Empire of Ivory - Naomi Novik

Returning to the world of Temeraire like an old friend, we pick up in Empire of Ivory with every dragon in Britain--save Temeraire himself--suffering the effects of the dragon plague. Many have already died, leaving the Corps in dire straits. When Temeraire is exposed, but does not sicken, they begin to wonder if his earlier cold, cured by mushrooms at the Cape on their journey to China, may have been along the same lines. Laurence and Temeraire, and others of their cohort still sick but marginally well enough to travel, head out on Riley's dragon transport ship again to try to recover the cure. Blah blah, things happen, eventually they find the mushrooms, but they also find a civilization in the African interior that again challenges Europe's notions of how dragons and humans must live together. Laurence and Temeraire's crew are taken captive, they rescue them, Capetown is attacked by the African dragons, the Europeans are driven out of Africa, but they return to Britain with the cure. The most interesting part of this book is when Laurence discovers that the military has sent a captured French dragon back to the French--after exposing it to the plague. Without the cure, thousands of dragons all over Europe will die, and so Temeraire and Laurence together decide to steal the cure and bring it to the French, in the hopes of staving off such utter destruction, rending both of them traitors.

This is... not the strongest of the Temeraire series. It's not bad, per se, it just feels like a stepping stone between bigger issues. The previous storylines were almost mandatory based on logical progression: Temeraire must fight in the war for Britain, China must eventually find out, he must return to them to figure out his place in the world, they must return to Britain, etc. This book more feels like an excuse to explore the alternate history culture of another continent, with the only real development plot point coming right at the very end of the book.

I get the commercial sense of having more books in a series (see also every goddamn YA trilogy that could be condensed into one) but it makes me wonder what this series would be like condensed into a more efficient form. I imagine there would be only four books, instead of the total of seven. I also imagine I might skim less pages of introspection and philosophy. I want the meat of the plot, the rest is just sauce.

Still, there are some rather clever moments with the characters that I enjoy, and it's not like I'm going to quit the series or anything. Clearly there's something working, even if I'm getting rather more sauce than meat.

"Jane," Laurnece said, "will you marry me?"
"Why, no, dear fellow," she said, looking up in surprise from the chair where she was drawing on her boots. "It would be a puzzle to give you orders, you know, if I had vowed to obey; it could hardly be comfortable. But it is very handsome of you to have offered," she added, and standing up kissed him heartily, before she put on her coat."

Overall: 3 stars

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Shades of Milk and Honey - Mary Robinette Kowal

My relationship with e-books has had its ups and downs. Initially I was one of those squares who was all, "Real book 4eva! Smell of paper! Musty! Happy!" and then I moved five times and after lugging twenty plus boxes of books everywhere I began to rethink think my stance on seeing books as something to 'collect'. After that I got a Kobo and began exploring the world of free epubs, and eventually for convenience I've migrated to the Kindle app on my phone and computer. The convenience is undeniable: I only have to think of a book and I can find it on Amazon, purchase it in an instant, send it to my phone, and start reading. But as I learn more about some of Amazon's business practices, including the poor treatment of workers in their warehouses and the Amazon/Hatchett fiasco of yesteryear, I'm really considering changing my spending habits to focus more locally. It's a tough call, trying to weigh my consumer conscience with consumer convenience.

Long story short, this book is an example of why I'm just so hesitant to cut that convenience cord. I found this book solely through Amazon recommendations: Jane Austen plus magic? Count me in. It's like Temeraire (Napoleon plus dragons!) but from a lady perspective. And I am all about the lady perspective, being one myself.

So the main story of this book is about Jane and Melody Ellsworth, unmarried sisters of a fairly respectable family. A few cliches jump out at me here, particularly in that Jane is the plain but talented one, and Melody is the pretty but untalented one, and they each are jealous of the other for what they lack. Once you get past that, you've got a fairly Austen-esque story of love triangles, where Melody likes both Mr. Dunkirk and Captain Livingston, and both seem interested in her, but Jane also like Mr. Dunkirk, and Mr. Dunkirk's sister Elizabeth is interested in Captain Livingston, and then there's the artist Mr. Vincent who also is forming an attachment to one of these ladies, etc. etc. Add in a dash of glamour, magic used to create various illusions that is as important as painting or music to a lady's drawing room accomplishments.

The story is okay, but you really have to like that kind of thing to start with. Which I do! It's a niche that I fit neatly into, like people who like romance novels. My only real gripe is the characterization. Jane and Melody are fairly developed characters, but it's them we see the most of. The rest seem fairly flat, which may be due in part to our POV resting solely on Jane, and the restrictions of Regency society. The protocols of social interactions at the time so heavily emphasized propriety that it makes many of the interactions seem similar, and so it's realistic that a girl like Jane would not get to know the intricacies of Mr. Dunkirk or Mr. Vincent's personalities, and by consequence the reader, seeing through her eyes, would also see only what's on the surface. But it does leave our male heroes at a disadvantage because it's hard to root for one of them, when you're not emotionally connecting with any of them. A good romance is romancing the reader as much as the heroine, and without that connection, it's infinitely more difficult.

Also, once we got to the climax of the story, it and the resolution suddenly seemed to flow very quickly compared to the rest of the story. I had to go back and reread the climax to really understand what had happened, who had been shot, etc. and then it felt like within a very short span of time, the happily-ever-after was wrapped up in a nice little bow. It felt a little easy. I would have liked to see a few more obstacles to Jane's romance, after it was acknowledged. Writers are here to throw rocks at their characters: that's what we're here to see. I don't feel it diminished the story, necessarily, but perhaps was a missed opportunity.

But it's still one of those fun reads, a tasty little snack to fill the spaces between bigger, tougher books. I'll probably go on to read the rest of the series as well.

Overall: 3.5 stars

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Artemis Fowl - Eoin Colfer

When I started this book (available for 2.99 on Kindle at the time - I mean, why not? I'd heard of it.) a friend of mine, who read these books as the actual target audience (a child), implored me. "Don't compare it to Harry Potter," she said. "Just don't."

Inauspicious start.

I fully realize that this book is not written for a reader like myself. What's interesting is that we don't always seem to know who it IS written for: When I researching it to start with, all signs pointed towards Young Adult, but that's clearly incorrect. Young Adult features protagonists in the teenage range, maybe 15-17 or so, whereas Artemis is all of twelve. If anything, it's middle grade, and that's being generous to the writing style. Because the way the book patronizes the reader, I would expect it to be more for the lower end of such.

Seems a weird thing to say about a kids book: patronizing. But I'm serious. I think kids are a lot smarter than we necessarily give them credit for. This book lays everything down in such a heavyhanded manner that there's no room for nuance or inference, which I firmly believe kids CAN pick up on. You don't need a plot point beat into your face in quite the manner that Colfer does--with a mallet, over and over and over.

The characters are all extremely flat, and any dimension they might try to show feels forced. The worst offender is Artemis's mother, written like the author only has the barest glimmer of understanding of mental illness and disdained research, instead falling back on (in my opinion, damaging) stereotypes. Some of your readers might actually have family members with schizophrenia that don't remotely resemble the grab-bag of cliches that don't even apply to schizophrenia you assembled into Angeline Fowl. Not naming any names or anything.

On a more technical note, the POV shifts repeatedly in a single chapter, which is disorienting for a reader. Enough time needs to be spend in each POV to anchor the reader, or it feels like we're drifting all over the place. For this reason it can often be simpler, though by no means required, to stick to a single POV and eliminate the confusion.

So yes, in the vein of "Don't compare it to Harry Potter", I suppose that if I were not coming at this with a background of having read books before, it might fare better. But I don't think you should have to essentially not know any better to be able to enjoy a book if it's well-written. Like Harry Potter. Or Bridge to Terabithia. Or the entirety of the Redwall series, which is clearly written to a child's level and yet manages to not patronize. Hell, The Giver could arguably be middle grade too, if we're going based off of writing complexity and protagonist age, and it not only manages to use complicated and mature themes at kids' level but also uses a lot of inference instead of hammers-to-the-face. It can be done, well and often. Just not so much here.

Overall: 2 stars

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Black Powder War - Naomi Novik

Welcome back to the Temeraire train! Still winding my way through a re-read so that I can pick up the latest book in the series right on the heels of the last. In Black Powder War we continue Temeraire and Laurence's journeys, leaving China after Laurence's adoption by the Chinese emperor when the pair receive urgent orders from home to return by way of Turkey and pick up some dragon eggs on the way (a bit like calling one's spouse to get eggs and milk on the way home, but much longer and with more danger). A lot of time in this book is spent traveling, which again, common to the previous books, does not much advance in the way of plot. They employ a guide named Tharkay who appears to be half British and half Mongolian, and implies a certain amount of suffering in consequence by the chip on his shoulder. They cross deserts and mountains, instigate an avalanche and befriend a large group of ferals, reach Turkey only to be denied the agreed-upon eggs, steal the eggs and flee (dropping one in the process, which I'll be honest, is pretty heartbreaking!). They get caught up in the war between France and Prussia, and Granby rather accidentally graduates to captain of a fire-breathing Kazilik from their Turkish eggs. Finally they arrive home, battered and bruised and worse for the wear, to find that all of Britain's dragons save themselves and the ferals they've brought along are sick with a plague and Britain's war effort is in serious danger.

Again the plot often seems as if nothing in particular is happening--there's a lot of flying, a lot of traveling, some waiting, some eating, some philosophizing. But you don't get to the third book in a series without knowing ahead of time that's what you're getting into, and must be okay with it at that point. Novik's got a talent for making that work.

But is this book that gives me the most egregious examples of terrible sentences. I give you:

Maden, who in his trade often served as a factor for British visitors, spoke excellent English, and his family also; they sat to table five, Maden's two sons being already established in their own homes; besides his wife only his daughter Sara remained at home, a young woman well out of the schoolroom: not yet thirty but old to be unmarried with so good a dowry as Maden seemed able to provide, and her looks and manner were pleasing if in a foreign mode, dark hair and brows striking against fair skin, very like her elegant mother.

That is one sentence. One sentence with two semicolons, one colon, and eight commas. I run out of breath just reading the thing. Semicolons are that tricky punctuation that everyone seems to love but few manage to use sparingly enough that they don't become obtrusively obnoxious. Let's boil it down very simply: try not to use them at all, but if you must, use them as little as possible. Periods are not the enemy. Ending sentences does not diminish your work. A period is a breath point, an internal signal for the brain to pause and catch itself; semicolons and commas do not give you that. Look, I just used one! Once.

Incidentally I've been reading about the semicolon tattoos recently and as an amateur punctuation fan I have mixed feelings. On the one hand, I appreciate the message, but the metaphor doesn't carry. "A semicolon is used where the author could have ended a sentence and chose not to," so also apply that to your life. It's hard to criticize, because I think many would take it as criticizing the message, which I emphatically repeat that I am not. That said, any writer worth their salt would end that sentence with "...but they probably should have ended the sentence after all, really, because periods are important and semicolons are overused and overvalued."

Sigh. The life of a pedant.

Anyway. Another solid entry in the Temeraire series. I will note that for all my criticism I did not find these kinds of semicolon issues in Novik's most recent release Uprooted--or at least, they were few enough that they weren't obtrusive, which is really the goal. A writer can certainly (and probably should) improve their writing skill with each book as they learn more and more about their craft, so I do not lobby this as insults against Novik herself by any means. I still envy her ability to weave a story and hey, she's certainly doing better than I am!

Overall: 4 stars

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Throne of Jade - Naomi Novik

In an attempt to get through old books (again) and give them away, I'm burning through the Temeraire series this month at a pretty consistent speed. Maybe it's because the other books I'm reading are just not very interesting, and I keep veering back to the fun reads! As helpful as craft books are, they're incredibly boring, let's admit. Sometimes you just want to shut your brain down a little bit and get lost in something fun.

Interesting cover variant.

In this, the second book of the series, Temeraire and Laurence are confronted by Chinese envoys who have heard of Britain's acquisition of a Celestial dragon. Yet again, we have authorities trying to separate the two, in a kind of star-crossed-lovers battle to stay together. Eventually it is agreed for the envoys, including a prince, Yongxing, to accompany Temeraire AND Laurence AND his crew back to China. Naturally the envoys still want to separate them, and naturally Temeraire and Laurence intend to resist. Once there the pair learns how differently dragons are treated in China, much to the disadvantage of Britain's coverts. Here we don't see dragons used as slaves to the British military cause, but treated as people in their own rights, able to travel the cities at will, purchase goods, or even starve. The price of freedom, one might say.

Here, too, Temeraire meets Lien, the albino Celestial and companion to Yongxing doomed to become the series' regular antagonist in future books. Interesting how her white color, the color of death, is seen as exceedingly unlucky, and after Yongxing's death her life pretty much falls apart because of it. You can't help but feel something for her, even as she seeks to return the damage on Temeraire. You can see how it comes from a place of hurt and anger, and so hats off to Novik for so deftly portraying that kind of turmoil, especially in a non-POV character.

 The sentence structure is often really clunky again, but that's something I want to address further with the next book, Black Powder War. Right now I'm focusing more on analyzing how to plot, with the idea that structure at a sentence level is something that is infinitely easier to teach than structure at a plot level. The Temeraire books are interesting in that, as far as external plot, there's not actually a whole lot of arc to get through. The first book was, essentially: Laurence meets Temeraire, they train, they fight some battles. What gave the book depth was exploring their relationship and that with the people around them. Here again, we find a relatively simple external plot. Laurence and Temeraire travel by ship to China, a few things happen along the way, they get to China, they meet Temeraire's family relations, there are attempts on Laurence's life, and then everything is resolved. It's not particularly complex, but it's the way that we explore this that makes this series work. I think this is owed to Novik's characterization ability (also something I want to work on in my own work) and her ability to lay out a believable historical setting with a draconic twist.

Overall it's a good read. I guess I can't claim it's revolutionary or literary gold or anything, but it's fun and entertaining, and pretty appropriate for a younger reader, too. It explores some philosophical issues in an interesting way, especially in this book, where we delve further into the subject of slavery, both human and dragon. Another issue it picks away at is class, though couched in terms of Chinese imperialism. An interesting way to talk about various issues of freedom and rights.

Overall: 3 stars

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His Majesty's Dragon - Naomi Novik

The Temeraire series is one I actually started a couple years back, but spotting Blood of Tyrants on the shelf at Half Price Books reminded me that I had forgotten to continue it once I caught up to (I think) Victory of Eagles. Naturally, I can't just pick up the unread books, though. My memory is so terrible that I barely remember what happened in previous books--a mixed blessing, shall we say, for though I have to remind myself of what-happened-when it does make for pleasant rereads. It's practically a new book! Ahem. Anyway, that meant that clearly, I had to restart back at the beginning. Luckily I still had most of the paperbacks still on my shelves, and they're such a quick read that it ain't no thing.

A not-particularly-accurate-to-text Temeraire. Todd Lockwood pretty much draws all dragons exactly the same.

So His Majesty's Dragon is the first book in the series, and opens with Captain Will Laurence capturing a French vessel during the Napoleonic Wars. By chance this vessel happens to be carrying a prized dragon egg, and it's close to hatching. England is so hard-up for aerial cavalry that they can't risk letting this dragon go wild, so it's up to the members of the crew to try and harness it, for the good of the nation. Naturally, it's Laurence himself who wins the prize, and his life is forever changed by the deep bond that grows between man and dragon. Laurence and Temeraire must face the prejudices of Navy, family, and Aerial Corps; rush through their training to help in the war; and learn how to navigate not only a new place in the world, but also the tricky political position of having acquired a priceless Chinese breed, which alone may be a grievous insult to the Emperor. 

Much of this book is devoted to establishing the relationship between the main pair, and to Laurence learning the differences between his old and new life. The incident that stands out the most, naturally, is that of Captain Rankin and his dragon Levitas. Laurence befriends him at first, I think grateful for anyone to show him the kindness of acquaintance, when so many aerial men treated him coldly as an interloper. But when Laurence meets poor little Levitas, the neglected and harshly-treated dragon that aches for a kind word, he doesn't make the connection between Levitas and the cold treatment of Rankin by the other aviators as well.

The way Novik portrays the dragons here are like hyper-intelligent dogs, in the sense that they seem to ache deeper than anything for the bond between them and their handlers. It's not as if Rankin, say, beats his partner, but he withholds all affection, and the way that Levitas responds is quite heartbreaking.

"Stay here quietly; I do not want to hear that you have been pestering the crew when I return," Ranking said sharply to Levitas, after dismounting; he threw the reins of his harness around a post, as if Levitas were a horse to be tethered. "You can eat when we return to Loch Laggan."
"I do not want to bother them, and I can wait to eat, but I am a little thirsty," Levitas said in a small voice. "I tried to fly as fast as I could," he added. 

I guess in this way I understand aviators like I understand dog people. Those of us who know the heartstring tug of a dog who only wants to be near you, touch you, be with you; know the same affection that flows from these dragons. I compare this kind of bond to the kind we see in, say, McCaffrey's Pern series. The dragons there are, too, separate beings, and extremely intelligent; but they also share a kind of telepathic bond, and I think the line between human and dragon gets blurred a lot. Which is not a terrible concept, but by this point (McCaffrey began writing Pern in 1967) we've seen a LOT of telepathic dragons, and it's getting a little worn. In Novik's series we spend a lot more time exploring the social effects of dragons existing: can you consider them human? Beast? Somewhere in between? Where is the line drawn? What rights do dragons inherently have? Can you very well keep them in essential slavery if you consider them sentient?

Novik's worldbuilding here also heavily reminds me of Kim Stanley Robinson's The Years of Rice and Salt. In that book, Robinson theorizes about what the world would be like the black plague had killed off nearly all of Europe's population, leaving China and Islam as the major world powers. You can tell that a lot of thought went into the building of this alternate history, thinking of how that gap in European power would lead to this effect, to this effect, and so on and so forth. Novik, similarly, has obviously placed a lot of thought into what the world would be like with these dragons as transport and weapons. In this way it's as much the setting that fascinates as the plot itself, which, I'll be entirely honest, isn't particularly mind-blowing or anything. But it's comfortable, like a warm fireplace on a rainy day. It doesn't have to excite to be pleasant.

All in all I do really enjoy this series, and while I have a tendency to do rereads of whole series every couple years (coughGameofThronescough) once the last book is out (slated 2016) I'll probably retire it in favor of new reads.

Overall: 4 stars

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Mistborn: The Final Empire - Brandon Sanderson

I bought this book, based on a Librarything recommendation, as an Audible audiobook. It was perhaps a big mistake.

I'll preface this post by saying this is possibly the first non-review review I'll do, because unlike that time I tried to read Martin Chuzzlewit and subsequently forgot why I like reading in the first place, I'm not going to waste an entire month trying to get through something this bad.

First of all, the narrator, one Michael Kramer, sounds bored to tears. Just listening to his voice makes my mind wander. I tried listening to this book twice, and both times, I got about a half hour through it before I realized I had no idea what was going on, no idea who the characters were, and no idea what they were talking about. Worse yet, I didn't care. What I did catch was such typical fantasy that I'm surprised this book was published in 2006 and not 1990. The thought of trying to get through 24+ hours of this audiobook makes me want to drive into oncoming traffic--and there's six more books in the series. Oh God.

In short, there's no shame in giving up on a book. This book is not for me, and makes me really appreciate Audible's return policy.

Overall: 1 star

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Et tu, Robin Hobb?

Uprooted - Naomi Novik

The second of my May new releases is Uprooted - yes, I'm still behind. The eternal state, it seems. Although I just received my preorder for my June release, so hopefully I can start that next, and get back on track.

US cover still the best cover.

Uprooted is a fairy tale at it's heart, and although still European-based, I can't fault it for that given the specificity with which Novik writes. I talked previously about a boredom with your typical Medieval-England based white fantasy, but Novik skirts these issues by drawing from Polish folklore and naming conventions. It makes it feel sufficiently "new" that it doesn't immediately ping my trope-dar, though I'll admit, I went into the story with reservations. I think Novik deliberately plays with our expectations of a fairy tale, starting with an unexpected heroine being chosen as a sacrifice to the Dragon. But as the story unravels it gets fuller, and richer, and much more enjoyable. The Dragon is really a wizard who lives in a tower near their villages, keeping watch over the mysterious Wood. The Wood itself is a central character and the primary villain, a mysterious and malevolent forest that steals villagers and corrupts them, sometimes sending them back to wreak havoc on the human world. Agnieszka is chosen as the 'sacrifice', a valley girl that the Dragon finds has an aptitude for magic, and she learns about her own power and how she can use it and work with the other wizards to save her friend Kasia, her valley, and even the entire kingdom.

I'm not wild about the romantic subplot between Agnieszka and the Dragon given their extreme age difference (hundred+ years yo) and their teacher-student power dynamic. I get that part of their story is overcoming that dynamic to emerge as peers, but it still leaves me with a squicky taste, especially when you add the trope of "woman fixes broken man and teaches him to love again". It works just fine for some people--just not my cup of tea. I think this book could have accomplished its goal without the romance at all, which would alleviate many fans' discomfort with their uncomfortable relationship.

I really like, however, the character of Kasia. Originally everyone thought she would be the girl that the Dragon chose--the prettiest, most graceful, most accomplished of all the Dragon-born girls. She prepared her whole life to leave her home to go to the tower, and by consequence her parents never really opened up to her in the same way they did to their other children, and it's no wonder that some resentment took root there. When she wasn't chosen, it was both a relief and a disappointment: what was she to do now? But the way Kasia ends up this brilliant, fierce, indestructible warrior woman--well, I just like that in a fairy tale. She's strong without resorting to being an unlikeable character. She only has to learn how to use her new strength and invulnerability to become a fearsome fighter.

Yet again, this is another new release where I've heard word of being optioned for film right away. So hooray! I wonder, though, if Novik isn't holding her breath, what with the Temeraire film 10 years in the making with no progress. Fantasy is an awfully big market for Hollywood right now, and they seem to be grabbing onto any book adaptation they can: I just want someone to follow through and actually make them into good films that deserve the same title.

Overall, I enjoyed this book a lot. Novik's writing style is unobtrusive and flows well, and I especially enjoy how she articulates things that are hard to articulate, like how Agnieszka uses her magic. It's all very vague, but it still has a certain internal logic, and it works very well in this book. I would not recommend this book for children, despite the fairy tale label, what with the sex scene and all. But it could fly for YA and any adult fantasy lover just fine.

He spent the next hour interrogating me as to every particular of how I had cast the spell, growing ever more upset: I could scarcely answer any of his questions. He wanted exact syllables and repetitions, he wanted to know how close I had been to his arm, he wanted the number of rosemary twigs and the number of peels. I did my best to tell him, but I felt even as I did so that it was all wrong, and finally I blurted out, as he wrote angrily on his sheets, "But none of that matters at all." His head raised to stare balefully at me, but I said, incoherent yet convinced, "It's just--a way to go. There's ins't only one way to go." I waved at his notes. "You're trying to find a road where there isn't one. It's like--it's gleaning in the woods," I said abruptly. "You have to pick your way through the thickets and the trees, and it's different every time."

Overall: 5 stars

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Red Seas Under Red Skies - Scott Lynch

I feel like a real theme of my reading choices lately are those with film or television adaptations. As I finish the second book of Scott Lynch's Gentleman Bastards series, I find out that the first was optioned by Warner Brothers all the way back in 2006. Whatever happened? Where's the promised adaptation? Same thing happened with Naomi Novik's Temeraire series. Peter Jackson picked up the rights nearly a decade ago now, and nothing's ever come of it. Stop playing with my heart, Hollywood. It's cruel to tease me this way.

Sometimes I just want to find some cool art to include to break up a wall of text.

Red Seas Under Red Skies picks up where The Lies of Locke Lamora left off, with Jean and Locke fleeing the city of Camorr (As always, forgive any errs in spelling, as I only know these names phonetically!). There's a lot of emotional fallout for the pair to deal with, but eventually they pick up their games again in Tal Verrar. Naturally, as is the case with the stories of Locke Lamora, everything falls to shit when someone decides to start messing with their lives. The Archon of Tal Verrar tricks the pair into drinking a poison that places them in his power, and they must do his bidding for him to give them the antidote to keep the poison at bay every eight weeks. Locke takes on the new identity of a rogue ship captain--I cannot find the spelling to save my life--and 'steals' one of the Archon's ships (with the Archon's blessing, obvs), with the goal of hazing Tal Verrar and forcing the people of the city to turn to the Archon for protection. But--surprise!--their plan falls to shit too. These books are like the definition of putting your characters up trees and throwing rocks at them.

Like the first book, I listened to this as an audiobook from Audible. Again, the narrator is great, but I find that Lynch's intricate timeline braiding limits this book's effectiveness as an audiobook: I got lost a lot. We jump around between various points in time--from Locke's depression after leaving Camorr, to a stint in a town centered around a brutal slave fighting game, to their current time in Tal Verrar and on the Sea of Brass. I suspect that had I been reading the book the delineations between times would be clearer. As much as I like the technique of plot braiding, this might be a caution against getting too complex.

Back to the concept of throwing rocks at your characters: Lynch gives poor Jean Tannen a scant few weeks of happiness in love before cruelly ripping it away when Ezri dies most dramatically. Now, the husband and I have a terrible habit of coming up with 'corrections' to plots that we think would make them better, and I'm going to indulge myself here. This part of the plot feels really hokey to me, in a "we end the book exactly where we started" kind of way. You know how (bad) sitcoms wrap up that week's storyline by the end of the show in a nicely contained box that doesn't effect any other episode's continuity? It's dissatisfying because it feels like the characters aren't really changing.

So I put this idea forth that, if someone had to die, why not Jean himself? I feel like there was a huge opportunity there for an interesting dynamic. Ezri was a really fascinating character--a daughter of nobility who ran off to become a pirate, a damn good fighter, and angry. I have a huge soft spot for angry women characters. Both Ezri and Locke deeply love Jean (yes, in different ways, doesn't change the depth) and, say, if Jean had made them both promise to watch out for the other, because he saw the depths of depression Locke went into when the rest of their brothers were killed, etc. we could have found this really fascinating dynamic of a pair continuing their game while simultaneously despising each other. Each would be the other's only link to Jean, and therefore a kind of bittersweet partner that they might cling to despite the pain and irritation. A mutual respect could grow of that. And, I'll admit, I would enjoy messing with anyone's automatic expectation that they should become romantically involved, because I could see both characters answering "What? Ew, no!" if the question were raised.

But that's not what happened, so eh. Kill your darlings, I say. Don't let your love for a character keep them around when it would be a better plot choice to dump them.

The other plot point I wondered about was Stragos' poison. I had this inkling early on that the poison was a red herring, but it never came to fruit. What if there was no poison at all? Locke makes his living on deceiving people with words and actions, wouldn't it be nice to see the same played on him? I kept waiting for the end reveal, especially after the alchemist was killed and no more antidotes were to be had, but we ended on this cliffhanger of "will Locke die?" Well, obviously we know he won't die, it's his series. So maybe that is the reveal and it'll happen in the next book, but it would have been a fun moment for a reader if it had actually been revealed.

I feel like I really could keep on talking about this book for ages, but I'll wrap it up with a note on Lynch's dialogue. I like swearing. I like swearing a lot. So I really enjoy reading a book where the swearing is natural and fits in context, and honestly, it makes Lynch's dialogue pretty funny and on point. As a whole I think he's pretty great at dialogue, with or without swearing, because the quips always make me laugh. On a whole, though, this book suffers from pacing. It felt like the longest audiobook of my life.

"I also do a brisk trade in putting knives to peoples throats and shouting at them."

Jean grinned down at her, and she handed him something in a small silk bag.
"What's this?"
"Lock of my hair," she said. "Meant to give it to you days ago, but we got busy with all the raiding. You know. Piracy. Hectic life."
"Thank you, love," he said.
"Now, if you find yourself in trouble wherever you go, you can hold up that little bag to whoever's bothering you, and you can say, 'You have no idea who you're fucking with. I'm under the protection of the lady who gave me this object of her favour.'"
"And that's supposed to make them stop?"
"Shit no, that's just to confuse them. Then you kill them while they're standing there looking at you funny."

Overall: 3.5 stars

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The Book of Phoenix - Nnedi Okorafor

The internet-o-sphere has been abuzz lately about diversity in fantasy and science fiction. It's a valid concern for sure: for over a century both genres have been dominated by white men, and the worlds they create reflect not only their time but their culture. How many fantasy stories are based on medieval Europe and all that goes along with that, including subjugation of women, feudal/monarchy systems of government and absence/tokenism of minorities? It stands to reason that if we approach these genres from outside of that perspective, we'll get new, fresh, incredibly interesting worlds that may resonate with readers who have never been able to see themselves in these traditional narratives.

Nnedi Okorafor is an outspoken proponent of fantasy diversity, and her books work to fill that void as well. Previously I was introduced to her post-apocalyptic African-based book Who Fears Death via a college course, but I realized I had a copy of her short story collection Kabu Kabu on my shelf already. And once I got into them? I was hooked. This is a fantasy I hadn't seen before.

Great art, too.

The Book of Phoenix, released this May, is a prequel to Who Fears Death. We listen to the story of Phoenix Okore, a genetically engineered woman who burns like a sun and rises from her ashes. She escapes from the tower where she's been contained for the first few years of her life (she ages dramatically fast, and is only three for the majority of the book, though she appears around 40) and, over the course of the book, discovers more about what the people who kept her captive have done to her, her birth mother, her genetic siblings, and her friends and lover, all of whom are of African descent. It's a kind of 'let my people go' quest, only Phoenix holds nothing back. She's willing to destroy everything to achieve justice.

Okorafor's worldbuilding is always a pleasure. I really enjoyed how she tied this story, not only to Who Fears Death but also to one of her short stories, Spider the Artist (which, incidentally, can be read online at Lightspeed Magazine). The anansi droids, spider-like robots, guard the Nigerian oil lines, but become too dangerous to be around people. In The Book of Phoenix, they're spotted by Phoenix swimming through the ocean, having left Nigeria. We don't know their exact intentions, but it's certainly ominous. Are they looking for more humans to kill? Are these machines programmed to hate the human race? It's a small commentary on how AI has the potential to get away from us. You can also see how these droids, and the atrocities committed by the Big Eye towers, could contribute to a mythology in Who Fears Death where humans were punished for their technological sins.

In fact, that's really the basis of the story. The Book of Phoenix is constructing the mythology of the Great Book in Who Fears Death. It's all very interconnected, and fascinating for that.

It's something to note, too, exactly how important race is to this story. I think a lot of fantasy and science fiction, when attempting to be diverse, makes race incidental to the character. And in some settings, that could make perfect sense. A fantasy world without out our particular societal baggage, I could see skin color being incidental to a character's personality. But in many others, it seems like either a mistake or a missed opportunity. Our race--though a construct created entirely by our perceptions--does have an effect on who we are. We can see that effect in the Book of Phoenix, in every African character, that their heritage is an integral part of the character and shapes how they move and talk and react and even how they see each other and how others see them. This is what I mean when I say making race incidental is a missed opportunity: there's an extra dimension to these characters because of how they interact with the world, influenced by their race.

I think this can be something hard for white authors to understand. Is this what leads authors to make entirely white casts? Or, sometimes, token characters with racial signifiers, that maybe have no bearing on the character's development? White authors certainly CAN write characters of color effectively, but I think it takes a level of commitment to writing authentically and trying to understand the experiences of someone not like yourself. But ultimately, I think it's going to be most important to continue to push for diversity in publishing, in race and sexual identity and ability. Those are the authors that are going to be giving us the deepest truths about these experiences. I say this as a white author who, still, will try to find my own place in the industry and do my best to contribute to the solutions, not the problems.

As always, your mileage may vary. All I can say is I like the focus that #weneeddiversebooks is getting, and I hope that it continues.

"Phoenix," she said. Hearing my name come from her lips made me feel stronger. "I birthed you all on my lonesome. They cleared out soon as I was in labor. They left me in that building, talked to me by portable. They were sure you'd blow up...or something. But you came out alive, eyes all open. Glowing like a little sun--orange under ebony brown. Brownest newborn I ever saw. I held you." She shut her eyes and she held my hand. She opened her eyes and looked intensely into mine. "I held you. They come back when they knew it was safe. Took you from me! They'd promised me I could raise you! That you'd be mine." She breathed heavily, wheezing and coughing.
"Easy," I whispered, patting her on the back.
"They classified you as a 'dangerous non-human person'. That's how they justified taking you from me like that. But then, what's that make me?" She coughed again, weaker. "Phoenix, give 'em hell. You hear me girl? Give 'em hell."

Overall: 5 stars

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Wildfire - Jo Clayton

So this is a really interesting post for me to write. Wildfire, published in 1992, is possibly the first real fantasy book I remember reading. It hooked me into the genre completely. Previous to that I had read mostly children's lit, including things like Indian in the Cupboard and Jeremy Thatcher, Dragon Hatcher, that often had fantasy leanings, but this book was something completely different. I found it in my stepsister's castoffs, so it must have been when I was around 10 or so, so let's say around 1995. The pretty, ornate cover caught my eye, and I've fallen down the rabbit hole ever since.

As you can see, this copy has been well-loved. The binding was retaped somewhere around ten years ago.

I had never experienced anything like this book before. The heroine was beautiful, fascinating, with amazing powers, but flawed in that she didn't know how to use them and often made her situation worse by them. She was at the mercy of a vast pantheon of gods and powers, as she tried to navigate her way through a lush world that was completely alien to me. I didn't always understand what was going on, with the world's own language sprinkled in throughout the text, but it felt immersive to me, that I was getting a sense and flavor of the world without having it spelled out, so that you could perceive the meanings of these nonsense words through their context.

I kept this book ever since, re-reading here and there. I found the first book in the series, and now I discovered the third a few months ago. But in the last year I've been reading works with a more critical eye, looking at their structure, rather than just their story, so I picked this one up again.

Honestly, it's shit.

No, really. I experienced this with the Redwall series and also the Dragonriders of Pern series, too. All things that made huge impacts on me as a kid, and as an adult, suddenly lack the luster and sparkle that I remember. Nostalgia is a hell of a drug, apparently. The 80's and 90's fantasy boom produced some really hilariously bad novels (especially covers) doing pretty much everything that is a publishing no-no today.

First, the plot is barely coherent. There's really very little tying events together in a logical way, but it's difficult for me to give a very specific example. The magus Navarre brings news of Varney's kidnapping by the Mezhmerrai to Varney's father, who promptly drugs, tortures, and sells Navarre to a wizard. But Navarre's sojourn as a drugged and broken slave is really just a few chapters long, before his friend Kitya shows up and kills the wizard, oh but a mini-god shows up, and Navarre gets his with his curse, and they all get scattered. We move through these elements SO fast that it feels like we're just barely touching on them without really exploring what's happening. It starts to feel more like an outline than the kind of story I really want to see.

Plus, the ending is a literal deus ex machina. The area's god Meggzatevoc comes down and sorts everyone out neatly, punishing the wrong doers and ejecting our main characters from his land.

I think this is one of the issues I have with writing God characters. There's really no established rules for what the gods and powers in this book at capable of. Why didn't Meggzatevoc just do this earlier, if they were making so much trouble for him? There's a subplot in the book of the city electing an Augstadievon (what that is, we never know) with a group of plotters trying to kill off candidates. The Diviners of the city can't figure out who it is because they're cloaking their meetings in smoke. Can't Megg just put a stop to that? God characters just make this whole thing too easy to solve, especially when they're only used for narrative convenience.

The language is a mixed blessing. I still do appreciate the immersive quality that Clayton imparts to her worldbuilding, however, it really could do with some explaining. So much ends up as literal nonsense because we have no idea what these made-up words mean. If you're going over the head of your reader, it's just not going to work.

Lastly, what the fuck is this formatting.

At several points throughout the novel Clayton splits chapters with numbers. We stick with one character for a scene, then abruptly shift to another, then another, or back. She uses this weird poetry-like formatting at parts where, it seems, powers are battling, there's confusion, the wrystrike curse is hitting them.. and honestly, this is not good. This is bad. Don't do this. Format normal. Your publisher will thank you for it. Use your skill at writing to convey confusion, if that's what you're going for: not cheap tricks.

So there I go, destroying another aspect of my childhood. It was fun while it lasted, but now I'm going to take what I've learned from this book, and move forward. I still have book #3 to read just for completion's sake.. I'm sure you'll hear all about that when it happens.

Overall: 2 stars

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Still pretty because somewhere deep down I'm still ten years old.

Bitterblue - Kristin Cashore

As someone who grew up reading science fiction and fantasy stories written mostly in the 1940s, 1970s and 1990s, sometimes I think about where fantasy as a genre is today. Gone are the days of Tolkien, clearly. Lord of the Rings was supremely brilliant for its time, and definitely holds a place of honor today, but because it's been such a staple of fantasy works feels dated today. Many, many authors try to emulate Tolkien in his style and his worldbuilding (and some, like Terry Brooks, straight down to his plot structure--I'm looking at you, Sword of Shannara). This seems to be a really common genre writer mistake, and one that I'm not exempt from. The next logical question is, what new road, then, do we take our fantasy down? I love the many-varied answers to this question. Nnedi Okorafor moves her fantasy into African roots instead of the medieval European standard. Urban fantasy is a growing market, as is supernatural romance. Magical realism is one that currently fascinates me. It's a question I try to answer for myself with my own pieces, naturally with varying shades of success. Is there still a market for traditional fantasy? Or are publishers and readers all looking for something new, different, exciting?

Every so often I run across an author like Kristin Cashore, who prove to me that traditional fantasy can still have new life. (See also Patrick Rothfuss, a post saved for another day.) Bitterblue is the third book of her Graceling Realm series, and it takes place eight years after the first, aptly titled Graceling. The cover says it is a companion to Fire, though I'm not entirely sure where it falls on the timeline in relation to that novel, because apparently in the year and a half since I read Fire I have completely forgotten the plotline and apparently have to go back to read it again because I apparently gave it four stars. Apparently.

Neat art in this print.

Bitterblue was a lesser protagonist in Graceling, the daughter of the depraved King Leck, who Katsa assassinated. Now she is eighteen, in charge of her kingdom, and learning how to take power in the shadow of the atrocities her father committed.

The backdrop of this novel seems quite traditional. The kind of world with a sketchy map in the front of the Seven Kingdoms, full of kings and wars and uprisings. In a way the world built here feels neutral, without real-world indicators of culture, which signifies to me that is is European based like many traditional fantasies. It's not necessarily bad, but it is the status quo for fantasy today. Cashore's twist on this basic setting is the addition of Graces, special powers that people born with odd-colored eyes have. Similar to Piers Anthony's Xanthian talents, with the exception that not everyone has them, a Grace is a unique skill conferred on the bearer that may be anywhere from as mundane as exceptional wine making or talking backwards, to as martial as Katsa's skill for survival, or those whose bearers' lives depend on them, like Po's mindreading or Hava's disguise. These Graces are what made King Leck's rule so insidious and so difficult for Bitterblue and her kingdom to move forward from: his skill was lying.

What I find the most interesting about this book is that it is less a story of adventure or royal intrigue or inter-kingdom conflict as it is a coming-of-age story about a young woman taking the reins of power for the first time. Bitterblue wants to be a good ruler to her people, but she needs to figure out who around her actually wants to help her grow into her role, and who wants to keep her under their thumb. It's more quiet evolution than grand revolution, and I like it.

On the downside, many of the minor characters are much less developed in this book than in previous. Katsa and Po feel like caricatures of their previous forms and are infinitely less interesting--in fact, most of Katsa's role in this book is to show up, go away, come back, leave again. I feel like if a character does not help drive your story forward, then there's really no point in including them in it. Similarly I think Cashore could have written the book without Po and his mindreading, because some situations resolve themselves just a little bit too easily by being able to 'think' at Po or have him know instantly if a person is telling the truth.

Also can I just point out right now that half the names in this series are ridiculous? They're ridiculous. "Death" that rhymes with teeth! Sapphire/Saf. Fire. Skye. Fox. Spook, Gray, Rood.

“You do trust him, though, Giddon?"
"Holt, who is stealing your sculptures and is of questionable mental health?"
"Yes."
"I trusted him five minutes ago. Now I'm at a bit of a loss."
"Your opinion five minutes ago is good enough for me.”

Overall: 3.5 stars

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The Lies of Locke Lamora - Scott Lynch

I don't make any secret of the love affair I have with Audible. I know the literary world has some extremely valid concerns about Amazon as a company (which has thankfully been resolved in Hachette's favor) but it's so hard as a consumer to get past the sheer convenience of both Amazon ebooks and its subcompany Audible. I use my existing device! There's no cd's to get lost! I can sync between multiple devices! The user interface of the Audible app is super easy and intuitive! But most of all? I don't have to stop reading books just because I'm doing something extremely silly like driving or cleaning house. I mean, eff that.

So I listened to The Lies of Locke Lamora as an audiobook, narrated by Michael Page. It's truly a different experience listening to a book rather than reading it, especially when you've got a great narrator. Each character's voice is made distinct in Page's mouth, and I don't know how he picked some of the accents used, but I really enjoyed the variety. There's a fine line between a good accent and a supremely obnoxious one, but Page stays just this side of it and keeps it entertaining. His Father Chains is especially entertaining.

Though that leads me into one downside of audiobooks: I never know how names are spelled. I had to look that one up. I run into this with Lois McMaster Bujold's Vorkosigan series as well: how was I to know if Vorkosigan's name was Aral or Errol? It's not so bad in The Lies of Locke Lamora though, because everything is fairly phonetic.

Summary:
Locke Lamora is an orphan of the city of Camorr, who is especially smart and especially gifted at lying. This earns him a place in the Gentleman Bastards, a group of children lead and taught by Father Chains, who are essentially world-class scam artists. They are cloaked three times: to the city at large they are priests of the order of Perelandro; to Capa Barsavi they are his sworn band of simple thieves that pay him fealty; but underneath all that they are a group of liars who prey on the wealth of the nobility. All that changes when the Grey King, a mysterious figure terrorizing Barsavi and his underlings, uses Locke to enact a long-ranging plan of revenge against Barsavi.

As a reader:
One of the first things that I really realized about Lynch's worldbuilding here is how gender-equal everything is. Sure, laugh if you want, but fantasy as a genre is chock-full of a wide range of dude-types and a narrow range of woman-types, or sometimes characters who are only remarkable because they do something particularly deadly/strong/clever as a ~woman~. Lynch bypasses all that by literally making it a nonissue. Some of the thieves are boys. Some are girls. There's no real distinction. The mysterious organization that oversees all of Camorr and is lead by the terrifyingly clever Spider? Yeah, woman. Old woman, at that. It's not necessarily an important distinction to make, but I just have to say that I appreciate the general neutrality on gender here. (Note to self: write a story where the gender of each character is determined by coin flip.)

There were parts that didn't really feel satisfying to me, however. I don't feel as if I have a very good mental picture of this world. We touch on a few different nationalities but other than descriptions of clothing I don't really know the differences between them. I'm not even sure what most of the characters look like, aside from Jean is large and Locke is small. While some of the settings are downright cool--elderglass rose garden, where each petal and leaf is razor sharp and drinks up any blood they spill--I don't have a very good picture of the city. Part of that may be due to the audiobook rather than the written word, I'll admit. It can be really easy to gloss over details when you're hearing them, and I'm never like, just listening to it without doing anything else. So your mileage may vary.

As a writer:
I found the structure of this story to be particularly interesting. We start in Locke's childhood, which is downright cliche, and something that generally makes me roll my eyes. But we diverge after that into the 'present' time, where Locke is setting up a scam as Lucas Fehrwright, and intersperse flashback chapters of Father Chains teaching the boys their craft. I think this is a nice way to give the reader a backstory without boring them to tears, by putting it in tiny digestible bites. Plus it's a way to work Chains into the story, who really is a damn fascinating character. Given that he's dead in the present time, I wouldn't get to see any of him without these jumps back in time.

Lynch writes fantastic dialogue, as well. It's probably enhanced by the skills of Page as a reader, but so many of the lines made me laugh out loud for their sheer snappy wit.

“Some day, Locke Lamora,” he said, “some day, you’re going to fuck up so magnificently, so ambitiously, so overwhelmingly that the sky will light up and the moons will spin and the gods themselves will shit comets with glee. And I just hope I’m still around to see it.”

“I cut off his fingers to get him to talk, and when he'd confessed everything I wanted to hear, I had his fucking tongue cut out, and the stump cauterized."

Everyone in the room stared at him.

"I called him an asshole, too," said Locke. "He didn't like that.” 

But what I didn't like? The so-called mystery surrounding Sabetha. Every time she's mentioned I know the reader is supposed to go, "Oh, Sabetha! They used to be lovers! Locke still hurts! I want to know what happened!" But in order to care about a character we have to have something to go off of. I know nothing about Sabetha, and so there's no reason for me to care. I'm sure Lynch is saving it for a following book, but jesus man, that dangling carrot isn't tempting, it's just obnoxious. Get it out of my way so I can see better.

Overall: 4 stars

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