Slow Apocalypse by John Varley

November is almost here, which for those of us in the United States means election time. It's easy to get caught up in the rhetoric that's espoused at the conventions. What springs from that is a crazy notion that the two American political parties are separated by a legion of issues from abortion, to fiscal responsibility, to same sex marriage, to defense policy.

While it's certainly true that the extremes of the two parties disagree on most of these items, many of those who identify closer to center find themselves separated by one fundamental ideology. Democrats believe government creates opportunities, and Republicans believe it restricts them. Who's right? I've no idea and both parties often find themselves in hypocritical boxes (Pro-life policies for example seem more big government, than not). But, I often wish the debate could center around this issue because there's a lot of great academic work that's been done from both perspectives.

Why do I bring this up? John Varley's Slow Apocalypse, released September 4, contains a lot of political back drop, particularly as it relates to the government's role. Not in a traditional political sense, but asking the question of when everything goes to pieces, to whom can I turn to put it back together? Is it the government? Or is me? Varley answers the question resoundingly with the latter, demonstrating the failures of of the 'system' and the weaknesses it has foisted on us all.

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A Series of Short Audio Reviews

Having been on a work trip, I find myself spending a lot of time in the car commuting and driving to various meetings. The result is a lot of time with audio books. It's been a nice break and an opportunity to catch up on a few things I haven't been able to get into in print. The following three books are what I've recently finished. Before my trip is over I suspect to finish two more, John Steakley's Armor, and probably Ellen Kushner's Swordspoint. 

Bitter Seeds by Ian Tregellis

I don't know about anyone else, but I'm pretty much done with World War II. It's just been done to death, hasn't it? The History Channel might as well be Hitler Channel for crying out loud. Or at least that's what I said before I listened to Ian Tregellis' Bitter Seeds.

Beginning in the early stages of World War II, Bitter Seeds shows the secret history of the conflict between Germany's Gotterelektrongruppe (Nazi mutants, a la X-Men) and Britain's warlocks. Tregellis uses four points of view, two from each side, to tell an immense story in an intensely personal way. It works beautifully, interweaving real events with invented ones, while never losing site of the characters that drive them.

Structurally, the novel reminds me very much of Stina Leicht's Of Blood and Honey. They both tell a story over a long period of time, jumping in at appropriate moments in the characters' lives and then jumping forward to the next. It makes for a disjointed story at times, but allows the author to only show the important bits. Tregellis also writes incredibly descriptive prose without being verbose, making even his minor characters come alive. Narrator Kevin Pariseau takes all that and uses it to great effect, creating one of the best audio book presentations I've ever listened to.

Bitter Seeds is a novel that should appeal to fans of almost any genre. Even in its most reality bending moments it feels grounded, a history that's just out of reach. I highly recommend it in any format.

The Hammer and the Blade by Paul S. Kemp

No matter how much I tried, I couldn't make myself like Paul S. Kemp's The Hammer and the Blade.  It's a well put together novel, with entertaining characters and a good enough plot. Yet, even with the masterful narration of Nick Podehl, it couldn't overcome odd pacing, moments of sheer boredom, and plot devices that robbed the characters of agency. Oh, and a first chapter that I bounced on four times before finally getting past it.

Although I mention a host of issues, the one that most frustrates me is the pace and structure of the narrative. The novel begins with Nix and Egil (or Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser, or Locke and Jean, or Royce and Hadrian, et. al,) in a tomb, robbing it of the appropriate treasure and narrowly escaping with their lives. It's dungeon crawling at its finest--funny, mildly horrifying, and pulse pounding. It's also the last time the reader gets to enjoy that dynamic until the novel's penultimate chapter. Instead, Kemp gives the reader the machinations of a morally bankrupt sorcerer or Egil and Nix sitting in a bar drinking, puttering around blasted landscapes, and all the while grousing. In either case it induced in me long stretches of disinterest.

All that goes to say, it didn't work for me. I wouldn't discourage anyone from trying it themselves; it's been well received by hosts of reviewers I trust. My negativity could very well have been a result of wrong place and time for The Hammer and the Blade. I certainly won't hesitate to give Kemp another shot with his next novel despite my frustrations with this one.

Starship Troopers by Robert Heinlein

Can you believe I've never read Starship Troopers? Me either! It wasn't the book I was expecting, bearing almost no resemblance to the film. I should have known better having read several of Robert Heinlein's other works.

Told in the first person by Juan Rico, a recently graduated teenager who enlists in the military, Starship Troopers recounts his experience from high school graduation to commissioned officer in the Mobile Infantry. The result is a no-nonsense look at a future dominated by the military, where humanity has embraced notions of duty and responsibility to his common man. I found it both immensely moving and horrifying in equal parts.

The vast majority of the narrative centers around Rico's training and conditioning, first in bootcamp, and later his memories of lessons taught in History and Moral Philosophy, a mandatory class every high school student is required to take. Throughout Heinlein waxes about social mores and the human condition--the things that separate us from other living organisms. It's fascinating and stimulating, often making my mind wander away from the story itself as I pondered the implications.

For Heinlein these mind expanding moments are absolutely vital to the success of the novel because the narrative itself is bone dry (a fact only enhanced by Lloyd James' detached reading). Rico shows little development as a character, often reacting to stimuli as designed, but rarely taking the time to ponder its implications. Instead, Heinlein leaves that to the reader. Very reminiscent of Ayn Rand's work, Starship Troopers isn't about the story, or even the characters, its about demonstrating a line of thought, a philosophical back and forth with his reader. Just like Rand's work, the reader's appreciation of it will vary greatly depending on the level of common ground he can find with author.

Either way, it's a vital piece of science fiction history and a novel I recommend wholeheartedly to anyone interested in how the genre got where it is today.

Dauntless - Jack Campbell

Jack Campbell came highly recommended. Myke Cole, author of Shadow Ops: Control Point, instructed an entire room of people at a recent convention to read Dauntless. Putting aside the fact that Cole and Campbell share an agent and a publisher, his strong opinion on the subject piqued my interest. Of course, it didn't hurt that my fellow bloggers Rob and Kathryn of SFFWorld like wise urged me. What I discovered is quintessential military science fiction that extrapolates naval combat into the vacuum of space with a real knack for storytelling despite archetypal characters, an extremely linear plot, and workmanlike prose.

Read that last sentence again. Dauntless is uninspired in a lot of ways except one and it's a big one. It's an absolute blast to read. In fact, it's such an entertaining read that I don't hesitate to call it the perfect cozy novel for the military science fiction fan.

It's essentially the story of a war between the Alliance and the Syndicate. As the name would suggest, the Syndicate functions something like an evil corporation who cares nothing for the cogs in the wheel, just the products it produces. Meanwhile, the Alliance is a functioning government by the people, for the people, or so the rhetoric goes in a story told entirely from their point of view.

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Year Zero - Rob Reid

In 1999, I was a freshman in college at the University of California, Santa Barbara. We Gauchos have a bit of reputation, but I think that first year more students spent time indoors that ever before. We were in the midst of the file sharing revolution and I was at ground zero.

A lot of files were shared that year from music to movies to games. Napster was catching fire, but for the lazy college student it was as easy as peeking into another's public folders and grabbing what caught the eye. I don't think most understood what they were doing. It was the Wild Wild West back then, long before the narrative of intellectual property theft began in the public eye. Nevertheless, in Rob Reid's Year Zero, they'd be in the same dicey position as the universe's non-Earth population. That is to say, in a severe legal conundrum as it relates to copyright law.

Low-level entertainment lawyer Nick Carter thinks it’s a prank, not an alien encounter, when two extraterrestrials show up in his office. The entire cosmos, they tell him, has been functionally addicted to humanity’s music since 1977, when American pop songs first reached the stars. As a result, intergalactic society has committed the biggest copyright violation in history, bankrupting the entire universe. Sure, they tried to stop, but:

"Normal reactions to Rickrolls range from eye rolls to ironic sing-alongs. But my visitors started trembling, almost convulsing. And as they clung to their chairs for support, they took on an ecstatic air that was almost smutty."

Obviously, they need legal advice and fast. Who better than a Backstreet Boy turned copyright expert? Oh... he's not the Nick Carter? 

That statement alone offers quite a bit of insight into the kind of novel Reid has written. Sold as the new Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, driven by its status as a funny science fiction novel, I find little in common between the two. Reid's humor is biting, and grounded almost exclusively in today's pop culture where Douglas Adams' was silly, timeless, and (if I may say) British. For me that makes Year Zero exponentially more funny, although fifty years from now I'm not sure the same will hold true. Lines like this bring that home:

"But they just have to get up there and mime it to a famous recording, and the crowds go nuts (catch a Britney Spears show to see something similar here at home)."

Laughing from start to finish, I also found myself genuinely invested in the plot. Carter, his love interest, his hard-ass boss, and the strange aliens who reach out for help, are all well drawn. They move through a plot that makes sense and has a natural pace that doesn't get lost in its own comedic meanderings, another fact that distinguishes it from its classic comparative.

In that way I find quite a bit of John Scalzi in Reid's style, but without the endless font of sarcastic characters that pervade Scalzi's work. That's accomplished by Reid's use of the narrative voice for his humor (aided by a first person narrator no doubt) allowing his characters to exist organically as opposed to the joke delivery devices I find many of Scalzi's characters to be.

In the background, Reid builds a workable commentary on the state of copyright law as it relates to the music business and intellectual property in general.

"...music licensing is an arcane thicket of ambiguity, overlapping jurisdictions, and litigation. This is a disastrous situation for musicians, as well as for music fans and countless businesses. In fact, it suits absolutely nobody -- apart from the cynical lawyers who run the music labels, the lobbying groups, the House, the Senate, and several parasite law firms like my own."

He often points out the unique nature of the penalties associated with copyright law and the disincentive within the system to change them. Many of these are included as footnotes that allow the author to break out the more important educational details that would impeach any sort of consistent narrative voice. Reid sometimes attempts to expand into the realm of political commentary, although I didn't find those moments quite as successful.

Reid's background contributes to these aspects of the novel, echoing the age old advice to write what you know. Sole founder of the online music company Listen.com, which in 2001 launched Rhapsody, as well as a founding member of IGN Entertainment, Reid has been a unique figure in the music business -- one fundamentally connected to the internet and other forms of entertainment. Subsequently, he's become a vocal spokesperson for change, highlighted by his presentation TED this year where he explained his idea of "copyright math", which was clearly the germ that gave birth to Year Zero.

And what a beautiful zygote it is. Rob Reid has struck a nerve with Year Zero that will resonate with anyone who lived through the music internet revolution in the same way that Scalzi's Redshirts does with science fiction television fans. It lives and breathes the absurdity of copyright law, while simultaneously recognizing the importance of protecting artists' rights. It's also the funniest piece of fiction I've ever read and will almost surely be one of the five best novels I read this year. I would suggest acquiring a legal copy at the earliest convenience. Trust me, you'll want nothing to do with violating copyrights after finishing it.

Discount Miracles - Brand Gamblin

Around these parts I commit myself to (at least try) finishing everything I start. Why, you ask? Because I think it's important for me to help my readers make decisions about what they should buy and what they should avoid. If I only read things that I enjoy, how will I ever fulfill the second half of that commitment? I'm also loathe to spend 800 words eviscerating someone's baby. Thus, Cheryl was born. Cheryl is my imaginary personal assistant who helps me "review" novels I really did not like. Instead of just doggedly attacking a novel's failures, I try to have some fun with it and get some laughs. Hopefully it's taken the way I intend it.

This is my seventh installment of posts featuring Cheryl. If you enjoy this one, I suggest finding the Cheryl tag on the right sidebar for the others. This is the second time Cheryl has been deployed on a self published novel. While the previous incarnation was an abomination of fiction, Discount Miracles has some redeeming qualities. That said, it just isn't good enough for a wide audience.

***

I don't generally accept self-published titles for review. Seriously, I don't. Except sometimes I get an e-mail I can't say no to. Brand Gamblin's e-mail was one of those. He invoked the name of a mutual friend, happens to be a Washington DC Metro local, and didn't try to push a vampire werewolf paranormal romance on me. I also got a sick kick out of the author's last name as reading self-published work feels an awful like gambling.

I'm a sucker, aren't I?

Gamblin's novel, Discount Miracles, follows the crew of the space salvage ship JN3-0518 (or Jenny) that's crashed on a planet that's been out of touch with the rest of the galaxy for hundreds of years. In the midst of a superstitious dark age, the planet's denizens liken the Jenny's crew to witches, a fact they tend to reinforce by faking miracles. Things seem to be going swimmingly when they take a job to help a prince ascend to godhood. Easier said than done.

As I considered how I would write this review I went through several stages. First, I felt compelled to critique the novel as I would for someone asking me to look at an unpublished manuscript. There are a host of small changes I would suggest to Gamblin that would produce a better product. Of course, he didn't ask me to do that. Second, I felt like employing my fine assistant Cheryl to eviscerate the novel, but I couldn't find an angle worthy of Cheryl. Not to mention there aren't any typos or structural screw ups, which pretty much rules out my standard plan of attack for self-published work. Finally, I resolved to write what amounts to a pretty ho-hum piece that once again emphasizes the reason why many self-published authors self-publish. (Hint: Because they aren't very good writers.)

Before I get too far into the flaws in Gamblin's writing, let me say that I rather enjoy the novel's conceit. Motoring around a technologically backward planet in a spaceship that's incapable of leaving orbit, and leaving miracles behind, is fun to imagine. It opens up a host of questions, both in terms of science and morality, some of which Discount Miracles promises to address, but never really does.

Character wise the Jenny's crew behaves as crews have come to behave in the post Firefly era -- self interested, but ultimately honorable. Sadly, Gamblin never develops them much beyond their immediate interaction with the narrative. In a novel with such a simple plot, it's vital that the characters exist in three dimension. Unfortunately, Gamblin's crew is the science fictional equivalent of Flat Stanley....

Oh, who the hell am I kidding?

*buzz*

Cheryl: Mr. Landon, I can't believe you reviewed a self-published title before you'll even look at my manuscript.

Justin: No. Absolutely not. I'm not reviewing Tumescent Snake under any circumstances.

Cheryl: But, I've added magic and a space ship. It's slipstream paranormal romance!

Justin: Please don't say slipstream.

Cheryl: Why? Slipstream, slipstream, slipstream.

Justin: Argh! I just read Brand Gamblin's Discount Miracles. He calls it slipstream. I call it slipped and fell in a stream of uninspired writing.

Cheryl: Oh, here we go.

Justin: What? I could have easily made a urine joke there. I thought the final product showed a great deal of self restraint.

Cheryl: You're about as restrained as Katie Price at a melon smuggling convention. But, really... do tell. What makes Brand Gamblin... Jesus, is that his real name?

Justin: I'm assuming it's a pen name.

Cheryl: God, I hope so. Can you imagine meeting him in a bar? Hey beautiful, want to get Branded tonight? Place a wager, because it's time to start Gamblin. I can go on.

Justin: I think you've made your point. You were saying?

Cheryl: Right. *ahem* What makes his writing so... uninspired?

Justin: Would believe that in 200 pages of reading I don't recall a single metaphor? Gamblin writes clear prose, and he's obviously hired a copy editor to clean it up, but there's a complete lack of vitality. It's like reading the corpse of a novel. I have no idea what the Jenny looks like, or more importantly what it feels like, smells like, or evokes from the crew. I can tell you one of the crew members is short and stocky, one is female, one is a scrawny jerk, and the other is a stand-up captain dude. I don't know much more about them as people which is a complete failure of the author.

Cheryl: I bet the short guy is strong.

Justin: You guessed it. He's from a hi-G planet. How does he feel about being away from home? How did he end up on a ship in the middle of nowhere? Now that I mention it, why are any of these people on a ship together?

Cheryl: Sounds like a pretty shallow novel. Aren't most self published novels self indulgent rants that go on forever because the author can't parse it?

Justin: You know, that's a good point, Cheryl.

Cheryl: *beaming*

Justin: Don't let it go to your head. You're right though, Gamblin actually has what reads more like a bare bones first draft where he lays out the major plot points before laying down all the supports that make a novel. And truth be told if he had gone through and laid down that framework, my response to his work would be a great deal warmer.

Cheryl: Weird.

Justin: You're telling me.

Cheryl: So you're saying this the last time you're Gamblin on self-published work? God, I could use that pun until the cows come home.

Justin: Leave the comedy to me.

Osiris - E.J. Swift

It begins with the execution of Eirik 9968, rumored leader of the NWO. Vikram, his friend and sometime conspirator, watches from the crowd as the skadi carry out The Council's sentence. Not a Citizen and only recently released from prison himself, he's helpless to stop it. Also watching is Adelaide Mystik, daughter of a founding family, tabloid darling, and eternal disappointment. She can barely watch as Eirik drowns, chained to the bottom of a sealed tank. The Council hopes that Eirik's death will quell the uprisings in Osiris' western sector. They're wrong.

Osiris, E.J. Swift's debut novel, is a title pregnant with meaning. The Egyptian god of the afterlife and underworld, Osiris judges the dead, sending them on to their rewards, which for the elite of Egypt meant eternal life. Through the hope of new life after death Osiris also associates with nature, in particular the annual flooding of the Nile, and crops that spring from it. In Swift's world, the city of Osiris is the afterlife made real. The last bastion of human civilization -- surviving on the ocean and disconnected from land -- it is literally the life come after a world torn apart by climate change and resource wars. But, like most belief systems that preach a life beyond this one, Osiris also separates those judged worthy and those damned to an eternity of pain.

To Citizens of Osiris, life is good, echoing their Egyptian appellation who was often described as "He Who is Permanently Benign and Youthful". Created around sustainable principles, the city is self sufficient for those granted access.

"a shimmering metropolis sunk shin deep into the ocean. Before dawn, mist obscured the entire city, enveloping the thousands of pyramid skyscraper in its damp, arcane touch. It was noon now, and the fog had mostly dissipated. Deceptive sunshine polished the tapering structures of glass and metal, turning the bridges and shuttle lines that webbed them into silver threads. The solar skins of the towers greedily reaped this bounty of heat and light."

Unfortunately, the western sector is denied these things, reliant on the benevolence of the The Council to provide, an emotion rarely felt through the insulation wrapped around them. Crippled by food shortages, drug and human trafficking, and continual power failures, the west is not unlike a modern day war zone. Cut off from Osiris proper by a militarized border, people like Eirik and Vikram are the few willing to speak out against the injustice.

Structured around two points of view, Vikram and Adelaide, Osiris switches every chapter, often overlapping scenes to provide the perspective of each. As the novel begins, the pair could not be further apart, divorced by economics and geography, but also by incompatible world views. Vikram, looking at the Osiris elite wonders,

How could you trust the sadness of someone who had never seen that cold could kill? Who had never seen a gun fired, never been afraid to sleep?

It's a sentiment that resonates in the world today, where so much of the government represents a small subsection of the educated elite.

Despite the hurdles, Adelaide has more in common with Vikram than is readily apparent. With her twin brother missing, and a family seemingly unwilling to find him, she finds herself as willing as Vikram to bring change. Using each other to further their own ends, Osiris is at heart a fascinating character study of a have and a have-not in a world defined by the possession of food, water, and energy.  In short, a microcosm of the world we live in.

If I were writing this review with only mind toward the ideas behind the novel and the subtext that runs through it, I would call it a crowning achievement. It's unfortunate then that I won't be able to be quite so glowing. While Swift's writing is exceptional, vivid and compelling, Osiris lacks any sense of pace. Even from the opening pages, with a prologue written in an inaccessible voice and a first chapter that lacks any definable hook, Swift struggles to consistently demonstrate narrative purpose. It's too easy to put the novel down after every chapter and even easier to put it aside for a day or two in between "Parts" (there are four).

It could be argued, compellingly so I think, that these fits and starts reflect Vikram and Adelaide who themselves are full of misfired failures. Likewise, if Osiris is as much a glimpse into the future as a reflection of the world today, the novel's structure points to the notion, that flying in the face of scientific reality, finding a joint impetus to move forward is the most improbable of outcomes. If this is Swift's message, and it can be powerful, I'm not sure it excuses the inability to compel me forward in the narrative itself.

Part Waterworld, part 1984, E.J. Swift offers a new dialogue in Night Shade's conversation on climate change that began with Paolo Baciagalupi's The Windup Girl. Even in its most frustrating moments, I found Osiris to be a novel that deserves to be read. Swift's talent as a writer can't be questioned, and it's clear to me that there exists an intent behind her work. It lends a depth that helped me persevere, not only to finish, but to anticipate the sequel. I'm hopeful that other patient readers will take the time to find the beauty in it that I ultimately did.

***

It should be noted, that over the last eighteen months I've tended to heap the honors on Night Shade. I have believed, and still do, that in terms of editorial direction and a willingness to push the envelope of genre fiction, they are the premiere publisher today. But, I feel it necessary to point out that the problems I describe in Osiris are becoming all too commonplace in their novels. From God's War, to The Emperor's Knife, to The Winds of Khalakovo, Night Shade seems willing to accept a brilliance of ideas in the face of tedious structure.

It could be a result of the number of debut authors they've published, or the size of their editorial team (small), or the fact that they don't have the clout to compel authors to rewrite large sections of their manuscripts. Or it could be all of the above or none of the above. Nevertheless, it's a theme I'm noticing and one that gives me pause. Ideas and beautiful prose are, in and of themselves, not always enough to carry a novel, much less an entire line of them. I'm just one reader, but food for thought, perhaps.

Amped - Daniel H. Wilson

I was so amped to read Amped. I'm sorry. I couldn't resist.

In reality, I was moderately interested in Daniel H. Wilson's follow up to his New York Times bestelling debut Robopocalypse. His first novel was an entertaining page turner that garnered far better press than it rightly deserved, but it demonstrated that Wilson was a capable story teller who would improve in future novels.

With that frame of mind I went into Amped hopeful that it would meet expectation. It did not. I finished it more convinced that Robopocalypse's success had more to do with the formula (borrowed from World War Z) and marketing push than any inherent quality of the novel itself. It left me wondering whether the definition of a summer read has become wholly reflective of the summer blockbuster film -- form over substance, effects over plot.

Wilson's strength is in the merging of science and reality to create a believable future. He did this in Robopacalypse and does so again in Amped. Instead of predicting widespread reliance on robotics, Amped focuses on the augmentation of the human body through technology. Specifically, the enhancement of the brain by linking it to minature on board computers.

In Wilson's imagination, these implants can be used to cure all sorts of mental deficiencies from epilepsy to ADHD or even link the brain to prosthetic limbs. The unintended consequence is that this modification also leaves the enhanced individual far beyond a regular human. Applying a tiny bit of imagination, the military application of such technology becomes obvious. Throw in a dash of the religious right, some bigotry, a belief that might makes right, and there you have the entirety of what Amped has to offer. It's a strong idea, but if the execution sounds an awful lot like Magneto versus Professor X, it's because it is.

Before I get too far into what's wrong with the novel, let me first say there are several things Amped does right. As I mention above, Wilson does a great job coming up with a technological MacGuffin, implanting it into his reality, and crafting a story around it. I want to know more about the implants and how they work from the first page to the last. He also writes with great clarity, and a sense of purpose with where he's headed in the narrative. Unfortunately, that's the extent to which I can offer praise.

Told in first person from the perspective of Owen Gray, a school teacher implanted as a child to overcome epilepsy, the novel progresses at an erratic pace. Painfully slow at times and then quickly racing, Wilson does a poor job of building tension. Using the present tense, he attempts to give the reader the sensation of riding along in Owen's head as opposed to listening to him tell his story. I agree with the choice, but not the result.

Far too often exposition comes through Owen's thoughts, breaking the narration and my investment in what's happening "on screen". Emphasizing the point, every chapter ends with a news clip that expands the scope of world events. Instead of relying on these enders to fill in the scientific holes, he uses these cutaways to offer more narrative. Had these been reversed I can't help but wonder if Owen would have been freed to interact in a more natural way.

It's difficult to go deeper into the reasons why Amped fails without giving away too much. Suffice to say the main character demonstrates very little agency, making him terribly uninteresting to me as a reader. Likewise, the characters that surround him are cardboard cutouts that never demonstrate any depth beyond the pale drawings Wilson offers when they're first introduced. This lack of character and poor narrative voice, make Amped one of the most uninspired pieces of fiction I've read since this blog began. It isn't catastrophically flawed, as most novels I negatively review are, it's just boring.

As a result, even to a reader merely looking for a light popcorn style novel, I can't recommend Amped. In fact, I strongly suggest you give it a pass.

Redshirts: A Novel of Three Codas - John Scalzi

Around these parts I commit myself to (at least try) finishing everything I start. Why, you ask? Because I think it's important for me to help my readers make decisions about what they should buy and what they should avoid. If I only read things that I enjoy, how will I ever fulfill the second half of that commitment? I'm also loathe to spend 800 words eviscerating someone's baby. Thus, Cheryl was born. Cheryl is my imaginary personal assistant who helps me "review" novels I really did not like. Instead of just doggedly attacking a novel's failures, I try to have some fun with it and get some laughs. Hopefully it's taken the way I intend it.

This is my sixth installment of posts featuring Cheryl. If you enjoy this one, I suggest finding the Cheryl tag on the right sidebar for the others. Interestingly, in the case of John Scalzi's new novel Redshirts, I finished it because I found it legitimately intriguing. I'm a fan of his work historically and the writing was strong enough to keep me searching for the thread to tie it all together. Alas, that thread never came and this post was born.

***

Justin: Cheryl, I'm going to be working on my Redshirts review for the next few hours. Please hold all my calls.

Cheryl: Yes, Mr. Landon. Does that include Tor and/or Mr. Scalzi?

Justin: Tor does seem to have an eerie sense of timing. Yes, even them. And please, whatever you do, don't let that pain in the ass wizard show up.

Cheryl: You know I have no control over Fizbane. He's your blog wizard.

Justin: *impatient waving* Thank you, Cheryl. Now lets see... I'm going to need a snappy headline. Something like....

Spoof Trekkie Fiction: The Lowest Difficulty Setting There is

Gold.

*buzz*

Cheryl: Mr. Landon, Ricardo Montalbán is here to see you.

Justin: *bewildered* I said no interuptions and Montalbán has been dead for three years.

Cheryl: You said no calls.

Justin: I'm pretty sure no interruptions was implied and I shouldn't have to specifically mention no dead people.

Cheryl: Look, I don't tell you how to be a pretentious blogger cum literary [hack] critic. You don't tell me how to be a personal assistant. See how I broke the hack part out into brackets? That's called meta conversation.

Justin: Whatever. Get it? Because I'm writing about a John Scalzi book right now.

Cheryl: I'm unimpressed.

Justin: I'm really funny.

Cheryl: It's more sad funny, wouldn't you say?

Justin: *glare* Show him in.

corpse of Montalbán: SCAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALZI!!

Justin: Excuse me, Mr. Montalbán, are you a zombie searching for John Scalzi's brain?

corpse of Montalbán: Not at all, señor. I am just getting over my long standing grudge against Shatner for stealing the best line in my Oscar worthy performance of Khan in Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. I find that Scalzi's name works nearly as well to express frustration and anger over an injustice.

Justin: You mean where he yells Khan?

corpse of Montalbán: Por favor, I cannot speak of it.

Justin: You are dead though right?

corpse of Montalbán: Sí.

Justin: You've got a rather well developed chest for a man... er... corpse(?) your age.

corpse of Montalbán: Gracias. Thankfully being one of the undead has done wonders for my skin elasticity.

Justin: Ok, so why are you here Ricardo? Can I call you Ricardo?

corpse of Montalbán: I prefer The Montalbán, if it's all the same to you.

Justin: It's not.

corpse of Montalbán: *ignoring Justin* I'm here because I too have read SCAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALZI's Redshirts and I have some concerns.

Justin: I'm getting pretty sick of prescient layabouts that appear whenever I'm writing a review.

corpse of Montalbán: More of a shuffle-about, aren't I?

Justin: Granted. I find myself oddly gratified that the corpse of Ricardo Montalbán agrees with me about Redshirts. But, given that you seem to have a bit of an inferiority complex, forgive me if I'm skeptical that you're just mad the plot highjacks Star Trek IV: The Return Home, and thus does not include a Khan simulacrum.

corpse of Montalbán: Uh.. no.. you're way off base.

Justin: It's ok if that's why, literature is subjective after all. I would hope that you could find a few other things to talk about though.

corpse of Montalbán: *blushing* Well, umm... I giggled a bit. Macho giggling of course. More of a guffaw really.

Justin: This is a safe placed, Ricardo. I can't disagree with you. It is an awfully funny first 80 pages or so. The prologue is particularly good. He riffs on the idea that a certain segment of the starship crew are increasingly likely to die in an away mission. It's a clever application of the old Star Trek plot device. I was immediately concerned about how he would turn it into a novel though. How does the conflict get resolved? What's the explanation for why the conflict exists?

corpse of Montalbán: Verdad! That's exactly what I meant.

Justin: Of course it was. You're the Montalbán. Since neither of those questions are adequately answered, I found the first two-thirds of the novel fairly uninspired, albeit initially intriguing. I dealt with it because it's the perfect playground for Scalzi's standard sarcastic back and forth.

corpse of Montalbán: Interesting you should mention that. I've read the entire SCAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALZI catalog...

Justin: Really?

corpse of Montalbán: I have lots of free time. Anyway, I was pleasantly surprised to find the same characters from Fuzzy Nation and The Android's Dream returning in Redshirts! I love series.

Justin: I can see how you would think that, but no. This is a stand alone novel; Scalzi just writes the same character over and over again with new names and places. In fact, I suspect he's writing himself over and over again. Sarcastic. Cynical. Player of small instruments.

corpse of Montalbán: *gasp* I am dismayed. I had not made the connection. If my little friend Hervé were alive today he would be saying , Da' plane da' plane, and I would look to the sky and instead see my opinion of SCAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALZI plummeting to the earth.

Justin: *head hanging* Indeed. What did you think about the last third of the novel, Ricardo?

*poof*

Justin: Mother f*cker.

Fizbane: It is I! Hello, Senor Montalbán, I'm a big fan. Would you mind signing my Kindle Fire, now available for a low introductory price of...

Justin: God, you're such a shill. Ignore him Ricardo, what do you want Fizbane?

Fizbane: *straightens his robe* Right, to the chase. I'm here representing the Science Fiction Writer's of America. I've been asked to inform you that criticizing President Scalzi is not appreciated. You are to cease and desist from writing a bad review due to President Scalzi's years of service in promoting the genre. Regardless of how incoherent the last third of his book may be, you are encouraged to praise his work because of his standing in the community. Also, even if he conveniently posts controversial things to his blog at convenient times before and after he launches a book, please disregard the timing and instead focus on his dry wit.

Justin: You've got more clients than Heidi Fleiss. I think you're making things up at this point. Have you even talked to someone at SFWA?

Fizbane: *sputtering*

Justin: I might have known. You just want to be in Scalzi's good graces don't you?

Fizbane: *ashamed* He gets a lot more traffic than you do. And I've heard he's looking for a new blog wizard.

corpse of Montalbán: It seems that SCAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALZI has quite the following.

Justin: You're not kidding. And you know what, Ricardo? His fans are going to eat this book up. It's John Scalzi to the nth. I do wonder how even his hardcore fans will react to the literary device he tries to use to tie the novel together. It didn't work for me really at all, although I suppose I applaud the attempt.

corpse of Montalbán: Oh, I thought that whole section was a preview of his next book.

Justin: Sadly, same book.

corpse of Montalbán: Well, ok then. I'm going to be getting back to my box. Glad we got this straightened out together. Adios!

*buzz*

Justin: Cheryl, can you get security to escort Ricardo and Fizbane out of the building?

Cheryl: We don't have security, as you well know, but if you'd like you could get off your pontificating ass and walk them out yourself.

Justin: *sigh* I have to do everything around here.

Railsea by China Miéville

China Miéville, international man of mystery & outlandish science fictional ideas, has released a new novel targeted at readers of 'all ages', which is (typically) code for: a young adult novel that old people should like too. I would say in this case it means something closer to: this is a novel for adults that young people ought to read. I tried hard to come up with a clever way to describe my feelings about it. Instead I came up with this. Imagine those Magic Eye prints from the 1990's. Stare at them for a few minutes, allow the eye to unfocus, & a 3D image appears within the 2D pattern. That's Railsea. Unfortunately, just like the Magic Eye prints, some people will be incapable of seeing anything in it.

Surprisingly, that analogy works quite well as the concept of the railsea looks something like the jumbled mess of Magic Eye art. Tracks, rail & tie, blanket the world, connecting enclaves of habitation with a criss-crossing of infinite possibility that can change direction at any moment. Beneath it all is an unstable network of subterranean creatures that are as anathema to humanity as Miéville himself is to main stream political discourse. It's a world that's inherently unnatural, a fact which Railsea's protagonist Sham Yes ap Soorap is well aware of & can't help but push against.

A doctor's assistant on board the moletrain Medes, Sham watches his captain's obsession with a moldywarpe (giant mole) she’s been chasing for years. It's a singular determination Sham cannot rationalize. He wants more from life than hunting. He wants to know where the railsea comes from & where it ends.

There's natural connection to be drawn between Railsea & the Herman Melville classic Moby Dick. Those comparisons are not without merit as the captain's story arc is very much a retelling of Ahab's search for his white whale. It would be easy to draw a line there & move on, but the truth is Miéville is also exploring a lot of other themes & structures beyond that obvious one. Most strongly, there's a sense of wonder & drive for self exploration that will resonate strongly with younger readers.

Sham could be with them. & while he wouldn't be a salvor, or would he be a train doctor nor a moler either. He'd be something else.

Sham is a character pushing against the boundaries placed on him by a society that's stuck in doing things the way they've always been done. A social & cultural fear pervades life in the railsea that is untenable to Sham's need to explore

In that sense, I suppose Miéville's newest work is a tremendous success. It addresses things of thematic import & follows through on them. What it doesn't do, unfortunately, is tell a coherent & readable story. Short chapters intermingle with longer ones, referencing themselves as a narrative & pointing out the literary devices being used -- all seemingly done in asserting the author's cleverness. For example,

We have just had a story of a story. Tell it yourself, again, & story of a story in a story will be born, & you will be en route to that abyme. Which is an abyss.

Alas, Miéville is being too clever, or not clever enough. I never felt a thread of connectivity between the first chapter & the last. I kept looking for a moment in which all the machination & manipulation of the text would become meaningful. I never got there.

I'm sure it's been noticed by now that I've used '&' instead of 'and' at every opportunity in this review, echoing the same choice made in Railsea. One of the aforementioned short chapters provides some explanation for why it's done, but it's not an explanation that made any sense to me. Likewise, neologisms abound, from moldywarpe, to ferroviaoceanology, to homo vorago aperientis. All combined to frequently break me out of the narrative & into pondering Miéville, rather than the novel.

Going back to the Magic Eye analogy (is it tired yet?), Railsea & Miéville in general, seem to receive the same kind of reception that 3D art did back then. Those who could see it were flabbergasted by those who couldn't. I remember people asking to me, "How can you not see it?! Are you blind?!" In much the same way, I find Miéville adherents taking a similar stance with regards to his work.

Of course, the analogy falls apart quickly. I'm not on either extreme. I don't always see the beauty in his work, as though the precise pattern was interrupted during production. Other times the beauty of the ingrained image shines through, as it did in The Scar & The City & The City. I believe China Miéville is singularly talented. He knows it, occasionally resulting in a work of fiction that reaches too far. Railsea is such a novel, but I, for one, would rather he reach too far than not far enough.

Alexander Outland: Space Pirate - G.J. Koch (and giveaway)

Comedy is a real bitch to write. When I asked G.J. Koch, author of Alexander Outland: Space Pirate to talk with me about her new novel she said, "Dying is easy, comedy is hard. In part because everyone can agree that the hero dying before he gets to marry the princess is tragic, but what makes me laugh and what makes you laugh can be very different things."

I can identify. I try to be funny around here sometimes and my success rate is probably in the neighborhood of an Orson Scott Card keynote speech at the Democrat National Convention. I'm going to stop typing for a minute to give everyone a minute to recover from that hilarious image....

Good?

Interestingly, I feel like 2012 has a chance to be revitalizing year for comedic science fiction. As Koch points out, "For a long time, it seemed like Robert Lynn Asprin was the only one 'writing funny' and then Douglas Adams and Terry Pratchett arrived, and then Adams and Asprin died and it was only Pratchett out there. My world will be a little darker when we have no more of Pratchett’s Discworld series to read." Some have dabbled -- Lois McMaster Bujold at times in her Miles Vorkosigan series or Connie Willis in To Say Nothing of the Dog or Tom Holt in Snow White and the Seven Samurai, to name a few -- but saying such titles are scattered and intermittent would be an understatement.

This summer appears to bring a shot in the arm to the flagging comedy market. Joined by John Scalzi's Redshirts: A Novel of Three Codas and Rob Reid's Year Zero, Koch's novel is a cinematic space opera, blended with plenty of sexual innuendo and a dash of bathroom humor, told in a wry sarcastic voice.

Alexander Napoleon Outland, Nap to his friends, is the captain of Space Vessel 3369, or Sixty-Nine for short. He’s also a pirate, smuggler, and womanizer. His crew misfits includes a socially awkward engineer, a deposed ruler, a Sexbot copilot, and a bonkers-hot weapons chief who refuses to give it up. Into this picture of domestic bliss comes along an invisible band of space pirates trying to put a stranglehold on commerce of the legal and illegal variety. In true comedic form, shenanigans ensue.

Everything in Alexander Outland begins with Nap. He's Koch's first person narrator and moral center (If I asked Nap, I'm sure he'd rather be the center of a babe sandwich). Not the kind of man a woman would bring home to mom, he does hold a certain charm. "You don’t date a guy like Nap to give him a list of acceptable behaviors. You date a guy like Nap BECAUSE he’s a guy like Nap. We do love the bad boys, you know," says Koch. Despite his irascible behavior Nap's a do-gooder at heart, more sexually overt Han Solo, with a dash of Mal Reynolds completes the picture.

Telling the story from Nap's perspective does result in the novel's female characters being colored in a certain way. Slinky, the hard to get weapons chief, is Nap's primary target for sexual conquest and responds amorously when he treats her possessively. Audrey, the sexbot created by Nap's chief engineer, is programmed to serve in all ways. Or so Nap perceives it.

For the record, Koch doesn't "consider the female characters to be sex objects, and they don’t consider themselves sex objects, either. If being smart, sexy, attractive, and capable makes a girl a sex object, then the same makes the men sex objects, too. So, in that light, Nap’s a sex object, as well, as are several of the other male characters. A book full of sex objects! (Get it now, before all that sex sells out!)"

She goes on to argue, "One man’s negative stereotype is another’s satiric take on a variety of tropes. Where you fall on that scale will determine whose humor you like and whose you don’t." I find myself nodding. Too often critics talk about the character types and stories they want to see. Whether it's done in service to a social agenda or mere preference, it would be more appropriate to acknowledge that the subject is no longer about the quality of the writing, or humor, but a rather different, albeit no less valuable, kind of discussion.

Some will notice that G.J. Koch looks like Gini Koch, of the Alien/Katherine “Kitty” Katt series from DAW Books. They are one in the same. For fans of that series, she offers, "the Alexander Outland series is actually funnier than the Alien series. There’s a focus on romance in both series, but the Outland series has no graphic sex at all, and the Alien series does. They’re different enough that it made sense to write and publish under another pen name, and Night Shade agreed."

I can't speak for Koch's previous work, but there's also a ton of action and adventure in Alexander Outland. Earlier in this review I used the word cinematic to describe the novel, and it's apt. As I tried to consider what other novels might compare favorably to it, only films came to mind: Spaceballs, Serenity, The Ice Pirates, and Galaxy Quest. Plenty of explosions, daring rescues, and space battles, dot the narrative. For all that, and the romance angle mentioned above, this is a novel of humor. And it is genuinely funny. G.J. Koch brings it home:

I worship the literary ground Terry Pratchett walks on, but most of my friends don’t find him funny at all. And yet he’s managed to have a fabulous career and carry on with his life and writing. He doesn’t need every single person to love his writing in order to be successful, and neither does anyone else. 

I’m sure there were plenty of others doing humor in a variety of ways, but there’s always been less humor than drama in fiction as a whole, not just genre fiction, and there probably always will be. Writing humor is HARD, and despite what they’ll tell you, not everyone is funny. Some of us are, and out of those of us who do bring the funny, we’re all different and carrying on the Humor Torch, so to speak. 

I think we have humor out there because no matter who you are, sometimes you want to laugh, and sometimes you need to laugh.

Last week my father-in-law found out he may have pancreatic cancer. It's been a rough couple of weeks as my family comes to grips with what that means. Sometimes we need to laugh, a more appropriate choice of words than I imagined a month ago. Alexander Outland: Space Pirate couldn't have come along at a better time for me. If anyone else has a need, I strongly suggest G.J. Koch as a remedy.

***

G.J. Koch writes science fiction. Not the hard stuff, though. Because that requires actual scientific knowledge or at least actual scientific research. Knowledge may be power and research may be cool, but they take time away from writing jokes, action, and romance, and being witty in the face of death is what it’s really all about. Check out G.J.’s rollicking Alexander Outland: Space Pirate series from Night Shade Books and reach G.J. at Space…the Funny Frontier (http://www.ginikoch.com/GJKbookstore.htm).

Giveaway Details:

The giveaway is open to everyone. A US winner will receive a print copy, while an international winner will receive an electronic copy. You must be 18 years of age or older to participate. Void where prohibited by law. Giveaway rules are subject to change.  

How to participate:

• To enter the giveaway, e-mail me at staffersmusings@gmail.com, with the subject THE OUTLAND and declare intention to participate.
• You must include a valid mailing address(US) in the e-mail. Failure to do so will result in disqualification.
• One entry per person, or face disqualification.
• Entries accepted until 11:59pm ET on May 17, 2012
• Winners will be chosen by random sorting entries, and then using a random number generator.
• There will be 1 winner who will receive 1 book.

Although not required, it sure would be nice if you:

• Follow me on my blog publicly so that you appear on Google Friend Connect.
• Follow me on twitter, @jdiddyesquire.
• Like me on Facebook.
• Or purchase a billboard for me on a highway near you.

Pod - Stephen Wallenfels

Warning. Short Review. It's a short book!

Yesterday, someone whom I did not know very well walked up to me and asked, "I've been hearing about this post-apocalypse thing. The The Windup Girl was too gnarly for me, Seed sounds like an agriculture text book, The Stand is eleventy billion pages too long, and The Hunger Games makes me want to eat a sandwich, what should I read to see what all the hubbub is about?" It was a fortuitous moment as I had just a few days prior finished reading Stephen Wallenfels's Pod. That's because Pod is easy to stomach, has aliens instead of seeds, clocks in well under 300 pages, and tells an extremely authentic story about some teenage kids. Sure the novel uses some well worn tropes, and contains a veiled political message I'm not terribly jazzed about, but the final product is an expertly fashioned young adult appropriate novel that I could not put down.

Set in what appears in all respects to be the modern day, Pod begins with the arrival of giant spinning black balls in the sky. An alien presence, or some kind of watcher from beyond, the balls strike dead anyone caught outside. They also seem to have a penchant for automobiles. An observant reader will quickly pick-up on Wallelfels's undertones that seem to suggest the invasion as a response to the Earth's current condition, and humanity as a herd that needs to be culled. As the novel goes along the characters notice new 'earthy' smells and wild animals returning to the world. It isn't judgmental, but hovers right on the edge, a fact that may turn off some readers. I found the whole thing a little unnecessary.

Narrative wise, Wallenfels tells his story from two perspectives: a hard luck twelve-year-old girl named Megs trapped in a hotel parking garage and sixteen year old Josh stuck at home with his borderline obsessive-compulsive father. Not surprisingly, the hotel quickly devolves into an authoritarian regime that Megs has to navigate for survival. Guns, drugs, and food are scarce resources. Josh, on the other hand, is staving off a different kind of crisis -- teenaged angst locked up with an overprotective father.  It's in this setting where Pod shines best. Wallenfels perfectly captures the teenage boy psyche as Josh and his father try to relate to one another.

All told, Pod tells a simple story with simple themes -- human nature is selfishness and aliens probably aren't going to show up to make friends. It eschews the grand apocalypse story that's become so popular in recent years, choosing instead to tell an intensely personal one on a minuscule scale. For the experienced post-apocalypse and/or alien invasion reader, there's very little new to Stephen Wallenfels's debut. But that shouldn't be misconstrued to mean it isn't worthwhile. Pod is an excellent example of the subgenre and something I would encourage everyone to share with their favorite teenaged reader.

Blue Remembered Earth - Alastair Reynolds

Blue Remembered Earth. Great title, isn't it? The evocative image of leaving Earth behind, only to remember its color in the blackness of space. It's an image that resonates on a visceral level. It also perfectly describes the nature of the technological period imagined -- the moment when Earth no longer becomes the center of humanity. Vast in scope and dense with character development and world building, Alastair Reynold's newest novel is a return to Utopian science fiction whose story isn't about the darker side of humanity, but the boundaries of our collective horizons.

Set one hundred and fifty years in the future, Africa has become the dominant technological and economic power. Crime, war, disease, and poverty have been banished to history courtesy of mandatory implants that curb and/or correct deviant behavior. While humanity has colonized the nearby planets, Earth remains the center of attention with known(ish) physics underpinning the whole operation.

Geoffrey Akinya is heir to the corporate super power that makes much of it possible. He's also a loner, living on the family estate and conducting experiments on the endangered elephant population that lives there. When his grandmother and company founder, Eunice, dies, Geoffrey's more entrepreneurial cousins task him to ensure the family's name remains unblemished after mysterious assets come to light.

It's really as simple as that. Blue Remembered Earth is a classic quest novel. One clue leads to the next, leads to the next, leads to an eventual big reveal that opens up a host of new possibilities for future novels. Given this standard narrative structure, Reynolds's novel places a premium on thematic exploration, characterizations, and world building. The degree to which he does it makes the novel a rousing success despite a plot that's as inventive as hyperdrive.

Admittedly, I wondered in the early going whether Reynolds was writing a novel or transcribing a science fictional reality television show about the African Walton Family. Entitled rich kids, a black sheep, an artist, the old guy, and a few insensitive assholes made up the cast who spend page after page just living their lives. As things progressed, I began to appreciate the pacing. Reynolds folds his world building into his characterizations and plot seamlessly, never resorting to sloppy info dumps or exposition. Does it cost him an extra hundred pages along the way? Probably. But it's time well spent, delivering a crystal clear picture of his imagined future and characters that shine.

From that basic framework Blue Remembered Earth takes a different approach than so much of today's genre fiction. Not dark or grimy, Reynolds spins a yarn that reflects on something inherently optimistic -- wonder and awe.

"Geoffrey had never been further than the Moon in his life. The sun was now more than thirty times as distant as it appeared from his home, and the light it offered was over nine hundred times fainter. It was a bullet hole punched in the sky, admitting a pencil-shaft of watery yellow illumination, too feeble to be called sunshine. For the first time in his life he truly understood that his home orbited a star."

It's not all roses among the stars though and Reynolds's excellent prose communicates the fear of the unknown and the inherent claustrophobia of space. If it's a throw back to Arthur C. Clarke science fiction as some might observe, it's a throwback with an understanding for the modern reader, embracing something of the space opera tropes and melding them with the hard science fiction tradition.

I have little doubt that there will be detractors out there. Blue Remembered Earth is not a thrill a minute science fiction. Slow burn is an accurate discriptor, but even once things get moving there is little action. Instead Reynolds offers the tension of space walks, faulty heat shields, and out of control robots. Perhaps such conceits no longer hold mystery for the cynical reader. They do for me and I found Alastair Reynolds's first effort in the Poseidon’s Children series to be an exceptional piece of milieu science fiction.

The Games - Ted Kotsmaka

As a widely published short fiction author, Ted Kosmatka's first novel The Games is hardly a debut. Since 2008, Kosmatka has seen eight stories reprinted in Years Best anthologies and received multiple award nominations, most prominently the Nebula for his story Divining Light. He's also a writer for Valve, creators of the massively successful Half-Life video games. With that in mind, I was looking forward to the The Games being a polished, layered, science fictional novel. What I got was a polished, straightforward, near term technothriller that calls to mind a taciturn Michael Crichton.

Set sometime in the near future, the games in The Games refers to the Olympics where the main event has evolved into a gladiator like competition with only one rule: no human DNA permitted in the design of the combatants. Silas Williams is the geneticist in charge of preparing the U.S. entry whose designs have led them to the gold in every previous event. Looking for an edge in the upcoming Games, Silas’s boss engages an experimental supercomputer to design the genetic code for a gladiator that cannot be beaten.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, the guy who invented the supercomputer, Evan Chandler, is batshit crazy and he's got more to accomplish that creating a genome never before seen on earth. Aided by the beautiful (aren't they all?) xenobiologist, Vidonia João, Silas must find a way to understand what he created and how to keep it from ruining everything he's built.

Before I go any farther I think I should disclose the fact that I wanted a lot more gladiator action. When a book is sold as containing genetically engineered gladiatorial combat, I'm looking for Jean Claude Van Damme's Bloodsport with chitinous armored sentient chimeras. Or maybe rabid vorpal bunnies. While The Games delivers on the crazy genetically engineered monster factor, very little of the novel actually takes place in the arena. Kosmatka instead focuses on the overworked 'you-can't-put-technology-back-in-the-box' angle.

As far as those kinds of stories go, The Games is a success. It's fast paced, full of tension, and just the right amount of blood and guts to sustain things. There's a little romance and the whole thing is a tragic story of technology run amok. Except, replace the Olympic setting with a remote island and the genetically engineered gladiator with a velociraptor or two and the end result looks an awful lot like Jurassic Park with a (very) slightly altered cast of characters. That's just not going to do it for me.

The characters themselves are likeable enough. Silas is a bit miscast as a once in a lifetime genius geneticist, but that's part of his charm. He's smart and athletic, loves to hunt with his bow and arrow, and no one can seem to get over how big he is. Everything about his character to me screams big time executive, not genius level scientist. Nevertheless, he comes across as incredibly conflicted about what he does and why he does it. The other motive character, Evan Chandler, is even more interesting. A functional (barely) autistic (maybe?), he struggles to interact with the real world, choosing instead to live within the virtual confines of his super computer. Outside them, the cast is archetypal and bland. The major villain, Mr. Baskov (the Olympic Commissioner) and the love interest, Vidonia João, fit into tidy boxes that eschew any sort of eye opening moments.

Considering Kosmatka's exceptional short fiction and his work experience in research labs, it comes as no surprise that the novel is well written and authentic seeming in its science. He presents the latter in a clear way that allows for suspension of disbelief without becoming Tom Clancy didactic. The tension is well structured and peaks at the right times. What I'm getting at is that this is perfectly good novel. It's just a novel I feel like I've read a half a dozen times.

Ted Kosmatka's first novel, The Games is a paint by numbers technothriller separated from its peers only by its level of polish and the interest ignited by the Olympic backdrop. For readers who rabidly seek out this kind of yarn, I suspect they'll find a great deal of enjoyment. For me, I kept waiting to be engaged at a deeper level, or caught off guard by a twist, or sucked into some bad ass monster fighting. Unfortunately, I'm still waiting.

Arctic Rising - Tobias Buckell (and giveaway!)

Arctic Rising is the best James Bond novel I've ever read. Wait, what? Indeed Tobias Buckell's latest novel could be taken as an Ian Fleming experiment gone terribly... right. An ironic homage to Bond, based on gads of research into the nature of climate change and some of the more inventive solutions, Buckell has created a near term speculative novel that's as current as it is authentic. Believable? Let's not get greedy; I did say Bond after all.

Buckell's premise begins a few years in the future, where global warming has transformed the Earth. The Arctic Ice Cap has all but melted, and the international community is racing to claim the oil beneath the newly accessible ocean. Enter Gaia Corporation whose founders have come up with a plan to roll it all back using thousands of tiny mirrors floating in the air to redirect heat and cool the Earth's surface.

The protagonist is Anika Duncan, Buckell's first piece of Bond irony. She's a black lesbian, tough as nails, but far from a trained covert operative. She's an airship pilot for the underfunded United Nations Polar Guard. It's her job to ensure things run smoothly in the new Wild West. When a smuggled nuclear weapon makes it into the Polar Circle on Anika's watch, she winds up caught up in a plot to destroy Gaia Corporation and with it Earth's hope the future.

When I read the synopsis for Arctic Rising last winter, I was skeptical. I was aware of Buckell's relationship with Karl Schroeder and Paola Bacigalupi, two staunch environmental advocates, and of his own interest in environmentalism. It concerned me that Buckell was tackling climate change, and setting it in such a near future. The possibilities for political commentary, finger pointing, and hair shirt environmentalism were rife. My cynicism was completely unwarranted. Buckell uses well founded research to weave an argument not just for environmental reforms, but also against extremism and unilateral policy making. The end result is an even handed novel that will appeal (almost) equally to readers on both sides of the proverbial aisle.

In truth, Arctic Rising is far more of a thriller (see Bond) than other recent ecocentric novels like The Wind Up Girl (Bacigalupi) or Seed (Rob Ziegler). Buckell makes a few points here and there about the inevitability of climate change, and few more about how the world might go about solving them. Meanwhile, the focus remains on a breakneck story that would fit neatly into any host of genres. Anika has to save the world with the help of a few friends from an out of control corporate oligarchy bent on winning at any cost. And she might just fall in love on the way.

And therein lies the strength of Buckell's latest novel -- Anika. She embodies what makes Buckell such a dynamic voice in a sea of historical homogeny. The dashingly handsome white male, well trained and supremely confident, that so pervades this type of fiction, is absent. I mentioned Anika is a black lesbian. I should also mention she's completely believable in her sexuality and ethnicity. There's never a moment when I felt she was written by a man and despite numerous opportunities, she never turns into the Xena Warrior Princess action hero (thank God). She's a real woman in unreal circumstances. A third world native living in the developed world, I can't help but believe that Buckell's life experiences as a Caribbean man moving to the States pervade Anika. I know for sure that those values light up the page with their conviction.

Is the novel a little absurd? Well, yes. The major plot device involves millions of floating mirrors capable of redirecting the sun. A conspiracy surrounds it all that calls to mind Mel Gibson's Conspiracy Theory (1997), as unlikely as it is fun to imagine. Buckell balances that unreality with the truth of Earth's rising temperatures and the frenetic grab for natural resources that continues unabated throughout the world. That balance allows Buckell to take a stance on an issue, invite his reader to listen, and keep them there through a compelling and exciting story. Like Saladin Ahmed's recent debut, Throne of the Crescent Moon, Arctic Rising is a novel with a point of view. And that's something James Bond never seemed to have -- Ian Fleming, eat your heart out.

Arctic Rising comes with my highest recommendation. It's due out in Hardcover and eBook tomorrow, February 28. You should read it. Learn more about Tobias Buckell on Twitter or at his blog.

###

Giveaway

I have one (1) copy of Arctic Rising to 

give away courtesy of Tor.

Giveaway Details:

This giveaway is open only to residents of the United States and Canada.  You must be 18 years of age or older to participate. Void where prohibited by law. Giveaway rules are subject to change.  

How to participate:

• To enter the giveaway, e-mail me at staffersmusings@gmail.com, with the subject ICE CAPS, including a valid mailing address.
• One entry per person, or face disqualification.
• Entries accepted until 11:59pm ET on March 5, 2012.
• Winners will be chosen by random sorting entries, and then using a random number generator.
• There will be one (1) winners who will received one (1) book.

Although not required, it sure would be nice if you:

• Follow me on my blog publicly so that you appear on Google Friend Connect.
• Follow me on twitter, @jdiddyesquire.
• Like me on Facebook