Tag: bookses precious

Short post, due to reading friends’ manuscripts and reviews for elsewhere a lot this fortnight. Did not get posted due to personal stuff, so here you get it late.

Ellen Datlow and Terri Windling, Snow White, Blood Red. Reread. While this was a reread, it had been years since I’d picked it up again. Some of the stories now look much less fresh, as happens when a new thing becomes an established genre. Others were still really great. I think this must have been the first thing I ever read of Caroline Stevermer’s, given the timing of when I bought this book. I really liked Jack Dann’s “The Glass Casket,” and “The Snow Queen” might well be my favorite Patricia McKillip story–maybe I should seek out more of her short work. Or maybe I’m finally coming around? A lot of people I know and respect are huge McKillip fans, but she never really clicked for me. But this story did. I’m a huge sucker for Snow Queen stories, though.

Kate Elliott, Black Wolves. This book has a lot of things I would say I want. Layers of imperial politics. Different cultures under empire. The demon coils were a kind of magic I liked. There were cool things in this book. It took some time for me to get going with it, and I never really got very emotionally involved. I wanted to talk to a couple of friends at Readercon about this book, but I had to drag myself through caring on a purely intellectual level in several spots. Also, when I say that I am tired, tired, tired of reading fantasy novels where women get raped, it is not because I want more fantasy novels where men get raped. It is particularly not because I want more fantasy novels where men who are not major point of view characters get raped to motivate other men because God forbid we should have to deal with the fallout of a man in that kind of experience having to go on with his life and protag; it’s hard enough to get women that way. So that is a major content warning for you there I guess.

Kelly Link, Magic for Beginners. Sometimes when you’re in your early twenties, the wrong person gets associated with a movie or a singer or an author. They enthuse too much, they press the thing on you–maybe it’s a toxic friend, maybe it’s an ex-love, maybe it’s a relative who just wouldn’t let you be. And the art or the artist gets a bad association in your head, you think, ugh, that. And then gradually you’re not that age any more, and you’re not around that person any more, and for some reason you listen to a song by the singer, you read a story by the writer, whatever, and you think, hey, this is really good. This is actually a lot more my sort of thing than I thought. And that person and their associations aren’t important to me any more anyway. Well. Here we are in my mid-thirties reading the Kelly Link back catalog. And I’m glad I didn’t wait any longer, because there’s not only the title story, but there’s “The Faery Handbag.” There is an old Scrabble-playing lady with a large foreign vocabulary. I needed this story. I am so glad not to have done any longer without this story. I will need it again, and now I will have it. Yay.

Review copy provided by Tor Books

David is one of those lovely people on the border of friend and acquaintance. He is certainly the close friend of several of my close friends. I wanted to make sure to get this book read and reviewed when it was coming out, even though it arrived at an inconvenient time, because I like David personally and want to see him do well, and he’s gone through some incredibly hard stuff the last few years.

Sometimes that kind of personal disclaimer does not fit the review that follows. I fear this is one of those times.

Look, the prose and the adventure plot flow smoothly in Arabella of Mars. It is well-written in that sense. It is a Regency adventure if Mars was part of the Regency-era British empire, if clockworks and odd gases and a crablike Martian race were part of the world in which the British were fighting Boney. The adventure plot is primary–the stuff about automata and Martians sort of is background–but if that’s what you want it does that thing, and there is clearly more, it’s clearly the beginning of a series.

But it is yet another plot where the plucky heroine is being distinguished from other girls because she does not like girl stuff. This doesn’t end up looking like “be yourself, society and its gender norms are stifling” if you never have plots in which plucky boys are distinguished from other boys by not liking boy stuff. If you don’t have any other human females who are interesting people and do happen to like “girl stuff.” (In the entire book. Ever. There is one other female character who does more than scream, faint, or act annoying, and it’s another species–who gets very, very little page time.) If “girl stuff” is always and forever the same. It just ends up looking like girls and our stuff suck. Which is bad enough when it’s a woman writer who may have been smooshed by social expectations, letting her frustrations out on the page. When it’s a male writer? Sorry, but I just feel like I’ve been thrown under the bus. Or maybe I’m plucky and not like other girls because I like science and science fiction? Yeah, thanks, but don’t do me any favors–I count as a girl.

This gets worse with a passage in which Arabella decides not to fight “like a girl” but rather to fight “to win.” Despite having had a female Martian warrior as her main role model–making this kind of internalized sexism pretty odd–she associates women fighting with ineffectual scratching and hair-pulling. Not with, oh, say, fending off your rapist desperately and succeeding. So much fail. And–if this is meant to be Arabella’s internal viewpoint, if this is meant to be a devastating portrait of internalized sexism, then having any women characters at all besides Arabella herself who are effectual and interesting might be nice. Instead, no. So…yet another lesson in “being like a woman is being ineffectual, you need to be like a man to be effective and worthwhile” from Arabella of Mars. Good to know, thanks.

And it gets worse again when one her most dramatic acts of heroism is praised explicitly as being really great for a girl. This would be good for a man, but gosh, it’s really great for a girl. And again, that’s definitely something someone from a sexist culture would think. But it’s not challenged, it’s not undermined, it’s just there: yep. Arabella, really great–for a girl, I guess.

Do I seem angry? I am angry. I am angry, because I expected better. Because I am so tired of books that are fun romps being fun romps on my face in hobnailed boots.

I want David to do well. I want him to sell future books. But I want him to sell future books in which he doesn’t do this stuff over again. In which he can play with swashbuckling and clockworks and atmosphere between the planets and not have the same tired depictions of misogyny to do it. If it had been someone else, I probably would have quit reading at the halfway point, where she didn’t fight like a girl, she fought to win. But because it was David, I thought, oh, surely he’s going to flip all this on its head. Surely Arabella is going to run into some other human women who are not shrieking, sniveling incompetents. One? One other human woman? Surely the nauseating levels of internalized misogyny are not going to be consistent throughout. Surely someone who was raised by Martians will not be surprised when a Martian warrior is a woman–how completely implausible in context was that.

Be less sure than I was, friends. If you’re waiting for that, wait for the sequel. Because I still believe David Levine can do better than he did here. But if you’re going to try it….

Please consider using our link to buy Arabella of Mars from Amazon.

Review copy provided by Tor Books.

Jo is, as I have said in previous reviews, a dear friend, and also you will find me in the acknowledgments, because I have already read this book twice to comment on it before it was published. Let no one say there is a secret cabal here, because this cabal is right out in the open.

So. Necessity. It is the end of a trilogy, and I think that it does the thing where it reminds you of what has come before, what is important about the previous volumes, quite admirably. I don’t think that it’s going to be a very good choice to read without the others–the emotional weight won’t be there, the impact won’t be there. So really start with The Just City if you haven’t. But if you’re a person who wants the series to be complete–this series is really, really complete. The ending is an ending really and for true. The first one stands alone completely, and each of the others is doing a different enough thing that they’re worth having on their own, not just warmed-up leftovers, but they also follow the arc on naturally as the best kind of sequels do. There are new characters here as well as some of the old ones.

There is robot viewpoint. And that is my favorite thing. My very, very favorite thing. Not only do you finally get more about characters who are not golds–major characters in this book are Iron and Silver, hurrah hurrah!–but Crocus, Crocus speaks. Crocus speaks at length. This is in some ways the book where the robots and the aliens come into their own, without the gods giving up their say in the process. So yes: a very weird book, robots and aliens and gods and time travel, like nothing else I can point at, very hard to talk about without spoilers for the others.

(There are aliens, though! That’s a spoiler but! Aren’t you glad I did?)

The series continues to take on volition, purpose, and consent head-on. How to live, how to grapple with time and causality and the gods…things take a turn for the metaphysical but do not leave the realm of human emotion in this volume. The cities and their inhabitants continue to evolve, to change and grow and learn. And to free themselves and each other, which is the best part of all.

I don’t believe there’s much likelihood that you’re bound by necessity–the loops of time, potential paradoxes–to seek out this one. So you can do it of your own free will, which always feels nicer.

Please consider using our link to buy Necessity from Amazon. (or The Just City, or The Philosopher Kings.)

Holly Black, The Darkest Part of the Forest. Vivid modern faery novel that does some interesting second-generation things that are hard to explain without spoilers. I feel like there are some things about family dynamics that it took the Datlow/Windling fairy tale series to drag out in the open 20 years ago, that could only be discussed at the extremes then, that authors like Black can take on with more subtlety now, and can spend more time directly on the heroism of heroines like Hazel and less on what sparked her heroism. It can be a less angry book and still rooted in some of the same themes. There is more complexity of character, more forgiveness and still themes of memory and the power of origins. I do recommend this to people who have liked tales of faery all along; it is moving farther in the direction those anthologies started, not merely rehashing the same ground and yet using a style that I think early fans of those anthologies will enjoy.

Becky Cloonan, Brendan Fletcher, and Karl Kerschel, Gotham Academy Vol. 2: Calamity. I think that ongoing fans of Gotham and DC Comics in general might get more out of this than I did, but on the other hand they might be more annoyed by departures. It’s a boarding school story, featuring Bruce Wayne’s son as a supporting character in one of the storylines–Gotham’s kids, basically. It’s fun stuff so far, not blowing my mind but entertaining enough.

Albert Goldbarth, Adventures in Ancient Egypt, Heaven and Earth, and Popular Culture. Rereads. Of these volumes, Heaven and Earth is the one I got to first the first time I read them, the one that explains why I persevered with Goldbarth back in the day. He was trying to do the most with science in it. And yet the pervasive midcentury sexism that was there the first time I read these poems stifles me now. It…I can deal with midcentury sexism to some extent, but in a lot of these poems it just left me nowhere to stand, no room to breathe, nothing to love. No reason to go back a third time. There were a few beautiful moments, things he loved, and I could even see clear, a little, to why. But I was so desperate for anyone who tried to build a bridge between the arts and the sciences, back in my early twenties. I am less desperate now.

Ben Hatke, Nobody Likes Goblins. Discussed elsewhere.

Laura Lam, False Hearts. Discussed elsewhere.

Gonzalo Lamana, Domination Without Dominance: Inca-Spanish Encounters in Early Colonial Peru. Wow, if there was ever a book that needed its subtitle for a safe search. This is an anti-colonialist book, so it rehashed a great many of the same historical events I read in May but with jargon that recontextualized them. Which I think must be useful, and yet…not as much for me, honestly. I felt like…maybe I’m assuming too much? but a lot of the stuff that the jargon was doing with pointing out that the Spanish experience was not central and universal is stuff that people should be doing all the time anyway. I know, I know: they’re not. Sigh. Also, it was…wow, am I in a particular demographic here…very male anyway. Yeah, I said that. Okay. But it’s true.

Stella Nair, At Home With the Sapa Inca: Architecture, Space, and Legacy at Chinchero. This is an amazing book. Oh wow. It goes into great detail about the buildings involved and what they imply about the life of the high Inca royalty and nobility (and from there, what we can infer about the Inca who were not royalty and nobility). Non-architectural sources–textual sources–are also used extensively, but grounded constantly in the buildings. This is exactly the sort of book I wanted. This is exactly the sort of book you probably want, if you’re interested in the Inca and even possibly if you aren’t. Of all the Inca Imperial material I’ve read, this is the one I would recommend most highly.

George O’Connor, Olympians: Ares, Bringer of War. The publisher has sent me review copies of every other entry in this graphic novel series but this one, so I got it in the library to stay current and be able to talk to my godkids about the series. I was a bit disappointed that O’Connor chose to focus his Ares volume on the Trojan War, basically bringing in almost no obscure or small-scale myth about Ares.

Antti Tuomainen, The Healer. This is a post-climate change mystery thriller set in Finland. It gets described as both spare and vivid. I lean toward the former unless you have just been to Helsinki. Lucky me, I have! So when pieces of Helsinki geography are more mentioned than described, I have just been navigating those streets and remember which ones are which; I can picture from memory rather more than from text. Anyway: serial killer in Helsinki after a very, very extreme climate change but not a lot of science fictional change otherwise. It’s not a book I would recommend widely, but it was an interesting read given my interests.

Clayton Ward., Jr., Mallory Lykes Dimmitt, Joe Guthrie, and Elam Stolzfus, Florida Wildlife Corridor Expedition: Everglades to Okefenokee, 1000 Miles in 100 Days. This is mostly pictures–sawgrass, tupelos, cypress. One of Mark’s relatives who lives in Florida liked this and sent it to us for Christmas, and I just got around to looking at it. I like tree pictures, so I liked it too.

G. Willow Wilson, Ms. Marvel: Last Days. Compared to the volume I read last month, this was much better. I know that the apocalyptic scenario here is a larger Marvel comics scenario that Wilson and her team have to work around, but I think they did a lovely job of the characters in crisis. I am not the least bit attached to whatever else is going on in the Marvel universe. This is pretty much the only one I’m reading, because I like Alif the Unseen and wish that Wilson was still writing novels, and this is how I get her work right now.

Review copy provided by Tor Books.

Usually when a book is compared to a mass media property, whether I love or hate the mass media property, I find the comparison inaccurate to the point of annoyance, because the comparison is there for people who are not me. Specifically, it is there to lure in people whose main points of comparison are all filmed, who think entirely in terms of filmed media, which are mostly not all that similar to written media in how I enjoy either.

In this case, however, several of the reasons I enjoy Orphan Black–barring Tatiana Maslany’s astonishing acting skills–were entirely present in False Hearts, and the comparison was completely apt. And I love Orphan Black. So: wow. Go figure.

Tila and Taema are formerly conjoined twins, formerly residents of a semi-primitive cult, now cured of both conditions and living in the San Francisco of the future, a peaceful city of the new nation of Pacifica. Taema believes that she knows her sister better than anyone in the world–until Tila shows up soaked in blood, with the police on her heels. All the evidence points to her as that rare bird, an actual murderer rather than someone who can get her violent impulses out in medically assisted virtual parlors. Reconciling that with the sister she knows–and diving into an underworld she never cared to explore–becomes Taema’s mission. She needs to prove to herself and the police either that Tila is as innocent as she believes, or that she didn’t really know her sister at all.

So you have the sibling relationships, you have the murky past, you have the running about future adventure stuff, you have a certain amount of bio-SF albeit along a different axis than in Orphan Black, you have a strong acceptance of differences but also understanding that none of it is simple…really. The comparison is not a bad one. And yet it does so with book nature, not with false cinematic consciousness. So okay, good then.

Please consider using our link to buy False Hearts from Amazon.

Review copy provided by First Second Books.

Ben Hatke’s books have ranged from the nearly-wordless Little Robot to the far more verbal Zita the Spacegirl series. My personal favorite is probably Julia’s House for Lost Creatures, a charming and beautiful tale.

Nobody Likes a Goblin is toward the young and simple end of Hatke’s range. Goblin lives in his dungeon with his friend Skeleton. They have a routine they like, games they play. But–as you might expect–there is a certain type of person who does not like goblins.

Luckily, there is another type who does.

The plot is simple, the style unmistakable, the ending sweet but not as cloying as it could be given the premise. Nobody Likes a Goblin is unlikely to change your world, but it might well take a young reader’s fancy–or even more likely, a pre-reader’s. A fantasy reader who wants to start young minds dungeon crawling early could do worse than Nobody Likes a Goblin.

Please consider using our link to buy Nobody Likes a Goblin from Amazon.

Renee Ahdieh, The Crown and the Arrow. Kindle. This was a promotional short story of the sort that is the interstices between perspectives in the related novel. I’m still willing to try these, but I’m coming to the conclusion that very few of them are satisfying as short stories; they’re mostly not trying to be short stories. They’re trying to be trailers for the related novels, or author-written fanfic, basically. Short story writing and novel writing are not the same skill, and while some of the authors who are being encouraged by their publishers to put this kind of content out may very well have short story writing skills, they aren’t necessarily being encouraged to use it here. So…I am the wrong reader for this kind of content. I am more pleased by the shape of the novel staying the shape of the novel than by “deleted scene” or “extra perspective” type short content; I want a short story to be satisfying in itself. I will just wait impatiently for the next actual Renee Ahdieh book in this series.

A.S. Byatt, The Children’s Book. Reread. Oh how I love this book. Oh how I love this book. Its cast of thousands does not bother me in the slightest. It is right in my wheelhouse, all the Pre-Raphaelite and Fabian and all the different kinds of artist and their families, the places they overlap and the ways they go off the rails. It is such a lovely book, the class differences and class crossing and passing and not passing. The things Byatt does with the stresses of a world without reliable birth control, with women who just desperately, passionately, want to work, want to do something. And the ones who don’t. Possession is the canonical favorite Byatt, and I keep meaning to go back and reread that, but I don’t think it can possibly supplant this in my heart, this is meant for me, it is mine.

John Crowley, Little, Big. Reread. This is such a strange book. It’s got all sorts of women, but they seem curiously passive and interchangeable. And yet there is enough to it, enough weight of magic, that I still like it, I still like the feel of the places and the weight of things. And it is better, much better, for having read even one of Thornton Burgess’s books; the thing that was all right when read as general was much, much better as a specific reference.

Aliette de Bodard, Ships in Exile. Kindle. (Not available for purchase. -ed) A handful of stories in various settings I had seen the edges of from de Bodard before; I particularly liked the Mexica-inflected future, similarly influenced to her mystery novels but with a very, very different result.

Pamela Dean, Juniper, Gentian, and Rosemary. Reread. I keep coming around to different places every time I read this book. This time I kept thinking: I don’t know of anybody else who has even tried to talk about the adolescent balance in autonomy and protection in quite this way. I don’t even know how many people have tried to think about it nearly this carefully, even if they came to very different conclusions. I think mostly, culturally, autonomy is not a word people are encouraged to think about for persons under the age of seventeen or so, twenty-five to be safe, possibly a minimum monthly income instead.

Mark Forsyth, The Etymologicon: A Circular Stroll Through the Hidden Connections of the English Language. This was another of Forsyth’s pop etymology books, nothing particularly earth-shattering but a perfectly pleasant thing to pick up and put down when I wasn’t sure how much time I would have to read before getting on a plane and didn’t want anything with narrative throughput that I would mind interrupting.

Elena Helander-Renvall, Silde: Sami Mythic Texts and Stories. A beautifully illustrated volume purchased at the Arktikum. (And as far as I can tell available only in Finnish museums. Some of the illustrations are online. -ed) Not as large as one might like, but we take what we can get here, tales of the kinds of spirits, the kinds of dogs, the kinds of people of the far north of the Scandinavian peninsula and western Russia.

Reginald Hill, Good Morning, Midnight. Reread. Not entirely believable Dalziel backstory, I’m afraid, and not one of the more memorable late series entries. I do like Emily Dickinson. I wish Hill had done better by her. Not offensive, just not a standout.

Kameron Hurley, The Geek Feminist Revolution. Discussed elsewhere.

E.K. Johnston, Exit, Pursued by a Bear. This is a beautiful thing to do, so very much worth having. Read with care. It is not, very surely not, a Teen Problem Novel. It is the story of Hermione, a cheerleader, who goes away to cheerleading camp and is roofied and raped. It is the story of her surviving. Her aftermath. Her living on and being herself. It is the story of those who are fiercely, wonderfully there for her, and some who are not–some who don’t know how to be, some who don’t want to be. If you have ever been Hermione. If you have ever been Polly, the best friend–oh how I love Polly–with the stats, who among us has not been one or the other or both, once or twice or too many times.This book is for the Hermiones, the Pollys, the moms and the dads and the Coaches. Kate wrote it for all of us with so much love, and she wrote it for the girls who hope they never identify firsthand with anybody in it, ever, ever, because that’s the hell of YA: you write things like this hoping that they are in advance of the problems teenagers actually face, and you know that in too many cases they aren’t. Read it carefully. Choose your timing carefully. But read it, because it’s beautiful, and it’s the kind of triumphant that life is allowed to be, and it’s written with love.

Gwyneth Jones, Band of Gypsys. Reread. This is act four of a five-act structure, and everything goes all to hell, as you would expect, geopolitically and interpersonally. I do love this series still, and it is worth not skipping this on the reread, but while the others can be grim, this is more of a grim slog, and also there are fertility issues that may be difficult in multiple directions, be aware if you’re considering it.

Kim MacQuarrie, The Last Days of the Incas. Large and moderately informative book about what it says on the tin.

Hilary McKay, Casson Family: Rose’s Blog. Kindle. Very short and very light, does not cohere as a story. Much though I like getting more Cassons, this felt more like “no, really you’re not getting more Cassons” rather than like actually more Cassons. It trickled off in the end in a not very satisfying way. It was meant as promotional material. Repeating theme: I am not the audience for promotional material really.

William Morris, The Wood Beyond the World. Kindle. Oh how I love William Morris…as a designer of wallpapers and ceramic tiles. As an overwrought fabulist mumbling about which women are the scheming evil women with scheming evil dwarves? OH UNCLE WILL NOT REALLY NO. Go look at pictures of the ceramic tiles instead, really. That will be best. The title is the best thing in this book. No wonder CS Lewis wanted to do something better with it.

Ada Palmer, Too Like the Lightning. Discussed elsewhere.

Johan Reinhard, The Ice Maiden: Inca Mummies, Mountain Gods, and Sacred Sites in the Andes. Do you think that Johan Reinhard is the most interesting person in the world? Do you expect that he has been right in every conversation that he’s had, and probably has been ill done by in most interactions? If not, this book will probably annoy you considerably. The mummy in question is interesting. The bits where he is actually talking about how she was found: pretty interesting. All the bits that are pompous overwrought not-really-memoir: eh. Also there was much more room for information about. Well. The Inca Empire. Which interested me more than Johan Reinhard did, before I knew anything about Johan Reinhard, and now that I have read this book and learned more about him: even more so.

Ranylt Richildis, ed., Lackington’s Issue 9. Kindle. I hate it when friends of mine have the clear-cut most interesting story in an issue of something, because then I feel like I’m being biased and fond. But Arkady Martine’s ‘Contra Gravitatem (Vita Genevievis)’  was the clear standout; it drew on Martine’s scholarly knowledge and Silver Age SF for a satisfying modern story.

John Ruskin, The Two Paths. Kindle. This took me months to read. Months. Because every time I would to go read it, I would curse at John Ruskin and put it back down again. Finally I was on the train to Falun and gritted my teeth so that I could go on to read other things that were not bloody bloody John Ruskin. He enumerates in this, for example, how it is that we can know that Scottish art is superior to Indian art. Yes, how is it that we can know a thing that is not true as a generalization? Tell us, John Ruskin! Having read it, I can tell you: he is making racist bullshit 19th century claims. One of my friends upon hearing me complain started condescending to me about how philosophy can be hard if you don’t have the background. Begging pardon, I do have the background. And with the background, it can be quite easy to see when someone is using the language of aesthetic philosophy to back up the racist claim that made them most comfortable, that they had arrived at before they started. There was no chance that the pure spirit of philosophic inquiry was going to lead John Ruskin to the idea that Scottish art might be inferior to that of anybody brown. Or that, God forbid, art should be judged on a case by case basis rather than nationally. So. This was useful in the “what kind of crap would people in particular situations have been fed and what kind of crap would somewhat later people be reacting against” research. I do not commend it otherwise.

Sherwood Smith, Commando Bats. Kindle. Older ladies wrestle with newly granted magic powers. Hijinks ensue. I could do with more hijinks from this crew whenever Sherwood wanted.

G. Willow Wilson, Ms. Marvel: Crushed. I was disappointed in this volume compared to the previous two. The plot felt incredibly paint-by-numbers and canned. I hope that it was just a move to get the plot to a more interesting place. I’ve heartily enjoyed what Wilson has done so far, so I’m willing to keep going, and it’s not like this was in any way upsetting or offensive. Just: meh.

Review copy provided by Tor Books. Full disclosure: Kameron and I are not besties but are the “have a long chatty lunch at a con” level of cordial. Do I always remember this kind of disclosure? I should. This field, ack.

If you follow Kameron Hurley’s blog, most of this book will be familiar to you. I say “most” because, in addition to the pieces written specifically for this collection, even the most adamant follower of a blog scarcely memorizes every post. There will always be the day when you were at your grandmother’s, the link you didn’t catch, the time when you totally meant to come back to that later…but never did. Also, blogs–even the best-curated–get choked down a bit with ephemera. There will always be a post that, in retrospect, turns out not to have been among the best. A post that needs an update, and you read it five minutes after it went up and missed the update.

These, then, are the selected favorites of Hurley’s blog posts, edited to be their best selves. They are the form she wants to stand by, the form she wants to discuss in the long-term. This is not her only argument, but this time around, this is her argument. This is her fight.

Some of the essays that were written for this collection are at least as important as the blog posts that went viral. They make it fuller, more rounded argument. They have perspective. One, in particular, “When the Rebel Becomes Queen: Changing Broken Systems from the Inside,” takes on one of the hardest topics for people in our culture in my generation and the one before it: admitting to power. Because, as Hurley points out, the difference doesn’t always feel immensely powerful on the inside. It doesn’t come with a sceptre or an army or a giant bank account. But that doesn’t mean that the power differential isn’t real and important in how you treat people, and I’m very pleased to see someone like Hurley–who is not a multimillionaire, who is not a household name in households other than mine–explicitly recognizing that and grappling with its implications in a book like this.

So the new content is well worth having, and if you want to, you can take a minute to find out what you think of that old. But I do think that if you’re having the kind of conversation that genre tends to be, putting this kind of essay online so that it’s widely accessible, and also publishing it in this kind of format so that it’s more polished and permanent, has a lot of value. I’ve been glad to see authors like Jo Walton and Cory Doctorow do it in recent years, and Hurley’s is a valuable voice in that thread of discussion.

Please consider using our link to buy The Geek Feminist Revolution from Amazon.