If you’re a fan of Catherynne M. Valente’s work, then you probably know what to expect: prose that touches poetry at times, often an influence of JapaIf you’re a fan of Catherynne M. Valente’s work, then you probably know what to expect: prose that touches poetry at times, often an influence of Japanese folklore, strange dream-like logic… This is a wide-ranging collection which includes some stories I read elsewhere, or could’ve read elsewhere, like the Fairyland novella about Mallow. The writing is generally beautiful; that’s never really something I doubt with Valente. The choice of stories is also generally good, even though I have encountered some of them in multiple other collections.
It’s probably most worthwhile for the pretty cover and for people who either haven’t read much Valente and want a sampler, or people who read everything she writes and don’t want to miss anything.
Confession: I mostly skipped the actual poetry. I prefer the lyricism of Valente’s prose to anything about her poetry.
I should probably have written a review the minute I finished this one, but I felt like I needed time to let things settle, and then life took over. FI should probably have written a review the minute I finished this one, but I felt like I needed time to let things settle, and then life took over. For me, it was a really satisfying read, from the plot and setting to the diversity of characters, and it seemed like the perfect length too. Often I want more from novellas, but to me this told the story it had to tell and stopped — with plenty left to think about and wonder about, but not in an unsatisfying way.
My one issue is that there’s one scene that makes the mystery part absolutely obvious: I don’t know if it’s just the way I think, but that was disappointing, because the characters apparently took no notice and then a little while after, there was the actual reveal.
Still, to me the setting — even just the idea — is the central thing: what happens when the story is over, and fairyland spits you back out? I worried about it when I read Cat Valente’s last Fairyland book: how can you go back to normal after that? Wouldn’t normal life be a huge anticlimax — or even just completely baffling? And Every Heart A Doorway deals with that, and with all the different ways people might leave their fairyland, and how they might feel about it. There’s a gorgeously painful part where one of the returnees was trans, and when that was revealed, their world rejected them. And then there’s the way the various worlds fall somewhere on a spectrum between logic and nonsense; the fact that Nancy is (like me) asexual and how that affects her relationships with people; the different ways everyone relates to each other, despite a common background…
Overall, I found it really satisfying, and it emphasised how very much I need to get round to reading more of Seanan McGuire’s work.
There’s a lot about this novella that’s fascinating — the image of the Windspeakers having to sacrifice their eyes and receiving stones instead is jusThere’s a lot about this novella that’s fascinating — the image of the Windspeakers having to sacrifice their eyes and receiving stones instead is just, wow; I’m pretty sure that’s going to stick with me. The crew are cool, too; crabby and sympathetic and brave and practical. A mixture, like real people, and able to really get on each other’s nerves like real people, too. There are some awesome descriptions of weather magic, too: of the way the protagonist feels it in her body.
The flipside of that is that that there feels like there’s too much going on. There’s the whole magic system, then there’s the pirate crew, and it doesn’t fit that well together, because all of a sudden the pirates are really invested in something that is, well, above their pay grade. From transporting a runaway to saving a group of people that they don’t even necessarily sympathise with… And the Dragon Ships; that whole plot thread isn’t really resolved, because it’s implied there’s a lot more going on with them and yet the story more or less ends with a minor confrontation.
It doesn’t feel complete, like there’s just too much still up in the air. It’s not bad as a story, but it feels rushed and inconclusive.
For a short novella, I actually got surprisingly invested in this — and didn’t really realise until the end, where I was rooting for… something more. For a short novella, I actually got surprisingly invested in this — and didn’t really realise until the end, where I was rooting for… something more. A rescue, a redemption, something. The sting in the tail of the story, while most of it was obvious to me, works well and adds to the meaning of everything that comes before it, which is exactly how stories should be written — especially short ones.
The setting of the story, while not revolutionary — the whole idea of society being connected, of storing your memories practically in the cloud, of never being out of touch — is done well, too; not too obtrusive, and yet it permeates the story.
The conceit of the typewriter and the typos, etc, just drove me a bit mad, though. Nope, cannot be doing with typos, even on purpose, apparently. But that’s a personal peeve, probably driven by my editing work, and didn’t get in the way of the story itself.
In the end, I just wanted a little more. I wanted the why, and we got some of it, but I wanted the motives of people we didn’t even meet in the story. So of course it was limited by the narration, but. But. Gimme!
On the strength of The Last Witness, I was ready to pick this up as soon as it came out; I really enjoyed pretty much every aspect of Parker’s other TOn the strength of The Last Witness, I was ready to pick this up as soon as it came out; I really enjoyed pretty much every aspect of Parker’s other Tor.com novella, and definitely wanted to read more from him. The Devil You Know is significantly weaker, though; apparently, one of the main characters is from another book by Parker, Blue and Gold. I think knowing that, I’d have picked up Blue and Gold first, because while the background is easy enough to grasp in this book, it might’ve helped in understanding the character and what he wants.
The plot itself is basically Faustian, with one of the main characters (a philosopher) trying to trick the other (a devil, but in a bureaucratic delegation sort of way: he doesn’t have pointy horns and an evil nature) out of the whole selling-your-soul bargain. I thought the final solution to that was a bit obvious, both as a device in general and in the way it was executed here, and the devil surprisingly careless about that one aspect after reading and rereading all the rest. It felt a bit like convenient stupidity for plot reasons.
The writing is a bit difficult to follow; unfortunately, the two POVs switch frequently but not regularly, and you have to guess from context which character is speaking. There are a few points where it’s impossible for a paragraph or two to figure out who is even supposed to be speaking, making everything rather confusing — especially since I don’t think the devil character has a name, and is usually just referred to as ‘he’, ‘him’, etc.
That’s all pretty negative, though: I did enjoy the story, the careful set-up, the bureaucratic version of selling your soul and how all of that was handled. It just didn’t catch hold of me in the way that The Last Witness did.
The Paper Menagerie is a collection of stories by Hugo, Nebula and World Fantasy Award winner Ken Liu. Some of the stoReceived to review via Netgalley
The Paper Menagerie is a collection of stories by Hugo, Nebula and World Fantasy Award winner Ken Liu. Some of the stories deal with issues of Chinese-American heritage, and one in particular goes into a lot of detail, in a very interesting documentary format, about events in China during Japanese occupation, issues of experimentation, and then through the lens of spec-fic, history and who owns it, who controls it, how we can interact with it. Some of the stories are quite long, and come with footnotes about how they originated or further sources if you’re interested in the story.
There was nothing I specifically didn’t like about the stories, in general; one or two were weaker, others stronger. I was surprised that I felt ‘The Paper Menagerie’ to be a little… trite, given the awards and praise it has received, but it does evoke the feelings well. There are some moments where that comes out very strongly in Liu’s stories: there’s one story which uses a lot of descriptions of Chinese food and culture, and I could almost taste the dumplings, the rice, the vegetables, when reading that one. For the most part, though, I felt like Liu’s voice was very even in tone; I didn’t feel passionately one way or the other about quite a few of these stories. I felt like there were a few obviously great stories, and others that were entertaining enough but definitely not as strong.
I’m interested to read The Grace of Kings, Liu’s novel, and his translation of Cixin Liu’s The Three Body Problem; I’d like to see how Liu’s voice comes across there and how it flavours a work in translation. I’m not put off Liu’s work, just not quite enthused about it.
I’ve always enjoyed epic fantasy (as a genre, anyway; there are probably individual stories I’ve disliked), so I was excited to see Sunset Mantle in TI’ve always enjoyed epic fantasy (as a genre, anyway; there are probably individual stories I’ve disliked), so I was excited to see Sunset Mantle in Tor.com’s novella lineup described as such — and doubly encouraged by Jo Walton’s endorsement on the cover. Epic fantasy has such a problem of scope sometimes: you need the world to feel huge, while also giving intimacy with a handful of characters, to make both the setting and the plot work together. Sometimes that makes a book balloon out into multi-volume epics like Steven Erikson’s Malazan books, or George R.R. Martin’s Westeros novels.
So I was very intrigued to see what someone would do without a pre-established world, within the slim confines of a novella. And I think Alter S. Reiss does a pretty good job of sketching in a wider society: tribes, clans, reaches, links both economic and feudal, with politics that dictate what happens in this story while also hinting at greater complexities. There’s the ‘madding’, too — some kind of battle rage, and a system of customs surrounding it which aren’t explained fully, but which shape the circumstances of the story. And Reiss does indeed keep it to a handful of characters: really just Cete, the first character we meet, and Marelle, the blind woman whose embroidery work enchants him, and with whom he falls in love.
If military fantasy is your thing, the battles and the training are here: Cete has to work to pound his unit into shape, to make them work together (of course), and there’s two major battle scenes. I think the only battle scenes I can think of that are evoked more clearly are some in Bernard Cornwell’s The Winter King; the clash of the enemy lines is present in both, and there’s a real idea of the sweat and muck and blood and terror.
I suppose the only unsatisfying note is that we don’t know how the politics continue to play out, how Cete and Marelle weather the changes, and whether Cete ever really receives the rewards he deserves. And really, I do want to know: having got this invested in Cete and Marelle, I want to know what happens, whether they have children, and whether those children come to inherit, and — and — and —
Unnatural Creatures is a fun collection with a rather diverse set of authors, including Gaiman himself, Peter S. Beagle, Nnedi Okorafor, Nalo HopkinsoUnnatural Creatures is a fun collection with a rather diverse set of authors, including Gaiman himself, Peter S. Beagle, Nnedi Okorafor, Nalo Hopkinson, Diana Wynne Jones… it includes some stories published before which fit with the theme, and a couple which seem to be published for the first time here. Most of them weren’t stories I knew already, and I thought overall it was a good selection; there were none which really didn’t work for me, though I wasn’t so interested in ‘The Compleat Werewolf’, particularly given how long it was.
Some of the creatures are more traditional than others: werewolves and ancient animal gods and the spirits of trees juxtaposed against a predatory bicycle, the story by Gahan Wilson, etc. Which is always good, to my mind, because werewolves and unicorns and such have been done, and a bit of new blood is always interesting.
My favourites of the collection? Hmm. ‘The Griffin and the Minor Canon’, by Frank R. Stockton; ‘The Sage of Theare’, by Diana Wynne Jones; ‘The Cartographer Wasps and the Anarchist Bees’, by E. Lily Yu; ‘Prismatica’, by Samuel R. Delaney… Stockton’s story, for example, is fairly traditional in the sort of structure and moral, but then there’s that odd sad note of pity for the Griffin, despite — well, you should probably read it for yourself. ‘The Cartographer Wasps’ is a fable, too, with a different sort of feel. And then ‘The Sage of Theare’ has a figure familiar from Jones’ other books — Chrestomanci!
Yes, it’s definitely an interesting combination, and a collection worth spending some time with, I think.
Word Puppets is a collection of short stories written by Mary Robinette Kowal, arranged — if we can trust the alleged Received to review via Netgalley
Word Puppets is a collection of short stories written by Mary Robinette Kowal, arranged — if we can trust the alleged Patrick Rothfuss’ introduction — in the order they were written. I always think that’s a fascinating way to read an author’s work, because you get to watch their skills develop, their interests change, etc. This particular collection comes with an introduction written by Pat Rothfuss… which is a little suspect because in a little game they had on twitter, Kowal was better at being Rothfuss than Rothfuss was.
If that confused you, don’t worry; I think it bent more than a few brains.
As a whole, in any case, it’s an entertaining collection. There were one or two weaker points, where by my personal lights the twist was just a little… I saw it coming. ‘For Solo Cello, op. 12’, for example. And looking at the list of titles, there’s some where I can’t figure out which story they were, which you can attribute either to my terrible naming or perhaps less than memorable/well-matched titles/stories. ‘For Want of a Nail’, what was that one… ah, the one with the conflicted AI.
Still, for the most part I think Word Puppets is a strong collection, solidly entertaining, and what’s also nice, it has a wide range. Fantasy, various kinds of spec-fic, different settings, older protagonists… And it’s definitely quite different to her Regency/fantasy novels (which I do enjoy, but it’s nice to see Kowal taking on other frontiers). I enjoyed most of the stories, and I think particularly ‘Chrysalis’, ‘Body Language’, ‘The Lady Astronaut of Mars’ and ‘The Consciousness Problem’. Some of them really are sticking in my head, to be thought about later — so that’s a good sign.
I mostly requested The Cutting Room because I know Ellen Datlow is a majorly respected editor of anthologies, and the Received to review via Netgalley
I mostly requested The Cutting Room because I know Ellen Datlow is a majorly respected editor of anthologies, and the idea of a themed anthology based on the silver screen… well, it did appeal, even if horror isn’t really my thing. Unfortunately, that turned out to be only too true, and also I didn’t really understand the point of some of the stories. There are definitely some standouts, though, and some amazingly written ones, and clever ones which turn things around.
‘Cuts’ was pretty good, even if I kind of expected the twist at the end; ‘Onlookers’, also. Genevieve Valentine’s story is interesting, and though I thought Peter Straub’s story was too self-conscious, it was well written. ‘Tenderiser’ was tense and breathless, though I wasn’t always following the reasoning 100%.
On the other hand, ‘Ardor’ for example just read as one big mess to me. Others just cut off, or just weren’t memorable, or just went for this big gory image for kicks. Just not what I connect to or am interested in.
Still, it was interesting to explore some stories like this, and look into some new authors. I don’t think I’ll pick any of them up on the strength of these stories, but it is nice to get a bit of variety.
I wasn’t as sure about this one as I was some of the other Tor.com novellas, so I didn’t buy it outright, but I was curious enough to request it on NeI wasn’t as sure about this one as I was some of the other Tor.com novellas, so I didn’t buy it outright, but I was curious enough to request it on Netgalley. Especially since the cover wouldn’t be out of place on one of Patricia McKillip’s books, or Juliet Marillier’s, perhaps. Well, it wasn’t exactly like either of those, but it was enjoyable. The main character, Patience, is just so wonderfully practical. Even when that means doing pretty horrifying things. It makes sense, given her life, and I was glad it wasn’t sentimentalised or smoothed over. It happens, and she deals with it as practically as she does it.
The writing itself was a bit uneven, for me — the opening chapter was a bit too much of being told about the world and the character and her life, especially when the setting is fairly typical. There was nothing really that surprised me about that; medieval Europe with witches who are actually witches, really.
It was enjoyable enough that I read it in one go, but I don’t seem to have much to say about it.
I was all braced to love this, based on the reviews that I’d read. I wanted to, especially because the world is interesting, the relationships and theI was all braced to love this, based on the reviews that I’d read. I wanted to, especially because the world is interesting, the relationships and the fact that it features a gay love story, and because it’s written half in vernacular, half in something more formal, which keeps it very much alive.
However, I had two problems. One was with the structure of the story. The last fifty pages were frenetic and packed full, exploding with stuff. The first hundred-fifty, however… barely went anywhere, and the story itself seemed to hide all the things that would have hooked me — the aforementioned relationship, more details about Demane and where he comes from… And the other problem is just that: there seems to be fascinating background to how the world was colonised? terraformed? is it Earth? It’s so hard to tell, and I wanted to know. I get that this is a novella and thus limited, but still, I wanted more than just that tantalising sense of what was going on — I wanted it to apply to the story more, I guess.
Something about the narration just bounced off me — it reminded me of Nnedi Okorafor’s writing in Lagoon, actually. I might try rereading it and see if it makes more of an impression, but I’m not in a hurry. Still, I’d be willing to try something else by Wilson.
The stories contained in this volume are much more meaningful if you’ve already read at least the first book of the series, Throne of Glass. They fillThe stories contained in this volume are much more meaningful if you’ve already read at least the first book of the series, Throne of Glass. They fill in details referenced in Throne of Glass about Celaena’s background, and how exactly she came to be in the position she’s in at the start of that book, but they have more impact if you already know Celaena. If this was your first outing with her, you probably wouldn’t get to know her well. Each story is connected and leads fairly logically from the previous one, though it doesn’t quite have the cohesive feel of being a novel — it’s definitely episodic.
If you enjoy Celaena, it’s worth picking up; it fleshes out details about her past and gives more weight and meaning to some of the things she says and does in Throne of Glass. It’s an easy read, too; for all that it’s 450 pages worth of storytelling, it seems to fly by.
The books themselves… I’ve never been quite as in love with them as a lot of YA bloggers are, or were, so the collection remains exactly what I expect of Maas: an entertaining story (or in this case, set of linked stories), with an engaging but not perfect female character. (Come on, though; Celaena’s a highly trained assassin, yet she trusts the wrong people, she can be spoilt and petulant, etc. Sam Cortland, I think you deserved better.)
I love the way this novella takes the idea — that someone could perhaps look into your mind and take away your memories, at the cost of having to keepI love the way this novella takes the idea — that someone could perhaps look into your mind and take away your memories, at the cost of having to keep them themselves if there was anything distressing in them — and then develops it, runs with it, deals with what a character who could do that would be like, what they would be willing to do, what they’d feel about it. How they could profit from it, and what that might cost them.
The narrator is, of course, unreliable. He’s unreliable even to himself, because he doesn’t know which memories are his, and which memories might be missing. Truth is a malleable thing in this world, because it depends on what you believe, and he can change that. (It never really addresses what happens when someone has some kind of record of what he’s going to wipe.) Identity is malleable too — and his changes all the time as he takes on the memories of murderers and victims. It’s definitely a fertile ground for a story, and K.J. Parker makes great use of it.
This novella has convinced me I really need to get round to reading more of K.J. Parker’s work. He does an amazing job here of creating a character and a complex story from a simple seed — without it ever getting too tortuous.
I think the books and stories the Detection Club did together must have been a lot of fun to do and to share around with other writers, but they come I think the books and stories the Detection Club did together must have been a lot of fun to do and to share around with other writers, but they come off less well for someone outside that context, and particularly given that many of the authors and detectives are no longer well-known. Sayers/Lord Peter were the only ones I knew from this bunch, so the parody and playing in other people’s sandboxes doesn’t really interest me.
Going through the same murder in however many different ways just… didn’t interest me enough. The parody of Sayers was quite fun, since I know what Wimsey is like, but other than that, I found this fairly boring. Alas.
This novella has an interesting triad of characters at the centre. They’re very different, and yet they have things in common, and things to teach oneThis novella has an interesting triad of characters at the centre. They’re very different, and yet they have things in common, and things to teach one another. One’s an atheist who fears she’s losing her mind; one a pastor fearing she’s losing her faith; and one a woman who would probably refuse to agree that she was afraid of anything. The personalities make quite an interesting mix!
The story itself is fairly simple, with a traditional sort of feel. A new supermarket is coming to Lychford, and the residents are split almost 50-50 on whether they want it or not. Campaigns are in full swing, both for and against. So far, so ordinary. But Judith knows there’s more to it — that the supermarket as planned will change the shape of the town, and maybe even alter the fabric of the world: Lychford is built the way it is for a particular reason.
Those are just surface details: each character has much more going on, which impacts the plot of the novella in different ways. The three main characters (who all happen to be female) are well-realised and compelling, even when one of them is cantankerous.
I didn’t love it like, say, Robert did, but I did enjoy it. It’s paced well and is just the right length — neither cut off short or stretched out too long. It was the first book I read from Tor.com’s novella line, and it was a good introduction.
I keep meaning to read Okorafor’s work, but Who Fears Death was a bad fit when I picked it up, and my copy of Lagoon has gone AWOL. Which left this asI keep meaning to read Okorafor’s work, but Who Fears Death was a bad fit when I picked it up, and my copy of Lagoon has gone AWOL. Which left this as my introduction — maybe not a bad thing, because it’s fairly bitesize, without being truncated. I wasn’t sure what to think of it until I was talking with Robert from my book club, though, where he noted that at the start of the book, things begin to happen due to Binti’s merit. She gets herself into university, and she’s brave enough to leave her family and set out into the unknown. After that, though, it’s luck: she couldn’t know that the things she took with her would be useful, had no idea how to make them useful, and basically just happened to survive and do well because of her background.
It feels almost like message fiction: sometimes, someone from an unprivileged background can make good because they bring new tools which other people wouldn’t consider. That’s not a bad message, and the story and world-building is reasonably entertaining… but. The conflict essentially ends by 20% in — after that, Binti no longer has to rely on her own resources. She just happens to have the right things with her.
That’s a bit of a simplification, but it does weaken the story for me. It starts off strongly, and the world is interesting — Binti’s people, the way things are set up, the aliens — but then… I began to feel as if it would turn out okay because Binti was special somehow. Having a special protagonist who is insulated from harm makes suspense and intrigue difficult.
This is a lovely collection of microfiction, which often teasingly looks over the edge at poetry in the imagery, the choice of words, the spare precisThis is a lovely collection of microfiction, which often teasingly looks over the edge at poetry in the imagery, the choice of words, the spare precise nature of the prose. It’s a collection of fable-like stories, some of them more familiar than others, all of them given their own little twist. There were a few that didn’t really strike me, but microfiction is a very difficult art, and I think Yoon Ha Lee does an amazing job with the form. Each word has to be necessary — done. Each image has to evoke a picture, an emotion, a perfect still moment — done.
I also liked that gender is not a major thing in these stories. It shifts. Someone is referred to as someone’s son, and yet the pronoun is ‘they’. It’s noticeable at first because people don’t usually do it, but I quickly got used to it, and it’s a part of the narrative voice. (Some characters are ‘she’ or ‘he’; it also depends on the character, the story.)
I know Yoon Ha Lee has a sci-fi book deal with Solaris, and I’m definitely looking forward to that on the strength of this.
Kelly Link’s writing is gorgeous. These stories don’t all have the same tone or theme or setting or anything like that, but they do have that writing Kelly Link’s writing is gorgeous. These stories don’t all have the same tone or theme or setting or anything like that, but they do have that writing style in common, and it’s great. I’m not actually very good at liking short stories — I like developed characters and longer plots — but these are, for the most part, pretty enjoyable. ‘The Surfer’ was, if anything, a little too long for me, because most of what happens is character development.
I was surprised to realise I’d read both ‘The Wizards of Perfil’ and ‘The Constable of Abal’ before; I’m not sure where I read them, but it must’ve been an anthology. They’re probably my favourite of the two for language, setting and worldbuilding — and unsurprisingly, they’re the most secondary-world-fantasy of the bunch.
I was less sure about the alternating stories of ‘Pretty Monsters’; I think I’d have to read them again to really get the whole plot. There’s a great atmosphere with all of these, though: creepy, subtly wrong, and sometimes wry and funny as well.
This ebook is a collection of three short stories set in the same universe as The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms. It revisits some of the characters and thThis ebook is a collection of three short stories set in the same universe as The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms. It revisits some of the characters and the consequences of the original trilogy, giving us a little more of Nahadoth, Hado and Glee Shoth, in turn. I’m fairly sure I missed out on some of the details because I haven’t read the books recently enough; I’m very sure I’ll reread this when I have, to fully appreciate it. As it is, though, they’re well-crafted stories, with the beautiful imagery and clarity I expect of Jemisin’s writing.
There are moments of characterisation that you don’t need to have recently read the trilogy to appreciate: Itempas, confronting change, his body treating it like an infection. Nahadoth, grieving and betrayed, betraying himself with the odd moment of affection for Tempa, with moments of regret. Glee Shoth, claiming her birthright, with strength from both her parents.
I think I liked the Nahadoth story the most, because it deals with that early aftermath of betrayal, and also most directly with Nahadoth’s nature. The various ways of describing him, “that which cannot be controlled”, etc, all work to crystallise the character, to get across in as few words as possible what Nahadoth is, and what he stands for.
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