Harry

Andy Weir's “Project Hail Mary” - it's made every single best-of lists and a lot of non-sf best of 2021 lists from literary magazines - heck, it made Obama's best of 2021 list. Yes, I enjoyed it, it's “The Martian” Part 2 - and we know everyone liked that. But. That's also why I wouldn't put it at my personal top slot for 2021 releases - I felt like it was more of the same, it's The Martian but just add Friday to Robinson Crusoe - it's like Weir did his own fan fiction. But, that's why everyone likes it (he did reach in his 2nd novel, and everyone hated that one, so, I don't blame him for returning to form). And, face it, it's a heckva lot of fun - go ahead, I recommend it, you won't be disappointed, read it, and chances are, it'll be on your best list.

This book has two major premises: (1) American irrationality is as old as the republic itself, older. It's as American as apple pie. (2) Right wing and Christian ascendency and imperviousness to facts share a common origin with left wing hippie culture of the 1960s, i.e. create your own reality. However you weigh the accuracy of the arguments, this book is a delight to read in both its accessibility and its inspiration.

The book certainly spoke to my library fetish, and the author surely did her homework and sprinkled the book with all kinds of NYPL history and trivia. Part family drama (although really focused on 2 individuals) and part mystery. Honestly, the family drama has been done better (check out Hala Alyan's The Arsonist's City) and the mystery is very guessable (clues are there - kudos to the author), overall, it's a satisfying read. There's a feminist aspect, but that thrust is blunted by its historical nature somewhat, but I appreciated the attempt to grapple with the possible conflicts between family and self-realization. Honestly, read it for the library history and the lions' backstory.

At first, I was so excited and delighted with this book, that I nominated it for an award. But something happened as I read, it began to feel like wading through mud, and I abandoned it halfway. But, me being me (and don't lecture me booktubers, I am what I am) I picked it up again, albeit years later, in my primal drive to finish every book. This is not so much a long book (although it is that, in excess of 600 pages) as it is dense with compacted ideas. It doesn't help that Harkaway doesn't feel any obligation at times to make it clear which character is doing what or who they are, and, sometimes, he doesn't feel an obligation for pronouns to have antecedents. The prose is like poetry at times, and chock full of allusions and references, from abstruse details of Greek mythology to Yogi Bear cartoons from my childhood. The font alternation is annoying and unnecessary (although it is a clue in lieu of others, as to what's going on). But that's all stuff that could either be overlooked or appreciated for something or other - the most difficult thing here is that it's impossible to care about any of the characters here, or to be even interested in what's happening to them. It's a wild crazy trip, but, alas, a trip where you say to yourself, are we there yet, Nick? Briefly, in a near-ish future London, a women turns herself in to the offices of a surveillance state run by the usual all-knowing computer AI. The Inspector, who passes for our main character, uses the cutting edge technology which merges her mind with that of the women suspect, now dead, mysteriously, at the hands of previous inspectors. Therein, we get a view not of that woman's memories but of a wild ride through numerous different stories in the distant past and remotely far future where godlike hive minds joust with each other. The fun in this book is the Martian Chronicles-like series of independent stories, connected with symbolism and coincidences which gets the Sherlock Holmes in you going. But somewhere along the way, to me it seems, Harkaway lost interest in the connections. I did finish the book, but at times I felt like I was dragging my eyes from word to word. I don't know what to say: I should have loved this book, and sort of do some aspects of it, but I'm left with a throughly ambiguous feeling (which will seem appropriate, if you read this book yourself). Perhaps I should re-read it, but I don't have it in me. The best character by far was the shark. Despite Kyriakos's last words that he didn't miss the shark, I did, I sure did miss the shark.

First, this really needs to be said: this book owes a huge intellectual debt to Ray Bradbury's seminal story “I Sing the Body Electric” - certainly in theme and concern, some plot elements, and, I must say, the final scenes recall that 60s story quite a bit. OK, now that I said that, this is an excellent book and I'd recommend it to anyone without reservation. A story about love, humanity, caring, and ... AI (thus Bradbury) and, the world seen through the eyes of a ‘new' being (like Shelley's Frankenstein, i.e. the book). Top it off with some wry off-stage musing about religion. The writing from Nobel winner Ishiguro is top shelf, naturally. The book exudes positivity, at times wistful, at times nearly exuberant.