March, 2026 Reading: "Beauty is an enormous, unmerited gift given randomly, stupidly." Khaled Hosseini
Talk Literary Snobs
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1CliffBurns
Starting off the month with a short novel...then it's anything goes.
Was just down to Regina to see a production of "The Tempest" that incorporated some of my wife's puppets. While in town, we had to visit a bookstore or two, a thrift store...and so came home with even MORE books to add to my library.
Decluttering? Never heard of it.
Was just down to Regina to see a production of "The Tempest" that incorporated some of my wife's puppets. While in town, we had to visit a bookstore or two, a thrift store...and so came home with even MORE books to add to my library.
Decluttering? Never heard of it.
2iansales
Read: The Night Manager, John le Carré
I recently watched the second series of The Night Manager and was dissatisfied with it. It didn’t feel like something le Carré might have written, and I didn’t like the ending. So I decided to read The Night Manager, the actual novel by le Carré, on which the first series, broadcast 2016, was based.
I was, it turned out, both right and wrong. For the right and wrong reasons.
The first series of the television adaptation follows the basic beats of the novel’s story. Ex-Army officer now hotelier Jonathan Pine is given reason to hate international arms dealer Richard Onslow Roper, and is recruited by a UK government agency to infiltrate Roper’s inner circle. For obvious budgetary reasons, the setting for the TV series was moved from the Caribbean and Central America to the Mediterranean. Likewise the change, but perhaps more due to the number of years since publication than budget, from South American cartel villains to Middle Eastern ones. Pine’s handler, Burr, was also gender-swapped from man to woman – which was a good call (especially as she was played by Olivia Coleman). Other changes were less understandable. Roper’s girlfriend Jed is, in the novel, a vacuous upper-class English deb, but in the TV series she was re-imagined as American, and with a secret kid. Some of the characters names were also changed.
Events from the plot of the novel are there in the TV series – the murder of Sophie in Cairo, the fake murder in Cornwall, the staged kidnapping of Roper’s young boy, the incident with lobster salad… Sections were also cut-out in order to streamline the story. Pine’s adventures in Canada. His time in Cornwall is also shortened, and its nature changed – in the book, he’s well-liked and the “murder” he commits comes as a shock; in the TV series, he’s a not very convincing villain from the day of his arrival.
And then there’s the ending. In the novel, Burr’s operation to bring down Roper is being derailed by corrupt officials in the UK and US intelligence communities. They out Pine to Roper, but Burr manages to stage a monumental bluff which saves both Pine and Jed. In the TV series, Roper is brought down by Burr and Pine. To be honest, I prefer the TV ending. It’s also telling that in the book Pine is tortured and beaten before being released, but in the TV series it’s Jed who is beaten.
But then I don’t think The Night Manager is an especially good le Carré novel. He was a bloody good writer and his chosen genre has likely obscured how important he was. He was always anti-establishment, much more so in later years, but the cast of The Night Manager are, well, establishment caricatures. They’re ineptly corrupt, they talk like Harry Enfield lampooning 1950s Whitehall mandarins, and le Carré layers on the contempt so heavily it’s hard to take them seriously. In real life, members of the British establishment are corrupt or paedophiles or both, and have always been seen as such by the working class. And they have always been untouchable.
Which is why Roper remains untouched at the end of the novel.
All of which, ironically, are reasons why I didn’t like the second series of The Night Manager and accused it of not feeling like le Carré… When it’s set in South America, much like part of the original novel, and Roper escapes unscathed as he did in the book. Which actually makes it closer to le Carré’s novel than the first series…
The ebook edition I read includes an essay by le Carré on the various adaptations of his novels. He thought his work better served by TV than film, and in general agreed with the changes made to The Night Manager. Having now read the novel, I suspect he would have been happy with series two, even though strictly speaking it’s not an adaptation.
I recently watched the second series of The Night Manager and was dissatisfied with it. It didn’t feel like something le Carré might have written, and I didn’t like the ending. So I decided to read The Night Manager, the actual novel by le Carré, on which the first series, broadcast 2016, was based.
I was, it turned out, both right and wrong. For the right and wrong reasons.
The first series of the television adaptation follows the basic beats of the novel’s story. Ex-Army officer now hotelier Jonathan Pine is given reason to hate international arms dealer Richard Onslow Roper, and is recruited by a UK government agency to infiltrate Roper’s inner circle. For obvious budgetary reasons, the setting for the TV series was moved from the Caribbean and Central America to the Mediterranean. Likewise the change, but perhaps more due to the number of years since publication than budget, from South American cartel villains to Middle Eastern ones. Pine’s handler, Burr, was also gender-swapped from man to woman – which was a good call (especially as she was played by Olivia Coleman). Other changes were less understandable. Roper’s girlfriend Jed is, in the novel, a vacuous upper-class English deb, but in the TV series she was re-imagined as American, and with a secret kid. Some of the characters names were also changed.
Events from the plot of the novel are there in the TV series – the murder of Sophie in Cairo, the fake murder in Cornwall, the staged kidnapping of Roper’s young boy, the incident with lobster salad… Sections were also cut-out in order to streamline the story. Pine’s adventures in Canada. His time in Cornwall is also shortened, and its nature changed – in the book, he’s well-liked and the “murder” he commits comes as a shock; in the TV series, he’s a not very convincing villain from the day of his arrival.
And then there’s the ending. In the novel, Burr’s operation to bring down Roper is being derailed by corrupt officials in the UK and US intelligence communities. They out Pine to Roper, but Burr manages to stage a monumental bluff which saves both Pine and Jed. In the TV series, Roper is brought down by Burr and Pine. To be honest, I prefer the TV ending. It’s also telling that in the book Pine is tortured and beaten before being released, but in the TV series it’s Jed who is beaten.
But then I don’t think The Night Manager is an especially good le Carré novel. He was a bloody good writer and his chosen genre has likely obscured how important he was. He was always anti-establishment, much more so in later years, but the cast of The Night Manager are, well, establishment caricatures. They’re ineptly corrupt, they talk like Harry Enfield lampooning 1950s Whitehall mandarins, and le Carré layers on the contempt so heavily it’s hard to take them seriously. In real life, members of the British establishment are corrupt or paedophiles or both, and have always been seen as such by the working class. And they have always been untouchable.
Which is why Roper remains untouched at the end of the novel.
All of which, ironically, are reasons why I didn’t like the second series of The Night Manager and accused it of not feeling like le Carré… When it’s set in South America, much like part of the original novel, and Roper escapes unscathed as he did in the book. Which actually makes it closer to le Carré’s novel than the first series…
The ebook edition I read includes an essay by le Carré on the various adaptations of his novels. He thought his work better served by TV than film, and in general agreed with the changes made to The Night Manager. Having now read the novel, I suspect he would have been happy with series two, even though strictly speaking it’s not an adaptation.
3KatrinkaV
Just started Paul Kingsnorth''s Against the Machine. He always makes me feel less alone. Then, too, I was browsing in the library yesterday and picked up a copy of Charles Wright's Hard Freight— so far, so good!
4CliffBurns
THE HEART IN WINTER by Kevin Barry.
Set in the Irish expatriate community in Butte, Montana, circa 1890.
Very dark and gritty, a tale of doomed love and failed dreams.
Barry writes such fascinating prose and this short novel never relents or compromises itself.
Not a pleasant read, but a good one.
Set in the Irish expatriate community in Butte, Montana, circa 1890.
Very dark and gritty, a tale of doomed love and failed dreams.
Barry writes such fascinating prose and this short novel never relents or compromises itself.
Not a pleasant read, but a good one.
5CliffBurns
>2 iansales: Just got finished watching "The Night Manager" series--the two leads, Tom Hiddleston and Hugh Laurie were exceptional. Olivia Colman first-rate (as always).
I watched an interview with le Carre that was part of the "Supplementary" material accompanying Criterion's release of "The Spy Who Came in From the Cold". He absolutely did NOT want a faithful adaptation of his work, he wanted film-makers to take liberties, explore aspects of the world his novels omitted.
I assume the way the second series of "Night Manager" ended that there will be a followup...hope so anyway.
I enjoyed it.
I watched an interview with le Carre that was part of the "Supplementary" material accompanying Criterion's release of "The Spy Who Came in From the Cold". He absolutely did NOT want a faithful adaptation of his work, he wanted film-makers to take liberties, explore aspects of the world his novels omitted.
I assume the way the second series of "Night Manager" ended that there will be a followup...hope so anyway.
I enjoyed it.
6justifiedsinner
>2 iansales: >5 CliffBurns: There is a fascinating documentary about David Cornwell (le Carré) by Errol Morris called The Pigeon Tunnel. It includes extensive interviews and concentrates of lies, deception and betrayal. Something that fascinated him, hardly surprising given his father's criminal career.
7CliffBurns
>6 justifiedsinner: Unfortunately only available (thus far) on Apple TV.
The trailer looks fun:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9gWnuhjwNrw
The trailer looks fun:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9gWnuhjwNrw
8RobertDay
This morning I finished The Rose Field, Philip Pullman's final volume in his Book of Dust trilogy. I enjoyed it a lot, probably more than I did The Secret Commonwealth, despite some structural problems with the novel. There's quite a lot to get your teeth into. My review:
9justifiedsinner
>7 CliffBurns: Hopefully, it will be released more generally. Given the date it was released it must be one of the last interviews he gave before his death.
10iansales
Books read: There is No Antimemetics Division, qntm
Novels originally published on blogs which went on to become bestsellers when picked up by a traditional imprint are not new – The Martian, Wool, Fifty Shades of Grey, for example. Novels which originally appeared on AO3 have also picked up contracts from traditional publishers. To these routes we can now add the SCP Foundation, a collective writing project in which contributors post stories based within the SCP Foundation’s universe. Think X-Files meets Lovecraft meets Copypasta meets Resident Evil. Sort of.
There is No Antimemetics Division is a reformatted collection of stories originally published on the SCP Foundation website by Sam Hughes, given a story arc as a loose framing narrative, and expanded to novel-length with an original novella. It works. Sort of. It’s a fix-up and the joins are not difficult to spot. The universe is a collaborative project, although I believe the “antimemetic” aspect is original to qntm.
In the universe of the SCP Foundation, the world is under constant threat by paranormal and supernatural phenomena. A secret organisation exists in order to combat these threats. It’s called the Unknown Organisation, UO. (While UO is international, the novel is set entirely within the UK.) The idea has been around for years. There was a RPG called Delta Green based on the same premise back in the 1990s. The X-Files covered similar ground in some episodes.
Where There is No Antimemetics Division differs is that the threats the titular division combats are entirely idea-based. They’re memes. Even then, we’ve been there before – I remember similar ideas in some of the New Who series. It’s a neat central premise. It’s partly presented as case-files, which is a somewhat obvious spin on the material, but is also a quick and effective way to world-build. Unfortunately, there’s not much drama or jeopardy in, well, bad ideas. So There is No Antimemetics Division turns the various memetic “unknowns” into mechanisms to generate horror tropes. Especially in the final section of the novel, in which a much-feared Unknown has escaped from idea-space and is turning the real world into some sort of post-apocalyptic zombified wasteland.
To add verisimilitude to the narrative parts of it are redacted. But it’s often easy to figure out the redacted words and they’re… banal. “And”. “Was”. Words that would not normally be redacted because they’re not informative or revealing. If it’s a gimmick, it didn’t work for me.
There’s probably something ironic in the fact some of the ideas in There is No Antimemetic Division just bounced off me, while others were a little too familiar. I also felt some of the ideas lacked rigour, and the UO and its capabilities, and the technology behind it, appeared to change from page to page. Eventually, the whole edifice slowly collapses under the weight of its own premise. A neat idea, perhaps, that overstayed its welcome at novel-length and probably worked best in its original incarnation, a wiki of short stories. For me, the novel never really recovered from asking me to swallow an invisible cryptozoic creature that was 1000 metres tall and able to walk on water using its wide padded feet…
(Ironically, the touchstones for this work screwed up...)
Novels originally published on blogs which went on to become bestsellers when picked up by a traditional imprint are not new – The Martian, Wool, Fifty Shades of Grey, for example. Novels which originally appeared on AO3 have also picked up contracts from traditional publishers. To these routes we can now add the SCP Foundation, a collective writing project in which contributors post stories based within the SCP Foundation’s universe. Think X-Files meets Lovecraft meets Copypasta meets Resident Evil. Sort of.
There is No Antimemetics Division is a reformatted collection of stories originally published on the SCP Foundation website by Sam Hughes, given a story arc as a loose framing narrative, and expanded to novel-length with an original novella. It works. Sort of. It’s a fix-up and the joins are not difficult to spot. The universe is a collaborative project, although I believe the “antimemetic” aspect is original to qntm.
In the universe of the SCP Foundation, the world is under constant threat by paranormal and supernatural phenomena. A secret organisation exists in order to combat these threats. It’s called the Unknown Organisation, UO. (While UO is international, the novel is set entirely within the UK.) The idea has been around for years. There was a RPG called Delta Green based on the same premise back in the 1990s. The X-Files covered similar ground in some episodes.
Where There is No Antimemetics Division differs is that the threats the titular division combats are entirely idea-based. They’re memes. Even then, we’ve been there before – I remember similar ideas in some of the New Who series. It’s a neat central premise. It’s partly presented as case-files, which is a somewhat obvious spin on the material, but is also a quick and effective way to world-build. Unfortunately, there’s not much drama or jeopardy in, well, bad ideas. So There is No Antimemetics Division turns the various memetic “unknowns” into mechanisms to generate horror tropes. Especially in the final section of the novel, in which a much-feared Unknown has escaped from idea-space and is turning the real world into some sort of post-apocalyptic zombified wasteland.
To add verisimilitude to the narrative parts of it are redacted. But it’s often easy to figure out the redacted words and they’re… banal. “And”. “Was”. Words that would not normally be redacted because they’re not informative or revealing. If it’s a gimmick, it didn’t work for me.
There’s probably something ironic in the fact some of the ideas in There is No Antimemetic Division just bounced off me, while others were a little too familiar. I also felt some of the ideas lacked rigour, and the UO and its capabilities, and the technology behind it, appeared to change from page to page. Eventually, the whole edifice slowly collapses under the weight of its own premise. A neat idea, perhaps, that overstayed its welcome at novel-length and probably worked best in its original incarnation, a wiki of short stories. For me, the novel never really recovered from asking me to swallow an invisible cryptozoic creature that was 1000 metres tall and able to walk on water using its wide padded feet…
(Ironically, the touchstones for this work screwed up...)
11CliffBurns
>10 iansales: Someone I know was just telling me about that book in the last few days.
They were praising it, but then they made the mistake of saying "It's really Lovecraftian" and I immediately consigned it to my mental rubbish bin.
They were praising it, but then they made the mistake of saying "It's really Lovecraftian" and I immediately consigned it to my mental rubbish bin.
12iansales
>11 CliffBurns: It's getting a lot of hype - it's all over Youtube. As with most things that get hype, it's not worth it. A few neat ideas, most of which I suspect come from the SCP Foundation and not the author, and a couple of gimmicks.
It'll probably get nominated for half a dozen or so awards...
It'll probably get nominated for half a dozen or so awards...
13iansales
Read: A Memory of Light, Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson
And so the Wheel of Time finally rolls to a halt. After fourteen volumes in what was intended to be a ten-book series, and the literal death of the author. It has been a slog, a brain-rotting plod through some of the worst prose ever to appear between two covers. Jordan had no discipline, seemed to think a plot meant merely moving characters around on a map, or, occasionally, not moving them, and used quirks and silly habits to define each of his cast, who behaved like teenagers. Sanderson, who wrote the last three books, is little better. He may treat the characters like adults, but he doesn’t understand what a chapter is. In A Memory of Light, there is a chapter which describes every skirmish of the Last Battle over a single day and is nearly 200 pages long. And is then followed by three much shorter chapters, also covering the Last Battle *on that same day*. Sanderson’s prose is also somewhere around the same level as Dan Brown or RA Salvatore:
"Simply rob anyone who was not poor. Of course, that would just make everyone poor in the end."
"… a skim of ebullience over sombreness."
"The beasts yelled, howled and screeched depending on the orifice they’d been given."
"Cooked bodies. To them, it was like the aroma of fresh bread."
"… as the trumpets sounded in the air."
"The houses had the feel of mice clustered together before a cat."
The Last Battle is the centrepiece of the novel, it’s what everything has been leading up to over thirteen fat books. It takes place on the Field of Merrilor, which is actually a random piece of ground on the border between two countries. No reason is given for the name, or why a random section of countryside should deserve a name. In real history, battles are named for nearby towns or villages, such as Waterloo. The nearest town or village to the Field of Merrilor is– oh, there isn’t one.
While all this is going on, Rand is battling the Dark One in some sort of place outside of time and space. This fight seems to involve each of them showing each other what the future will be like if either of them survives, and shouting at each other IN ALL CAPS.
The whole thing is dragged out so much, it’s mind-numbingly boring. We know the good guys are going to win because Mat is a tactical genius – despite the fact the bad guys hugely outnumber them and have an actual superhero leading them. There are, of course, other battles going on elsewhere – three of them, in fact. But they’re soon lost and everything shifts to the Field of Merrilor. I’ll say one thing in Sanderson’s defence: he finds some novel uses for Travelling (but then everything else the Aes Sedai and Asha’man do is just your standard AD&D battle magic).
Pretty much all of the central cast survive to the end of the book, although Sanderson throws a few bait-and-switches in order to make it happen. The Forsaken… I’d completely lost track of who was who. They’ve changed names and appearances throughout the series. Nor did they seem to do much except whinge at each other. In fact, for much of the novel, if not the entire series, the biggest hurdles the good guys had to face were other good guys. The Seanchan invasion. The Children of Light. All the various factions. And, after all that, the bad guys turn up in overwhelming force, with hundreds of thousands of Trollocs, every other nasty creature that’s been named in the previous thirteen books, and an actual army, with its own wielders of the One Power, from some other part of the world that’s been mentioned perhaps twice in the entire series…
The Wheel of Time is not a good series, and A Memory of Light is not a good novel nor a good end to the series. I’m glad I finally finished the series. I’m also slightly astonished I bothered to read it all.
And so the Wheel of Time finally rolls to a halt. After fourteen volumes in what was intended to be a ten-book series, and the literal death of the author. It has been a slog, a brain-rotting plod through some of the worst prose ever to appear between two covers. Jordan had no discipline, seemed to think a plot meant merely moving characters around on a map, or, occasionally, not moving them, and used quirks and silly habits to define each of his cast, who behaved like teenagers. Sanderson, who wrote the last three books, is little better. He may treat the characters like adults, but he doesn’t understand what a chapter is. In A Memory of Light, there is a chapter which describes every skirmish of the Last Battle over a single day and is nearly 200 pages long. And is then followed by three much shorter chapters, also covering the Last Battle *on that same day*. Sanderson’s prose is also somewhere around the same level as Dan Brown or RA Salvatore:
"Simply rob anyone who was not poor. Of course, that would just make everyone poor in the end."
"… a skim of ebullience over sombreness."
"The beasts yelled, howled and screeched depending on the orifice they’d been given."
"Cooked bodies. To them, it was like the aroma of fresh bread."
"… as the trumpets sounded in the air."
"The houses had the feel of mice clustered together before a cat."
The Last Battle is the centrepiece of the novel, it’s what everything has been leading up to over thirteen fat books. It takes place on the Field of Merrilor, which is actually a random piece of ground on the border between two countries. No reason is given for the name, or why a random section of countryside should deserve a name. In real history, battles are named for nearby towns or villages, such as Waterloo. The nearest town or village to the Field of Merrilor is– oh, there isn’t one.
While all this is going on, Rand is battling the Dark One in some sort of place outside of time and space. This fight seems to involve each of them showing each other what the future will be like if either of them survives, and shouting at each other IN ALL CAPS.
The whole thing is dragged out so much, it’s mind-numbingly boring. We know the good guys are going to win because Mat is a tactical genius – despite the fact the bad guys hugely outnumber them and have an actual superhero leading them. There are, of course, other battles going on elsewhere – three of them, in fact. But they’re soon lost and everything shifts to the Field of Merrilor. I’ll say one thing in Sanderson’s defence: he finds some novel uses for Travelling (but then everything else the Aes Sedai and Asha’man do is just your standard AD&D battle magic).
Pretty much all of the central cast survive to the end of the book, although Sanderson throws a few bait-and-switches in order to make it happen. The Forsaken… I’d completely lost track of who was who. They’ve changed names and appearances throughout the series. Nor did they seem to do much except whinge at each other. In fact, for much of the novel, if not the entire series, the biggest hurdles the good guys had to face were other good guys. The Seanchan invasion. The Children of Light. All the various factions. And, after all that, the bad guys turn up in overwhelming force, with hundreds of thousands of Trollocs, every other nasty creature that’s been named in the previous thirteen books, and an actual army, with its own wielders of the One Power, from some other part of the world that’s been mentioned perhaps twice in the entire series…
The Wheel of Time is not a good series, and A Memory of Light is not a good novel nor a good end to the series. I’m glad I finally finished the series. I’m also slightly astonished I bothered to read it all.
14RobertDay
>13 iansales: I gave up on the tv series (I never had much inclination to pick up the books), when I heard that the nasty ones were called Trollocs. Like trolls, but rhymes with....
Did no-one at his publisher's ever say "Look, Robert, about these 'trollocs'. That's not really going to play well in some markets"?
Did no-one at his publisher's ever say "Look, Robert, about these 'trollocs'. That's not really going to play well in some markets"?
15CliffBurns
>14 RobertDay: High fantasy fans and people who read romance novels ("romantasy"? Jesus Christ!) have an extremely high tolerance for shite.
The best and only use for such books is kindling.
Brandon Sanderson is one of my favorite fire-starters.
The best and only use for such books is kindling.
Brandon Sanderson is one of my favorite fire-starters.
16Cecrow
>13 iansales:, next time you get the urge to tackle something of this scale (should that occur), you might try Steven Erickson's Malazan Book of the Fallen. I'd find it interesting how you would compare/contrast its quality with Wheel of Time. I couldn't get past the first WoT volume, so I can't do it myself.
17iansales
>16 Cecrow: I did try Malazan Book of the Fallen many years ago. It read like the write-up of a RPG campaign, which in fact is what it was. It also used what I call Characterisation by Quirks, which is basically every character is the same but has some weird verbal or physical tic to distinguish them. Jordan does the same. I gave up after one book because Gardens of the Moon contains no gardens, no moons and certain no gardens on a moon.
ETA: I do have the first two books of Tad Williams's Memory, Sorrow & Thorn, which is supposed to be a high-water mark of the genre.
ETA: I do have the first two books of Tad Williams's Memory, Sorrow & Thorn, which is supposed to be a high-water mark of the genre.
18CliffBurns
>17 iansales: "I do have the first two books of Tad Williams's Memory, Sorrow & Thorn, which is supposed to be a high-water mark of the genre."
That's a mighty low bar.
That's a mighty low bar.
19CliffBurns
I'm a decent poet...but then I come across a collection like Ada Limon's THE HURTING KIND and realize just how great verse can be.
Limon was the U.S. Poet Laureate and unlike some who have been awarded that post fully deserving of that honor.
Each poem was a revelation..."The First Fish" is about as good as it gets. Her powers of observation and intuition are so beyond the abilities of most poets that it beggars belief.
A genius, no less.
Limon was the U.S. Poet Laureate and unlike some who have been awarded that post fully deserving of that honor.
Each poem was a revelation..."The First Fish" is about as good as it gets. Her powers of observation and intuition are so beyond the abilities of most poets that it beggars belief.
A genius, no less.
20Cecrow
>17 iansales:, the gardens were mentioned metaphorically at one point, I thought. But you're not the first to be unimpressed and yes, given the almost ridiculously huge cast he doesn't spend much time on characterization. I think he's a finer dramatist than Jordan or Sanderson.
>18 CliffBurns:, in terms of literary fantasy, there's not much out there and I wouldn't count Tad Williams as such despite being a big fan. Tolkien's style maybe came closest. Guy Gavriel Kay strives for it. Michael Ende, if you venture into young adult. George Martin deserves some credit for not just dashing it off.
>18 CliffBurns:, in terms of literary fantasy, there's not much out there and I wouldn't count Tad Williams as such despite being a big fan. Tolkien's style maybe came closest. Guy Gavriel Kay strives for it. Michael Ende, if you venture into young adult. George Martin deserves some credit for not just dashing it off.
21iansales
>18 CliffBurns: we'll see how Williams goes. My expectations are not high but they are higher than Jordan or Erickson.
>20 Cecrow: There's literary fantasy and there's... well, I can't think of any high fantasy (or sword & sorcery or whatever the nom du jour is) that qualifies as literary. The other Steve Erickson (a Stephen not a Steven) I'd describe as literary fantasy, also Jonathan Carroll, but the stuff with dragons and magic and such? Nope.
Which is not to say there aren't examples of the latter that are well-written. Pratchett, of course. Howard's Conan are interesting, but they're historical documents and notable for their lack of rigour (he wrote several as western stories, then converted them to Conan stories... and they still read like westerns). Marlon James's Dark Star trilogy (I've only read the first) is excellent. And I've always thought RA MacAvoy's Lens of the World trilogy and Carolyn Ives Gilman's Isles of the Forsaken duology were superior fantasies. Oh, and Delany's Neveryona quartet. I also have a soft spot for PC Hodgell's Chronicles of the Kencyrath, but I wouldn't call them good per se.
>20 Cecrow: There's literary fantasy and there's... well, I can't think of any high fantasy (or sword & sorcery or whatever the nom du jour is) that qualifies as literary. The other Steve Erickson (a Stephen not a Steven) I'd describe as literary fantasy, also Jonathan Carroll, but the stuff with dragons and magic and such? Nope.
Which is not to say there aren't examples of the latter that are well-written. Pratchett, of course. Howard's Conan are interesting, but they're historical documents and notable for their lack of rigour (he wrote several as western stories, then converted them to Conan stories... and they still read like westerns). Marlon James's Dark Star trilogy (I've only read the first) is excellent. And I've always thought RA MacAvoy's Lens of the World trilogy and Carolyn Ives Gilman's Isles of the Forsaken duology were superior fantasies. Oh, and Delany's Neveryona quartet. I also have a soft spot for PC Hodgell's Chronicles of the Kencyrath, but I wouldn't call them good per se.
22SandraArdnas
>20 Cecrow: I count Ursula K. Le Guin as literary and Earthsea series is high fantasy. George MacDonald is more weird fairytales, but what a wonderful imagination and his literary style is not stilted like so much of his time. I've been on a mini binge of him since Standard Ebooks just released a number of his books. Those are just two of the top of my head
If anyone wants their marvelous, professionally set and designed free ebooks: https://standardebooks.org/ebooks/george-macdonald
If anyone wants their marvelous, professionally set and designed free ebooks: https://standardebooks.org/ebooks/george-macdonald
23iansales
>22 SandraArdnas: damn, I had meant to mention Earthsea, but forgot.
24Cecrow
I wouldn't rule out a fantasy novel from having literary aspirations based on the elements it chooses, albeit dragons or magic, but I haven't any better examples to suggest.
I'm remembering John Crowley's Little, Big as worthwhile. I found Marlon James' second novel in his sequence more digestible, and I like what he's doing.
I'm remembering John Crowley's Little, Big as worthwhile. I found Marlon James' second novel in his sequence more digestible, and I like what he's doing.
25RobertDay
A different sort of fantasy has been occupying me for the past few days - China Miéville's The City & The City. It had a rather personal impact on me, which came as a surprise. My review:
27KatrinkaV
Just finished, and thoroughly enjoyed, Nicholson Baker's The Anthologist. If more people approached poetry as the protagonist did, it might feel more accessible! I had to toss off a review: https://zwieblein.bearblog.dev/a-fumbling-reverence-for-poetry/.
For a project, I'm on now to Terry Tempest Williams's The Glorians. Not really my sort of thing, but you never know what a different viewpoint will do for you.
For a project, I'm on now to Terry Tempest Williams's The Glorians. Not really my sort of thing, but you never know what a different viewpoint will do for you.
28CliffBurns
>27 KatrinkaV: A very detailed and comprehensive review.
Plus it made me want to grab a copy of the book. So...mission accomplished.
I confess I'm not a big fan of rhyming poetry and most modernist poetry leaves me cold. Poetry, like any art form, is meant to communicate something. Opacity is permitted but the reader should never come away from a poem feeling stupid or alienated from verse, nor should they require footnotes or end notes to really grasp the poet's intentions.
I realize what I'm saying runs counter to major threads within academia but, like the man said, so it goes...
Plus it made me want to grab a copy of the book. So...mission accomplished.
I confess I'm not a big fan of rhyming poetry and most modernist poetry leaves me cold. Poetry, like any art form, is meant to communicate something. Opacity is permitted but the reader should never come away from a poem feeling stupid or alienated from verse, nor should they require footnotes or end notes to really grasp the poet's intentions.
I realize what I'm saying runs counter to major threads within academia but, like the man said, so it goes...
29CliffBurns
A friend of mine loaned me a copy of a 1996 novel by Hugh Laurie (yes, THAT Hugh Laurie) called THE GUN SELLER and I absolutely loved it.
An ex-military dude is trying to make a living off his expertise but after turning down a contract hit (with prejudice, as they say), he seeks out the intended victim to warn him off and is soon embroiled in a vast conspiracy involving coercing a terrorist group into a rash plan and then using the resulting situation to display the abilities of a prototype for a new attack helicopter.
A page-turner and (surprise, surprise) very funny.
Recommended.
An ex-military dude is trying to make a living off his expertise but after turning down a contract hit (with prejudice, as they say), he seeks out the intended victim to warn him off and is soon embroiled in a vast conspiracy involving coercing a terrorist group into a rash plan and then using the resulting situation to display the abilities of a prototype for a new attack helicopter.
A page-turner and (surprise, surprise) very funny.
Recommended.
30KatrinkaV
>28 CliffBurns: Thank you! Agreed; rhyme just doesn't do it for me—though spurred by my probably third reading of Paul Woodruff's Reverence, I'm reading Tennyson's In Memoriam—and I'm a lot less hampered by the rhyme than I'd thought I would be.
I recently read a couple of works by poet Charles Wright, and I'm intrigued: definitely want to read more!
I recently read a couple of works by poet Charles Wright, and I'm intrigued: definitely want to read more!
31iansales
Read : The Employees, Olga Ravn
Back in 2014, Paul Park published the novel All Those Vanished Engines, which comprised three linked novellas. One of these, which shared the book’s title, was originally commissioned to accompany a sound installation by Stephen Vitiello at the Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art in 2011. The Employees by Olga Ravn was inspired by the art of Lea Gulditte Hestelund, a Danish visual artist, after Ravn was asked to provide accompanying text for her exhibition, Consumed Future Spewed Up as Present. Knowing this in no way affects reading The Employees, although it does in part explain some parts of a novel which takes pains to obscure its story.
The novel is told in one- or two-page chapters, each of which is the testimony of a member of the crew of the Six-Thousand Ship, so called because that’s the number of people aboard it. Just like the Three Ship that went to the Moon, and indeed the One Ship that put the first human being in space. Not all of the six thousand are human, some of them are androids – the novel is vague to their exact status, only that they are human in all ways except actually being considered human. Science fiction is normally quite happy to feature chattel slavery without commentary, so why it bothered to invent a metaphor for it will forever be a mystery.
The opening testimonies describe members of the crew, or “employees”, visiting rooms containing “objects” from Hestelund’s installation. There are also visits outside the ship to a valley, although its unclear if the ship has landed on a planet or is in space. At some point, the non-human humans object to not being treated as humans, and mutiny. This is supposed to comment meaningfully on the human, or indeed non-human, condition.
The problem is, there is nothing new here. And couching everything in terms so vague, despite the manifold viewpoints, does not render the story profound or deep. I am in general in favour of science fiction written by non-genre writers. Their unfamiliarity with the tropes and conventions of science fiction can result in something interesting to say about common sf concerns – although that “common” often means their treatment is old-fashioned or adds little to the genre conversation.
And so it is here: The Employees, while poetically written, contains no new insights into the human condition, or even human resources. Some nice prose, an interesting structure, and a link to an art installation of a real-life artist are married to a story that tries hard to hide the fact it is thuddingly obvious from start to finish.
Back in 2014, Paul Park published the novel All Those Vanished Engines, which comprised three linked novellas. One of these, which shared the book’s title, was originally commissioned to accompany a sound installation by Stephen Vitiello at the Massachusetts Museum of Contemporary Art in 2011. The Employees by Olga Ravn was inspired by the art of Lea Gulditte Hestelund, a Danish visual artist, after Ravn was asked to provide accompanying text for her exhibition, Consumed Future Spewed Up as Present. Knowing this in no way affects reading The Employees, although it does in part explain some parts of a novel which takes pains to obscure its story.
The novel is told in one- or two-page chapters, each of which is the testimony of a member of the crew of the Six-Thousand Ship, so called because that’s the number of people aboard it. Just like the Three Ship that went to the Moon, and indeed the One Ship that put the first human being in space. Not all of the six thousand are human, some of them are androids – the novel is vague to their exact status, only that they are human in all ways except actually being considered human. Science fiction is normally quite happy to feature chattel slavery without commentary, so why it bothered to invent a metaphor for it will forever be a mystery.
The opening testimonies describe members of the crew, or “employees”, visiting rooms containing “objects” from Hestelund’s installation. There are also visits outside the ship to a valley, although its unclear if the ship has landed on a planet or is in space. At some point, the non-human humans object to not being treated as humans, and mutiny. This is supposed to comment meaningfully on the human, or indeed non-human, condition.
The problem is, there is nothing new here. And couching everything in terms so vague, despite the manifold viewpoints, does not render the story profound or deep. I am in general in favour of science fiction written by non-genre writers. Their unfamiliarity with the tropes and conventions of science fiction can result in something interesting to say about common sf concerns – although that “common” often means their treatment is old-fashioned or adds little to the genre conversation.
And so it is here: The Employees, while poetically written, contains no new insights into the human condition, or even human resources. Some nice prose, an interesting structure, and a link to an art installation of a real-life artist are married to a story that tries hard to hide the fact it is thuddingly obvious from start to finish.
32CliffBurns
DESPERATION ROAD by Michael Farris Smith.
I became interested in Smith when I saw that one of his books was a highly praised prequel to THE GREAT GATSBY titled NICK, which I hope to read one day soon.
DESPERATION ROAD shows promise: a man returns to his Mississippi home after serving 11 years for killing someone while out drinking and driving. But his sins have not been forgotten (or forgiven) and he also becomes involved with a woman who has her own dark past.
The novel sort of sputters out at the end but features good dialogue and well-drawn characters.
I'll definitely seek out more of Smith's work.
I became interested in Smith when I saw that one of his books was a highly praised prequel to THE GREAT GATSBY titled NICK, which I hope to read one day soon.
DESPERATION ROAD shows promise: a man returns to his Mississippi home after serving 11 years for killing someone while out drinking and driving. But his sins have not been forgotten (or forgiven) and he also becomes involved with a woman who has her own dark past.
The novel sort of sputters out at the end but features good dialogue and well-drawn characters.
I'll definitely seek out more of Smith's work.
33iansales
Read: Joy in the Morning, PG Wodehouse
Wodehouse’s first novel was published in 1902, and I had always thought his Jeeves and Wooster stories and novels were published in the decade in which they were set, the 1920s. In fact, he continued writing Jeeves and Wooster novels right up until his death in 1975, although all were set during Edwardian times. As Wodehouse himself explains, Edwardian England was one of the few periods when a character like Bertie Wooster could exist, or indeed an entire community or subculture like him, second sons living on the largesse of their families. In later decades, they would have been forced to find work to fund their lifestyles, but in the 1920s their families were still unencumbered enough to fund them.
Joy in the Morning was written in 19466, two decades later, just after the Second World War, while Wodehouse was in Germany after being released from internment by the Nazis. He then moved to the US and never returned to the UK. Its story, however, follows pretty much the same plot as other Jeeves and Wooster novels. Jeeves, or occasionally Wooster, is asked to help a friend in a matter, romantic or business, and somewhere involved in this is either one or two romantic couples. Who promptly split up. And Wooster ends up, against his wishes, affianced to one of the women involved.
In Joy in the Morning, Wooster is asked to help his uncle arrange a secret meeting with an American shipping magnate called J Chichester Clam (the names in these books are excellent). Meanwhile, Wooster also has to help his friend Boko Fittleworth persuade the same uncle he is a fit husband, despite being a successful writer, for Nobby Hopwood, the ward of the uncle, and against whom the uncle is set after several botched meetings. Wooster further manages to break up the engagement of Florence Craye, the uncle’s daughter, and Stilton Cheeseworth, an old schoolfriend of Wooster’s, who is both large and somewhat dim, and has chosen to join the police rather than become a MP (although, to be fair, both qualities are useful in either career). Florence, who was once affianced to Wooster, promptly re-institutes their old engagement.
The usual hijinks ensue. There’s also a young boy, the uncle’s son, whose efforts to perform good deeds generally result in hurt and chaos – such as accidentally burning down the cottage where Wooster was intending to stay.
Given Wodehouse had by this point been writing these stories and novels for three decades, it comes as no surprise the plot ticks along like well-engineered clockwork, every remark and incident falling inexorably into place to keep plot momentum at a steady pace. Unlike other Jeeves and Wooster novels I’ve read, it’s the two of them who resolve the various situations, rather than Wooster worsening matters and Jeeves resolving it all. In fact, at several points Jeeves declares himself unable to think of a solution (although on one occasion this is a deliberate ploy). Good stuff.
Wodehouse’s first novel was published in 1902, and I had always thought his Jeeves and Wooster stories and novels were published in the decade in which they were set, the 1920s. In fact, he continued writing Jeeves and Wooster novels right up until his death in 1975, although all were set during Edwardian times. As Wodehouse himself explains, Edwardian England was one of the few periods when a character like Bertie Wooster could exist, or indeed an entire community or subculture like him, second sons living on the largesse of their families. In later decades, they would have been forced to find work to fund their lifestyles, but in the 1920s their families were still unencumbered enough to fund them.
Joy in the Morning was written in 19466, two decades later, just after the Second World War, while Wodehouse was in Germany after being released from internment by the Nazis. He then moved to the US and never returned to the UK. Its story, however, follows pretty much the same plot as other Jeeves and Wooster novels. Jeeves, or occasionally Wooster, is asked to help a friend in a matter, romantic or business, and somewhere involved in this is either one or two romantic couples. Who promptly split up. And Wooster ends up, against his wishes, affianced to one of the women involved.
In Joy in the Morning, Wooster is asked to help his uncle arrange a secret meeting with an American shipping magnate called J Chichester Clam (the names in these books are excellent). Meanwhile, Wooster also has to help his friend Boko Fittleworth persuade the same uncle he is a fit husband, despite being a successful writer, for Nobby Hopwood, the ward of the uncle, and against whom the uncle is set after several botched meetings. Wooster further manages to break up the engagement of Florence Craye, the uncle’s daughter, and Stilton Cheeseworth, an old schoolfriend of Wooster’s, who is both large and somewhat dim, and has chosen to join the police rather than become a MP (although, to be fair, both qualities are useful in either career). Florence, who was once affianced to Wooster, promptly re-institutes their old engagement.
The usual hijinks ensue. There’s also a young boy, the uncle’s son, whose efforts to perform good deeds generally result in hurt and chaos – such as accidentally burning down the cottage where Wooster was intending to stay.
Given Wodehouse had by this point been writing these stories and novels for three decades, it comes as no surprise the plot ticks along like well-engineered clockwork, every remark and incident falling inexorably into place to keep plot momentum at a steady pace. Unlike other Jeeves and Wooster novels I’ve read, it’s the two of them who resolve the various situations, rather than Wooster worsening matters and Jeeves resolving it all. In fact, at several points Jeeves declares himself unable to think of a solution (although on one occasion this is a deliberate ploy). Good stuff.
34justifiedsinner
In Memphis Musk is building a data center to run Grok, as in Stranger in a Strange Land. The data center is called Colossus, as in Colossus and the film Colossus: The Forbin Project. Say what you will but the man knows his SF.
Given his 14 children, though, I can't help thinking he should have called it Demon Seed, as in Demon Seed and the film where Samatha Eggar is impregnated with a robotic penis.
Given his 14 children, though, I can't help thinking he should have called it Demon Seed, as in Demon Seed and the film where Samatha Eggar is impregnated with a robotic penis.
35CliffBurns
He knows his SF but refuses to recognize the warnings the genre has highlighted over the years re: technology running amok.
As for "Demon Seed", I see the parallels. Only wasn't it Julie Christie the machine raped and inseminated (truly a nasty, nasty movie)?
Not eager to watch that one again...unlike "Colossus", "Phase IV", "Journey to the Far Side of the Sun" and several other 1970s minor classics I wouldn't mind revisiting.
As for "Demon Seed", I see the parallels. Only wasn't it Julie Christie the machine raped and inseminated (truly a nasty, nasty movie)?
Not eager to watch that one again...unlike "Colossus", "Phase IV", "Journey to the Far Side of the Sun" and several other 1970s minor classics I wouldn't mind revisiting.
36RobertDay
>35 CliffBurns: Be careful what you wish for. I acquired a DVD copy of Journey to the Far Side of the Sun a few years ago: a great rarity, though I didn't pay collector's prices for it, I'm pleased to say.
(Added: it might be rare, but according to eBay, it's not that valuable. And a special 'collector's edition' Blu-Ray came out a couple of years later...)
I don't often write reviews of films, but I made an exception for this one.
https://deepwatersreading.wordpress.com/2018/08/01/doppelganger-vt-journey-to-th...
(Added: it might be rare, but according to eBay, it's not that valuable. And a special 'collector's edition' Blu-Ray came out a couple of years later...)
I don't often write reviews of films, but I made an exception for this one.
https://deepwatersreading.wordpress.com/2018/08/01/doppelganger-vt-journey-to-th...
37CliffBurns
>36 RobertDay: Remembered fondly from the late, late show (playing after "The Boy Who Cried Werewolf").
Ah, those were the good old days. Before my sensawunda became atrophied and sclerotic.
Ah, those were the good old days. Before my sensawunda became atrophied and sclerotic.
38iansales
>35 CliffBurns: IIRC, SpaceX named some of its rockets after Culture ships - and I'm pretty sure Banks would have objected mightily to being associated with anything to do with Musk.
39justifiedsinner
>35 CliffBurns: You are right: Julie Christie. I must have been thinking of Cronenberg's The Brood.
40justifiedsinner
>38 iansales: Not the rockets but the drone ships: Just Read the Instructions etc. I have an old 30ft sailboat named Zero Gravitas. We used to have a 22ft. sailboat and my wife wanted to name it Bora Horza Gobuchul but it wouldn't fit on the transome.
41RobertDay
>40 justifiedsinner: In the days when I was testing software for a living, I had to create users and locations for my test environment. User names ended up as characters from the Culture novels; locations, on the other hand, tended to be inspired by Gormenghast, with some additions of my own invention which were triggered by visits to exceptionally Gormenghastly stately homes. Hence a Cabinet of Stones, or a Corridor of Lizards...
42iansales
>40 justifiedsinner: I thought it might be, but I couldn't be arsed to google :-)
43justifiedsinner
>41 RobertDay: As a trainee programmer I did something similar. But I was working for a company called Babcock and Wilcox who were somewhat behind the times and still used decks of punched cards. This allowed the operations team to alter the test data in acutely embarrassing ways.
44iansales
Scarpetta 23: Depraved Heart, Patricia D Cornwell
This continues on directly from Flesh and Blood – which ended with a major cliffhanger: Scarpetta shot with a speargun and possibly dead… But of course she isn’t: there are at present six more books in the series.
Depraved Hearts opens some months later. Scarpetta is still recovering, and while she has no doubt she was shot by returned-from-the-dead psycho killer Carrie Grethen, the FBI is not so convinced. In fact, they seem to think Lucy is the killer. From the reader’s point of view, it’s all nonsense. And whatever is happening to defend Lucy is being kept from Scarpetta – by Benton, by Lucy, by pretty much everyone.
All of which manifests itself as a raid on Lucy’s well-defended mansion by the FBI. There’s also a young woman who seems to have fallen to her death while drunkenly adjusting a chandelier in her mother’s palatial home… but Scarpetta is not convinced it’s accidental. And there’s plenty that’s a bit weird about the murder and the victim. Not the least of which is that she knew Lucy.
All this is going on and Scarpetta is deliberately left in the dark, which means there’s lots of interiority about Grethen shooting her, and Scarpetta doubting her own memories, and suspecting some sort of conspiracy aimed at her and her loved ones…
It’s all resolved, of course, although Grethen spends the novel entirely off-stage. Given she’s the fulcrum around which the plot revolves – the title, a legal term in US justice, seemingly applies to her, although Scarpetta does worry at one point whether it could also apply to Lucy. I’m assuming everything comes to a head in the next novel in the series, Chaos, as Scarpetta discusses Grethen’s career of “causing chaos” several times in Depraved Heart.
Most of the Scarpetta novels stand alone, but I’m not convinced this one does. It reads like the middle novel of a trilogy. On the other hand, Cornwell does like to make full use of her psycho killers over several novels, even if she has to bring them back from the dead a few times.
This continues on directly from Flesh and Blood – which ended with a major cliffhanger: Scarpetta shot with a speargun and possibly dead… But of course she isn’t: there are at present six more books in the series.
Depraved Hearts opens some months later. Scarpetta is still recovering, and while she has no doubt she was shot by returned-from-the-dead psycho killer Carrie Grethen, the FBI is not so convinced. In fact, they seem to think Lucy is the killer. From the reader’s point of view, it’s all nonsense. And whatever is happening to defend Lucy is being kept from Scarpetta – by Benton, by Lucy, by pretty much everyone.
All of which manifests itself as a raid on Lucy’s well-defended mansion by the FBI. There’s also a young woman who seems to have fallen to her death while drunkenly adjusting a chandelier in her mother’s palatial home… but Scarpetta is not convinced it’s accidental. And there’s plenty that’s a bit weird about the murder and the victim. Not the least of which is that she knew Lucy.
All this is going on and Scarpetta is deliberately left in the dark, which means there’s lots of interiority about Grethen shooting her, and Scarpetta doubting her own memories, and suspecting some sort of conspiracy aimed at her and her loved ones…
It’s all resolved, of course, although Grethen spends the novel entirely off-stage. Given she’s the fulcrum around which the plot revolves – the title, a legal term in US justice, seemingly applies to her, although Scarpetta does worry at one point whether it could also apply to Lucy. I’m assuming everything comes to a head in the next novel in the series, Chaos, as Scarpetta discusses Grethen’s career of “causing chaos” several times in Depraved Heart.
Most of the Scarpetta novels stand alone, but I’m not convinced this one does. It reads like the middle novel of a trilogy. On the other hand, Cornwell does like to make full use of her psycho killers over several novels, even if she has to bring them back from the dead a few times.
45justifiedsinner
>44 iansales: I don't know if you are able to see the Amazon series Scarpetta where you are. I'd be interested in what you though about it having read the novels. There seemed to be a lot of screaming. Screaming between Nicole Kidman (Scarpetta) and Jamie Lee Curtis (her sister). Screaming between Kidman and Bobby Cannavale (her principal investigator and brother-in-law). And then there's Scarpetta's niece's dead lesbian partner who is now an AI dispensing sage relationship advice.
Too much for me. I gave up on it despite a excellent but ill used cast.
Too much for me. I gave up on it despite a excellent but ill used cast.
46iansales
>45 justifiedsinner: I've watched the series - and I wasn't much impressed. Some bizarre story decisions. But since the present-day story in the series is based on Autopsy, I'm going to wait until I review that book before writing about the series.
It's possible the five of them living and squabbling in one big house happens at some point in the next two books, but I doubt it.
It's possible the five of them living and squabbling in one big house happens at some point in the next two books, but I doubt it.
47justifiedsinner
>46 iansales: I'm betting that they don't have a dead girl AI. That seemed liked a throw-in for topicality.
48CliffBurns
CRUCIBLE, the latest novel by John Sayles.
I've sung John Sayles' praises for as long as I can remember, steering people toward his exceptional films, but his novels and short stories as well; they also highlight his intelligence and intuitive understanding of what makes people tick.
CRUCIBLE is a work of historical fiction, detailing attempts to organize a union at Henry Ford's auto plants. There is also a subplot involving "Fordlandia", Henry Ford's daft scheme to transplant a slice of Americana into the Amazon forest, where he hoped to establish massive rubber plantations.
Sayles is an American master and CRUCIBLE is essential reading.
I've sung John Sayles' praises for as long as I can remember, steering people toward his exceptional films, but his novels and short stories as well; they also highlight his intelligence and intuitive understanding of what makes people tick.
CRUCIBLE is a work of historical fiction, detailing attempts to organize a union at Henry Ford's auto plants. There is also a subplot involving "Fordlandia", Henry Ford's daft scheme to transplant a slice of Americana into the Amazon forest, where he hoped to establish massive rubber plantations.
Sayles is an American master and CRUCIBLE is essential reading.
49iansales
>47 justifiedsinner: as of book 23 (published in 2015), Janet is alive and well and married to Lucy, and the two of them are preparing to adopt the young son of Janet's sister who recently died of cancer.
50CliffBurns
POEMS OF AKHMATOVA by Anna Akhmatova (translated by Stanley Kunitz and Max Hayward).
Considered one of the best English translations of the Soviet-era poet.
Akhmatova somehow managed to survive the Stalinist purges, unlike many of her contemporaries (including the great Osip Mandelstam) but she was forced to take measures like having friends memorize portions of her work and then destroying paper copies.
This collection brings together her best poetry, including "Requiem", "This cruel age has deflected me..." and numerous others. The translators have done a very good job of maintaining her distinct voice, the force of her language.
Her courage was beyond question, the fact that she lived to a ripe, old age a testament to her strength and the reverence with which her verse was regarded by readers.
Recommended.
Considered one of the best English translations of the Soviet-era poet.
Akhmatova somehow managed to survive the Stalinist purges, unlike many of her contemporaries (including the great Osip Mandelstam) but she was forced to take measures like having friends memorize portions of her work and then destroying paper copies.
This collection brings together her best poetry, including "Requiem", "This cruel age has deflected me..." and numerous others. The translators have done a very good job of maintaining her distinct voice, the force of her language.
Her courage was beyond question, the fact that she lived to a ripe, old age a testament to her strength and the reverence with which her verse was regarded by readers.
Recommended.
51iansales
Read: Short, Michael Blumlein
I’ve been a big fan of Blumlein’s fiction for years, ever since coming across one of his stories in an Interzone anthology back in the late 1980s - it was either his debut story, ‘Tissue Ablation and Variant Regeneration: A Case Report’, in Interzone: the 1st Anthology, or ‘The Brains of Rats’, his second published story, in Interzone: the 2nd Anthology. Whichever it was, it inspired me to track down everything else he had written.
Which was not easy at the time. I found a copy of his first collection, The Brains of Rats, which had been published by US small press Scream Press and was not readily available in the UK (I forget where I bought it; it might have been at a convention). His debut novel, The Movement of Mountains, which was science fiction, appeared in the UK in 1989. His second novel, X, Y, which was horror, was only available as a US massmarket paperback.
Then there was a gap - a story every year or two, a handful of novellas, but nothing at novel-length until The Healer. And a decade later, a handful of collections of his fiction. Of which Short, and its companion volume, Long, are the latest. Sadly, we lost Blumlein in 2019, so when these two volumes claim to be complete, they will stay that way. He was a singular talent, and almost sui generis. His stories were carefully crafted, and always thought-provoking. Some, obviously, worked better than others, and reading Short, which contains all twenty-nine of his published short stories, the differences can be stark.
Blumlein’s debut story, ‘Tissue Ablation and Variant Regeneration: A Case Report’, first published in Interzone in 1984, is remarkable. It’s also emblematic of Blumlein’s career - somewhere on the borderline between science fiction and horror, with occasional steps entirely into one genre or the other, often based around something medical, and always with very analytical prose. ‘Bestseller’, one of his more popular stories, is a case in point: a struggling writer answers a mysterious advert, and agrees to donate bone marrow for a large sum of money to an ailing billionaire. Then other parts of the billionaire’s body begin to fail, and the writer finds himself donating more and more…
Other stories read as though they were written to a specific market - ‘Snow in Dirt’, for example, was written for an anthology inspired by fairy tales. Even the stories originally published in F&SF feel like F&SF stories, and are lighter in tone than Blumlein’s other works.
Having said that, twenty-nine Blumlein stories in succession is a little overwhelming. His prose is intense and his stories are subtle. Short is a collection to be dipped into and savoured, I think. On the other hand, I now want to reread Blumlein’s novels. Fortunately, I recently purchased a copy of The Movement of Mountains (my copies of his books are in storage).
And, of course, I have Long still to read.
I’ve been a big fan of Blumlein’s fiction for years, ever since coming across one of his stories in an Interzone anthology back in the late 1980s - it was either his debut story, ‘Tissue Ablation and Variant Regeneration: A Case Report’, in Interzone: the 1st Anthology, or ‘The Brains of Rats’, his second published story, in Interzone: the 2nd Anthology. Whichever it was, it inspired me to track down everything else he had written.
Which was not easy at the time. I found a copy of his first collection, The Brains of Rats, which had been published by US small press Scream Press and was not readily available in the UK (I forget where I bought it; it might have been at a convention). His debut novel, The Movement of Mountains, which was science fiction, appeared in the UK in 1989. His second novel, X, Y, which was horror, was only available as a US massmarket paperback.
Then there was a gap - a story every year or two, a handful of novellas, but nothing at novel-length until The Healer. And a decade later, a handful of collections of his fiction. Of which Short, and its companion volume, Long, are the latest. Sadly, we lost Blumlein in 2019, so when these two volumes claim to be complete, they will stay that way. He was a singular talent, and almost sui generis. His stories were carefully crafted, and always thought-provoking. Some, obviously, worked better than others, and reading Short, which contains all twenty-nine of his published short stories, the differences can be stark.
Blumlein’s debut story, ‘Tissue Ablation and Variant Regeneration: A Case Report’, first published in Interzone in 1984, is remarkable. It’s also emblematic of Blumlein’s career - somewhere on the borderline between science fiction and horror, with occasional steps entirely into one genre or the other, often based around something medical, and always with very analytical prose. ‘Bestseller’, one of his more popular stories, is a case in point: a struggling writer answers a mysterious advert, and agrees to donate bone marrow for a large sum of money to an ailing billionaire. Then other parts of the billionaire’s body begin to fail, and the writer finds himself donating more and more…
Other stories read as though they were written to a specific market - ‘Snow in Dirt’, for example, was written for an anthology inspired by fairy tales. Even the stories originally published in F&SF feel like F&SF stories, and are lighter in tone than Blumlein’s other works.
Having said that, twenty-nine Blumlein stories in succession is a little overwhelming. His prose is intense and his stories are subtle. Short is a collection to be dipped into and savoured, I think. On the other hand, I now want to reread Blumlein’s novels. Fortunately, I recently purchased a copy of The Movement of Mountains (my copies of his books are in storage).
And, of course, I have Long still to read.
52Cecrow
>48 CliffBurns:, have you read A Moment in the Sun? I've been pondering whether to tackle it.
53CliffBurns
A MOMENT IN THE SUN is, in my view, Sayles' best book.
Huge canvas, a big cast...and nary a note out of place.
LOVED it.
Huge canvas, a big cast...and nary a note out of place.
LOVED it.
54KatrinkaV
>50 CliffBurns: She was my go-to in my twenties—and although Judith Hemschemeyer is my preferred translator, this one's on my shelf as well!
55iansales
Read: The Green Man's Holiday, Juliet E McKenna
This is the eighth book in the series, which is pretty impressive given, I believe, the first one wasn’t actually intended to be published, and certainly wasn’t planned as the first book of a series. But the premise lends itself to multiple stories, and the novels so far have been very good… so why not?
Daniel Mackmain is the son of a human man and a dryad. As a result, he can speak to, and interact with, creatures from English folklore. He is also occasionally given tasks by the Green Man. Over the course of the preceding seven books, Mackmain has given up his work as a jobbing carpenter, and settled down as estate manager at a stately home, and has a girlfriend who is a hydrology consultant and a Swan Maiden. Mackmain has also built up a network of people like himself, half-human half-folkoric creature, across the UK.
In The Green Man’s Holiday, Mackmain and his girlfriend, Fin, have taken a week off and rented a small cottage in the Mendips. First, the phones stop working, then their car, and then someone dumps a newborn on their backdoor step. They contact the police and the baby is returned to its distraught parents.
But it’s not a real baby, it’s a changeling. And Mackmain realises this. So he and Fin need to find the real baby, and then swap it for the changeling. They find the baby easily enough – through a portal at some nearby standing stones. But Fin becomes trapped on the other side of the portal while rescuing the baby, leaving Mackmain to resolve everything on his own. Without rousing the suspicions of the police.
But not, unfortunately, before attracting the attention of a hag (really nasty pieces of work, introduced in an earlier novel in the series). So Mackmain has to foil the hag, return the baby, and somehow find a way to get Fin back.
They’re a lot of fun these books – and yes, you do learn about British folklore. They deserve to be popular. I’ll happily read them as long as McKenna writes them. In this one, the odds seemed stacked higher than previously against Mackmain – of course, he’s sure to win through, but it feels like a close run thing. I admit a lot of the parts of England where these stories take place are unknown to me, and might as well be a foreign country. I mean, when I hear “Cotswolds” and “Mendips”, I think Midsummer Murders and what I call “chocolate box England”. The Green Man series may use similar locales, but there’s nothing sanitised (or even whitewashed) about them in the books, and they’re very much set in the UK of the twenty-first century.
Not my favourite of the series so far, but they’re all good so there’s only a tiny difference in it. Recommended.
This is the eighth book in the series, which is pretty impressive given, I believe, the first one wasn’t actually intended to be published, and certainly wasn’t planned as the first book of a series. But the premise lends itself to multiple stories, and the novels so far have been very good… so why not?
Daniel Mackmain is the son of a human man and a dryad. As a result, he can speak to, and interact with, creatures from English folklore. He is also occasionally given tasks by the Green Man. Over the course of the preceding seven books, Mackmain has given up his work as a jobbing carpenter, and settled down as estate manager at a stately home, and has a girlfriend who is a hydrology consultant and a Swan Maiden. Mackmain has also built up a network of people like himself, half-human half-folkoric creature, across the UK.
In The Green Man’s Holiday, Mackmain and his girlfriend, Fin, have taken a week off and rented a small cottage in the Mendips. First, the phones stop working, then their car, and then someone dumps a newborn on their backdoor step. They contact the police and the baby is returned to its distraught parents.
But it’s not a real baby, it’s a changeling. And Mackmain realises this. So he and Fin need to find the real baby, and then swap it for the changeling. They find the baby easily enough – through a portal at some nearby standing stones. But Fin becomes trapped on the other side of the portal while rescuing the baby, leaving Mackmain to resolve everything on his own. Without rousing the suspicions of the police.
But not, unfortunately, before attracting the attention of a hag (really nasty pieces of work, introduced in an earlier novel in the series). So Mackmain has to foil the hag, return the baby, and somehow find a way to get Fin back.
They’re a lot of fun these books – and yes, you do learn about British folklore. They deserve to be popular. I’ll happily read them as long as McKenna writes them. In this one, the odds seemed stacked higher than previously against Mackmain – of course, he’s sure to win through, but it feels like a close run thing. I admit a lot of the parts of England where these stories take place are unknown to me, and might as well be a foreign country. I mean, when I hear “Cotswolds” and “Mendips”, I think Midsummer Murders and what I call “chocolate box England”. The Green Man series may use similar locales, but there’s nothing sanitised (or even whitewashed) about them in the books, and they’re very much set in the UK of the twenty-first century.
Not my favourite of the series so far, but they’re all good so there’s only a tiny difference in it. Recommended.
56iansales
Read: Eclipse, John Shirley
I read Eclipse some time back in the 1990s, I think, or it might have been the late 1980s. It was originally published in 1985, but the edition I read this year was the 1999 revised edition. It’s the first of a trilogy, A Song Called Youth, followed by Eclipse Penumbra and Eclipse Corona. For some reason, I never got around to reading books two and three.
I’ve read a lot of fiction by John Shirley over the years. He was one of the authors I fastened onto during the late 1980s, for reasons I no longer remember. He’s had an… interesting career (there’s a good interview with him from February this year on Boing Boing: here). His output has been large, including quite a lot of work-for-hire novelisations, but the quality has been variable. His works are mostly science fiction or horror, with the odd fantasy. His good stuff is definitely worth reading, the rest not so much.
Fortunately, Eclipse is one of the good ones. It’s part-cyberpunk, part-WW3, and part-punk rock. It’s set some time around the middle of this century. After Putin’s death, Russia invaded Europe. Meanwhile, fascism is on the rise everywhere in the West. There’s a space habitat called the Colony in orbit, and a high-tech floating sovereign city in the Mediterranean called Freezone. A private security company called Second Alliance has been contracted to police the war-torn cities of western Europe. Second Alliance is run by a cabal of right-wing Christian fascists, and is deeply racist, homophobic, anti-semitic and anti-Islamic. There is a small resistance trying to prevent them. The novel follows a handful of characters from the resistance: in Paris, in the Colony, and infiltrated into Second Alliance’s leadership.
If parts of this sound familiar, it’s worth remembering the novel was originally published in 1985. And even the revised edition is twenty-seven years old. Of course, there’s nothing new about fascism, and the US has been a bin fire since it was founded… In the real world, the Russian invasion was limited to Ukraine, and Israel has proven to be a rogue nation rather than a settling influence on the Middle East. And, of course, there was 9/11 and the War on Terror. True, a lot of Shirley’s world-building in Eclipse is fairly typical of cyberpunk post-war fiction of the 1980s, and it’s scary how close to present-day reality some of it is.
Of course, back then, cyberpunk was about the tech – the capitalism run wild, or World War 3, were just setting – and here Eclipse is a little wider of the mark. It’s probably the only thing in the book that dates it – well, that and the punk rock aesthetic, which didn’t last much past the 1990s. Nonetheless, it still reads pretty well.
I read Eclipse some time back in the 1990s, I think, or it might have been the late 1980s. It was originally published in 1985, but the edition I read this year was the 1999 revised edition. It’s the first of a trilogy, A Song Called Youth, followed by Eclipse Penumbra and Eclipse Corona. For some reason, I never got around to reading books two and three.
I’ve read a lot of fiction by John Shirley over the years. He was one of the authors I fastened onto during the late 1980s, for reasons I no longer remember. He’s had an… interesting career (there’s a good interview with him from February this year on Boing Boing: here). His output has been large, including quite a lot of work-for-hire novelisations, but the quality has been variable. His works are mostly science fiction or horror, with the odd fantasy. His good stuff is definitely worth reading, the rest not so much.
Fortunately, Eclipse is one of the good ones. It’s part-cyberpunk, part-WW3, and part-punk rock. It’s set some time around the middle of this century. After Putin’s death, Russia invaded Europe. Meanwhile, fascism is on the rise everywhere in the West. There’s a space habitat called the Colony in orbit, and a high-tech floating sovereign city in the Mediterranean called Freezone. A private security company called Second Alliance has been contracted to police the war-torn cities of western Europe. Second Alliance is run by a cabal of right-wing Christian fascists, and is deeply racist, homophobic, anti-semitic and anti-Islamic. There is a small resistance trying to prevent them. The novel follows a handful of characters from the resistance: in Paris, in the Colony, and infiltrated into Second Alliance’s leadership.
If parts of this sound familiar, it’s worth remembering the novel was originally published in 1985. And even the revised edition is twenty-seven years old. Of course, there’s nothing new about fascism, and the US has been a bin fire since it was founded… In the real world, the Russian invasion was limited to Ukraine, and Israel has proven to be a rogue nation rather than a settling influence on the Middle East. And, of course, there was 9/11 and the War on Terror. True, a lot of Shirley’s world-building in Eclipse is fairly typical of cyberpunk post-war fiction of the 1980s, and it’s scary how close to present-day reality some of it is.
Of course, back then, cyberpunk was about the tech – the capitalism run wild, or World War 3, were just setting – and here Eclipse is a little wider of the mark. It’s probably the only thing in the book that dates it – well, that and the punk rock aesthetic, which didn’t last much past the 1990s. Nonetheless, it still reads pretty well.
57iansales
Read: Metronome, Tom Watson
This was shortlisted for the Arthur C Clarke Award in 2023, which is a science fiction literary award which generally aligns with my tastes in science fiction but does occasionally throw up baffling nominees. Metronome is not as bad as some novels that have been nominated for the Clarke Award in the past, but I’m not convinced it deserved its place on the shortlist.
In a country which seems culturally and politically a mishmash of the UK and some random invented East European nation from literature, Whitney and Aina have been exiled to a croft on a windswept island for the crime of having a child without permission. No reason is given for the government licensing procreation, but it seems political. The two also have to take a pill three times a day – allegedly because of toxins released by the thawing of the permafrost.
None of this is convincing, nor does Watson seem to care. Metronome is a detailed account of the days before the couple’s twelve-year sentence is finally up, when the warden will come to return them home. And which of course never happens – because in these sorts of novels, it never does. Then a man and his young daughter appear – and the latter does not need to take the pills, so the permafrost toxins seem to be a political lie. Things come to a head because Whitney spends the entire novel wearing the Idiot Hat, and the revelation late in the story that he shopped the pair of them lands with a dull inevitability.
Watson can write a good sentence, but it’s all so ploddingly dull and banal and predictable. The setting never quite adds up – no surprise there, it’s a feature of the sub-sub-sub-genre, or whatever it is. Nothing is resolved – yet another feature of stories like this. East Europeans have been writing this sort of fiction for decades, and from lived experience. Metronome can never be more than a pale imitation, and so it proves. It comes as no surprise to discover it’s Watson’s first novel, and that he studied for a MA in Creative Writing. The press apparently loved it – I’ve said before I’m generally in favour of non-genre authors writing genre, but it’s depressing how literary reviewers enthuse so often about such books when no such enthusiasm is deserved.
This was shortlisted for the Arthur C Clarke Award in 2023, which is a science fiction literary award which generally aligns with my tastes in science fiction but does occasionally throw up baffling nominees. Metronome is not as bad as some novels that have been nominated for the Clarke Award in the past, but I’m not convinced it deserved its place on the shortlist.
In a country which seems culturally and politically a mishmash of the UK and some random invented East European nation from literature, Whitney and Aina have been exiled to a croft on a windswept island for the crime of having a child without permission. No reason is given for the government licensing procreation, but it seems political. The two also have to take a pill three times a day – allegedly because of toxins released by the thawing of the permafrost.
None of this is convincing, nor does Watson seem to care. Metronome is a detailed account of the days before the couple’s twelve-year sentence is finally up, when the warden will come to return them home. And which of course never happens – because in these sorts of novels, it never does. Then a man and his young daughter appear – and the latter does not need to take the pills, so the permafrost toxins seem to be a political lie. Things come to a head because Whitney spends the entire novel wearing the Idiot Hat, and the revelation late in the story that he shopped the pair of them lands with a dull inevitability.
Watson can write a good sentence, but it’s all so ploddingly dull and banal and predictable. The setting never quite adds up – no surprise there, it’s a feature of the sub-sub-sub-genre, or whatever it is. Nothing is resolved – yet another feature of stories like this. East Europeans have been writing this sort of fiction for decades, and from lived experience. Metronome can never be more than a pale imitation, and so it proves. It comes as no surprise to discover it’s Watson’s first novel, and that he studied for a MA in Creative Writing. The press apparently loved it – I’ve said before I’m generally in favour of non-genre authors writing genre, but it’s depressing how literary reviewers enthuse so often about such books when no such enthusiasm is deserved.
