power is as crooked as the rules enforced on the Reds.  By the end of this first book (yes, it's a trilogy) Darrow feels more like a player in the power game he's been called to play, and less of a tool - one wonders of course how much of the old Darrow still survives after the experiences he's gone through, and what other challenges will wait down the line.  It will be an interesting journey indeed.

Much as I liked this book, I have to admit it's not immune from some failings: the central part does sag a little, slowing down from the tight pace with which the story began, while there's not enough time (in my opinion) devoted to Darrow's transformation into a Gold, one of the elite.  I read some comments about the almost ridiculous ease with which a simple, uncouth miner is morphed into one of the ruling class, and I tend to agree with them: the author almost breezes over the long, often excruciating process that involves genetic manipulation and surgery as well as intense schooling, as if he were in a hurry to get to the field trials that, on the other hand, take too much page space.  

Despite this blemish, the story is compelling and enjoyable, and kept me on edge for much of its length. One of the best features comes from the author's very light hand with graphic violence: since the theme is unavoidable, considering the subject matter, I applaud Mr. Brown's choice to mention it without indulging in gory details.  I'm looking forward to his next book.

My rating: 7.5/10