Search Results: "roman"

3 December 2024

Russ Allbery: Review: Astrid Parker Doesn't Fail

Review: Astrid Parker Doesn't Fail, by Ashley Herring Blake
Series: Bright Falls #2
Publisher: Berkley Romance
Copyright: November 2022
ISBN: 0-593-33644-5
Format: Kindle
Pages: 365
Astrid Parker Doesn't Fail is a sapphic romance novel and a sequel to Delilah Green Doesn't Care. This is a romance style of sequel, which means that it spoils the previous book but involves a different set of protagonists, one of whom was a supporting character in the previous novel. I suppose the title is a minor spoiler for Delilah Green Doesn't Care, but not one that really matters. Astrid Parker's interior design business is in trouble. The small town of Bright Falls doesn't generate a lot of business, and there are limits to how many dentist office renovations that she's willing to do. The Everwood Inn is her big break: Pru Everwood has finally agreed to remodel and, even better, Innside America wants to feature the project. The show always works with local designers, and that means Astrid. National TV exposure is just what she needs to turn her business around and avoid an unpleasant confrontation with her domineering, perfectionist mother. Jordan Everwood is an out-of-work carpenter and professional fuck-up. Ever since she lost her wife, nothing has gone right either inside or outside of her head. Now her grandmother is renovating the favorite place of her childhood, and her novelist brother had the bright idea of bringing her to Bright Falls to help with the carpentry work. The remodel and the HGTV show are the last chance for the inn to stay in business and stay in the family, and Jordan is terrified that she's going to fuck that up too. And then she dumps coffee all over the expensive dress of a furious woman in a designer dress because she wasn't watching where she was going, and that woman turns out to be the designer of the Everwood Inn renovation. A design that Jordan absolutely loathes. The reader met Astrid in Delilah Green Doesn't Care (which you definitely want to read first). She's a bit better than she was there, but she's still uptight and unhappy and determined not to think too hard about why. When Jordan spills coffee down her favorite dress in their first encounter, shattering her fragile professional calm, it's not a meet-cute. Astrid is awful to her. Her subsequent regret, combined with immediately having to work with her and the degree to which she finds Jordan surprisingly attractive (surprising in part because Astrid thinks she's straight), slowly crack open Astrid's too-controlled life. This book was, once again, just compulsively readable. I read most of it the same day that I started it, staying up much too late, and then finished it the next day. It also once again made me laugh in delight at multiple points. I am a sucker for stories about someone learning how to become a better person, particularly when it involves a release of anxiety, and oh my does Blake ever deliver on that. Jordan's arc is more straightforward than Astrid's she just needs to get her confidence back but her backstory is a lot more complex than it first appears, including a morally ambiguous character who I would hate in person but who I admired as a deft and tricky bit of characterization. The characters from Delilah Green Doesn't Care of course play a significant role. Delilah in particular is just as much of a delight here as she was in the first book, and I enjoyed seeing the development of her relationship with her step-sister. But the new characters, both the HGTV film crew and the Everwoods, are also great. I think Blake has a real knack for memorable, distinct supporting characters that add a lot of depth to the main romance plot. I thought this book was substantially more sex-forward than Delilah Green Doesn't Care, with some lust at first or second sight, a bit more physical description of bodies, and an extended section in the middle of the book that's mostly about sex. If this is or is not your thing in romance novels, you may have a different reaction to this book than the previous one. There is, unfortunately, another third-act break-up, and this one annoyed me more than the one in Delilah Green Doesn't Care because it felt more unnecessary and openly self-destructive. The characters felt like they were headed towards a more sensible and less dramatic resolution, and then that plot twist caught me by surprise in an unpleasant way. After two books, I'm getting the sense that Blake has a preferred plot arc, at least in this series, and I wish she'd varied the story structure a bit more. Still, the third-act conflict was somewhat believable and the resolution was satisfying enough to salvage it. If it weren't for some sour feelings about the shape of that plot climax, I would have said that I liked this book even better than Delilah Green Doesn't Care, and that's a high bar. This series is great, and I will definitely be reading the third one. I'm going to be curious how that goes since it's about Iris, who so far has worked better for me as a supporting character than a protagonist. But Blake has delivered compulsively readable and thoroughly enjoyable books twice now, so I'm definitely here for the duration. If you like this sort of thing, I highly recommend this whole series. Followed by Iris Kelly Doesn't Date in the romance series sense, but as before this book is a complete story with a satisfying ending. Rating: 9 out of 10

29 November 2024

Russ Allbery: Review: The Duke Who Didn't

Review: The Duke Who Didn't, by Courtney Milan
Series: Wedgeford Trials #1
Publisher: Femtopress
Copyright: September 2020
ASIN: B08G4QC3JC
Format: Kindle
Pages: 334
The Duke Who Didn't is a Victorian romance novel, the first of a loosely-connected trilogy in the romance sense of switching protagonists between books. It's self-published, but by Courtney Milan, so the quality of the editing and publishing is about as high as you will see for a self-published novel. Chloe Fong has a goal: to make her father's sauce the success that it should be. His previous version of the recipe was stolen by White and Whistler and is now wildly popular as Pure English Sauce. His current version is much better. In a few days, tourists will come from all over England to the annual festival of the Wedgeford Trials, and this will be Chloe's opportunity to give the sauce a proper debut and marketing push. There is only the small matter of making enough sauce and coming up with a good name. Chloe is very busy and absolutely does not have time for nonsense. Particularly nonsense in the form of Jeremy Yu. Jeremy started coming to the Wedgeford Trials at the age of twelve. He was obviously from money and society, obviously enough that the villagers gave him the nickname Posh Jim after his participation in the central game of the trials. Exactly how wealthy and exactly which society, however, is something that he never quite explained, at first because he was having too much fun and then because he felt he'd waited too long. The village of Wedgeford was thriving under the benevolent neglect of its absent duke and uncollected taxes, and no one who loved it had any desire for that to change. Including Jeremy, the absent duke in question. Jeremy had been in love with Chloe for years, but the last time he came to the Trials, Chloe told him to stop pursuing her unless he could be serious. That was three years and three Trials ago, and Chloe was certain Jeremy had made his choice by his absence. But Jeremy never forgot her, and despite his utter failure to become a more serious person, he is determined to convince her that he is serious about her. And also determined to finally reveal his identity without breaking everything he loves about the village. Somehow. I have mentioned in other reviews that I mostly read sapphic instead of heterosexual romance because the gender roles in heterosexual romance are much more likely to irritate me. It occurred to me that I was probably being unfair to the heterosexual romance genre, I hadn't read nearly widely enough to draw any real conclusions, and I needed to find better examples. I've followed Courtney Milan occasionally on social media (for reasons unrelated to her novels) for long enough to know that she was unlikely to go for gender essentialism, and I'd been meaning to try one of her books for a while. Hence this novel. It is indeed not gender-essentialist. Neither Chloe nor Jeremy fit into obvious gender boxes. Chloe is the motivating force in the novel and many of their interactions were utterly charming. But, despite that, the gender roles still annoyed me in ways that are entirely not the fault of this book. I'm not sure I can even put a finger on something specific. It's a low-grade, pervasive feeling that men do one type of thing and women do a different type of thing, and even if these characters don't stick to that closely, it saturates the vibes. (Admittedly, a Victorian romance was probably not the best choice when I knew this was my biggest problem with genre heterosexual romance. It was just what I had on hand.) The conceit of the Wedgeford Trials series is that the small village of Wedgeford in England, through historical accident, ended up with an unusually large number of residents with Chinese ancestry. This is what I would call a "believable outlier": there was not such a village so far as I know, but there could well have been. At the least, there were way more people with non-English ancestry, including east Asian ancestry, in Victorian England than modern readers might think. There is quite a lot in this novel about family history, cultural traditions, immigration, and colonialism that I'm wholly unqualified to comment on but that was fascinating to read about and seemed (as one would expect from Milan) adroitly written. As for the rest of the story, The Duke Who Didn't is absolutely full of banter. If your idea of a good time with a romance novel is teasing, word play, mock irritation, and endless verbal fencing as a way to avoid directly confronting difficult topics, you will be in heaven. Jeremy is one of those people who is way too much in his own head and has turned his problems into a giant ball of anxiety, but who is good at being the class clown, and therefore leans heavily on banter and making people laugh (or blush) as a way of avoiding whatever he's anxious about. I thought the characterization was quite good, but I admit I still got a bit tired of it. 350 pages is a lot of banter, particularly when the characters have some serious communication problems they need to resolve, and to fully enjoy this book you have to have a lot of patience for Jeremy's near-pathological inability to be forthright with Chloe. Chloe's most charming characteristic is that she makes lists, particularly to-do lists. Her ideal days proceed as an orderly process of crossing things off of lists, and her way to approach any problem is to make a list. This is a great hook, and extremely relatable, but if you're going to talk this much about her lists, I want to see the lists! Chloe is all about details; show me the details! This book does not contain anywhere close to enough of Chloe's lists. I'm not sure there was a single list in this book that the reader both got to see the details of and that made it to more than three items. I think Chloe would agree that it's pointless to talk about the concept of lists; one needs to commit oneself to making an actual list. This book I would unquestioningly classify as romantic comedy (which given my utter lack of familiarity with romance subgenres probably means that it isn't). Jeremy's standard interaction style with anyone is self-deprecating humor, and Chloe is the sort of character who is extremely serious in ways that strike other people as funny. Towards the end of the book, there is a hilarious self-aware subversion of a major romance novel trope that even I caught, despite my general lack of familiarity with the genre. The eventual resolution of Jeremy's problem of hidden identity caught me by surprise in that way where I should have seen it all along, and was both beautifully handled and quite entertaining. All the pieces are here for a great time, and I think a lot of people would love this book. Somehow, it still wasn't quite my thing; I thoroughly enjoyed parts of it, but I don't find myself eager to read another. I'm kind of annoyed at myself that it didn't pull me in, since if I'd liked this I know where to find lots more like it. But ah well. If you like banter-heavy heterosexual romance that is very self-aware about its genre without devolving into metafiction, this is at least worth a try. Followed in the romance series way by The Marquis Who Mustn't, but this is a complete story with a satisfying ending. Rating: 7 out of 10

18 November 2024

Russ Allbery: Review: Delilah Green Doesn't Care

Review: Delilah Green Doesn't Care, by Ashley Herring Blake
Series: Bright Falls #1
Publisher: Jove
Copyright: February 2022
ISBN: 0-593-33641-0
Format: Kindle
Pages: 374
Delilah Green Doesn't Care is a sapphic romance novel. It's the first of a trilogy, although in the normal romance series fashion each book follows a different protagonist and has its own happy ending. It is apparently classified as romantic comedy, which did not occur to me while reading but which I suppose I can see in retrospect. Delilah Green got the hell out of Bright Falls as soon as she could and tried not to look back. After her father died, her step-mother lavished all of her perfectionist attention on her overachiever step-sister, leaving Delilah feeling like an unwanted ghost. She escaped to New York where there was space for a queer woman with an acerbic personality and a burgeoning career in photography. Her estranged step-sister's upcoming wedding was not a good enough reason to return to the stifling small town of her childhood. The pay for photographing the wedding was, since it amounted to three months of rent and trying to sell photographs in galleries was not exactly a steady living. So back to Bright Falls Delilah goes. Claire never left Bright Falls. She got pregnant young and ended up with a different life than she expected, although not a bad one. Now she's raising her daughter as a single mom, running the town bookstore, and dealing with her unreliable ex. She and Iris are Astrid Parker's best friends and have been since fifth grade, which means she wants to be happy for Astrid's upcoming wedding. There's only one problem: the groom. He's a controlling, boorish ass, but worse, Astrid seems to turn into a different person around him. Someone Claire doesn't like. Then, to make life even more complicated, Claire tries to pick up Astrid's estranged step-sister in Bright Falls's bar without recognizing her. I have a lot of things to say about this novel, but here's the core of my review: I started this book at 4pm on a Saturday because I hadn't read anything so far that day and wanted to at least start a book. I finished it at 11pm, having blown off everything else I had intended to do that evening, completely unable to put it down. It turns out there is a specific type of romance novel protagonist that I absolutely adore: the sarcastic, confident, no-bullshit character who is willing to pick the fights and say the things that the other overly polite and anxious characters aren't able to get out. Astrid does not react well to criticism, for reasons that are far more complicated than it may first appear, and Claire and Iris have been dancing around the obvious problems with her surprise engagement. As the title says, Delilah thinks she doesn't care: she's here to do a job and get out, and maybe she'll get to tweak her annoying step-sister a bit in the process. But that also means that she is unwilling to play along with Astrid's obsessively controlling mother or her obnoxious fiance, and thus, to the barely disguised glee of Claire and Iris, is a direct threat to the tidy life that Astrid's mother is trying to shoehorn her daughter into. This book is a great example of why I prefer sapphic romances: I think this character setup would not work, at least for me, in a heterosexual romance. Delilah's role only works if she's a woman; if a male character were the sarcastic conversational bulldozer, it would be almost impossible to avoid falling into the gender stereotype of a male rescuer. If this were a heterosexual romance trying to avoid that trap, the long-time friend who doesn't know how to directly confront Astrid would have to be the male protagonist. That could work, but it would be a tricky book to write without turning it into a story focused primarily on the subversion of gender roles. Making both protagonists women dodges the problem entirely and gives them so much narrative and conceptual space to simply be themselves, rather than characters obscured by the shadows of societal gender rules. This is also, at it's core, a book about friendship. Claire, Astrid, and Iris have the sort of close-knit friend group that looks exclusive and unapproachable from the outside. Delilah was the stereotypical outsider, mocked and excluded when they thought of her at all. This, at least, is how the dynamics look at the start of the book, but Blake did an impressive job of shifting my understanding of those relationships without changing their essential nature. She fleshes out all of the characters, not just the romantic leads, and adds complexity, nuance, and perspective. And, yes, past misunderstanding, but it's mostly not the cheap sort that sometimes drives romance plots. It's the misunderstanding rooted in remembered teenage social dynamics, the sort of misunderstanding that happens because communication is incredibly difficult, even more difficult when one has no practice or life experience, and requires knowing oneself well enough to even know what to communicate. The encounter between Delilah and Claire in the bar near the start of the book is cornerstone of the plot, but the moment that grabbed me and pulled me in was Delilah's first interaction with Claire's daughter Ruby. That was the point when I knew these were characters I could trust, and Blake never let me down. I love how Ruby is handled throughout this book, with all of the messy complexity of a kid of divorced parents with her own life and her own personality and complicated relationships with both parents that are independent of the relationship their parents have with each other. This is not a perfect book. There's one prank scene that I thought was excessively juvenile and should have been counter-productive, and there's one tricky question of (nonsexual) consent that the book raises and then later seems to ignore in a way that bugged me after I finished it. There is a third-act breakup, which is not my favorite plot structure, but I think Blake handles it reasonably well. I would probably find more niggles and nitpicks if I re-read it more slowly. But it was utterly engrossing reading that exactly matched my mood the day that I picked it up, and that was a fantastic reading experience. I'm not much of a romance reader and am not the traditional audience for sapphic romance, so I'm probably not the person you should be looking to for recommendations, but this is the sort of book that got me to immediately buy all of the sequels and start thinking about a re-read. It's also the sort of book that dragged me back in for several chapters when I was fact-checking bits of my review. Take that recommendation for whatever it's worth. Content note: Reviews of Delilah Green Doesn't Care tend to call it steamy or spicy. I have no calibration for this for romance novels. I did not find it very sex-focused (I have read genre fantasy novels with more sex), but there are several on-page sex scenes if that's something you care about one way or the other. Followed by Astrid Parker Doesn't Fail. Rating: 9 out of 10

17 November 2024

Russ Allbery: Review: Dark Deeds

Review: Dark Deeds, by Michelle Diener
Series: Class 5 #2
Publisher: Eclipse
Copyright: January 2016
ISBN: 0-6454658-4-4
Format: Kindle
Pages: 340
Dark Deeds is the second book of the self-published Class 5 science fiction romance series. It is a sequel to Dark Horse and will spoil the plot of that book, but it follows the romance series convention of switching to a new protagonist in the same universe and telling a loosely-connected story. Fiona, like Rose in the previous book, was kidnapped by the Tecran in one of their Class 5 ships, although that's not entirely obvious at the start of the story. The book opens with her working as a slave on a Garmman trading ship while its captain works up the nerve to have her killed. She's spared this fate when the ship is raided by Krik pirates. Some brave fast-talking, and a touch of honor among thieves, lets her survive the raid and be rescued by a pursuing Grih battleship, with a useful electronic gadget as a bonus. The author uses the nickname "Fee" for Fiona throughout this book and it was like nails on a chalkboard every time. I had to complain about that before getting into the review. If you've read Dark Horse, you know the formula: lone kidnapped human woman, major violations of the laws against mistreatment of sentient beings that have the Grih furious on her behalf, hunky Grih starship captain who looks like a space elf, all the Grih are fascinated by her musical voice, she makes friends with a secret AI... Diener found a formula that worked well enough that she tried it again, and it would not surprise me if the formula repeated through the series. You should not go into this book expecting to be surprised. That said, the formula did work the first time, and it largely does work again. I thoroughly enjoyed Dark Horse and wanted more, and this is more, delivered on cue. There are worse things, particularly if you're a Kindle Unlimited reader (I am not) and are therefore getting new installments for free. The Tecran fascination with kidnapping human women is explained sufficiently in Fiona's case, but I am mildly curious how Diener will keep justifying it through the rest of the series. (Maybe the formula will change, but I doubt it.) To give Diener credit, this is not a straight repeat of the first book. Fiona is similar to Rose but not identical; Rose had an unshakable ethical calm, and Fiona is more of a scrapper. The Grih are not stupid and, given the amount of chaos Rose unleashed in the previous book, treat the sudden appearance of another human woman with a great deal more caution and suspicion. Unfortunately, this also means far less of my favorite plot element of the first book: the Grih being constantly scandalized and furious at behavior the protagonist finds sadly unsurprising. Instead, this book has quite a bit more action. Dark Horse was mostly character interactions and tense negotiations, with most of the action saved for the end. Dark Deeds replaces a lot of the character work with political plots and infiltrating secret military bases and enemy ships. The AI (named Eazi this time) doesn't show up until well into the book and isn't as much of a presence as Sazo. Instead, there's a lot more of Fiona being drafted into other people's fights, which is entertaining enough while it's happening but which wasn't as delightful or memorable as Rose's story. The writing continues to be serviceable but not great. It's a bit cliched and a bit awkward. Also, Diener uses paragraph breaks for emphasis. It's hard to stop noticing it once you see it. Thankfully, once the story gets going and there's more dialogue, she tones that down, or perhaps I stopped noticing. It's that kind of book (and that kind of series): it's a bit rough to get started, but then there's always something happening, the characters involve a whole lot of wish-fulfillment but are still people I like reading about, and it's the sort of unapologetic "good guys win" type of light science fiction that is just the thing when one simply wants to be entertained. Once I get into the book, it's easy to overlook its shortcomings. I spent Dark Horse knowing roughly what would happen but wondering about the details. I spent Dark Deeds fairly sure of the details and wondering when they would happen. This wasn't as fun of an experience, but the details were still enjoyable and I don't regret reading it. I am hoping that the next book will be more of a twist, or will have a character more like Rose (or at least a character with a better nickname). Sort of recommended if you liked Dark Horse and really want more of the same. Followed by Dark Minds, which I have already purchased. Rating: 6 out of 10

12 November 2024

Louis-Philippe V ronneau: Montreal's Debian & Stuff - November 2024

Our Debian User Group met on November 2nd after a somewhat longer summer hiatus than normal. It was lovely to see a bunch of people again and to be able to dedicate a whole day to hacking :) Here is what we did: lavamind: pollo: anarcat: LeLutin: tvaz: tassia: Pictures This time around, we went back to Foulab. Thanks for hosting us! As always, the hacklab was full of interesting stuff and I took a few (bad) pictures for this blog post: Two old video cameras and a 'My First Sony' tape recorder An ALP HT-286 machine with a very large 'turbo' button A New Hampshire 'IPROUTE' vanity license plate

1 September 2024

Russ Allbery: Review: Reasons Not to Worry

Review: Reasons Not to Worry, by Brigid Delaney
Publisher: Harper
Copyright: 2022
Printing: October 2023
ISBN: 0-06-331484-3
Format: Kindle
Pages: 295
Reasons Not to Worry is a self-help non-fiction book about stoicism, focusing specifically on quotes from Seneca, Epictetus, and Marcus Aurelius. Brigid Delaney is a long-time Guardian columnist who has written on a huge variety of topics, including (somewhat relevantly to this book) her personal experiences trying weird fads. Stoicism is having a moment among the sort of men who give people life advice in podcast form. Ryan Holiday, a former marketing executive, has made a career out of being the face of stoicism in everyone's podcast feed (and, of course, hosting his own). He is far from alone. If you pay attention to anyone in the male self-help space right now (Cal Newport, in my case), you have probably heard something vague about the "wisdom of the stoics." Given that the core of stoicism is easily interpreted as a strategy for overcoming your emotions with logic, this isn't surprising. Philosophies that lean heavily on college dorm room logic, discount emotion, and argue that society is full of obvious flaws that can be analyzed and debunked by one dude with some blog software and a free afternoon have been very popular in tech circles for the past ten to fifteen years, and have spread to some extent into popular culture. Intriguingly, though, stoicism is a system of virtue ethics, which means it is historically in opposition to consequentialist philosophies like utilitarianism, the ethical philosophy behind effective altruism and other related Silicon Valley fads. I am pretty exhausted with the whole genre of men talking to each other about how to live a better life Cal Newport by himself more than satisfies the amount of that I want to absorb but I was still mildly curious about stoicism. My education didn't provide me with a satisfying grounding in major historical philosophical movements, so I occasionally look around for good introductions. Stoicism also has some reputation as an anxiety-reduction technique, and I could use more of those. When I saw a Discord recommendation for Reasons Not to Worry that specifically mentioned its lack of bro perspective, I figured I'd give it a shot. Reasons Not to Worry is indeed not a bro book, although I would have preferred fewer appearances of the author's friend Andrew, whose opinions on stoicism I could not possibly care less about. What it is, though, is a shallow and credulous book that falls squarely in the middle of the lightweight self-help genre. Delaney is here to explain why stoicism is awesome and to convince you that a school of Greek and Roman philosophers knew exactly how you should think about your life today. If this sounds quasi-religious, well, I'll get to that. Delaney does provide a solid introduction to stoicism that I think is a bit more approachable than reading the relevant Wikipedia article. In her presentation, the core of stoicism is the practice of four virtues: wisdom, courage, moderation, and justice. The modern definition of "stoic" as someone who is impassive in the presence of pleasure or pain is somewhat misleading, but Delaney does emphasize a goal of ataraxia, or tranquility of mind. By making that the goal rather than joy or pleasure, stoicism tries to avoid the trap of the hedonic treadmill in favor of a more achievable persistent contentment. As an aside, some quick Internet research makes me doubt Delaney's summary here. Other material about stoicism I found focuses on apatheia and associates ataraxia with Epicureanism instead. But I won't start quibbling with Delaney's definitions; I'm not qualified and this review is already too long. The key to ataraxia, in Delaney's summary of stoicism, is to focus only on those parts of life we can control. She summarizes those as our character, how we treat others, and our actions and reactions. Everything else wealth, the esteem of our colleagues, good health, good fortune is at least partly outside of our control, and therefore we should enjoy it when we have it but try to be indifferent to whether it will last. Attempting to control things that are outside of our control is doomed to failure and will disturb our tranquility. Essentially all of this book is elaborations and variations on this theme, specialized to some specific area of life like social media, anxiety, or grief and written in the style of a breezy memoir. If you're familiar with modern psychological treatment frameworks like cognitive behavioral therapy or acceptance and commitment therapy, this summary of stoicism may sound familiar. (Apparently this is not an accident; the predecessor to CBT used stoicism as a philosophical basis.) Stoicism, like those treatment approaches, tries to refocus your attention on the things that you can improve and de-emphasizes the things outside of your control. This is a lot of the appeal, at least to me (and I think to Delaney as well). Hearing that definition, you may have some questions. Why those virtues specifically? They sound good, but all virtues sound good almost by definition. Is there any measure of your success in following those virtues outside your subjective feeling of ataraxia? Does the focus on only things you can control lead to ignoring problems only mostly outside of your control, where your actions would matter but only to a small degree? Doesn't this whole philosophy sound a little self-centered? What do non-stoic virtue ethics look like, and why do they differ from stoicism? What is the consequentialist critique of stoicism? This is where the shortcomings of this book become clear: Delaney is not very interested in questions like this. There are sections on some of those topics, particularly the relationship between stoicism and social justice, but her treatment is highly unsatisfying. She raises the question, talks about her doubts about stoicism's applicability, and then says that, after further thought, she decided stoicism is entirely consistent with social justice and the stoics were right after all. There is a little bit more explanation than that, but not much. Stoicism can apparently never be wrong; it can only be incompletely understood. Self-help books often fall short here, and I suspect this may be what the audience wants. Part of the appeal of the self-help genre is artificial certainty. Becoming a better manager, starting a business, becoming more productive, or working out an entire life philosophy are not problems amenable to a highly approachable and undemanding book. We all know that at some level, but the seductive allure of the self-help genre is the promise of simplifying complex problems down to a few approachable bullet points. Here is a life philosophy in a neatly packaged form, and if you just think deeply about its core principles, you will find they can be applied to any situation and any doubts you were harboring will turn out to be incorrect. I am all too familiar with this pattern because it's also how fundamentalist Christianity works. The second time Delaney talked about her doubts about the applicability of stoicism and then claimed a few pages later that those doubts disappeared with additional thought and discussion, my radar went off. This book was sounding less like a thoughtful examination of one specific philosophy out of many and more like the soothing adoption of religious certainty by a convert. I was therefore entirely unsurprised when Delaney all but says outright in the epilogue that she's adopted stoicism as her religion and approaches it with the same dedicated practice that she used to bring to Catholicism. I think this is where a lot of self-help books end up, although most of them don't admit it. There's nothing wrong with this, to be clear. It sounds like she was looking for a non-theistic religion, found one that she liked, and is excited to tell other people about it. But it's a profound mismatch with what I was looking for in an introduction to stoicism. I wanted context, history, and a frank discussion of the problems with adopting philosophy to everyday issues. I also wanted some acknowledgment that it is highly unlikely that a few men who lived 2000 years ago in a wildly different social context, and with drastically limited information about cultures other than their own, figured out a foolproof recipe for how to approach life. The subsequent two millennia of philosophical debates prove that stoicism didn't end the argument, and that a lot of other philosophers thought that stoicism got a few things wrong. You would never know that from this book. What I wanted is outside the scope of this sort of undemanding self-help book, though, and this is the problem that I keep having with philosophy. The books I happen across are either nigh-incomprehensibly dense and academic, or they're simplified into catechism. This was the latter. That's probably more the fault of my reading selection than it is the fault of the book, but it was still annoying. What I will say for this book, and what I suspect may be the most useful property of self-help books in general, is that it prompts you to think about basic stoic principles without getting in the way of your thoughts. It's like background music for the brain: nothing Delaney wrote was very thorny or engaging, but she kept quietly and persistently repeating the basic stoic formula and turning my thoughts back to it. Some of those thoughts may have been useful? As a source of prompts for me to ponder, Reasons Not to Worry was therefore somewhat successful. The concept of not trying to control things outside of my control is simple but valid, and it probably didn't hurt me to spend a week thinking about it. "It kind of works as an undemanding meditation aid" is not a good enough reason for me to recommend this book, but maybe that's what someone else is looking for. Rating: 5 out of 10

27 August 2024

Russ Allbery: Review: Dark Horse

Review: Dark Horse, by Michelle Diener
Series: Class 5 #1
Publisher: Eclipse
Copyright: June 2015
ISBN: 0-9924559-3-6
Format: Kindle
Pages: 366
Dark Horse is a science fiction romance novel, the first of a five book series as of this writing. It is self-published, although it is sufficiently well-edited and packaged that I had to do some searching to confirm that. Rose was abducted by aliens. The Tecrans picked her up along with a selection of Earth animals, kept her in a cell in their starship, and experimented on her. As the book opens, she has managed to make her escape with the aid of an AI named Sazo who was also imprisoned on the Tecran ship. Sazo dealt with the Tecrans, dropped the ship in the middle of Grih territory, and then got Rose and most of the animals on shuttles to a nearby planet. Dav Jallan is the commander of the ship the Grih sent to investigate the unexplained appearance of a Class 5 Tecran warship in the middle of their territory. The Grih and the Tecran, along with three other species, are members of the United Council, which means in theory they're all at peace. With the Tecran, that theory is often strained. Dav is not going to turn down one of their highly-advanced Class 5 warships delivered to him on a silver platter. There is only the matter of the unexpected cargo, the first orange dots (indicating unknown life forms) that most of the Grih have ever seen. There is a romance. That romance did not work for me. I thought it was highly unprofessional on Dav's part and a bit too obviously constructed on the author's part. It also leans on the subgenre convention that aliens can be remarkably physically similar and sexually compatible, which always causes problems for my suspension of disbelief even though I know it's no less plausible than faster-than-light travel. Despite that, I had so much fun with this book! It was absolutely delightful and weirdly grabby in a way that caught me by surprise. I was skimming some parts of it to write this review and found myself re-reading multiple pages before I dragged myself back on task. I think the most charming part of this book is that the United Council has a law called the Sentient Beings Agreement that makes what the Tecran were doing extremely illegal, and the Grih and the other non-Tecran aliens take this very seriously and with a refreshing lack of cynicism. Rose has a typical human reaction to ending up in a place where she doesn't know the rules and isn't entirely an expected guest. She almost reflexively smoothes over miscommunications and tensions, trying to adapt to their expectations. And then, repeatedly, the Grih realize how much work she's doing to adapt to them, feel enraged at the Tecran and upset that they didn't understand or properly explain something, and find some way to make Rose feel more comfortable. It's surprisingly soothing and comforting to read. It occurred to me in several places that Dark Horse could be read as a wish-fulfillment fantasy of what life as a woman could be like if men took their fair share of the mental load. (This concept is usually applied to housework, but I think it generalizes to other social and communication contexts.) I suspect this was not an accident. There is a lot of wish fulfillment in this book. The Grih are very human-like but hunky, which is convenient for the romance subplot. They struggle to sing, value music exceptionally highly, and consider Rose's speaking voice beautifully musical. Her typical human habit of singing to herself is a source of immediate and almost overwhelming fascination. The supplies Rose takes from the Tecran ship when she flees just happen to be absurdly expensive scented shampoo and equally expensive luxury adaptable clothing. The world she lands on, and the Grih ship, are low-gravity compared to Earth, so Rose is unusually strong for her size. Grih military camouflage has no effect on her human vision. The book is set up to make Rose special. If that type of wish fulfillment is going to grate, wait on this book until you're more in the mood for it. But I like wish fulfillment books when they're done well. Part of why I like to read is to imagine a better world. And Rose isn't doted on; despite their hospitality, she's constantly underestimated by the Grih. Even with their deep belief in the Sentient Beings Agreement, they find it hard to believe that an unknown sentient, even an advanced sentient, is really their equal. Their concern at the start is somewhat patronizing, so watching Rose constantly surprise them delighted the part of my brain that likes both competence porn and deserved reversals, even though the competence here is often due to accidents of biology. It helps that Diener tells the story in alternating perspectives, so the reader first watches Rose do something practical and straightforward from her perspective and then gets to enjoy the profound surprise and chagrin of the aliens. There is a plot beneath this first contact story, and beyond the political problem of figuring out what to do with Rose and the Tecran. Sazo, Rose's AI friend, does not want the Grih to know he exists. He has a history that Rose does not know about and may not be entirely safe. As the political situation with the Tecran escalates, Sazo is pursuing goals of his own, and Rose has a firm opinion about where her loyalties should lie. The resolution is nothing ground-breaking as far as SF goes, but I thought it was satisfyingly tense and complex. Dark Horse leaves obvious room for a sequel, but it comes to a satisfying conclusion. The writing is serviceable, particularly once you get into the story. I would not call it great, and it's not going to win any literary awards, but it didn't interfere with my enjoyment of the story. This is not the sort of book that will make anyone's award list, but it is easily in the top five of books I had the most fun reading this year. Maybe save it for when you're looking for something light and wholesome and don't mind some rather obvious tropes, but if you're in the mood for imagining people who take laws seriously and sincerely try to help other people, I found this an utterly delightful way to pass the time. I immediately bought the sequel. Recommended. Followed by Dark Deeds. Rating: 8 out of 10

8 July 2024

Russ Allbery: Review: Beyond Control

Review: Beyond Control, by Kit Rocha
Series: Beyond #2
Publisher: Kit Rocha
Copyright: December 2013
ASIN: B00GIA4GN8
Format: Kindle
Pages: 364
Beyond Control is science fiction erotica (dystopian erotic romance, per the marketing) and a direct sequel to Beyond Shame. These books shift protagonists with each volume and enough of the world background is explained that you could start here, but there are significant spoilers for the previous book. I read this book as part of the Beyond Series Bundle (Books 1-3), which is what the sidebar information is for. This is one of those reviews that I write because I'm stubborn about reviewing all the books I read, not because it's likely to be useful to anyone. There are also considerably more spoilers for the shape of the story than I normally include, so be warned. The Beyond series is erotica. Specifically, so far, consensual BDSM erotica with bisexuality but otherwise typical gender stereotypes. The authors (Kit Rocha is a pen name for Donna Herren and Bree Bridges) are women, so it's more female gaze than male gaze, but by erotica I don't mean romance with an above-average number of steamy scenes. I mean it felt like half the book by page count was descriptions of sex. This review is rather pointless because, one, I'm not going to review the sex that's the main point of the book, and two, I skimmed all the sex and read it for the story because I'm weird. Beyond Shame got me interested in these absurdly horny people and their post-apocalyptic survival struggles in the outskirts of a city run by a religious surveillance state, and I wanted to find out what happened next. Besides, this book promised to focus on my favorite character from the first novel, Lex, and I wanted to read more about her. Beyond Control uses a series pattern that I understand is common in romance but which is not often seen in SFF (my usual genre): each book focuses on a new couple adjacent to the previous couple, while the happily ever after of the previous couple plays out in the background. In this case, it also teases the protagonists of the next book. I can see why romance uses this structure: it's an excuse to provide satisfying interludes for the reader. In between Lex and Dallas's current relationship problems, one gets to enjoy how well everything worked out for Noelle and how much she's grown. In Beyond Shame, Lex was the sort-of partner of Dallas O'Kane, the leader of the street gang that is running Sector Four. (Picture a circle surrounding the rich-people-only city of Eden. That circle is divided into eight wedge-shaped sectors, which provide heavy industries, black-market pleasures, and slums for agricultural workers.) Dallas is an intensely possessive, personally charismatic semi-dictator who cultivates the image of a dangerous barbarian to everyone outside and most of the people inside Sector Four. Since he's supposed to be one of the good guys, this is more image than reality, but it's not entirely disconnected from reality. This book is about Lex and Dallas forming an actual relationship, instead of the fraught and complicated thing they had in the first book. I was hoping that this would involve Dallas becoming less of an asshole. It unfortunately does not, although some of what I attributed to malice may be adequately explained by stupidity. I'm not sure that's an improvement. Lex is great, just like she was in the first book. It's obvious by this point in the series that she does most of the emotional labor of keeping the gang running, and her support is central to Dallas's success. Like most of the people in this story, she has a nasty and abusive background that she's still dealing with in various ways. Dallas's possessiveness is intensely appealing to her, but she wants that possessiveness on different terms than Dallas may be willing to offer, or is even aware of. Lex was, I thought, exceptionally clear about what she wanted out of this relationship. Dallas thinks this is entirely about sex, and is, in general, dumber than a sack of hammers. That means fights. Also orgies, but, well, hopefully you knew what you were getting into if you picked up this book. I know, I know, it's erotica, that's the whole point, but these people have a truly absurd amount of sex. Eden puts birth control in the water supply, which is a neat way to simplify some of the in-story consequences of erotica. They must be putting aphrodisiacs in the water supply as well. There was a lot of sector politics in this book that I found way more interesting than it had any right to be. I really like most of these people, even Dallas when he manages to get his three brain cells connected for more than a few minutes. The events of the first book have a lot of significant fallout, Lex continues being a badass, the social dynamics between the women are very well-done (and pass the Bechdel test yet again even though this is mostly traditional-gender-role erotica), and if Dallas had managed to understand what he did wrong at a deeper-than-emotional level, I would have rather enjoyed the non-erotica story parts. Alas. I therefore wouldn't recommend this book even if I were willing to offer any recommendations about erotica (which I'm not). I was hoping it was going somewhere more rewarding than it did. But I still kind of want to read another one? I am weirdly fascinated with the lives of these people. The next book is about Six, who has the potential to turn into the sort of snarky, cynical character I love reading about. And it's not that hard to skim over the orgies. Maybe Dallas will get one additional brain cell per book? Followed by Beyond Pain. Rating: 5 out of 10

7 July 2024

Russ Allbery: Review: Welcome to Boy.Net

Review: Welcome to Boy.Net, by Lyda Morehouse
Series: Earth's Shadow #1
Publisher: Wizard's Tower Press
Copyright: April 2024
ISBN: 1-913892-71-9
Format: Kindle
Pages: 355
Welcome to Boy.Net is a science fiction novel with cyberpunk vibes, the first of a possible series. Earth is a largely abandoned wasteland. Humanity has survived in the rest of the solar system and spread from Earth's moon to the outer planets. Mars is the power in the inner system, obsessed with all things Earth and effectively run by the Earth Nations' Peacekeeping Force, the ENForcers. An ENForcer soldier is raised in a creche from an early age, implanted with cybernetic wetware and nanite enhancements, and extensively trained to be an elite fighting unit. As befits a proper military, every ENForcer is, of course, male. The ENForcers thought Lucia Del Toro was a good, obedient soldier. They also thought she was a man. They were wrong about those and many other things. After her role in an atrocity that named her the Scourge of New Shanghai, she went AWOL and stole her command ship. Now she and her partner/girlfriend Hawk, a computer hacker from Luna, make a living with bounty hunting jobs in the outer system. The ENForcers rarely cross the asteroid belt; the United Miners see to that. The appearance of an F-class ENForcer battle cruiser in Jupiter orbit is a very unpleasant surprise. Lucia and Hawk hope it has nothing to do with them. That hope is dashed when ENForcers turn up in the middle of their next job: a bounty to retrieve an AI eye. I first found Lyda Morehouse via her AngeLINK cyberpunk series, the last of which was published in 2011. Since then, she's been writing paranormal romance and urban fantasy as Tate Hallaway. This return to science fiction is an adventure with trickster hackers, throwback anime-based cowboy bars, tense confrontations with fascist thugs, and unexpected mutual aid, but its core is a cyberpunk look at the people who are unwilling or unable to follow the rules of social conformity. Gender conformity, specifically. Once you understand what this book is about, Welcome to Boy.Net is a great title, but I'm not sure it serves its purpose as a marketing tool. This is not the book that I would have expected from that title in isolation, and I'm a bit worried that people who would like it might pass it by. Inside the story, Boy.Net is the slang term for the cybernetic network that links all ENForcers. If this were the derogatory term used by people outside the ENForcers, I could see it, but it's what the ENForcers themselves call it. That left me with a few suspension of disbelief problems, since the sort of macho assholes who are this obsessed with male gender conformance usually consider "boys" to be derogatory and wouldn't call their military cybernetic network something that sounds that belittling, even as a joke. It would be named after some sort of Orwellian reference to freedom, or something related to violence, dominance, brutality, or some other "traditional male" virtue. But although this term didn't work for me as world-building, it's a beautiful touch thematically. What Morehouse is doing here is the sort of concretized metaphor that science fiction is so good at: an element of world-building that is both an analogy for something the reader is familiar with and is also a concrete piece of world background that follows believable rules and can be manipulated by the characters. Boy.Net is trying to reconnect to Lucia against her will. If it succeeds, it will treat the body modifications she's made as damage and try to reverse all of them, attempting to convert her back to the model of an ENForcer. But it is also a sharp metaphor for how gender roles are enforced in our world: a child assigned male is connected to a pervasive network of gender expectations and is programmed, shaped, and monitored to match the social role of a boy. Even if they reject those expectations, the gender role keeps trying to reconnect and convert them back. I really enjoyed Morehouse's handling of the gender dynamics. It's an important part of the plot, but it's not the only thing going on or the only thing the characters think about. Lucia is occasionally caught by surprise by well-described gender euphoria, but mostly gender is something other people keep trying to impose on her because they're obsessed with forcing social conformity. The rest of the book is a fun romp with a few memorable characters and a couple of great moments with unexpected allies. Hawk and Lucia have an imperfect but low drama relationship that features a great combination of insight and the occasional misunderstanding. It's the kind of believable human relationship that I don't see very much in science fiction, written with the comfortable assurance of an author with over a dozen books under her belt. Some of the supporting characters are also excellent, including a non-binary deaf hacker that I wish had been a bit more central to the story. This is not the greatest science fiction novel I've read, but it was entertaining throughout and kept me turning the pages. Recommended if you want some solar-system cyberpunk in your life. Welcome to Boy.Net reaches a conclusion of sorts, but there's an obvious hook for a sequel and a lot of room left for more stories. I hope enough people buy this book so that I can read it. Rating: 7 out of 10

22 June 2024

Russ Allbery: Review: And the Stars Will Sing

Review: And the Stars Will Sing, by Michelle Browne
Series: The Meaning Wars #1
Publisher: Michelle Browne
Copyright: 2012, 2021
Printing: 2021
ASIN: B0075G7GEA
Format: Kindle
Pages: 85
And the Stars Will Sing is a self-published science fiction novella, the first of a (currently) five book series. I believe it may be Browne's first publication, although I don't have a good data source to confirm. Crystal Weiss is a new graduate from Mars, about to leave the solar system to her first job assignment: installation of a permanent wormhole in the vicinity of Messier 14. Her expertise is the placement calculations. The heavy mathematical lifting is of course done by computers, but humans have to do the mapping and some of the guidance. And the Stars Will Sing is an epistolary novel, told in the form of her letters to her friend Sarah. I feel bad when I stumble across a book like this. I want to stick with my habit of writing a review of each book I read, but it's one thing to pan a bad book by a famous author and another thing to pick on a self-published novella that I read due to some recommendation or mention whose details I've forgotten. Worse, I think this wasn't even the recommended book; I looked up the author, saw that the first of a series was on sale, and thought "oh, hey, I like epistolary novels and I'm in the mood for some queer space opera." This book didn't seem that queer (there is a secondary lesbian relationship but the main relationship seemed rather conventional), but I'll get to the romance in a moment. I was not the reader for this book. There's a reason why most of the books I read are from traditional publishers; I'm too critical of a reader for a lot of early self-published work. It's not that I dislike self-publishing as a concept many self-published books are excellent and the large publishers have numerous problems but publishers enforce a quality bar. Inconsistently, unfairly, and by rejecting a lot of good work, but still, they do. I'm fairly sure traditional publishers would have passed on this book; the quality of the writing isn't there yet. (It's certainly a better book than I could have written! But that's why I'm writing my reviews over in my quiet corner of the Internet and not selling fiction to other people.) The early chapters aren't too bad, although they have a choppy, cliched style that more writing experience usually smoothes out. The later chapters have more dialogue, enough that I started wondering how Crystal could remember that much dialogue verbatim to put into a letter, and it's not good. All of the characters talk roughly the same (even the aliens), the dialogue felt even more cliched than the rest of the writing, and I started getting distracted by the speech tags. Crystal comes across as very young, impulsive, and a drama magnet who likes being all up in her coworkers' business. None of these are objective flaws in the book, but I could tell early on that I was going to find her annoying. She has a heavily-foreshadowed enemies-to-lovers thing with one of her male coworkers. Her constant complaining about him at the start of the story was bad enough, but the real problem is that in the very few places where he has more personality than plastic lawn furniture, he's being obnoxious to Crystal. I'm used to being puzzled by a protagonist's choice in love interests, but this one felt less like an odd personality choice and more a lack of writing skill. Even if the relationship is being set up for failure (not true by the end of this book), you've got to help me understand what the protagonist saw in him or was getting out of the relationship. The plot was so predictable that it ironically surprised me. I was sure that some sort of twist or complication was coming, but no. I will give Browne some credit for writing a slightly more realistic character reaction to violence than most SF authors, but there was nothing in the plot to hold my interest. The world-building was generic science fiction with aliens. It had a few glimmers of promise, but there was some sort of psychic hand-waving involved in siting wormholes that didn't work for me and the plot climax made no sense to me whatsoever. This is the kind of bad book that I don't want to hold against the writer. Twelve years later and with numerous other novels and novellas under her belt, her writing is probably much better. I do think this book would have benefited from an editor telling her it wasn't good enough for publication yet, but that's not how the Kindle self-publishing world works. Mostly, this is my fault: I half-followed a recommendation into an area of publishing that I know from past experience I should avoid without a solid review from an equally critical reader. Followed by The Stolen, a two-story collection. Rating: 3 out of 10

1 June 2024

Russ Allbery: Review: I Shall Wear Midnight

Review: I Shall Wear Midnight, by Terry Pratchett
Series: Discworld #38
Publisher: Harper
Copyright: 2010
Printing: 2011
ISBN: 0-06-143306-3
Format: Trade paperback
Pages: 355
I Shall Wear Midnight is the 38th Discworld novel and the 4th Tiffany Aching novel. This is not a good place to start reading. Tiffany has finished her training and has returned to her home on the Chalk, taking up her duties as the local witch. There are a lot of those, because there's a lot that needs doing. In some cases, such as taking away the pain of the old Duke, they involve things that require magic and that only Tiffany can do. In many other cases, other people could pick up some of the work, but they lack Tiffany's sense of duty and willingness to pay attention. The people of the Chalk have always been a bit suspicious of witches, in part because the job was done for so long by Tiffany's grandmother and no one thought she was a witch. (She was a witch.) Of late, however, that suspicion seems to be getting worse. It comes to a head when Tiffany is accused of theft and worse by the old Duke's maid, a woman with very fixed ideas about the evils of witches. Tiffany has to sort out what's going on and clear herself, all while navigating her now-awkward relationship with the Duke's son Roland, his unimpressive fiancee, and his spectacularly annoying aunt. Ah, this is the stuff. This is exactly the Tiffany Aching novel that I have been hoping Pratchett would write. It's pure, snarky competence porn from start to finish.
"I'm a witch. It's what we do. When it's nobody else's business, it's my business."
One of the things that I adore about this series is how well Pratchett shows the different ways in which one can be a witch. Granny Weatherwax out-thinks everyone and nudges (or shoves) people in the right direction, but her natural tendency is to be icy and a bit frightening. Nanny Ogg is that person you can't help but talk to, who may seem happy-go-lucky and hedonistic but who can effortlessly change the mood of a room. And Tiffany is stubborn duty and blunt practicality, which fits the daughter of shepherds. In previous books, we've watched Tiffany as a student, learning the practicalities of being a witch. This is the book where she realizes how much she knows and how much easier the world is to navigate when she's in her own territory. There is a wonderful scene, late in this book, where Pratchett shows Nanny Ogg at her best, doing the kinds of things that only Nanny Ogg can do. Both Tiffany and the reader are in awe.
I should have learned this, she thought. I wanted to learn fire, and pain, but I should have learned people.
And it's true that Nanny Ogg can do things that Tiffany can't. But what makes this book so great is that it shows how Tiffany's personality and her training come together with her knowledge of the Chalk. She may not know people, in general, but she knows her neighbors and how they think. She doesn't manage them the way that Nanny Ogg would; she's better at solving different kinds of problems, in different ways. But they're the right ways, and the right problems, for her home. This is another Discworld novel with a forgettable villain that's more of a malevolent force of nature than a character in its own right. It's also another Discworld novel where Pratchett externalizes a human tendency into a malevolent force that can possess people. I have mixed feelings about this narrative approach. That externalization of evil into (in essence) demons has been repeatedly used to squirm out of responsibility and excuse atrocities, and it neatly avoids having to wrestle with the hard questions of prejudice and injustice and why apparently good people do awful things. I think some of those weaknesses persist even in Pratchett's hands, but I think what he was attempting with that approach in this book is to show how almost no one is immune to nastier ideas that spread through society. Rather than using the externalization of evil as an excuse, he's using it as a warning. With enough exposure to those ideas, they start sounding tempting and partly credible even to people who would never have embraced them earlier. Pratchett also does a good job capturing the way prejudice can start from thoughtless actions that have more to do with the specific circumstances of someone's life than any coherent strategy. Still, the one major complaint I have about this book is that the externalization of evil is an inaccurate portrayal of the world, and this catches up with Pratchett at the ending. Postulating an external malevolent force reduces evil to something that can be puzzled out and decisively defeated, thus resolving the problem. Sadly, this is not how humans actually work. I'll forgive that structural flaw, though, because the rest of this book is so good. It's rare that a plot twist in a Discworld novel surprises me twisty plots are not Pratchett's strength but this one did. I will not spoil the surprise, but one of the characters is not quite who they seem to be, and Tiffany's reactions once she figures that out are one of my favorite parts of this book. Pratchett is making a point about assumptions, observation, and the importance of being willing to change one's mind about someone when you know more, and I thought it was very well done. But, most of all, I enjoyed reading about Tiffany being calm, competent, determined, and capable. There's also a bit of an unexpected romance plot that's one of my favorite types: the person who notices that you're doing a lot of work and quietly steps in and starts helping while paying attention to what's needed and not taking over. And it's full of the sort of pithy moral wisdom that makes Discworld such a delight to read.
"There have been times, lately, when I dearly wished that I could change the past. Well, I can't, but I can change the present, so that when it becomes the past it will turn out to be a past worth having."
This was just what I wanted. Highly recommended. Followed by Snuff in publication order. The next (and last, sadly) Tiffany Aching book is The Shepherd's Crown. Rating: 9 out of 10

22 April 2024

Russ Allbery: Review: The Stars, Like Dust

Review: The Stars, Like Dust, by Isaac Asimov
Series: Galactic Empire #2
Publisher: Fawcett Crest
Copyright: 1950, 1951
Printing: June 1972
Format: Mass market
Pages: 192
The Stars, Like Dust is usually listed as the first book in Asimov's lesser-known Galactic Empire Trilogy since it takes place before Pebble in the Sky. Pebble in the Sky was published first, though, so I count it as the second book. It is very early science fiction with a few mystery overtones. Buying books produces about 5% of the pleasure of reading them while taking much less than 5% of the time. There was a time in my life when I thoroughly enjoyed methodically working through a used book store, list in hand, tracking down cheap copies to fill in holes in series. This means that I own a lot of books that I thought at some point that I would want to read but never got around to, often because, at the time, I was feeling completionist about some series or piece of world-building. From time to time, I get the urge to try to read some of them. Sometimes this is a poor use of my time. The Galactic Empire series is from Asimov's first science fiction period, after the Foundation series but contemporaneous with their collection into novels. They're set long, long before Foundation, but after humans have inhabited numerous star systems and Earth has become something of a backwater. That process is just starting in The Stars, Like Dust: Earth is still somewhere where an upper-class son might be sent for an education, but it has been devastated by nuclear wars and is well on its way to becoming an inward-looking relic on the edge of galactic society. Biron Farrill is the son of the Lord Rancher of Widemos, a wealthy noble whose world is one of those conquered by the Tyranni. In many other SF novels, the Tyranni would be an alien race; here, it's a hierarchical and authoritarian human civilization. The book opens with Biron discovering a radiation bomb planted in his dorm room. Shortly after, he learns that his father had been arrested. One of his fellow students claims to be on Biron's side against the Tyranni and gives him false papers to travel to Rhodia, a wealthy world run by a Tyranni sycophant. Like most books of this era, The Stars, Like Dust is a short novel full of plot twists. Unlike some of its contemporaries, it's not devoid of characterization, but I might have liked it better if it were. Biron behaves like an obnoxious teenager when he's not being an arrogant ass. There is a female character who does a few plot-relevant things and at no point is sexually assaulted, so I'll give Asimov that much, but the gender stereotypes are ironclad and there is an entire subplot focused on what I can only describe as seduction via petty jealousy. The writing... well, let me quote a typical passage:
There was no way of telling when the threshold would be reached. Perhaps not for hours, and perhaps the next moment. Biron remained standing helplessly, flashlight held loosely in his damp hands. Half an hour before, the visiphone had awakened him, and he had been at peace then. Now he knew he was going to die. Biron didn't want to die, but he was penned in hopelessly, and there was no place to hide.
Needless to say, Biron doesn't die. Even if your tolerance for pulp melodrama is high, 192 small-print pages of this sort of thing is wearying. Like a lot of Asimov plots, The Stars, Like Dust has some of the shape of a mystery novel. Biron, with the aid of some newfound companions on Rhodia, learns of a secret rebellion against the Tyranni and attempts to track down its base to join them. There are false leads, disguised identities, clues that are difficult to interpret, and similar classic mystery trappings, all covered with a patina of early 1950s imaginary science. To me, it felt constructed and artificial in ways that made the strings Asimov was pulling obvious. I don't know if someone who likes mystery construction would feel differently about it. The worst part of the plot thankfully doesn't come up much. We learn early in the story that Biron was on Earth to search for a long-lost document believed to be vital to defeating the Tyranni. The nature of that document is revealed on the final page, so I won't spoil it, but if you try to think of the stupidest possible document someone could have built this plot around, I suspect you will only need one guess. (In Asimov's defense, he blamed Galaxy editor H.L. Gold for persuading him to include this plot, and disavowed it a few years later.) The Stars, Like Dust is one of the worst books I have ever read. The characters are overwrought, the politics are slapdash and build on broad stereotypes, the romantic subplot is dire and plays out mainly via Biron egregiously manipulating his petulant love interest, and the writing is annoying. Sometimes pulp fiction makes up for those common flaws through larger-than-life feats of daring, sweeping visions of future societies, and ever-escalating stakes. There is little to none of that here. Asimov instead provides tedious political maneuvering among a class of elitist bankers and land owners who consider themselves natural leaders. The only places where the power structures of this future government make sense are where Asimov blatantly steals them from either the Roman Empire or the Doge of Venice. The one thing this book has going for it the thing, apart from bloody-minded completionism, that kept me reading is that the technology is hilariously weird in that way that only 1940s and 1950s science fiction can be. The characters have access to communication via some sort of interstellar telepathy (messages coded to a specific person's "brain waves") and can travel between stars through hyperspace jumps, but each jump is manually calculated by referring to the pilot's (paper!) volumes of the Standard Galactic Ephemeris. Communication between ships (via "etheric radio") requires manually aiming a radio beam at the area in space where one thinks the other ship is. It's an unintentionally entertaining combination of technology that now looks absurdly primitive and science that is so advanced and hand-waved that it's obviously made up. I also have to give Asimov some points for using spherical coordinates. It's a small thing, but the coordinate systems in most SF novels and TV shows are obviously not fit for purpose. I spent about a month and a half of this year barely reading, and while some of that is because I finally tackled a few projects I'd been putting off for years, a lot of it was because of this book. It was only 192 pages, and I'm still curious about the glue between Asimov's Foundation and Robot series, both of which I devoured as a teenager. But every time I picked it up to finally finish it and start another book, I made it about ten pages and then couldn't take any more. Learn from my error: don't try this at home, or at least give up if the same thing starts happening to you. Followed by The Currents of Space. Rating: 2 out of 10

18 April 2024

Russ Allbery: Review: Unseen Academicals

Review: Unseen Academicals, by Terry Pratchett
Series: Discworld #37
Publisher: Harper
Copyright: October 2009
Printing: November 2014
ISBN: 0-06-233500-6
Format: Mass market
Pages: 517
Unseen Academicals is the 37th Discworld novel and includes many of the long-standing Ankh-Morpork cast, but mostly as supporting characters. The main characters are a new (and delightful) bunch with their own concerns. You arguably could start reading here if you really wanted to, although you would risk spoiling several previous books (most notably Thud!) and will miss some references that depend on familiarity with the cast. The Unseen University is, like most institutions of its sort, funded by an endowment that allows the wizards to focus on the pure life of the mind (or the stomach). Much to their dismay, they have just discovered that an endowment that amounts to most of their food budget requires that they field a football team. Glenda runs the night kitchen at the Unseen University. Given the deep and abiding love that wizards have for food, there is both a main kitchen and a night kitchen. The main kitchen is more prestigious, but the night kitchen is responsible for making pies, something that Glenda is quietly but exceptionally good at. Juliet is Glenda's new employee. She is exceptionally beautiful, not very bright, and a working class girl of the Ankh-Morpork streets down to her bones. Trevor Likely is a candle dribbler, responsible for assisting the Candle Knave in refreshing the endless university candles and ensuring that their wax is properly dribbled, although he pushes most of that work off onto the infallibly polite and oddly intelligent Mr. Nutt. Glenda, Trev, and Juliet are the sort of people who populate the great city of Ankh-Morpork. While the people everyone has heard of have political crises, adventures, and book plots, they keep institutions like the Unseen University running. They read romance novels, go to the football games, and nurse long-standing rivalries. They do not expect the high mucky-mucks to enter their world, let alone mess with their game. I approached Unseen Academicals with trepidation because I normally don't get along as well with the Discworld wizard books. I need not have worried; Pratchett realized that the wizards would work better as supporting characters and instead turns the main plot (or at least most of it; more on that later) over to the servants. This was a brilliant decision. The setup of this book is some of the best of Discworld up to this point. Trev is a streetwise rogue with an uncanny knack for kicking around a can that he developed after being forbidden to play football by his dear old mum. He falls for Juliet even though their families support different football teams, so you may think that a Romeo and Juliet spoof is coming. There are a few gestures of one, but Pratchett deftly avoids the pitfalls and predictability and instead makes Juliet one of the best characters in the book by playing directly against type. She is one of the characters that Pratchett is so astonishingly good at, the ones that are so thoroughly themselves that they transcend the stories they're put into. The heart of this book, though, is Glenda.
Glenda enjoyed her job. She didn't have a career; they were for people who could not hold down jobs.
She is the kind of person who knows where she fits in the world and likes what she does and is happy to stay there until she decides something isn't right, and then she changes the world through the power of common sense morality, righteous indignation, and sheer stubborn persistence. Discworld is full of complex and subtle characters fencing with each other, but there are few things I have enjoyed more than Glenda being a determinedly good person. Vetinari of course recognizes and respects (and uses) that inner core immediately. Unfortunately, as great as the setup and characters are, Unseen Academicals falls apart a bit at the end. I was eagerly reading the story, wondering what Pratchett was going to weave out of the stories of these individuals, and then it partly turned into yet another wizard book. Pratchett pulled another of his deus ex machina tricks for the climax in a way that I found unsatisfying and contrary to the tone of the rest of the story, and while the characters do get reasonable endings, it lacked the oomph I was hoping for. Rincewind is as determinedly one-note as ever, the wizards do all the standard wizard things, and the plot just isn't that interesting. I liked Mr. Nutt a great deal in the first part of the book, and I wish he could have kept that edge of enigmatic competence and unflappableness. Pratchett wanted to tell a different story that involved more angst and self-doubt, and while I appreciate that story, I found it less engaging and a bit more melodramatic than I was hoping for. Mr. Nutt's reactions in the last half of the book were believable and fit his background, but that was part of the problem: he slotted back into an archetype that I thought Pratchett was going to twist and upend. Mr. Nutt does, at least, get a fantastic closing line, and as usual there are a lot of great asides and quotes along the way, including possibly the sharpest and most biting Vetinari speech of the entire series.
The Patrician took a sip of his beer. "I have told this to few people, gentlemen, and I suspect never will again, but one day when I was a young boy on holiday in Uberwald I was walking along the bank of a stream when I saw a mother otter with her cubs. A very endearing sight, I'm sure you will agree, and even as I watched, the mother otter dived into the water and came up with a plump salmon, which she subdued and dragged on to a half-submerged log. As she ate it, while of course it was still alive, the body split and I remember to this day the sweet pinkness of its roes as they spilled out, much to the delight of the baby otters who scrambled over themselves to feed on the delicacy. One of nature's wonders, gentlemen: mother and children dining on mother and children. And that's when I first learned about evil. It is built into the very nature of the universe. Every world spins in pain. If there is any kind of supreme being, I told myself, it is up to all of us to become his moral superior."
My dissatisfaction with the ending prevents Unseen Academicals from rising to the level of Night Watch, and it's a bit more uneven than the best books of the series. Still, though, this is great stuff; recommended to anyone who is reading the series. Followed in publication order by I Shall Wear Midnight. Rating: 8 out of 10

9 January 2024

Louis-Philippe V ronneau: 2023 A Musical Retrospective

I ended 2022 with a musical retrospective and very much enjoyed writing that blog post. As such, I have decided to do the same for 2023! From now on, this will probably be an annual thing :) Albums In 2023, I added 73 new albums to my collection nearly 2 albums every three weeks! I listed them below in the order in which I acquired them. I purchased most of these albums when I could and borrowed the rest at libraries. If you want to browse though, I added links to the album covers pointing either to websites where you can buy them or to Discogs when digital copies weren't available. Once again this year, it seems that Punk (mostly O !) and Metal dominate my list, mostly fueled by Angry Metal Guy and the amazing Montr al Skinhead/Punk concert scene. Concerts A trend I started in 2022 was to go to as many concerts of artists I like as possible. I'm happy to report I went to around 80% more concerts in 2023 than in 2022! Looking back at my list, April was quite a busy month... Here are the concerts I went to in 2023: Although metalfinder continues to work as intended, I'm very glad to have discovered the Montr al underground scene has departed from Facebook/Instagram and adopted en masse Gancio, a FOSS community agenda that supports ActivityPub. Our local instance, askapunk.net is pretty much all I could ask for :) That's it for 2023!

8 January 2024

Russ Allbery: Review: The Faithless

Review: The Faithless, by C.L. Clark
Series: Magic of the Lost #2
Publisher: Orbit
Copyright: March 2023
ISBN: 0-316-54283-0
Format: Kindle
Pages: 527
The Faithless is the second book in a political fantasy series that seems likely to be a trilogy. It is a direct sequel to The Unbroken, which you should read first. As usual, Orbit made it unnecessarily hard to get re-immersed in the world by refusing to provide memory aids for readers who read books as they come out instead of only when the series is complete, but this is not the fault of Clark or the book and you've heard me rant about this before. The Unbroken was set in Qaz l (not-Algeria). The Faithless, as readers of the first book might guess from the title, is set in Balladaire (not-France). This is the palace intrigue book. Princess Luca is fighting for her throne against her uncle, the regent. Touraine is trying to represent her people. Whether and to what extent those interests are aligned is much of the meat of this book. Normally I enjoy palace intrigue novels for the competence porn: watching someone navigate a complex political situation with skill and cunning, or upend the entire system by building unlikely coalitions or using unexpected routes to power. If you are similar, be warned that this is not what you're going to get. Touraine is a fish out of water with no idea how to navigate the Balladairan court, and does not magically become an expert in the course of this novel. Luca has the knowledge, but she's unsure, conflicted, and largely out-maneuvered. That means you will have to brace for some painful scenes of some of the worst people apparently getting what they want. Despite that, I could not put this down. It was infuriating, frustrating, and a much slower burn than I prefer, but the layers of complex motivations that Clark builds up provided a different sort of payoff. Two books in, the shape of this series is becoming clearer. This series is about empire and colonialism, but with considerably more complexity than fantasy normally brings to that topic. Power does not loosen its grasp easily, and it has numerous tools for subtle punishment after apparent upstart victories. Righteous causes rarely call banners to your side; instead, they create opportunities for other people to maneuver to their own advantage. Touraine has some amount of power now, but it's far from obvious how to use it. Her life's training tells her that exercising power will only cause trouble, and her enemies are more than happy to reinforce that message at every opportunity. Most notable to me is Clark's bitingly honest portrayal of the supposed allies within the colonial power. It is clear that Luca is attempting to take the most ethical actions as she defines them, but it's remarkable how those efforts inevitably imply that Touraine should help Luca now in exchange for Luca's tenuous and less-defined possible future aid. This is not even a lie; it may be an accurate summary of Balladairan politics. And yet, somehow what Balladaire needs always matters more than the needs of their abused colony. Underscoring this, Clark introduces another faction in the form of a populist movement against the Balladairan monarchy. The details of that setup in another fantasy novel would make them allies of the Qaz l. Here, as is so often the case in real life, a substantial portion of the populists are even more xenophobic and racist than the nobility. There are no easy alliances. The trump card that Qaz l holds is magic. They have it, and (for reasons explored in The Unbroken) Balladaire needs it, although that is a position held by Luca's faction and not by her uncle. But even Luca wants to reduce that magic to a manageable technology, like any other element of the Balladairan state. She wants to understand it, harness it, and bring it under local control. Touraine, trained by Balladaire and facing Balladairan political problems, has the same tendency. The magic, at least in this book, refuses not in the flashy, rebellious way that it would in most fantasy, but in a frustrating and incomprehensible lack of predictable or convenient rules. I think this will feel like a plot device to some readers, and that is to some extent true, but I think I see glimmers of Clark setting up a conflict of world views that will play out in the third book. I think some people are going to bounce off this book. It's frustrating, enraging, at times melodramatic, and does not offer the cathartic payoff typically offered in fantasy novels of this type. Usually these are things I would be complaining about as well. And yet, I found it satisfyingly challenging, engrossing, and memorable. I spent a lot of the book yelling "just kill him already" at the characters, but I think one of Clark's points is that overcoming colonial relationships requires a lot more than just killing one evil man. The characters profoundly fail to execute some clever and victorious strategy. Instead, as in the first book, they muddle through, making the best choice that they can see in each moment, making lots of mistakes, and paying heavy prices. It's realistic in a way that has nothing to do with blood or violence or grittiness. (Although I did appreciate having the thin thread of Pruett's story and its highly satisfying conclusion.) This is also a slow-burn romance, and there too I think opinions will differ. Touraine and Luca keep circling back to the same arguments and the same frustrations, and there were times that this felt repetitive. It also adds a lot of personal drama to the politics in a way that occasionally made me dubious. But here too, I think Clark is partly using the romance to illustrate the deeper political points. Luca is often insufferable, cruel and ambitious in ways she doesn't realize, and only vaguely able to understand the Qaz l perspective; in short, she's the pragmatic centrist reformer. I am dubious that her ethics would lead her to anything other than endless compromise without Touraine to push her. To Luca's credit, she also realizes that and wants to be a better person, but struggles to have the courage to act on it. Touraine both does and does not want to manipulate her; she wants Luca's help (and more), but it's not clear Luca will give it under acceptable terms, or even understand how much she's demanding. It's that foundational conflict that turns the romance into a slow burn by pushing them apart. Apparently I have more patience for this type of on-again, off-again relationship than one based on artificial miscommunication. The more I noticed the political subtext, the more engaging I found the romance on the surface. I picked this up because I'd read several books about black characters written by white authors, and while there was nothing that wrong with those books, the politics felt a little too reductionist and simplified. I wanted a book that was going to force me out of comfortable political assumptions. The Faithless did exactly what I was looking for, and I am definitely here for the rest of the series. In that sense, recommended, although do not go into this book hoping for adroit court maneuvering and competence porn. Followed by The Sovereign, which does not yet have a release date. Content warnings: Child death, attempted cultural genocide. Rating: 7 out of 10

30 December 2023

Russ Allbery: Review: The Hound of Justice

Review: The Hound of Justice, by Claire O'Dell
Series: Janet Watson Chronicles #2
Publisher: Harper Voyager
Copyright: July 2019
ISBN: 0-06-269938-5
Format: Kindle
Pages: 325
The Hound of Justice is a near-future thriller novel with Sherlock Holmes references. It is a direct sequel to A Study in Honor. This series is best read in order. Janet Watson is in a much better place than she was in the first book. She has proper physical therapy, a new arm, and a surgeon's job waiting for her as soon as she can master its features. A chance meeting due to an Inauguration Day terrorist attack may even develop into something more. She just needs to get back into the operating room and then she'll feel like her life is back on track. Sara Holmes, on the other hand, is restless, bored, and manic, rudely intruding on Watson's date. Then she disappears, upending Watson's living arrangements. She's on the trail of something. When mysterious destructible notes start appearing in Watson's books, it's clear that she wants help. The structure of this book didn't really work for me. The first third or so is a slice-of-life account of Watson's attempt to resume her career as a surgeon against a backdrop of ongoing depressing politics. This part sounds like the least interesting, but I was thoroughly engrossed. Watson is easy to care about, hospital politics are strangely interesting, and while the romance never quite clicked for me, it had potential. I was hoping for another book like A Study in Honor, where Watson's life and Holmes's investigations entwine and run in parallel. That was not to be. The middle third of the book pulls Watson away to Georgia and a complicated mix of family obligations and spy-novel machinations. If this had involved Sara's fae strangeness, verbal sparring, and odd tokens of appreciation, maybe it would have worked, but Sara Holmes is entirely off-camera. Watson is instead dealing with a minor supporting character from the first book, who drags her through disguises, vehicle changes, and border stops in a way that felt excessive and weirdly out of place. (Other reviews say that this character is the Mycroft Holmes equivalent; the first initial of Micha's name fits, but nothing else does so far as I can tell.) Then the last third of the novel turns into a heist. I like a heist novel as much as the next person, but a good heist story needs a team with chemistry and interplay, and I didn't know any of these people. There was way too little Sara Holmes, too much of Watson being out of her element in a rather generic way, and too many steps that Watson is led through without giving the reader a chance to enjoy the competence of the team. It felt jarring and disconnected, like Watson got pulled out of one story and dropped into an entirely different story without a proper groundwork. The Hound of Justice still has its moments. Watson is a great character and I'm still fully invested in her life. She was pulled into this mission because she's the person Holmes knows with the appropriate skills, and when she finally gets a chance to put those skills to use, it's quite satisfying. But, alas, the magic of A Study in Honor simply isn't here, in part because Sara Holmes is missing for most of the book and her replacements and stand-ins are nowhere near as intriguing. The villain's plan seems wildly impractical and highly likely to be detected, and although I can come up with some explanations to salvage it, those don't appear in the book. And, as in the first book, the villain seems very one-dimensional and simplistic. This is certainly not a villain worthy of Holmes. Fittingly, given the political movements O'Dell is commenting on, a lot of this book is about racial politics. O'Dell contrasts the microaggressions and more subtle dangers for Watson as a black woman in Washington, D.C., with the more explicit and active racism of the other places to which she travels over the course of the story. She's trying very hard to give the reader a feeling for what it's like to be black in the United States. I don't have any specific complaints about this, and I'm glad she's attempting it, but I came away from this book with a nagging feeling that Watson's reactions were a tiny bit off. It felt like a white person writing about racism rather than a black person writing about racism: nothing is entirely incorrect, but the emotional beats aren't quite where black authors would put them. I could be completely wrong about this, and am certainly much less qualified to comment than O'Dell is, but there were enough places that landed slightly wrong that I wanted to note it. I would still recommend A Study in Honor, but I'm not sure I can recommend this book. This is one of those series where the things that I enjoyed the most about the first book weren't what the author wanted to focus on in subsequent books. I would read more about the day-to-day of Watson's life, and I would certainly read more of Holmes and Watson sparring and circling and trying to understand each other. I'm less interested in somewhat generic thrillers with implausible plots and Sherlock Holmes references. At the moment, this is academic, since The Hound of Justice is the last book of the series so far. Rating: 6 out of 10

29 December 2023

Russ Allbery: Review: The Afterward

Review: The Afterward, by E.K. Johnston
Publisher: Dutton Books
Copyright: February 2019
Printing: 2020
ISBN: 0-7352-3190-7
Format: Kindle
Pages: 339
The Afterward is a standalone young adult high fantasy with a substantial romance component. The title is not misspelled. Sir Erris and her six companions, matching the number of the new gods, were successful in their quest for the godsgem. They defeated the Old God and destroyed Him forever, freeing King Dorrenta from his ensorcellment, and returned in triumph to Cadrium to live happily ever after. Or so the story goes. Sir Erris and three of the companions are knights. Another companion is the best mage in the kingdom. Kalanthe Ironheart, who distracted the Old God at a critical moment and allowed Sir Erris to strike, is only an apprentice due to her age, but surely will become a great knight. And then there is Olsa Rhetsdaughter, the lowborn thief, now somewhat mockingly called Thief of the Realm for all the good that does her. The reward was enough for her to buy her freedom from the Thief's Court. It was not enough to pay for food after that, or enough for her to change her profession, and the Thief's Court no longer has any incentive to give her easy (or survivable) assignments. Kalanthe is in a considerably better position, but she still needs a good marriage. Her reward paid off half of her debt, which broadens her options, but she's still a debt-knight, liable for the full cost of her training once she reaches the age of nineteen. She's mostly made her peace with the decisions she made given her family's modest means, but marriages of that type are usually for heirs, and Kalanthe is not looking forward to bearing a child. Or, for that matter, sleeping with a man. Olsa and Kalanthe fell in love during the Quest. Given Kalanthe's debt and the way it must be paid, and her iron-willed determination to keep vows, neither of them expected their relationship to survive the end of the Quest. Both of them wish that it had. The hook is that this novel picks up after the epic fantasy quest is over and everyone went home. This is not an entirely correct synopsis; chapters of The Afterward alternate between "After" and "Before" (and one chapter delightfully titled "More or less the exact moment of"), and by the end of the book we get much of the story of the Quest. It's not told from the perspective of the lead heroes, though; it's told by following Kalanthe and Olsa, who would be firmly relegated to supporting characters in a typical high fantasy. And it's largely told through the lens of their romance. This is not the best fantasy novel I've read, but I had a fun time with it. I am now curious about the intended audience and marketing, though. It was published by a YA imprint, and both the ages of the main characters and the general theme of late teenagers trying to chart a course in an adult world match that niche. But it's also clearly intended for readers who have read enough epic fantasy quests that they will both be amused by the homage and not care that the story elides a lot of the typical details. Anyone who read David Eddings at an impressionable age will enjoy the way Johnston pokes gentle fun at The Belgariad (this book is dedicated to David and Leigh Eddings), but surely the typical reader of YA fantasy these days isn't also reading Eddings. I'm therefore not quite sure who this book was for, but apparently that group included me. Johnston thankfully is not on board with the less savory parts of Eddings's writing, as you might have guessed from the sapphic romance. There is no obnoxious gender essentialism here, although there do appear to be gender roles that I never quite figured out. Knights are referred to as sir, but all of the knights in this story are women. Men still seem to run a lot of things (kingdoms, estates, mage colleges), but apart from the mage, everyone on the Quest was female, and there seems to be an expectation that women go out into the world and have adventures while men stay home. I'm not sure if there was an underlying system that escaped me, or if Johnston just mixed things up for the hell of it. (If the latter, I approve.) This book does suffer a bit from addressing some current-day representation issues without managing to fold them naturally into the story or setting. One of the Quest knights is transgender, something that's revealed in a awkward couple of paragraphs and then never mentioned again. Two of the characters have a painfully earnest conversation about the word "bisexual," complete with a strained attempt at in-universe etymology. Racial diversity (Olsa is black, and Kalanthe is also not white) seemed to be handled a bit better, although I am not the reader to notice if the discussions of hair maintenance were similarly awkward. This is way better than no representation and default-white characters, to be clear, but it felt a bit shoehorned in at times and could have used some more polish. These are quibbles, though. Olsa was the heart of the book for me, and is exactly the sort of character I like to read about. Kalanthe is pure stubborn paladin, but I liked her more and more as the story continued. She provides a good counterbalance to Olsa's natural chaos. I do wish Olsa had more opportunities to show her own competence (she's not a very good thief, she's just the thief that Sir Erris happened to know), but the climax of the story was satisfying. My main grumble is that I badly wanted to dwell on the happily-ever-after for at least another chapter, ideally two. Johnston was done with the story before I was. The writing was serviceable but not great and there are some bits that I don't think would stand up to a strong poke, but the characters carried the story for me. Recommended if you'd like some sapphic romance and lightweight class analysis complicating your Eddings-style quest fantasy. Rating: 7 out of 10

28 December 2023

Russ Allbery: Review: Nettle & Bone

Review: Nettle & Bone, by T. Kingfisher
Publisher: Tor
Copyright: 2022
ISBN: 1-250-24403-X
Format: Kindle
Pages: 242
Nettle & Bone is a standalone fantasy novel with fairy tale vibes. T. Kingfisher is a pen name for Ursula Vernon. As the book opens, Marra is giving herself a blood infection by wiring together dog bones out of a charnel pit. This is the second of three impossible tasks that she was given by the dust-wife. Completing all three will give her the tools to kill a prince. I am a little cautious of which T. Kingfisher books I read since she sometimes writes fantasy and sometimes writes horror and I don't get along with horror. This one seemed a bit horrific in the marketing, so I held off on reading it despite the Hugo nomination. It turns out to be just on the safe side of my horror tolerance, with only a couple of parts that I read a bit quickly. One of those is the opening, which I am happy to report does not set the tone for the rest of the book. Marra starts the story in a wasteland full of disease, madmen, and cannibals (who, in typical Ursula Vernon fashion, turn out to be nicer than the judgmental assholes outside of the blistered land). She doesn't stay there long. By chapter two, the story moves on to flashbacks explaining how Marra ended up there, alternating with further (and less horrific) steps in her quest to kill the prince of the Northern Kingdom. Marra is a princess of a small, relatively poor coastal kingdom with a good harbor and acquisitive neighbors. Her mother, the queen, has protected the kingdom through arranged marriage of her daughters to the prince of the Northern Kingdom, who rules it in all but name given the mental deterioration of his father the king. Marra's eldest sister Damia was first, but she died suddenly and mysteriously in a fall. (If you're thinking about the way women are injured by "accident," you have the right idea.) Kania, the middle sister, is next to marry; she lives, but not without cost. Meanwhile, Marra is sent off to a convent to ensure that there are no complicating potential heirs, and to keep her on hand as a spare. I won't spoil the entire backstory, but you do learn it all. Marra is a typical Kingfisher protagonist: a woman who is way out of her depth who persists with stubbornness, curiosity, and innate decency because what else is there to do? She accumulates the typical group of misfits and oddballs common in Kingfisher's quest fantasies, characters that in the Chosen One male fantasy would be supporting characters at best. The bone-wife is a delight; her chicken is even better. There are fairy godmothers and a goblin market and a tooth extraction that was one of the creepiest things I've read without actually being horror. It is, in short, a Kingfisher fantasy novel, with a touch more horror than average but not enough to push it out of the fantasy genre. I think my favorite part of this book was not the main quest. It was the flashback scenes set in the convent, where Marra has the space (and the mentorship) to develop her sense of self.
"We're a mystery religion," said the abbess, when she'd had a bit more wine than usual, "for people who have too much work to do to bother with mysteries. So we simply get along as best we can. Occasionally someone has a vision, but [the goddess] doesn't seem to want anything much, and so we try to return the favor."
If you have read any other Kingfisher novels, much of this will be familiar: the speculative asides, the dogged determination, the slightly askew nature of the world, the vibes-based world-building that feels more like a fairy tale than a carefully constructed magic system, and the sense that the main characters (and nearly all of the supporting characters) are average people trying to play the hands they were dealt as ethically as they can. You will know that the tentative and woman-initiated romance is coming as soon as the party meets the paladin type who is almost always the romantic interest in one of these books. The emotional tone of the book is a bit predictable for regular readers, but Ursula Vernon's brain is such a delightful place to spend some time that I don't mind.
Marra had not managed to be pale and willowy and consumptive at any point in eighteen years of life and did not think she could achieve it before she died.
Nettle & Bone won the Hugo for Best Novel in 2023. I'm not sure why this specific T. Kingfisher novel won and not any of the half-dozen earlier novels she's written in a similar style, but sure, I have no objections. I'm glad one of them won; they're all worth reading and hopefully that will help more people discover this delightful style of fantasy that doesn't feel like what anyone else is doing. Recommended, although be prepared for a few more horror touches than normal and a rather grim first chapter. Content warnings: domestic abuse. The dog... lives? Is equally as alive at the end of the book as it was at the end of the first chapter? The dog does not die; I'll just leave it at that. (Neither does the chicken.) Rating: 8 out of 10

26 December 2023

Russ Allbery: Review: A Study in Honor

Review: A Study in Honor, by Claire O'Dell
Series: Janet Watson Chronicles #1
Publisher: Harper Voyager
Copyright: July 2018
ISBN: 0-06-269932-6
Format: Kindle
Pages: 295
A Study in Honor is a near-future science fiction novel by Claire O'Dell, a pen name for Beth Bernobich. You will see some assertions, including by the Lambda Literary Award judges, that it is a mystery novel. There is a mystery, but... well, more on that in a moment. Janet Watson was an Army surgeon in the Second US Civil War when New Confederacy troops overran the lines in Alton, Illinois. Watson lost her left arm to enemy fire. As this book opens, she is returning to Washington, D.C. with a medical discharge, PTSD, and a field replacement artificial arm scavenged from a dead soldier. It works, sort of, mostly, despite being mismatched to her arm and old in both technology and previous wear. It does not work well enough for her to resume her career as a surgeon. Watson's plan is to request a better artificial arm from the VA (the United States Department of Veterans Affairs, which among other things is responsible for the medical care of wounded veterans). That plan meets a wall of unyielding and uninterested bureaucracy. She has a pension, but it's barely enough for cheap lodging. A lifeline comes in the form of a chance encounter with a former assistant in the Army, who has a difficult friend looking to split the cost of an apartment. The name of that friend is Sara Holmes. At this point, you know what to expect. This is clearly one of the many respinnings of Arthur Conan Doyle. This time, the setting is in the future and Watson and Holmes are both black women, but the other elements of the setup are familiar: the immediate deduction that Watson came from the front, the shared rooms (2809 Q Street this time, sacrificing homage for the accuracy of a real address), Holmes's tendency to play an instrument (this time the piano), and even the title of this book, which is an obvious echo of the title of the first Holmes novel, A Study in Scarlet. Except that's not what you'll get. There are a lot of parallels and references here, but this is not a Holmes-style detective novel. First, it's only arguably a detective novel at all. There is a mystery, which starts with a patient Watson sees in her fallback job as a medical tech in the VA hospital and escalates to a physical attack, but that doesn't start until a third of the way into the book. It certainly is not solved through minute clues and leaps of deduction; instead, that part of the plot has the shape of a thriller rather than a classic mystery. There is a good argument that the thriller is the modern mystery novel, so I don't want to overstate my case, but I think someone who came to this book wanting a Doyle-style mystery would be disappointed. Second, the mystery is not the heart of this book. Watson is. She, like Doyle's Watson, is the first-person narrator, but she is far more present in the book. I have no idea how accurate O'Dell's portrayal of Watson's PTSD is, but it was certainly compelling and engrossing reading. Her fight for basic dignity and her rage at the surface respect and underlying disinterested hostility of the bureaucratic war machinery is what kept me turning the pages. The mystery plot is an outgrowth of that and felt more like a case study than the motivating thread of the plot. And third, Sara Holmes... well, I hesitate to say definitively that she's not Sherlock Holmes. There have been so many versions of Holmes over the years, even apart from the degree to which a black woman would necessarily not be like Doyle's character. But she did not remind me of Sherlock Holmes. She reminded me of a cross between James Bond and a high fae. This sounds like a criticism. It very much is not. I found this high elf spy character far more interesting than I have ever found Sherlock Holmes. But here again, if you came into this book hoping for a Holmes-style master detective, I fear you may be wrong-footed. The James Bond parts will be obvious when you get there and aren't the most interesting (and thankfully the misogyny is entirely absent). The part I found more fascinating is the way O'Dell sets Holmes apart by making her fae rather than insufferable. She projects effortless elegance, appears and disappears on a mysterious schedule of her own, thinks nothing of reading her roommate's diary, leaves meticulously arranged gifts, and even bargains with Watson for answers to precisely three questions. The reader does learn some mundane explanations for some of this behavior, but to be honest I found them somewhat of a letdown. Sara Holmes is at her best as a character when she tacks her own mysterious path through a rather grim world of exhausted war, penny-pinching bureaucracy, and despair, pursuing an unexplained agenda of her own while showing odd but unmistakable signs of friendship and care. This is not a romance, at least in this book. It is instead a slowly-developing friendship between two extremely different people, one that I thoroughly enjoyed. I do have a couple of caveats about this book. The first is that the future US in which it is set is almost pure Twitter doomcasting. Trump's election sparked a long slide into fascism, and when that was arrested by the election of a progressive candidate backed by a fragile coalition, Midwestern red states seceded to form the New Confederacy and start a second civil war that has dragged on for nearly eight years. It's a very specific mainstream liberal dystopian scenario that I've seen so many times it felt like a cliche even though I don't remember seeing it in a book before. This type of future projection of current fears is of course not new for science fiction; Cold War nuclear war novels are probably innumerable. But I had questions, such as how a sparsely-populated, largely non-industrial, and entirely landlocked set of breakaway states could maintain a war footing for eight years. Despite some hand-waving about covert support, those questions are not really answered here. The second problem is that the ending of this book kind of falls apart. The climax of the mystery investigation is unsatisfyingly straightforward, and the resulting revelation is a hoary cliche. Maybe I'm just complaining about the banality of evil, but if I'd been engrossed in this book for the thriller plot, I think I would have been annoyed. I wasn't, though; I was here for the characters, for Watson's PTSD and dogged determination, for Sara's strangeness, and particularly for the growing improbable friendship between two women with extremely different life experiences, emotions, and outlooks. That part was great, regardless of the ending. Do not pick this book up because you want a satisfying deductive mystery with bumbling police and a blizzard of apparently inconsequential clues. That is not at all what's happening here. But this was great on its own terms, and I will be reading the sequel shortly. Recommended, although if you are very online expect to do a bit of eye-rolling at the setting. Followed by The Hound of Justice, but the sequel is not required. This book reaches a satisfying conclusion of its own. Rating: 8 out of 10

23 December 2023

Russ Allbery: Review: Bookshops & Bonedust

Review: Bookshops & Bonedust, by Travis Baldree
Series: Legends & Lattes #2
Publisher: Tor
Copyright: 2023
ISBN: 1-250-88611-2
Format: Kindle
Pages: 337
Bookshops & Bonedust is a prequel to the cozy fantasy Legends & Lattes. You can read them in either order, although the epilogue of Bookshops & Bonedust spoils (somewhat guessable) plot developments in Legends & Lattes. Viv is a new member of the mercenary troop Rackam's Ravens and is still possessed of more enthusiasm than sense. As the story opens, she charges well ahead of her allies and nearly gets killed by a pike through the leg. She survives, but her leg needs time to heal and she is not up to the further pursuit of a necromancer. Rackam pays for a room and a doctor in the small seaside town of Murk and leaves her there to recuperate. The Ravens will pick her up when they come back through town, whenever that is. Viv is very quickly bored out of her skull. On a whim, and after some failures to find something else to occupy her, she tries a run-down local bookstore and promptly puts her foot through the boardwalk outside it. That's the start of an improbable friendship with the proprietor, a rattkin named Fern with a knack for book recommendations and a serious cash flow problem. Viv, being Viv, soon decides to make herself useful. The good side and bad side of this book are the same: it's essentially the same book as Legends & Lattes, but this time with a bookstore. There's a medieval sword and sorcery setting, a wide variety of humanoid species, a local business that needs love and attention (this time because it's failing instead of new), a lurking villain, an improbable store animal (this time a gryphlet that I found less interesting than the cat of the coffee shop), and a whole lot of found family. It turns out I was happy to read that story again, and there were some things I liked better in this version. I find bookstores more interesting than coffee shops, and although Viv and Fern go through a similar process of copying features of a modern bookstore, this felt less strained than watching Viv reinvent the precise equipment and menu of a modern coffee shop in a fantasy world. Also, Fern is an absolute delight, probably my favorite character in either of the books. I love the way that she uses book recommendations as a way of asking questions and guessing at answers about other people. As with the first book, Baldree's world-building is utterly unconcerned with trying to follow the faux-medieval conventions of either sword and sorcery or D&D-style role-playing games. On one hand, I like this; most of that so-called medievalism is nonsense anyway, and there's no reason why fantasy with D&D-style species diversity should be set in a medieval world. On the other hand, this world seems exactly like a US small town except the tavern also has rooms for rent, there are roving magical armies, and everyone fights with swords for some reason. It feels weirdly anachronistic, and I can't tell if that's because I've been brainwashed into thinking fantasy has to be medievaloid or if it's a true criticism of the book. I was reminded somewhat of reading Jack McDevitt's SF novels, which are supposedly set in the far future but are indistinguishable from 1980s suburbia except with flying cars. The other oddity with this book is that the reader of the series knows Viv isn't going to stay. This is the problem with writing a second iteration of this story as a prequel. I see why Baldree did it the story wouldn't have worked if Viv were already established but it casts a bit of a pall over the cheeriness of the story. Baldree to his credit confronts this directly, weaves it into the relationships, and salvages it a bit more in the epilogue, but it gave the story a sort of preemptive wistfulness that was at odds with how I wanted to read it. But, despite that, the strength of this book are the characters. Viv is a good person who helps where she can, which sounds like a simple thing but is so restful to read about. This book features her first meeting with the gnome Gallina, who is always a delight. There are delicious baked goods from a dwarf, a grumpy doctor, a grumpier city guard, and a whole cast of people who felt complicated and normal and essentially decent. I'm not sure the fantasy elements do anything for this book, or this series, other than marketing and the convenience of a few plot devices. Even though one character literally disappears into a satchel, it felt like Baldree could have written roughly the same story as a contemporary novel without a hint of genre. But that's not really a complaint, since the marketing works. I would not have read this series if it had been contemporary novels, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. It's a slice of life novel about kind and decent people for readers who are bored by contemporary settings and would rather read fantasy. Works for me. I'm hoping Baldree finds other stories, since I'm not sure I want to read this one several more times, but twice was not too much. If you liked Legends & Lattes and are thinking "how can I get more of that," here's the book for you. If you haven't read Legends & Lattes, I think I would recommend reading this one first. It does many of the same things, it's a bit more polished, and then you can read Viv's adventures in internal chronological order. Rating: 8 out of 10

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