nicanical
Brandon Sanderson's bottled lightning with this one.
Mistborn: The Final Empire opens with Kelsier, a half-Skaa thief and Allomancer. With a fixed grin and bottomless optimism, he spearheads a plan that's part heist and part Skaa rebellion. Along the way Kelsier rescues Vin, a beat-down street rat with much more in common with him than he realizes. After tucking away the story's first third or so, Kelsier and Vin share the topline, with Vin joining the plan as an inside (wo)man.
The story's pacing is impeccable and the timing of story beats is just right. Events and scenes all serve a purpose like stars in a constellation. There are lots of pleasing twists, organically-crafted and foreshadowed so they don't come off like ass-pulls when they're revealed. Meanwhile, the rebellion looms heavy in the background like a mistwraith. I worried Sanderson would pull a Hyperion and close with a cliffhanger. He doesn't. You get a full ending here that respects the time you spend with the book.
Here're some complaints though:
First, the writing could be tightened up. It's dusty with filter words and other things: heard this, saw that, looked like, and then the characters are always only ever rolling their eyes at each other. The crew of the googly eyes yearns for variety in facial expressions.
Second, some of Vin's parts read like young adult literature—exhorting responsibility, and perseverance over coming-of-age problems. I dislike these parts because they clash with the rest of the story which decidedly doesn't read like YA lit. Further, given the beatings and abandonment and betrayal Vin has endured before crossing Kelsier's path, it's tone deaf and simplistic to then rebuild her confidence merely with friendly smiles and baywraps and time.
Lastly, the explicit Push and Pull during combat overstays its welcome. In Allomancy—the story's wonderful magic system—abilities have two opposed effects: a Pull effect and a Push effect. Both are used in combat, sometimes together, sometimes in rapid succession, and sometimes together in rapid succession. Sanderson always states which effect is used, e.g., She Pushed hard behind her, then Pulled slightly on the gates below. This is nice early on for clarity but later it's just clutter interrupting the action.
Brandon Sanderson's bottled lightning with this one.
Mistborn: The Final Empire opens with Kelsier, a half-Skaa thief and Allomancer. With a fixed grin and bottomless optimism, he spearheads a plan that's part heist and part Skaa rebellion. Along the way Kelsier rescues Vin, a beat-down street rat with much more in common with him than he realizes. After tucking away the story's first third or so, Kelsier and Vin share the topline, with Vin joining the plan as an inside (wo)man.
The story's pacing is impeccable and the timing of story beats is just right. Events and scenes all serve a purpose like stars in a constellation. There are lots of pleasing twists, organically-crafted and foreshadowed so they don't come off like ass-pulls when they're revealed. Meanwhile, the rebellion looms heavy in the background like a mistwraith. I worried Sanderson would pull a Hyperion and close with a cliffhanger. He doesn't. You get a full ending here that respects the time you spend with the book.
Here're some complaints though:
First, the writing could be tightened up. It's dusty with filter words and other things: heard this, saw that, looked like, and then the characters are always only ever rolling their eyes at each other. The crew of the googly eyes yearns for variety in facial expressions.
Second, some of Vin's parts read like young adult literature—exhorting responsibility, and perseverance over coming-of-age problems. I dislike these parts because they clash with the rest of the story which decidedly doesn't read like YA lit. Further, given the beatings and abandonment and betrayal Vin has endured before crossing Kelsier's path, it's tone deaf and simplistic to then rebuild her confidence merely with friendly smiles and baywraps and time.
Lastly, the explicit Push and Pull during combat overstays its welcome. In Allomancy—the story's wonderful magic system—abilities have two opposed effects: a Pull effect and a Push effect. Both are used in combat, sometimes together, sometimes in rapid succession, and sometimes together in rapid succession. Sanderson always states which effect is used, e.g., She Pushed hard behind her, then Pulled slightly on the gates below. This is nice early on for clarity but later it's just clutter interrupting the action.
Brian Sanderson's bottled lightning with this one.
Mistborn: The Final Empire opens with Kelsier, a half-Skaa thief and Allomancer. With a fixed grin and bottomless optimism, Kelsier spearheads a plan that's part heist and part Skaa rebellion. Along the way Kelsier rescues Vin, a beat-down street rat with much more in common with him than he realizes. After tucking away the story's first third or so, Kelsier and Vin share the topline, with Vin joining the plan as an inside man.
The story's pacing is impeccable and the timing of story beats is just right. Events and scenes all serve a purpose like stars in a constellation. There are lots of pleasing twists, organically-crafted and foreshadowed so they don't come off like ass-pulls when they're revealed. Meanwhile, the rebellion looms heavy in the background like a mistwraith. I worried Sanderson would pull a Hyperion and close with a cliffhanger. He doesn't. You get a full ending here that respects the time you spend with the book.
Here're some complaints though:
First, the writing could have been tightened up. It's dusty with filter words and other things: heard this, saw that, looked like, and then the characters are always only ever rolling their eyes at each other. It's the crew of the googly eyes over here.
Second, some of Vin's parts read a bit like YA fiction. She's given a Cindarella persona that gawks at balls and loves dresses and perfumed baths. She has flaws typical of YA fiction: distrust of authority, and fear of intimacy (hedgehog's dilemma). These parts didn't fit well, and I didn't like them. Vin's mental scars and psychological damage should have been portrayed more viscerally instead of having her merely ruminate over big bro's sociopathic aphorisms.
Lastly, the explicit push and pull in combat overstays. The story's magic system—Allomancy—is wonderful, grounded, and made more interesting with limitations for the characters must juggle. Allomantic abilities have two opposed effects—a pull effect and a push effect. Both are used in combat, sometimes together or in rapid succession. Sanderson always states which effect is used. This is nice early on while getting used to Allomancy, but later it's just clutter interrupting the action.
Brian Sanderson's bottled lightning with this one.
Mistborn: The Final Empire opens with Kelsier, a half-Skaa thief and Allomancer. With a fixed grin and bottomless optimism, Kelsier spearheads a plan that's part heist and part Skaa rebellion. Along the way Kelsier rescues Vin, a beat-down street rat with much more in common with him than he realizes. After tucking away the story's first third or so, Kelsier and Vin share the topline, with Vin joining the plan as an inside man.
The story's pacing is impeccable and the timing of story beats is just right. Events and scenes all serve a purpose like stars in a constellation. There are lots of pleasing twists, organically-crafted and foreshadowed so they don't come off like ass-pulls when they're revealed. Meanwhile, the rebellion looms heavy in the background like a mistwraith. I worried Sanderson would pull a Hyperion and close with a cliffhanger. He doesn't. You get a full ending here that respects the time you spend with the book.
Here're some complaints though:
First, the writing could have been tightened up. It's dusty with filter words and other things: heard this, saw that, looked like, and then the characters are always only ever rolling their eyes at each other. It's the crew of the googly eyes over here.
Second, some of Vin's parts read a bit like YA fiction. She's given a Cindarella persona that gawks at balls and loves dresses and perfumed baths. She has flaws typical of YA fiction: distrust of authority, and fear of intimacy (hedgehog's dilemma). These parts didn't fit well, and I didn't like them. Vin's mental scars and psychological damage should have been portrayed more viscerally instead of having her merely ruminate over big bro's sociopathic aphorisms.
Lastly, the explicit push and pull in combat overstays. The story's magic system—Allomancy—is wonderful, grounded, and made more interesting with limitations for the characters must juggle. Allomantic abilities have two opposed effects—a pull effect and a push effect. Both are used in combat, sometimes together or in rapid succession. Sanderson always states which effect is used. This is nice early on while getting used to Allomancy, but later it's just clutter interrupting the action.
Brian Sanderson really bottled lightning with this one.
Mistborn: The Final Empire opens with Kelsier, a half-Skaa thief and Allomancer. With a fixed grin and bottomless optimism, Kelsier spearheads a plan that's part heist and part Skaa rebellion. Along the way Kelsier rescues Vin, a beat-down street rat with much more in common with him than he realizes. After tucking away the story's first third or so, Kelsier and Vin share the topline, with Vin joining the plan as an inside man.
The story's pacing is impeccable and the timing of story beats is just right. Events and scenes all serve a purpose like stars in a constellation. There are lots of pleasing twists, organically-crafted and foreshadowed so they don't come off like ass-pulls when they're revealed. Meanwhile, the rebellion looms heavy in the background like a mistwraith. As my pages left ticked down, I worried Sanderson would pull a Hyperion and close with a cliffhanger. He doesn't. You get a full ending here that respects the time you spend with the book.
Here're some complaints though:
First, the writing could have been tightened up. It's dusty with filter words and other things: heard this, saw that, looked like, and then the characters are always only ever rolling their eyes at each other. It's the heist crew of the googly eyes over here.
Second, some of Vin's parts read a bit like YA fiction. She's given a Cindarella persona that gawks at balls and loves dresses and perfumed baths. She has flaws typical of YA fiction: distrust of authority, and fear of intimacy (hedgehog's dilemma). These parts didn't fit well, and I didn't like them. Vin's mental scars and psychological damage should have been portrayed more viscerally instead of having her merely ruminate over big bro's sociopathic aphorisms.
Lastly, the explicit push and pull in combat overstays by the middle of the book. The story's magic system—Allomancy—is wonderful, grounded, and made more interesting with limitations for the characters to juggle. Allomantic abilities have two opposed effects—a pull effect and a push effect. Both are used in combat, sometimes together or in rapid succession. Sanderson always states which effect is used, which is nice early on while getting used to Allomancy, but later it's just clutter and sandbags the velocity of the action.
Brian Sanderson really bottled lightning with this one.
Mistborn: The Final Empire opens with Kelsier, a half-Skaa thief and Allomancer. With a fixed grin and bottomless optimism, Kelsier spearheads a plan that's part heist and part Skaa rebellion. Along the way Kelsier rescues Vin, a beat-down street rat with much more in common with him than he realizes. After tucking away the story's first third or so, Kelsier and Vin share the topline, with Vin joining the plan as an inside man.
The story's pacing is impeccable and the timing of story beats is just right. Events and scenes all serve a purpose like stars in a constellation. There are lots of pleasing twists, organically-crafted and foreshadowed so they don't come off like ass-pulls when they're revealed. Meanwhile, the rebellion looms heavy in the background like a mistwraith. As my pages left ticked down, I worried Sanderson would pull a Hyperion and close with a cliffhanger. He doesn't. You get a full ending here that respects the time you spend with the book.
Here're some complaints though:
First, the writing could have been tightened up. It's dusty with filter words and other things: heard this, saw that, looked like, and then the characters are always only ever rolling their eyes at each other. It's the heist crew of the googly eyes over here.
Second, some of Vin's parts read a bit like YA fiction. She's given a Cindarella persona that gawks at balls and loves dresses and perfumed baths. She has flaws typical of YA fiction: distrust of authority, and fear of intimacy (hedgehog's dilemma). These parts didn't fit well, and I didn't like them. Vin's mental scars and psychological damage should have been portrayed more viscerally instead of having her merely ruminate over big bro's sociopathic aphorisms.
Lastly, the explicit push and pull in combat overstays by the middle of the book. The story's magic system—Allomancy—is wonderful, grounded, and made more interesting with limitations for the characters to juggle. Allomantic abilities have two opposed effects—a pull effect and a push effect. Both are used in combat, sometimes together or in rapid succession. Sanderson always states which effect is used, which is nice early on while getting used to Allomancy, but later it's just clutter and sandbags the velocity of the action.
Hannu Rajaniemi's The Quantum Thief is The Saint meets Jupiter Ascending.
Legendary gentleman thief Jean Le Flambeur is rescued (a shade of him is, anyway) from a prison orbiting Neptune on behalf of entities unknown, and for reasons unknown. Jean successfully argues for a detour to The Oubliette—a Martian city ambling around the red planet like one of Theo Jansen's Strandbeests. This city is where the bulk of the story takes place and it's a good story: well-paced and a fun ride, with creative settings and set pieces, and memorably-portrayed characters (although, they are a skosh cookie-cutter).
Two issues though:
First, some parts could have used more direct exposition, but Rajaniemi prefers the delayed approach. E.g., we learn about "gogols" piecemeal: one chapter shares that they have relationships; another that they are susceptible to "piracy"; and yet another says they are made of code-like "scripts." It's halfway through the book before it's clear that gogols are a form of digitized human consciousness. While delayed exposition can be immersive, it can also be confusing.
Second, Rajaniemi also uses multiple narrative perspectives: Jean in first-person, the rest from third. Shifting between perspectives interrupts reading flow. Especially so here, where they happen in the middle of chapters and not along clearer boundaries. Yes, the interruptions are short, a second or less, but so are mosquitoes buzzing your ears.
Hannu Rajaniemi's The Quantum Thief is The Saint meets Jupiter Ascending.
Legendary gentleman thief Jean Le Flambeur is rescued (a shade of him is, anyway) from a prison orbiting Neptune on behalf of entities unknown, and for reasons unknown. Jean successfully argues for a detour to The Oubliette—a Martian city ambling around the red planet like one of Theo Jansen's Strandbeests. This city is where the bulk of the story takes place and it's a good story: well-paced and a fun ride, with creative settings and set pieces, and memorably-portrayed characters (although, they are a skosh cookie-cutter).
Two issues though:
First, some parts could have used more direct exposition, but Rajaniemi prefers the delayed approach. E.g., we learn about "gogols" piecemeal: one chapter shares that they have relationships; another that they are susceptible to "piracy"; and yet another says they are made of code-like "scripts." It's halfway through the book before it's clear that gogols are a form of digitized human consciousness. While delayed exposition can be immersive, it can also be confusing.
Second, Rajaniemi also uses multiple narrative perspectives: Jean in first-person, the rest from third. Shifting between perspectives interrupts reading flow. Especially so here, where they happen in the middle of chapters and not along clearer boundaries. Yes, the interruptions are short, a second or less, but so are mosquitoes buzzing your ears.
Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell tells six stories, separated by time and place but connected through a birthmark implying the main character's reincarnation. A film adaptation directed by the Wachowskis released in 2012.
Cloud Atlas's stories are nested: the first five stories halt midway, the sixth story is told in full, then the first five are concluded in reverse order. The stories also happen to be presented in increasingly engaging order: the first two stories are collections of diary entries, archaically-styled and, frankly, boring; followed by an action-mystery, a "prison" break, a dystopian thriller, and a post-apocalyptic survival story.
The most engaging stories conclude in the middle. After, the remaining conclusions decrescendo in vigor with the hoity-toity and olde Englishe diary entries of Robert Frobisher, and Adam Ewing. The book ends weak because the weak stories are at the end. Further, when each story is interrupted halfway, momentum is necessarily lost. Readers have to recalibrate when resuming the story later—like matching revs before shifting gears. It's not a smooth reading experience.
This is one of those times where the film adaptation is better than the book. The film maintains its momentum better, by allowing itself to switch between the stories several times, and also by grouping similarly energetic scenes together.
Interestingly, the US and UK editions differ but the differences are only in content of the Sonmi-451 story—nothing with the nested structure. (The US edition is the basis for the film and also later electronic editions, but neither has been declared as the definitive edition).
Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell tells six stories, separated by time and place but connected through a birthmark implying the main character's reincarnation. A film adaptation directed by the Wachowskis released in 2012.
Cloud Atlas's stories are nested: the first five stories halt midway, the sixth story is told in full, then the first five are concluded in reverse order. The stories also happen to be presented in increasingly engaging order: the first two stories are collections of diary entries, archaically-styled and, frankly, boring; followed by an action-mystery, a "prison" break, a dystopian thriller, and a post-apocalyptic survival story.
The most engaging stories conclude in the middle. After, the remaining conclusions decrescendo in vigor with the hoity-toity and olde Englishe diary entries of Robert Frobisher, and Adam Ewing. The book ends weak because the weak stories are at the end. Further, when each story is interrupted halfway, momentum is necessarily lost. Readers have to recalibrate when resuming the story later—like matching revs before shifting gears. It's not a smooth reading experience.
This is one of those times where the film adaptation is better than the book. The film maintains its momentum better, by allowing itself to switch between the stories several times, and also by grouping similarly energetic scenes together.
Interestingly, the US and UK editions differ but the differences are only in content of the Sonmi-451 story—nothing with the nested structure. (The US edition is the basis for the film and also later electronic editions, but neither has been declared as the definitive edition).
Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell tells six stories, separated by time and place but connected through a birthmark implying the main character's reincarnation. A film adaptation directed by the Wachowskis released in 2012.
Cloud Atlas's stories are nested: the first five stories halt midway, the sixth story is told in full, then the first five are concluded in reverse order. The stories also happen to be presented in increasingly engaging order: the first two stories are collections of diary entries, archaically-styled and, frankly, boring; followed by an action-mystery, a "prison" break, a dystopian thriller, and a post-apocalyptic survival story.
The most engaging stories conclude in the middle. After, the remaining conclusions decrescendo in vigor with the hoity-toity and olde Englishe diary entries of Robert Frobisher, and Adam Ewing. The book ends weak because it ends with its weak stories. Further, when each story is interrupted halfway, momentum is necessarily lost for that narrative. Upon resuming each story later, readers have to recalibrate—like matching revs before shifting gears. It's not a smooth reading experience.
This is one of those times where the film adaptation is better than the book because the film maintains its momentum better—by going back and forth between the stories several times and also by grouping similarly energetic scenes together. Interestingly, the US and UK editions differ but the differences are only in content of the Sonmi-451 story—nothing with the nested structure. (The US edition is the basis for the film and also later electronic editions, but neither has been declared as the definitive edition).
Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell tells six stories, separated by time and place but connected through a birthmark implying the main character's reincarnation. A film adaptation directed by the Wachowskis released in 2012.
Cloud Atlas's stories are nested: the first five stories halt midway, the sixth story is told in full, then the first five are concluded in reverse order. The stories also happen to be presented in increasingly engaging order: the first two stories are collections of diary entries, archaically-styled and, frankly, boring; followed by an action-mystery, a "prison" break, a dystopian thriller, and a post-apocalyptic survival story.
The most engaging stories conclude in the middle. After, the remaining conclusions decrescendo in vigor with the hoity-toity and olde Englishe diary entries of Robert Frobisher, and Adam Ewing. The book ends weak because it ends with its weak stories. Further, when each story is interrupted halfway, momentum is necessarily lost for that narrative. Upon resuming each story later, readers have to recalibrate—like matching revs before shifting gears. It's not a smooth reading experience.
This is one of those times where the film adaptation is better than the book because the film maintains its momentum better—by going back and forth between the stories several times and also by grouping similarly energetic scenes together. Interestingly, the US and UK editions differ but the differences are only in content of the Sonmi-451 story—nothing with the nested structure. (The US edition is the basis for the film and also later electronic editions, but neither has been declared as the definitive edition).
Added to listOwnedwith 101 books.
Hannu Rajaniemi's The Quantum Thief is The Saint meets Jupiter Ascending.
Legendary gentleman thief Jean Le Flambeur is rescued (a shade of him is, anyway) from a prison orbiting Neptune on behalf of entities unknown, and for reasons unknown. Jean successfully argues for a detour to The Oubliette—a Martian city ambling around the red planet like one of Theo Jansen's Strandbeests. This city is where the bulk of the story takes place and it's a good story: well-paced and a fun ride, with creative settings and set pieces, and memorably-portrayed characters (although, they are a skosh cookie-cutter).
Two issues though:
First, some parts could have used more direct exposition, but Rajaniemi prefers the delayed approach. E.g., we learn about "gogols" piecemeal: one chapter shares that they have relationships; another that they are susceptible to "piracy"; and yet another says they are made of code-like "scripts." It's halfway through the book before it's clear that gogols are a form of digitized human consciousness. While delayed exposition can be immersive, it can also be confusing.
Second, Rajaniemi also uses multiple narrative perspectives: Jean in first-person, the rest from third. Arthur C. Clarke's Childhood's End does the same thing, and it was distracting there too.
Hannu Rajaniemi's The Quantum Thief is The Saint meets Jupiter Ascending.
Legendary gentleman thief Jean Le Flambeur is rescued (a shade of him is, anyway) from a prison orbiting Neptune on behalf of entities unknown, and for reasons unknown. Jean successfully argues for a detour to The Oubliette—a Martian city ambling around the red planet like one of Theo Jansen's Strandbeests. This city is where the bulk of the story takes place and it's a good story: well-paced and a fun ride, with creative settings and set pieces, and memorably-portrayed characters (although, they are a skosh cookie-cutter).
Two issues though:
First, some parts could have used more direct exposition, but Rajaniemi prefers the delayed approach. E.g., we learn about "gogols" piecemeal: one chapter shares that they have relationships; another that they are susceptible to "piracy"; and yet another says they are made of code-like "scripts." It's halfway through the book before it's clear that gogols are a form of digitized human consciousness. While delayed exposition can be immersive, it can also be confusing.
Second, Rajaniemi also uses multiple narrative perspectives: Jean in first-person, the rest from third. Arthur C. Clarke's Childhood's End does the same thing, and it was distracting there too.
