Ten weeks, six books
Sep. 18th, 2018 07:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bironic
An Unkindness of Ghosts by Rivers Solomon (2017)
A difficult read because of the subject matter—manifestations of racism on board a multigeneration starship where the decks form skin color-based classes that recapitulate aspects of slavery and more subtle forms of anti-black prejudice in the U.S.—and because it was written so well. I liked how the main character, Aster (non-neurotypical, queer), and her doctor friend, Theo (agender or gender-nonconforming, queer), were misfits to the point of veering on outcasts in quite different ways from each other, and yet they found they fit well together.
Trail of Lightning by Rebecca Roanhorse (2018)
Super fun premise: Rapid sea level rise has inundated the majority of North America, but Navajo Nation is saved because citizens had started building a protective wall that the gods topped off to incredible heights. Concurrent with the flooding, various supernatural beings took physical form in our world, and the heroine, Maggie, specializes in killing the bad ones. It was fun and educational to read a new Diné take on mythology, monster slaying and the end of the world, with a sober undercurrent in remembering quips from various Native American authors and artists about how their people are best suited to surviving the apocalypse because they've already lived through it.
That said, I thought the pacing was uneven and Maggie proved unnecessarily obtuse about a couple of key characters and plot points. Emotionally, I connected most with the stuff about Maggie's lingering hurt over having been deserted by her supernatural mentor-slash-love interest and one particular scene that would be spoilery to go into.
Guardian angels & other monsters by Daniel H. Wilson (2018)
Short story collection by the guy who made me cry last year with "The Blue Afternoon That Lasted Forever," about a socially awkward physicist protecting his daughter at the end of the world. The opening story, about a chassis-hopping AI determined to save its kidnapped young charge, pushed similar buttons, and the impact of "Blue Afternoon" didn't diminish on reread. But things went mostly downhill from there.
Lots of stories about robots and robot-like parenting in the face of threats to children, as well as variations on the theme with tales about siblinghood and identity, which theoretically were up my alley, but every story, except maybe one, focused on a dude, the female characters when they did appear tended to have written-by-a-dude issues, and the violence became overwhelming. I had to bail on a couple of stories and was glad to be finished with the book.
Jonny Appleseed by Joshua Whitehead (2018)
A few days with young two-spirit cyberhustler Jonny as he reflects on his life and relationships—mainly his grandmother, mother and best friend/love—while preparing to travel home to the rez from Winnipeg. One of those books that features a main character who views the world so differently from me that it's fascinating to experience. Several layers' worth of difference: not only indigenous (Oji-Cree) and poor, but also queer, and most of all so very, very sex- and body-focused. The way Jonny fixated on sex and physical attraction and the workings of his body and the bodies of others, mostly men, reminded me of my friend S. and my cousin A., both gay men. I don't know what point I'm trying to make there, but I kept noticing and thinking about it.
What I will remember most about this book is how, over and over, the text would focus on something fleshy, slangy, frank and even disgusting and then suddenly deliver these powerful, beautiful lines, like poetry.
Also, wow, does Whitehead give sophisticated interviews.
New Poets of Native Nations, ed. Heid Erdrich (2018)
I picked this up after reading a positive review on NPR.org, where I might also have heard about Jonny Appleseed. To paraphrase the editor: A selection of 21st-century poems from 21 authors who have close ties to indigenous communities, mostly in North America and the Pacific Islands. It had been a while since I'd read a poetry collection, and I looked forward to discovering whether any of the tastings made me want more. Since this wasn't for a class, I let myself skim the ones that didn't speak as much to me or felt too difficult for bus or before-bed reading.
I found myself gravitating toward the prose-like poems, many of which focused on historical and contemporary tensions between Native people and colonizers, some heartbreaking and others funny. My favorite was 38 by Layli Long Soldier. Her collection Whereas is now sitting in my to-read pile.
Another poet I'd like to follow up on is Natalie Diaz, especially based on The First Water Is the Body—scroll down to read—and Dome Riddle. Other poems that stood out to me were:
Blizzard South Dakota by Trevino L. Brings Plenty
Simple Four-Part Directions for Making Indian Lit (under Appendix) by Gordon Henry, Jr.
A Mighty Pulverizing Machine by Laura Da´
IRL (excerpt with commentary) by Tommy Pico
Stonewall to Standing Rock by Julian Talamantez Brolaski
I wondered if the editor was related to Louise Erdrich but wasn't sure how common a last name it is. Turns out they're sisters. Also turns out Heid's name pops up all over the place now that I'm aware of it, including a guest spot on a Fargo podcast from Minnesota Public Radio, in which she talked about Native representation, '70s fashion and Hanzee Dent. ♥
A Closed and Common Orbit by Becky Chambers (2016)
A similar thing happened here as happened with Murderbot books one and two: I'd been underwhelmed by The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet, maybe a result of hype by friends—while I was happy for everyone who got their long-awaited queer-ragtag-crew-in-space-utopia story, I wanted more tension and less Kaylee Frye—but I gave this spinoff sequel a try, and I'm glad I did!
Main plot: An AI dumped into a humanoid body struggles to acclimate to her physical limitations and find her own identity while trying to pass as not-a-robot. She is helped along by life partners Pepper and Blue and by a new alien friend. Equally enjoyable B plot: flashbacks to Pepper's childhood on the junkyard side of a planet where she was raised by a different AI.
The tension I missed in Long Way was present from page one, where it's established that human-appearing AI casings are illegal and the consequences of getting caught dire; plus I found the emotional stakes effective as various relationships deepened or faltered. It worked, even though you knew based on how the first book went that things would somehow turn out all right. I liked Sidra and Tak, the quietly asexual and arguably aromantic nature of Pepper and Blue's partnership, and the glimpses of alien cultures, and while everything could have been pushed further, overall I found the book easy and pleasurable to read. My biggest complaint was switching between Sidra's and Pepper's stories every chapter. I wanted to stay in each one longer, and instead I was constantly losing and regaining momentum.
It's funny/odd, too, because when you spell it out, Sidra does resemble Murderbot. Different personality, but she thinks like a human, and her challenges work best as metaphors for human experiences, like sensory sensitivity, panic attacks and a sort of body dysphoria or proprioceptive disorder. And yet it worked for me here. *shrug*
~
On the theme of enjoying sequels more than the originals, I'm almost finished with Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik, which catered more to my tastes than Uprooted (which I did like), and the third Murderbot book, Rogue Protocol, came in at the library.
To review in a separate post: Art and Fear by David Bayles & Ted Orland
A difficult read because of the subject matter—manifestations of racism on board a multigeneration starship where the decks form skin color-based classes that recapitulate aspects of slavery and more subtle forms of anti-black prejudice in the U.S.—and because it was written so well. I liked how the main character, Aster (non-neurotypical, queer), and her doctor friend, Theo (agender or gender-nonconforming, queer), were misfits to the point of veering on outcasts in quite different ways from each other, and yet they found they fit well together.
Trail of Lightning by Rebecca Roanhorse (2018)
Super fun premise: Rapid sea level rise has inundated the majority of North America, but Navajo Nation is saved because citizens had started building a protective wall that the gods topped off to incredible heights. Concurrent with the flooding, various supernatural beings took physical form in our world, and the heroine, Maggie, specializes in killing the bad ones. It was fun and educational to read a new Diné take on mythology, monster slaying and the end of the world, with a sober undercurrent in remembering quips from various Native American authors and artists about how their people are best suited to surviving the apocalypse because they've already lived through it.
That said, I thought the pacing was uneven and Maggie proved unnecessarily obtuse about a couple of key characters and plot points. Emotionally, I connected most with the stuff about Maggie's lingering hurt over having been deserted by her supernatural mentor-slash-love interest and one particular scene that would be spoilery to go into.
Guardian angels & other monsters by Daniel H. Wilson (2018)
Short story collection by the guy who made me cry last year with "The Blue Afternoon That Lasted Forever," about a socially awkward physicist protecting his daughter at the end of the world. The opening story, about a chassis-hopping AI determined to save its kidnapped young charge, pushed similar buttons, and the impact of "Blue Afternoon" didn't diminish on reread. But things went mostly downhill from there.
Lots of stories about robots and robot-like parenting in the face of threats to children, as well as variations on the theme with tales about siblinghood and identity, which theoretically were up my alley, but every story, except maybe one, focused on a dude, the female characters when they did appear tended to have written-by-a-dude issues, and the violence became overwhelming. I had to bail on a couple of stories and was glad to be finished with the book.
Jonny Appleseed by Joshua Whitehead (2018)
A few days with young two-spirit cyberhustler Jonny as he reflects on his life and relationships—mainly his grandmother, mother and best friend/love—while preparing to travel home to the rez from Winnipeg. One of those books that features a main character who views the world so differently from me that it's fascinating to experience. Several layers' worth of difference: not only indigenous (Oji-Cree) and poor, but also queer, and most of all so very, very sex- and body-focused. The way Jonny fixated on sex and physical attraction and the workings of his body and the bodies of others, mostly men, reminded me of my friend S. and my cousin A., both gay men. I don't know what point I'm trying to make there, but I kept noticing and thinking about it.
What I will remember most about this book is how, over and over, the text would focus on something fleshy, slangy, frank and even disgusting and then suddenly deliver these powerful, beautiful lines, like poetry.
Also, wow, does Whitehead give sophisticated interviews.
New Poets of Native Nations, ed. Heid Erdrich (2018)
I picked this up after reading a positive review on NPR.org, where I might also have heard about Jonny Appleseed. To paraphrase the editor: A selection of 21st-century poems from 21 authors who have close ties to indigenous communities, mostly in North America and the Pacific Islands. It had been a while since I'd read a poetry collection, and I looked forward to discovering whether any of the tastings made me want more. Since this wasn't for a class, I let myself skim the ones that didn't speak as much to me or felt too difficult for bus or before-bed reading.
I found myself gravitating toward the prose-like poems, many of which focused on historical and contemporary tensions between Native people and colonizers, some heartbreaking and others funny. My favorite was 38 by Layli Long Soldier. Her collection Whereas is now sitting in my to-read pile.
Another poet I'd like to follow up on is Natalie Diaz, especially based on The First Water Is the Body—scroll down to read—and Dome Riddle. Other poems that stood out to me were:
Blizzard South Dakota by Trevino L. Brings Plenty
Simple Four-Part Directions for Making Indian Lit (under Appendix) by Gordon Henry, Jr.
A Mighty Pulverizing Machine by Laura Da´
IRL (excerpt with commentary) by Tommy Pico
Stonewall to Standing Rock by Julian Talamantez Brolaski
I wondered if the editor was related to Louise Erdrich but wasn't sure how common a last name it is. Turns out they're sisters. Also turns out Heid's name pops up all over the place now that I'm aware of it, including a guest spot on a Fargo podcast from Minnesota Public Radio, in which she talked about Native representation, '70s fashion and Hanzee Dent. ♥
A Closed and Common Orbit by Becky Chambers (2016)
A similar thing happened here as happened with Murderbot books one and two: I'd been underwhelmed by The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet, maybe a result of hype by friends—while I was happy for everyone who got their long-awaited queer-ragtag-crew-in-space-utopia story, I wanted more tension and less Kaylee Frye—but I gave this spinoff sequel a try, and I'm glad I did!
Main plot: An AI dumped into a humanoid body struggles to acclimate to her physical limitations and find her own identity while trying to pass as not-a-robot. She is helped along by life partners Pepper and Blue and by a new alien friend. Equally enjoyable B plot: flashbacks to Pepper's childhood on the junkyard side of a planet where she was raised by a different AI.
The tension I missed in Long Way was present from page one, where it's established that human-appearing AI casings are illegal and the consequences of getting caught dire; plus I found the emotional stakes effective as various relationships deepened or faltered. It worked, even though you knew based on how the first book went that things would somehow turn out all right. I liked Sidra and Tak, the quietly asexual and arguably aromantic nature of Pepper and Blue's partnership, and the glimpses of alien cultures, and while everything could have been pushed further, overall I found the book easy and pleasurable to read. My biggest complaint was switching between Sidra's and Pepper's stories every chapter. I wanted to stay in each one longer, and instead I was constantly losing and regaining momentum.
It's funny/odd, too, because when you spell it out, Sidra does resemble Murderbot. Different personality, but she thinks like a human, and her challenges work best as metaphors for human experiences, like sensory sensitivity, panic attacks and a sort of body dysphoria or proprioceptive disorder. And yet it worked for me here. *shrug*
~
On the theme of enjoying sequels more than the originals, I'm almost finished with Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik, which catered more to my tastes than Uprooted (which I did like), and the third Murderbot book, Rogue Protocol, came in at the library.
To review in a separate post: Art and Fear by David Bayles & Ted Orland
no subject
Date: Sep. 18th, 2018 11:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: Sep. 19th, 2018 12:00 am (UTC)"Harrowing" is an excellent descriptor for that book. And at the same time gripping and creative and so insightful, and with moments of humor and connection.
One day I will learn to describe media using more than adjectives.
no subject
Date: Sep. 19th, 2018 12:07 am (UTC)