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Watch me scintillate!

In ten days I leave for Montreal, for the new convention Scintillation. Here’s where you can find me there if you’re a member! (Memberships have been sold out for the year, but I’m almost certainly going next year too.)

Friday 20:00 Time Travel and Teens
Why do these things go together so well?
Jo Walton (M), Kari Maaren, Marissa Lingen, Suzanna Hersey

Saturday 10:00 Good and Evil
Ada Palmer has offered the thought experiment of a universe where the morally worst act ever was that somebody bought a flavour of ice cream they knew their friend didn’t like. Conversely, the Vikings ask the theodicy question backwards: why is there good? Let’s consider the space of good and evil and what interesting things we can do with them.
Yves Meynard (M), Ada Palmer, Maria Farrell, Jo Walton, Marissa Lingen

Saturday 11:00 Reading from selected works. With Tim Boerger.

Saturday 14:00 Why you should be reading John M. Ford
World Fantasy award winning author of The Dragon Waiting, Growing Up Weightless, and many other stories and poems and gaming material.
Marissa Lingen (M), Emmet O’Brien, Andrew Plotkin, Lila Garrott, Sarah Emrys

Sunday 17:00 Imagining the Future
How can we write science fiction when it’s so difficult to imagine the future?
Yves Meynard, Dennis Clark, Ada Palmer, Maria Farrell, Marissa Lingen (M), Jim Cambias

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Books read, early September

Jens Andersen, Astrid Lindgren: The Woman Behind Pippi Longstocking. I found this, the first English-language biography of Lindgren, really interesting, and I can’t wait until someone writes a good one of her in English. Andersen is enthusiastic but disorganized. This book could have used at least one more editorial pass for coherence and clarity. I understand not wanting to do everything in a biography in strict chronological order, but the way Andersen hopped around…well. This still gives context to Pippi, and to those of Lindgren’s works that were formative to me (The Brothers Lionheart and Ronia the Robber’s Daughter), and it’s not so bad that it’s not worth having if you’re interested in the subject matter.

Sue Burke, Semiosis. A mosaic novel about settling an alien planet with really alien life on it, learning to communicate with other species with very different priorities and assumptions than oneself. Learning to communicate with other generations of one’s own species with same. There are places where I feel things are glossed over (there is in particular a rape that is not handled very fully), but I am a sucker for alien SF so here we are.

Deborah R. Coen, Climate in Motion: Science, Empire, and the Problem of Scale. This is substantially about the Habsburg Empire, how the idea of climate and its variability really got going there and how they handled it without some of the concepts that we now consider foundational. Definitely a different angle on early climate science, and a welcome one.

John M. Ford, Growing Up Weightless and The Final Reflection. Rereads. I am on my second Mike Ford panel of the year at Scintillation just under three weeks from now, so this is my not-at-all-burdensome research reading for that. I remain amazed at how I find more in each of Mike’s books every time I read them. The balance of perspectives in Growing Up Weightless in particular astonishes me. Both highly recommended.

Tryntje Helfferich, The Iron Princess: Amalia Elisabeth and the Thirty Years War. A study of the princess/landgravine of Hesse-Cassel, neglected in 20th/21st century histories of the Thirty Years War, through a combination of sexism and people having grave difficulties tracking the German principalities of this period. (I am also a people.) She was stubborn and focused and manipulative in the best way for her job, and this was a really interesting read…but if you don’t already know a few things about the Thirty Years War, I think you’ll be a bit lost, so maybe start somewhere else.

Liu Cixin, Ball Lightning. Discussed elsewhere.

Premee Mohamed, The Apple-Tree Throne. Kindle. A postwar ghost story with strong friendships in its core. WWI inspiration is my wheelhouse (think Witchmark, but not the same kind of speculative element), and this made me very happy with its emotional grasp of that period.

Timothy Morton, Hyperobjects: Philosophy and Ecology After the End of the World. There are a lot of places where I think Morton is wrong or oversimplifying about specific details, often in a Western Europe-centric direction. However, this is still doing some fascinating things with concepts larger than we can wrap our heads around, that we have to deal with anyway, and it’s worth the quibbles.

Christopher Rowe, Telling the Map. This is a weird and beautiful connection, giving exactly the sense of dislocation people tout for speculative fiction but rarely deliver. The last two stories in particular were amazing, but frankly I recommend the whole thing.

Vivian Shaw, Dreadful Company. What a kind book. You can see in the details of how the characters treat the monstrous and the mistaken how much kindness is the core of this entire series. That’s rare enough in any sub-genre, but in an urban fantasy laden with the creatures of horror lore, it’s astonishing.

Dana Simpson, Razzle Dazzle Unicorn and Unicorn Crossing. I fell behind on the Phoebe & Her Unicorn series and am now catching up. When I read the first one, I saw the comparisons to Calvin & Hobbes and could see all the places P&HU is not doing the same things. Now I mostly see how much it makes me giggle, how delightful it is to read about this quirky little girl, her parents, her friends, especially her best friend Marigold Heavenly Nostrils, the unicorn. I’m definitely going to get the next two collections from the library right away.

Tracy K. Smith, Life on Mars. This poetry collection was intense in directions right next to my wheelhouse, but still very much worth my time to think long thinky thoughts about. Especially “Solstice.” I’m going to return to “Solstice” several times, I think.

Mariko Tamaki, Lumberjanes: The Moon Is Up. This is the second Lumberjanes MG novel, and it is just as exuberantly friendly and zany as the comic. This one feels a bit more…rote?…than the series at its best, but I still got some good laughs out of it and find it wholesome and fun.

Carrie Vaughn, The Wild Dead. This is the sequel to Bannerless, and I really love what it’s doing with worldbuilding and characterization and post-apocalyptic fiction that has actually taken the post- part to heart and understands humanity’s ability to make do, to move on, to figure things out. This series is so very much my jam.

Shannon Watters, Kat Leyh, Carolyn Nowak, et al, Lumberjanes: On a Roll. This is the roller derby/cryptid issue of Lumberjanes. If that doesn’t make you want to read it, you probably don’t want to read it. But strong kid friendships + cryptids, come on.

Drew Weing, The Creepy Case Files of Margo Maloo: The Monster Mall. Discussed elsewhere.

Jane Yolen, The Devil’s Arithmetic. Reread. I hadn’t picked this back up since it came out, but I’m on a panel about teens and time travel and another panel about good and evil, and…really, this was an essential reread. Jane is doing so much about the Holocaust and family and memory in so few pages. It’s beautiful and heart-shattering. Also…I have a strong fondness for books where great-aunts are important. That’s a part of my life I don’t see enough, and this could easily have gotten ground down into “why can’t it be her grandma” etc. And it wasn’t, it was particular and loving about this relationship.

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Speak up for those who speak up

So it’s been a wild ride in the last day–I had a tweet go viral to a level I’ve never had before, and on a topic where I got vitriol as well as support and randomness. (Oh, the internet.) My tweet was about remembering that Christine Blasey Ford is a person, an actual human being with a life outside all this. And to that I want to add:

You know people in your field or in your region who have spoken up about rape, sexual assault, and sexual harassment. You do. We all do. One of the things I would really like to ask you to do for them is talk about them a) on the internet and b) in ways that are not about the person who hurt them or the way that person hurt them.

When you do a search on the name of someone who has reported these crimes, quite often the first hits will be about the crimes. So the person will be linked with their accuser’s name, sometimes the place or event where they were assaulted (/raped/harassed), and the key words “rape,” “harassment,” “assault,” etc. It’s good to talk about these things, to try to stop them from happening again. It’s good to bring them to the light. But it’s really not cool when someone has to choose between keeping them secret and being defined by the event they reported. Being defined by someone else’s bad choices about them.

This is one of those cases where the silence of bystanders is not enough. For someone at the national level, you will probably not be able to do anything about the associations with them. Christine Blasey Ford will be linked to Brett Kavanaugh now, period; that’s what you’ll find when you look for her. But in smaller communities, more self-contained fields, there’s absolutely still a chance to fight back against defining victims solely as victims. There’s still a chance to paint a fuller picture. And we should.

Because our culture is really, truly broken on the subject of status and hierarchy, some people thought I was saying that Christine Blasey Ford matters as a person only because she’s a professor and a psychologist. No. We all matter as people. We all have individual details that matter. If someone has what the outside world looks upon as achievements, great! Name them! But getting our own heads worked back around to remember that people matter as people is important, too. So you can talk about Person A as a family member, a friend, a volunteer, a person who has their particular hobbies. It is worth saying “A makes pickles” or “B sings in the choir,” as well as “C is an accomplished physician,” “D writes beautiful poetry.” All of it. All of it counts. All of it matters. Being able to be seen as multifaceted, whole human beings who make choices matters even when those choices aren’t traditionally high-status.

So make a point of mentioning it. “I read E’s latest book, and it was so great!” So that E will be associated with “book” and possibly even the book title, not just with “harassment,” “assault,” the assailant’s name. And in those posts I do not mention the harassment, the assault, the rape. So that there can be some chance of not every single thing E accomplishes being colored by it.

Fighting this stuff directly matters. But the long-term support we can have for each other matters also. Let’s back each other up when we are victims, yes, definitely–but also let’s help people not be defined as that, but as the positive, worthwhile things they do instead.

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The Creepy Case Files of Margo Maloo: The Monster Mall, by Drew Weing

Review copy provided by First Second Books.

This is the sequel to the original The Creepy Case Files of Margo Maloo, and in some ways it’s more a chunk carved off the same large story. The episodic resolution here is pretty incomplete. The plot moves forward, but not to any kind of conclusion. It begins with Chapter 4 and ends with an epilogue, though why it’s structured as an epilogue rather than Chapter 6 when there isn’t any doubt that there will have to be more story is not entirely clear to me.

The premise of these comics is that the titular kid is a go-between for humans in monster society, someone who understands that monsters are persecuted and hunted, someone who can try to talk the scarier monsters out of eating the humans. The comic is told from the perspective of her somewhat feckless kid reporter sidekick, Charles, who is learning all about his new home of Echo City and all about monsters. Charles is an extremely useful exposition device.

The empathy of this series brings the fun a little deeper, and Margo’s family situation is further explained in this volume in a very sympathetic way. It’s probably not going to revolutionize your worldview about monsters or relationships between different groups of humans, but it’s a fun and fairly non-toxic time for the kids who are its target audience.

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Short stories I’ve enjoyed recently

It’s time once again for that regular feature of this blog: short stories I’ve enjoyed recently! Occasionally a poem sneaks in here too, but mostly it’s what it says on the tin.

To This You Cling, With Jagged Fingernails, by Beth Cato, Fireside

Rapture, by Meg Elison, Shimmer

Carborundum > /Dev/Null, by Annalee Flower Horne, Fireside: serious content warning here, this is a disturbing story that deals with not only sexual violence but lack of trust around its reporting.

Furious Girls, by Juliana Goodman, Fiyah Issue 6

Periling Hand, by Justin Howe, Beneath Ceaseless Skies

Midnight Burritos with Zozrozir, by Rachael K. Jones , Daily Science Fiction

When I Was Made, by Kathryn Kania, Robot Dinosaur Fiction

Robo-Liopleurodon!, by Darcie Little Badger, Robot Dinosaur Fiction

The Chariots, the Horsemen, by Stephanie Malia Morris, Apex

Yard Dog, by Tade Thompson, Fiyah Issue 7

Sister Rosetta Tharpe and Memphis Minnie Sing the Stumps Down Good, by LaShawn M. Wanak, Fiyah Issue 7

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Indirection and the horrors of the moment

Last week I finished watching Season 2 of The Good Fight on CBS Some Access (that’s not what they call it, but…welp). I really loved the show from which it’s a spin-off, The Good Wife, and they kept some of my favorite characters and added a few new characters I like a lot. All the things that frustrated me most about the original show were gone, plus they had kept the rich and extensive universe of characters going. Yet I found watching this season a slog–I was going downstairs to watch it with my workout with a little distaste rather than a lot of excitement–so I had to think about why.

The Good Wife had fictional court cases inspired by real ones in recent headlines, starting from the first season. That wasn’t new. But The Good Fight doubled down on the contemporary references. It is a show that is entirely about American politics in 2018. There’s a lot that’s directly about Donald Trump and his effects on local and state level politics. There are also plotlines that are less inspired by and more copies of current events in other areas. Even plotlines that are supposedly about the characters’ love lives are often also about the fate of protesters or how candidates are presented in modern elections.

I sympathize. I do. There’s a lot out there, and sometimes just screaming into your pillow is not enough. Sometimes you really want to scream something in words, that someone else can hear. Words like, “What is even going on,” and, “I am not okay with any of this.” I get it. But I think that there’s a paradoxical effect where the closer you get to an actual nonfiction commentary without being one, the harder it is to take.

I think the people who wrote M*A*S*H are a great counterexample here. M*A*S*H is set during the Korean War, but even a cursory glance tells you it wasn’t about the Korean War. It was about the Vietnam War. Not only does the quagmire timeline not make sense for the US’s presence in Korea, none of the characters’ backstories do either. Anyone over the age of 22–so all of the main characters except Radar and maybe Klinger–but probably just Radar–should have WWII experience if they’re regular Army. If they’re not, they should still have the perspective that came of having their country in an all-out world war within the last decade. But they don’t seem to. What they do have, eventually, is Colonel Potter, the old-timer with world war experience that he’s always hearkening back to–but not recent experience, of course. This makes no literal sense, but it makes complete emotional sense when you consider that the show is really about the US troops in Vietnam instead.

Why bother? Why use one war to comment on another? Why remove your characters that far? If they wanted to talk about current events, why didn’t they? For me, one of the answers is: it can get overwhelming. Dealing with news stories and then having your fictional entertainment copy those same news stories exactly: it’s too much of one thing. Which is bad enough when that one thing is chocolate peanut butter ice cream, far worse when it’s a specific corruption charge.

Another answer is broader thinking. One particular policy discussion can start to fall into “denounce this one thing, this one thing is bad.” In real life, that can be necessary! But art gives us the chance to look for patterns. To ask, what kind of thing is this, where have I seen it before, where might I see it again, would it still be bad in those contexts too or is there something specific to this one. What are my actual principles here, when removed from the immediacy of people I already know I trust or distrust? How would I react to a situation like this one if there were a few things different? and what does that tell me about this situation?

Of course my bias is toward indirect comment because I’m a science fiction writer. M*A*S*H may have been the first Vietnam War commentary I encountered, in reruns my parents watched while they were making supper, but The Forever War by Joe Haldeman is also pretty influential in my line of work. Haldeman is a Vietnam vet who had things to say–and he used the depth of hundreds of years to say them. Haldeman also wrote War Year and 1968, both of which are non-genre novels inspired by his experiences–both of which are very different from The Forever War. Indirection and shift of perspective give you different art, even when it’s coming from the same person.

I’m not giving up on The Good Fight. I hope that it manages to find its footing and a place to stand where it can create commentary that stretches beyond the current moment, that gives us a lens that allows us to look into that moment without damaging our eyes with the intensity. But my preference as a reader and as a writer is going to continue to be work that tries to find a different angle for perspective and illumination.

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Ball Lightning, by Cixin Liu

Review copy provided by Tor Books.

I am deeply conflicted about how to talk about this book.

On the one hand, I am aware that the Anglophone world–particularly the US world–is resistant to translating works out of simple inertia, and that because of this, writers who write in a language other than English will be considered disproportionately representative of How Chinese Books Do In the US (or How Books Translated From Any East Asian Language Do In the US, or How Translated Books Do In the US). I really want to see more books translated from Chinese and in fact from every language. I want to listen more to basically everybody. Being able to talk and listen is good for art and also for the rest of the world. Yay, works in translation, yay!

However. However however however.

I don’t actually like this book or think it’s very good. I think its audience will be pretty narrow because of what book it is, not because it’s in translation. (Ken Liu’s brilliant anthology Invisible Planets demonstrates the diversity of Chinese SF! Let’s all read that and preorder the next one!)

Ball Lightning is a structure of book I read a lot of 25 years ago. It is the kind of science fiction novel that’s basically All (Zany) Science All The Time. Many people doing calculations, tracking down data, arguing about what data counts, running into dead-ends in The Science, finding new inspiration in The Science. There is absolutely nothing wrong with this structure of book, and I still enjoy some of them. If. IF.

If they are not entirely based around staggering levels of sexism, which Ball Lightning unfortunately is. There is exactly one female character of note, and she is by turns a psychopath and…well, here’s one line: “The old unshakable, goal-oriented major was now a fragile, helpless little girl.” Uh…huh. Our two choices are alluring unstoppable killing machine and alluring breakable child–now united in the same person! Because why would there be any other women in the world ever? And why would the one who exists have any depth?

At first I thought this was going to be an implicitly, peripherally sexist book–that all the pilots and all the officers and all the scientists would be male (okay, to be fair, there are two dead women, one a clingy mother and one a mysterious science-ghostly presence), and it would be a matter of the author just…not considering any other options. But no! No, the crashing sexism is central to the plot! The entire resolution of the book turns around it!

There are not many books that are speculation about ball lightning and various quantum effects (oh lord, the various quantum effects…), so if you like that and find it interesting and are willing to keep in your head that men are not the only people and this book is completely wretched about gender, by all means show the publishers that there’s an audience for science fiction in translation. Otherwise there will be more opportunities soon, and…you can go for those instead.

If after all that you still want this book, you can order it through our Amazon link.

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Books read, August

Mishell Baker, Impostor Syndrome. The conclusion of the trilogy that began with Borderline. This book is so focused on consequences and relationship implications (two of my favorite things!) that it’s not the place to start this series. It’s only three books, the whole thing is out, go ahead and start from the beginning. But is it a satisfying ending? Yes. Oh yes.

Chaz Brenchley, Dust-Up at the Crater School, Chapter 16. Kindle. The larger world implications at the edges of this boarding school serial are really coming into play here….

Lois McMaster Bujold, Flowers of Vashnoi. Kindle. This novella bookends “The Mountains of Mourning,” coming around full circle to mutation and radiation and how attempts to fix problems sometimes complicate matters. I don’t know that I’d say it was fun, but it was pretty satisfying–and I like to see Ekaterin and her skills take center stage.

Jeremy L. Caradonna, Sustainability: A History. A philosophical overview of the concept, starting with forestry and going through to the present sets of politics and concerns. Not particularly long, worth having.

Mark Elvin, The Retreat of the Elephants: An Environmental History of China. Elvin has pored over who knows how many pages not just of farming records and court documents but also bad poetry (yes, really!) to glean environmental data from China and figure out how and when various environmental changes happened. The human-induced shifts in various parts of the Chinese environment–not just elephants but rivers and beyond–were fascinating to watch over this period. Very cool book.

Maria Dahvana Headley, The Mere Wife. I was captivated by this book. Maria has a way with her writing that tends to do that to me. This time the language, the way the Beowulf translation touchstones sang through the specific prose of the book, got my heart. I feel under-Beowulfed, generally, and this is a startling counter to that.

Kate Heartfield, Armed in Her Fashion. I am not much for grimdark and generally hate zombies, and yet I tore through this eagerly. It was not at all typical of either grimdark or zombie fiction, being set in the Low Countries in the late medieval period. Its treatments of gender, power, and sin were spot on for its period and for ours. I also appreciate reading a book where I can’t predict what the author will do next. I feel like Crash Davis here: don’t dig in, I don’t know where it’s gonna go.

Alex Hirsch, Gravity Falls: Lost Legends. This is four short stories in the Gravity Falls universe/characters, in graphic novel form. It absolutely has Gravity Falls nature. I giggled wildly. If you’re feeling the lack of Soos in your life (or whoever, but obviously Soos), this will fill a little of the void. No, not that void. That’s still infinitely empty, obv.

Ellen Klages, Wicked Wonders. I think people talk about whether authors have idealized childhood or focused on its dark side, but they don’t talk a lot about the focus and intensity of being a particular kind of small child. I was that kind of small child. I think Ellen was too, because she completely nails it, and whatever the plot is, I am there for that kind of vivid writing about that part of life. This is a series of short stories, not all about childhood, but a lot; not all dark, but a lot. Recommended.

Mary Robinette Kowal, The Fated Sky. Discussed elsewhere.

Nicholas P. Money, The Rise of Yeast: How the Sugar Fungus Shaped Civilization. This was a lot more basic than I had hoped. He talked about the different products that owe their entire existence to yeast, beer, bread, okay, cool, but…it’s very pop sci, put it that way. If you have a science background, you may find it disappointing; if you don’t, you will not find it at all daunting.

Ryan North and Erica Henderson, The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl Beats Up the Marvel Universe. I too am up for beating up the Marvel Universe. Yes. I too. Also I love the off-the-wall way Squirrel Girl takes on basically every comics trope she comes into contact with. But really: you had me at beating up Tony Stark.

Ijeoma Oluo, So You Want to Talk About Race. A lot of this stuff is very remedial: Oluo is writing with great kindness and patience about her experience as a Black woman in America, with asides about how all of this affects non-Black PoC. I picked it up because I didn’t want to be the progressive white woman who was all “oh I don’t need to learn any of this stuff” and definitely needed to learn this stuff. It was a beginning reading. That’s what it’s supposed to be. There’s more to be had, but this is a good starting place.

Charles Sheffield, The Amazing Dr. Darwin. Reread. I am constantly in a process of reevaluating our bookshelves: what am I absolutely sure we will never reread again, what do I remember fondly, what has fallen down a memory hole so I honestly don’t know what category it’s in. I picked up this Charles Sheffield book with some trepidation: I read it more than 15 years ago and have no memory of it, and that’s…often not a good sign. In this case, however, it was a delightful series of historico-scientific mystery short stories. It was several standard deviations above “it was like that at the time” in terms of sexism and treatment of minority figures–though it’s clearly not a contemporary book, it’s pretty solid on the treatment of persons unlike Sheffield himself. So if you want to read about Charles Darwin’s grandfather solving medical mysteries with the cutting-edge knowledge of his time, there’s this book, it exists, it’s fun, it’s worth my shelf space.

Rebecca Solnit, The Faraway Nearby and The Mother of All Questions. I have discovered that if I have a book by Rebecca Solnit, it moves to the front of the queue pretty automatically. She is a prolific and far-ranging author, and this holds true regardless of the topic. I didn’t even know what the topic of The Faraway Nearby would be when I got it, and yet: top of the stack. It turned out to deal with cold and apricots and Solnit’s health and relationship with her mother and…bunches of other stuff. I went and downloaded a Mary Wollstonecraft book because of that one, I told a friend about the Marquis de Sade’s burial, I…thought thoughts. And The Mother of All Questions, sort of the same but different thoughts. Angry sad motivated thoughts. I’m going to keep making an effort to read through her back catalog, because it’s always rewarding.

Abra Staffin-Wiebe, The Unkindness of Ravens. Discussed elsewhere.

Jo Walton, An Informal History of the Hugos: A Personal Look at the Hugo Awards 1953-2000 (discussed elsewhere) and Starlings. Jo doesn’t think of herself as a short story writer, but the short stories in this volume are fun and humane. Very few of the poems were new to me, but having them collected is very convenient. I was there for the first reading of the play, and now it’s in a real book. So. An eclectic and interesting collection.

Martha Wells, Rogue Protocol. MURDERBOT. New entertainments for–and from!–Murderbot! Particularly new dimensions in robot-human relationships, feelings about them that can’t be disposed of easily, plots to foil and figure out, all in one small novella. YAY MURDERBOT WE LOVE MURDERBOT.

Oscar Wilde, A Woman of No Importance. Kindle. I read this with a playreading group, which is new for me. It’s structurally Really Weird (first act: why even; fourth act: wait what), but we had fun with it, laughing and gasping and all the things you would want. And there was a lot of “oh is that where that line came from!” (Be really careful about the cynical witticisms that are frequently just attributed to Wilde; in context they are often a clever thing for a villain to say that Wilde shows no sign of believing.) (The fox hunt one I kind of think he did though.)

G. Willow Wilson, Ms. Marvel: Civil War II. Kamala Khan and a bunch of sidekicks becomes Kamala Khan vs. the proto-fascist state, Kamala Khan finds respite in family, Kamala Khan is not sure what to do next (and I want to find out).

J. Y. Yang, The Descent of Monsters. The latest Tensorate novella, epistolary, research-focused, fascinating, fun. I love these. More.

Jane Yolen, Tales of Wonder. Kindle. An assortment of short pieces across types of speculative fiction. I’d read about half of them already, and liked them, and the other half were new. A really good Jane introduction, I felt, and it held my attention even when I was exhausted.

Adam Zamoyski, Holy Madness: Romantics, Patriots, and Revolutionaries, 1776-1871. Zamoyski, in this book, is trying to look at cultural threads through a bunch of revolutions. One of his strengths is Eastern European history–he will spot the Polish people you didn’t even know were being neglected in other books. He occasionally goes a bit off the rails for some other areas (a lot of people would be surprised to hear that English colonists in the Americas did not have mixed race children, for example) and is not the most brilliant prose stylist, but the places where he’s in his element don’t have a lot of overlap with other books you can get on this topic. So…don’t make this the only one you read.