Ryan
Scott Summers and his wife Jean are enjoying their honeymoon when they are dragged 2000 years into the future by their daughter from an alternate timeline, Rachel. She needs them to help raise Nathan, Scott's son from an evil clone of Jean, who had been kidnapped by one of Rachel's disciples to protect him from the ageless mutant Apocalypse, and to stop him from completing the genocide of the human race. Their best bet of doing so involves Stryfe, the evil clone made of Nathan before he was infected with Apocalypse's techno-organic virus. Scott and Jean stay with Nathan for ten years, never revealing who they are.
If this seems needlessly convoluted and angst-driven, well, welcome to the world of 1990s X-Men comics.
By the end of the story, Scott, Jean, and Nathan team up to kill Apocalypse, stopping his genocide of the human race, and then our two heroes are sent back to their/our time, where they learn that only two hours have passed since their disappearance into the future. Which ties everything up in a nice little package that ensures they can never speak of these events again, and don't have to worry about any pesky “character development”.
Pack member Nick is in trouble - he's being blackmailed. What bothers him, though, is that it's tacky, shoddy blackmail.
This was a fun, short read. I've liked Nick since the beginning of the Otherworld series, and his approach/solution to his problem here is definitely idiosyncratic; not the type of approach any of the other Pack members would have taken.
There's also some self-referential fun being poked at paranormal fantasy novels. If you're a fan of Armstrong's other wolf books I'd recommend giving this one a download.
This was ...alright? There was a lot that was well-done - the background/setting, the way it's unfolded throughout the story and reflected in the action of the characters, and the lyrical patois that the Nanagadans speak. However, I couldn't for the life of me find myself caring about John deBrun, his mysterious past, or what happened to him.Given that he's the protagonist, this caused some understandable limitations in my enjoyment of the story.
Identity has been, in many ways, the central theme of the Vorkosigan Saga - how people define themselves, and how they can create prisons for themselves by letting others define themselves.
So of course, at this midpoint in the series, Bujold takes two of the central characters, Miles and Simon Illyan, and has outside forces strip their cherised, hard-fought-for identities away. Of course, identity is not the type of thing one can really survive without, so both men have to mourn their old lives, and then find new ones. In Miles' case, especially, building his new/old self takes time, and pain, and very nearly blood, making it more like a traditional birth than one from a Betan uterine replicator.
There is, of course, also a mystery/adventure plot to keep things moving along, and Miles gets to take on a new role (if not quite a new identity). Those parts were entertaining to read, and it's always a pleasure to watch Miles work his way through knots so Gordian that you can't even tell there's a knot there, but those parts by themselves would not be enough to make Memory a classic - it's instead the relationship between Simon and Miles, and watching them put themselves back together again, that made it such a satisfying read.
I almost missed this one, because it wasn't included in the CD of omnibus editions I received as ebooks, but I'm quite glad I didn't - it's an essential part of the Vorkosigan canon and quite literally changes everything.
I really need to just stop reading Geoff Johns' work, I think (if I had known this was him before I grabbed it in the library, I probably wouldn't have picked it up, to be honest).
The story's a bit of a mess. The JSA is a huge group - twenty-odd superheroes, some of whom have been heroing for over 70 years (in-story, not just in terms of publication history). There's so many of them here, in fact, that you don't really end up caring about any individual character, because there isn't enough time spent on them. These two dozen heroes spend the bulk of the book fighting this guy named Gog, who's going around killing supervillains who claim to be divine, because they're an affront to his god, also named Gog, who wakes from a centuries-long slumber and starts actually doing things to make the world a better place. The JSA distrusts him, though, for reasons that are never quite made clear.
There's also travel to two different alternate Earths, which is treated in enough of a matter-of-fact way that it almost seems boring, and doesn't really add anything to the plot (which ends on a cliffhanger that will only hold your interest if you've also read Kingdom Come, published 15 years earlier, but even then it doesn't really because they've established that that story didn't take place in the future, but rather an alternate Earth, so the “ooooh foreshadowing” falls flat).
An exhaustive look at the history of human society, with an attempt to explain global inequality in that light. Diamond's basic theory is that favourable environmental conditions led to more harvestable crops and more large, domesticable animals evolving in Eurasia, especially in the Fertile Crescent. This gave the societies living there, starting with the Mesopotamians, an evolutionary ‘leg up' that allowed them to develop more complex, technologically advanced societies, which gave them more access to guns, germs, and steel, which ultimately led to European societies becoming world powers.
I had this on my nightstand for a couple of years, picking it up now and then and reading sections of it. It's an interesting text, but goes on rather long and presents its ideas as being more revolutionary than they are (I know that my Intro to Anthropology class I took in first year university covered a lot of the same ground). I know elements of this theory have factored into some of the science fiction novels I've read in the past, as well, such as Sawyer's Neandertal series. Still, Diamond presents the information well and includes lots of personal anecdotes that help the statistics and facts flow a bit more easily.
Fun book that my wife got me for Christmas. Full of different Lego designs - some simple, some breathtakingly complex - as well as interviews with the AFOLs that built them. Fun to flip through now and then, and as an added bonus, my son's been really interested in it in the past little while. Anything to encourage a love of Lego, right? :o)
Fantastic end to the series. Kate and Daniel come to grips with the mess of things that they've made, and work with the other new gods to find a way to fix things.
One of the things I especially appreciated about this novella was the way Lafferty expands on the concepts introduced in the previous volume, Wasteland - not only the airborne city Meridian and its twin, Lathe, but also the different gods that were introduced. Their archetypes will be familiar to anyone who's studied Greek mythology (or, probably, to anyone who's read enough DC comics), but they're infused with enough personality and idiosyncrasies that you don't see them as divine archetypes but actual, real characters, which is something that's often difficult when writers are writing about divinity.
There's also a climactic, apocalyptic battle against the primordial force of chaos that threatens to destroy two worlds. Let's not forget about that.
If you're interested, and/or if you're a fan of Gaimanesque fantasy, I'd say give the series a read, but don't start with this volume.
I'm not sure how much I liked this one, even reflecting on it months later. There was a lot that I liked: the depiction of the PTSD of the Games' survivors, and the different ways that it manifested themselves. The fact that Collins was willing to present the Resistance as nearly as bad as Snow and the Capitol. The action scenes, which again are expertly and entertainingly written.
At the same time, I hate the love triangle that sprang up, especially since I saw Katniss and Gale's relationship as filial, rather than romantic, in the first book. I hate that Katniss becomes little more than a figurehead, a bauble for the revolution - exactly what Snow had wanted her to be for the Capitol. She escapes that by the end, but the fact that she's reduced to that was difficult to read.
Still, it's a strong book, and a good, logical end to the series.
I was worried that this was going to be a retread of the first book, and thankfully it wasn't - instead, we get to see a revelation of how vicious the Capitol can be in their attempts to maintain control, and
I'd say that I enjoyed the Games part of this book more than the last; seeing the land be manipulated against the participants was very entertaining, and I imagine it will make great spectacle in the eventual film. The pre-Games section dragged, though, and the ending was very much the definition of a dues ex machina. Overall, though, it was a fun second chapter that serves as a good bridge between the first novel and the last.
Excellent stuff.
This one really felt like the series coming into its own - Kate and Daniel accidentally create a new Earth, go exploring in it, and start to formulate a plan of how to rescue the other Earth that they created earlier in the series.
In those explorations, we get a lot of the sci-fi whimsy that Lafferty is known for - dinosaur ranchers! airships! levitating cities! - and Kate and Daniel become more accustomed to their roles as gods.
Can't wait to see how the whole thing ends!
A “military fantasy” novel that looks at magic in a similar view as superpowers, and looks at how the US military would react to magic being loose in the world.
The answer to that question - “They'd weaponize it, and declare war on some Goblins” - seems like a cynical, one-note sort of response, but the book is a lot more than that; Cole served in the military himself, and he presents a nuanced, informed view of what it means to serve in the military. Add to that the character of Oscar Briton himself, and his inner conflict about being part of an organization while questioning its goals and practices, and you have a unique, interesting novel. I look forward to seeing where Cole goes with this story next.
Middle books in a series always have a tough go of it - they often feel like a bridge, moving the storyline along to get to the conclusion, rather than offering one of their own. That's a bit of the case here.
That being said, it's still a fun read; Lafferty remains an engaging and enjoyable writer, and there are some interesting points here. I was fond of the bits in hobo heaven, especially.
And the book does its bridging job, putting pieces in place for the apocalyptic afterlife battle that is to come at the end of the series.
I like urban fantasy. I like heist stories, and I especially like stories about gambling. This book, then, was right up my alley.
Two college kids go on a spring break trip to Vegas, hoping to use their newly-acquired skill as wizards to hit some big jackpots and make themselves rich. Seems like a safe bet, until they realize that there are other wizards already in Vegas, and that by doing so they're getting themselves caught in the middle of an epic magical conflict.
The gambling/Vegas bits were a lot of fun - I almost wish Forbeck had focused exclusively on those, rather than adding in the Epic Fantasy Elements; those bits don't feel out of place, but they don't necessarily add a lot to the story.
The only drawback I found was that Jackson and Bill, the two main characters, are both a bit stupid, and the plot hinges at several points on them making stupid decisions, which gets a bit frustrating at times.
On the whole, though, this was a very fun read, one that fans of the genres being mashed up should really dig.
I was a little hesitant going into this one. I'd read some things, both here and on wikipedia, that made me worry about the direction the series was headed. Two-wheeled motor vehicles over apex sea predator sort of directions.
I should have known, to borrow a phrase from Nathan Lowell, to Trust Lois.
In the first novel in this collection, Brothers in Arms, Miles attempts to cement the cover story of his Bunburying, Admiral Naismith, by claiming to be a clone of himself. Little does he realize that he has an actual clone, Mark, who wants to take over the Vorkosigan identity that Miles so readily abandons. In the second novel, Mirror Dance, Mark changes tactics, becoming Naismith with Miles isn't looking in an attempt to play the hero.
In both cases, hilarity briefly ensues from Mark's attempts at being Miles. Then, in each case, with a simple turn Bujold manages to twist the entire story around, taking the story into some very Dark, Serious places. Those turns are gut-wrenchingly effective, moreso because of the frivolity of the comedy of errors that preceded them, and show how skilled Bujold is at creating characters that the reader connects to.
Deeper than that, though - this collection makes me worry about our young Vorish prince. The Naismith/Vorkosigan division always seemed like a fun little game - Bunburying, as I said earlier. Here we get our first real glimpses that there's something more going on, that the traumas and stresses of Miles' life have started to induce a case of Dissociative Identity Disorder on him. The same thing happens to Mark at the end of Mirror Dance in a much more obvious way, although he seems to be able to rein in his other selves by the end of the book. I eagerly await seeing where this story goes next.
John Byrne's Superman wasn't the first iteration of the character that I ever read, but it remains one of my favourites. This volume isn't as much of a classic as the first in the Man of Steel series, but there are some fun science-fictiony type adventures in it.
One thing I was very disappointed in, though, was the last three chapters of the book. It's part of the Legends mega-crossover, and we're just unceremoniously dumped into the middle of that story without any context. To make matters worse, Byrne's version of Darkseid turns him into a cackling, run-of-the-mill supervillian than the majestic god of evil that he truly is.
Ah, Holmes. Classic. Baskerville, arguably the classic of the classics. What can I say that hasn't already been said? Holmes and Watson go off to a country estate at the behest of Sir Henry Baskerville, determined to find a rational explanation to the legend of a demonic hellhound, and to the death of an uncle that is being explained as the hound's work.
There are 12 districts in Panem. Each year, each district sacrifices two of their own to the Capitol to partake in the Hunger Games, a brutal fight to the death that is broadcast for the entertainment of the masses, and as a reminder of the power of the Capitol over their lives and their future.
If you've read enough science fiction and fantasy, it's impossible to ignore that there are a lot of elements of Hunger Games that you've seen before - the Games recall the Bachman novels The Long Walk and The Running Man, and poverty of the Districts is reminiscent in some ways of Soylent Green, and the concepts of the Tributes reminded me of Theseus and the Minotaur. And if there are no overly-clever English majors out there comparing Katniss to the goddess AthenaArtemis, well, I'll eat my hat.
The whole, though, is equal to if not more than the sum of its parts. Hunger Games is a powerful statement about how youth is fetishized, and how adult society demands the sacrifice of youth for its entertainment - in music, in sport, in all aspects of celebrity and media. Add in some strong characterization, well-scripted action scenes, and deft, subtle world-building, and you've got an excellent piece of literature.
Note: the new Volume 6 is the old Volume 5. Two stories here: The Murder of Emma Frost and Assault on Weapon Plus.
The murder story just shows how ridiculous death has become in superhero universes. You know, from the first panel, that she's not going to stay dead, and in the end she comes back to life in time to identify her murderer. I get what Morrison was trying to do, playing up the inter-generational conflict theme he started in the previous volume, but the entire thing just seems unduly cheesy.
The second arc, however, is great. I think the Weapon Plus organization, and Fantomex, are the two greatest ideas Morrison came up with throughout his run, so it's great to see him revisit them. Also, he gets the Cyclops/Wolverine relationship better than any other X writer, and writes their rivalry in a way that makes them both look like upstanding men.
Celia Krajewski is unsure of how long she has to live. None of us do, really, but for Celia the matter is a bit more pressing, as she's recently discovered she carries a gene for a rare mutation that will eventually destroy her mind. She has an out, though; she can place her body in statis, transferring her mind and personhood to a bioandroid body so that she can continue living until a cure is found.
Death always demands payment, though, and Celia's attempt to cheat it comes with the cost of her marriage; her wife refuses to see Celia as the ‘real' Celia, claiming that to be with her robotic body would amount to infidelity. This starts Celia questioning exactly how human her new self is. Eventually, she starts to hurt herself, to remind herself of her humanity. To her surprise, she finds that she starts to like the pain. And that she's not the only bioandroid who feels that way.
While the science fictional elements of Machine are absolutely essential parts of it, they are not the central focus of it; instead, Pelland wisely chooses to focus her story on Celia's attempts to retain a feeling of humanity as she starts to lose many of the relationships with others that define who we are; our romantic relationships, friendships, hobbies and career choices are so often a part of our self-definition that to be stripped of them can remove that feeling of humanity from any of us, if only momentarily; to be stripped in that way while inside a biomechanical body that only reinforces those feelings of nonhumanism.
Beyond the character study of Celia, Machine also has some interesting things to say about the interplay of individual rights and collective good. Given the subject matter of the book, it would be very easy to think of Machine as a book that would argue that individual rights are always paramount, and the first-person narration that Celia provides definitely seems to support that. “Body autonomy”, as it is phrased in the book, is understandably important for all the mechanical characters, and it is the realization that she lacks that that drives Celia to make some of the choises that she does in the course of the story. However, as first-person narrators are inherently unreliable, it's important to look beyond Celia's opinion and see what's actually happening. The reality that we can observe when we look beyond Celia is that all of the crises that Celia faces throughout the book stem from others using their own bodily autonomy – their ‘free will', to use a somewhat loaded term – without regard to how those choices will impact others. The regularity with which that occurs doesn't seem to be coincidental, but rather seems to be a statement from the author on the need to balance one's own self-discovery and actualization with the knowledge of how that will affect others around them.
The human characters in Celia's story are fascinating and self-contradictory. Most of those that recognize that there is still humanity in her, or at least claim to, refuse ultimately to treat her as human, instead objectifying her and using her as a tool for their own ends. Within the moral framework of the story, this objectification is somewhat defensible – it could be argued, after all, that they're operating with the same desire for individualistic autonomy that Celia desires – but it is still ultimately counterproductive and serves only to increase Celia's feelings of separation and otherness from her new body.
Machine was, at times, a hard book to read. The emotional power of Pelland's writing left me breathless at a few points, and the depths that Celia is willing to go to prove her remaining humanity to herself will no doubt be shocking to some readers. The tragedy that sits at its core makes it a very rewarding read; Jennifer Pelland manages to put a very human and humanistic face on a subgenre that at times tries to flee from those descriptors.
(note: Apex Publications provided a copy of Machine for review).
This was a bit of a mess. It was set in Victorian England, like so many a steampunk story is, but it didn't feel like Victorian England- the characters' mannerisms, attitudes, and values made them seem like modern characters that were sort of play-acting instead of being from the actual time period.
The plot was a bit of a mess, too. Finley Jayne, the main character, is a maid who has superpowers for some reason, and she's hired to be a companion/bodyguard for this aristocratic adolescent who someone is trying to kill. If you've ever read any science fiction or adventure stories before, it quickly becomes obvious who is trying to kill her, and why; Finley stops him from killing her and then leaves the employment of the aristocratic family. She doesn't learn anything, or change in any way along the way, and then the story just kind of ends. Very unsatisfying.
Years ago, someone cloned some of the greatest (and most evil) minds in history. Set loose in the world, they were supposed to change everything. Now, thirty years later, someone has a new plan for the clones - one that involves MURDER.
This was a really fun read, in a pulpy, b-movie kind of way. Imagine Clone High mixed with Mike Hammer, Fincher's Seven, and Hutchins' Seventh Son trilogy and you get a rough idea of what's going on here. Shakespeare it ain't, even if old Bill does make an appearance in the story.