Posted on Leave a comment

The End of All Things, by John Scalzi

Review copy provided by Tor Books.

It’s really hard to review John Scalzi’s books in the Old Man’s War universe at this point, because most people know whether they want them. You pretty much shout, “Hey, there’s a new one of these!” And the people who want them queue up, and the people who don’t wander off.

But in case you’re one of the potential audience and haven’t tried them, what are they, and why do people want them? Well, they’re science fiction in which humans and a bunch of different alien species have done a lot of colonization, and they’re written in a contemporary American everyman voice. Here is the beginning of a passage about the sensory deprivation of being a brain in a jar: “Go ahead and close your eyes. Do it right now. Is it totally dark? I just realized you wouldn’t have read that last question if in fact you’d just closed your eyes when I asked you to. Look, I told you I wasn’t a writer. Let me try this again: Close your eyes for a minute. Then when you’ve opened them up again, ask yourself if it was totally dark when you had them closed.” It goes on for two solid pages after that, in a similar vein, about the difference between not seeing anything with your eyes closed and not seeing anything without eyes to close. If that strikes you as breezy and fun, onward! If it strikes you as annoying, there will be other passages that will probably grate as well.

If what you flagged on was not the prose voice but, wait, brain in a jar? Yep. One of the narrators is a brain in a jar. There are four sections, four related novellas telling the story of a group of humans, Rraey, and other aliens who…shall we say…have a little problem with the available major powers in the galaxy. And some drastic ideas about how to solve it. The diplomacy, and the things going boom, are narrated by different species and sexes who are varying degrees of likely to earworm you with “That’s Amore.”

I wouldn’t recommend starting the series here, as I think it presupposes a fair amount of knowledge about the Colonial Defense Forces, who is in them, and why, but if you’re comfortable with being thrown into the atmosphere not knowing whether you’re going to explode (hey, you take your metaphors, I’ll take mine), go on ahead.

Please consider using our link to buy The End of All Things from Amazon.

Posted on Leave a comment

Battling Boy: The Fall of the House of West, by Paul Pope, JT Petty, and David Rubin

Review copy provided by First Second Books.

This is the second of the Aurora West comics. “Roar” is an impetuous heroine who cannot wait to kick monster butt by herself. Patrolling with the rest of her family is not good enough–she wants to go out on her own. And she wants to avenge her mother’s death. In The Fall of the House of West, Aurora digs further and further into the truth of that death, trying to get some answers that can bring her peace–especially if it’s over some monster’s dead body.

Aurora is, as her mentor tells her, braver than she is smart. She also gets lectured on being a teenager who thinks she knows everything, and this adult perspective seems endorsed by the text (sigh). The art sometimes walks the line between exciting and cluttered. On the other hand, if you’re looking for an action-adventure proto-superhero comic, this one pulls no punches–and there are a lot of punches not to pull.

Please consider using our link to buy Battling Boy: The Fall of the House of West from Amazon. Or book 1, The Rise of Aurora West.

Posted on Leave a comment

The Stratford Zoo Midnight Revue Presents: Romeo and Juliet, by Ian Lendler and Zack Giallongo

Review copy provided by First Second Books.

I squeed when I saw this in my mailbox. The first volume, The Stratford Zoo Midnight Revue Presents: Macbeth was amaaaaazing. Hilarious. The only Macbeth you’ll ever need. Well, okay, not quite that far. But still: seriously good stuff.

Premise of the series is: the zoo animals perform Shakespeare after hours behind the humans’ backs. This is ridiculous. Yes. It embraces the ridiculous.

Romeo and Juliet is not as fertile ground as Macbeth, particularly when you have apparently decided that murder is all right for a kids’ comic but sex–even marital sex–is not. And somehow the direction of ridiculous with playdates was less hilarious to me than the direction of Macbeth eating everybody. I still enjoyed it, and I’m still looking forward to there being more (please? Titus Andronicus Richard II OH PLEASE TELL ME WHAT RIDICULOUS THING YOU WOULD SUBSTITUTE IN THERE I WANT TO KNOW).

Mostly I enjoyed Juliet being a bear. I like bears. I don’t go around saying I have a Patronus or anything, but bears: good stuff. Juliet-bear: okay, let’s go with that. Romeo-chicken and Juliet-bear. Got it.

Please consider using our link to buy The Stratford Zoo Midnight Revue Presents: Romeo and Juliet from Amazon

Posted on Leave a comment

Secret Coders, by Gene Luen Yang and Mike Holmes

Review copy provided by First Second Books.

I loved Gene Luen Yang’s Boxers and Saints duology, so I was really excited to get Secret Coders in the mail. It’s a comic about programming! With a young heroine named Hopper! It looked right up my alley.

It was not quite what I hoped, and it’s not fair to ding authors for writing what they wanted to write instead of what you wanted to read. It’s an explicitly didactic comic, teaching the sorts of basic elementary programming lessons you’d learn in a programming class in the mid-’80s. What is binary, how do you make a turtle move…familiar stuff, done as live-action for kids trying to figure out their school and its weird birds and mysterious grounds. The action-adventure plot takes a serious backseat to the programming lessons, and the interpersonal plots feel really paint-by-numbers, the plot twists not very twisty.

This is a worthwhile book, but it’s not the exciting breakthrough I had hoped from the creator of Boxers and Saints. I hope later volumes in the series let Hopper, Eni, and even Josh (why is Josh even there? ugh, shut up, Josh!) find that balance a little more towards the side of excitement.

Please consider using our link to buy Secret Coders from Amazon.

Posted on Leave a comment

Little Robot, by Ben Hatke

Review copy provided by First Second Books.

This book occupies an interesting space for length/words that really didn’t exist much when I was a kid–or if it did, I didn’t know about it. It’s 132 pages, definitely longer than a “picture book,” but there’s very little text, and even less of what is text is a coherent English word. (Robots do not speak English, apparently. Robots speak robot.) Hatke’s emotionally evocative illustrations get across a great deal of plot without words.

The titular robot and the small girl who finds it have some bumps along their road to making friends–as all of us do when figuring out how it works to be friends with someone quite different from ourselves. There are also external obstacles, some of them scary and some sillier. I expect that Little Robot could bring a smile–and sometimes a grimace of recognition–out of quite a broad range of faces.

Please consider using our link to buy Little Robot from Amazon.

Posted on Leave a comment

Books read, late July

Max Gladstone, Last First Snow. Discussed elsewhere. I also interviewed Max, in case you missed that.

Reginald Hill, A Clubbable Woman, An Advancement of Learning, Ruling Passion, An April Shroud, A Pinch of Snuff, A Killing Kindness, Deadheads, Exit Lines, and Child’s Play. Noticing a pattern? Yeah. This is the first nine books of the Dalziel and Pascoe series. I read them out of order the first time–wildly out of order, in fact. I read #17 of this series first. So I was wondering how they would go when read in order. I still recommend that people take them out of order. Hill started writing them in the late ’60s (first one came out in 1970), and so if you start at the beginning you get a reasonable-enough straight-up British detective novel with two straight white male British detectives. If you start late in the series, you get structurally inventive British detective novels with a diversity of literary references and character demographics. Knowing where you’re going makes where you’ve been a lot more interesting and worthwhile. They’re still quite readable novels of their type early on, but as Hill starts to realize he can play–Exit Lines is structured around three sets of last words and starts each chapter with an historical figure’s last words, Deadheads does not strictly follow the structure of the genre–you can feel him loosening up and having more fun. It’s not until the fourth book that Dalziel really gets interiority–I think that for the first three, while Hill was clear that Dalziel was a lot sharper than the unwary gave him credit for, he wasn’t sure how to do that or perhaps whether he wanted to–and that alone would have killed the series for me if I’d tried to start at the beginning: I have nothing against Peter Pascoe, but I’m more interested in literally everybody else. A Pinch of Snuff is pretty distasteful by today’s standards (not just including the bits that were clearly distasteful then also). Child’s Play…wow. Child’s Play is to an ordinary mystery novel as Trollope is to vampires, in the way I’ve talked about before: I am not actually worried about anybody I care about being brutally murdered. It’s pretty unlikely to happen. But if I had come into Child’s Play not knowing whether a favorite character would have their life ruined by coming out? I’m not sure whether I could have read it at all. It was a kind of peril, a kind of jeopardy, that affected me quite strongly. And the kindness from unexpected quarters made it a better book but no easier to read on that front. So seriously: wait until I’ve finished my reread of the whole series, and I’ll give some ideas for where to start late in it and then go back and fill in. It’ll be better that way. This was really interesting and worth doing, though, and despite having new books I really want to read from my birthday, I’m looking forward to continuing this series reread.

Lynn Hunt, The Family Romance of the French Revolution. An attempt at looking at the French people’s personal and public concept of politics and government along family models. Some places Hunt really stretched this too far, interpreting an explicitly paternal Revolutionary figure as fraternal because that fit her argument better, and the chapter on the Marquis de Sade looked very much like “I know this doesn’t actually fit anything here, but he’s period and I want to talk about him.” Interesting but not amazing.

E. K. Johnston, Prairie Fire. The sequel to The Story of Owen. I recommend that you read both, as Prairie Fire will make less sense and be far less emotionally effective. I do recommend reading both rather than neither, though! Because! The alternate history stuff is hilarious and great. Modern-day rural Canadian dragon-slaying! This volume leaves Ontario and goes to Alberta! (That’s like “this one goes to 11,” but in Canadian.) This one deals with disability in a natural, unforced way that I appreciate so very, very much, especially because it’s doing, like, nine million other dragon-slaying plotty worldbuildy things all at the same time. The series appears to be complete after two (although the world has room for more), and I can’t wait to see what Johnston does next.

Rudyard Kipling, A Kipling Pageant. Grandpa’s. Well–proximately Grandpa’s. Actually Great-Grandpa’s. This is nine hundred pages of short stories, poetry, novels, novel excerpts, essays, all Kipling, all the time. Some of it was very familiar, some of it charming discovery, some of it…let’s say that the Kipling novels you haven’t heard of, there’s probably a reason. But just having it is really lovely. I’m not sure how to preserve it–it’s nearly a hundred years old and definitely showing age. Still very glad I could read it, though.

Sydney Padua, Thrilling Adventures of Lovelace and Babbage: The (Mostly) True Story of the First Computer. You’ve probably seen at least pieces of the Lovelace/Babbage comic online, the one that stipulates that they built their computer and had crime-fighting adventures and occasionally, on short notice, received the Queen. This book is a compilation of those strips and the author’s gushing footnotes about what actually happened. “Gushing” here is a term of praise, not condemnation; this is like sitting around with our friends talking about their favorite bits of wacky history.

Walter Simons, Cities of Ladies: Beguine Communities in the Medieval Low Countries, 1200-1565. It says “Low Countries,” but it means Belgium. This is a demographic overview, which is useful–it’s not like people know a lot about beguinages in general, including me–but not as useful as Daily Life In Three Beguinages: A Sampler would have been. Can somebody write me that book? That’d be keen. Thanks.

Chris Van Allsburg, Probuditi!. I had the realization that our library has a bunch of Chris Van Allsburg books, and I don’t know which ones are outstanding, so I’m getting them to find out. They vary in length. This one is short enough that I wouldn’t usually log it (I don’t usually log picture books), except that I’m going to want to keep track of which ones I’ve read, so here we are. It’s very predictable, very nearly content-free, so the main draw is Van Allsburg’s illustrations. Also if you’re looking for picture books with non-white characters, these characters are African-American. It’s sad that picture books are still white enough that that’s even worth mentioning, but they are, so it is.

Posted on Leave a comment

Short stories I’ve liked (plus a poem)

Here are some short stories I’ve liked since the last time I posted about short stories I’ve liked! Please feel free to share some of yours in the comments, or your thoughts about these.

Cat Pictures Please, by Naomi Kritzer (Clarkesworld)

Crazy Rhythm, by Carrie Vaughn (Lightspeed)

Midnight Hour, by Mary Robinette Kowal (Uncanny)

The Lamps Thereof are Fire and Flames, by Rosamund Hodge (Uncanny)

(this one is the poem) Apologies for Breaking the Glass Slipper, by Isabel Yap (Uncanny)

Posted on Leave a comment

Interview with Max Gladstone

I sent Max Gladstone a list of interview questions a little over a month ago for his blog tour. Now here we are with his answers!

First: Happy Birthday!!!

Hey, thanks, Max! It’s a pretty good way to celebrate.

1. How do you like to balance secondary world inventions with historical cultural references in your worldbuilding?

Cirque de Soliel style, that is, on the shoulders of a broad buff dude who’s himself standing on a board on top of a piece of PVP pipe on top of a beach ball.
Seriously though, I try to be honest with myself about how much my conceptual apparatus draws off history and text. If characters in my books use something like scientific reasoning, something like science probably exists in their world; modern writers tend to assume people have used the scientific method from time immemorial, and it just ain’t necessarily so. If one of my characters discusses Proustian memory, madelines and such, someone like Proust probably worked in the world of the books. I don’t tend to make a big deal of these textual references, but I try to flag them in passing, enough that someone who catches the reference will know the easter egg was planted intentionally.
The larger cultural-structure stuff balances in other ways. In research I lean into mythology, religion, and ritual, and try to envision how different material conditions would affect the myths, and vice versa.

2. What are some of your favorite inspirations outside the field of speculative fiction? Nonfiction, other art forms, etc.?

Nonfiction, definitely—I love academic writing for its power to dig beneath gross generalizations, though sometimes it ends up building other gross generalizations along the way. Sociology and anthropology, especially, have been vital resources, opening new conceptual directions; James C Scott’s Seeing Like a State (I love James C Scott–M) and Michael Taussig’s The Devil and Commodity Fetishism in South America have been particularly important, though I also draw heavily off primary source reading. In terms of just raw linguistic inspiration I find poetry invaluable.

Outside of that, I draw a lot of inspiration from movement—I have a martial arts background, so I connect with that approach to tempo, distance, and power more immediately than I do with the approach of, say, choreographed dance, but in recent years I’ve become more interested in dance through fight choreography, which really is a form of dance, and through partner dancing, which uses many of the same principles as sparring from another direction. In general, there are few more breathtaking and inspiring experiences than watching a master move, whether she’s climbing a wall or running a mile or lunging an epee or kicking somebody in the face. Or lofting a ball over a goalie’s head from the half line to score a hat trick in the first fifteen minutes of a Women’s World Cup final. For example.

3. As of writing these questions, I haven’t gotten a chance to read Last First Snow (hint hint, Tor Publicity) (later note: as you all now know, they came through! yay!). I know from the blurb that it features characters from earlier books but is set earlier in the world’s chronology than anything else. What were some of the pitfalls and opportunities in writing characters as their younger selves?

The potential pitfall of dramatizing backstory, I think, is that I, the writer, will embrace the sense of inevitability the character’s memory lends to their own traumas and bad decisions. If your readers think, well, of course, it had to be this way—there was no other option—then what use is the story? Where’s the drama?

But that pitfall is also an enormous opportunity! I wanted to revisit some of my favorite characters earlier in their lives and break them open. When we meet Elayne Kevarian in Three Parts Dead, or Temoc in Two Serpents Rise, for example, they’ve made a lot of hard choices, and in order to live with themselves, they’ve constructed narratives that lead inevitably to those hard choices. In memory, we seldom force ourselves to consider that our lives could have gone differently. Writing this book gave me a chance to belie that—to show the choice structures and turning points, the moments of akrasia and revelation that set characters on their paths.

4. Was there anything in writing _Last First Snow_ that made you ridiculous with excitement, or was it a pretty even-keel book for you?

Everything about this book was exciting. Seeing Elayne! Seeing the King in Red! Seeing Elayne argue with the King in Red about negotiation practices! Temoc! Temoc and Caleb! Actually meeting Mina, Caleb’s mother, who’s been off camera thus far! Discovering the Skittersill Rising, and digging into how it was misrepresented by orthodox Dresediel Lex history! And then, god, the ending, when [REDACTED]! That was the most exciting of all.

My synopsis for this book would contain a lot of exclamation marks.

5. You’re answering these questions before your epic book tour with James Cambias, Elizabeth Bear, and Brian Stavely. Do you have some predictions for that tour, which wraps up today? Whose Pathfinder character will leave the largest swath of destruction behind them? Who will find the best maple-syrup-related food product in Vermont? Who will have the snappiest tag line for signing their book?

Pathfinder Destruction Swath: Bear. No question.

Best Maple Syrup Food Product: Jim will put in a strong initial showing with his discovery of Maple Nachos, but I think Brian will clinch this one with his discovery of Maple Irish Lace. Oh. You said food product. Jim, then. Maple Irish Lace, I mean, you could eat it, but you’d waste all that knitting! It’s hard to spin maple into yarn. Marissa. Hard!

Most likely to club a moose over the head: Probably Brian.

Snappiest tag line: Definitely not me! I tend to freeze up, look at people with deer-in-headlights expressions, and then scribble “Thank you for reading” and my name. Novelists are probably not the best people to seek out for on-the-spot wit. This novelist, anyway.

Posted on 1 Comment

Translation, regionalism, colloquialism

A few weeks ago now I read this New Yorker essay about Camus, specifically about the first line of The Stranger. And around the same time, I was reading Kazuki Sakuraba’s Red Girls, translated from the Japanese by Jocelyne Allen. And I ended up with thoughts.

The thing about the Camus essay is that it doesn’t really go into why “Mom” feels like a wrong translation of “Maman” to the author. It does, I agree, but my theory is that as far as I know (and my French is not that great), “Maman” is casual, familiar, intimate…but not regional. I have been in Montreal, and I have been in Paris, and I have been in Normandy, and I have heard small children shouting, “Maman!” in all of them. Whereas “Mom” is…American. And “Mum” is Commonwealth. (Canada, in my experience of Canadians, is a maternal middle ground where you’ll hear both depending on the person or family.)

Translating from non-regional to regional vocabulary is tricky; going from regional to regional is, if anything, more fraught. In several anime–Azumanga Daioh, for example–a character with a regional accent in Japanese is given a corresponding regional accent in English. Osaka in Azumanga Daioh has a southern accent in the translation I heard; in some apparently she is given a Brooklyn accent. While her accent is a non-trivial part of the character and needs some equivalent to be translated, the fact that translators couldn’t agree on which of two extremes of American English she should speak seems pretty indicative of how difficult this choice is.

Allen, the translator of Red Girls, used a lot of word choice to indicate regional and informal dialect in the original. This is a book where you see a lot of “nothin'” and “uh huh” and similar word choice. Unfortunately, it ended up reading to me like she had chosen a High West American dialect (think Montana, Idaho, Wyoming) and then gotten some details of it wrong. It ended up being somewhat jarring, especially because the language used by the older generation who hadn’t been much exposed to mass media when forming their accents and speech patterns was very, very similar to that used by a young generation who had turned to gangs (or, more accurately, started them). It was one of the main things that I complained about while reading the book–and okay, yes, I am a translation nerd, I am likely to snag on things like that. But my point is not that Allen did a bad job, it’s that she had an incredibly hard job to do at all.

And it’s worth doing, because otherwise…otherwise we are only translating things we read as “standard” in one language into things we read as standard in another, and a lot of richness is lost, a lot of books whose content and ideas simply do not meet that description. The ones that do have a homogeneity to them that doesn’t reflect human life.

How much you want to give the accurate feel of the original vs. giving an accurate feel of things like characterization can also be hard. There’s paragraph length, which varies from language to language as well as from person to person. And then there are details that would be telling details if applied to someone from one culture that are just cultural norms in another. Two examples: how often does someone grunt in conversation? You can describe someone as grunting and give a very vivid picture of them in English, just by how often they do it. (I am currently rereading the Dalziel and Pascoe mysteries, and Dalziel, for example, is a grunter.) But then listen to your Cantonese-speaking friends. Possibly, you might think, I am just mistaking foreign words for grunts. Okay, then listen to your friends who speak other Chinese languages make fun of your Cantonese-speaking friends. Whether it’s linguistically or culturally, grunting is very much expected in Cantonese speech. In translation, should you portray that every time it happens? Should you leave in enough to give the “feel” of that difference without overwhelming the Anglophone reader? Hard call, dependent on each circumstance. Or take for example endearments. So far as I can tell from Danish TV, there is only one endearment in Danish, and that is “elsker” (approx. “love”). Everyone is “elsker” every time you would have wanted an endearment. Waitress offering a refill on your coffee? Elsker. Your mother having a heart-to-heart with you? Elsker. Your mother having a special moment with your father? Elsker. This is fine when you’re translating from English to Danish, but if you pick an endearment to map to elsker–whether it’s “love” or “hon” or what, it’s going to read repetitive to the Anglophone audience. Which would be great if “elsker” was a weird word that only people from Aarhus used, actually–you could pick something like “petal” that you see regionally on Vera and go to town with it. How regional is the Danish of Aarhus vs. the Danish of Copenhagen? How do you measure regionality from outside?

Word are hard. I think that’s my grand conclusion. Words are hard.

Posted on Leave a comment

Last First Snow, by Max Gladstone

Review copy provided by Tor. Also, Max is someone I know and like from Fourth Street.

I have been waiting impatiently for this book ever since I heard it was about Elayne and Temoc. Basically that’s my review for those who have read the rest of this series: it really is, it’s about Elayne and Temoc and it has BARRICADES go read it BARRICADES I’m not kidding. (Some people will be there for the magically fighting skeletal dragon weapon. But for me, barricades. They are like Mrisnip.)

For those who have not read the rest of the series: this is the chronologically first book, and I think it would be a perfectly good place to start, although the resonances and implications would be quite different than if you started in publication order. (Which you should! They’re in print, they’re good, there’s no reason you shouldn’t read them in publication order. Now is the time! Collect ’em all! But if you get handed Last First Snow, do not hand it back because you haven’t read the others.) This is a world in which the gods were slain not very long ago (forty years as of this volume), a world in which soul stuff is traded on markets and regrown, a world in which magic can allow someone to live indefinitely as an animate skeleton when their body gives out.

This is also a world where people disagree about important things without any of them–even the animate skeleton–being hand-rubbingly evil. People want things that are quite reasonable things to want–safety for their families, safety for their city in a number of ways, preservation of valued things about their community, a relationship with the divine, crazy magic power–in ways that rub up against each other and strike sparks. People want things that do not match. Even people who like each other. Even people who love each other. This is not a book of easy choices, and it is so very much more fun thereby.

The relationship a community has with itself, with the outside, with its lost gods and its living leaders–there’s enough for a dozen books in here, but it never feels overcrowded. Definitely recommended. So very very glad to have this.

Please consider using our affiliate link to buy Last First Snow from Amazon.