"Paul consulted his memory of the vision: in it, he'd left here with the names of the traitors, but never seeing how those names were carried. The dwa"Paul consulted his memory of the vision: in it, he'd left here with the names of the traitors, but never seeing how those names were carried. The dwarf obviously moved under the protection of another oracle. It occurred to Paul then that all creatures must carry some kind of destiny stamped out by purpose of varying strengths, by the fixation of training and disposition. From the moment the Jihad had chosen him, he'd felt hemmed in by the forces of a multitude. Their fixed purpose demanded and controlled his course. Any delusions of Free Will he harbored now must be merely the prisoner rattling his cage. His curse lay in the fact that he saw the cage. He saw it!"
Oh yeah. Book 2 of the Dune series and Frank Herbert is starting to get freaky with it. Strap in.
Dune Messiah picks up fifteen years after the end of the previous book. Paul is the all-powerful emperor, with a literal cult following and unchecked power. As an added bonus, his gift of prescience is now so strong that he knows exactly what his future holds, and because he's unable to change it, goes through the motions of his life like an actor following a script.
So the scope of this novel, which covers topics like destiny and fanaticism and the lie of the Messiah myth, is also a very small-scale human drama: the core of this novel, when you really peel back the layers, is about Paul and Chani and Irulian and Alia. This is a family soap that affects the destiny of a galaxy, and the way Herbert balances the small and large scale dramas is incredible to watch.
Also, it cannot be overstated, this book is so goddamn weird. To give any more details would be giving away spoilers, but rest assured that Frank Herbert is operating on a whole other level. I can't wait to see where he takes things next. ...more
"Greatness is a transitory experience. It is never consistent. It depends in part upon the myth-making imagination of humankind. The person who experi"Greatness is a transitory experience. It is never consistent. It depends in part upon the myth-making imagination of humankind. The person who experiences greatness must have a feeling for the myth he is in. He must reflect what is projected upon him. And he must have a strong sense of the sardonic. This is what uncouples him from belief in his own pretensions. The sardonic is all that permits him to move within himself. Without this quality, even occasional greatness will destroy a man.
-from 'Collected Sayings of Muad'Dib' by the Princess Irulan"
Part of me wishes I had read this series before seeing the Villeneuve movies, because I think the way they've adapted this story for film is fascinating and so, so well done, and it would have been cool to watch the movies and have a full appreciation of how they changed the story to fit a movie format. (On the other hand - I went into the first Dune movie knowing almost nothing about the books and I never felt lost for a second, which tells you what a good job they did)
But I can also appreciate that I had a kind of primer before starting this. Paul's prophetic visions also bleed into the narrative style of the book, and you can see Herbert frequently hinting at characters or scenes that will become important much father down the line (for example - one of the early excerpts from an in-world novel is from "St. Alia of the Knife", and we don't learn who that is until much later in the book). This is a story that is just slightly unmoored in its own timeline, and having seen the movie helped keep me grounded in the narrative.
But movie adaptation aside, this is just a rock-solid fantasy epic that is also so, so fucking cool. Herbert does atmosphere like nobody's business, and his characters are so well done that I didn't even realize how much of this story is just different peoples' inner thoughts until another reviewer pointed out.
Also, the writing is...incredible? Frank Herbert has a way of turning a phrase that is just incredible to witness, and I just wish I had marked more passages to quote. I did manage to get this one, from the arena scene with Feyd-Rautha:
"'You!' the man moaned. Feyd-Rautha drew back to give death its space. The paralyzing drug in the poison had yet to take full effect, but the man's slowness told of its advance. The slave staggered forward as though drawn by a string - one dragging step at a time. Each step was the only step in his universe. He still clutched his knife, but its point wavered."
Amina al-Sirafi was once one of the most notorious pirates of the 12th century, but is now retired and living in mostly-happy obscurity with her familAmina al-Sirafi was once one of the most notorious pirates of the 12th century, but is now retired and living in mostly-happy obscurity with her family. *movie trailer voice*
Until one day...she's pulled back in for one last job.
This story had such a great setup - badass former pirate has to bring her crew back together for one last job, and goes on an adventure full of sea monsters, magic, backstabbing, and lots of be-gay-do-crimes fun for the whole family.
I loved the pirate angle, I loved the 12th century Middle Eastern setting, I loved the characters (even though Chakraborty does fall a little too frequently into the trap of annoyingly quippy dialogue)...but ultimately, this one never fully got off the ground, and I finished it feeling mostly let down.
The pacing is what really killed this novel for me. The adventure should move smoothly and gradually pick up speed as we get closer to the climax; instead, it lurches unevenly along, often slowing down or jerking to a complete stop just when we want Chakraborty to step on the gas. After the first big villain confrontation, Amina gets separated from her crew (and the plot) and has to spend entire chapters trying to get back to the main story. Without getting too spoiler-y, basically she's trapped on a magic island, and then a character is like, "there's a way you can leave, we just have to talk to the council first!" And all I could think was, no, I don't want to go talk to the council, I want to get back to the story, we are wasting time. It's extra frustrating because the whole Amina-talks-to-the-council nonsense was only so that Chakraborty could clumsily set up the sequels.
It can't be the book it wants to be. The jail break scene isn't clever enough, the battle sequences aren't cool enough, and Amina isn't the badass that Chakraborty tries to make her out to be. Amina is one of the protagonists who is constantly surrounded by characters who keep insisting to the reader that she's such a badass, she's so ruthless, she's so scary...and this absolves the protagonist from actually have to do anything ruthless or scary. There's no way around it: Amina al-Sirafi is nice, despite how hard Chakraborty tries to tell us otherwise, and it takes all the wind out of the book's sails.
This novel could and should have been a standalone, not the first in a sequel. As I said, the justification for next few books in the series is clumsy and is also spelled out so clearly that it made me even less interested in reading them, because Chakraborty basically lays out her plan for the next few books right in front of us, as if that's going to make us care. Also, the title The Last Adventure of Amina al-Sirafi was RIGHT THERE. Come on, Shannon!
Oh, speaking of which...I don't want to get too bogged down in this, but I feel like every review of this book should clarify that "SA Chakraborty" is a white woman. That's the name that Goodreads attaches to this book, but my edition has "Shannon Chakraborty" on the title page, so going by only your initial and your Middle-Eastern married name to sell your novel about a Middle Eastern protagonist is...a choice, that's all I'm going to say.
Look, like I said, I don't want to get bogged down in the ethics of this move, and I also think it's always dangerous territory when someone starts talking about how "so-and-so isn't allowed to write about this topic", but on the other hand, there's something very Yellowface about being a white woman who writes a book set in the Middle East, with a Middle Eastern protagonist and almost exclusively POC characters, and then publishing that book using a name that will lead readers to believe you are also a POC. Like, it's not deliberately lying, but considering that there's been such a huge push in the past few years to support non-Eurocentric fantasy written by POC, and people may have purchased Amina al-Sirafi thinking they were supporting one of these authors...I dunno. It feels gross. ...more
“Light is the left hand of darkness and darkness the right hand of light. Two are one, life and death, lying together like lovers in kemmer, like hands jo“Light is the left hand of darkness and darkness the right hand of light. Two are one, life and death, lying together like lovers in kemmer, like hands joined together, like the end and the way.” “Light is the left hand of darkness and darkness the right hand of light. Two are one, life and death, lying together like lovers in kemmer, like hands joined together, like the end and the way.”
I honestly can't believe it took me this long to dive into Ursula K. Le Guin. I have one of her essay collections, but that was as much of her work that I'd read before starting The Left Hand of Darkness.
The novel, considered one of the heavy hitters in science fiction, is written as a report recorded by the intergalactic diplomat Genly Ai, who has been sent to the planet Gethen to persuade its government to join the confederation of planets called the Ekumen. Genly is a stranger in a strange land, to borrow another title from a sci-fi classic, and his mission on Gethen mostly relies on him learning the Gethen culture and customs - most notably, that the residents of Gethen are gender/sex fluid, and can change their sex organs as necessary. Genly forms an uneasy alliance with a local politician named Estraven, and Le Guin focuses her story on their relationship, using it to flesh out the world of Gethen.
Even without any real experience with Le Guin's other writing, this was absolutely nothing like I was expecting. This is one of those books where I never, at any point, had any idea where the story was going to go next, and it works phenomenally well. Sure, there are pitfalls to the storytelling - as many other reviewers have pointed out, Le Guin's portrayal of a genderfluid society is very much mired in the 1960's when it was published (the most important trait of the people of Gethen is that they do not have a fixed sex or gender, yet Genly uses he/him pronouns for almost everyone he meets), but it's not really fair to hold the book to today's standards. Sure, certain aspects of the worldbuilding are clumsy, but they ultimately don't distract from the beauty and the devastation of this story.
Le Guin understands that to make your audience understand a huge topic, you have to go small: in the end, this is the story of a relationship between two people thrown together by extraordinary circumstances. ...more
God, I love it when Terry Pratchett does a Shakespeare riff.
He seems to love using the witches specifically to mess around in the bard's sandbox, andGod, I love it when Terry Pratchett does a Shakespeare riff.
He seems to love using the witches specifically to mess around in the bard's sandbox, and I'm very here for it - before, he gave us the Discworld spin on Macbeth in Wyrd Sisters, and here he's taking the plot of A Midsummer Night's Dream and running with it as only Sir Terry Pratchett can.
This one is notable because it's the first time the "you can read the books in any order" coda of Discworld fans doesn't work - if you're diving into this one as your first foray into the Witches sub-series, you're going to feel a little bit at sea. Terry Pratchett even breaks down and puts an introduction at the beginning of the book - Lords and Ladies picks up almost immediately after Witches Abroad ended, and Pratchett found it necessary to give new readers a quick rundown of what they missed last time.
Granny Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg are fan favorites for a reason, and this book is even more fun than their previous adventure, because like all the best Discworld books, Pratchett allows it to go dark for a little while before finally turning everything around, and you finish it feeling kind of hollowed out and a little sad still, but in the best way.
Plus, I dare you to say no to an excerpt like this, which is basically Prachett's entire storytelling style (draw the reader in with jokes and incredible world-building and then punch them squarely in the gut) distilled down to three paragraphs:
"It wasn't that Ridcully was stupid. Truly stupid wizards have the life expectancy of a glass hammer. He had quite a powerful intellect, but it was powerful like a locomotive, and ran on rails and was therefore almost impossible to steer. There are indeed such things as parallel universes, although parallel is hardly the right word - universes swoop and spiral around one another like some mad weaving machine or a squadron of Yossarians with middle-ear trouble. And they branch. But, and this is important, not all the time. The universe doesn't much care if you tread on a butterfly. There are plenty more butterflies. Gods might note the fall of a sparrow but they don't make any effort to catch them."...more
I have a long-term project to work my way through the entire Discworld series (I'm reading them in strictly chronological order; no, I will not be takI have a long-term project to work my way through the entire Discworld series (I'm reading them in strictly chronological order; no, I will not be taking feedback on this choice), and having hit the double digits at last, it feels like we're definitely past the early books that Pratchett fans always tell you to avoid. (I will, however, always defend The Color of Magic and the need to start your Discworld journey with that one)
Small Gods is definitely one of the heavy hitters of the Discworld canon and it's easy to see why. I was sold on this one as soon as I realized I was going to get to watch Pratchett gently and expertly taking apart organized religion - and, because he's the best, he does so in way that manages to never be condescending or cruel, and is so, so incredibly smart.
Plus, it's about the adventures of a monk named Brutha and a tortoise, who is also a god. Tell me that's not going to be a good time. ...more
If you're looking for a sweet, gentle comfort read that will also give you a glimmer of hope for the future (good morning from the hellscape, fellow UIf you're looking for a sweet, gentle comfort read that will also give you a glimmer of hope for the future (good morning from the hellscape, fellow US citizens!), The House in the Cerulean Sea may be just what you're looking for.
The book takes place in a universe where magical creatures live alongside (well, sort of) ordinary humans, and these creatures have been classified and catalogued by the human government. Our protagonist, Linus Baker, is a government worker in the Department in Charge of Magical Youth - specifically, he is a case worker for orphaned children with magical abilities. The story starts when Linus is given an unusual assignment: he is being sent to an island orphanage run by the mysterious Arthur Parnassus, who oversees the care of six children. Well, kind of - the residents of the orphanage are a gnome, a sprite, a wyvern, a creature that nobody has been able to classify yet (he's kind of a green blob-thing), a werewolf that only turns into a Pomeranian, and the AntiChrist (they all call him Lucy).
This is charming and sweet and adorable from beginning to end, and if you're reading the plot description and thinking, "oh, okay, I get it, this is all a metaphor for queer kids", then you're kind of right - much like in X-Men, TJ Kune is using the concept of children with magical abilities to explore the challenges and prejudices faced by real kids who are labeled as “other", for whatever reason. But rest assured that, aside from the magical-abilities-as-metaphor, this book is also gay as hell in all the best ways.
It's simple and cute, and yes, some of the big twists are pretty obvious, but this is also not a story that relies on the audience being shocked by different revelations. This is an exploration of humanity through the lens of magical beings, and if you're in need of some cozy found-family adventures, this is what you've been looking for....more
"People like Nanny Ogg turn up everywhere. It's as if there's some special morphic generator dedicated to the production of old women who like a laugh"People like Nanny Ogg turn up everywhere. It's as if there's some special morphic generator dedicated to the production of old women who like a laugh and aren't averse to the odd pint, especially of some drink normally found in very small glasses. You find them all over the place, often in pairs.* They tend to attract one another. Possibly they broadcast inaudible signals indicating that here is someone who could be persuaded to go 'Ooo' at pictures of other people's grandchildren.
*Always in front of you in any queue, for a start."
It's time for more adventures of Nanny Ogg, Granny Weatherwax, and Magrat Garlick - our favorite not-coven of witches who are definitely not friends, thank you very much. At the beginning of the story, Magrat has been given a wand, and a mission, by a dying fairy godmother: she has to travel to the distant kingdom of Genua, find the servant girl Emberella, and ensure that she doesn't go to the ball.
This is equal parts road-trip adventure and good-hearted spoof fairy tale tropes (with a bonus extended Lord of the Rings reference that made me laugh way harder than I expected it to), and much like he did in Moving Pictures, Pratchett is using this book to explore the concept of stories, and how and why they matter so much - although his approach is much kinder here than in Moving Pictures. I read somewhere online that Pratchett was inspired to write this book after visiting Disney World and New Orleans, and you can definitely see those influences all over the story.
It's a delightful, hilarious good time with the Disc's best (?) witches, and as an added bonus, is endlessly quotable and features the adventures of a cat named Greebo:
"Cats are like witches. They don't fight to kill, but to win. There is a difference. There's no point in killing an opponent. That way, they won't know they've lost, and to be a real winner you have to have an opponent who is beaten and knows it. There's no triumph over a corpse, but a beaten opponent, who will remain beaten every day of the remainder of their sad and wretched life, is something to treasure. Cats do not, of course, rationalize this far. They just like to send someone limping off minus a tail and a few square inches of fur. Greebo's technique was unscientific and wouldn't have stood a chance against any decent swordsmanship, but on his side was the fact that it is almost impossible to develop decent swordsmanship when you seem to have run into a food mixer that is biting your ear off."...more
Having now read two of the Death subgenre of Discworld, I might have to admit that they're my favorite in the series. I mean, I love the Witches booksHaving now read two of the Death subgenre of Discworld, I might have to admit that they're my favorite in the series. I mean, I love the Witches books. Also Rincewind, my first love, never disappoints.
But MAN, the Death books will get you right in the feelings and not apologize for it. Mort was the introduction to Death and how things in his world function; Reaper Man sees Death getting to have a solo adventure that starts when Death's upper management (allow me to explain: read the book) come to him and congratulate him on his retirement. Problem is, Death hadn't actually been planning to retire, and now has to figure out how to...just live in the world? Hilarity ensues, and then some stuff that'll make you put the book down so you can stare at the wall and try to just process your emotions. ...more
The thing that this particular installment of Discworld taught me is that the “parody” novels are probably my least favorite subgenre within the serieThe thing that this particular installment of Discworld taught me is that the “parody” novels are probably my least favorite subgenre within the series (the exception being Wyrd Sisters, but I liked that one because of Granny Weatherwax and not because it was a spoof of Macbeth, so my point stands).
Moving Pictures is doing important work in terms of worldbuilding and advancing the state of technology on the Disc (this one, as the title suggest, introduces the film industry to the Disc, but because it’s Terry Pratchett, the “cameras” are actually boxes containing tiny demons that paint whatever the actors are doing onto film strips); the problem is that more often than not, it seems a little too satisfied with how clever it’s being. The ‘oh ho ho, I’m doing a scathing send-up of Hollywood’ schtick got old very quickly, and Pratchett often veers uncomfortably close to ‘movies are inferior entertainment and the people who enjoy them are too stupid to appreciate real art’ territory, which is both a god-awful take and also a deeply embarrassing look on Terry Pratchett, who has the skill to make readers root for an anthropomorphic steamer trunk. Too often, the book gets overly self-indulgent with its ‘hurr, movies are magic but it’s bad magic’ thesis, and even though Pratchett pulls it together in the end (because he always does), it takes us a little too long to get there....more
First and foremost, I absolutely loved Lies Sleeping. It was a perfect culmination of everything AaronovitcI'm a little torn about this one, I admit.
First and foremost, I absolutely loved Lies Sleeping. It was a perfect culmination of everything Aaronovitch has spent the last six books building to, and by the end of it, I was perfectly satisfied with the conclusion to the Faceless Man saga.
Satisfied enough, in fact, that even though I know Peter Grant's adventures continue past this book, I think I'm finished with the Rivers of London series, and I'll try to explain why.
Like I mentioned in one of my reviews for a previous installment, this series consists not only of the adventures of Peter Grant, London cop and apprentice wizard; but there are entire supplementary series where side characters get their own adventures outside Grant's own story. Having not done any of the additional reading, the problem I started to run into somewhere around Book 5 was that the series was starting to strain under the weight of all these extra side quests and bonus material, and I was starting to feel seriously out of the loop as Aaronovitch's characters would reference conversations or entire adventures that I hadn't been present for. As the extra novels continue to grow outside Peter Grant's sphere, I worry that this will only get worse. (and yes, I am aware that I could just get caught up on the extra books, thank you. But there are so many extra books and I don't feel like doing extra homework just so I can understand the references to side quests that ultimately don't have any bearing on the main plot of the book I'm reading.)
And then there's the fact that immediately after I finished Lies Sleeping, I went out and picked up Book 8 (False Value), and then almost immediately abandoned it. No spoilers, but after the events of Book 7, Book 8 finds Peter Grant in very different circumstances than we've gotten used to seeing him in, and the change was too sudden and felt too wrong for me, and I couldn't adjust.
The Rivers of London is a phenomenal series, and I look forward to eventually doing a re-read of Peter Grant's adventures. But the seventh installment is the perfect stopping point if you're feeling series fatigue, and I think this is where I part ways with Peter Grant & Co. But it's been a pleasure. ...more
Eric occupies a kind of unhappy position in the Discworld canon. It has the misfortune of coming in right after the phenomenal Guards! Guards! and, cEric occupies a kind of unhappy position in the Discworld canon. It has the misfortune of coming in right after the phenomenal Guards! Guards! and, clocking in at less than 200 pages, it doesn't really have enough substance to even have a chance at being counted among the heavy hitters of the series. Overall, this book gives off the impression of something that Sir Terry dashed off while he was waiting for the bus.
The biggest selling point to Eric is that, as Discworld novels go, this is one of the easiest to summarize - it's a pretty straightforward Faust parody, when a teenage magician summons a demon that will make all his wishes come true. Unfortunately for him, the perpetually unlucky wizard Rincewind got zapped to a prison dimension at the end of his last book, and the timing works out just right so that instead of a demon, Eric summons Rincewind. Shenanigans ensue.
Like I said, it's short, and there's not much there. But what is there remains a lot of fun, because even when he seems to be kind of phoning it in, Pratchett is still Pratchett.
"...demons belong to the same space-time wossname, more or less, as humans, and have a deep and abiding interest in humanity's day-to-day affairs. Interestingly enough, the gods of the Disc have never bothered much about judging the souls of the dead, and so people only go to hell if that's where they believe, in their deepest heart, that they deserve to go. Which they won't do if they don't know about it. This explains why it's important to shoot missionaries on sight."...more
In my gradual, strictly chronological exploration of Terry Pratchett's Discworld series, it's always a treat when I get to one of the Big Ones. Equal In my gradual, strictly chronological exploration of Terry Pratchett's Discworld series, it's always a treat when I get to one of the Big Ones. Equal Rites, which introduced the witches and specifically Granny Weatherwax, was the previous big ticket item in the series so far, but with Guards, Guards! I feel like I finally - eight books into the series - know what the hardcore fans are talking about.
Oh yeah. Sam Vimes has made his entrance, and I am not the same.
The premise for this book is very straightforward, and also very Terry Pratchett - you know the random, nameless guys in armor who are always running around in the background of fantasy adventures, galloping in whenever someone yells "Guards!" and promptly getting their asses kicked by the hero? What if those guys got a book?
We return to our primary setting of Ankh-Morpork after that detour to Djel in Pyramids. There's a group of wizards who have decided to resurrect a dragon, because that's the kind of stupid shit wizards on the Disc love to do, and are going to unleash said dragon on the unsuspecting city. Enter Sam Vimes, commander of the City Watch - an underfunded, ragtag little city police force that is woefully unable to deal with anything even approaching the realm of "giant dragon appearing randomly throughout the city." Fortunately, though, the Watch just got a new recruit. He's a human who was raised by dwarves, he has very strong ideas about the importance of Right and Wrong, he's gonna single-handedly clean up this city, and his name is Carrot.
Also there's a noblewoman named Sybil Ramkin who raises swamp dragons. She's phenomenal.
This book is nonstop fun from start to finish. Aside from being a truly delightful standalone adventure, it's also setting up a lot of the most beloved Discworld characters, like Vimes and Ventinari, and I already can't wait to get to the next City Watch installment.
And this one features the orangutan librarian that we met all the way back in Book One, and any time he shows up you know it's going to be great....more
My one-sentence summary (and pitch for why you definitely should stick with this series if you're hovering somewhere around Book 3) goes as follows: tMy one-sentence summary (and pitch for why you definitely should stick with this series if you're hovering somewhere around Book 3) goes as follows: this is the installment where the Faceless Man gets a face.
Oh fuck yeah, guys, now we're cooking with gas.
In addition to finally giving us some payoff to plots that he's been painstakingly building since Book One, Ben Aaronovitch starts this book off with a truly great setup for a mystery: Peter Grant is called to an apartment in an extremely posh section of London, where a group of teens broke in and had a party. Problem is, one of the teens didn't make it out of the party alive. Bigger problem: one of the guests at this rager is none other than the daughter of Lady Tyburn, one of London's most powerful river goddesses and also the older sister of the girl Peter's dating. Who is also a river goddess.
So we have rich kids behaving badly, magical drug deals, inner-family drama featuring people who are also urban river gods, and more investigations into the Faceless Man - and, by extension, his interest in Leslie May.
As much as I loved how the previous installment, Foxglove Summer served as kind of a breather for Peter Grant, I'm very grateful that Aaronovitch has started knocking down some of the pins he set up way back in Midnight Riot, and is giving us some definite answers to questions he's been teasing throughout the series. The plot takes several large steps forward here, and it's exhilarating to experience the revelations and solve the puzzles alongside Peter.
In fact, the only thing that's starting to worry me about this series as it continues is Aaronovitch's many spinoff adventures that he's also written. Searching the series list of Rivers of London, you notice that there are almost a dozen other side-quest, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead-style novellas that fill us in on what several minor characters in Peter Grant's world have been getting up to in between the bigger novels. And this is fine, but the problem is that I haven't read these bonus books, and I don't plan to (listen, I'm in the middle of like four different book series, I do not have the time to watch all the bonus features. I'm trying to get through Discworld on the side, for Christ's sake!). It hadn't felt like I was really missing anything until this book - previous bonus adventures and relationship developments that happened in them are referenced frequently here, and for the first time it's starting to feel like I've missed something important. More than once, I was in the middle of reading The Hanging Tree and had to go back and check the series page to reassure myself I hadn't accidentally skipped an entire book. ...more
For the first time in my slow exploration of the Discworld books, I finally understand why hardcore fans are adamant that the books don't need to be rFor the first time in my slow exploration of the Discworld books, I finally understand why hardcore fans are adamant that the books don't need to be read in order, and that you should skip some.
And it's not even bad! Pyramids is arguably one of my favorite of the Discworld books I've read so far, in fact - for one thing, it has one of the more linear plots I've seen so far, which is a nice point in its favor since most of the Discoworld books I've read so far tend to be kind of...meandering in their structures. But it's a weird one!
Pyramids sticks out because the majority of the book is set outside of the traditional Discworld setting (although we get a few chapters set in Ankh-Morpork), with none of the established characters even making cameo appearances. This is, for all intents and purposes, a completely standalone novel. Our protagonist this time around is Teppic, who is the heir to the throne of Djelibeybi but has spent the last few years studying at Ankh-Morpork's famous school for assassins. Right after he passes his assassin exams, Teppic gets news from home: his father is dead, and he has to go back and ascend the throne. Oh, and also make sure Dad gets an appropriately grandiose pyramid. Also the ghost of Teppic's father is still around and he would actually rather not be walled up in a pyramid for centuries, thanks!
Despite its standalone nature, I don't think this one should be skipped by anyone wanting to explore the Discworld books. For one thing, it's just as clever and funny as the previous installments (this time around, Prachett is taking on monarchies and organized religion and gently prodding at the absurdity in both); and also, I think that Pyramids specific purpose is to lay some interesting groundwork for changes to the series further down the line. Based on what I've heard from hardcore Discworld fans, one of the draws of the series is getting to watch as Prachett's setting slowly goes from a classic pseudo-medieval fantasy setting, to a fully industrialized world. And of the of the bigger ideas present in Pyramids is that the old ways are dying out, and that commerce and industry are on their way to replace kings and wizards. ...more
After being pretty meh on the previous installment in the Rivers of London series (Broken Homes), I'm delighted to report that Aaronovitch's follow-upAfter being pretty meh on the previous installment in the Rivers of London series (Broken Homes), I'm delighted to report that Aaronovitch's follow-up is pretty close to perfect*, and exactly what I want from a Peter Grant adventure.
Ironically, the thing that makes this novel different from all the previous Grant books is also what makes it great: for the first time in the series, the adventure takes place outside of London. When the story starts, Peter Grant is on his way to a small town near the Welsh border to assist local police with a case - two eleven-year-old girls have gone missing, and since the site of their disappearance was in the same area as one of Nightingale's magical colleagues, Grant is being sent to verify that this is just a run-of-the-mill disappearance, and lend the local police some assistance at the same time. And if Grant can get some more information from the retired magician about Nightingale's backstory (and what, exactly, went down at Ettersberg), so much the better.
Now, considering that the London setting (and Ben Aaronovitch's historically rich, almost intimate knowledge of the city) is one of the biggest draws of the series, it seems pretty counter-intuitive that my favorite book so far would take place out in the 'burbs. And normally, I don't think I would enjoy a Peter Grant adventure that takes him away from the central setting.
But Aaronovitch has, brilliantly, chosen the exact right time within the series for this setting change to happen. After the events of Broken Homes, when we found out at the end that [redacted] is actually [redacted], it makes sense that Aaronovitch wants to get his protagonist out of town for a bit. The plot wheels are spinning a lot faster thanks to the revelations in the previous book, and it's very deliberate that Grant is getting a chance to catch his breath and focus on a lower-stakes mystery while Aaronovitch sets the stage for the eventual showdown with the Faceless Man.
So on the one hand: yes, this entire book is a stalling technique. But it works. First, because we need a full book's worth of time for Grant to work through his feelings about the events of the last book (or rather, because this is Peter Grant, to insist that everything's fine until it absolutely isn't). And the second reason it works is because the mystery still gives us plenty of great twists and worldbuilding and great Peter Grant moments (one of many delightful moments in this one has Grant going into various people's living spaces and immediately thinking that his mom would kill him if he kept his own room like that). In addition to that, Beverly Brooke shows up to lend a hand in the investigation (with mixed results, because as Peter tells us, for Beverly, "de-escalation is something that happens to other people."), and somehow Nightingale and Molly get some great moments and character-building, despite neither of them actually appearing in the story in person.
This novel is great because it understands that the "monster-of-the-week" episodes in serialized tv shows can sometimes be the best ones - they might not advance the larger plot in a hugely significant way, but they're important and entertaining none the less.
*Close, but not quite. I guess Ben Aaronovitch started watching Game of Thrones while he was writing this one, because all of a sudden Peter Grant can't stop throwing out references at inappropriate times, and it was painful every time. ...more
I'd like to say that the movie The Green Knight is what piqued my interest in TH White's retelling of Arthurian legends, but that's only partially truI'd like to say that the movie The Green Knight is what piqued my interest in TH White's retelling of Arthurian legends, but that's only partially true. The truth is that this book has been at the back of my mind as one of those "to read one of these days" books ever since I saw Magento reading The Once and Future King in X-2: X-Men United. Just in case anyone was getting any funny ideas about me being some kind of serious reviewer.
White's story is about the life of King Arthur, from his lowly origins as an orphan boy called "the wart", to the glory days of the Round Table and the knights he surrounded himself with, to the fall of his kingdom. I had read two other retellings of the King Arthur legend before this - Thomas Malory's Le Morte d'Arthur, which White references often; and Marion Zimmer Bradley's The Mists of Avalon - and White's version of events puts both of those epics to shame. His version of King Arthur's story is equal parts tragic and funny (the first installment, which is about Arthur as a child being tutored by Merlin, is especially hilarious thanks to White's ear for zippy, clever dialogue and voice), and all of it is beautiful.
TH White's story mainly grapples with the why behind King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table: the idea that Arthur, thanks to his early education with Merlin, set out to bring his world out of the dark ages and into a more enlightened age, and how even with the best intentions, plans don't always go the way you want them to. This is most clearly illustrated in White's portrayal of the doomed Lancelot/Guinevere romance - these characters fall from grace not because they're bad people, but because they're good. Ultimately, everything falls apart because the characters are good people trying to do the right thing, and TH White correctly understood that this is a much more tragic and interesting story than just Good vs Evil (although of course the book has plenty of that, too).
"[Arthur] was a kind, conscientious, peace-loving fellow, who had been afflicted in his youth by a tutor of genius. Between the two of them they had worked out their theory that killing people, and being a tyrant over them, was wrong. To stop this sort of thing they had invented the idea of the Table - a vague idea like democracy, or sportsmanship, or morals - and now, in the effort to impose a world of peace, he found himself up to the elbows in blood. When he was feeling healthy he did not grieve much, because he knew the dilemma was inevitable - but in weak moments he was persecuted by shame and indecision. He was one of the first Nordic men who had invented civilization, or who had desired to do otherwise than Attila the Hun had done, and the battle against chaos sometimes did not seem to be worth fighting. He often thought that it might have been better for all his dead soldiers to be alive - even if they had lived under tyranny and madness - rather than be quite dead."
"Like most people, witches are unfocused in time. The difference is that they dimly realize it, and make use of it. They cherish the past because part"Like most people, witches are unfocused in time. The difference is that they dimly realize it, and make use of it. They cherish the past because part of them is still living there, and they can see the shadows the future casts before it. Granny could feel the shape of the future, and it had knives in it."
Working my way slowly through the Discworld series in order of publication means getting to experience all the ups and downs of Prachett's epic saga in order - so it's always fun when I get to one of the heavy hitters, and Wyrd Sisters is one of the books that I consistently see on lists of people's favorites. And no wonder - first, we get the return of Granny Weatherwax, last seen bringing the first female wizard to the Unseen University (where is Esk at this point in the timeline? Is she still alive? Has she even been born yet? Hell if I know! Don't worry about it!), and second and more delightfully, Wyrd Sisters is basically just Terry Prachett doing his own riff on Macbeth, and having an amazing time.
Shakespeare's "weird sisters" here are Granny Weatherwax, Nanny Ogg, and Magrat - three witches at various states in their careers who are trying valiantly to keep a coven together despite the fact that they have vastly different views on how witchcraft should be done and what it means. Through a strange combination of circumstances, the infant son of a recently-murdered king gets dropped in their laps, so they do the sensible thing and get him adopted into a traveling family of actors until he's old enough to reclaim the throne. And then they make time skip ahead until the kid's grown up, because come on, the book's only three hundred pages, did you really think Prachett was going to make us sit through fifteen years' worth of events when the fast-forward button is right there?
It's an absolute delight, obviously, and one of the things I love about Prachett's worldbuilding is how witches and wizards of the Disc are both their own distinct brands of Barely Competent, in the sense that there is never any question about the difference between how a witch solves a problem, and how a wizard solves a problem.
And Prachett also has a dwarf character named Hwel (he's a playwright who has been cursed with being struck by inspiration constantly, and therefore his plays are blends of every story ever told) and uses him for some very meaningful scenes where Prachett is (gently and subltely) teaching his readers something important.
For context, Hwel has been working and traveling with the lost heir, Tomjon's, father for years, and Tomjon's father often calls Hwel "lawn ornamnent" in an affectionate way. What follows is a scene between Hwel and Tomjon:
"'I think it's because I wasn't cut out to be a dwarf.' 'Cut down, lawn ornament,' said Tomjon. There was a little hiss of indrawn breath. 'Sorry,' Tomjon said hurriedly. 'It's just that father-' 'I've known your father for a long time,' said Hwel. 'Through thick and thin. Since before you were bor-' He hesitated. 'Times were hard in those days,' he mumbled. 'So what I'm saying is...well, some things you earn.'"...more
This one wasn't my favorite, and looking over all of the glowing reviews that others have written only makes me feel weirdly guilty for not liking it This one wasn't my favorite, and looking over all of the glowing reviews that others have written only makes me feel weirdly guilty for not liking it more. I'm sorry, guys, this one just didn't land for me.
The central mystery that occupies Peter Grant, rookie cop and apprentice magician, can basically be summed up as What's Going On In That One Apartment Complex. In the meantime, mysterious dead bodies are popping up around London, there's a fun digression with the river gods, and also more investigations into the Faceless Man and his cohorts.
So here's the problem: solving the mystery relies on Peter doing a lot of info dumping to the reader about the mechanics of the (really impressive!) blend of magic and technology that Aaronovitch has created for his series. Unfortunately, I could not follow a goddamn word of it, and so by the end of the book I was just basically nodding and smiling while Peter breathlessly explained why something I didn't understand in the first place was happening. I fully acknowledge that this is entirely my issue, so it shouldn't turn anyone off this book. But the fact remains that I have absolutely no idea what the big reveal actually meant, so the entire story really fell flat for me.
But! Even with that major complaint, the character development in this one is A+ and the messy plot won't prevent me from continuing the series. I just wish it had been a little more coherent.
(Okay, one more major nitpick: I really, really need Aaronovitch to stop throwing Doctor Who references into every single book. Would it be less annoying if I didn't know he used to be a writer on the show? Yes, probably! But I do know it, and it gets more irritating and self-congratulatory every time.)...more
"A true war story is never moral. It does not instruct, nor encourage virtue, nor suggest models of proper human behavior, nor restrain men from doing"A true war story is never moral. It does not instruct, nor encourage virtue, nor suggest models of proper human behavior, nor restrain men from doing the things men have always done. If a story seems moral, do not believe it. If at the end of a war story you feel uplifted, or if you feel that some small bit of rectitude has been salvaged from the larger waste, then you have been made the victim of a very old and terrible lie. There is no rectitude whatsoever. There is no virtue. As a first rule of thumb, therefore, you can tell a true war story by its absolute and uncompromising allegiance to obscenity and evil."
-Tim O'Brien
"I think we ought to read only the kind of books that wound or stab us. If the book we're reading doesn't wake us up with a blow to the head, what are we reading for? So that it will make us happy, as you write? Good Lord, we would be happy precisely if we had no books, and the kind of books that make us happy are the kind we could write ourselves if we had to. But we need books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone, like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us. That is my belief."
-Franz Kafka
For the record, I take a lot of issue with Kafka's take on what kind of books are "worth" reading. I do not believe that stories need to always act like a punishment, or that the only stories worth telling are the ones that present the grimmest possible version of reality. There is something to be said for the concept of a comfort read - a book that feels like a friend, that leaves you feeling full at the end instead of hollowed out. I do not believe that happy books are somehow lesser.
But MAN, if you're looking for a book that's gonna chop the absolute shit out of your frozen sea, try The Poppy War by RF Kuang! Jesus Christ, this one was rough.
I'll give the book this credit, though: after reading Kuang's novel, I now have a renewed interest in seeking out fantasy stories written by POC, that take place in non-Eurocentric settings. Kuang has a degree in Chinese history and she's using it to full effect here - the worldbuilding is fantastic, and a great alternative to all the Tolkien mimics out there.
Our heroine is Rin, a war orphan being raised by cruel foster parents in the rural south of Not-China. When she learns that her foster parents plan to marry her off, Rin hatches a plan to escape. She decides that her only option is to gain admittance to one of the academies (mostly military and medicine-based, but there are some that seem to be mainly scholarly) by taking the grueling twelve-hour entrance exam. And she needs to ace it, because the only school that offers full-ride scholarships is Sinegard, the most elite military academy in the country. (Rin then proceeds to spend the next two years studying for the test by simply memorizing every book in the curriculum and going days without sleep. Rin is hardcore.)
She gets into Sinegard, of course, and at this point the novel seems to be another entry into the Magical School genre, as we get all the familiar tropes and stock characters like the Bully, the Best Friend, the Mean Teacher, and the Mysterious Teacher. It's also at this point that the novel starts to drag (and not for the last time) because it seems like Kuang is kind of meandering gradually towards a plot instead of approaching it head-on.
But about a third of the way through the novel, Kuang yanks the rug out from under us. A rival nation attacks Rin's country, the school is destroyed, and Rin and her classmates get assigned to different armed divisions. (oh and also Rin is part of a division that can channel god-like powers)
So here's the thing: Kuang has a degree in Chinese history, and she used the Japanese occupation of China as her basis for this fictional war - specifically, the rape of Nanjing. If you know anything about this period in history, you know that we're about to be in for a REAL BAD TIME.
I'm not gonna mince words: pretty much every trigger imaginable is in this book. Towards the end of Rin's school career, there's a largely pointless interlude where the students get a weekend off and Rin spends it at her friend's house in the city. This part adds literally nothing to the plot and I didn't understand why it was there at the time, but now I think I understand why Kuang included it: because it's the last time in the entire novel when her protagonist gets to experience anything even close to personal comfort and happiness.
This novel is fucking brutal. And it should be - Kuang is not fucking around when it comes to showing the real human cost of war, and she should be commended for this, because the amount of fantasy novels where war is presented as a straightforward magic battle of Good vs. Evil is Way Too Many. I'm not going to say that she had a responsibility to soften the blow for her readers, because she doesn't owe us that. I'm also not going to say that stories like these don't need to be told.
All I'll say is that you need to know what you're getting here, and you need to be in the right headspace to confront what RF Kuang is hitting you with in this novel. It's a vital story, but it's one that should be approached with caution. ...more
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