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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.

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Dystopias Are Made Of People.

So some people have read my new story, “It Brought Us All Together,” and even talked about it, which is always great. (Hurray, readers!) One of the things they’ve said is that a few people have described it as dystopian. And I am not opposed to people thinking of it as dystopian, but it doesn’t strike me that way personally, and I was trying to figure out why.

(Note that “fight about exact genre boundaries” is one of the most boring kinds of fight in the world, yes? So what I am doing is descriptive, not prescriptive. I am describing my idea of dystopia to you rather than telling you it should be yours. If you have completely other ideas, fabulous, would love to hear about them. Clear? Okay good.)

For me a dystopia is about human relationships. It can have bad government or bad lack of government, but the dominant relationship between people on average in this society needs to be exploitative, destructive, or otherwise negative. If not, I don’t see it as a dystopia.

This leads to me sounding really hard-core, saying things like, “Oh, sure, it’s about a fungus-ravaged landscape, but I just don’t see that as dystopian.” But I don’t. It’s not about fungal plagues not being bad enough, it’s that they’re on a different axis of bad than dystopic/utopic/non -topic society. I could write a utopia set in a crashed spaceship inside a volcano–if the people in that culture were on average good to each other.* I could write a completely depressing dystopia in a green and pleasant land.** Because the challenges the universe hands you feel different to me than the challenges other people give you gratuitously.

And “gratuitously” is important, because “hey, my family is dying of fungus in their lungs” is an other-people challenge! It really is about dealing with other people. It’s just…dystopia is if the government infected your family with this lung fungus on purpose. Or if an evil corporation controls so much of the world that it can withhold cures for the fungal plague that is ravaging the landscape. The bit where people just flail around and don’t entirely know what they’re doing and some of them are jerks but most of them are at least okayish…that’s not dystopia, for me. That’s life.

*Actually…if half a dozen of you want that, I’ll make a good go at it.
**This one not so much.

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Books read, early July

Matt Christopher, Ice Magic. So…we have a Little Free Library in our next door neighbors’ yard, and Tim mentioned that it had a hockey fantasy in it. That is my wheelhouse! But, he continued, it was a Matt Christopher book. Well. No harm no foul, I could just take it and put it back when I was done. Lordy. LORDY. I had forgotten how TERRIBLE Matt Christopher books are. They are proof that short books are not necessarily lean, taut prose, because there are random things like the protagonist greeting a squirrel that are completely pointless. The magic plot evaporates on the last page for no reason except that the world must be normal or something. I love hockey fantasy, but…seriously, do not read this book.

Wesley Chu, Time Salvager. Discussed elsewhere.

E.K. Johnston, The Story of Owen, Dragon Slayer of Trondheim. LOVE THIS SO MUCH. It’s the story of a dragon slayer in modern small-town/rural Ontario. The alternate history bits are endearing and lovely. (Buddy Holly! The Red Wings logo! Non-American politician references!) The kids’ relationships with each other are so great and do not descend to love triangles and mean girls and other cliches. I cannot WAIT for the sequel SO GOOD SO GOOD SO GOOD. (Tim wishes to add that this book post is three days late because he had difficulty putting The Story of Owen down long enough to put the links in.)

Michael Pye, The Edge of the World: A Cultural History of the North Sea and the Transformation of Europe. You know how I often say of nonfiction that it does what it says on the tin? This does not in any way do what it says on the tin. It is about the North Atlantic and the Baltic at least as much as it is the North Sea, and it includes not one but at least five transformations of Europe. That said, as a book about interesting stuff that happened in the north of Europe, it’s golden, lovely, very much recommended. Somewhat random! But recommended.

Kazuki Sakuraba, Red Girls: The Legend of the Akakuchibas. This has won murder mystery awards in its original Japanese, but to me it is no more a murder mystery than a randomly selected novel with a romantic relationship is a genre romance. Instead it’s a personal account of young women’s culture and cultural change in (non-Tokyo) Japan. I have all sorts of thoughts about the translator’s choices, to the point where I am saving them for another post, but it’s basically Japanese magical realism about the above themes, so it’s not something you’re going to be reading and thinking, “Oh yes, another of these.”

Russell Shorto, Amsterdam: A History of the World’s Most Liberal City. Shorto really doesn’t understand the what happened with the English Parliament in the seventeenth and early eighteenth century, and he doesn’t go into the Hansa or Beguines or several other really cool things like that. Also he starts with Amsterdam being knowably Amsterdam, so I am still missing a good source on early Frisians. (WHY WILL NO ONE GIVE ME SOLID FRISIANS WHY.) But it’s still a charming and interesting book, and he gives props to both Spinoza and Jonathan Israel, so good on him.

Dana Simpson, Unicorn on a Roll. Second volume of the series (the first was Phoebe and Her Unicorn), and I liked it better. Partly I think that Simpson has hit a stride, and partly I think it’s expectation management: telling me that something is the next Calvin and Hobbes is the best way to get me to say, “Huh, sez you!”, whereas I knew this was not, it’s its own thing, and it’s a fun and funny own thing to be. (Also my goddaughter Lillian lent me this book because she thought of me and thought I would like it. And because she is SO GROWN-UP OH WOW.)

Adrian Tchaikovsky, Guns of the Dawn. Stand-alone military fantasy novel. A few class-based things made me wince, but for the most part it was worth the leisurely pacing, an enjoyable read throughout–and interesting to see what Tchaikovsky does when he’s not doing a ten-book series.

Jen Williams, The Copper Promise. This book was a very weird mix of grimdark and lighthearted fantasy romp. It was in a very epic fantasy setting, with some gods still around and others dead. It’s more of an “if you like that sort of thing” than an “everyone, everyone! Go read!”, but I still found it quite readable.

Jacqueline Winspear, Birds of a Feather. Second Maisie Dobbs mystery. Lacking the flashback structure of the first, and I think this is all to the best. Gentle 1930s British setting. I’m glad the library has a bunch of these.

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Cumulative, repetitive

One of the things that came up with the Fourth Street writers’ seminar is that some people have taken it multiple times. It’s intended to be a beginners’ seminar, but it covers different things each year, and also people “begin” at different rates, so there’s no rule against doing so. And I think that in general this is a good thing, that people are themselves the best judges of what continues to be useful for them, possibly with some nudges from friends and family who know them well.

But it actually highlighted something for me: that one of the important things about trying to get better at writing–and this is definitely a place where writing is like everything else–is distinguishing when you’re doing something that is forming a practice or forming a rut. “Practice” is key for most skills–this is where the truisms about “you have to write a million words of crap” come in, or the idea of ten thousand hours of practice before you get good at something. But some things are better repeated than others. Professional musicians will play scales or chord progressions all their careers–you’ll hear scales in warmups if you go to the symphony before the concert starts. But what you won’t hear is “Hot Cross Buns” and “Mary Had a Little Lamb” repeated over and over. Not every repetition is useful repetition.

So…how do we tell the difference between cumulative knowledge/skills and pointless repetition? I think one of the ways to figure it out is to be very specific when we ask ourselves, “How am I improving because of this practice? What skills/knowledge will it bring or sharpen?” Young musicians play scales because their instructors tell them to; more mature musicians play scales because they know that being able to run with quick control through those sequences of notes will be useful in a variety of pieces. (And this is why you don’t see, for example, guitarists who are mostly “rhythm”/chord guitarists playing a lot of scales: because it’s not nearly as valuable for the kinds of chord progressions they’re playing as it would be if they were playing melodies on the guitar.) Be specific and precise. “It will be good for my writing” can easily be cover for “I’m in this habit, and I’m not sure what else to do.”

The other important question, of course, is, “Is this practice getting me the improvement I want to see?” Say that you’ve been attending a particular seminar or discussion with the same set of other writers for years. Is your writing improving as you discuss things with them? Can you point to insights and skills that they’ve helped you with? If so, great! If not, perhaps what you’re getting from them is not “write better descriptions” or “improve pacing” but rather “hang out with friends in atmosphere of camaraderie” or “pass on ideas and skills to people newer than self.” Which are great things to get!–as long as you recognize that you need to do something additional to get the boost you want in description, pacing, etc. Different people learn and improve from all sorts of different input–it’s good to keep tabs on what you’re actually managing to accomplish vs. what you’re trying to do–in writing as in all things.

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Time Salvager, by Wesley Chu

Review copy provided by Tor Books.

This is a crapsack future full of anti-heroes and Tuckerizations.

So why did I finish it?

Well…uh…it was going really fast, and I wanted to see what happened. I actually really did want to see what happened. And whether the world was going to get less crapsack.

Seriously: this book has already gotten picked up by Hollywood (vague wording because I don’t know the details), and I can honestly say that I can see why. Reading it is incredibly like the experience of watching an action movie. Incredibly like. I see very few details that would even need to be changed to make it filmable–almost everything can just be read from the page and put directly on the screen, assuming sufficient special effects.

Chu walks a great line on the SF exposition in particular, between explanation that is necessary and that which will bog down the pace. The story he’s telling doesn’t depend a lot on the semblance of exact physics. It does depend on humans’ perceptions of that physics, and one of my favorite things about this book is the way that it undermines what the smartest minds of its setting think they have figured out. I also liked the way that time travel was not, as in some books, one future and a ton of past settings, but multiple iterations of future, each with its own problems and mistakes.

This will not be a book for everyone; the grimness of the grim future is awfully grim. But it executes quite well on what it’s aiming at, well enough that I stuck with it even though it’s not my usual sort of thing.

Please consider using our affiliate link to buy Time Salvager from Amazon.

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Short stories I have liked since last time I said so

I’m continuing with my earlier-in-the-year decision to post more on Twitter about short stories I have liked, and to collect those here. I don’t make any pretense of reading all of what’s out there–having recommended one story from an issue of a magazine doesn’t even necessarily mean I read the rest and didn’t like them as well–but I still feel pretty strongly that signal-boosting the things I like is a good, good thing. I particularly want to catch up on the magazines I receive in digest form on my Kindle, but in the meantime, here are some things I like.

If there are stories you’ve been enjoying recently, please feel free to share in the comments.

Court Bindings, by Karalynn Lee (BCS)

Wild Things Go to Go Free, by Heather Clitheroe (BCS)

The Deepest Rift, by Ruthanna Emrys (Tor.com)

Meshed, by Rich Larson (Clarkesworld)

Further North, by Kay Chronister (Clarkesworld)

By Degrees and Dilatory Time, by S.L. Huang (Strange Horizons)

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Books read, late June

Carlos Bueno, Lauren Ipsum. The problem with working in a very small sub-genre is that you get compared to the greater works in that sub-genre quite directly. In this case, Lauren Ipsum is doing computery versions of the things The Phantom Tollbooth and Haroun and the Sea of Stories and Alice in Wonderland did. That’s…pretty heady company. Sadly, I don’t think Lauren Ipsum lives up to it. It was mildly entertaining as an adult already familiar with a lot of the electronics and computer and math jokes in the text, but I’m pretty sure it would be boring, incomprehensible, or both if you didn’t already know the stuff. So…possibly for adult computer nerds feeling juvenile.

Julie Dillon, Imagined Realms Volume 2. Lovely images from the Kickstarter. Glad to have a chance to support Julie’s art.

Amanda Downum, Dreams of Shreds and Tatters. This is darker, both in terms of fantasy tropes and in terms of real-world referents, than I generally prefer my fiction, but I knew that going in since I critiqued it ages ago. It’s vivid without wallowing, fast-paced without being shallow…and I can’t take credit for any of that! Artists and literally reality-warping drugs and old friendships strained and rewrought. Good stuff.

John B. Duncan, The Origins of the Choson Dynasty. I suspect that this author needs a refresher course in the difference between an appendix and a chapter. I mean, the tables about what surnames of people from what locations had which bureaucratic positions were admirable. But: appendix. Really only recommended if you’re passionate about medieval Korea (inasmuch as “medieval” can apply to non-Europe locations).

Pat Murphy, The City, Not Long After. Reread. I had forgotten quite what a hot mess this book is. It’s trying to do things with the necessity of art in/after crisis, but it has a very narrow view of art as performed by full-time artists, and it’s completely uninformed/incoherent about warfare. The sentence that I went around marveling about was one in which the general’s troops–ad hoc troops conquering a post-apocalyptic very-near-future Northern California–were used to organized traditional warfare. Guh what? The farmers and scavengers they were trampling were forming ranks and marching? No. No they were not. Guerilla warfare is not something invented by artists to be elegant, it’s something invented by desperate people–usually poor people–in desperate circumstances. Also: northern California: irrigation. Water and sewer. Potable water is not optional. The only way this book really works is if it’s read as a stylized and garbled origin story from later, and even then it doesn’t work well.

Alistair Reynolds, Slow Bullets. Novella about soldiers on a spaceship and disasters therewith. Entirely readable but not one of his more outstanding works. Also fairly dark.

Jonathan Spence, The Memory Palace of Matteo Ricci. Too much boyfriend Jesuit, not enough roller derby China. Still interesting and worth reading, but so far this is my least favorite of his books because of the preponderance of European stuffs, which I feel is not Spence’s strength.

Genevieve Valentine, Persona. This is a near-future sponsorship diplomacy thriller done right. Very fast read. Enjoyed very much and would recommend, especially if you have high tolerance for thriller pacing.

Jo Walton, The Philosopher Kings. Discussed elsewhere.

G. Willow Wilson, Ms. Marvel: No Normal. Very much an introductory story for this superhero, but I had a good time with it despite it being substantially beginning without much in the way of middle or end. That’s the nature of the beast. Kamala Khan is good fun.

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Things I didn’t get around to saying at 4th St.

One of the great joys of a good panel is that there’s always more to say about the topic than will fit in the panel slot. When I was moderating, I had probably twenty names on my “so-and-so has a comment, call on them next” list, and almost all of them were people I already knew, and all the people I already knew were people I knew to be smart and insightful. And we often get smart, insightful new people too. Never enough time!

So! Here are some bits and pieces of things I didn’t get around to saying, labeled if I can remember when/why I wrote them down. Also a few things other people did say, because I wanted to pull them out and look at the shiny.

(Does the arc of fantasy bend towards justice? panel) I think one of the hardest parts about countering the narrative of the American White Secessionist South is that almost all the story templates we have are of the empire enforcing things on an unwilling populace being a bad thing. That makes the empire the villains. We don’t tend to tell the stories of the empire enforcing civil rights on a populace that is attached to keeping them from a minority. And it’s particularly difficult to construct that narrative because we’ve seen the (very very) down side of colonialist narrative about Bringing Enlightenment To The Savages. Yet I think that at least some counter to the dominant “if you’re rebelling, you must be on the side of right” narrative would be a really positive thing if people can figure out how to construct it–both as a social good and as a different story.

Post-apocalyptic lit references I didn’t get to talk about on the post-apocalyptic lit panel: Kathleen Ann Goonan Queen City Jazz, in which the serious disruption comes from positive-ish or positive-looking tech developments; Nalo Hopkinson Brown Girl in the Ring; Gwyneth Jones Bold As Love; Nnedi Okorafor-Mbachu The Shadow Speaker; Nick Sagan Idlewild; S.M. Stirling; John Crowley Engine Summer; Kurt Vonnegut Cat’s Cradle; Walter Miller A Canticle for Leibowitz; Robert Charles Wilson, king of sudden disruption; “Attack on Titan” (anime); “Wall-E” (movie); Rachel Manija Brown and Sherwood Smith Stranger; Kim Stanley Robinson The Wild Shore and the climate change trilogy; Laurie King/Leigh Richards Califa’s Daughters; Michaela Roessner The Vanishing Point; “Tank Girl” (movie), which we later categorized in conversation as Lori Petty battling the camera and winning; Karina Sumner-Smith Radiant; Lois McMaster Bujold The Sharing Knife; Suzy McKee Charnas Walk to the End of the World; Orson Scott Card, The Folk of the Fringe; Lisa Goldstein A Mask for the General; Gregory Frost and the 7th Day Adventist apocalypse that wasn’t; Bradley Denton’s Blackburn and Laughin’ Boy, two of the best personal/individual apocalypse books I know, completely the feel of post-apocalyptic.

Yes, we did manage to talk about post-apocalyptic books even excluding all of the above. There is quite a lot to say. Max Gladstone said, “If you love something, smash it with a hammer,” and that was good, and Sarah Olsen said, “We’re searching for what’s valuable in our culture to preserve,” and that’s good too, especially the verb tense she chose, and then Elizabeth Bear said, “One of the most exciting things about post-apocalyptic literature is that you can treat society like a character.” Which is a fun thing to do generally but almost required in post-apocalyptic. And Emma Bull noticed that everyone is necessary for the rebuilding in John M. Ford’s The Last Hot Time, which, yes, oh yes, thanks Emma and as always thanks Mike. We are all needed. We are none of us optional.

Starting a comment with, “I’m probably the only one here who’s read this,” is not very useful and just makes you look pompous. People will have read things or won’t have. Flagging obscurity is not necessary unless the discussion is explicitly about highly popular works, and flagging it in that particular way is just self-aggrandizing.

On the music panel, people ended up talking about thinking through who in a scene was carrying the melody and who was doing different kinds of harmony, and I thought that the concept of ensemble-building analogies with musical groups would be useful in building an ensemble cast in general–that if you don’t have enough rhythm and/or enough bass in your character list, the whole will fall over. Also suddenly my proclivity for low-pitched instruments lined up very well with my preference for supporting characters in semi-ensemble cast shows, and all was clear.

Max Gladstone was talking during the sex panel about different lines between private and public behaviors/standards/etc. in different cultures, and I really would like to see people do a lot more with that. There are some ways in which the author’s choices of what to show and how to show it in depictions of sex and sexuality can either mirror or distinctly contrast with what privacy/publicity would be expected in the culture portrayed, and that would be cool, but also playing with the private/public lines for non-sex issues gets a big thumbs up from me.

I would also like to see more speculative fiction that’s extrapolated from current culture and doesn’t assume that religious developments will be linear. Because as Mark’s recent rantings about naked Anabaptist parades demonstrate, things that are directly motivated by a known religious context can still go off completely unpredictable haywire directions.

Elizabeth Bear said, “The absolute hardest thing about writing is limiting your options.” This = true. It’s one of the reasons that people who are depressed struggle so much with their writing: because depression worsens choice paralysis. So basically people who manage to write while depressed should get ALL THE PROPS EVER from the rest of us, because it is a Harrison Bergeron sort of deal and they are MAKING IT ALOFT ANYWAY DESPITE THE GIANT WEIGHTS.

(Ahem. Strong feelings: I have them.)

A friend of mine commented that they had not thought through the emotional difference between having a meal alone at a con because you know (and like!) dozens of people and did not make the logistics work and having a meal alone at a con because you’re new and know nobody, but once somebody pointed it out, friend felt that it was very clarifying. So good then.

Relating also to new people and their reception, I feel that there is a line at about six friends. If you have one or two friends at a con, it can be pretty scary, and while it’s still a good idea to reach out to people you don’t know, you don’t have as much of an emotional base for doing it with one or two friends. It’s harder. But once you have six or more friends at a convention, if you complain that it’s cliquish but you don’t reach out to new people, sorry, you are part of the problem. Six friends gives you a base. It gives you a place to stand while you reach out. It can also give you your own clique while you are complaining about the cliques of others. I know it’s hard for some people to make social overtures, but “I have a hard time making social overtures” is a different problem from “other people are behaving exactly like I am, but when they do it, it’s bad.” Especially if you are not visibly a minority at the convention you’re attending. Especially if you’re a published pro. Especially if you’re not struggling with health problems. Etc. But in general: a good convention comes with a lot of reciprocity, and if you have half a dozen friends there, you’re in a much better position to make the first conversational move than some people.

You can always choose not to reach out to people. That’s your prerogative. But choosing that while complaining about how they are not reaching out to you…is pretty sketchy at best.

Skyler White had two comments on the same panel that fit really well together for me. It was the panel on how you play the cards you ain’t been dealt–that is, how to get better at things that are not natural to you. Skyler first said, “Asking yourself progressively better questions before you start writing is one of the best ways to deal with the cards you weren’t dealt.” Ooh. Yes. Then later she said, “Anything I do before I start writing, if I do it past the time when I could have started writing, becomes a handicap.” That has nice nuance and edges to it. It balances out the thinking/questioning with action, and it can be iterated throughout a long writing process, and…yes. Go Skyler.

I felt that Steven Brust demonstrated the importance of the vivid detail when we were all deciding on That’s A Different panel for the end of the con. He proposed a panel complete with a slate of panelists. Entirely possible that his topic would have won anyway, but he gave the audience the crucial ability to imagine themselves at that panel by saying who would be on it. Very meta. (And not a technique limited to Steve, if people find themselves strongly partisan about a particular panel in future similar circumstances.)