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Posts Tagged ‘bookery’

25

Jan

2012

Epic ConFusion Reading Lists – Race/Gender/Class & Non-western Fantasy/SF

At Epic ConFusion this weekend, I was on a couple of panels where we also gave some reading suggestions to the audience. Afterward, I had an attendee come up and ask if I could actually write up my list somewhere so she could access it later.

Well, folks – you ask, I deliver.

Below is a very, very, very abbreviated reading list that I just pounded out top-of-mind before the panel. There is a massive epic ton of good stuff out there.  For more, visit The Carl Brandon Society and Feminist SF. Note that there is also some crossover between these lists.

 Race/Class/Gender Reading List

The Female Man, Joanna Russ

We Who Are About To, Joanna Russ

Carnival, Elizabeth Bear

Dust, Elizabeth Bear

Triton (Trouble on Triton), Samuel Delany

Illusion, Paula Volsky (lots of explorations of class, and often overlooked)

The Women Men Don’t See, James Tiptree Jr.

American Gods, Neil Gaiman

Brown Girl in the Ring, Nalo Hopkinson

Kindred, Octavia Butler

Parable of the Sower, Octavia Butler

Non-Western Fantasy (and SF) Reading List

Moxlyand, by Lauren Beukes

Throne of the Crescent Moon, Saladin Ahmed

The Desert of Souls, Howard Andrew Jones

Redemption in Indigo, Karen Lord

Who Fears Death, Nnedi Okorafor

The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms, N.K. Jemison (am told her new trilogy is more so)

Ragamuffin, Tobias Buckell

Dune, Frank Herbert

Necropolis, Maureen McHugh

China Mountain Zhang, Maureen McHugh

The Years of Rice and Salt, Kim Stanley Robinson

Wild Seed, Octavia Butler

Acacia, David Anthony Durham

12

Aug

2011

Remember When Fantasy Books Were AWESOME? Thoughts on The Cloud Roads

Remember when you were 9 and or 10 or 12 and you stayed up until all hours reading your favorite fantasy novel? Remember that strangely comforting feeling of slipping neatly and completely into some other place and so totally embracing the story of another person that you were engrossed until the sun came up? You remember that sense of awe and wonder when you encountered fantastic peoples, creatures, vistas?

Oh, sure, I enjoy reading now, to a point. Mostly, though, reading is drudgery for me, filled with lots of interesting but in-need-of-help first novels (including my own), and lazy writing, and plot holes, and all those other clunky things that jerk me straight out of a story (no matter how engaging) and fling me back to planet earth. I didn’t experience that much when I first started reading the genre, but after a while, you read and critique enough stories and you start to see all the crappy holes in them, and it sucks the enjoyment right out of the story.

I’d heard Martha Wells had some new fiction out, and being a fan of her book City of Bones, I decided to go ahead and check it out (also, we now have the same agent. Once again: my agent has such good taste!).

I had some trepidation, initially, because I knew this one was about a flying shapeshifter, and the last “weird” book I read with a flying hero was Steph Swainson’s Year of Our War, which – despite the interesting world building – I hated because the main character was a whiny, drug-addled and totally uninteresting person. So I had my biases going in about what was going to happen with some flying loner guy.

I should not have worried.

The Cloud Roads is the story of Moon, a shapeshifter (again! Not exactly one of my favorite things to read about in my fiction, due to how overdone it is) who is uncertain as to what kind of creature he truly is, as he has encountered no one of his kind before. He exists in hiding in his “groundling” or non-flying form, which more-or-less allows him to mix with other types of groundling races of – literally – all colors, types, stripes, and creeds. Because all the races are so different, and there are so many, he is not seen as too terribly out of place – unless he shifts. Because when he shifts to his flying form, he reminds others of a disturbingly violent race of baddies known as The Fell, who make it a habit of eating groundlings and destroying their cities.

One of the things this book does well is paint a picture of that classic odd-kid-out who’s used to being betrayed and bullied, and has grown up his whole life not only knowing he’s different, but knowing he will be actively hunted and possibly killed for it. I’ve heard some folks say that this would be a great YA book, and I can’t disagree with that. It’s a story about finding your place in the world, and the heartbreak of losing everything you love and trying to trust people again. This whole concept could have gone over syrupy-sticky, but instead, the way the protagonist, Moon, is presented was terribly sympathetic without being sticky. It reminded me a bit of how Robin Hobb’s bastard boy was introduced in the Assassin books – someone who simply ended up being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and crapped on by everybody else because of how he was born.

Though Moon is pushing 30-something, his race is long-lived, so the fact that he is emotionally still a bit of a child is understandable – it doesn’t help that he’s never had to socialize with his own kind, and has a lot to learn.

Moon does eventually bump into his own people, and discovers what he is, but the road to get there isn’t exactly the one you were expecting. What made this book really work for me was that it challenged your expectations of family groups and social structures (oh, PLEASE, guys, give us more books beyond the hetero family pairing!). Moon’s people are socially complex, and the Big Bad that the plot hinges on actually has to do with selective/forced breeding for particular powers (not the nicest thing in the world, and especially not nice after you’ve gotten to like all the characters).  Moon himself is also incredibly well-drawn in a way with a bit of a uniquely unreliable narrative turn involving his refusal to trust others.  This makes him not just wary of betrayal, but expecting it at every turn. It means that when he tells you what he thinks just happened in a scene… well, you learn quickly not to believe a word of what he says to you about what someone’s motives are. That said, his caution is sometimes dead on, and saves some folks from disaster. It is this – his resourcefulness and survival instinct – that really made me respect him.  He is a little heartbreaking, and broken, but instead of that being a turnoff to him as a character, it makes your heart ache, because – for many of us – there’s that place inside where you will always feel like the outsider, unloved, like everyone’s going to betray you, and you start to cheer for Moon and hope for the best for him, even as he tries so very hard to just expect everything will fall apart.

This is a lovely book, with strong worldbuilding and sympathetic characters. The only real critique I have is that, for me, there were almost too many characters to keep track of toward the end (the folks involved in fighting the Big Bad are numerous, as in the end, his entire new adopted family comes under attack). Aside from that… well, really, I don’t finish a lot of books these days, and few of them are so seamless or engrossing. And none have tapped into that adolescent love I used to have for fantasy fiction so strongly as this book did.

Highly recommended.

 

26

Jul

2011

NO HERO: Brain squid, explosions, and yes – chicks with swords

I don’t even know why I started reading this book. My publisher sent it along with a stack of others I had requested, and I couldn’t figure out why. I took one look at the cover and made a terrible face.

 “What the hell is this?” I said.

My husband, J, grabbed the book out of my hands and said, “This is AWESOME!”

I winced. “That cover is terrible.”

“Kameron, this is an AWESOME cover! Look at the tentacles! And this woman with a sword. And her flannel shirt! And this woman doing something on a computer. TENTACLES! Also, this dude with glasses, doing magical nerdy stuff, and this guy, with this gun, and wow! DID I MENTION THE TENTACLES? This cover is PERFECT. I really want to read this book.”

I was speechless. “You want to… read this book?”

He handed it back. “Oh yeah. Plus, the way the cover is laid out is a total riff on the poster for Big Trouble in Little China, so you know it will be good.”

I peered at the cover again, dubious. It occurred to me that this was just going to be one of those books that wasn’t marketed to me, but as per J’s reaction, it was most certainly highly targeted to folks like him… folks with a much finer sense of geeky culture. 

But after throwing yet another promising-but-disappointing fantasy novel down, I went ahead and picked up NO HERO from my pile, just for kicks. Because, you know, the title is NO HERO. And I like that. People who aren’t heroes. So, hey. Worse case, I get a few pages in and chuck it off to Goodwill like I’ve been doing with so many books lately.

So I started reading this book. And, you know, it was exactly what it promised to be: Brain squid. Explosions. Socially awkward people. The end of the world.

The further I got into the book, the more I wondered why I kept reading, and the more I kept reading. For a book that’s also kind of a an anti-Urban Fantasy Noir a la Dresden Files but with a non-magical protagonist and underfunded government operation populated by a surprising number of women for this type of book, it was… awfully entertaining.

There is plenty to like here – the brain squid and explosions, the sort of broken and partially magical (but mostly not) characters, the big boss fights with animated Things and aforementioned brain squid and giant mutated monsters and, of course, my favorite – emotionally messed up women chopping off heads with swords.

The reason I couldn’t believe I kept reading this is because there’s also quite a few quibbles that will drive you nuts if you think about them too long. It’s a first novel, and it shows, with some dropped plot threads and lazy ways to avoid conflict (MINOR SPOILER: if there’s a guy with a girlfriend who wants to get it on with another woman on the team, there are more… well, not more interesting ways, but certainly more ways rife with conflict than to simply have him inhabit another body. You’re robbing us of some tension, there).

When it comes to the women in this book, I kept jumping at things that I was ready to gnash my teeth at. The protagonist is a police detective with a thing for his subordinate (of course), whose primary distinguishing and appealing characteristic appears to be that she is blond. (SPOILERS AHEAD) Her reward for being a possible love interest is, of course, getting killed by the bad guys to make the male protagonist suffer. When this happened, I threw up my hands and snarled because honestly, no wonder she wasn’t really fleshed out – she was just there to serve as a character motivation; she wasn’t a character in her own right. Just to prove how non-important she was, the protagonist starts moving in on HIS boss soon after.

But to dwell on that particular lazy outrage would be like saying that The Windup Girl was a horrible book because it had one female character who was, in essence, a sex slave. Yes, stereotypes suck, but here’s what makes them suck less – if you really, absolutely, HAVE TO HAVE your male protagonist’s love interest die horribly to serve the plot, then you had BETTER have more female characters that JUST THAT ONE. If she’s the only one, you FAIL.

And this is why I didn’t hate this book. Or throw it across the room. Because brain squid and chopping off heads or no, if you tell me my only role in your book is to serve as a character motivation, I’m done.

NO HERO doesn’t do that.

Instead, there’s a diverse hodgepodge of female characters. Yes, I have my own issues with each of them, but they were THERE. And that’s the first step. Baby steps, people.

The protagonist’s boss – the head of a… well, not elite, but let’s say “special” team of folks dedicated to going after these inter-dimensional brain squid – is a woman (also, a love interest. But let’s hand wave that for now. I guess that was to make up for the blond? Whatever. She, at least, has purpose. OK, well, she gave up a lot of her power to the protagonist, who she felt was supposed to save them, and was suddenly relying on his opinions a lot, though even he wasn’t so sure why he was supposedly qualified for this job. Urg. See, you can’t think about it too much). Then there’s the research guru, a smack-talking goth (really, that’s how I pictured her) named Tabitha, who, OK, also ends up a little smitten with another guy on the team. ::sigh:: OK, but then there is Kayla, the chick with the sword. She chops off heads to kill brain squid, and has superfast killing abilities. OK, yes, she is motivated to protect two children she saved from brain squid, but… OK, OK, there are some issues, I admit, which is why I felt so damn guilty reading this book. Don’t get me started on the succubus.  But there are, in fact, women in this book. With opinions and abilities. And nobody gets raped! It could have been much, much worse.

And yet, for all that – I kept reading this book. Why? Because I was engaged with the protagonist and his ragtag band of fellows and the mutant brain squid more than I was annoyed by the stereotypes (in fact, these female characters were just at the cusp of being awesome. It wasn’t until I sat down and started thinking about all of their motivations and relationships that things started to truly unravel). And at the end of the day, the book fulfills the title’s promise – the protagonist is not really a hero, and (MORE SPOILERS) he doesn’t even save the day the way he’s supposed to. A child still dies, but it’s her sister who saves the day, not the protagonist. And that, right there, may have been the big redemption for me in this book. There was, indeed, at least one female character who wasn’t primarily a love interest, or motivated my maternal instict, and gained instead of gave up power.

Now, when I write up mixed-bag rants like this one, I need folks to understand – if I really hate a book, I don’t finish it. And I certainly don’t write about it. But if something bugs me about a book, I’m going to talk about it. It’s not often that I finish a book without wanting to throw it across the room at some point (Mechanique and The Cloud Roads are the only ones I’ve read recently that are pretty near perfect, and I’ll be posting about The Cloud Roads later).  What I found the most fascinating about this one is that despite my annoyance (and the obvious fact that this was NOT a book targeted at somebody like me), this really was a fun little ride, and a big change of pace from what I’d been reading.

So if you like brain squid, and chicks with swords, and lots of shit blowing up, and you totally “get” this cover – and if you can forgive some cringe-worthy moments of annoyance – this is a crunchy little popcorn book.

21

Dec

2010

Short Stories Now Available for Download (FREE!)

You have to wait until January 18th to snag your copy of God’s War, but to tide you over until then, I’ve put together a free 150-odd page collection of my short fiction from 1997 to present (yeah, I’ve never been a prolific short story writer). You can download a free PDF here (scribd. Recommended) or here (smashwords. Formatting on this platform is wonky, but readable).

If you’re a Kindle lover, you will, unfortunately, need to pay .99 cents for the same free PDF formatted for your big-corp device. They apparently don’t let you create them for free as yet. You can download a Kindle copy here.

This collection includes fan favorite, “The Women of Our Occupation” about a mysterious group of women who invade a steamy patriarchy, and “Wonder Maul Doll,” an angry anti-war screed about a traumatized group of female war heroes hunting down weapons of mass destruction.

Three Super! Special! Bonus! stories are included – stories that were never published. This includes, “Women and Ladies, Blood and Sand” about a military leader who aligns herself with the bad guys and starts hunting down her own people, “In Freedom, Dying” about a couple of old queers and the end of the world, and “Canticle of the Flesh,” the creepiest, weirdest, most distasteful story I’ve ever written.

I mean, c’mon, what other collection of horrific, bloodthirsty, feministy nonsense would make more sense to gift to friends and family for the holidays?

Also, did I mention it’s free?

28

Nov

2010

Women, Guns, and Gods: The Horns of Ruin

I found Tim Akers’s last book, Heart of Veridon, by accident at the local bookstore. I enjoyed it so much that I eagerly awaited his next book, The Horns of Ruin… until I read the back cover copy.

See, it had all this stuff that annoys the crap out of me. I’m not a fan of sword and sorcery, or stories about gods, or steampunk, so marketing “sword and sorcery meets steampunk” doesn’t work for me (your mileage may vary. Being in marketing, I know this is good marketing; I’m just not the target). You should know that right off before I go into my thoughts on the book. This wasn’t really a book I should have enjoyed.

But, you know, Tim Akers is a fucking great writer.

And when you’re reading great writing, you forgive a lot.

The Horns of Ruin is about Eva Forge, last paladin of the dead god Morgan. Her cult of Morgan is dying, and the man she’s sworn to protect is kidnapped. Great fantasy is about setting as much as the people in it, and the city of Ash is a lovingly detailed, creepy, and arcane city built atop a black lake. There’s a whole mythology here, with creepy beings you’ve never heard of and a huge, detailed history that’s spun seamlessly into the story. There’s no “pan to the orcs” or “well, you know how elves are.” Like VanderMeer’s Ambergris, this worldbuilding is done from the ground up.

One of the reasons I was willing to pick this up despite the fact that it dealt with living gods and sword and sorcery is also because Akers did something in Heart of Veridon that was really awesome: he presented the “gods” in that world as really, truly, unknowably alien. Gods became gods because they were creepy things we didn’t understand, whose motives could be anything from benign to sinister. You don’t know what exactly they are. Or where they came from. Or how you should relate to them. You simply build your faith around them in order to make some kind of sense from the freaky unknowable. When we don’t understand something, we kill it or we worship it. Which is especially fitting considering how this particular story goes.

At any rate, I figured that his take on gods would at least be more interesting than your standard fare. And I was not disappointed.

Ash has a very complex magic system based in… well, mythology and history. That is, the mythology and history of *this world,* not our own. The gods were regular guys once, three brothers who quarrelled and fought and backstabbed and won great battles and conquered the city. They were people, once, who amassed their power over time. The idea here is that godhood is something amassed over time. There are many potential gods – the successful ones are those who are able to best gather what may be a finite amount of power around them.

The analogy to real-life politicians/celebrities/robber barons is pretty stark.

I won’t pretend to know how the how system works – it’s a reasonably fast read. Suffice to say it felt very original for a sword-and-sorcery package, and it was cool watching power invocations in action. There are spells/invocations for speed and strength and battle moves. You invoke to draw on power. It’s spell casting seamlessly woven into the history of a place.

And it’s this, to me, that’s the real strength of the book. The originality of the magic system/casting, the mythology, the way it all ties together to create a city that’s very much Other. And did I mention the writing is really good? That means you get to dig your hands into the guts of this city, and it breathes on the page.

This is a spare little book. I say that because though the mythology is huge, it’s confined to one city. And the cast of characters is small. The plot’s very contained. I’m not sure why that felt odd to me – maybe because so much of fantasy fiction is about conquering the world, not making or unmaking a city.

The characters, unfortunately, felt a little spare as well. Eva is cool – guns, swords, massive power through invoking the strength/power of her god – but she doesn’t connect with much of anyone along the way. I know she’s supposed to care about her Fratriarch but just wasn’t sure… why. Because her cult is all she knows? I knew it because it was said, but for some reason, never felt it. It’s tough to write a warrior woman you can connect with. Like Del in Sword Dancer, or Monza from Best Served Cold, you have to cut away big pieces of yourself to make it as a woman and a warrior, to be taken seriously, but both of those books were very good at showing the heroine connecting – or failing to connect – or trying and failing and failing again – with people. And that made them not only interesting, but sympathetic.

Eva didn’t really try to connect with anybody. She tried to not hit people in the face because they could further her cause, but some bit of humanity was missing from her, and it made her a little flat. I would buy more of the “cold warrior woman” thing if there was any kind of “got to cut part of yourself away to succeed cause of, you know, sexism” thing at work, but… Thing was, in this world, I didn’t get that being a woman was an issue. Nobody really commented on it. It’s got one of those “assumed equality” things going on, which is always weird in fantasy fiction, since feudal worlds (even those that have moved on to industrial revolution steampunk) are nearly always exploitative. It’s cool if they’re not, I’m just always interested in why, and that’s not often answered in assumed equality world. I couldn’t really figure out this world’s social structure, since Eva pretty much just pounded in the head of anybody who got in her way (which was highly entertaining, yes, but did get repetitive). So I wasn’t sure how much of that stripping-away-of-self she’d really had to do to be taken seriously. Her cult/invocations gave her great power. People respected that. It was far more important which of the gods you worshipped than what your social class was. Thing is, there’s more than scholars and priests running a world, and though we saw a few random workers and got some lines from spear carriers, I wasn’t really sure how life was for everybody else.

Because Eva is so one-minded, she never connects with anybody, either. And that’s… troubling. I need to care about people in my books, and if there’s no love (even muffled), or guilt (even rationalized), or remorse (also rationalized), it’s harder to connect. Things glance off Eva like a stone skipping over a lake. This may simply be purposeful – she’s been raised to be one-minded – but it made it tough to root for her along the way, even though the fight scenes were cool.

For what it’s worth, the book does pass the Bechdel test (though barely), despite the small cast. This is primarily because Eva is paired up with a rogue scholar along the way who knows her own way around the city (the reason it’s “barely” is because they’re generally talking about how to find the Fratriarch, who is, you know, a guy. And the bad guys and gods are, you know, guys. So though your two primary characters are female, your entire supporting cast – including hordes of baddies – are guys).

Overall, this was a fast, entertaining read. I wanted to love it more than I did, and I suspect some of that had to do with not connecting with Eva. The story is so much in her head that it was hard to get perspective – either on her or on events outside what she believed was immediately important. The pacing was pretty breakneck, too – hardly any breathing/character stretching room between fight scenes. Though I was annoyed at some of the more “fan-fictiony” moments in Best Served Cold where the characters nattered on, I realize that what those did for me was make the characters far more endearing. At the end of the book, you feel like they’re your friends in the same way you feel about the crew of Serenity. Even if they’re your asshole friends who’d cut you as soon as look at you.

I wanted to be friends with Eva and the rogue scholar. But at the end of the day, they were ascending into something else, and leaving their humanity behind. It fits with the book’s themes, but was a little disappointing as a reader.

That said, there’s an incredible mythology here, great fight scenes, and some really stellar writing. If you want to go somewhere that’s actually fantastic for awhile (or if you ever wondered how cool it would be to have a sword with an “articulated sheath”) I’d give this one a whirl.

Not everybody needs to go kicking in heads with their friends, I suppose. Kicking in heads with paladins infused with the power of dead gods can be pretty fun too.

16

Nov

2010

Sex, Death, and the End of the World: Thoughts on The Windup Girl

There has been a lot of ink spilled (real and virtually) about Paulo Bacigalupi’s The Windup Girl. A few months back, I decided to see what all the fuss was about and ordered a copy.

This was a dense book, the type you don’t see mass marketed very often, in large part because it throws you right into the story and expects you to catch up. There’s no popcorn here along the way. No, “As you know, Bob,” just “Here’s what I’m doing, ha ha figure it out.”

I pushed through the first twenty or so pages thinking I was going to end up putting it back down again. The characters aren’t particularly likable. There’s really nobody to root for. Toward the end of the book, I realized I wasn’t terribly invested in who “won” or died.

That said, the characters are interesting, and that makes all the difference. Exiles and outcasts, expatriates and profiteers… they’re all here. Bacigalupi is a great evocateur of worlds, and he captures the heat and stink and chaos of this future Bangkok with great force. This is a book that’s very much about the world, the re-emergence of colonization after a spectacular collapse, civil war, and above all, exploration of the world after the terrible repercussions from too much genetic meddling with our food stuffs and our environment.

The host of characters include a scheming expatriate employed by a “Calorie Company” – big ConAgra-like companies that literally control every edible thing that comes on the market. The entire economy is based on calories – fossil fuels have been used up, and energy is measured in literal human calories. Genetically modified animals and people help pick up where fossil fuels let off, but it’s been a long climb back into industry.

Part of what seems to have made this book so popular – besides the fact that it’s well-written, evocative, and engaging – is that so much of it is so here-and-now newsworthy, which people love. I felt the same thing when I read his take on how big-business-controlled seeds had aided in toppling the world. I’d just finished watching a smattering of documentaries about the monopoly on corn seed and fertilizer of some big companies today, how farmers weren’t even allowed to harvest their own corn for planting, because the seeds themselves are patented. Yes, the seeds are patented. They are owned by a corporation.

In the Windup Girl, we get an answer to the question, “What happens when all the seeds are patented, and then there’s a blight, and no alternatives around anymore?” We also get an answer to the “What happens if we continue on like we are and the oil runs out” question, too. These are both big concerns. Science fiction has never really been about the future so much as it is about exploring answers to today’s questions and concerns. We write our future fiction (and our fantasy fiction) in reaction to what we’re experiencing now. The Windup Girl is right there at the forefront.

Big stuff aside, I did want to take a minute to share some thoughts on The Windup Girl herself (the blog’s titled Brutal Women, afterall). The whole Asian sex slave robot/genetically tailored pleasure girl slave thing has been done to death. The minute she comes on the scene I was like, “Tra-la, whatever.”

But Bacigalupi makes some very interesting choices, here. Though she is created by and owned by men, it’s a woman who is her primary on-stage abuser, and the person you hear spewing the most hate at her. As a Windup Girl, she’s outcast, hated, feared, and can’t walk outside alone without fear of being recycled. Not only that – her flawless skin means she has pores so small that she doesn’t regulate heat properly. This is a big problem in sweltering Bangkok at the end of the fossil fuel age, when things like ice and air conditioning are for the super rich… and she’s an rich guy’s abandoned companion who’s been taken up into a petty brothel. That means she’s utterly, completely dependent on others. Physically, and genetically. Because she’s been bred to be submissive, dependent, with an overwhelming desire to please.

What makes her different that other robo-women? She knows exactly what she’s been bred for. She has a painful knowledge of her dependence, even as submitting to her masters’ desires fulfills her dog-like need to please, she hates herself for it. She knows it for what it is: bad programming.

And she fights it.

How many times have you done something for somebody that was against your principles? How many times have you done something you were uncomfortable with, or that you didn’t really like, but that made somebody else happy? And then afterward you were like, gah, why did I do that?

That’s her whole life. It’s knowing what free will’s like, but never having it.

All that said, she does work hard at rebellion, and in the best of all girl-power stories, she does in fact get weaponized… and the whole place goes to hell. She has been slowly battering against the cage of her genetics for some time, so when she bursts out, it’s pretty spectacular, and unpredictably violent (after yesterday’s post about women getting weaponized in response to sexual violence, I should have found this more predictable, but the way Bacigalupi sets it up, it’s actually not. It felt like an interesting instead of a predictable choice).

Overall, this was a good read. If you can get through those first few initial pages without going, “Fuck this, I don’t know what the hell is going on!” you’ll be fine.  Things pick up. Things make sense. Sometimes they make too much sense. And you start to wonder just how fun the world is going to be in 50 years unless we get some electric cars and high-speed trains and stop corporations from controlling the genetic makeup of our foodstuffs.

Which, of course, is exactly what a good SF novel should be doing… freaking me out about the future.

16

Nov

2010

Finch: The Stuff Nightmares Are Made Of

I’ve been a Jeff VanderMeer fan ever since I read the novella Dradin, In Love. It had so many of the things I love: a mad, unreliable narrator; weird setting; lush worldbuilding; and a perfect, simple, brutally honest reveal that told you mountains about the narrator and what he really wanted out of life.

There were some fun stories in City of Saints and Madmen, but I didn’t love any of them the same way I did Dradin. After Dradin, I loved Veniss, Underground best. More twisted scenery, broken narrators, piles of bodies and darkness and did I mention the broken people? The Situation was another delightful read for me, which took all the weird worldbuilding and set it on top of a workplace satire that any desk jockey could relate to.

The thing with much of VanderMeer’s fiction is that most of the narrators are not likable. You don’t read VanderMeer if you want to read about heroes (his most heroic character is probably Shadrach from Veniss, Underground. Probably, again, one of the most honest heroes I’ve encountered in fiction in awhile. Heroism is about doing what you know is right, not doing something because you believe you’ll get something out of it – whether it’s fame or riches or, in this case, the girl).

And that brings us to Finch.

Finch isn’t a hero. He was so much of a non-hero that I found myself, at best, ambivalent about him. Even when we find out his prior identity, it’s really not terribly interesting.

What Finch has is an incredible, amazing, nightmare-inducing world the likes of which I haven’t experienced since Veniss, Underground. The book would literally give me weird dreams when I read it before bed. Only reading Lovecraft has ever given me those same dark, slippery sorts of nightmares. The ones that crawl around in your head and whisper crazy things that leave you feeling a bit dirty and confused come morning.

Finch is a strong book, and probably one of the best plotted I’ve seen from VanderMeer. If you can get past the unlikeable main character, there’s a whole hideous new world here to sink your teeth into. It’s not pretty. It’s not heroic. It doesn’t make any sense. And that’s what makes it so scary.

VanderMeer’s venomous mushroom folk are true aliens, the kind whose powers and technology and motives you realize you’ll never be certain of (they actually lose a little of their scariness toward the end when we get too much telling about their motives, but I’m not sure how tension could have been sustained without knowing something about what they were doing). I love their slimy memory holes, their leaky organic guns, the edible bullets (edible bullets!!), the addictive mushroom fumes, the contaminated areas.

This book is fantasy worldbuilding at its best.

I had some issues with the narrative – particularly how the protagonist seemed to be pushed and pulled and used by other forces, which, again, made him so much less heroic (being a used object is always less heroic than being an active agent), but that’s a personal preference in my heroes. This hero was purposely non-heroic, and he stayed that way the whole way through. It reminded me a little of Hobb’s title character in the Assassin books – it’s a story about the catalyst for change, not about the heroes.

I was also pleased to see a big leap here in the quality of VanderMeer’s heroines. Ya’ll might not have noticed this, but it was something I took issue with very early on (and was what sparked my initial correspondence with VanderMeer).

Shriek had a female narrator, but, alas, she was just so dislikable for me that I was never able to finish the book. Finch was, to me, a stronger and more engaging book, and I ate it up like candy. It also had some really engaging female supporting characters. The possibly-turncoat-lover – who made the leap from “Yawn, it’s the woman who exists to have sex with the hero” stereotype to full-blown character with one particularly cutting line toward the end (very a much a “The women men don’t see” type of line), the bookish information gatherer with her own secrets, and the rebel queen, of course (every good book needs a rebel queen).  All three were strong, complex people that really stood out for me along the way, and, I think, greatly contributed to my enjoyment of the book (rebel queeeeeeeeen!).

That said, this isn’t a book for everybody. It’s weird. It’s grotesque. It will, likely, give you nightmares. And Finch, the character, is kind of boring.

But.

Ambergris is not boring. It’s amazing. And the civil war, mushroom war, and life-in-alien-occupied-Ambergris-slice-of-life is so incredibly worth reading if you’re a lover of intense worldbuilding that I can’t recommend it highly enough.

Of course there are also some plot holes, a little over-explaining at the end, and some dues-ex-machina-ing (also at the end), and a few too many nods to Shriek (which, as noted, I didn’t finish), and there’s that protagonist thing….

But if you love the type of fantasy that takes you somewhere else… with something else, Finch is a very fine romp.