The Hunger of Those Who Built It
Read courtesy of the publisher, Stelliform Press. It’s out in September; you can preorder it now.
Wendy Waring does an intriguing narrative thing in this novel. The first 60 or so pages alternate between Lou, who has managed to infiltrate The Oxbow – an exclusive and exclusionary colony, basically, set up in the middle of a crumbling Paris – and Diane, Lou’s aunt, Green architect/designer and largely responsible for The Oxbow.
Then all of a sudden we get a timeshift: back 16 years, before The Oxbow exists. Diane is offered a job in Paris, creating vertical farms and helping to green part of the city, at the same time growing food for the inhabitants. It’s a world where in theory, at least, technology is greening, and so some aspects of early-21st-century urban life can change – massive highways, for instance. But, as Diane slowly learns, there are still privileged groups seeking to keep all the good stuff to themselves.
Basically, the majority of the novel is following Diane as she learns how her dream gets turned into the gated community of The Oxbow.
So on one level, it’s a story of a woman watching her dreams get manipulated and changed away from her vision. And it’s powerful for that: how hopeful intentions can be subverted, how good plans can be made to go astray, and so on. How corporations can destroy individual hopes. And, as well, there are some intriguing ideas for how cities might indeed change – for good; this is being advertised as solarpunk, after all.
The novel is not only about ambition and technology and urban infrastructure, and the big picture, though. It’s also focused squarely on the smaller picture: Diane wants to go to Paris because she is seeking reconnection with her sister, from whom she has been estranged for many years. There are many reasons for their separation; some familial, others political and philosophical. None of them have easy solutions, and Diane is frequently conflicted about her own as well as her sister’s attitudes. What I liked about Waring’s story is how very real it feels. Siblings are exactly those people who know how best to get under your skin, and who are also (often, not always) the people you want to be drawn back to.
I have one quibble with the story: an event in Diane’s history turns out to be very different from how she understood it, which has serious ramifications, many of which are part of the point of the story. But one consequence, about the dating of other events, doesn’t seem ever to be addressed, which is unfortunately something I really struggled to reconcile.
However! All up, I very much enjoyed this novel. It’s well written – I devoured it – and Waring balances the macro, urban issues with the micro, personal issues beautifully. They each feel as important as the other.
As a debut, I am deeply impressed, and hope that we can expect more of the same in future from Waring.
Department of the Vanishing
This is another book I read because of Ian Mond. If you’re interested, here’s the publisher, Transit Lounge.
Poetry is very much not my vibe. I have always worried that I just don’t get it and so almost feel I shouldn’t be allowed to read it, and certainly not comment on it. Is this ridiculous? Of course it is. Well, mostly. Am I actually afraid of some beret-wearing, cigarillo-smoking, pretentious white man tut-tutting me?
Well. A little bit. Yes.
Anyway, I’m going to comment on this book despite my fears. And it is poetry – almost all of the text is set out as couplets, with almost no punctuation. Sometimes the story is hard to follow as a result, when it’s not clear how the clauses fit together. Which is, I presume, part of the point. A lot of the time, it’s completely clear, and a delight to read.
This is not, though, just a poetic novel. It’s also playing with the idea of found footage.
Almost every poetic page has a library stamp on it: RESTRICTED, or an accession stamp, or the link. In between poetry pages, there are collages of newspaper headlines; excerpts from the narrator’s police interviews; photographs and stills from video; pages where birds sounds are turned into text; transcriptions of the narrator’s mother’s maybe-dementia ramblings; and many lists.
Some of the found footage includes excerpts from other books, and friends, I dogeared a page because I didn’t have a bookmark handy when I got to the bit about Shifting Baseline Syndrome: “a gradual change in the accepted norms for the condition of the natural environment due to a lack of experience, memory, and/or knowledge of its past condition. (Soga & Gaston, 2018).
Ava lives in a too-near-future Australia, in 2029. She works for the Department of the Vanishing, archiving references to birds that are, or are nearly, extinct. (There’s a moment where she’s allocated the pelican: where to start? With Stormboy, of course – and my mid-40s-heart gave a great big heave.) She is also caring for her ailing mother, grieving her long-lost father, and seeking connection through a series of flings. Plus, of course, all the heartache that comes with her work.
It’s almost eye-rollingly trite to call this novel is a wake-up call, but of course that’s what it is. The idea that I would no longer hear kookaburras or magpies or the various teeny little tweety-birds I hear on the regular is horrifying. Is there something I can personally do? Probably not. Maybe I should send a copy of this book to some politicians.
It’s a splendid piece of art and I hope it gets more attention.
Platform Decay, Martha Wells
I read Platform Decay! Of course! And of course I liked it! Although… it’s a bit different from what I was expecting.
What was I expecting? I think I was expecting more pew-pew space adventures with ART, to be honest. It’s where System Collapse appeared to be leading, after all.
Instead, we get a story that’s focused on very few characters – none of whom we’ve had much, if any, interaction with in the past (Murderbot excepted, obviously) – on a new and potentially hostile space ring. There is a tie back to the previous two stories; there always is, because the Corporates are small-minded, vindictive, petty, bullies who can’t let anyone get away with anything if they can possibly do something to them.
TL;DR there is a good amount of action, there is an excellent amount of banter and snark, we get to experience quite a different space habitat, and Three is still around. I won’t be sad to come back to this one as part of my maybe-it’s-annual re-read of the series.
A few more thoughts:
Murderbot: continues to be an absolute delight to follow. I wouldn’t keep reading if I didn’t find its style immensely enjoyable. I like that we can see real change in the way it thinks about humans, more along the lines of ‘weary acceptance’ but in reality it’s a little bit more… well… emotional than that. Although it wouldn’t appreciate me using the word. I also continue to take great joy in its competence. I am a sucker for competence. Also, it’s actively learning about its organic side and taking steps to look after itself, and following other people’s suggestions (sometimes). How healthy is that??
Slight spoiler:
Continue reading →Considering The Female Man by Joanna Russ (Farah Mendlesohn)
First, (re-)read The Female Man. I think that really is necessary. Then you’ll be fresh and able to really get into the points that Mendlesohn is making in this compact and insightful book.
While I’ve read a bit of Russ criticism – including some of Mendlesohn’s previous work – I’m not claiming to be an expert. So one of the things I appreciated about this book was Mendlesohn touching on some of the previous work done on Russ in general and The Female Man in particular, to give context to this particular book. I was interested to see some of the ways that attitudes have changed, and some of the aspects that haven’t previously been explored in much depth: in particular, here, how Russ’ Jewish identity impacted on the structure of the novel, as well as the story.
It really is a wee book: 169 pages, and a tiny package. But Mendlesohn packs a lot in! There’s an introduction to both Russ and the novel – historical context, cultural and literary context, feminist context – which doesn’t shy away from the fact that Russ in the 1970s was decidedly TERF (acknowledging that she did change her views, which is the only reason I can still come at reading the book – but YMMV!). Then, three chapters going deep in literary analysis: Character; Structure; Argument. How “the Js” work as individual characters as well as aspects of, perhaps, one whole; how what feels initially like a convoluted maybe-not-really-a-narrative-at-all actually works, and why Russ wrote it that way; and how the novel presents Jewishness, anger, and humour. And an epilogue about the epilogue, which is so meta I think Russ would have approved.
I’ve read The Female Man a few times, and I always get more out of it. There are definitely things I had never noticed before – because my cultural, historical, and literary context are very different from Russ’s, there are things that just did not click for me, but which Mendlesohn has pointed out. In particular, I think, there’s the discussion about how the characters function across the story, with and against one another – their attitudes have always been what I found most fascinating, and that’s just been deepened.
One thing I will note: there are a few typos in the copy I read (eg Jael is Jane once, and Joel another time).
Highly recommended to those looking to further appreciate Joanna Russ and her work. You can get it here.
Notes from a Regicide, Issac Fellman
This is a complicated and complex, beautiful, fierce, glorious novel. There are so many things going on. The short version is: if you want a beautifully written novel involving a political story (I mean, look at the title), trans stories, a love of art, dealing with families, and a hint of science fiction – just read this. Don’t bother reading this review, just go find it.
If you need some convincing, well:
I feel like the only way I can talk about this book is to identify some of the strands, but also begin by saying all of the strands work together perfectly.
In part this is a son editing and presenting his father’s memoirs, particularly from when the father was in prison. The son, Griffon, includes notes at the start of those chapters – just a little William Goldman-esque, noting that he’s done some pruning. Those sections are where most of the politics are. The father, Etoine, lived for many years in Stephensport, an island that has completely turned its back on the wider world, ruled by a prince chosen by electors – who otherwise sleep in “the stone yard” and for whom citizens pray. Etoine is an artist, and gets drawn into revolutionary activity mostly against his will. It’s here Etoine meets fellow artist Zaffre (which really is a beautiful colour); she is a much more willing revolutionary. As someone who taught kids about revolutions for many years – well, the political bits here ring true, in the most devastating and fierce and poignant ways.
It’s also a memoir of Griffon, finding his family with Etoine and Zaffre, and also finding himself: he is trans, and it’s only on meeting Etoine and Zaffre that the possibility of living as himself starts to seem feasible. As an adult, looking back on his adolescence, Griffon is both harsh on his younger self for being self-centred and arrogant, and also forgiving for not knowing any better. It feels right.
So there is a lot about family here – having one, ignoring them, the frustrations and embarrassments and comfort, the impossibility of ever knowing people fully and the joy of being known and loved despite that. All of that alongside the politics.
And then there’s the art. Etoine and Zaffre are artists: for both of them, although in different ways, art is at the core of their identity. Fellman captures the obsession and drive of some artists, not romanticising the despair but also not ignoring the difficulties; for both, art is about life and life is about art – and it’s inextricably connected to politics, too.
I haven’t finished yet. There’s also mental illness – Etoine is an alcoholic, Zaffre has schizophrenia (maybe; her diagnosis is unclear), which they manage to varying degrees across their lives, to different effect on themselves and those around them. Again, not romanticised, but it also doesn’t make either of them a villain – and nor is it necessary to their art. It just is.
And, finally, this is a science fiction novel. Honestly it would be easy to ignore that part. It’s not quite blink-and-you’ll-miss-it, but it’s not far off. It is completely necessary to the world of the story, but it’s also not at the heart of the narrative. It’s supremely well done. I feel like there will be a lot of people who go into this expecting A Science Fiction Novel who may be disappointed by the way it uses the genre; that would be sad, but I would get it. I also think there will be a lot of readers who would love this book – for all the reasons listed above – who will avoid it because it’s called science fiction. That, my friends, would be a great tragedy. But if the foregoing words don’t convince you of that, there’s not much I can say.
Really. Just read it.
This is yet another book I have read by Ian Mond, and – intriguingly – he’s never steered me wrong. I’m not going to say we always agree, because there’s a lot he reads that I never will, but the circles of our reading Venn diagram do have some overlap.
Speculative Orientalism, by Sang-Keun Yoo
I read this courtesy of the publisher, Bloomsbury, who sent me the ebook. It’s out now.
It’s been a while since I read a book doing such serious literary analysis. And I don’t remember the last time I read one looking at such a range of science fiction authors, so that aspect alone was really awesome.
I believe that this book came from Yoo’s PhD thesis, and having read a few theses – and read a few books that have come out of theses – I can say that overall Yoo has done a good job translating what is necessary for a very specialised academic audience into what works for a slightly more general audience. There are a still a few bits – in particular, some repetitions – that I think are hold-overs from the thesis; they weren’t bad, as such, just not quite what I would expect from a book written first and foremost as a book.
I should note, though, that this is not a read-in-one-sitting, easy-going book. It requires you to actively pay attention, and think seriously about the words and ideas, because the ideas about ‘orientalism’ and Yoo’s points about how English and, in particular, American authors have used and changed orientalism, particularly as part of the New Wave – these aren’t entirely straightforward, and you want to follow the changes over time closely.
So, if you’re up for a serious read, this will suit you well!
I’ve been reading science fiction for a long time, but I am a child of the 80s, which means that “new wave” fiction was already ageing when I first became aware of it – and honestly I would still struggle to point out the real differences between pre-new wave, new wave, and post-new wave. Maybe I’m just not analytical enough? Whatever the case, one of the initial things that actually really worked for me was Yoo’s general introduction to what the new wave authors were doing, and why this was important, and what it looked like in both the UK and the USA. So that was one very useful result!
The meat of the book is looking at the – well, I hesitate to use ‘progression’ or ‘development,’ for their implications of positive change over time. I think Yoo does make a claim for progression, eventually, but it’s still a somewhat fraught term.
Let’s stick with ‘change.’ So, Yoo opens with looking at how William S Burroughs (whose work I have never read!) uses orientalism in his work: that is, references to “Asian” ideas, places, or things, whether that’s a generic “Asian” or a specific ethnicity like Chinese. Uh, spoiler? It reads as super racist. (Who am I kidding, it is super racist.) So that’s… fun.
The really serious analysis comes with next three chapters: Philip K. Dick (do I get kicked out of the club if I say I didn’t enjoy the few stories I’ve read); Samuel Delany (I’ve read a few! I refuse to read Dhalgren, though, on the grounds of too darned long), and Ursula K. Le Guin (I have read most). With these authors, Yoo traces the various influences on their writing – personal experiences, personal belief systems, and so on – and how this plays out across their fiction, and what this suggests about attitudes towards “Asian” ideas, in particular religiously and politically. Unsurprisingly, Le Guin’s use of Taoism is noted as the most nuanced and thoughtful use of those ideas, and as developing across her long career. I was also very interested to read about the African-American and Asian connections that were apparently being discussed in the 1960s, about which I knew nothing.
Overall? This is not a book for a casual reader. It is a book for someone who likes thinking about meaty issues, and who already has at least some familiarity with some of the works being discussed. I’m very pleased that I got to read it.
Artifact Space, Miles Cameron
I received this to review courtesy of the publisher and NetGalley.
Is Marca Nbaro really just too good, too fast? Yes.
Is some of the ‘science’ highly dubious, and does much of the technology require quite a lot of hand-waving? Also yes.
Did I absolutely devour this book and am I eyeing off the sequels? Also yes.
Nbaro grew up in an orphanage, which was hell, and now she’s shipping out on one of the nine greatships of human space, the Athens. It’s all she’s ever wanted to do and be. Of course, getting there wasn’t at all straightforward, and the first few weeks aren’t straightforward either. And then when things settle down for her personally, things go very sideways for the ship.
One thing I appreciated, in my current need for not-too-confronting fiction, is that we don’t start off in the Orphanage. There’s enough to understand just how dreadful Nbaro’s life was there, but there’s no dwelling on the horror. Instead, this is a very smartly paced story: it’s basically the written version of an action movie, and it’s good at it.
I can’t quite figure out the politics behind the human world here: Nbaro hasn’t exactly joined the military – they’re a merchant service more than a military – but there are nonetheless marines, and the ship has weapons… everyone is encouraged to be involved in trade while they’re serving… it’s a weird mix of capitalism and socialism. Doesn’t really bare close examination, but at least it’s slightly different from unrestrained capitalism. Mostly.
Look, overall, this is a swash-buckling action novel with an outrageously clever and capable lead character who is nonetheless very appealing, and I enjoyed it a lot.
Countess, by Suzan Palumbo
Did I ignore this book for several months because I have never read The Count of Monte Cristo? Yes.
Was that foolish? Also yes.
Should I have paid attention to the fact that this is a) gender flipped (mostly), b) space opera, and c) a novella, NOT LIKE the 1000+ PAGE PLUS ORIGINAL? Oh yes.
So, this book is great. Like everyone who has raved about it has suggested. A young migrant woman rises through the military hierarchy of her beloved adopted home, desperately proving that she can be as good as any of the white-skinned folks (did I mention this is anti-colonial as well?) of her new planet. And then, of course, things go very bad because Jealousy, and she ends up in prison. It’s not too much of a spoiler to say she escapes (the original is basically one long revenge fantasy, as far as I can tell), and then things… well. Things change.
Palumbo writes beautifully, illuminating the relatively-newly-colonised planets as distinct places but also evoking the original Terran homelands, especially of the Caribbean. I did go and read the Wiki for The Count after reading this, to get a sense for how closely she kept to the original, and the answer is ‘pretty close but also not slavish’ – SEE LENGTH in particular. Having said that, this is obviously an excellent example of how you don’t need to have read the original even when it’s clearly a book riffing off another: Palumbo has made this story all her own.
Magnificent.
The Folded Sky
Apparently I didn’t review either Ancestral Night or Machine? Oops.
Quick recap: very far future, galactic colonisation, (most) humans live alongside other species, they have ‘right-minding’ to deal with anti-social tendencies, and there’s an ongoing search for the remnants of long-dead very powerful alien predecessors. Also, there’s FTL travel, through White Space.
The three books in the White Space series are connected by being set in the same universe and dealing with some of the big issues, and events from previous books make the next books happen, but there’s basically no character connections.
In this book, the archinformist (historian) Dr Sunya Song has left her family to go do research in one of the most exciting discoveries in centuries – an ancient AI left by that predecessor civilisation. Of course, things do not go at all as planned, starting with the very snarky AI ship she travels on, moving rapidly to a pirate attack, and then the arrival of her arch-nemesis. And there are the actual and attempted murders.
This is a space opera, with a whole lot of discussion about inter-species relationships on a personal and societal level, with both the continuation of racism and the desire to understand The Stranger playing significant roles. There’s also some interesting crossover between this and Arrival / “Story of Your Life” in terms of how someone can come to understand a species whose entire way of looking at reality is utterly different from your own.
On a more mundane level, this is also a murder mystery, since Song gets involved in that side of things, when perhaps she shouldn’t.
Overall this is a really fun story, with characters I enjoyed and a plot whose resolution I didn’t entirely expect. However I must note that there were disappointments, particularly in some poor editing. For example on p414 of the trade paperback, and a few other times, questions are asked and then not answered in the conversation. Obviously this is sometimes deliberate, but there’s no suggestion that’s the case here – it just feels like a line is missing. There’s also some repetition of information that feels like it’s been doubled up because someone wasn’t sure where it should go.
Will I read another book in this series? Of course I will.
New Philippine Speculative Fiction 1
And another book sent by Charles! You can buy it from the publisher.
This anthology is both a mixed bag and a diverse collection – ah English, you are hilarious.
Some of the stories brought together here are absolutely brilliant. There are very few names that I recognised, and many that I hope will have their work picked up by and read further afield.
Of course, any anthology is going to struggle to please a reader with every story. So as expected, there were stories that really did not resonate with me here. Most of those were the horror stories – which is entirely to be expected, since that is not my vibe at all. In particular some of them leaned far too heavily on body horror for my tastes, so I simply skipped them. If that’s your vibe, then I’m glad for you that they’re included here. There were plenty of other stories here that did work for me: there are 35 stories included!
Some stories were clearly and obviously leaning into Filipino places, ideas, history, and language; I definitely didn’t get all of the references in those, but I got enough that I could appreciate the story. Others were, I guess, more “universal” – whatever that means, given the stories are presented largely in English. One of the fun things about an anthology like this is that the only connective tissue is the identity of the authors: there are no themes or ideas tying the stories together, so you have absolutely no idea what you’re going to read next.
Some favourites:
- Jose Elvin Bueno, “Cadena de Amor” – the narrator’s perspective here was intriguing, and the story tantalising
- Vida Cruz-Borja, “Call of the Rimefolk” – art, space, aliens, love, family. This story is magnificent.
- Exie Abola, “Shadow Sisters” – difficult to characterise, gut-wrenching if you’ve got siblings.
- Ian Rosales Casocot, “The Apologist” – I don’t like this story. It made me angry and feel powerless. It’s very well written and it reflects modern media too well for my liking – how rich people can get away with anything, and how PR works. More people should read it.
- Kate Osias, “The James Machine” – AI stories are still very Now. This is a simple story, in the sense that the narrative is straightforward and it doesn’t dive deep into philosophy; it’s also poignant and lovely, and the subtitles throughout are a masterstroke.
Highly recommended for getting a taste of what the Philippines is producing.
Randomly Yours, Alex 