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A review by poultrymunitions
Line and Orbit by Lisa Soem, Sunny Moraine
4.0
Gorgeous.
Sci-fi so diverting as to give one a sense of what it may be like to be raptured: snatched-up, out of your life (and out of your clothes, too—according to the baptists under whose rhapsodies I grew up), up into the heavens, into a new life very, very far removed from the one you left behind.
It was like that.
Reading this book.
For a day and a half I was not in my own life, except when I put the tablet down to sleep—and even then, not all my dreams were my own.
I saw the shape of this book somewhere in the first third—the inevitable pressure towards where the story must end—and when I arrived there I found it no less enthralling for being foreshadowed.
A lovely metaphor, that title. Both holy and profane, as is true of many ideas in our world today—though mostly I only know the Christian ones.
Jesus Christ, what a story!
Line and Orbit!
A curse.
Line and Orbit.
A benediction.
And on such a scale, this book—but still, as all stories are, really—about people. It follows many of them for a little bit, and two for a lot; and as all good sci-fi—as all good stories—it is both a mirror and a window, so that you are left musing as much about your own fate as the fate of the heroes you've come to love, and the villains you've come to pity.
I didn't quite follow the logic of the central conceit—the faintly granola ethos behind pretty much the entire plot—and have yet to come across a convincing argument against the idea this book appears to be opposed to—but all the same:
Four stars, and recommended.
Sci-fi so diverting as to give one a sense of what it may be like to be raptured: snatched-up, out of your life (and out of your clothes, too—according to the baptists under whose rhapsodies I grew up), up into the heavens, into a new life very, very far removed from the one you left behind.
It was like that.
Reading this book.
For a day and a half I was not in my own life, except when I put the tablet down to sleep—and even then, not all my dreams were my own.
I saw the shape of this book somewhere in the first third—the inevitable pressure towards where the story must end—and when I arrived there I found it no less enthralling for being foreshadowed.
A lovely metaphor, that title. Both holy and profane, as is true of many ideas in our world today—though mostly I only know the Christian ones.
Jesus Christ, what a story!
Line and Orbit!
A curse.
Line and Orbit.
A benediction.
And on such a scale, this book—but still, as all stories are, really—about people. It follows many of them for a little bit, and two for a lot; and as all good sci-fi—as all good stories—it is both a mirror and a window, so that you are left musing as much about your own fate as the fate of the heroes you've come to love, and the villains you've come to pity.
I didn't quite follow the logic of the central conceit—the faintly granola ethos behind pretty much the entire plot—and have yet to come across a convincing argument against the idea this book appears to be opposed to—but all the same:
Four stars, and recommended.