Bronwyn Knox

Well written and well structured, but so hateful. The beginning to middle is a challenging read because the writing is so dense and detailed and Eva, the narrator of the story, is hard to like, although occasionally she is easy to understand.

Eva is a neurotic Manhattanite, critical of others with no self awareness of how she resembles the things she hates (hypocritical), and self involved. She doesn't like kids but decides having a baby is the right next step in her emotional connection to her husband Franklin. When she has her son Kevin, she's disappointed that she doesn't like him and feels she was entitled to a more lovable baby.

One recurring theme of the book is a hatred of America and how spoiled we are, and criticism of of culture that creates and sensationalizes mass-murdering teens but also of the various solutions from the schools, including treating every stray word, every poem, every form of self-expression that seems dark as a “sign” and expelling the kids (not to mention, as Kevin points out, giving them ideas). Interesting to me it's not a gun that Kevin uses, so this isn't an anti-gun message. That would be too easy I suppose. There's also the idea that modern people don't DO anything, just sit back and watch the few people who do really terrible things. Mass murderer teen uses this to give his life meaning.

“On April 8, 1999, I jumped into the screen, I switched to watchee. Ever since, I've known what my life is about. I give good story. It may have been kinda gory, but admit it, you all loved it. You ate it up.”

There's also a hatred of women/motherhood. Eva writes about herself (the book is done as a series of letters) as someone who resented everything she had to give up to have a baby: her body, her career as a travel writer, her close relationship to her husband.

I don't think we blame her for what Kevin did in the sense of disliking her child or being a bad mother. I did have questions, however.. Never does she take the kid to the pediatrician or suggest a child therapist even when she observes things he does that would hint at serious problems. The resistance to potty training, lack of curiosity or interest in playing when Kevin was a toddler would be enough. Kevin never lets her see him eat, never wants her to know he's learning anything. He denies her any pleasure of parenting and by Eva's description, seems smart enough to be aware of this even pre-K. Her husband, on the other hand, sees a perfect healthy happy little boy and Eva suggests Kevin manipulates his father to keep believing this way by putting on a “Gee Dad, this is great!” attitude in his presence.

Is Eva so under the thumb of her husband? It doesn't seem to be the case, she doesn't seem that submissive, Franklin doesn't seem that domineering. He sees Kevin as a concept of a son but Eva sees his unique personality. Yes, she does nothing about it.

Another interesting theme is that of people who “don't know what life is for.” Eva sees this in her husband's parents who collect material goods but don't seem to appreciate music, art, real living. They just spend their money and fill their time. This connects to the hatred of American consumerism and culture as well. Kevin enjoys nothing, doesn't want anyone else to enjoy anything, and when he goes on his killing spree, targets other students who display a passion for something.

This is also part of Kevin's relationship with Eva. There is power in not approving of or liking anything, holding yourself aloof and being the one everyone wants to impress or please. It goes both ways between them, and Kevin admits that Eva was his “audience” for the things he did, since she was the one person who could see him clearly.

This one was an intense experience, intellectually and emotionally. It got better about half way through, once Eva became less obsessed with herself.

Piccirilli creates a steamy, noir-ish, gothic atmosphere with this story of one young man (Thomas) struggling with his very strange hometown of Kingdom Come. He has to contend with his unusual family and their dirty little secrets plus acting as a sort of employer/protector and frequent scapegoat/nemesis of every supporting character in Kingdom Come. I read this first a few years ago and it really blew me away with the imagery, intensity, and the strangeness of it all. The writing style really moved me, poetic and lyrical as other reviewers have said. It also has a lot of tension and edge.

It's not quite a perfect experience. I realize upon re-reading it how much time is spent with supporting characters “warning” Thomas of what's to come instead of the story just getting on with it. Also, mythically bizarre, but occasionally I found myself asking if there was some sort of symbolic connection to the subplots that I wasn't getting.

Choir of Ill Children is my kind of thing: a mix of genres among horror, thriller, weird fiction, transgressive etc. It's VC Andrews with a boost of testosterone and humor. Also a bit like a 90's canceled-too-soon tv show called American Gothic. I think it's very much worth reading and re-reading.

I rarely ever do the audio book thing; I just find them way too hard to focus on, the pace isn't right for me, etc. This was the only format that put all the Johannes Cabal stories together in one place unfortunately, so I decided to give it a try.

It wasn't so bad. Nicholas Guy Smith has a wonderful voice, really easy on the ears, and he did a fantastic job giving life to Cabal and the other supporting characters. He sounds a bit like Jude Law I think.

The stories were fun and added some details to the series, mostly pitting Cabal against other necromancers. My favorites were “The Ereshkigal Working” and “The House of Gears.” They are not necessary for enjoying the longer novels but it didn't feel like a waste of time to read them, especially as a fan of this character. As a bonus, the author gives a little introduction where he talks about his appreciation for the short-story format.

Having said all that, will I be switching to audiobooks going forward? Probably not. I'm sure I will have to make exceptions but regular text works best for me. I hope I can find this collection as a regular book at some point. I would snap it up in a second.

Peripheral is what I've come to expect from a William Gibson novel. There are the haves and the have-nots who come together over some intriguing modes of technology and defeat some other more powerful entity or entities that are up to no good. There are mysterious and badass characters, celebrity culture, twists, and a little bit of romance.

As always, Gibson's prose has a hypnotic effect on me. He has a way of giving details to ground you in the story but with an economy of words. The tech described is unfamiliar to me but he has a way of making the strange familiar and sometimes the familiar strange, or at least interesting.

The story is not merely a thriller about a serial killer, although murder does happen. I saw it also as a family drama with extremes of abuse, infidelity, and sibling rivalry. There's even a coma relationship, making it almost soapy, if the writing wasn't so fine tuned.

I believe the reader is supposed to find that the serial killer in question was “made” not born. Both sisters are victims of an oppressively patriarchal environment, an abusive father, and a weak mother who shuts down (with help from Mr. tranquilizer) when things become too much. In other words, you kind of feel bad for the sisters despite the fact that what they're doing is very wrong. (Moral ambiguity as another reviewer said.)

For such a short and deceptively simple book, there's a lot going on in these pages.

The first third or so of The Scarlet Gospels was highly focused and left me anticipating what was to come.

The rest was lightweight for a Clive Barker horror novel, especially when he has all these iconic characters (Harry D'Amour, Pinhead, Lucifer) to knock together.

I miss the older, more intense Barker.

Rock musicians (glam rock!), science fiction, and humor are three of my favorite things. I was looking forward to the book and thought for sure it would be a winner. Valente has a solid imagination, a way with words, and a unique, quirky sense of humor.

The majority of Space Opera was whimsical wordplay and fantastic descriptions and not a lot of plot or interesting/believable characters. I see all the comparisons to Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and I get it, especially when she imitates or creates homage to Adams with lines like this:

“Life is beautiful and life is stupid. This is, in fact, widely regarded as a universal rule not less inviolable than the Second Law of Thermodynamics, the Uncertainty Principle, and No Post on Sundays.”

That bring to mind this:

“The story so far:
In the beginning the Universe was created.
This has made a lot of people very angry and been widely regarded as a bad move.”
― Douglas Adams, The Restaurant at the End of the Universe

The Hitchhiker's Guide was also not so strong on plot, I will admit, but Trillion, Zaphod, Marvin, etc., were all vivid characters and Arthur was the “ordinary” guy that served as our guide through Adam's absurd galaxy.

I can't say I'm going to remember Space Opera's lead characters Oort or Decibel Jones (except maybe their weird names) for much of anything. The “superior” alien beings are even less memorable. Other than appearances, it's hard to tell one from the other. They all have a kooky-yet-condescending vibe when dealing with the earthling protagonists. (That was another thing about Hitchhiker's, the aliens looked down on Arthur but the readers knew he had something to offer.)

Instead of letting the reader experience the fantastic new galaxy through the eyes of say, Oort, and seeing the changes it makes on the character, we get countless ways of saying a planet is dark. The first chapter, instead of setting up a story, is nine pages on the notion of who is and who isn't sentient, and just who are we to decide that anyway. The sentience question is a major theme of the book, but I got the point after a paragraph or two. The humans in this story are objects of an agenda and not the focus of compelling storytelling.

This is very similar to the way I felt about Valente's Radiance. It seems with this author, no matter how appealing her concept is, there will be a lot of time spent on zany wordplay for its own sake. What amused me at the start wore me out by the end, and I was glad to see the last page.

This is a wonderful idea for a story. I'm also one of those that came to this book as a fan of Daisy and the Six. It was generally a pretty good read, especially the beginning chapters when the author develops the childhoods and backgrounds of Opal and Nev.

I would have appreciated a bit more development of relationships, especially the friendship between Opal and Nev. It was hard to feel the sting of betrayal when I had little sense of the stakes. I can't blame the “interview” format because Daisy had a similar format and I had a much better understanding of the relationships there.

As another reviewer pointed out, this isn't really for music fans. The fact that they're musicians trying to make it as rock and rollers is secondary to all the social, political, and personal stuff that is happening. Opal is a singer/songwriter but mostly what she wants is to be seen and heard; music is secondary. She's an iconoclast, not someone who's driven to express themselves musically.

Daisy and the Six had a lot more freedom to be humorous, music-focused, and entertaining, because while there was a subtext of feminism present, the overall story was not political. With this one, the music is definitely secondary to the political/social commentary.

Absurd tale involving anthropomorphized rabbits and other creatures used to make social/political commentary. Obvious commentary is not my favorite thing but this was truly funny and the characters are vivid. It felt very “British” to me. (This is subjective; I don't have a set of standards to explain what makes me think so.) Not that the US doesn't face similar social/political issues, or that I couldn't relate but I get the sense if I'd grown up in the U.K. it would have had a different impact on me.

The narrator, Peter Knox is a fearful, nervous, and mild-mannered middle-aged man who desperately needs to keep his job, even if he doesn't agree with the morality of the place he works for. In other words: relatable. Peter feels powerless amidst all the absurdity around him and needs to be pushed to take a stand. Most of the tension revolves around anti-rabbit groups vs. rabbit activists, populated by characters that appear much more sure of themselves than Peter, and Peter's romantic feelings for a female rabbit named Connie.

There's a lot of jokes in the book I would consider to be “meta,” including the Event that caused the animals to morph in the first place. One of the suggested explanations of this Event is “satire” as though satire were a force of nature rather than a literary concept. There's also the running gag of making fun of the author's last name and the sly references to Dr. Seuss's Fox in Socks. All of this is to say that Fforde never lets you get “lost” in the story; you're always aware of the devices.

It's a fun novel, very entertaining, even if I do feel a bit lectured at times.

“The decent humans are generally supportive of doing the right thing,' said the Venerable Bunty, ‘but never take it much farther than that. You're trashing the ecosystem for no reason other than a deluded sense of anthropocentric manifest destiny, and until you stop talking around the issue and actually feel some genuine guilt, there'll be no change.' ‘Shame, for want of a better word, is good,' said Finkle. ‘Shame is right, shame works. Shame is the gateway emotion to increased self-criticism, which leads to realisation, an apology, outrage and eventually meaningful action.”

There was some bad news and good news for me with The Brothers Cabal. The bad news: there's not a lot of Johannes in this book. The good news: Horst is back and the first three quarters of the story revolves around him.

It was great fun to see the story from Horst's point of view. It's an omniscient POV as the meta-narrative points out, but we get Horst's thoughts, see his insecurities and inner conflict with his vampiric nature, instead of him just playing a contrast to Johannes. In Johannes Cabal the Necromancer, we learned that he is attractive and charming enough to incite Johannes' envy, and empathetic and caring enough to conflict with Johannes' cold and pragmatic nature.

In The Brothers Cabal, Horst gets a handle on what it means to be a vampire. He struggles with the way he sees himself and the supporting characters who view him, whether friend or foe, as a monster. He also fights with an “inner voice” telling him to be a vicious predator(you know like, an actual vampire). Johannes, in contrast, holds himself apart from most people and could care less how they see him.

All of Horst's inner turmoil is occurring alongside lots of action; The Brothers Cabal might be the most fast-paced of the series thus far. He allies himself with a monster/supernatural hunting society and an all-female flying circus. There are several chase scenes and monster battle scenes with were-creatures and cosmic horrors. Eventually this all leads to Horst getting Johannes involved.

I had mixed feelings about the brother's nemesis. I like that she's a call back to Johannes Cabal the Detective, but from what we saw of her, I'm not convinced of her transformation to a worthy opponent in such a short time. Maybe tragedy can focus the mind, but the spoiled and vacuous person we saw would have had a long way to go.

As always, the Johannes Cabal series has a lot of humor and homage/reference to other pop culture, but there was one moment in here that especially tickled me:
“It's in the trees! It's coming”

Probably a reference to the British 1957 horror film Night of the Demon but I'm choosing to think it also refers to the intro to Kate Bush's song, “The Hounds of Love,” which samples the line from the movie.

It's the little things.

The Johannes Cabal series continues to be my new favorite escapist entertainment.

Classic haunted mansion story, similar to The Haunting of Hill House, only less psychological, more visceral. The titular house belonged to the infamous Emeric Belasco, who hosted depraved parties that led to orgies, cannibalism, torture, murder for sport– any blasphemy or perversion you can imagine. Belasco lured guests in with sex, drugs, exotic food (?) and slowly kept them hooked into staying until they fell bestial level. After Emeric's death, the house is considered “the most haunted in the world.” Every form of spiritual activity known to man has occurred there. Scientists and mediums explored the house to investigate and record the phenomena and perhaps purge it of the evil energy that abides. All of these investigations failed and most of those involved didn't survive.

The main story concerns an investigation made by four people: Dr. Lionel Barrett, scientist, and his wife Edith; Florence Tanner, spiritualist and mental medium; and Benjamin Fisher, physical medium. Who knew there were different types of mediums? Certainly not me. I was most intrigued by the conflict between Dr. Barrett and Florence. Barrett is convinced the explanation of the haunting is scientific and treatable with his invention. Florence is convinced the haunting is spiritual and that love will save the day. To me, Barrett's explanation was just as illogical as the notion of spirits. Barrett seemed to believe that any physical manifestations and creepy atmosphere in the house are all created by the mental energy of the people who lived and died in the house, but not any ghostly presence.

Edith and Fischer, two characters not involved in the debate, had their personal issues challenged by the Belasco (Hell House). Fischer had been part of a previous investigation that failed to solve the mystery/purge the haunting and was the only survivor. He never worked as a medium again and suffered a crisis of confidence. Edith is dealing with sexual longings that the nature of the house brings out of her. Their issues were more internal and psychological and brought them into conflict with Florence and Barrett and made them equally vulnerable to the influence of Belasco.

This was not a perfect scary story experience for me; some of the scenes of haunting were a bit silly. I admit I've read too many of these books; I'm probably jaded. The scene with the dining room furniture and dishes flying all over, while the investigators hid under the table, had me laughing, and I doubt that was the intended effect. Also, the resolution to getting rid of Emeric Belasco's influence came down to calling him a little bastard, if you strip away all the drama and emotion. This also seems unintentionally funny.

I preferred this to The Haunting of Hill House since the ending of that one seemed anticlimactic. Despite the unintentional humor, I'd consider Hell House a standard for haunted house stories. It may be a bit dated fifty years out but it was still a fun read for a gloomy day.

I'm a Talking Heads and David Byrne fan so naturally I was interested in his thoughts on music in general. This is a collection of chapters on topics from performance to recording technology to the business and trends surrounding music. As he said in the intro, you could read them in any order.I enjoyed the book for the most part. I have to admit there were certain parts that didn't hold my interest and I found them highly skimmable. He's clearly very intelligent and knowledgeable about the history and science behind making and selling music. This isn't really about promoting himself and his records. Though he does talk about Talking Heads and his other projects, it's mostly to show examples of firsthand experience. The first chapter discussed the idea that context determines what type of music is created. For instance, he brings up the way certain types of music developed to suit particular venues, (outdoors, in caves, opera houses, cathedrals). He also writes about music created for dancing, such as Jazz improvisation which is adapted to accommodate dancers who want to keep moving to a particular section. Players jam over chords while playing the same groove. Country, Latin, blues, and rock and roll is music to dance to and had to be loud enough to be heard above the chatter. This was something I hadn't thought of before and this chapter was well done.One of my favorite quotes in the book was from the chapter on live performance and how performers can give indications during a performance of what is about to happen (in a subtle way). “There are two conversations going on at the same time: the story and a conversation about how the story is being told.” He gives the example of horror films using ominous music which plays with audience expectations. But I think this could be applied to lots of types of art, including novels and stories. My favorite chapter was the one where he discusses amateur musicians and artists and funding for the arts. He makes some really good points about everyday people who are encouraged to consume rather than create and the way capitalism tends toward creating passive consumers. He continues to discuss funding for the arts is mostly limited to classical music and some types of Jazz are seen to have “moral value.” Hip-hop, club, and metal for example are considered to “lack positive moral essence.” Byrne wonders how we sense the moral value of the music; this is relative and subjective. Certain visual art is also seen as having moral value. He mentions John Carey's book, [b:What Good Are the Arts? 290215 What Good Are the Arts? John Carey https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1348364628l/290215.SY75.jpg 281566], which illustrates how officially sanctioned art and music gets privileged and concludes that assigning moral acuity to those that like high art is class-based. Opera halls, ballets, art museums receive more funding and not just from the government. Why not fund venues where young, emerging, semi-amateur musicians can make and perform music instead of “building a fortress to preserve its past?” Good book for fans of Byrne but also for amateur musicians and music fans.

Boy, am I bored of zombies. And the Apocalypse. And zombie apocalypses.

The Girl with All the Gifts could be the book to change my mind about that. Carey focuses on a bright little girl called Melanie and immediately incites your curiosity about her situation. (Why is a little girl locked in a cell, etc.?) It just keeps getting better from there as Melanie and a few others, who are hostile or frightened of her to varying degrees, are forced to take a road trip together.

This is a Horror story of nature taking back the planet from humanity and how the few uninfected humans left try to carry on or fight against it. It's a unique take on the usual zombie-virus thingy that really fed my imagination.

What I appreciated the most was seeing the story from the view of each character in the small cadre. They've all been forced out of their reasonably (under the circumstances) stable existence and each has different goals and perspectives as they hope to get to a safer place.

First there's Melanie, child genius. She's been kept in a cell so long that she knows little about the world, where it's been or what it's like now but she learns quickly. All her knowledge comes from the limited education she received in her childhood confinement.

Helen Justineau is Melanie's teacher and mentor and the object of her affection. Her relationship with Melanie gives the heart and soul to the book. She's also a kickass heroine.

Leading the troop is Sergeant Parks, who along with Justineau is old enough to remember the world before the zombie virus hit. He's the usual tough-guy type, there to get the job done. He goes through the greatest character arc especially in terms of seeing Melanie as first monster and then ally.

Gallagher is the soldier under Park's command. Like Melanie he was born post-apocalypse and can't remember the world any other way. Probably the true innocent of the bunch, he is also the least judgmental of Melanie.

Last in the travel party is Doctor Caldwell, the antagonist to Justineau and especially Melanie. She's even less capable than Parks of viewing Melanie as human. Everything is about intellectual vanity and ego as well as knowledge and information for its own sake. She changes less than anyone through the story but she's also the catalyst for most of the action and the answers that come to light. As you're reading, you're not sure if she's going to be the salvation or destruction of all that's left of humanity. She's so crazy it could go either way.

The story has many unexpected twists that are exactly right: surprising and yet they feel inevitable. Melanie's destiny was clearly always to be the road between humans and the new merged beings but it's still interesting to see how we get there. Wonderful horror and suspense with good characters and conflicts.

The plot is like a Lovecraft-inspired video game. There's NPC's giving Cabal information, tasks that have to be performed, and boss battles. Even his traveling companions could be looked at as extra lives/cannon fodder. Not that there's anything wrong with that. I see that the author wrote for video games so that may have put it in my mind.

There was an unexpected twist at the end that was nicely done. Like the first two Cabal books, it's very witty and entertaining. Never a dull moment.

This is a weird, racy little black comedy with supernatural elements and characters that are repulsive yet entertaining in various ways. It's a road trip story that moves very fast; not much time is wasted on involved backstory or character development. There's a cynical rather than sentimental approach to the premise, which certainly could have incited more empathy given the tragedies involved.

I see similarities between Lullaby and Fight Club. There's the antisocial/sociopathic characters, the social commentary, and the identity-related plot twists. With Fight Club, I was more engaged and involved with the narrator. The rebellion against consumer culture and living for a meaningless career, for instance, gave Fight Club meaning for me. Lullaby spends a lot of time on noise pollution, which is interesting but doesn't resonate with me quite as much.

Diamond Age is science fiction with both personal stories and global and political events. Some of it was good. There were many entertaining scenes, characters, bits of dialogue, and so on. I loved the idea of the Primer itself: a book designed by a concerned grandfather, hoping to teach his granddaughter to think independently and dare to go outside the customs of their society. The Primer is both a storyteller and an interactive video game, designed to bond with its reader and become a surrogate parent/teacher. A device raising a child, rather than the child's family, is still relevant.

The story of how the Primer gets into the hands of Nell is also notable. If the goal was to teach a privileged young lady how to be subversive, this goal became subverted because it lands in the hands of a poor and “tribeless” little girl. (Though the nitpicker part of me wonders why Hackworth didn't try simply asking Finkle-McGraw for a copy of the book for his daughter.)

There were a lot of detailed digressions–descriptions of history and technology that didn't serve the plot or feed my imagination for the world Stephenson created. It made the book a chore to read at times. The young heroine, Nell, was an underdog and I do like to root for a good underdog. But she was a bit too passive to hold my interest or inspire admiration. A lot more things happen to her than happen because of her actions. Other characters, Harv and Judge Fang for instance, piqued my interest more than Nell but alas they vanish after the first half.

There aren't really antagonists as such. Instead there are two powerful old men, Dr. X and Finkle-McGraw, who pull most of the strings and cause the conflicts that occur. They are ambiguous in terms of whether what they want is for the greater good or serving their own ends. They're nowhere to be found when all the shit hits the fan toward the end and I'm not sure what the point of that was.

Witty and fun Steampunk fantasy.

Let's start with the title character, Cabal himself. Not exactly likeable or relatable–but so much fun. First of all, he's very cold, superior, manipulative. As the plot takes off I wasn't actually sure if I wanted to root for this guy to win or see him fall on his face. Of course his nemesis was the devil himself, so as unpleasant and badass as Cabal may be, he's still the underdog in the competition. Howard absolutely brings this guy to life. I can imagine his appearance, voice, facial expressions. He carries himself with such gravity that when incidents occur to thwart him or even just humiliate him, it creates a lot of humor. For Discworld fans, (like myself) he brought to mind both Vetinari and Moist; an odd combination but it works.

I enjoyed the story too. Cabal had forfeited his soul to the Devil but finds he needs it back for professional rather than spiritual reasons. His deal with the devil–to get one hundred souls to replace his own–is off and running. Cabal goes after his goal mercilessly as you'd expect, and this is the point where I wondered if I really wanted to see him succeed. A plot that offers a little conflict in the reader is a fine thing. The other characters that balance Cabal (his brother, the retired police chief) give the book a moral center. Ironically, his undead vampire brother has a lot more warmth than Cabal. He at least didn't want Cabal to win at the expense of the innocent.

I had a little trouble getting oriented to the time the story took place. It felt sort of Victorian, but then the styles, technology, culture, and so on were more advanced. It's definitely a fantasy world where necromancers, demons, and so on exist. It has a pulp adventure type of vibe. Steampunk-pulp-fantasy is a good way to describe Cabal's world. (The follow-up book, Johannes Cabal, Detective solidifies the Steampunk vibe for me.)

There were a lot of influences present from other classic works. Lovecraft, Through the Looking Glass, Faust, and Something Wicked This Way Comes all come to mind along with a nice dose of Discworld-style humor. Not to say I don't think this is original; all those allusions and resonances of other stories made this even more enticing.

“Cabal dimly recalled that the musical genius who'd decided to put on Necronomicon: The Musical had got everything he deserved: money, fame, and torn to pieces by an invisible monster.”

Seems like Barker really barreled through this one. It was a short novel, less than 200 pages, and might have benefited from being fleshed out a bit. (No gruesome puns intended.) The story was very complex for the short length. Yes, it's a cool plot with lots of imaginative monsters that Barker's so good at. I just get the feeling that he expected the reader to take a lot on faith without much to work with. I can suspend my disbelief but only if the writer develops the characters sufficiently to make it worthwhile.Some of Cabal was well done. Boone is a solid underdog character. Mentally unstable and fragile at the start, he goes through a very weird story of supernatural transformation and finds unexpected heroism. It's also a story of misfit creatures, known as the Nightbreed, who are simply trying to hide from the humans who would see them as monsters. Not original, but Barker has a touch with these kinds of things ([b:Everville 32627 Everville (Book of the Art #2) Clive Barker https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1407712149l/32627.SX50.jpg 942616], [b:Weaveworld 957648 Weaveworld Clive Barker https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1429998286l/957648.SX50.jpg 942564]). Despite the fact that they eat human flesh, I do empathize with the Nightbreed. Decker aka Button Face, the villain, is just not scary. Partly because we only see some of his deeds in retrospect, like convincing the public that Boone is a serial killer or murdering six people at once in a hotel room, none of whom ganged up on him and fought back. If some of these scenes were better written, I might understand his powers of persuasion/physical prowess. The other bad guy, Eigerman, is a cop who goes after the Nightbreed for reasons that are poorly defined other than ego. (I did like the lacy-undergarment-wearing priest though. Why? Because it's left open for me to interpret.) The relationship between Lori and Boone is supposed to have an emotional impact at certain key points throughout the story, but again it is not well defined. All I got was: he's vulnerable; she's insecure. There's no hint that Lori has any hidden depths or dark side that would motivate her to stick with Boone through all the crazy crap that happens in this book. What saved this collection for me were the short stories at the end, especially “The Last Illusion,” the story that the film Lords of Illusion was based on. Short and simple, with some black humor revolving around pacts with demons and a dead body. Harry D'Amour and the other characters all have personality, so clearly Barker is capable of it. It also works because D'amour is an observer in the story, taking action but tangentially involved so the reader gets to see the diabolical events unfold through the eyes of a relatable person.

I was expecting (based on the promotion on the back cover) a modern Agatha Christie. Not even close. I don't recall Christie ever wasting this much time getting to the point. It took three-quarters of the book to determine if there even was a murder at all. The writer avoids anything interesting happening to set up for a “big finish.”

This novel is more akin to a V.C. Andrews story with a young woman at the heart of a “deep, dark” secret. V.C. Andrews was never this boring, however. Melodramatic and cheesy, maybe. But it was good cheese and never boring.

One of the problems is that Ware wants us to be in love with her protagonist, Hal, but she doesn't give enough reason to feel that way. Yes, she is impoverished and an orphan I can feel sorry for, but like her? Hal is deadly dull. Ware keeps trying to tell us about her qualities without showing any examples, and she wants to have it both ways. Hal cons a family, but we can't hate her because she feels guilty about it. She seems mousy but is secretly “strong” underneath. Complex characters that act one way and feel another are great and what I want as a reader if only the writer is bold enough to go for it. Show the character doing a few bad things. Show how the character is conflicted and give some development about their past to add depth.

As for the story itself, there's not much to it. You can see most of the “twists” coming from the setup. Every character is so bland, and I don't know any more about them than I did at the start. Hal doesn't change or grow during the story. She gets new family members and a solution to her financial problems without sacrifice.

The Death of Mrs. Westaway feels like an early draft of a story that was underdeveloped.

Angelmaker was a joy to read, so much fun. As with Harkaway's previous book [b:The Gone-Away World 3007704 The Gone-Away World Nick Harkaway https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1328322676l/3007704.SX50.jpg 3038235], it's a big epic story, a bit over the top but not pure fantasy. Speculative fiction might be a good term but Angelmaker is unique. The focus is on Joe, a clockmaker trying to avoid falling into the same path as his professional criminal father, Matthew. His circumstances change greatly when he's asked to repair a mysterious device and finds himself part of an apocalyptic conspiracy. There's an exhilarating backstory with Edie, best described as a super spy, who was the first hero to face the master villain of Angelmaker, a dictator, drug lord, and scientific genius in his own way.The backstory and character development were handled very well. Harkaway's style is so entertaining you would miss out if you didn't read all the little details. He's got a way with words, something we hope all authors have but it isn't unfortunately always the case. Every one of the rabbit holes he goes down pays off; no bit of history is wasted. Angelmaker has elements of action, pulp fiction, steampunk, family drama and romance. Harkaway writes with wit and adds humorous dialogue. He reminds me of two favorites, Douglas Adams and Terry Pratchett, but he's not a pale imitation; definitely has his own unique take. It's a bit sexier than either of those two for sure. As with Goneaway World, Harkaway uses a Doomsday device as a method of touching on themes of identity, bravery, and friendship. There's also the idea of Uncertainty and what it means to us as human beings, the role it plays in keeping life alive (so to speak) and worth living. Every character strikes me as having a kind of magic. Not as in “magical powers” but the magic of being so good at what they do. Part of the journey for Joe is learning to find his whole self, and all of the things he can do, not just what he's decided is acceptable.

Cute and sweet, amusing at times. It's definitely lightweight fun. Chambers stimulates the imagination with aliens and space travel, not to mention entertaining characters such as neuro-divergent Kizzy and the warm and wise Dr. Chef. The reader experiences this universe through Rosemary, a new crew member aboard the spaceship Wayfarer. It's a good setup, as Rosemary has lived a sheltered life; we learn as she does.

The rest of the crew are a charming group of misfits composed of various alien species and humans from different backgrounds. Throughout the novel, the group travels through space “punching holes” for quicker hyperspace travel, often interacting with alien species. The characters spend time navigating different customs, morals, ideals, and friction between groups. There is a simple message to the novel, which is summed up nicely by this quote:

“Do not judge other species by your own social norms”

It is reminiscent of the show Firefly but less angsty as everyone's “deep, dark secrets” are discovered quickly and with minimum fuss. Most of the characters aboard the Wayfarer are a well-adjusted and close group. The two exceptions are ill-mannered Corbin and solitary Ohan. They each come to terms with their issues a little too easily for a satisfying conclusion. At times it feels like a lesson for kids in “talking out your problems” and “not judging others.” Nothing in this story is astonishing or controversial. With a little more tension and depth this would have been a big hit with me.

I'd call this a diverting read that's easily consumable but lightweight. The drama and tension don't ratchet up that much, and the characters escape dangers without consequence. Throughout the novel there is an oversimplified good vs. evil morality. It's set up as episodic, like a serialized story or ready-for-television treatment. Each little mini-section features Atticus, a young army vet of the Korean war and/or members of his extended family and friends. Various characters connected to Atticus are protagonists of an episode, each of which has its own mini-arc. I wouldn't call them short stories because they are interdependent and part of the full novel. Ruff offers the value of having protagonists who are minorities, characters who historically were frequently marginalized, demonized, stereotyped, ignored or worse in some of the horror/science fiction tales he's referencing. Unfortunately, Atticus and company aren't well-developed characters. My cynical assumption being that he can't write them with human failings or he'd get slammed for showing Black characters in what could be perceived as a negative light. Instead, we end up with bland, empty characters, filling their role in the plot. The one that comes off best is Atticus's love interest, Letitia. She is a brave and quick-witted woman, but lacks any flaws that make a memorable character. Trying not to offend is a weak choice. The antagonists are even less interesting. The scenes of white racists harassing Atticus and his family happen so often, they lose impact. With the exception of Caleb Braithewhite, who is the big bad guy but oddly not an overt racist, most of the white characters are empty shells, demonstrating racism rather than portraying flawed and ignorant racist individuals. They're also easily defeated by the protagonists, or more often by some vengeful supernatural intervention. A story where Atticus or Letitia or any of the others had deliberately called up supernatural beings to punish truly complex, evil racist characters could have been an interesting revenge fantasy. Or maybe could have led to something where the protagonists had to cooperate with white characters to fight a mutual enemy, and consequences and character growth could have stemmed from that. There isn't much character growth at all because problems vanish with little difficulty. In the chapter called “Dreams of the Which House,” Letitia buys the Winthrop house, a building haunted by the former owner. Winthrop is hostile at first but quickly becomes her friend when she holds her ground. I like the idea, but the alliance happens so easily that it isn't satisfying. The end of the first episode, where Samuel Braithewhite and the Order of the Ancient Dawn call up the “light of creation,” is reminiscent of the “well of souls” scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark, with members of the Order in the role of the Nazi cultists. That was a decently-executed allusion to a famous bit of pop culture that made a comment without calling it out in so many words. I would have liked a few more scenes like this.The mention of Atticus as a science fiction reader of Lovecraft, Bradbury, Heinlein, etc. feels a little self-conscious to me. A book like this that's using horror as social commentary should be better than the source material it's commenting on; but it isn't. There are no genuine chilling moments and no fresh ideas. A better read for commentary on Lovecraft is [b:The Ballad of Black Tom 26883558 The Ballad of Black Tom Victor LaValle https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1447086249l/26883558.SY75.jpg 46932536] by Victor LaValle, which had a focused, tight story with complex morality.

This is one of those books that leave me undecided about whether I like it or not. (I'm giving a three-star to be generous.) I loved the idea of an alternate universe where the silent movie era is coupled with space travel. Wonderfully imaginative idea, I thought. It's Georges Méliès-inspired like the Scorsese film, Hugo. I would have enjoyed a straight-forward narrative but I'm open to experimental styles too, if there's something intense or profound or even humorous for me to grab onto. Lines like this made me think there would be humor throughout:“She is dead. Almost certainly dead. Nearly conclusively dead. She is, at the very least, not answering her telephone.”But that was the only time I got a little laugh.Valente offers a pastiche of media styles. Each individual chapter is inspired by any number of styles such as: Classic Hollywood, children's animation, commercials, film noir, documentary footage, celebrity gossip columns, gothic tales, science fiction, steampunk, not to mention fairy tales and mythology. She has a distinct prose style that's almost lyrical or poetic. It's not enough to make me fall in love with the book, but I can see how it stands out from the ordinary. There are a lot of broader concepts that the author touched upon. First there are the characters like filmmaker Percy and his daughter Severin who cannot exist without having their lives recorded on media. Percy even goes so far as to have events, such as Severin arriving as an infant in a basket, restaged so he can catch them on film. There's also characters who mix their fiction with reality, embodied by actress Mary Pelham, who tries to emulate the film detective she plays on screen to solve “real-life” mysteries.Beyond individual characters, the world of Radiance has Imperialism in the form of Earth nations that have now taken over solar system planets. There's also the propaganda to influence the masses with the product Callowmilk. Along with this is some environmental commentary about using animals for their products. Then there is the conspiracy with the disappeared civilizations and people on the various planets. That's a lot of things for Radiance to be about, and it doesn't take any of them very far. The novel goes wide but not deep.Throughout, Valente makes meta comments about story types and the nature of stories. The main takeaway is that stories don't have endings. “There is no such thing as an ending. There are no answers. We collect the pieces where we can, obsessively assemble and reassemble them, searching for a picture that only ever comes in parts. And we cling to those parts.”What I'm looking for is for each of the parts to be interesting on their own as well, if parts is all we get. With the exception of the mythology of Anchises, most of the mini-stories didn't engage me. An example of fiction done in a meta style that did work for me was Auster's [b:The New York Trilogy 431 The New York Trilogy Paul Auster https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1386924429l/431.SX50.jpg 2343071]. I recognized it for what it was but I was also very involved with the stories.Radiance reminds me of a film beautiful to look at, something like Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow, which had innovative and amazing effects for the time. After watching for a while, I realized that the characters and plot were just not that intriguing. Years have passed, and all I can remember is the visual style.

Filth was a tough read, not because it was long or difficult in wording, but because it's a story of a character, Scottish police officer Bruce Robertson, doing horrible things to himself and others for about 300+ pages. Bruce drinks excessively, does drugs from the evidence room, abuses his authority as a cop to every extreme, has sex with anyone who will have him (including his sister-in-law and wife of his friend), manipulates and antagonizes co-workers, and is generally racist, sexist, chauvinist, and so on. It's not for the faint of heart. Oh, and in the midst of all this, he's supposed to be solving a high profile murder that has racial overtones, though he spends very little time actually doing this.

Yet somehow, while he's not sympathetic, he's certainly compelling. He's hiding his prolonged mental breakdown because he can't be less than tough in front of anyone for a single moment. As the story continues, it gets weirder, more surreal, even funny and touching at times. The more we learn about Robertson's past, the more interesting it gets and Welsh doles out the information at just the right pace.

Welsh gives Robertson a traumatic backstory, right from his conception in fact. His present life is no better; his wife has left him, taking their child. I never got the idea I was supposed to “excuse” his actions based on his troubled past and present however. There's also a suggestion that some of his troubles could be from a genetic mental illness, but this isn't overplayed as commentary. (His reasons for spending very little time searching for murder suspects become clear the more we learn about his past.)

The complexity of Robertson comes from the moments when his cynicism is lifted; he seems to care deeply for other people, tries to save a man who's having a heart attack, and helps a crippled woman. He wants to be a good policeman, and believes in it, despite his conflicting actions. He's also struggling to deal with the changes in what it means to be a policeman, as the department puts pressure on the cops to be more sensitive to diversity, to be aware of the sexism, racism, classism and how it affects their jobs. This is beyond Robertson's abilities to deal with or even consider. His past certainly plays into this. Despite being supposedly “on top'' as a straight white male and authority figure no less, nothing in his life's story indicates that he was ever treated with kindness, compassion or fairness because of it. His mantra of “same rules apply” goes for everyone, including himself.

This is a beautiful celebration of the future and the hope and possibilities of what progress and technology could be. Not to mention a love story between a man and a cat.

I don't always love Heinlein books that much; he seems to be one of those authors you're required to respect if you're into science fiction. This book was a different story (so to speak.) Somewhere between a third and halfway through I thought, oh this is just a revenge story and he's showing his usual superficial handling of female characters. By the end, I realized I was dead wrong and this was a fun and uplifting book.

When years pass and I've forgotten the details of this story, one thing I'll always remember is the expressive meaning of the title and the picture in my mind of Pete who was always looking for the door into summer.