Four Months of Books
Jul. 15th, 2012 10:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aseMarch through June, because I was distracted by academic due dates.
Ultraviolet (R.J. Anderson) (2011): YA fiction. Teenager must come to grips with the events that landed her in a mental institution with an accusation she killed a popular classmate.
The "have your cake and eat it too" aphorism made very little sense to me on first glance. It took me several tries to reformulate the concept for fiction: we want the modern novels that incorporate the intellectual critiques, but we also want the uncomplicated shoot-'em-up or id-vortex romance that hits the emotional pleasure centers. Ultraviolet manages a bit of both. There's Alison's special superpowers, which mostly are a minus except when they are plot-critical. There's the incredibly questionable teen-tween romance, where the tween (male) is presented as a person with even more authority and power over the teen (female). That's so very not a theme of interest; the age/experience dynamic sits ill with me. But when there's not pining and sneaking out to meet older men, the story coheres nicely, capturing the protagonist's evolving ability to question her assumptions. I really liked her reassessments of what had been blanket attitudes: toward her mom, about fellow inpatients, with respect to her classmates. It's a compassionate book, in a good way. So I'm in an odd position that I would hand it to a YA audience with no warnings for violence and long Q&A about Sebastian's motives for spending time with Alison.
The Hunger Games (Suzanne Collins) (2008): This needs a Biblical or faux-profound header quote. Katniss rings true - girl has cunning, not education, or quick introspection - but the Big Brother-esque setup is hollow. Ritual blood sacrifice of one's children seems like exactly the sort of thing that starts revolutions, not get 74 seasons on the postapocalyptic BBC. Collins creates a vicious murder scenario, then ducks the conflicts. Katniss compares one of her fellow competitor-victims with her beloved sister, and then little Rue is killed off by the designated bad guys. One could argue that this is the point, moral high ground, etc; however, that would require further suspension of disbelief in the questionable premise. Summary: likely to read Catching Fire and Mockingjay when the movies come out, and unlikely to read before then.
Crucible of Gold (Naomi Novik) (2012): This had far fewer problems than Tongues of Serpents. Plus, the narrative clipped along fast enough I was willing to overlook several gaping worldbuilding holes. The real treat was Granby finally growing a spine, too bad he had to be outed and nearly die to learn how to stand up to Iskierka. If only there had been way more Lesotho and Mrs Pemberton I might have forgiven the questionable Peruvian population dynamics, or my complete failure at beliving the Portugese would free their Brazilian slaves, ever. I want Hammond + Churki for epic crackfic, Hammond totally deserves an overprotective dragon to go with his budding cocaine addiction. Entertaining but not particularly clever, and weirdly constrained by the spiraling-out worldbuilding. The initial "Napoleonic wars with dragons" setup plays oddly with the 21st C attitudes embedded in the later plots.
So I sort of accidentally mainlined Stackpole's first four X-wing novels? And watched a season and a quarter of the Clone Wars cartoon over spring break? In that way you do, when you're jonesing for prequel movies that aren't awful. And here is the kind of hilarious thing, the X-Wing novels flunk the Betchdel so hard - Erisi Dlarit's entire plot line is Wicked Temptress! - while the Clone Wars have Aayla Secura (woman) and Ahsoka Tano (teenage girl) facing off against Asajj Ventress (evil Dark Jedi, incidentally also female) without a hint of catfight. It just sort of happened! Five minutes into an animated / CGI / whatever lightsaber battle I am thinking, "wait, these are women talking about something other than a man. Okay, there's some trash-talking Anakin and Dooku, in a completely platonic 'my master's better than your master' way." There's a thing to be said about target audiences, 1990's vs 2010's, and novels vs TV, and divergences, which doesn't fit here, sadly. I stopped watching Clones Wars when scragging the Jedi officers started sounding like a good idea, but I'm pleased to report the close proximity of women and large explosions. On the novel side, I sort of want to come down on Stackpole for dubious female characterization, but honestly, it's more like dubious characterization fill stop. Isard and Dirricote shouldn't have overlapping vocabulary / attitude registers with Vorru and Black Sun. And can someone oppose Rogue Squadron for reasons other than overwhelming corrupt ambition? Shades of gray, please?
The Bird of the River (Kage Baker) (2010): Set in the same fantasy universe as The Anvil of the World and The House of the Stag, once largely defined by your birth into the forest-loving and largely pacifist Yondri or the violent, industrial Children of the Sun. Protagonist Elissa struggles with her half-and-half brother's problems and social entanglements on the eponymous river barge. Baker's characteristic charm and humor are on display here; endings are happy, and the trip there is entertaining.
I started The Neon Court (Kate Griffin) (2011) with misgivings. The title and early chapters available online suggested it contained urban fairies and fridging. Urban fairy anything is a personal turnoff in 90% of everything I read or watch, and dead women for maximum manpain - well. So my enjoyment of Matthew's tendencies for causing mayhem and gruesome injuries (not to mention the property damage) were in serious danger of being overwhelmed by the other elements in the air. Fortunately, the series rides a fine line of having its cake and eating it too (see Ultraviolet review, above), leading to my overall enjoyment - it's not perfect! I can poke holes! But the good bits are really solid, I love the parts I love! - and incoherent reviews. So I wasn't thrilled with this installment, but I was willing to keep going with the series.
The Minority Council (Kate Griffin) (2012): In which the Midnight Mayor is scammed by his Aldermen, lies by omission to an overworked civic servant, and finds his PA unexpectedly resourceful. And Matthew Swift goes on a little crusade against drugs, with predictably explosive consequences.
When I am feeling "meh" on the tendency for awesome women to show up, be awesome, and die horribly in this series, I am lured into reading just a bit more by the fantastic snark and loving descriptions of London. It may also be a genre problem; while I parse this as urban fantasy, the generous splashes of body fluids suggest "edging into horror" might also apply.
My absolute favorite section was Penny and Nabeela's interlude, even if Penny's voice sounded an awfully lot like Matthew's. The split-consciousness trip through the Isle of Dogs was a close second, for characterization. If you're going to fold, spindle, and mutilate your characters, this is the way to do it so as to keep my attention.
Now, the Meera subplot, though... that wasn't so great. I am particularly unimpressed with the "woman dies, woman's death motivates Die-Hard-like explosions, woman's after-life remains are semi-animated as a Spirit of Semi-embodied Wrathful Justice Or Something" arc. It's the second time in two novels that a woman's death has motivated with plot, this time with bonus sexualized overtones. It's part of a pattern that didn't endear The Minority Council to me.
Lord of Light (Roger Zelazny) (1967): Jo Walton says most of what I'd say. I read it at 29 instead of childhood, but I found the extended flashback so poorly marked as to be confusing, and I have serious qualms about the Hindu/Buddhist-influenced setup. Whatever Zelazny did here that's supposed to be very clever, I'm missing it.
I finished two-thirds of The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat (Oliver Sacks) (1985) before my attention span gave out. The individual cases would make interesting elements of a newspaper column or multi-author collection, but en masse were a little too much.
City of Diamond (Jane Emerson) (1996): Reread. Originally written as the first in a space-opera-ish trilogy about the people and politics of three missionary city-ships adhering to an offshoot of Catholicism; however, it stands alone fairly well. I find it immensely satisfying comfort reading: entertaining worldbuilding, mostly likeable characters, a clear delineation of the good guys and the bad guys. The Greykey philosophy makes very little sense if one pokes too hard, and Tal's characterization has some serious "ice princess has a heart after all!" moments gives me no joy, but there are many, many components balancing these. I am willing to be charmed my every single Diamond character who is not Tal, and by Opal characters other than Arno and Hartley Quince. If the trilogy had ever been finished, oh, the problems I'd expect, but the story ends on a decently complete note if you know it's an abandoned work in progress. No one dies, there's a wedding, and there's women with autonomy, so it's a good cozy novel for days when one's brain is mostly otherwise occupied.
Numbers game: 13 total finished. 11 new, 2 reread; 12 fiction, 1 nonfiction. 1 incomplete.
Ultraviolet (R.J. Anderson) (2011): YA fiction. Teenager must come to grips with the events that landed her in a mental institution with an accusation she killed a popular classmate.
The "have your cake and eat it too" aphorism made very little sense to me on first glance. It took me several tries to reformulate the concept for fiction: we want the modern novels that incorporate the intellectual critiques, but we also want the uncomplicated shoot-'em-up or id-vortex romance that hits the emotional pleasure centers. Ultraviolet manages a bit of both. There's Alison's special superpowers, which mostly are a minus except when they are plot-critical. There's the incredibly questionable teen-tween romance, where the tween (male) is presented as a person with even more authority and power over the teen (female). That's so very not a theme of interest; the age/experience dynamic sits ill with me. But when there's not pining and sneaking out to meet older men, the story coheres nicely, capturing the protagonist's evolving ability to question her assumptions. I really liked her reassessments of what had been blanket attitudes: toward her mom, about fellow inpatients, with respect to her classmates. It's a compassionate book, in a good way. So I'm in an odd position that I would hand it to a YA audience with no warnings for violence and long Q&A about Sebastian's motives for spending time with Alison.
The Hunger Games (Suzanne Collins) (2008): This needs a Biblical or faux-profound header quote. Katniss rings true - girl has cunning, not education, or quick introspection - but the Big Brother-esque setup is hollow. Ritual blood sacrifice of one's children seems like exactly the sort of thing that starts revolutions, not get 74 seasons on the postapocalyptic BBC. Collins creates a vicious murder scenario, then ducks the conflicts. Katniss compares one of her fellow competitor-victims with her beloved sister, and then little Rue is killed off by the designated bad guys. One could argue that this is the point, moral high ground, etc; however, that would require further suspension of disbelief in the questionable premise. Summary: likely to read Catching Fire and Mockingjay when the movies come out, and unlikely to read before then.
Crucible of Gold (Naomi Novik) (2012): This had far fewer problems than Tongues of Serpents. Plus, the narrative clipped along fast enough I was willing to overlook several gaping worldbuilding holes. The real treat was Granby finally growing a spine, too bad he had to be outed and nearly die to learn how to stand up to Iskierka. If only there had been way more Lesotho and Mrs Pemberton I might have forgiven the questionable Peruvian population dynamics, or my complete failure at beliving the Portugese would free their Brazilian slaves, ever. I want Hammond + Churki for epic crackfic, Hammond totally deserves an overprotective dragon to go with his budding cocaine addiction. Entertaining but not particularly clever, and weirdly constrained by the spiraling-out worldbuilding. The initial "Napoleonic wars with dragons" setup plays oddly with the 21st C attitudes embedded in the later plots.
So I sort of accidentally mainlined Stackpole's first four X-wing novels? And watched a season and a quarter of the Clone Wars cartoon over spring break? In that way you do, when you're jonesing for prequel movies that aren't awful. And here is the kind of hilarious thing, the X-Wing novels flunk the Betchdel so hard - Erisi Dlarit's entire plot line is Wicked Temptress! - while the Clone Wars have Aayla Secura (woman) and Ahsoka Tano (teenage girl) facing off against Asajj Ventress (evil Dark Jedi, incidentally also female) without a hint of catfight. It just sort of happened! Five minutes into an animated / CGI / whatever lightsaber battle I am thinking, "wait, these are women talking about something other than a man. Okay, there's some trash-talking Anakin and Dooku, in a completely platonic 'my master's better than your master' way." There's a thing to be said about target audiences, 1990's vs 2010's, and novels vs TV, and divergences, which doesn't fit here, sadly. I stopped watching Clones Wars when scragging the Jedi officers started sounding like a good idea, but I'm pleased to report the close proximity of women and large explosions. On the novel side, I sort of want to come down on Stackpole for dubious female characterization, but honestly, it's more like dubious characterization fill stop. Isard and Dirricote shouldn't have overlapping vocabulary / attitude registers with Vorru and Black Sun. And can someone oppose Rogue Squadron for reasons other than overwhelming corrupt ambition? Shades of gray, please?
The Bird of the River (Kage Baker) (2010): Set in the same fantasy universe as The Anvil of the World and The House of the Stag, once largely defined by your birth into the forest-loving and largely pacifist Yondri or the violent, industrial Children of the Sun. Protagonist Elissa struggles with her half-and-half brother's problems and social entanglements on the eponymous river barge. Baker's characteristic charm and humor are on display here; endings are happy, and the trip there is entertaining.
I started The Neon Court (Kate Griffin) (2011) with misgivings. The title and early chapters available online suggested it contained urban fairies and fridging. Urban fairy anything is a personal turnoff in 90% of everything I read or watch, and dead women for maximum manpain - well. So my enjoyment of Matthew's tendencies for causing mayhem and gruesome injuries (not to mention the property damage) were in serious danger of being overwhelmed by the other elements in the air. Fortunately, the series rides a fine line of having its cake and eating it too (see Ultraviolet review, above), leading to my overall enjoyment - it's not perfect! I can poke holes! But the good bits are really solid, I love the parts I love! - and incoherent reviews. So I wasn't thrilled with this installment, but I was willing to keep going with the series.
The Minority Council (Kate Griffin) (2012): In which the Midnight Mayor is scammed by his Aldermen, lies by omission to an overworked civic servant, and finds his PA unexpectedly resourceful. And Matthew Swift goes on a little crusade against drugs, with predictably explosive consequences.
Truth shot a sly glance at expediency, expediency waggled its eyes significantly, truth made a little noise in the back of its throat, and expediency jumped straight on in there.
When I am feeling "meh" on the tendency for awesome women to show up, be awesome, and die horribly in this series, I am lured into reading just a bit more by the fantastic snark and loving descriptions of London. It may also be a genre problem; while I parse this as urban fantasy, the generous splashes of body fluids suggest "edging into horror" might also apply.
My absolute favorite section was Penny and Nabeela's interlude, even if Penny's voice sounded an awfully lot like Matthew's. The split-consciousness trip through the Isle of Dogs was a close second, for characterization. If you're going to fold, spindle, and mutilate your characters, this is the way to do it so as to keep my attention.
Now, the Meera subplot, though... that wasn't so great. I am particularly unimpressed with the "woman dies, woman's death motivates Die-Hard-like explosions, woman's after-life remains are semi-animated as a Spirit of Semi-embodied Wrathful Justice Or Something" arc. It's the second time in two novels that a woman's death has motivated with plot, this time with bonus sexualized overtones. It's part of a pattern that didn't endear The Minority Council to me.
Lord of Light (Roger Zelazny) (1967): Jo Walton says most of what I'd say. I read it at 29 instead of childhood, but I found the extended flashback so poorly marked as to be confusing, and I have serious qualms about the Hindu/Buddhist-influenced setup. Whatever Zelazny did here that's supposed to be very clever, I'm missing it.
I finished two-thirds of The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat (Oliver Sacks) (1985) before my attention span gave out. The individual cases would make interesting elements of a newspaper column or multi-author collection, but en masse were a little too much.
City of Diamond (Jane Emerson) (1996): Reread. Originally written as the first in a space-opera-ish trilogy about the people and politics of three missionary city-ships adhering to an offshoot of Catholicism; however, it stands alone fairly well. I find it immensely satisfying comfort reading: entertaining worldbuilding, mostly likeable characters, a clear delineation of the good guys and the bad guys. The Greykey philosophy makes very little sense if one pokes too hard, and Tal's characterization has some serious "ice princess has a heart after all!" moments gives me no joy, but there are many, many components balancing these. I am willing to be charmed my every single Diamond character who is not Tal, and by Opal characters other than Arno and Hartley Quince. If the trilogy had ever been finished, oh, the problems I'd expect, but the story ends on a decently complete note if you know it's an abandoned work in progress. No one dies, there's a wedding, and there's women with autonomy, so it's a good cozy novel for days when one's brain is mostly otherwise occupied.
Numbers game: 13 total finished. 11 new, 2 reread; 12 fiction, 1 nonfiction. 1 incomplete.