Writing a review that just said “Wow” over and over again would be pathetic.
Never let it be said that I wasn’t tempted.
 
There is nothing sentimental about this coming of age story.  Morwenna – or is it? – moves through a world which is simultaneously sparkling magic and soul-stultifying mundanity. Endless possibility and bottomless grief, encompassing wonder and bone deep fear.
Crippled by the car accident that killed her twin, she makes a place for herself in the boarding school to which she’s sent, beyond the library and the books she loves.
I have tiptoed through the forests of Lothlorian, shrugged the mothball scent of old coats into the crisp air of Narnia’s winter forest, and muddied my toes herding pigs with Taran, but I have never stepped into a world so much like the magic of my own childhood imaginings.
I first encountered Jo Walton on livejournal, where some cogent comment or poem spoke to me out of the electronic flow.  She began reviewing books on Tor, where she always saw something in a work, even those I’d disliked, that made me rethink the story in new ways and often sent me to my bookshelves or the library.
Among Others partakes of that critical sense of wonder, and one should read with a pencil handy.  It has expanded my reading list, and ended with a tiny tribute to one of my favorite books ever. 

And there’s a grandfather with a cat named Chairman Meow.   

This a book I'll be re-reading, for years. 

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Mr. Miéville just can’t get no love from me. I tried. I really did. 

An opening quote doesn’t usually set up the premise of a novel as well as this:

“The word must communicate something (other than itself).”

Walter Benjamin “On Language as such and on the Language of Man”

But, must it? The science fictional story is always in the interfaces, is it not? In the friction between humans and humans, between humans and less human, between aliens and human, between aliens and aliens.   And yes, sometimes between humans and machines. Those stories are all about the endless slips and catches of communication, translation, connection.

At the edge of the known galaxy, an enclave of humans inhabits Embassytown, a machined/mutated city on the planet held by the Hosts. Communication is difficult at best – humans see language as a symbol. The Hosts do not.  Nor do they necessarily recognize the individuality of humans.  

The protagonist, Avice, was a precocious child chosen to become part of the Host’s language, a simile. (And really, do you think that the author, playing with words as he does constantly here, didn’t name her knowing what parallels we’d draw? A Vice? Avarice? Do you have to telegraph that your narrator is unreliable so strongly? Or, is that just a feint?) But – that isn’t the story, or isn’t even much of the beginning.  

Readers first meet Avice as a grown woman.   Scorning temporal framework created difficulty because on one level this novel is all about slippage, but illustrating that with time as the medium meant that Mr. Miéville demanded more work from me right from the start than I felt he’d earned.

On another level, Embassytown is about slippage in language –shifts in meaning. And on yet a third, slippage in culture/behavior, the natural outgrowth – or is it?– of confronting the unknown, or formerly unseen.

The second difficulty was that while the premises aroused my cold intellectual interest, the story was interesting, but not engaging.  A bit arch. Twee, even. Like the really good-looking kid in class who knows it – and might share a wink or a joke or even an afternoon, but will never, ever go to the dance with you. 

I liked the winks and jokes, but I won’t go looking for another afternoon. It’s not a matter of making myself emotionally vulnerable – Avice, and Scile, Bren and the Hosts all were just the other side of a window, but not where they could touch me, or me them. I wasn’t in any danger of losing my heart, but they frequently lost my interest.  

I confess I liked the textual nods to authors as disparate and talented as C.J. Cherryh, Frank Herbert, Mary Gentle, and Karen Traviss, among others. And that I was moved to write such a long review of a book I disliked is a tribute to the author’s ability to challenge readers.

I can look at a work like this and admire the thought process that birthed it, the complexity of the plot, the baroque touches and writerly affectations even as I reshelve it for something more – congenial. 

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It’s been decades since I read this author’s “Floating Worlds”, which I remember as a favorite. I correctly recalled how excellently Cecelia Holland portrays the conditions and cultures of a particular time, but had forgotten just how detached her characters seem to me. 

Raef, a magician of uncertain powers; his teacher; his Viking friend/shieldman Leif; and Laissa, a young woman that they rescued during an adventure – or misadventure – in Constantinople, are traveling through the Norman country side of the early 1000’s, bound for what would become England. Before her death, Raef’s teacher reveals that she had released a demon, a stealer of souls, whose power is growing.

Raef, Leif and Laissa become embroiled in the politics of England, the tug of war, literally, between the Normans, Vikings and Danes. The soul-stealer has possessed the king’s wife, and added her own lust for power to the maelstrom. 

Good eventually trumps evil, but not without cost.

Holland’s language is more rhythmic than lyrical. Her characters are examined in an almost sterile third person, and I never felt close to them at all. 

Being the geek that I am, I really enjoyed the author’s historical note at the end, partly because it was the first part of the book that I heard a “voice” of any kind from her.   This entry was originally posted at http://www.dreamwidth.org/12345.html. Please comment here or there.

Wow. And wow again. Deathless explores the biggest ideas of all.

Horror and bright hope twine together in this powerful saga of Death and love.   Valente’s prose is sonorous, yet not ponderous, and certainly not oblivious to the profane.

Her tremendously strong female main character experiences the deepest issues of life. With the Slavic folklore of her family of marriage as the scaffold, Valente deftly handles themes of duality including power, mastery, marriage, love and death.
There is literally so much to talk about in this wonderful book that I'm rendered speechless.  When I read it again, perhaps I'll be able to pull my chin off the floor and say something coherent. This entry was originally posted at http://www.dreamwidth.org/12345.html. Please comment here or there.

I haven’t followed this series at all, although I enjoyed the first couple of novels and the tv show. Harry Dresden is a hard-boiled, smart-ass detective magician sorcerer who solves mysteries and saves the world. Over and over.  I found that wasn’t a handicap on this volume I picked up at the library on a whim. Butcher does an excellent job of continuing a story and adding in the information a new or returning reader needs.

Dresden is a memorable character – as likely to stumble into a solution as to solve it with intellect. And over the years, he’s made lots of friends and at least as many enemies. As the story opens, he’s made a grave mistake (sorry, Butcher’s gotten to me) and has to solve the mystery of his own murder – incorporeally. 

There was much good back story here, non-stop action loaded with emotional implications, soul searching and discovery.

Not the most profound fiction I’ll ever read, but not a waste of an afternoon, sunny or rainy. 

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Urban fantasy - in a city you've never known and will never want to. 

Necromancer and spy Isylt Iskaldur is fomenting revolution in the tactically important city of Symir as the monsoon approaches. Ghosts, children, lords, magicians and revolutionaries all play a part in this gritty story of Isylt’s seduction and rejection. An outstanding first entry in a series I look forward to continuing.

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For the very first time, I was disappointed in an Anita book*. This is nearly plot-less, a meandering journey without Anita’s family of vampires and weres. Hamilton breaks with her trademark formula without giving readers a credible replacement.

Edward is a main character, but seems oddly souless and suburban, lacking the underlying threat he normally exudes. He calls in the sociopathic serial killer Olaf as a backup, but even Olaf’s menace is muted. A final confrontation between Olaf and Anita is telegraphed over and over, but the novel ends without it. And the final battle? What final battle? The novel ends with a whimper. 

It’s as though all of the characters are infected with the ennui that Anita expresses repeatedly. Light on action, light on sex, even light on the Anita angst, this felt like a placeholder in the series rather than an Anita story. 

* You may have understood from other posts that I do not hold Ms. Hamilton to a high standard.  Like Stephen King, she's not so much on the technical/art aspects of *writing*, but (normally) gives great *story*. This entry was originally posted at http://www.dreamwidth.org/12345.html. Please comment here or there.

I got this free edition at WisCon, happily, because I'd been hearing about this author and series and wanted to give it a try. I didn’t exactly dislike it, but I'm trying to figure out what the buzz is all about, and why the series started in this book was more popular on NPR's recent SFF poll than any of C. J. Cherryh's series, for example.

The opening chapters introduce us to the main character, Claire. Despite service as a nurse in WWII, she comes across as immature: self-absorbed and often thoughtless. On her honeymoon with Frank in the Scottish Highlands, she is magically transported to the historical era of the Jacobite uprisings (after conveniently learning much about the era from her husband and other sources).

In the past, there are epic journeys. There is romance, and a marriage of convenience. There is conflict, especially with the rakish ancestor of her husband. There are battles. There is learning how to get along without the perks of 1940's civilization. There is more romance, and sex.  And a final flight – to Paris ( a set up for the next volume, obviously). 

It’s readable, and fast paced. Outright funny in places, with a wry tone well suited to its heroine’s character. I will track down the other volumes, probably from the library, but overall didn’t feel the story merits the acclaim it’s gotten. 

As always, I retain the right to change my mind after a re-read, and YMMV.
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I am unfamiliar with manga, and when reading, tend to concentrate on the words. So I really had to slow down on this one, because the story is told in the drawings, not the words. Not to mention that despite a fascination with the Tokugawa period of Japanese history, there are cultural references that I know I missed. 

The story itself is full of angst and honor, with behavior controlled by not only the samurai code but by the demands of class and gender. Slavery, betrayal and ultimately love play out against a background of plague and deceit. 

I read this because the initial volume has been recommended to me a number of times, but I haven't been able to find it at the library. At some point I'm going to read the extant volumes starting with the first - this is a fascinating story. This entry was originally posted at http://www.dreamwidth.org/12345.html. Please comment here or there.

I picked this up at the used bookstore while looking for something else, and read it in preparation for the new "Lawyers in Hell". Now I remember why I don't own these. I am not so much a fan of horror. So many of these stories are grossly bloody or just gross. I liked C.J. Cherryh’s story a lot, much less apparent bloodshed but plenty o' head-messin'.

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