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space_and_sorcery's Reviews (66)
emotional
hopeful
inspiring
reflective
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
No
It took me some time to get back to this future world in which living ships forge the vast interstellar distances and work as “traveling convents” for the nuns aboard, bringing help and comfort to those in need, but after the first few pages I felt again comfortable in this universe.
The sisters of the order of Saint Rita are dealing with the aftermath of the events from Sisters of the Vast Black, at the end of which they suffered heavy losses, both human and non-human, considering the death of their living ship-convent, named Our Lady of Impossible Constellations. Presently the nuns are traveling on a new ship, but it’s still a youngling so it needs constant care and nutrients, and since they broke any ties with the Church and Earth government funds are scarce and they have to keep a low profile and make do with what they can scrounge along the way.
Much of the story in Forsaken Stars hinges around these difficulties and the even greater threat of discovery: the nuns’ actions in revealing Earth’s responsibility in the deadly plague hitting rebellious colonies have turned them into a sort of heroic figures, taken as example and inspiration by those who are eager to shake off the yoke of Earth Governance, and they are constantly debating about how to travel the thin line separating their mission of help to those in need from the danger of becoming figureheads. The uncertainty weighing on the sisters is further enhanced by the arrival of two new people: Kristen, a young postulant asking to join the convent and Eris, the long-lost sister of Ewostatewos: the former represents the unknown factor that might unsettle the fragile balance aboard the ship, the latter is like an unwelcome spotlight shining on them because she is clearly on the run, and therefore a wanted individual.
Unlike the first book in the series, Forsaken Stars seems a little less…cohesive, for want of a better word, somewhat meandering at times, but with hindsight I can see how this uncertainty in plot is a mirror for the uncertainty plaguing the nuns who have lost their support system and have to forge a completely new way of doing things - and surviving - which might take some time before it’s ironed out into the precise mechanism it used to be with Our Lady of Impossible Constellations. Moreover, the nuns are dealing with the emotional fallout of their losses - even though not all of them are due to death, since former Sister Gemma left the convent to join her lover Vauca, an engineer on the deadship (i.e. a conventional construct) Cheng I Sao, where they try to nurture the failed shiplings in the hope of creating something new when they are not viable as future liveships.
If the plot feels a little meandering, what remains steady and strong is the sense of community among the nuns, particularly where external forces are trying to change (or co-opt) them or when personal issues threaten to intrude on their concept of faith, which here seems to be more oriented toward belief in the rightness of good works rather than adherence to dogma - and here I have to say that I appreciated how these nuns’ faith stands on the willingness to do good, to help the needy and, if possible, prevent the cruelty humans enjoy inflicting each other.
There are a few passing references to the difference between these space-faring nuns and the ones living on planets and conducting a more traditional monastic life of prayer and contemplation, references that I interpreted as respect for the kind of hands-on approach exhibited by the protagonists. It must also be said that physical distance from the Church - even before the nuns cut their ties with it and Earth - already prompted the nuns to find their own way to deal with spiritual matters, showing how doctrine cannot remain unchanged when the conditions for its applicability change due to the unpredictability of life away from humanity’s home planet.
Where the start of this second installment shows the nuns in a state of flux, the dramatic events happening toward the end of the book bring it out of the perceived middle-book syndrome and point toward a road fraught with dangers, yes, but also with great possibilities: while the short form of this novella suffers from a certain lack of development that cries out for a longer narrative span, it also leaves ample room for the expansion of the story in many possible directions. It will be interesting to see where it will lead us next….
adventurous
dark
mysterious
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Plot
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
No matter how much one tries, these days it’s almost impossible to avoid stories with a world-wide pandemic lurking in the background, and The Drift is no exception - granted, the deadly flu portrayed here is not at the core of the narrative, but rather an ancillary element, which made my journey through the book easier, also thanks to an intriguing plot that kept me turning the pages at a constant speed.
The Drift follows three groups of people facing life-threatening situations where survival requires extreme measures and also where one or more of the people in each group might not be what they look on the surface. Add to that the fact that infection is running rampant and that those who survive it turn into zombie-like Whistlers, and you have all the ingredients for a claustrophobic horror-mystery…
Hannah, the first of the three main characters in the novel, regains consciousness on a bus in the aftermath of the road accident that trapped the bus itself into a snowdrift: she and the other passengers are members of a private institute headed for the Retreat, a secure research site where they should be safe from the danger of infection. Roughly half of the passengers died in the crash, one of the survivors is mortally wounded and it appears as if the emergency exit of the bus has been sabotaged, so that the survivors have no means to get out - not that it would be advisable, since a vicious snowstorm is turning any kind of travel into a dangerous nightmare, and outside of the precarious safety of the bus wild beasts and Whistlers lurk in the surrounding woods.
Meg, a former detective plagued by depression after the death of her child, wakes up with a group of total strangers on a stalled cable car suspended over a mountain abyss and rocking frighteningly under the brunt of a snowstorm, which might be the same one hitting Hannah’s bus, since this group is also headed toward the Retreat, as volunteer testers for a cure against the virus. One of the passengers - none of which remembers getting on the cable car - is dead, not by natural causes, but as a victim of murder so that the forced closeness and the impending danger are further weighted by mutual suspicion and rampant accusations.
Lastly, in the Retreat itself, the team that conducts experiments on the virus (and I’m not talking of clean scientific methods here…) is preparing for the arrival of a huge snowstorm: it’s Carter’s turn to ski down to the almost-deserted village to procure some much-needed supplies and he’s far from sanguine about the journey, what with the beasts and Whistlers hiding in the forest and with the unsavory characters managing the village store. But that’s not the only problem, because the Retreat’s generator is acting up, tempers inside the hideout are acting up and there is a strange feeling permeating the group. Trouble knocks at Carter’s door when, on his return, he finds one of his colleagues murdered in the pool - and that’s only the beginning of the nightmare.
As you can see, the elements for a very tense drama are all present here, heightened by the author’s choice of moving cyclically through the three POV characters’ stories in a constantly escalating narrative that turns the novel into a compulsive page-turner. It’s clear, from the elements common to all three segments, that Hannah, Meg and Carter are somewhat linked or destined to meet, since the Retreat is the destination for two of the groups and the “home” of the third, and I was very pleasantly surprised at how the author managed to accomplish this while merging the three story-lines in a very unexpected way - this is indeed the big revelation on which The Drift is based.
The mechanism, however, is not quite perfectly oiled, so to speak. The characters are not as well defined as I would have liked, so that I kept feeling more of an observer than a participant invested in their fate. Granted, this is a story more plot- than character-oriented, and as such it works reasonably well, but still I prefer a novel where characters are presented in such a way that I feel something for them, and here this connection did not happen. Moreover, each group was composed by people with the exact same characteristics: a main figure through whose eyes we follow the action, and who tries to insure the group’s survival (Hannah, Meg, Carter); one character whose actions breed suspicion and whose intentions are not quite clear (Lucas, Sean, Miles); and a somewhat overbearing lady who seems to enjoy picking on the main character (Cassie, Sarah, Caren). This repetition saddled the story with a paint-by-the-numbers quality that took some of the enjoyment out of the read, and was further compounded by another form of recurrence where all three main characters felt that something of importance was almost within their grasp, but kept eluding them - once or twice might have been all right, but here the device was used far too often. The long, word-heavy explanations that in the end tied the three story-lines together did not help, as well, as they slowed the pace to a crawl and felt too convoluted to be truly effective.
Still, reading The Drift was no chore at all and I’m sorry I was unable to enjoy it more. The curiosity about this author’s other works was not diminished, however, and I will certainly satisfy it in the near future.
adventurous
emotional
funny
hopeful
tense
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
I received this novel from Titan Books through NetGalley, in exchange for an honest review: my thanks to both of them for this opportunity.
I was looking forward to the continuation of this series, where the author Gareth Powell portrays a wandering humanity relocated on huge ark-ships by the powerful aliens called Angels of Benevolence. Descendant Machine is not exactly the direct continuation of the first book, Stars and Bones, since it takes place some fifty years after the events depicted there, and as such it can be read as a stand-alone, although I would recommend reading the first volume as well, to better appreciate the nuances of characters and backgrounds. Before delving into my review I would like to share a detail about the writing of this book: in the Afterword, Mr. Powell speaks about the difficult genesis of Descendant Machine, since the first draft was completely lost due to some technical problems, and he had to start again from scratch. Everyone who lost some important file to computers’ quirks understands what kind of blow that must have been, so this book also stands as the proof that no situation is unsurmountable, no matter how dire it looks - and in light of the events that constitute the core of this novel, I wonder how much of this realization went into the crafting of the story itself…
Nicola Mafalda is the pilot of the scout ship Frontier Chic, belonging to the Vanguard - the exploratory arm of the Continuance, the vast fleet of ark ships on which humanity has been forging the vastness of space for the past 125 years. At the start of the novel, Nicola is ferrying passengers to Jzat, a planet inhabited by furry, four-armed humanoids who have been studying for generations a mysterious object orbiting their planet: the Grand Mechanism - the same size as Saturn’s rings, the object has been the source of endless debate about its origins and function, and there is a growing faction on Jzat that’s set on opening the Mechanism to uncover its secrets and, hopefully, reap the rewards that its superior technology might offer.
What started as a pretty routine run ends quite badly for Nicola and the Frontier Chic (I will let you discover how badly on your own…) and when we see her again she’s recuperating from the ordeal on one of the arks: contacted by her superiors, she is sent - not exactly willingly - to look for a Jzat mystic, the Rav'nah Abelisk, the latest in a long line of custodians of the Mechanism’s secrets, to obtain his help in avoiding the disasters that might follow the opening of the construct. Fighting against time and the Jzat faction bent on harnessing the Mechanism’s powers, Nicola faces dangers, betrayals and a threat to the end of the universe as we know it, in a non-stop, enthralling story whose stakes keep mounting from one chapter to the next.
Descendant Machine is written in alternating POV chapters belonging respectively to Nicola Mafalda, to the Frontier Chic’s envoy (envoys are the ships’ avatars) and to Orlando Walden, a young, bright scientist whose letters to his lover Ramona are a delightful mix of purple prose and self-centeredness. This narrative choice keeps the novel moving along at a swift pace, turning it into a compulsive read once the pieces are all set on the board and the action rolls on with unstoppable momentum, without however forgetting a good number of well-placed sparkles of humor and a few forays into emotions that feel natural and organically developed and contribute to the excellent narrative balance of this story.
I enjoyed Nicola’s portrayal very much: she possesses a delightfully snarky disposition that does not shy away from a consistent use of profanity, but which also hides the self-doubt and vulnerabilities that round up her character into a very relatable one. If she can be all business when performing her tasks, it’s in her dealings with the Chic’s envoy that we are able to see the real Nicola: here lies one of the most intriguing aspects of the novel, because we learn that Vanguard’s navigators and their envoys are somewhat mentally linked to better travel the intricacies of the Substrate (or hyperspace), and therefore share a bond that is as deep as it is unique. The voice of the Chic’s envoy is an equal mixture of intelligence, humor and shrewdness that works as the perfect foil for Nicola’s prickly attitude and the exchanges between the two of them are among my favorite sections of the book, particularly where the undeniable affection underlying their relationship comes to the fore.
The chapters devoted to Orlando Walden are of a very different nature for two reasons: on one side they explore his personality through the impassioned letters sent to Ramona, his love for her expressed in a flowery and childish way that’s quite funny; on the other they afford readers a peek into the mindset of the Openers - the faction set on uncovering the Mechanism’s secrets - and in particular of their leader Aulco, whose speeches pave the road for some humorous pokes at the sectarian kinds of politics we have seen crop up in recent years.
Narratively speaking, Descendant Machine enjoys a lighter tone in respect of its predecessor, even though it does not lack for drama or the levels of tension that accompany the possibility of seeing the universe as we know it vanish in a puff of smoke - from my point of view, it’s space opera of the most gratifying kind, where alongside the more adventurous themes you will find deeper considerations about life and death, love and friendship, the strength to accept one’s end for a higher purpose, and much more. Once again I can rest assured that Mr. Powell is very comfortable in this genre, as well as skilled, and that I will welcome every new book of his with great expectations.
adventurous
dark
mysterious
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Plot
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
No
I received this novel from Orbit Books through NetGalley, in exchange for an honest review: my thanks to both of them for this opportunity.
Despite a very intriguing premise, Paradise-1 proved to be a disappointing, and at times frustrating, read. This novel had so much potential, at least judging by the synopsis, but unfortunately the execution fell quite short of my expectations and I managed to finish the book only thanks to sheer willpower and a small measure of curiosity to see where the story would go. It was an uphill struggle all the way, and more than once I was tempted to DNF the novel, but I feel guilty doing so with review books, so I managed to keep reading till the (bitter?) end…
Firewatch Lieutenant Petrova, Dr. Lei Zhang and pilot Parker are rudely awakened from cryo-sleep as their ship, Artemis, is attacked by an unknown foe as they are nearing their destination, the colony named Paradise-1. Once reached the safety of the only intact section of the vessel, the three discover that their onboard AI is malfunctioning, that there are a lot of unresponsive ships in orbit around Paradise-1, and that one of them is firing against Artemis using a mass driver. This is only the first of the dangers the trio will have to face, because ships’ AIs and humans alike have fallen victims to something dangerously invasive whose nature they will have to discover if they hope to fight it - and to stay alive.
The beginning of Paradise-1 offers an intriguing, adrenaline-infused introduction to the story, and depicts very well the sense of disorientation suffered by characters who are so rudely awakened from suspended animation into a potentially fatal situation, but as soon as the three manage to reach the relative safety of the ship’s bridge and try to assess the situation, the “narrative troubles” start - or at least that’s the way it was for me. The fast pace with which the novel had started becomes mired in weirdly absurd dialogue and an overall tone that seems unsure about where to settle, whether on drama or light humor, while the addition of some hints at romance looks as if inserted to check a required box, rather than being an organically developed situation.
I guess that the proverbial “bubble” burst for me with the discovery of a recorded message illustrating the goal of the mission: the crew of Artemis was sent to Paradise-1 to investigate the disappearance of a great number of ships, but the powers that be chose not to warn the three of them about what they could expect and, worse, the ship was sent at the same coordinates of the previous disappearances. This compelled me to take a step back and wonder: what could be accomplished by sending another crew in, blind and ignorant, instead of making a more cautions approach, arming the crew with the relevant information? It seemed such an absurd waste of people and material as far the story’s internal logic was concerned, and such an absurdity if translated into “real” decision making , that it pulled me out of the narrative rhythm. After that, I stated to notice details that made no sense, when they were not simply ludicrous: as an example I will mention the medical laser, one powered by a cord inserted into an actual outlet, that’s used outside Artemis as a defensive weapon against an approaching ship - that must have required one hell of an extension cord! Granted, these are not end-of-the-world details, but they were enough to break my suspension of disbelief and to wake the Grumpy Nitpicker that’s always lurking in the background, ready to pounce…
At this point the story veers into all-out horror: to keep spoilers to the minimum I will only say that something manages to drive crews and ships’ AIs to utter madness, which manifests in disturbingly bloody ways. Sadly, the horror factor is more than overdone, resulting not so much into shocking scenes, but rather into grotesque episodes that made me think of those horror B-movies where you laugh at the scary parts as you reach for more popcorn. One example? A twisted AI wants to consume its victims and to be able to do so constructs a sort of metal mouth (equipped with vicious teeth) connected to a digestive system…. Worse still, the crew of Artemis find themselves in this kind of hairy situation not once, but three times, just in case we had not been scared enough the first one. I regret to say I wasn’t.
At the end of the 700+ pages of the book, an end I reached with difficulty because I had lost all interest in the characters’ journey or their fate, I hoped to find at least an explanation for the whole, confused mess, but I was not so lucky. For the third (and blessedly final) time our heroes are subjected to horrific experiences - now the terror is only psychological rather than physical, but that does not render the repetition more palatable - and finally reach planetfall. Where I hoped some answers would be provided - spoiler: they are not, because the novel ends quite abruptly in the worst kind of cliffhanger.
I’m aware that this ended up being more of a rant than a review, but I feel somewhat entitled to it after slogging through the absurd mess that Paradise-1 was for me. I know a few of my fellow bloggers have this book on their TBR and I can’t wait to compare notes…
dark
emotional
mysterious
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
WOW
That’s the term I would choose if I were to give a one-word definition for Grady Hendrix’s latest offering: I had first encountered this author with The Southern Book Club’s Guide to Slaying Vampires, a story I enjoyed very much, and I expected this new work to be equally engrossing, but How To Sell a Haunted House surpassed every expectation I had for it.
When Louise receives a succinct phone call from her brother announcing the sudden death of their parents in a car accident, the past she had kept at arm’s length, by going to live in California and keeping away from her family, suddenly comes rushing back. Grudgingly leaving her five-years-old daughter in the care of the child’s father, she flies to Charleston and immediately clashes with her brother Mark about funeral arrangements and, later on, about the dispositions of the will, which leaves everything to Mark, with the exception of her mother’s beloved puppets.
As the fights between the two siblings become more and more heated, something weird seems to be happening in the house: dolls change places without anyone having touched them, strange noises come from the attic and other, far more creepy phenomena plague the home: Louise and Mark will have to overcome their differences if they want to understand what is truly happening and to prepare the house for a sale that seems more and more difficult as the eerie happenings point to some haunting presences…
As it’s clear from the title, the family home where Louise and Mark grew up is plagued by something otherworldly, but I don’t want to dwell too much on the details because it will be far better if you discover them on your own. What’s really creepy here, and in a major way, is the presence of an enormous amount of dolls and puppets that the siblings’ mother hand-crafted for pleasure and for her activities in the puppet ministry. Which is not something invented for the novel but a real thing - the definition I found online says that it’s a team dedicated to sharing the gospel of Jesus Christ with your church community and the world using stories, songs, and humor through the art of puppetry. Louise’s mother was very active in these circles, as shown during the funeral where other puppeteers make an appearance, turning the ceremony into something of a show where the memories of the departed are linked to many puppet-related events.
Apart from the quirkiness of this detail, a good portion of the dread that permeates the story comes indeed from the plethora of puppets literally filling every nook and cranny of the house, including two life-sized dolls that represent the child versions of Louise and Mark. Many horror stories - and movies! - have played on the scary factor offered by dolls (or mannequins) whose apparent lifelessness is used to great effect as a fear-inducing prop. Here this factor is employed very effectively because at first Louise is convinced (or tries to convince herself) that the apparent motions of the various dolls come from Mark’s attempts at scaring her away - that is, until a hair-raising encounter with a Nativity set made with squirrels shows her that something other than human malice is at play here. And let’s not forget the ubiquitous, alarming Pupkin which brings back nasty memories from Louise’s childhood and sheds some dreadful light on a very important, quite ominous sentence:
[...]puppets. Put one on and your posture changes, your voice alters, and you can feel what it wants, you can feel what it’s scared of, you know what it needs. You don’t wear the puppet. The puppet wears you.
And yet the spooky happenings, which slowly but surely turn from creepy to life-threatening, take second place in respect of the unfolding discoveries about the siblings’ past - a long journey down memory lane that reveals layers within layers like one of those dolls (what else?) that nest one into the other. At first Louise and Mark appear as well-defined characters: she the reasonably successful woman rearing a child on her own, dependable and responsible and with a firm grasp of what she wants from life; he the eternal Peter Pan, flitting from one job to another, never making much of himself and often acting as a jerk when dealing with his sister.
However, as the present unfolds with its mystery to be solved, we get to know the family’s past through a series of incremental flashbacks, which shed their light on Louise and Mark’s childhood and the roots for their antagonistic attitude: at first I was ready to despise Mark - his uncouth manners, the way he related to Louise and their relatives, the details of his life as shared by his sister, all added up to a very unlikable personality, but one of the flashbacks I mentioned made all the difference, revealing an important detail that changed the scene completely. No spoilers here, but keep in mind that both Louise and Mark might have a foot in Unreliable Narrator territory….
The family dynamics are completed by the appearance of a good number of relatives, some of them exhibiting peculiar personality traits (Aunt Honey more than others!) that helped add a note of humor to a steadily darkening atmosphere that toward the end of the book turns into downright horror - a compelling, bone-chilling finale that kept me on the edge of the seat until the end. It was a hard journey, because at times the evil that had taken hold of the house seemed inescapable and I have to acknowledge Grady Hendrix’s skill in his ability to maintain the razor-edge tension for so long and through so many truly horrific manifestations and long-buried family secrets.
This is one of those rare books where the border between reality and fiction becomes so permeable that characters and situations become quite real and I lose myself completely in the story: well done indeed, Mr. Hendrix!
challenging
dark
mysterious
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
My exploration of Ronald Malfi’s works continues with this collection of four short stories that are loosely linked to each other through the mention of an element present in the previous one and also through the common denominator of books, since all four of them revolve around a book in some way.
THE SKIN OF HER TEETH focuses on the frantic attempts of book agent Gloria to bring to completion a movie script adapted from a successful novel. Not having heard any news from the writer, McElroy, she decides to visit him in his remote retreat and here she finds the man well beyond the verge of madness because he’s convinced that the original book possesses an evil will of its own and does not want any of its narrative details to be changed. With the deadline looming ever closer, Gloria decides to take the matter into her own hands, only to discover that probably McElroy was not crazy at all….
Cursed books are nothing new in fiction, but The Skin of her Teeth (the fictional book that gives this story its title) is something quite different, and the way it manages to assert its own will is both creepy and intriguing, although I have to admit that I was even more appalled by Gloria’s attitude toward any obstacle on her path and the way she manipulates people with little or no though about their feelings, particularly where her life partner is concerned.
For me the true horror in this story did not come from the “things that go bump in the night”, although there is a good measure of that in here, but rather from the callous way in which Gloria goes about in life practically steamrolling over other people - and here I have to admit that I would not have minded seeing her getting her just deserts….
THE DARK BROTHERS’ LAST RIDE was a weird, almost psychedelic experience: it tells the story of Danny and Tommy Drake, petty criminals who are hired to deliver a rare, precious book to a mysterious client in a remote location, following a precise - if circuitous - itinerary. The warning they receive about not opening the briefcase containing the book, ever, does not agree with Tommy, the more volatile of the two, so that when he finally gives in to the temptation things start going from bad to worse for the two of them, transforming the trip into something of a journey to hell.
Where the strange, freaky places visited and events witnessed by the two brothers are the “meat” of this story, its backbone is represented by the exploration of Danny and Tommy’s personalities and of their shared past, which also includes a drug-crazed, abusive father who still looms like a specter just out of the corner of the eye. The relationship between them is not an easy one, what with Tommy always being on a short fuse and often compromising their “jobs”, and with Danny who does care for his wayward brother but still feels like his weight is dragging him down. There is a poignant quality in this relationship that at times feels more important than the actual task at hand and the oh-so-outlandish discoveries the brothers make on the journey.
THIS BOOK BELONGS TO OLO focuses on the creepiest kid I even encountered on my bookish travels: Bartholomew (“Olo”) Tiptree is a 10-year old child clearly suffering from the neglect of his super-busy parents and left to fend for himself in the vastnes of Helix House. When he approaches other kids at a nearby park inviting them to his birthday party, we understand immediately that something is terribly wrong with Olo and with the strange “book” he put together himself. It’s therefore surprising to see a good number of these children accepting the invitation, and the atmosphere becomes all the more disturbing thanks to the strange mannequins adorning Olo’s lawn and the news about the recent disappearance of his at-home teacher. What happens during the birthday party, however, takes on the shades of a veritable nightmare.
I must confess I struggled with my feelings about Olo’s character because if on one side I could sympathize for his loneliness and the detached way his parents interacted with him, on the other his actions are those of a consummated psychopath who turned his loneliness into a form of self-centered absorption that left me thoroughly chilled - not to mention claustrophobic: read the story and you will understand why…
THE STORY does not focus on an actual book like its predecessors, but rather on the concept of storytelling - although in a unique way. Taking inspiration from the famous “choose your adventure” games it takes main character Grady into a spiral of disorientation and madness as his life seems to unravel before his very eyes. An unexpected call informs Grady that his friend Taryn took her own life: trying to understand what happened to her to bring her to such an extreme act, Grady discovers her involvement into The Story, a sort of real-life game where the players’ choices impact the reality of their existence; determined to understand what happened during Taryn’s last days, Grady enters the game as well (or rather, the Story finds him…) with unpredictable results.
It’s impossible to say more about this story without incurring in spoilers, but it’s one of the mind mind-bending tales I happened to read, one where you end up questioning the fabric of reality and the worth of personal choices - provided that such a thing exists… ;-)
Another demonstration of Ronald Malfi’s creative skills, this collection is an incredible journey through the fantastic and the scary, blended with some intriguing human elements. To be sure, not the last of my forays into this author’s production.
adventurous
emotional
mysterious
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
I received this novel from Orbit Books through NetGalley, in exchange for an honest review: my thanks to both of them for this opportunity.
Every book I read, so far, from M.R. Carey proved to be an intriguing, engrossing journey, so when I saw Infinity Gate showcased on the monthly Orbit newsletter I requested it without even taking a look at the synopsis. Once again I found myself totally immersed in a story whose only downside was that it ended too soon.
Infinity Gate starts from the premise of the existence of an uncounted number of Earths, a multiverse where each iteration can be either quite close to the reality we’re familiar with, or so wildly different as to be unrecognizable. Scientist Hadiz Tambuwal lives in what we might consider as our primary Earth, but one where resources are almost depleted and wars are being fought for whatever’s left. Finding herself practically alone in the university complex near Lagos, in Nigeria, she spends her time perfecting her studies and one day stumbles on an amazing discovery: the possibility to jump from one reality to another - and therefore a chance for a better life, even for a way to save her own dying planet.
With the help of Rupshe, a self-aware A.I. residing on the university grounds, Hadiz starts exploring the almost infinite versions of Earth, but in so doing she catches the attention of the Pandominion, a coalition of Earth-like worlds linked by the discovery of the Step plates, the means of jumping from one reality to another. The Pandominion is at war with another aggregation of worlds, the Ansurrection: these are planets ruled by machine intelligence and so far the war has claimed many victims and many worlds; fearing that Hadiz’s jumps might be related to the Ansurrection’s encroaching, the Pandominion sets its armed force, called the Cielo, on her tracks.
Hadiz’s storyline runs parallel to that of Essien Nkanika, living in a world not much different from hers, and the meeting between them will change Essien’s life - one that has already seen much suffering and deprivation - in a very dramatic way. The third main character in the novel is that of Topaz Tourmaline FiveHills, a young girl living on Ut, an Earth-like planet where the dominant life form descends from rabbits: Topaz - or Paz as she likes to be called - will see her life upturned by a devastating event and will have to make some hard choices she was not prepared for.
Curiously enough, for a story told through multiple POVs, Infinity Gate chooses the unusual way of following these three characters in a linear way instead of alternating chapters between them: at first this choice felt weird, because each time the reader must start anew with a different perspective that seems to have no connection with the previous one, but in the end it was revealed as a very clever way of making the reader invested in each character’s journey and at the same time of exploring the Pandominion in its many facets without need for long and distracting info-dumps.
The Pandominion looks, on the surface, as a conglomeration of advanced worlds graced by an utopian life-style, but as soon as the focus moves on its inner workings it’s easy to see that it’s not like Star Trek’s Federation at all: some of the people at the top are quite ruthless and the existence of the Cielo, the inter-planetary army whose armor-clad soldiers elicit apprehension with their sole presence, points toward a rule that’s quite far from benevolent. The Ansurrection, on the other hand, seems driven by an apparently unthinking drive to replicate its machines and the discovery of several worlds where any form of life has been obliterated does not bode well for their intentions.
The characters who move on this intriguing - if slightly unsettling - background are wonderfully depicted and fully fleshed: Hadiz Tambuwal looks like a single-focus-driven scientist who is more at ease among the instruments of her laboratory than among people, and yet there is a poignant streak of vulnerability in her that comes across in the course of her meeting with Essien Nkanika, a young man who has learned to stop at nothing to ensure his own survival, like accepting to join the Cielo where his humanity risks to be taken away from him piece by piece. My favorite character, however, remains Paz, a young girl (rabbit-shaped, granted, but still a girl) who finds herself dealing with exceptional events she was not prepared for: the way she finds a well of courage and resiliency she did not know she possesses, while still remaining true to herself, gives way to a character journey I found both compelling and heart-wrenching.
It’s not going to be a spoiler when I say that these three are destined to meet: the greater attraction in this novel stands in the expectation of that encounter and in the different, often difficult paths they travel before that can happen. This first book in the series merely lays the ground for what will develop into the main story, and yet it does not feel like a simple setting of the playing field because you can almost hear the various pieces clicking into place, each new addition boosting the tension level to new heights, particularly where Paz’s experiences are concerned: there is a long, tense segment dealing with them, toward the final part of the novel, where I was literally unable to put the book down because the various moving parts were in such a state of flux that anything could happen and failure seemed like a chilling possibility. It’s difficult to describe this book without giving away precious - and spoilery! - details, but trust me when I tell you that reading it without any prior knowledge is indeed the best way to go.
Infinity Gate closes with the equivalent of a “…to be continued” but at the same time it ends this part of the story neatly: previous experience with M.R. Carey’s other series tells me that the next books will come along with infallible cadence, and I already look forward to seeing where the story will take us next.
hopeful
sad
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
This book has been mentioned quite often in the blogosphere and it was also recommended to me by a friend, but for some reason I kept sliding it down the TBR list - which is far from unusual for me, since I tend to be easily distracted by other titles. Now that I finally read it, I wonder if my constant delay was not in part due to a sort of “warning” from what I call my “book radar”, because while I did not dislike Station Eleven, it also failed to completely captivate me.
The book’s premise is that a virulent strain of flu wipes out something like 90 percent of Earth’s population and the story follows some of the survivors in the post-apocalyptic world left after the flu’s passage. These characters all have some sort of link to renowned actor Arthur Leander, whose death on stage, during a representation of King Lear, happens on the eve of the pandemic outbreak: Kirstin is a young actress who was somehow befriended by Leander and witnessed his death - a scrapbook containing the highlights of the actor’s career, and a couple of issues of a graphic novel written by one of his wives, titled Station Eleven, represent the only link Kirstin has with a past she struggles to remember; Jeevan, a former paparazzo, is a paramedic in training who unsuccessfully tries to save Leander’s life and later on watches the world unravel from the window of the building where he and his brother are holed up. Then there is the Traveling Symphony, a group of actors and musicians moving from settlement to settlement performing Shakespeare’s dramas for the survivors, and trying to keep civilization alive, somehow; and lastly, in the flashbacks sections of the novel, we learn about the life of Miranda, Arthur Leander’s second wife and author of the Station Eleven graphic novel that also gives the book its title.
First things first, let’s deal with the proverbial elephant in the room: it’s possible that if I had read the book when it came out, its premise would have had a different impact on me, because now that global pandemics are not a thing limited to speculative fiction, I don’t find it so easy to look at this theme dispassionately. Granted, what recently happened worldwide did not turn into the extinction event portrayed here or in similarly themed books like King’s The Stand, but still, knowing the possibility exists makes for some very uncomfortable reading - at least for me. St.John Mandel does not dwell too deeply on the details of our civilization’s unraveling, preferring to focus on the emotional and psychological impact it has on the characters, and while this choice makes for a more muted narrative, it also detaches the reader from the end of the world as we know it, so that taking away most - if not all - of the tragedy of such an end also robs the story of any dramatic impact. Even the appearance of a self-proclaimed Prophet and his vicious adepts fails to introduce an element of real danger and fear into the story - my perception here is that it was another missed opportunity.
Which brings me to the characters: sadly, most of them failed to capture my attention, adding to the unwelcome sense of detachment I experienced throughout the novel. Kirsten is robbed of a past she hardly remembers, at the same time depriving the readers of any details of the fracturing of civilization, and her journey through the deserted country as she tries to reconnect with the Symphony fails to convey the real sense of loss of a whole civilization. The Traveling Symphony members are further divested of any individual traits including their names, since most of them are identified by the name of their instrument of choice: granted, their valiant effort to keep culture and civilization alive in the wasteland is admirable and it brings some touches of poignancy to the story, but for me it was not enough to help me connect with them, either individually or as a whole.
The only character that managed to gain some relief is that of Miranda, thanks to her efforts at making a life for herself out of the all-encompassing sphere of a very self-centered Arthur Leander: the graphic novel she works on for most of her life is the representation of an idealized existence and it also works as a bridge between the “before” and “after” thanks to the hopeful outlook it offers to those fortunate enough to get hold of some copies, but that’s all and it’s not enough to offer some much needed strong characterization to the book, a situation hindered by the fact that she’s a figure from the past and therefore lost forever in the “present”.
I realized that I’ve depicted this novel in less than enthusiastic tones, and in its defense I have to acknowledge that the writing is fluid and at times poetic, particularly when describing the vast expanses of empty land where nature is repossessing the last traces of our civilization, but if I have to be honest I would have preferred a grittier portrayal of this end - a “bang” rather than the melancholic “whimper” threaded through the story. It’s not the book’s fault, of course, but simply a matter of personal preferences….
adventurous
dark
funny
hopeful
inspiring
mysterious
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
No
It is now my firm conviction that I can’t go wrong with any T. Kingfisher book I pick up: this is my third foray into her stories and once again I’m amazed at the way she can weave drama and humor into compelling tales that keep me riveted from start to finish.
The Seventh Bride is a reimagining of the Bluebeard myth, but it adds many intriguing elements to the classic fairy tale, turning it into something delightfully new. Rhea is the daughter of the village’s miller, her only troubles in life coming from the slight drudgery of repetitive work and the fierce battles she wages with a bellicose swan fixed on depriving her of her lunch. When the local ruler, Lord Crevan, asks for her hand in marriage, Rhea is both surprised and worried, because royalty never marries into the common folk, so something must certainly be wrong with both the proposal and the man. Equally startling is Crevan’s invitation to visit his castle before the wedding; once there (and not before gathering an unlikely companion in the form of a very special hedgehog) she makes an awful discovery: there have been six other wives before her, and some of them have been either killed or horribly mutilated. For his part, Crevan sets Rhea a series of tasks: failure to complete them before each dawn will lead to the inevitability of marriage - something that Rhea now completely dreads.
Rhea’s horrific journey toward Crevan’s castle and her sojourn there, not to mention the increasingly difficult tasks that also reveal the depths of cruelty of her future husband, make for a very immersive read, one that reveals the girl’s strength of character: instead of succumbing to the fear of what future might have in store for her, she grows in her determination to avoid the fate of her predecessors while safeguarding the life and livelihood of her family, not-so-subtly threatened by the intended groom. I enjoyed Rhea’s show of courage, her practical nature managing to tame the primal fear engendered by the horrific discoveries she makes in Crevan’s house, her willingness to face head-on the man’s cruel, manipulative attitude.
Where the book truly excels, however, is in the strong bonds Rhea forms with some of the surviving wives, and her feelings of compassion for the one who seems to have fully embraced a sort of Stockholm Syndrome with their captor. Once she realizes that she’s not alone in the plight of becoming a victim to Crevan’s nasty plans, she finds the courage to defy him, and even challenge him on his own playing field. Unlike other fairy tales’ protagonists, the miller’s daughter does not wait to be saved but rather goes on the offensive, armed with even more tenacity than we witnessed at the start of the story when battling that dastardly swan in defense of her lunch.
The subtle humor pervading this novel effectively counters the sense of horror the readers feel through Rhea’s reactions when she witnesses the brutal, callous injuries perpetrated on some of Crevan’s wives - the ones still alive, that is - and yet that humor is not enough to erase our anger at the man’s inhuman treatment of them. Lord Crevan becomes the embodiment of every abusive husband we learn about in the real world, and more than once I wondered if the author chose that name as the scrambled version of “craven”, because that’s what he ultimately is, an empowered coward who steals women’s choices (together with their magic, or their sight, or their voice) simply because he enjoys doing so. Which makes Rhea’s rebellious and proactive choices all the more worthy of cheering on.
A special mention goes for the oh-so-cute hedgehog that acts as Rhea’s unlikely but effective companion: once again T. Kingfisher chooses to pair her protagonist with a representative from the animal kingdom, in what seems to me like a recurring theme - and one that I hope will be present in her other stories as well, since I enjoy them immensely. The hedgehog is not only a delightful creature or a sort of talisman for the young girl, who seems to draw courage from its presence in the pocket of her dress, it’s also something of a conduit for help when Rhea most needs it, and a charming, sunny element in the overall darkness of the tale.
Despite that darkness, however, The Seventh Bride is a refreshing story of courage and determination and of the strength that can come from bonds of friendship and - in this specific case - of sisterhood forged in adversity. It will leave you with a satisfactorily pleasant taste, and the urge to explore more of this author’s works - at least it did for me…
dark
emotional
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Reading this book made me reflect on the fact that we generally consider serial killers a phenomenon of more recent times, while in reality these deranged individuals must always have been among us, their actions gone mostly unreported due to a lack of the kind of information network we enjoy nowadays. Granted, we all know about Jack the Ripper, but he must be the exception that proves the rule…
Before reading All the Blood We Share I was unaware of the existence of the Bender family and their bloody deeds, so that I went online to seek some more information about them, once I finished the novel, discovering that the author had only filled a few unknown angles with fiction, remaining quite faithful to the macabre reality of the events.
The Bender family arrived in Kansas in the second half of the 19th Century, fleeing from justice after a series of crimes about which the reader will learn as the story develops. The father William and his son John built a house (or rather a shack…) near the town of Cherryvale and were joined at a later date by William’s wife, Elvira, and her daughter Kate. The family had little to no intention of becoming farmers - which given the arid nature of the territory is hardly surprising - and they transformed the homestead into an inn where travelers headed west could buy some basic supplies, enjoy a home-cooked meal and even spend a night under a proper roof.
The family’s goal was to make some money and be able to buy a better farm in a more amenable location, possibly similar to the one they had to leave behind when running from the law, but their earnings as inn-keepers were far below the expectations, and so they decided to kill and rob travelers of their valuables, burying the bodies on the property. In those times and places it was hardly surprising that a few travelers never reached their intended destination, but at some point the Benders chose the wrong victims and that brought the attention of relatives and authorities on their inn, forcing them to flee in the night and leave behind everything - including a number of corpses.
This is, in broad terms, the story told in All the Blood We Share, at least as far as the basic facts are concerned: the focus of the novel, however, is on the dynamics and personalities of this family of killers, a family for which the term ‘dysfunctional’ is indeed a big understatement. The patriarch William seems at first the more grounded one among them, but as time goes by we see the darkness under the surface, a combination of gullibility and greed that becomes even more shocking with the onset of what looks like Alzheimer. His son John is a brooding, introverted person who is easily swayed and manipulated by his step-sister Kate, for whom he harbors possessive and jealous feelings. Mother Elvira is the more complex of the four characters, and the one who intrigued me most: on one side she is bitterly missing the better life she had to leave behind, almost blackmailing Kate into providing the means for a better one, on the other she is the only one voicing her displeasure for the family’s “business” and her fears of discovery.
But it’s Kate the one who enjoys the more intense focus in the story: outwardly sunny and gregarious, she holds a darkness inside that seems like a separate creature and demands to be satisfied, therefore turning Kate into the instigator for the Bender’s murderous activities. The family looks like a group of people bound by necessity rather than affection, and Kate is the one who dreams of getting away and making a life for herself: to accomplish this goal she reinvents herself as a medium, claiming to be in contact with the souls of the departed and planning to make her fortune thanks to this “talent”. What she truly accomplishes is to use her tricks to divert the community’s attention from the disappearances and to lull her step-father into believing that the murders are inspired by some higher beings looking out for the Benders.
The way in which Kate is portrayed here highlights all the markers for a serial killer as we have come to recognize them: she is self-centered and totally lacking in empathy, has a high consideration of herself and her cunning, actually enjoys the act of killing and is indeed the one to murder the hapless victims, cutting their throats after William rendered them unconscious with a blow to the head. There are several passages where we are made privy to Kate’s inner thoughts, and they are exactly what we have come to expect from a serial killer, starting from the sense of power that comes from the very act of murder:
The darkness is like that: heady and strong. […] I was in awe of the power in my hands
and going on with the practice of collecting the unfortunates’ buttons, which she keeps in a box and handles while revisiting the crimes:
I fondled the buttons one by one, as was my habit. All the while, I thought about their deaths: how they had looked; how I had hurt them; the moment when they went
If the Benders’ story proved to be quite harrowing, I appreciated the author’s way of relaying it in an almost detached way that leaves no space to morbid fascination, and I quite enjoyed her depiction of the small community of Cherryvale, a desolate, harsh place with bitterly cold winters and scorching summers, where ignorance and superstition walk hand in hand offering the perfect terrain for con artists like Kate to take advantage of people’s naiveté. Equally enlightening - and quite chilling - is the reaction of those citizens once the Benders’ activities are revealed: toward the end of the novel the author offers a classic example of mob mentality that badly needs a scapegoat and looks for it in the wrong direction - but that hardly matters as long as they get their proverbial “pound of flesh”. I have to admit that this segment of the story had an even harder impact on me than the actual murders perpetrated by the Benders…
This was my first novel by Camilla Bruce, but it will certainly not be the last: I like her incisive, sharp writing and the way she can keep a reader engaged even in the most harrowing of stories, and I look forward to her other books.