nicanical
The Forever War is like Robert A. Heinlein's Starship Troopers with fewer classes, more combat, and a protagonist—William Mandella—who is jaded with the war rather than bought into it.
Joe Haldeman's treatment of time dilation here is the best I've seen after Alastair Reynolds's. Time dilation means decades pass between engagements, with successive expeditions equipped with drastically improved weapons and tactics. Like winning a line battle with muskets and cannons only for the enemy's reinforcement to show up with jets and tanks.
Naturally, time dilation means that Earth changes drastically as well from Mandella's point of view. The first time he returns home, two years have passed for Mandella but over twenty years have passed back on Earth. Mandella is so alienated by the unfamiliar world that he re-enlists shortly after. (In this way, The Forever War is also an allegory for the Vietnam War).
The story is paced well with chapters kept to digestible lengths. Haldeman's style is straightforward and relatively unadorned making this an easy read.
The Forever War is like Robert A. Heinlein's Starship Troopers with fewer classes, more combat, and a protagonist—William Mandella—who is jaded with the war rather than bought into it.
Joe Haldeman's treatment of time dilation here is the best I've seen after Alastair Reynolds's. Time dilation means decades pass between engagements, with successive expeditions equipped with drastically improved weapons and tactics. Like winning a line battle with muskets and cannons only for the enemy's reinforcement to show up with jets and tanks.
Naturally, time dilation means that Earth changes drastically as well from Mandella's point of view. The first time he returns home, two years have passed for Mandella but over twenty years have passed back on Earth. Mandella is so alienated by the unfamiliar world that he re-enlists shortly after. (In this way, The Forever War is also an allegory for the Vietnam War).
The story is paced well with chapters kept to digestible lengths. Haldeman's style is straightforward and relatively unadorned making this an easy read.
Updated a reading goal:
Read 50 books in 2026
Progress so far: 38 / 50 76%
Awesome revenge story: sailor Edmond Dantès, on the verge of marriage and captaincy, is framed and imprisoned. He eventually escapes, transforms himself into the titular Count, and moves to reap the pounds of flesh owed to him.
I read the unabridged Robin Buss translation. It's very good, very readable. Buss modernized the manuscript so his version reads like a contemporary work, though he did leave in some obnoxiously long complex sentences.
Good pacing, good flow. The book is hard to put down. Despite its length (approaching 400,000 words) it's all killer no filler. Well . . . except Luigi Vampa's backstory—Dumas shares all these details about Cucumetto and Carlini as background to Vampa, but Vampa ultimately plays small roles in the middle and end of the story.
The story slows down where Dumas introduces new settings or important characters because he front-loads a lot of his descriptive work. The Count invariably appears soon after to tie it all to the main arc so these moments don't slow the pace too badly. The last few chapters are slow too, but only because the revenge plot is mostly complete three-quarters through. The last few chapters serve to wind down some outstanding items and address the Count's eleventh hour crisis with his actions.
More of the behind the scenes would have been nice, showing the Count laying down the foundations for his many identities and maybe more of their movements (like Lord Wilmore's); details are so sparse that the Count's machinations and contrivances are sometimes dubious—like how is there such a convenient secret passage leading to Valentine's room? I get that the lack of details adds to the mystery and almost supernatural appearance of the Count's movements which goes hand in hand with his self-image as an agent of providence. I would have preferred to have seen more of the toil and planning and human achievement though.
Awesome revenge story: sailor Edmond Dantès, on the verge of marriage and captaincy, is framed and imprisoned. He eventually escapes, transforms himself into the titular Count, and moves to reap the pounds of flesh owed to him.
I read the unabridged Robin Buss translation. It's very good, very readable. Buss modernized the manuscript so his version reads like a contemporary work, though he did leave in some obnoxiously long complex sentences.
Good pacing, good flow. The book is hard to put down. Despite its length (approaching 400,000 words) it's all killer no filler. Well . . . except Luigi Vampa's backstory—Dumas shares all these details about Cucumetto and Carlini as background to Vampa, but Vampa ultimately plays small roles in the middle and end of the story.
The story slows down where Dumas introduces new settings or important characters because he front-loads a lot of his descriptive work. The Count invariably appears soon after to tie it all to the main arc so these moments don't slow the pace too badly. The last few chapters are slow too, but only because the revenge plot is mostly complete three-quarters through. The last few chapters serve to wind down some outstanding items and address the Count's eleventh hour crisis with his actions.
More of the behind the scenes would have been nice, showing the Count laying down the foundations for his many identities and maybe more of their movements (like Lord Wilmore's); details are so sparse that the Count's machinations and contrivances are sometimes dubious—like how is there such a convenient secret passage leading to Valentine's room? I get that the lack of details adds to the mystery and almost supernatural appearance of the Count's movements which goes hand in hand with his self-image as an agent of providence. I would have preferred to have seen more of the toil and planning and human achievement though.
Pyramids starts out interesting with Teppic's assassin training but that's not what the story ends up being about at all.
Pyramids suffers from the same issue in Sourcery of introducing interesting characters only to shelve them before climactic moments.
The story rambles after the first "book" (unlike previous Discworld entries, Terry Pratchett organizes Pyramids into four parts called books). There's a message in the story about breaking cycles and expectations, but it's difficult to extricate from the unruly path the story takes.
Pyramids starts out interesting with Teppic's assassin training but that's not what the story ends up being about at all.
Pyramids suffers from the same issue in Sourcery of introducing interesting characters only to shelve them before climactic moments.
The story rambles after the first "book" (unlike previous Discworld entries, Terry Pratchett organizes Pyramids into four parts called books). There's a message in the story about breaking cycles and expectations, but it's difficult to extricate from the unruly path the story takes.
Gateway's premise is captivating: the titular Gateway is an alien space station discovered with hundreds of ready-to-go ships; people figure out how to plot destinations but the Heechee's (the name given to the aliens) coordinate system remains opaque—travelers scarcely know whether they're headed for a valuable discovery or certain death. Despite this risk, a gold rush commences.
Frederik Pohl's writing style is simple and straightforward. Protagonist Robinette's survivor's guilt and suppressed memories make him an unreliable narrator, but otherwise, Pohl clearly lets readers know what's going on.
Structurally, Gateway alternates between two narrative streams: one in the past on Gateway and one in the present back on Earth, with the present stream exploring Robinette's psychological trauma. Iain M. Banks's Use of Weapons employs a similar structure to good effect, using flashbacks to hone into events relevant to Cheradenine's psychological profile. Gateway, on the other hand, simply has Robinette harassing his machine therapist over and over until revealing his suppressed memories. These therapy sessions do not bless Robinette's character with mitigating nuance. They also fail to rehabilitate Robinette of whupping the tar out of his girlfriend Klara—if Pohl's intention was for Robinette to be more sympathetic, the therapy sessions would have been good for that.
Gateway's premise is captivating: the titular Gateway is an alien space station discovered with hundreds of ready-to-go ships; people figure out how to plot destinations but the Heechee's (the name given to the aliens) coordinate system remains opaque—travelers scarcely know whether they're headed for a valuable discovery or certain death. Despite this risk, a gold rush commences.
Frederik Pohl's writing style is simple and straightforward. Protagonist Robinette's survivor's guilt and suppressed memories make him an unreliable narrator, but otherwise, Pohl clearly lets readers know what's going on.
Structurally, Gateway alternates between two narrative streams: one in the past on Gateway and one in the present back on Earth, with the present stream exploring Robinette's psychological trauma. Iain M. Banks's Use of Weapons employs a similar structure to good effect, using flashbacks to hone into events relevant to Cheradenine's psychological profile. Gateway, on the other hand, simply has Robinette harassing his machine therapist over and over until revealing his suppressed memories. These therapy sessions do not bless Robinette's character with mitigating nuance. They also fail to rehabilitate Robinette of whupping the tar out of his girlfriend Klara—if Pohl's intention was for Robinette to be more sympathetic, the therapy sessions would have been good for that.
Added to listOwnedwith 127 books.
Added to listOwnedwith 126 books.
