Reading roundup
24. Dave Duncan, Ill Met in the Arena -- this is a book I never would have picked up if I hadn't already enjoyed Duncan's King's Blades books. The title sounds pulpy, the picture on the cover (a guy yelling and hurling a spear) was rather off-putting, and the premise ("For generations, the nobles of Aureity have selectively bred their children to maximize their potential for psychic talent. Women's powers, including psychic control and mind reading, make them ideal rulers. Men have superhuman strength and can teleport to any place they have previously visited. Consequently young noblemen make their forturnes by competing in psychic gladiatorial contests") sounds kind of ridiculous. But I picked it up, because it was by Duncan, and I read it, and I quite enjoyed it, even though it wasn't really my cup of tea.
Quirt's narrative voice is understatedly snarky, often at his own expense, which made him a pleasant narrator. The world-building works better than I had imagined from the blurb -- there are interesting explorations on how things like marriage, rape (male and female), family relationships, justice, and government work in a world like that (e.g.: "And so I swore to obey, defend, and -- when so instructed -- impregnate the specified lady, forsaking all others unless instructed otherwise"). And there are interesting cultural quirks, including various Eastern influences that are just there, not explicity called out. The central mystery that Quirt is trying to solve is sufficiently engaging (and the resolution seems fitting). There are pleasant supporting characters (and a number of them die, raising the stakes); I particularly liked Mandola, in all her youthful vivacity, even though she only appears in flashback, after her death. I liked Quirt's interaction with Mandola's brothers, e.g. Quirt and Mandola's brother Jasp after Quirt defeated him in the arena:
"You are the meanest whelp of a gree I ever met." [Jasp] offered me a hand.
I took it with both of mine. "Noble, you are stark raving crazy."
"I thought I was a dead man."
"So did I," I admitted. "I'm glad you're not."
"See you at the party."
And I especially liked Quirt's developing relationship with Humate, from rivals to sort-of-brothers, and Humate in general, with the cocksureness of high nobility and youth but some personal moral strength buried in there.
So, this was a pretty cool read. I wouldn't mind reading more stories set in this world.
25. Ysabeau Wilce, Flora Segunda -- I've wanted to read this book for a while, ever since
mistful wrote about it. I really liked it, too. As
mistful says, it's quirky, but quirky in a fun way. It had a bit of that magical realism feel I associate with the Latin American writers like Marquez -- odd stuff that was stated as if it was perfectly normal and grounded in the same detail as the rest of the realistic setting. I'm guessing that was intentional, because there are a lot of Latin-type details (like tamales) and Spanish-derived words, although that all is mixed with details and words and names from very different cultures, resulting in a fun, eclectic sort of hodge-podge. There are all these "cultural" details like everyone, men and women, wearing kilts and nailpolish (apparently) and makeup being part of the army dress uniform (apparently) that are never explained and only mentioned in passing, which was kind of cool. And I like the way the history of Califa and Flora's ancestors' and other historical figures' role in it was revealed very gradually, with no info-dumps at all. About the only cultural detail I *didn't* like was the use of "Ayah" and "Ayah so" as a stand-in for something like "OK" and/or "Well" -- that got really grating, probably because it was the only phrase so used, and it was used a lot. But I really enjoyed all the weird setting stuff, like a comforter sown by Flora's great-great-great-grandmother from caputred flags and stuffed with the hair of her enemies. or the fact that Udo's mother married identical triplets,
I liked Flora well enough -- she is a believable heroine and believable young-teenager, intelligent and practical and flawed and self-pitying (she's got lots of good reasons to pity herself). Udo was fine, too, and Valefor was an interesting and unusual villain (in that he really wasn't one); I don't know why, but for some reason I kept hearing his lines in the voice of Roger the alien from American Dad. What I really liked were Flora's parents -- her Mamma the general, called Buck by pretty much everyone, and her father Hotspur, who came back from captivity a crazy and broken man and lives up in the Eyrie now, drinking and coming down occasionally to trash the house, and has to be returned to his rooms by Buck pistol-whipping him. I liked Buck from the very beginning, and Hotspur after Flora meets his younger self in a very touching scene. There is a touching, hopeful sort of ending for Flora and her parents, which I liked better than the other elements of the plot, involving looking for magic words and objects and trying to rescue the Dainty Pirate.
As
mistful remarked, there is a slightly weird disconnect between the narration of the novel and its whimsical details -- which make it feel "younger" -- and some of the rather more grown-up themes -- infidelity, parental insanity, child death, the skeevy old Warlord coming on to Flora. I can't say I *liked* that disconnect, but it didn't interfere with my enjoyment of the book.
I know there's a sequel out, and I definitely want to read it.
26. was Watchmen, which I've written about already.
27. Steven Brust, Jhegaala -- I actually don't have a whole lot to say about this one. It's a Vlad Taltos book, and I liked it in the way I like Vlad Taltos books -- there is snark and peril and real consequences of mistakes and appetizing descriptions of food. It was interesting to see Vlad among Easterners, both because he was out of his familiar environment (him learning to deal with the sun and forests and not being able to use sorcery was interesting) and because he finds that it's not so much that most Dragaerans make him want to kill them as it is that this seems to be his reaction to most people, human or Dragaeran. There is a lot of conversation with Loiosh, which is always fun. There are several days of torture, which are not described but sort of implied, and the extent of it is seen in the amount of medical care Vlad requires after the fact and how long it takes him to recover. (It's still not clear, to me, anyway, whether this is when/how he lost his finger.)
Oh, and there's the pig eatin's inside joke, that I actually knew from
skzbrust's journal.
Quotes:
"Boss, remind me again why you won't kill an Easterner."
"I never said I wouldn't kill an Easterner. I said I won't accept money to kill an Easterner."
"The story is that the Count, the old Count [...] went off his head. Started thinking all the witches were trying to kill him or something."
"Were they?"
"Eventually."
"There's nothing worse than wanting to push and not having anything to push
against."
He [Loiosh] started naming things that were worse until I told him to shut up. There's nothing worse than a smartass who pretends not to understand hyperbole.
28. Joe Abercrombie, The Blade Itself -- I picked it up because one of the cover blurbs compared it to GRRM, which I didn't really believe, but wanted to see for myself. And, yeah, it's no ASOIAF. And the first third of the book rather annoyed me, but I settled into it eventually, and will look for the two sequels. The blurb also describes it as "noir fantasy" and, well, it is, but I think it somewhat misses the point of low fantasy. Or, rather, hits the point too hard and comes out on the other side. Everything is gritty and filthy and nasty. Everyone is reprehensible. And, to me, that's no longer a realistically gritty premise -- it's just a bunch of unpleasant people squabbling pettily in squalor, and what fun is there in reading about that? Every other metaphor/simile involves piss in some way. The characters keep saying "shit" and "fucking" to the point where those words lose any potency they might have had, and those bits of dialogue don't even sound natural. And they sound boring, too -- swearing could be done a lot more colorfully. And everyone keeps falling on their arses and vomiting and all sorts of other charming things, but in a way that doesn't have much impact. Maybe it's just that Abercrombie isn't a very good writer (yet -- it's his first novel)?
Another cover blurb promises "unforgettable characters" and, yeah, not so much. All of the secondary characters appear to be vacuous idiots and/or criminals, which, I really don't think you can populate a world *only* with nasty people. Dashing noble captain Jezal is an idiot and a cad, and the fact that he ostensibly falls in love doesn't make him any more likeable. The other characters did fare slightly better with me as the book went on, although I can't say I was bowled over by any of them.
Logen, the quiet, practical sort of barbarian who is surprised after surviving each fight, kind of grew on me. And the scene towards the end where his berserker!self takes over was interestingly done. But I have a hard time understanding why he had once been aligned with/working for Bethod. The only thing I could come up with was grief over his family's death had driven him to the point where he just wanted to kill stuff, but that's my speculation, not supported by anything in the book that I noticed. I did quite like his thoughts on first coming to the big city: "Now there were people on every side, pushing, jostling, shouting. Hundred of them! Thousands! hundreds of thousands! Could they really all be people? People like him with thoughts and moods and dreams? Faces loomed up and flashed by -- surly, anxious, frowning, gone in a sickening whirl of colour. Logen swallowed, blinked. His throat was painfully dry. His head spun. Surely this was hell. He knew he deserved to be here, but he didn't remember dying."
Glokta is interesting. He is this book's "Tyrion", I guess, with the difference that while Tyrion was born a dwarf and never knew a better life, Glokta was a dashing officer of the highest nobility before he was crippled through torture at the enemy's hands. Now he is in constant pain, working for the Inquisition and torturing people for a living, seems to hate everyone, and keeps running sarcastic commentary on everything. That, actually, kind of gets old. My biggest problem with Glokta, though, who has a lot of potential to be a truly interesting character, is that it's not clear at all *why* he is working for the Inquisition. He doesn't seem to know himself -- "Why do I do this?" is his frequent refrain. But the thing is, I couldn't quite tell whether there is an actual reason and he just can't bear to admit it to himself, or... the author wanted him to be an Inquisitor, and couldn't work out the motivation, so he just turned that apparent lack of motivation into a plot point. I could see it as Glokta having turned to the Inquisition because he hates everyone and torturing people for a living seems pretty attractive; that's kind of dark, though, and he doesn't seem to actually *enjoy* it, either. It's possibly that originally he believed in the ideals of the Inquisition and the king's justice, but he doesn't seem like the idealistic sort... So, I don't know. (Also, for all the talk about torture and the general grittiness, there is not a whole lot of it onscreen. But the scene where the prisoners give answers in court post-torture is quite powerful, and does more to imply the horror of it than a
graphic real-time description of torture could, I think. So, good choice there.)
I liked Bayaz, the First of the Magi pretty well. He is clever and snide and yet not infallible, and, well, I just like powerful wizards with short tempers, OK? But I also liked that magic clearly takes its toll on him, and also that he can be
pretty damn ruthless in pursuit of whatever he wants. Oh, and I was quite amused by the scene where he purchases theatrical garb for himself and his companions, to better look the part of who they actually are. That was a pretty clever authorial touch. The Ferro and Yulwei storyline felt rather tacked on, but Ferro started growing on my a little with her disdain for the "pinks". I don't think she's actually a real character yet, but I have some hope for her becoming one. Oh, and Brother Longfoot was actually amusing, in his over-the-top way, which was somewhat surprising to me.
My favorite character is actually Major West. (And I might want to slash him with young!Glokta or clueless Jezal, a little bit.) At first he seems like the one mostly-decent person in the whole book, especially compared to Jezal, and he actually is decent, but then he hits his sister in the face (and... I didn't *quite* believe that scene, but I suppose I can suspend disbelief enough to be convinced that a boy who grew up with an abusive father could have that suppressed tendency and have it come out in a time of great stress. But I still don't quite believe it) and we learn that he basically abandoned her to the abusive father. The scene with him sobbing in Glokta's room was interesting, too. I don't find Ardee West particularly interesting, but I did enjoy her repeatedly telling off Jezal, so at least there's that. I certainly don't see what, if anything, she sees in him, though.
The vast conspiracy everywhere and the whole business with the Eaters (cannibal mages, apparently) hasn't been very interesting so far, and the world-building in general is pretty standard, with the addition of the Inquisition. I do like it that we get inside views from three distinct cultures (so far) -- the Union, the Northmen, and the Southerners. It's nice, too, that none of the groups are shown to be monolithic -- there are distinctions and sides among the Northmen, and internecine strife in the South, and the Union, of course, is pretty discombobulated, too.
29. Tess Gerritsen, The Keepsake -- it seems that the less Maura Isles there is in Gerritsen's books, the more I like them. I thought the premise of the mystery -- the Archeology Killer who preserves his victims' bodies in various historical ways -- mummification, shrunken head, bog body -- was neat and unusual. The twists and turns of the plot kept my interest and kept me reading quickly, even though I could anticipate most of them (except Carrie Otto) at least a little ahead of the detectives. As always, I like Jane Rizzolli, and I've always liked her partner Barry Frost, too, so having him get an actual character-driven sideplot was pretty cool (and I found the scene where he tells Jane about the divorce, after he screws up majorly on the job, unexpectedly moving). I'm glad he got to play the hero in the end. Maura's romance with Father Brody continues to be pretty uninteresting to me -- it's unhealthy, but not in a *fun* way, you know? Not that I want her to get together with Sansone, which Jane's internal monologue seems to be hinting towards.
30. Patricia Cornwell, Scarpetta -- It's funny, I think after Predator, my expectations for the Scarpetta books are so low, that if I don't want to close the book and never touch it again, that feels like enjoyment. So, I feel like I enjoyed this book, but should be open about the context, you know? I did like the series much better before Cornwell abandoned the first-person POV narration, because Scarpetta has become (even) more of a Mary-Sue since then. Other characters are always thinking of her as a "powerful woman" and hero-worship her, and are being reminded of her by Hillary Clinton.
They've all moved to Boston and New York, for various reasons. Scarpetta and Benton are married now, though it doesn't seem to be working particularly smoothly for them. The book does end on a very hopeful happy ending, with everyone paired up and Benton and Kay being all lovey-dovey. Lucy falls in love with Jaime Berger, the ADA. I liked Jaime and her air of calm, unapologetic command. I'm not necessarily seeing the chemistry between her and Lucy, but it could be a good and interesting relationship. And Marino, who did not, of course, commit suicide but has, instead, cleaned up his act and is currently on the wagon, gets a girlfriend, whom I also liked, and whose mutual appeal I could believe. The tension between Marino, Scarpetta, and Lucy is resolved, and, really, everyone's relationship feels healthier than it has in ages. I was actually wondering if this might be her way of wrapping up the series, but apparently there's another book forthcoming in 2010 (The Scarpetta Factor -- she is not even trying with the titles anymore...)
Oh, yeah, the mystery. The angle of the victim and original primary suspect being little people was interesting. There were some rather random digressions on fonts, and I don't feel like all the loose ends were wrapped up adequately MASSIVE SPOILERS for the killer, etc. from here on(why was the killer still working at a dermatologist's office? and the puppy-killing (not kidding!) job? and his actual day job? and, you know, going around murdering people? how many hours in a day does he have?) I also thought that Terri being Gotham Gotcha was kind of random -- I didn't see that in her personality at all. I guess Lester, the jealous, misogynistic female ME was supposed to be the red herring, but the actual answer doesn't really make sense... And as for the killer... Aside from the hours-in-a-day problem, I don't know... Morales felt totally over the top. It's clear he is an asshole, but to have him be guilty of, essentially, everything ever was kind of hard to believe. Though I do have to say, the cop responding to a murder scene also being the murderer was a neat idea.
31. Jim Butcher, Turn Coat -- I actually thought this one started kind of slowly and thus took me longer to get into than the Dresden Files books usually do (probably because while Harry is on a deadline, he is not in immediate peril when the book starts). But once the plot started unfolding, my interest really picked up, I couldn't put the book down for the last 100 pages or so, and the ending actually makes it one of my favorites in the series (maybe #3 after Dead Beat and Proven Guilty, but probably in the top 5 in any rate). Because there is a lot of stuff about this book that I liked. Like:
Morgan's death. Not the fact that Morgan's dead, but the way the whole thing played out, where he is willing to accept an ignoble death and die reviled as a traitor for the sake of giving the Council its show of strength -- that he would sacrifice personal honor for the sake of duty seems really fitting for him. And that, after accepting that death, he gets to die taking out the real assassin, even though he is still remembered as a traitor, making it a sacrifice on two levels. And I really liked the revelation that he'd chosen to be seen as the murderer to protect Luccio (especially since it was not at all clear how the real traitor could've so fully suborned Morgan, who was not at all young and so dedicated to the Council; the "young people are more vulnerable" thing may not have been all the deeply justified, but at least it's internally consistent this way.) Oh, and Morgan nuking his skinwalker? Badass! Also, Morgan, ahem, "appreciating" Molly was unexpected but interesting.
Thomas, if by "liked" we mean "was rather heartbreaking". I'd spoiled myself for Thomas's turn back to the dark(ish) side, but not the specifics of what had caused it, and, holy crap, the description of the way the skinwalker tortured him was pretty chilling -- possibly the scariest thing in these books yet. And, of course, he still loves/is loved by Justine (their scene together at Zero was really, really touching). I've heard people advance the idea that, after this, the only thing to hope for with Thomas is a hero's death saving Justine and/or Harry's life, but... I'm hoping that's not the case. I think, for the final fist-bump with Harry, there is enough Thomas left in there even now that he can still heal rather than die for his redemption, and I very much hope that ends up eing the case. Nobody is allowed to kill Thomas! Relatedly, it was very nice to see Lara in action, and to see that Harry is apparently getting, ahem, deeper in bed with her. Especially now that Harry is no longer protected by "twu wuv".
Molly. I've always liked her, and I've been liking her more and more with each book. I like that she is still tempted by the darker, warlocky aspects of magic -- always for a good cause! At first I found it hard to believe that she would try to use that sort of magic on Luccio, but I came around -- she's a teen, it's quite believable, in retrospect, that she'd think she could get away with it. And, of course, she makes the right, brave choices when it counts and thinks on her feet and all that. I can't wait to see more of her, as she comes deeper into her power.
The Merlin and the Senior Council in general. I always felt that the portrayal of the Merlin was kind of weak -- he seems so ineffectual, so uninterested in doing good, that there wasn't really anything to him in the earlier books than just a powerful bureaucratic antagonist for Harry, sort of the hard-assed assistant principal nemesis. But in this book we finally got to see him in his element -- both politically, with the considerable self-control under pressure during the manhunt for Morgan, and magically during the mistfiend attack. I used to think that we were headed for a showdown between Harry and the Merlin at some point, but now I think it's more likely that Harry will actually -- well, not win him over to his side, but make it expedient for the Merlin to side with him. And I liked seeing McCoy and Injun Joe in action, too, and the fact that Harry now has some backup in his work against the Black Council (and I like them calling themselves the Gray Council, too).
Stuff I didn't like so much:
Everybody raved about the skinwalker in their reviews, but I wasn't terribly impressed. My problem, I think, is that he seems to be getting less powerful as the book goes along. At first he is this nightmare that reduces Harry to gibbering and destroys Chateau Raith, but after a while he is taking his lumps from Harry (OK, genius loci-enhanced Harry) and is driven off by Injun Joe. (I liked the shapeshifter duel -- it's one of my favorite fairy tale tropes -- and Injun Joe kicking ass, but it felt kind of anticlimactic for this particular baddie.
Also, and maybe it's because the rest of the book was pretty dark, the humorous bits -- the Mouse sitting on people tableaus and even the occasional jokes/wisecracks -- felt kind of forced and out of place, which is the first time I felt that way about a Dresden book.
Also also -- and this is a total nerdy nit -- the whole thing with Harry "calculating" primes when trying to distract himself from the skinwalker? Uh, no. You can't calculate primes -- that implies a formula, and there isn't one. And I kind of doubt Harry can do the Sieve or Eratosthenes in his head, unless he is a savant. Should've gone with the Fibonacci sequence, Jim. :P
Other random things: I was surprised there wasn't more mention of Michael and his current condition in the book. I'm intrigued by Demonreach and what's in store for Harry (I feel like this was partly introduced to replace the peril-hanging-over-his-head now that Lasciel's gone). Thought the identity of the traitor on the council was clever but rather anticlimactic, making it sort of a wash. Glad the thing with Luccio is over (didn't last long!), and I guess it's paving the way for Harry/Murphy, which I'm theoretically all in favor of, but afraid Butcher might screw up (seeing how I *hated* Harry/Susan). (Also, randomly, I feel like the books have been getting more... not explicit, but maybe direct is the right word, in terms of sexual things -- like, before the content was all still there, but I feel like the way it was expressed was more coy/allusive than it is now. Just sort of a random observation.)
Quotes:
Harry, on Morgan: "He thought I was a dangerous animal and needed to be put down. [...] He was wrong. That doesn't make him a villain. It just makes him an asshole. It isn't reason enough to kill him."
"Bureaucromancer."
"This is Waldo Butters. [...] And his geek penis is longer and harder than all of ours put together."
32. Terry Pratchett, Nation -- I was kind of concerned, before I started it, that I wouldn't like it as much because it wasn't Discworld. I needn't have worried. I don't like the universe as much as I love Discworld, of course, but I still really liked the book, as much as I normally like Pterry books. It made me tear up rather a lot, including in the "Today" chapter/epilogue, and while it didn't make me laugh as much as Discworld books do, there is certainly a lot that's funny in it.
I really liked Mau, his development from likeable boy to chief making a new life on Nation. And I loved Daphne -- she is clever and competent, and yet quite hampered by her upbringing and cultural background, but quite willing to overcome those limitations. I liked the fact that when she kills a man, she wants to be tried, even though she'd told him how to make the beer safe. And she is capable of ruthlessness, too, like when she dealt with her cousin ("In the end, she'd accidentally broken two of his fingers under the nursery rocking horse, told him she'd put wasps down his trousers next time if he didn't mend his ways, and then burst into tears when people came running.") I think, btw, that Daphne is a Tyrell.
What I especially loved was the way Daphne and Mau related to each other from the very beginning, giving each other the benefit of good will even when she thought he was a savage and he thought she was a strange ghost -- the way she brought him food and he tried to politely eat her scones, and she tried to make sense of him throwing the spear at the ship and thanking him for it. It was just quite unusual to have both representatives be so willing to put themselves in the place of the Other and cooperate right of the bat, while really not understanding each other.
They get a sort of "Amber Spyglass" ending, complete with mention of parallel worlds, but I actually liked this one a lot more than Will and Lyra's, probably because it's dictated by mundane responsibility rather than Dust, and it's not a "good-bye forever" kind of thing -- Daphne does come back with the ship, and so do her offspring. Oh, and, "They would feed you to their wives, so that they become beautiful" is such an awesome line.
I always like Pterry's villains, who are scary and larger than life and yet seem to exist in the real universe by how other people react to them. First Mate Cox is no exception -- there's even a kind of almost hypnotic dark charisma to him, and the way he dies with a big grin on his face is very fitting. I also liked the fact that the Raiders clearly know he is crazy and would rather have nothing to do with him -- that's a realistic "minion" reaction to someone like Cox, rather than the much more common inexplicable blind loyalty to a dangerous madman. It was also curious to see Daphne's grandmother, who reminded me of a non-fun Olenna Tyrell.
I liked the building up of Nation, the various things everybody had to do and learn to do, like Mau milking the pig, Twinkle's birth, etc. I was somewhat less taken with the epidemic subplot and the whole Nation = Atlantis (or whatever), though I did like the journey into the cave of the Grandfathers. Partly, I think, it's because it felt a bit like a copout to the questions Mau was asking about why the trousermen had all these scientific things they didn't have, and the tension there. But it didn't bother me or anything.
I liked the way Mau can't get the axe back out of the tree the first time, the way that undermines narrative expectations, until the tree with the axe appear again at the climax and he does get to use it then -- that was pretty cool, and very Pterry. And I liked the tree-climbing octopus at the end.
Quotes:
"[Daphne's father] believed in rational thinking and scientific inquiry, which was why he never won an argument with his mother, who believed in people doing what she told them, and believed it with a rock-hard certainty that dismissed all opposition."
"Normally people tended to be very quiet in the parish church. Perhaps they were afraid of waking God up in case He asked pointed questions or gave them a test."
"Her [Daphne] getting married still seemed to be the big topic of discussion in the Place. It was like being in a Jane Austen novel, but one with far less clothing."
"'You are very clever,' said the old man shyly. 'I would like to eat your brains, one day.'
For some reason the books of etiquette that Daphne's grandmother had forced on her didn't quite deal with this. [...] Daphne, cursed with good manners, settled for "It's very kind of you to say so."
[...]
Mau approached her, smiling. 'Their priest likes you.' he said.
'Only for my brains.'"
"There should be a word like honeymoon, Daphne thought, but not about husband and wife, rather about parent and child." [Yes, yes there should.]
Currently reaiding : Cast in Secret, and will probably read Terrier next, in case I can't renew it prior to the trip. I should probably put this Kelly Link book (where I've read about half the stories in a prior anthology) out of its misery, too.
Quirt's narrative voice is understatedly snarky, often at his own expense, which made him a pleasant narrator. The world-building works better than I had imagined from the blurb -- there are interesting explorations on how things like marriage, rape (male and female), family relationships, justice, and government work in a world like that (e.g.: "And so I swore to obey, defend, and -- when so instructed -- impregnate the specified lady, forsaking all others unless instructed otherwise"). And there are interesting cultural quirks, including various Eastern influences that are just there, not explicity called out. The central mystery that Quirt is trying to solve is sufficiently engaging (and the resolution seems fitting). There are pleasant supporting characters (and a number of them die, raising the stakes); I particularly liked Mandola, in all her youthful vivacity, even though she only appears in flashback, after her death. I liked Quirt's interaction with Mandola's brothers, e.g. Quirt and Mandola's brother Jasp after Quirt defeated him in the arena:
"You are the meanest whelp of a gree I ever met." [Jasp] offered me a hand.
I took it with both of mine. "Noble, you are stark raving crazy."
"I thought I was a dead man."
"So did I," I admitted. "I'm glad you're not."
"See you at the party."
And I especially liked Quirt's developing relationship with Humate, from rivals to sort-of-brothers, and Humate in general, with the cocksureness of high nobility and youth but some personal moral strength buried in there.
So, this was a pretty cool read. I wouldn't mind reading more stories set in this world.
25. Ysabeau Wilce, Flora Segunda -- I've wanted to read this book for a while, ever since
mistful wrote about it. I really liked it, too. As
mistful says, it's quirky, but quirky in a fun way. It had a bit of that magical realism feel I associate with the Latin American writers like Marquez -- odd stuff that was stated as if it was perfectly normal and grounded in the same detail as the rest of the realistic setting. I'm guessing that was intentional, because there are a lot of Latin-type details (like tamales) and Spanish-derived words, although that all is mixed with details and words and names from very different cultures, resulting in a fun, eclectic sort of hodge-podge. There are all these "cultural" details like everyone, men and women, wearing kilts and nailpolish (apparently) and makeup being part of the army dress uniform (apparently) that are never explained and only mentioned in passing, which was kind of cool. And I like the way the history of Califa and Flora's ancestors' and other historical figures' role in it was revealed very gradually, with no info-dumps at all. About the only cultural detail I *didn't* like was the use of "Ayah" and "Ayah so" as a stand-in for something like "OK" and/or "Well" -- that got really grating, probably because it was the only phrase so used, and it was used a lot. But I really enjoyed all the weird setting stuff, like a comforter sown by Flora's great-great-great-grandmother from caputred flags and stuffed with the hair of her enemies. or the fact that Udo's mother married identical triplets,
I liked Flora well enough -- she is a believable heroine and believable young-teenager, intelligent and practical and flawed and self-pitying (she's got lots of good reasons to pity herself). Udo was fine, too, and Valefor was an interesting and unusual villain (in that he really wasn't one); I don't know why, but for some reason I kept hearing his lines in the voice of Roger the alien from American Dad. What I really liked were Flora's parents -- her Mamma the general, called Buck by pretty much everyone, and her father Hotspur, who came back from captivity a crazy and broken man and lives up in the Eyrie now, drinking and coming down occasionally to trash the house, and has to be returned to his rooms by Buck pistol-whipping him. I liked Buck from the very beginning, and Hotspur after Flora meets his younger self in a very touching scene. There is a touching, hopeful sort of ending for Flora and her parents, which I liked better than the other elements of the plot, involving looking for magic words and objects and trying to rescue the Dainty Pirate.
As
mistful remarked, there is a slightly weird disconnect between the narration of the novel and its whimsical details -- which make it feel "younger" -- and some of the rather more grown-up themes -- infidelity, parental insanity, child death, the skeevy old Warlord coming on to Flora. I can't say I *liked* that disconnect, but it didn't interfere with my enjoyment of the book.
I know there's a sequel out, and I definitely want to read it.
26. was Watchmen, which I've written about already.
27. Steven Brust, Jhegaala -- I actually don't have a whole lot to say about this one. It's a Vlad Taltos book, and I liked it in the way I like Vlad Taltos books -- there is snark and peril and real consequences of mistakes and appetizing descriptions of food. It was interesting to see Vlad among Easterners, both because he was out of his familiar environment (him learning to deal with the sun and forests and not being able to use sorcery was interesting) and because he finds that it's not so much that most Dragaerans make him want to kill them as it is that this seems to be his reaction to most people, human or Dragaeran. There is a lot of conversation with Loiosh, which is always fun. There are several days of torture, which are not described but sort of implied, and the extent of it is seen in the amount of medical care Vlad requires after the fact and how long it takes him to recover. (It's still not clear, to me, anyway, whether this is when/how he lost his finger.)
Oh, and there's the pig eatin's inside joke, that I actually knew from
skzbrust's journal.
Quotes:
"Boss, remind me again why you won't kill an Easterner."
"I never said I wouldn't kill an Easterner. I said I won't accept money to kill an Easterner."
"The story is that the Count, the old Count [...] went off his head. Started thinking all the witches were trying to kill him or something."
"Were they?"
"Eventually."
"There's nothing worse than wanting to push and not having anything to push
against."
He [Loiosh] started naming things that were worse until I told him to shut up. There's nothing worse than a smartass who pretends not to understand hyperbole.
28. Joe Abercrombie, The Blade Itself -- I picked it up because one of the cover blurbs compared it to GRRM, which I didn't really believe, but wanted to see for myself. And, yeah, it's no ASOIAF. And the first third of the book rather annoyed me, but I settled into it eventually, and will look for the two sequels. The blurb also describes it as "noir fantasy" and, well, it is, but I think it somewhat misses the point of low fantasy. Or, rather, hits the point too hard and comes out on the other side. Everything is gritty and filthy and nasty. Everyone is reprehensible. And, to me, that's no longer a realistically gritty premise -- it's just a bunch of unpleasant people squabbling pettily in squalor, and what fun is there in reading about that? Every other metaphor/simile involves piss in some way. The characters keep saying "shit" and "fucking" to the point where those words lose any potency they might have had, and those bits of dialogue don't even sound natural. And they sound boring, too -- swearing could be done a lot more colorfully. And everyone keeps falling on their arses and vomiting and all sorts of other charming things, but in a way that doesn't have much impact. Maybe it's just that Abercrombie isn't a very good writer (yet -- it's his first novel)?
Another cover blurb promises "unforgettable characters" and, yeah, not so much. All of the secondary characters appear to be vacuous idiots and/or criminals, which, I really don't think you can populate a world *only* with nasty people. Dashing noble captain Jezal is an idiot and a cad, and the fact that he ostensibly falls in love doesn't make him any more likeable. The other characters did fare slightly better with me as the book went on, although I can't say I was bowled over by any of them.
Logen, the quiet, practical sort of barbarian who is surprised after surviving each fight, kind of grew on me. And the scene towards the end where his berserker!self takes over was interestingly done. But I have a hard time understanding why he had once been aligned with/working for Bethod. The only thing I could come up with was grief over his family's death had driven him to the point where he just wanted to kill stuff, but that's my speculation, not supported by anything in the book that I noticed. I did quite like his thoughts on first coming to the big city: "Now there were people on every side, pushing, jostling, shouting. Hundred of them! Thousands! hundreds of thousands! Could they really all be people? People like him with thoughts and moods and dreams? Faces loomed up and flashed by -- surly, anxious, frowning, gone in a sickening whirl of colour. Logen swallowed, blinked. His throat was painfully dry. His head spun. Surely this was hell. He knew he deserved to be here, but he didn't remember dying."
Glokta is interesting. He is this book's "Tyrion", I guess, with the difference that while Tyrion was born a dwarf and never knew a better life, Glokta was a dashing officer of the highest nobility before he was crippled through torture at the enemy's hands. Now he is in constant pain, working for the Inquisition and torturing people for a living, seems to hate everyone, and keeps running sarcastic commentary on everything. That, actually, kind of gets old. My biggest problem with Glokta, though, who has a lot of potential to be a truly interesting character, is that it's not clear at all *why* he is working for the Inquisition. He doesn't seem to know himself -- "Why do I do this?" is his frequent refrain. But the thing is, I couldn't quite tell whether there is an actual reason and he just can't bear to admit it to himself, or... the author wanted him to be an Inquisitor, and couldn't work out the motivation, so he just turned that apparent lack of motivation into a plot point. I could see it as Glokta having turned to the Inquisition because he hates everyone and torturing people for a living seems pretty attractive; that's kind of dark, though, and he doesn't seem to actually *enjoy* it, either. It's possibly that originally he believed in the ideals of the Inquisition and the king's justice, but he doesn't seem like the idealistic sort... So, I don't know. (Also, for all the talk about torture and the general grittiness, there is not a whole lot of it onscreen. But the scene where the prisoners give answers in court post-torture is quite powerful, and does more to imply the horror of it than a
graphic real-time description of torture could, I think. So, good choice there.)
I liked Bayaz, the First of the Magi pretty well. He is clever and snide and yet not infallible, and, well, I just like powerful wizards with short tempers, OK? But I also liked that magic clearly takes its toll on him, and also that he can be
pretty damn ruthless in pursuit of whatever he wants. Oh, and I was quite amused by the scene where he purchases theatrical garb for himself and his companions, to better look the part of who they actually are. That was a pretty clever authorial touch. The Ferro and Yulwei storyline felt rather tacked on, but Ferro started growing on my a little with her disdain for the "pinks". I don't think she's actually a real character yet, but I have some hope for her becoming one. Oh, and Brother Longfoot was actually amusing, in his over-the-top way, which was somewhat surprising to me.
My favorite character is actually Major West. (And I might want to slash him with young!Glokta or clueless Jezal, a little bit.) At first he seems like the one mostly-decent person in the whole book, especially compared to Jezal, and he actually is decent, but then he hits his sister in the face (and... I didn't *quite* believe that scene, but I suppose I can suspend disbelief enough to be convinced that a boy who grew up with an abusive father could have that suppressed tendency and have it come out in a time of great stress. But I still don't quite believe it) and we learn that he basically abandoned her to the abusive father. The scene with him sobbing in Glokta's room was interesting, too. I don't find Ardee West particularly interesting, but I did enjoy her repeatedly telling off Jezal, so at least there's that. I certainly don't see what, if anything, she sees in him, though.
The vast conspiracy everywhere and the whole business with the Eaters (cannibal mages, apparently) hasn't been very interesting so far, and the world-building in general is pretty standard, with the addition of the Inquisition. I do like it that we get inside views from three distinct cultures (so far) -- the Union, the Northmen, and the Southerners. It's nice, too, that none of the groups are shown to be monolithic -- there are distinctions and sides among the Northmen, and internecine strife in the South, and the Union, of course, is pretty discombobulated, too.
29. Tess Gerritsen, The Keepsake -- it seems that the less Maura Isles there is in Gerritsen's books, the more I like them. I thought the premise of the mystery -- the Archeology Killer who preserves his victims' bodies in various historical ways -- mummification, shrunken head, bog body -- was neat and unusual. The twists and turns of the plot kept my interest and kept me reading quickly, even though I could anticipate most of them (except Carrie Otto) at least a little ahead of the detectives. As always, I like Jane Rizzolli, and I've always liked her partner Barry Frost, too, so having him get an actual character-driven sideplot was pretty cool (and I found the scene where he tells Jane about the divorce, after he screws up majorly on the job, unexpectedly moving). I'm glad he got to play the hero in the end. Maura's romance with Father Brody continues to be pretty uninteresting to me -- it's unhealthy, but not in a *fun* way, you know? Not that I want her to get together with Sansone, which Jane's internal monologue seems to be hinting towards.
30. Patricia Cornwell, Scarpetta -- It's funny, I think after Predator, my expectations for the Scarpetta books are so low, that if I don't want to close the book and never touch it again, that feels like enjoyment. So, I feel like I enjoyed this book, but should be open about the context, you know? I did like the series much better before Cornwell abandoned the first-person POV narration, because Scarpetta has become (even) more of a Mary-Sue since then. Other characters are always thinking of her as a "powerful woman" and hero-worship her, and are being reminded of her by Hillary Clinton.
They've all moved to Boston and New York, for various reasons. Scarpetta and Benton are married now, though it doesn't seem to be working particularly smoothly for them. The book does end on a very hopeful happy ending, with everyone paired up and Benton and Kay being all lovey-dovey. Lucy falls in love with Jaime Berger, the ADA. I liked Jaime and her air of calm, unapologetic command. I'm not necessarily seeing the chemistry between her and Lucy, but it could be a good and interesting relationship. And Marino, who did not, of course, commit suicide but has, instead, cleaned up his act and is currently on the wagon, gets a girlfriend, whom I also liked, and whose mutual appeal I could believe. The tension between Marino, Scarpetta, and Lucy is resolved, and, really, everyone's relationship feels healthier than it has in ages. I was actually wondering if this might be her way of wrapping up the series, but apparently there's another book forthcoming in 2010 (The Scarpetta Factor -- she is not even trying with the titles anymore...)
Oh, yeah, the mystery. The angle of the victim and original primary suspect being little people was interesting. There were some rather random digressions on fonts, and I don't feel like all the loose ends were wrapped up adequately MASSIVE SPOILERS for the killer, etc. from here on(why was the killer still working at a dermatologist's office? and the puppy-killing (not kidding!) job? and his actual day job? and, you know, going around murdering people? how many hours in a day does he have?) I also thought that Terri being Gotham Gotcha was kind of random -- I didn't see that in her personality at all. I guess Lester, the jealous, misogynistic female ME was supposed to be the red herring, but the actual answer doesn't really make sense... And as for the killer... Aside from the hours-in-a-day problem, I don't know... Morales felt totally over the top. It's clear he is an asshole, but to have him be guilty of, essentially, everything ever was kind of hard to believe. Though I do have to say, the cop responding to a murder scene also being the murderer was a neat idea.
31. Jim Butcher, Turn Coat -- I actually thought this one started kind of slowly and thus took me longer to get into than the Dresden Files books usually do (probably because while Harry is on a deadline, he is not in immediate peril when the book starts). But once the plot started unfolding, my interest really picked up, I couldn't put the book down for the last 100 pages or so, and the ending actually makes it one of my favorites in the series (maybe #3 after Dead Beat and Proven Guilty, but probably in the top 5 in any rate). Because there is a lot of stuff about this book that I liked. Like:
Morgan's death. Not the fact that Morgan's dead, but the way the whole thing played out, where he is willing to accept an ignoble death and die reviled as a traitor for the sake of giving the Council its show of strength -- that he would sacrifice personal honor for the sake of duty seems really fitting for him. And that, after accepting that death, he gets to die taking out the real assassin, even though he is still remembered as a traitor, making it a sacrifice on two levels. And I really liked the revelation that he'd chosen to be seen as the murderer to protect Luccio (especially since it was not at all clear how the real traitor could've so fully suborned Morgan, who was not at all young and so dedicated to the Council; the "young people are more vulnerable" thing may not have been all the deeply justified, but at least it's internally consistent this way.) Oh, and Morgan nuking his skinwalker? Badass! Also, Morgan, ahem, "appreciating" Molly was unexpected but interesting.
Thomas, if by "liked" we mean "was rather heartbreaking". I'd spoiled myself for Thomas's turn back to the dark(ish) side, but not the specifics of what had caused it, and, holy crap, the description of the way the skinwalker tortured him was pretty chilling -- possibly the scariest thing in these books yet. And, of course, he still loves/is loved by Justine (their scene together at Zero was really, really touching). I've heard people advance the idea that, after this, the only thing to hope for with Thomas is a hero's death saving Justine and/or Harry's life, but... I'm hoping that's not the case. I think, for the final fist-bump with Harry, there is enough Thomas left in there even now that he can still heal rather than die for his redemption, and I very much hope that ends up eing the case. Nobody is allowed to kill Thomas! Relatedly, it was very nice to see Lara in action, and to see that Harry is apparently getting, ahem, deeper in bed with her. Especially now that Harry is no longer protected by "twu wuv".
Molly. I've always liked her, and I've been liking her more and more with each book. I like that she is still tempted by the darker, warlocky aspects of magic -- always for a good cause! At first I found it hard to believe that she would try to use that sort of magic on Luccio, but I came around -- she's a teen, it's quite believable, in retrospect, that she'd think she could get away with it. And, of course, she makes the right, brave choices when it counts and thinks on her feet and all that. I can't wait to see more of her, as she comes deeper into her power.
The Merlin and the Senior Council in general. I always felt that the portrayal of the Merlin was kind of weak -- he seems so ineffectual, so uninterested in doing good, that there wasn't really anything to him in the earlier books than just a powerful bureaucratic antagonist for Harry, sort of the hard-assed assistant principal nemesis. But in this book we finally got to see him in his element -- both politically, with the considerable self-control under pressure during the manhunt for Morgan, and magically during the mistfiend attack. I used to think that we were headed for a showdown between Harry and the Merlin at some point, but now I think it's more likely that Harry will actually -- well, not win him over to his side, but make it expedient for the Merlin to side with him. And I liked seeing McCoy and Injun Joe in action, too, and the fact that Harry now has some backup in his work against the Black Council (and I like them calling themselves the Gray Council, too).
Stuff I didn't like so much:
Everybody raved about the skinwalker in their reviews, but I wasn't terribly impressed. My problem, I think, is that he seems to be getting less powerful as the book goes along. At first he is this nightmare that reduces Harry to gibbering and destroys Chateau Raith, but after a while he is taking his lumps from Harry (OK, genius loci-enhanced Harry) and is driven off by Injun Joe. (I liked the shapeshifter duel -- it's one of my favorite fairy tale tropes -- and Injun Joe kicking ass, but it felt kind of anticlimactic for this particular baddie.
Also, and maybe it's because the rest of the book was pretty dark, the humorous bits -- the Mouse sitting on people tableaus and even the occasional jokes/wisecracks -- felt kind of forced and out of place, which is the first time I felt that way about a Dresden book.
Also also -- and this is a total nerdy nit -- the whole thing with Harry "calculating" primes when trying to distract himself from the skinwalker? Uh, no. You can't calculate primes -- that implies a formula, and there isn't one. And I kind of doubt Harry can do the Sieve or Eratosthenes in his head, unless he is a savant. Should've gone with the Fibonacci sequence, Jim. :P
Other random things: I was surprised there wasn't more mention of Michael and his current condition in the book. I'm intrigued by Demonreach and what's in store for Harry (I feel like this was partly introduced to replace the peril-hanging-over-his-head now that Lasciel's gone). Thought the identity of the traitor on the council was clever but rather anticlimactic, making it sort of a wash. Glad the thing with Luccio is over (didn't last long!), and I guess it's paving the way for Harry/Murphy, which I'm theoretically all in favor of, but afraid Butcher might screw up (seeing how I *hated* Harry/Susan). (Also, randomly, I feel like the books have been getting more... not explicit, but maybe direct is the right word, in terms of sexual things -- like, before the content was all still there, but I feel like the way it was expressed was more coy/allusive than it is now. Just sort of a random observation.)
Quotes:
Harry, on Morgan: "He thought I was a dangerous animal and needed to be put down. [...] He was wrong. That doesn't make him a villain. It just makes him an asshole. It isn't reason enough to kill him."
"Bureaucromancer."
"This is Waldo Butters. [...] And his geek penis is longer and harder than all of ours put together."
32. Terry Pratchett, Nation -- I was kind of concerned, before I started it, that I wouldn't like it as much because it wasn't Discworld. I needn't have worried. I don't like the universe as much as I love Discworld, of course, but I still really liked the book, as much as I normally like Pterry books. It made me tear up rather a lot, including in the "Today" chapter/epilogue, and while it didn't make me laugh as much as Discworld books do, there is certainly a lot that's funny in it.
I really liked Mau, his development from likeable boy to chief making a new life on Nation. And I loved Daphne -- she is clever and competent, and yet quite hampered by her upbringing and cultural background, but quite willing to overcome those limitations. I liked the fact that when she kills a man, she wants to be tried, even though she'd told him how to make the beer safe. And she is capable of ruthlessness, too, like when she dealt with her cousin ("In the end, she'd accidentally broken two of his fingers under the nursery rocking horse, told him she'd put wasps down his trousers next time if he didn't mend his ways, and then burst into tears when people came running.") I think, btw, that Daphne is a Tyrell.
What I especially loved was the way Daphne and Mau related to each other from the very beginning, giving each other the benefit of good will even when she thought he was a savage and he thought she was a strange ghost -- the way she brought him food and he tried to politely eat her scones, and she tried to make sense of him throwing the spear at the ship and thanking him for it. It was just quite unusual to have both representatives be so willing to put themselves in the place of the Other and cooperate right of the bat, while really not understanding each other.
They get a sort of "Amber Spyglass" ending, complete with mention of parallel worlds, but I actually liked this one a lot more than Will and Lyra's, probably because it's dictated by mundane responsibility rather than Dust, and it's not a "good-bye forever" kind of thing -- Daphne does come back with the ship, and so do her offspring. Oh, and, "They would feed you to their wives, so that they become beautiful" is such an awesome line.
I always like Pterry's villains, who are scary and larger than life and yet seem to exist in the real universe by how other people react to them. First Mate Cox is no exception -- there's even a kind of almost hypnotic dark charisma to him, and the way he dies with a big grin on his face is very fitting. I also liked the fact that the Raiders clearly know he is crazy and would rather have nothing to do with him -- that's a realistic "minion" reaction to someone like Cox, rather than the much more common inexplicable blind loyalty to a dangerous madman. It was also curious to see Daphne's grandmother, who reminded me of a non-fun Olenna Tyrell.
I liked the building up of Nation, the various things everybody had to do and learn to do, like Mau milking the pig, Twinkle's birth, etc. I was somewhat less taken with the epidemic subplot and the whole Nation = Atlantis (or whatever), though I did like the journey into the cave of the Grandfathers. Partly, I think, it's because it felt a bit like a copout to the questions Mau was asking about why the trousermen had all these scientific things they didn't have, and the tension there. But it didn't bother me or anything.
I liked the way Mau can't get the axe back out of the tree the first time, the way that undermines narrative expectations, until the tree with the axe appear again at the climax and he does get to use it then -- that was pretty cool, and very Pterry. And I liked the tree-climbing octopus at the end.
Quotes:
"[Daphne's father] believed in rational thinking and scientific inquiry, which was why he never won an argument with his mother, who believed in people doing what she told them, and believed it with a rock-hard certainty that dismissed all opposition."
"Normally people tended to be very quiet in the parish church. Perhaps they were afraid of waking God up in case He asked pointed questions or gave them a test."
"Her [Daphne] getting married still seemed to be the big topic of discussion in the Place. It was like being in a Jane Austen novel, but one with far less clothing."
"'You are very clever,' said the old man shyly. 'I would like to eat your brains, one day.'
For some reason the books of etiquette that Daphne's grandmother had forced on her didn't quite deal with this. [...] Daphne, cursed with good manners, settled for "It's very kind of you to say so."
[...]
Mau approached her, smiling. 'Their priest likes you.' he said.
'Only for my brains.'"
"There should be a word like honeymoon, Daphne thought, but not about husband and wife, rather about parent and child." [Yes, yes there should.]
Currently reaiding : Cast in Secret, and will probably read Terrier next, in case I can't renew it prior to the trip. I should probably put this Kelly Link book (where I've read about half the stories in a prior anthology) out of its misery, too.