Becca

Andy Weir writes fast-paced, engineering-oriented scifi well. This heist on a moon colony, featuring a vaguely Saudi, lapsed Muslim protagonist was a quick and light read. There's welding and problems with low-gravity/zero atmosphere and family bonding and shady business dealings. So, almost perfect.

But look, some people shouldn't be allowed to write books about women, and Andy Weir is one of those people. Also, mostly, I wanted it to be the Martian redux. And by trying to make a convoluted conspiracy plot, Weir has wandered away from what he does best: MacGyvering in Space! books.

Becky Chambers' mom is an astrobiologist (yes, I'm jealous, too) and they worked together to imagine how spacefaring might work in this world. I love super-realistic space stories and there are so few of them, without ansibles and hyperspace drives. To Be Taught leans in to the boundaries of the speed of light. There is no going home, there is no instantaneous communication with earth, light years away. There is the claustrophobic feeling of being with the only humans who come from the same era as you, of being years away from hearing a response to your question. How do people cope with that? How does a society build up an astronaut plan and a culture to accept that? These are the fascinating questions of space travel and Chambers doesn't flinch from them.

The Atlantic headline of the book review for the Hunter was “Tana French has broken the murder mystery...can she put it back together?”

I didn't read their review, but the answer is no, she can't. Look, I get her point: glorification of police is causing political problems in real life and it feels dirty to keep writing police books. But then just...stop. Don't do this, it's sad and it's more sad because we all know how talented Tana French can be.

Since there is literally no plot for the first 179 pages, I spent a lot of time thinking about where Tana French went wrong with the non Dublin Murder Squad books. Yes, it's rural, which is usually not of high interest to me, but the Witch Elm was urban and not much better. I think it's that I really don't care very much about Cal Hooper and Trey Reddy and Lena Dunne and Mart. They have no real interiority except a desire for peace, a shared reticence for speaking and a loose allegiance to the truth.

The plot starts on page 179, which you'd think would improve things, but it weirdly feels the need to close the loop at all times, so first Cal tells the narrator which lie he'll tell, then he tells it, then he tells Lena he told it, then he thinks about how Trey will feel about him telling it, then we hear about how Trey feels about him telling it and then Mart comes around and summarizes how the town feels. Over, and over and over again.

One could be forgiven for not realizing that this is supposed to be a murder mystery, even a post-modern one, since no one dies until page 275. It's not very mysterious, though, the murder and the motive were obvious to me less than a third of the way in the 100 pages between then and the reveal, simply because the book is so sparse that there was literally only one choice.

I never would have picked up a book about a retiree living on the countryside and navigativing his relationship with the townsfolk if it hadn't been written by Tana French, and I think, sadly after a third dud in a row, I'm done with Tana French.

NK Jemisin is an epic world-builder. She crafts worlds that make so much internal sense that she can then write an entire book about what it means to live in the margins between the communities or not fit into them, and because we get the world so well it makes sense. As someone who loves interstitial spaces, I loved this book about people who are trying to figure out where they fit into the world when they don't quite fit into the previously made boxes

Take a basic adolescent novel about fitting in, friendship and crushes and then make all of that real: if you don't have any friends, you will literally be eaten by monsters. If the golden boy reciprocates his crush on you, it will literally save your life. That's the premise of Deadly Education and it's kind of a fascinating one.

I think Novik's characters were well-developed, especially to explore the way that adolescence can feel so life-or-death. Sometimes school fantasy can feel twee, but I felt like Novik's monsters felt real, serious threats and this was done well.