Sam J. Miller is certainly one of the most exciting writers to appear in the field this past decade. Today is his birthday, so here's a collection of my reviews of his work from Locus.
Locus, February 2014
I was woefully neglectful of Electric Velocipede this year, and alas I must report that John Klima has decided to close the 'zine down after 27 issues, print and online. This was one of the most successful small 'zines in the field, winner of a 2009 Hugo for Best Fanzine. The final issue, Winter 2013, features “The Beasts We Want to Be”, by Sam J. Miller, a strong SF horror story set in an alternate post-Revolution Russia, told by a “Broken” soldier, who has been conditioned in a “Pavlov's Box” to serve the goals of the Revolution, as he commandeers the artwork of an aristocratic family, then finds himself drawn to save a woman of that family from reconditioning, and then to save a painting of her husband. Very dark stuff.
Locus, September 2016
Sam J. Miller’s “Things With Beards” (Clarkesworld, June) riffs on a rather scarier story about a form of alien contact, a story that has been successfully riffed on before, in both movies and an excellent recent Peter Watts tale. So the title tells you which story, right? And hints at what Miller is doing, quite ambitiously, as his protagonist, back from the Antarctic, a somewhat closeted gay man in the early ‘80s, at the onset of the AIDS crisis, also engages with a protest movement against police violence, and wonders what is happening to him when he forgets hours at a time. It’s interesting to see Miller using the metaphor of a shape-changing alien monster so bravely – a worthwhile new take on a classic.
Locus, December 2017
Tor.com’s two October originals are both pretty strong stories. “The Future of Hunger in the Age of Programmable Matter” by Sam J. Miller is told in two sections by Otto, a gay man in near future New York, who lives with his boyfriend Trevor, who rescued him from drug addiction and who keeps him (so to speak) straight. At a party Otto falls in lust with a friend’s brother, Aarav, as the guests discuss what they are doing with programmable matter. The second part is set not too long later, in a much-changed world – it seems that programmable matter has run amok and destroyed much of the world. Trevor is dead, and Otto is in a refugee camp. There he encounters Aarav again, now blinded, and he contemplates how to deal with him – after their encounter, which it turns out went horribly wrong for Otto, but does that matter now? The story is absolutely convincing in portraying Otto, and his relationship with Trevor and his abortive connection with Aarav – but the SF side, the programmable matter and the disaster it causes, seems thin and unconvincing.
Locus, July 2018
Sam J. Miller makes his first appearance in Analog with a moving story, “My Base Pair”, about Thatch, who is trying to reconnect with his long-lost childhood friend, Kenji. Kenji is a “hacksperm”: born with the stolen genes of a celebrity (Tom Cruise), and in an environment where vicious prejudice against such children is rife, he has disappeared. Thatch has become an investigator into the criminal aspects of that practice, perhaps not realizing how his work might actually increase the oppression the innocent children of stolen genetic material face. He has tracked down an illegal fight between another “cruise” and someone he hopes is Kenji, and he tries to finagle information about Kenji’s location from this other man. The story intertwines Thatch’s memories of his childhood times with his friend, and his more recent painful memories of an affair with a journalist investigation the whole issue. It’s very strong on the personal aspects of Thatch’s life, and very interesting on some of the scientific and social ramifications of the “hacksperm” tech, but perhaps doesn’t quite convince on the truly vicious legal and societal reaction to the (innocent) children.
Locus, November 2019
Sam J. Miller’s “Shucked” (F&SF, November-December) is a first-rate horror story. Adney and her boyfriend Teek are on vacation in Italy, and she’s wondering if their relationship is real besides the sex. Then a somewhat creepy older men approaches them with an offer – he’ll pay her for an hour of Teek’s time. Somehow Adney convinces herself to accept the offer – Teek apparently doesn’t mind … but this can’t end well, can it? This is an example of a writer using a fairly familiar idea (which I won’t spoil) so artfully that it becomes newly effective. Strong work.
Friday, February 7, 2020
Birthday Review: The Sweetheart Season, by Karen Joy Fowler
Today is Karen Joy Fowler's birthday. Last year I presented a summary of my reviews of her short fiction; so this year I'm resurrecting a review I did back in 1997 (I think one of the very first reviews I did for widish consumption) of her lovely second novel.
The Sweetheart Season, by Karen Joy Fowler
Henry Holt, 1996
$23.00
ISBN 0-8050-4737-9
Karen Joy Fowler's first novel, Sarah Canary, is a marvel, an amazing, original novel about aliens, of all sorts, in the 1870's American West. It is extraordinarily assured, the best first novel I've read in a long time - indeed, in my opinion, at least arguably the best SF first novel of the nineties. Obviously, I have eagerly anticipated Fowler's second novel, which has now appeared: The Sweetheart Season.
Categorization of Fowler's work in a generic sense has always been difficult: perhaps a better word would be pointless. That said, most of her stories, for me, read best as SF or fabulations, but she is clearly enough a writer who appeals to non-SF readers as well. Sarah Canary is readable as a "mainstream" novel, though I think it is best read as SF; in John Clute's words, it is a First Contact story. The Sweetheart Season, by contrast, seems clearly a "mainstream" novel to me, though one could define certain of the events of the story as fantastical if one insisted.
The story concerns a small town in northern Minnesota, Magrit, home to a grain mill and an associated cereal business. It is set in 1947. The viewpoint character is Irini Doyle, though the story is told in the "voice" of her daughter, retelling Irini's story from a present day perspective. Irini lives with her alcoholic father (her mother is dead), who is a research chemist at the cereal company. Irini works in the Research Kitchen of the cereal company. The other characters are her co-workers (all women) in the Kitchen, as well as the company founder, his wife, and his grandson, and a few other local women.
The main action of the novel revolves somewhat loosely around a promotional scheme of the founder: the girls at the company form a baseball team, which barnstorms through Minnesota and Wisconsin, purportedly demonstrating the nutritive benefits of the company's cereal by their success. Several other narrative threads are woven into the story: the writing of a continuing promotional kitchen/life advice column by the fictional Maggie Collins, a sort of Betty Crocker-type spokesperson for the cereal company; the antagonism between the former residents of Upper Magrit (submerged to make the mill) and Lower Magrit (where everyone now lives); the involvement of the mill owner's wife with Gandhi and the Indian independence movement; the efforts of the local women to find love and husbands in a town left nearly male-free by the war; and a mysterious (young, male) visitor to Magrit. All of these threads are well-integrated with the novel's theme, as I read it: essentially: the nascent "Women's Liberation" movement, though that over-simplifies: but the focus on the "Kitchen", yet in the context of women who are all working, and playing a nominally male sport, combined with the ironic voice of the present day narrator, and the ironic-in-this-context quotes from Maggie Collins' women's magazine advice column, quite nicely merge to make simple, true, statements about the position of women in 1947, and in our time.
The female characters are very well drawn, and almost invariably engaging. A couple of the male characters come off as ciphers, but the portraits of Irini's father, and of old Henry Collins, the mill owner, are very good. Fowler's prose is clean and elegant. Her narrative voice is a delight: ironic, affectionate, knowing, often very funny. One brief quote, from one of Maggie Collins' advice columns, meant to be read in the context of the decision to form a baseball team: "Polls have recently confirmed what has long been suspected; most men do not want brainy women. Stewardesses have turned out to be that occupation blessed most often with marriage. The key elements appear to be uniforms and travel."
I wouldn't rank The Sweetheart Season quite as highly as Sarah Canary. At times the usually wonderfully controlled ironic voice turns a little shrill. At times she drives home a point unnecessarily: it is sufficient to show us the evidence, or to leave an ironic statement alone for the reader to interpret. Also, I was completely unable to believe the resolution of one of the plot threads. However, the book as a whole is thoroughly enjoyable, and says a lot of worthwhile things about the place of women in our society, especially about how (and, I suppose, why) it changed in the years during and after World War II.
The Sweetheart Season, by Karen Joy Fowler
Henry Holt, 1996
$23.00
ISBN 0-8050-4737-9
Karen Joy Fowler's first novel, Sarah Canary, is a marvel, an amazing, original novel about aliens, of all sorts, in the 1870's American West. It is extraordinarily assured, the best first novel I've read in a long time - indeed, in my opinion, at least arguably the best SF first novel of the nineties. Obviously, I have eagerly anticipated Fowler's second novel, which has now appeared: The Sweetheart Season.Categorization of Fowler's work in a generic sense has always been difficult: perhaps a better word would be pointless. That said, most of her stories, for me, read best as SF or fabulations, but she is clearly enough a writer who appeals to non-SF readers as well. Sarah Canary is readable as a "mainstream" novel, though I think it is best read as SF; in John Clute's words, it is a First Contact story. The Sweetheart Season, by contrast, seems clearly a "mainstream" novel to me, though one could define certain of the events of the story as fantastical if one insisted.
The story concerns a small town in northern Minnesota, Magrit, home to a grain mill and an associated cereal business. It is set in 1947. The viewpoint character is Irini Doyle, though the story is told in the "voice" of her daughter, retelling Irini's story from a present day perspective. Irini lives with her alcoholic father (her mother is dead), who is a research chemist at the cereal company. Irini works in the Research Kitchen of the cereal company. The other characters are her co-workers (all women) in the Kitchen, as well as the company founder, his wife, and his grandson, and a few other local women.
The main action of the novel revolves somewhat loosely around a promotional scheme of the founder: the girls at the company form a baseball team, which barnstorms through Minnesota and Wisconsin, purportedly demonstrating the nutritive benefits of the company's cereal by their success. Several other narrative threads are woven into the story: the writing of a continuing promotional kitchen/life advice column by the fictional Maggie Collins, a sort of Betty Crocker-type spokesperson for the cereal company; the antagonism between the former residents of Upper Magrit (submerged to make the mill) and Lower Magrit (where everyone now lives); the involvement of the mill owner's wife with Gandhi and the Indian independence movement; the efforts of the local women to find love and husbands in a town left nearly male-free by the war; and a mysterious (young, male) visitor to Magrit. All of these threads are well-integrated with the novel's theme, as I read it: essentially: the nascent "Women's Liberation" movement, though that over-simplifies: but the focus on the "Kitchen", yet in the context of women who are all working, and playing a nominally male sport, combined with the ironic voice of the present day narrator, and the ironic-in-this-context quotes from Maggie Collins' women's magazine advice column, quite nicely merge to make simple, true, statements about the position of women in 1947, and in our time.
The female characters are very well drawn, and almost invariably engaging. A couple of the male characters come off as ciphers, but the portraits of Irini's father, and of old Henry Collins, the mill owner, are very good. Fowler's prose is clean and elegant. Her narrative voice is a delight: ironic, affectionate, knowing, often very funny. One brief quote, from one of Maggie Collins' advice columns, meant to be read in the context of the decision to form a baseball team: "Polls have recently confirmed what has long been suspected; most men do not want brainy women. Stewardesses have turned out to be that occupation blessed most often with marriage. The key elements appear to be uniforms and travel."
I wouldn't rank The Sweetheart Season quite as highly as Sarah Canary. At times the usually wonderfully controlled ironic voice turns a little shrill. At times she drives home a point unnecessarily: it is sufficient to show us the evidence, or to leave an ironic statement alone for the reader to interpret. Also, I was completely unable to believe the resolution of one of the plot threads. However, the book as a whole is thoroughly enjoyable, and says a lot of worthwhile things about the place of women in our society, especially about how (and, I suppose, why) it changed in the years during and after World War II.
Thursday, February 6, 2020
Forgotten SF Collection: Now Then!, by John Brunner
As I've mentioned many times before, I quite enjoy early John Brunner. So, for this "Forgotten Books" outing, I thought I'd resurrect what I wrote about a fairly early Brunner collection of novellas. On the whole, it must be said, these are minor Brunner.
Now Then! is a John Brunner collection from 1965. It includes three unrelated novellas: "Some Lapse of Time" (24,000 words, from Science Fantasy #57, February 1963), "Imprint of Chaos" (17,500 words, from Science Fantasy #42, August 1960), and "Thou Good and Faithful" (19,000 words in this version, originally published as by John Loxsmith in Astounding, March 1953 -- the original version was a bit shorter at about 17,000 words).
"Some Lapse of Time" is a dour anti-Nuclear War story. A doctor discovers a dying tramp. The tramp turns out to have an unusual deficiency disease, and to be unidentifiable, and to speak an unknown language that might be related to English. The doctor begins to have terrible dreams as well. It turns out that the tramp has been sent back in time from a post-Holocaust world -- but will anyone believe this?
"Imprint of Chaos" is the first to be published of the "Traveler in Black" stories. I haven't read these stories, which appear to be rather popular. [I read them later.] This story involves the Traveler, who has many names, but one nature, traveling around his world giving people what they want. In this fashion he resists chaos. This story is somewhat episodic, but the bulk of it concerns an man who wanders into the Traveler's world from our world, and who is treated by the inhabitants of a certain city as a god (you see, they hadn't any gods, and they had decided they wanted one ...). I've got to say I found this pretty minor stuff -- I hope the other Traveler stories are better. [They are.]
"Thou Good and Faithful" was Brunner's first story for a major magazine, and for some reason he published it as by "John Loxsmith". Within a year it had been anthologized as by "K. Houston Brunner", the form of his name Brunner used most often in those days. For this collection, Brunner (as was his wont) revised the story, expanding it slightly from 17,000 to 19,000 words. It is a typical Brunner revision -- no change in plot, no added scenes, just a general reworking of the prose. The story concerns an exploring ship in a crowded galaxy that comes to a potentially perfect world. Beautiful climate, and no intelligent natives. But some robots are discovered -- who made them? Over time, the mystery is solved (well, not so much solved as the robots eventually just tell them what's up). The story is overlong -- it probably should have been about 10,000 words. It does have a fairly interesting theme concerning the ultimate destiny of intelligence.
 |
| (Cover by Hector Garrido) |
"Some Lapse of Time" is a dour anti-Nuclear War story. A doctor discovers a dying tramp. The tramp turns out to have an unusual deficiency disease, and to be unidentifiable, and to speak an unknown language that might be related to English. The doctor begins to have terrible dreams as well. It turns out that the tramp has been sent back in time from a post-Holocaust world -- but will anyone believe this?
"Imprint of Chaos" is the first to be published of the "Traveler in Black" stories. I haven't read these stories, which appear to be rather popular. [I read them later.] This story involves the Traveler, who has many names, but one nature, traveling around his world giving people what they want. In this fashion he resists chaos. This story is somewhat episodic, but the bulk of it concerns an man who wanders into the Traveler's world from our world, and who is treated by the inhabitants of a certain city as a god (you see, they hadn't any gods, and they had decided they wanted one ...). I've got to say I found this pretty minor stuff -- I hope the other Traveler stories are better. [They are.]
"Thou Good and Faithful" was Brunner's first story for a major magazine, and for some reason he published it as by "John Loxsmith". Within a year it had been anthologized as by "K. Houston Brunner", the form of his name Brunner used most often in those days. For this collection, Brunner (as was his wont) revised the story, expanding it slightly from 17,000 to 19,000 words. It is a typical Brunner revision -- no change in plot, no added scenes, just a general reworking of the prose. The story concerns an exploring ship in a crowded galaxy that comes to a potentially perfect world. Beautiful climate, and no intelligent natives. But some robots are discovered -- who made them? Over time, the mystery is solved (well, not so much solved as the robots eventually just tell them what's up). The story is overlong -- it probably should have been about 10,000 words. It does have a fairly interesting theme concerning the ultimate destiny of intelligence.
Tuesday, February 4, 2020
Birthday Review: Stories of Kenneth Schneyer
Yesterday was Ken Schneyer's birthday. I felt like Ken deserved a birthday review, but I confess my Locus archive missed a couple of worthwhile stories, so I added a couple of new capsule reviews.
Locus, June 2010
And Kenneth Schneyer, in “Liza’s Home” (Greatest Uncommon Denominator, Winter 2010), coils time paradoxes nicely in a story of a woman racked by guilt who invents a time machine.
Locus, August 2012
At Beneath Ceaseless Skies for May 31 I enjoyed Kenneth Schneyer's “Serkers and Sleep”. Serkers are victims of the bite of serks, which leads to paranoia and madness, and superhuman strength, such that serkers are likely to kill many of those closest to them. The only recourse is to kill them early, before the madness overtakes them. This notion is briefly sketched, and the future course of the story is clear when we meet our protagonist, an adolescent with a female friend who loves to swim in the lake, where the serks live … The resolution turns movingly on a local legend, and a magical book.
Clockword Phoenix 4, 2013
Kenneth Schneyer's "Selected Program Notes from the Retrospective Exhibition of Theresa Rosenberg Latimer" is an interesting story told via the notes to an exhibition of the title painter's work. It's set in the future -- Latimer is said to have lived from 1963-2023. The paintings and notes tell the story of much of Latimer's life -- her time in college, her up and down relationship with her lover and later wife, her fraught relationship with her parents -- as well as referencing a few dark incidents from the wider world: an industrial fire, a notorious case of child abuse. The notes try to tease out all kinds of symbolism as the reader realizes that what is being described are ghosts (and hints about the painter's personal life.) [This story made the Nebula shortlist.]
Lightspeed, November 2015
"The Plausibility of Dragons", by Kenneth Schneyer, follows the Moorish scholar Malik and the woman warrior Fara as travel through medieval Europe in search of the dragon they think killed Fara's sister. Malik isn't sure he believes in dragons, but he finds it even stranger that as they get closer to rumors of dragons they also find people who think he's a demon because of his dark skin, and that Fara is a witch, because no woman would wield a sword. The story turns intriguingly into a meditation on the nature of reality and the importance of belief in each other.
Lightspeed, July 2016
Kenneth Schneyer has a distinct interest in the stories we tell, as evidenced by his previous Lightspeed story, "The Plausibility of Dragons". "Some Pebbles in the Palm" is about the many lives of a fairly ordinary person, suggesting that he (or his choices) really didn't affect the world much. Then suggesting that maybe nobody's life affects the world much. Then reminding us that this is a story, leading to a neat stinger of an ending.
Locus, January 2018
I also liked Kenneth Schneyer’s “Keepsakes” (Analog, 11-12/17). The title refers to personality recordings, that their owners can call up and converse with, to help them remember their past. One question is – does this interaction change the keepsakes? Another question: what if a keepsake remembers something the later person doesn’t? And what if that memory hints at a crime? The protagonists are Doru and Afzal, who were lovers long ago, before Doru broke things off. He’s an expert on the Keepsake technology, and Afzal is a lawyer, and Afzal’s latest case involves a young woman whose Keepsake suggests her father may have killed her mother. There is a legal story here – can Keepsakes be witnesses? – but also an involving personal story, about Doru and Afzal and their history – and their Keepsakes.
Locus, June 2010
And Kenneth Schneyer, in “Liza’s Home” (Greatest Uncommon Denominator, Winter 2010), coils time paradoxes nicely in a story of a woman racked by guilt who invents a time machine.
Locus, August 2012
At Beneath Ceaseless Skies for May 31 I enjoyed Kenneth Schneyer's “Serkers and Sleep”. Serkers are victims of the bite of serks, which leads to paranoia and madness, and superhuman strength, such that serkers are likely to kill many of those closest to them. The only recourse is to kill them early, before the madness overtakes them. This notion is briefly sketched, and the future course of the story is clear when we meet our protagonist, an adolescent with a female friend who loves to swim in the lake, where the serks live … The resolution turns movingly on a local legend, and a magical book.
Clockword Phoenix 4, 2013
Kenneth Schneyer's "Selected Program Notes from the Retrospective Exhibition of Theresa Rosenberg Latimer" is an interesting story told via the notes to an exhibition of the title painter's work. It's set in the future -- Latimer is said to have lived from 1963-2023. The paintings and notes tell the story of much of Latimer's life -- her time in college, her up and down relationship with her lover and later wife, her fraught relationship with her parents -- as well as referencing a few dark incidents from the wider world: an industrial fire, a notorious case of child abuse. The notes try to tease out all kinds of symbolism as the reader realizes that what is being described are ghosts (and hints about the painter's personal life.) [This story made the Nebula shortlist.]
Lightspeed, November 2015
"The Plausibility of Dragons", by Kenneth Schneyer, follows the Moorish scholar Malik and the woman warrior Fara as travel through medieval Europe in search of the dragon they think killed Fara's sister. Malik isn't sure he believes in dragons, but he finds it even stranger that as they get closer to rumors of dragons they also find people who think he's a demon because of his dark skin, and that Fara is a witch, because no woman would wield a sword. The story turns intriguingly into a meditation on the nature of reality and the importance of belief in each other.
Lightspeed, July 2016
Kenneth Schneyer has a distinct interest in the stories we tell, as evidenced by his previous Lightspeed story, "The Plausibility of Dragons". "Some Pebbles in the Palm" is about the many lives of a fairly ordinary person, suggesting that he (or his choices) really didn't affect the world much. Then suggesting that maybe nobody's life affects the world much. Then reminding us that this is a story, leading to a neat stinger of an ending.
Locus, January 2018
I also liked Kenneth Schneyer’s “Keepsakes” (Analog, 11-12/17). The title refers to personality recordings, that their owners can call up and converse with, to help them remember their past. One question is – does this interaction change the keepsakes? Another question: what if a keepsake remembers something the later person doesn’t? And what if that memory hints at a crime? The protagonists are Doru and Afzal, who were lovers long ago, before Doru broke things off. He’s an expert on the Keepsake technology, and Afzal is a lawyer, and Afzal’s latest case involves a young woman whose Keepsake suggests her father may have killed her mother. There is a legal story here – can Keepsakes be witnesses? – but also an involving personal story, about Doru and Afzal and their history – and their Keepsakes.
Thursday, January 30, 2020
Birthday Reviews: Bones of the Moon (plus some short stories), by Jonathan Carroll
Jonathan Carroll's birthday was a few days ago, but I didn't have a chance to post this short selection of reviews until today. Carroll is a really intriguing writer, and I have generally loved his short fiction, but struggled just a bit with the novels I've read. (I say struggled, and that's true, but I still enjoy and am fascinated by them.) I need to read some more of his novels, anyway. Here is a quick look I did for my old blog at Bones of the Moon, plus a few short things I've written for Locus about his shorter work.
Blog review of Bones of the Moon
Bones of the Moon is a novel by Jonathan Carroll. Carroll is one of Glen Engel-Cox' favorite writers, and as it happened I had picked up a copy of this book for a song some years ago, at one of those roving remainder stores. I have read some stories by Carroll before ("Friend's Best Man", "Uh-Oh City" and "Alone Alarm"), and I had been intrigued by his quite unusual imagination: almost whimsical, but darker and wilder. He is a fine writer, too, but based on the sample of his work I've seen, an indifferent plotter.
The above comments apply pretty well to this book, anway. Either that or I'm seriously missing the point. The story is the first person narration of Cullen James, a young New Yorker who lives upstairs from a serial killer. This revelation is made on the first page, and serves to imbue what otherwise seems to be a sunny novel with a sense of dread. Cullen is married to an ex-basketball player named Danny James (who, like Danny Ferry, played in Italy (coincidence, I'm sure)): she quickly narrates their long friendship/courtship, the precipitating event of which is her difficulty coping with an abortion after a loveless relationship. These early chapters are a pure and believable love story. But, pregnant with a child by Danny, she begins to have sequential dreams of an odd fantasy world, populated by toys from her childhood, and accompanied by her first child, obviously the aborted baby. Eventually they begin a quest to find the five "Bones of the Moon". At the same time she befriends another neighbor, a gay man, and through this friend she meets a strange filmmaker, who becomes obsessed with Cullen. Some of her fantasy world becomes entwined with the real world, in difficult to understand but disturbing ways.
The resolution is shocking, and a bit ambiguous. It's not quite unearned, but it still seemed, oh, slightly forced, to me. I freely admit that I didn't "get" all of it, though I'm not sure that it is all supposed to make coherent sense.
The strong points are the fine writing, and the wonderful, wild, imagination. As I say, I felt a bit let down by the plotting. The characters were extremely well drawn, and individual, but perhaps not quite real: or should I say, not people I quite recognize. I except Danny James here, who is extremely well-drawn and real (but who disappears to some extent towards the end). All these caveats aside, the book has some real power, and some real and effective weirdness.
Sympathy for the Devil review from Fantasy Magazine
Sympathy for the Devil also includes excellent recent work, especially Jonathan Carroll’s “The Heidelberg Cylinder”, a distinctly offbeat story about the dead returning because Hell is running low on space.
Locus, August 2011
The very big “little magazine” Conjunctions has a history of being hospitable to the fantastic, and again we see this is number 56, called “Terra Incognita: The Voyage Issue”. Names familiar to genre readers include Peter Straub, James Morrow, and Jonathan Carroll (and by all means read the stories by writers from outside the genre too!). My favorite was “East of Furious”, by Jonathan Carroll. It’s about the platonic relationship between Beatrice Oakum and her divorce lawyer, Mills. Eventually Beatrice convinces Mills to tell her the story of one of his previous cases, involving a modern alchemist and her Russian husband. The story – and its eventual intersection with that of Mills and Beatrice – is twisty and clever and witty and ultimately rather dark. Lovely work.
Locus, January 2017
There’s some nice stuff in November at Tor.com as well. “The Loud Table”, by Jonathan Carroll, opens with four older men who regularly sit and gab at a coffee shop. They’re morning the loss of their fifth, who just died of cancer. And of course they discuss their own maladies, including the one so many of us fear, Alzheimer’s. (I assume by us I mean all of us but I’m 57, so perhaps I just mean us old men!) One of the men discusses his memory loss – which makes him fear the disease, of course. For example, this one beautiful girlfriend … And the narrator makes him an offer … I’ll let Carroll reveal the sting. It’s a modest story, but enjoyable and expertly told.
Blog review of Bones of the Moon
Bones of the Moon is a novel by Jonathan Carroll. Carroll is one of Glen Engel-Cox' favorite writers, and as it happened I had picked up a copy of this book for a song some years ago, at one of those roving remainder stores. I have read some stories by Carroll before ("Friend's Best Man", "Uh-Oh City" and "Alone Alarm"), and I had been intrigued by his quite unusual imagination: almost whimsical, but darker and wilder. He is a fine writer, too, but based on the sample of his work I've seen, an indifferent plotter.The above comments apply pretty well to this book, anway. Either that or I'm seriously missing the point. The story is the first person narration of Cullen James, a young New Yorker who lives upstairs from a serial killer. This revelation is made on the first page, and serves to imbue what otherwise seems to be a sunny novel with a sense of dread. Cullen is married to an ex-basketball player named Danny James (who, like Danny Ferry, played in Italy (coincidence, I'm sure)): she quickly narrates their long friendship/courtship, the precipitating event of which is her difficulty coping with an abortion after a loveless relationship. These early chapters are a pure and believable love story. But, pregnant with a child by Danny, she begins to have sequential dreams of an odd fantasy world, populated by toys from her childhood, and accompanied by her first child, obviously the aborted baby. Eventually they begin a quest to find the five "Bones of the Moon". At the same time she befriends another neighbor, a gay man, and through this friend she meets a strange filmmaker, who becomes obsessed with Cullen. Some of her fantasy world becomes entwined with the real world, in difficult to understand but disturbing ways.
The resolution is shocking, and a bit ambiguous. It's not quite unearned, but it still seemed, oh, slightly forced, to me. I freely admit that I didn't "get" all of it, though I'm not sure that it is all supposed to make coherent sense.
The strong points are the fine writing, and the wonderful, wild, imagination. As I say, I felt a bit let down by the plotting. The characters were extremely well drawn, and individual, but perhaps not quite real: or should I say, not people I quite recognize. I except Danny James here, who is extremely well-drawn and real (but who disappears to some extent towards the end). All these caveats aside, the book has some real power, and some real and effective weirdness.
Sympathy for the Devil review from Fantasy Magazine
Sympathy for the Devil also includes excellent recent work, especially Jonathan Carroll’s “The Heidelberg Cylinder”, a distinctly offbeat story about the dead returning because Hell is running low on space.
Locus, August 2011
The very big “little magazine” Conjunctions has a history of being hospitable to the fantastic, and again we see this is number 56, called “Terra Incognita: The Voyage Issue”. Names familiar to genre readers include Peter Straub, James Morrow, and Jonathan Carroll (and by all means read the stories by writers from outside the genre too!). My favorite was “East of Furious”, by Jonathan Carroll. It’s about the platonic relationship between Beatrice Oakum and her divorce lawyer, Mills. Eventually Beatrice convinces Mills to tell her the story of one of his previous cases, involving a modern alchemist and her Russian husband. The story – and its eventual intersection with that of Mills and Beatrice – is twisty and clever and witty and ultimately rather dark. Lovely work.
Locus, January 2017
There’s some nice stuff in November at Tor.com as well. “The Loud Table”, by Jonathan Carroll, opens with four older men who regularly sit and gab at a coffee shop. They’re morning the loss of their fifth, who just died of cancer. And of course they discuss their own maladies, including the one so many of us fear, Alzheimer’s. (I assume by us I mean all of us but I’m 57, so perhaps I just mean us old men!) One of the men discusses his memory loss – which makes him fear the disease, of course. For example, this one beautiful girlfriend … And the narrator makes him an offer … I’ll let Carroll reveal the sting. It’s a modest story, but enjoyable and expertly told.
Sunday, January 26, 2020
Birthday Review: Stories of Yoon Ha Lee
I can't believe I haven't done a summary post on Yoon Ha Lee's short fiction. I found his shorter work intriguing from the very first story, "The Hundredth Question" in F&SF in 1999. He has a wider reputation now, after the tremendous success of his Machineries of Empiretrilogy. But as I hope this shows, he was writing striking work at shorter lengths throughout, and getting better and better. I've reprinted several of his stories in my Best of the Year volumes. Particular favorites include "Flower, Mercy, Needle, Chain", and the remarkable "Iseul's Lexicon", from his first story collection, Conservation of Shadows. Not included here is my review of his latest collection, Hexarchate Stories, all set in the Machineries of Empire universe, because that review appears in the current (January 2020) Locus.
Locus, June 2002
And Yoon Ha Lee's "The Black Abacus" (F&SF, June) is a fascinating attempt at describing a war conducted in quantum space through the eyes of a spaceship captain and her (traitorous?) associate and lover. I don't think the story quite works, but the attempt is intriguing indeed.
Locus, January 2009
And Yoon Ha Lee’s “Architectural Constants” (BCS, 10/23) is an evocative and original story of a constantly changing city, its changes controlled by a mysterious “spider”, and of the librarian and the sentinel whose destinies collide with the latest alterations.
Locus, March 2009
Yoon Ha Lee, in “The Unstrung Zither” (F&SF, March), seems to be trying something quite interesting. The story is apparently SF. An established planet trying to reestablish (by war) sovereignty over five colony planets. Five child assassins, one from each colony, have been captured. Xiao Ling Yun, a musician, is charged with using her musical ability to learn how to defeat them. The atmosphere is distinctively fantastical – largely I think because everything in the story is metaphor. Or perhaps not – perhaps what seems metaphor is real in this future, or alternate world? At any rate, all this is odd and interesting. And Ling Yun’s character is very well shown. That said, I felt the story didn’t quite work – but was a highly worthwhile failure – in that the plot’s dependence on quite implausible actions by the Phoenix General naggingly undermined my suspension of disbelief.
Review of Federations, Locus, May 2009
Yoon Ha Lee’s most notable feature, it seems to me (though Lee has displayed plenty of range) is the ability to imbue quite overtly space operatic stories with a nearly fantastical sort of color, and with a considerable feeling of intimacy. “Swanwatch” is another such (compare, for example, to “The Unstrung Zither”, from the March F&SF). A young woman is exiled to a distant space station for a trivial crime, and her new duty is to observe the “art form” of suicides who spiral into the nearby black hole. The story’s resolution isn’t quite what first seems offered, refreshingly.
Locus, September 2009
Yoon Ha Lee is never less than interesting – in “The Bones of Giants” (F&SF, August-September) a man searching for revenge against the evil necromancer who killed his mother allies himself with a chance-encountered young woman. On the surface a fairly conventional fantasy, but well executed, and with an effective closing revelation.
Locus, May 2010
At April’s Clarkesworld both stories are striking. Yoon Ha Lee’s “Between Two Dragons” is a war story, about a hero admiral who falls afoul of political machinations during a war, and is imprisoned, only to be released when the exigencies of war require his services. Which description of course doesn’t describe what’s really going on – this is a future war, between multiple star systems, and the admiral’s imprisonment involves also some mind alteration … but at heart it remains simple, a question of loyalty, and where loyalty belongs. Lee continues in his SF to use the language of fantasy to get at his themes: always quite interestingly.
Locus, September 2010
Yoon Ha Lee is reliably original and exotic again with “The Territoralist” (BCS, July 15). Guard Captain Jaris leads a crew to a territory that has “gone rogue” to set things right. The journey is fraught with strange omens, strange attacks, strange weapons – and in the end treachery, nicely foreshadowed. So I liked the story, though on final analysis I didn’t quite get a firm enough sense of groundedness to love it.
Locus, October 2010
Fantasy’s companion, Lightspeed, features a striking short Yoon Ha Lee story in September, “Flower, Mercy, Needle, Chain”, in which an assassin with a mysterious gun is approached by a potential client – but her mission and her gun are not what they once were. In its brief space the story spans great time, many universes, and we learn the assassin’s history, and the gun’s nature, both fascinating and unexpected.
Locus, December 2010
Yoon Ha Lee’s “The Winged City” (Giganotosaurus, December) is another striking and ambitious – but perhaps not quite successful – fantasy. Lee seems to try as hard as any writer to make worlds truly strange, and so with this story, about an apparently flying city, facing drought, that wages war on its neighbors for water and luxuries. This strategy seems about to fail, as one of the generals pushes for her clay man to accompany her to the next war. The sense of oddness, of dislocation, is palpable and effective, but the story qua story, in the end, slipped from my grasp. So – a worthy effort, but, for me, not a hit.
Locus, March 2011
It seems to me, thinking about Yoon Ha Lee’s increasingly impressive array of stories, that Lee's central theme is war, and that Lee treats this theme in strikingly original and varied ways. “Ghostweight” (Clarkesworld, January) is his latest war story, as striking and wrenching as any of them. Lisse is a deserter from the an interstellar Imperium’s army, and with the help of a ghost attached to her, she takes over an abandoned war kite, determined to take revenge on the people who destroyed much of her planet and killed her parents. Her cause seems just – is just – but can she truly be effective? And will her violence breed more violence, turn her into something she never wanted to be? And what of the ghost’s motivations? These are familiar questions, no doubt, but ever important ones, and well asked here, and twistily resolved, in another of Lee’s very different SFnal worlds – described with the feel of fantasy, with ghosts and origami and kites, but at core true interplanetary SF.
Locus, October 2013
Also at the August Lightspeed, Yoon Ha Lee is aggressively strange as ever in “The Knight of Chains, the Deuce of Stars”. It concerns “the exile Niristez … in a ship of ice and iron and armageddon engines” (for me, Lee's imagery usually hovers just to the good side of overwrought). Niristez has come to “a black spire upon a world whose only sun is a million starships wrecked into a mass grave” to play a game with the Warden of the tower – perhaps hoping to keep her promise to end an endless interstellar war, perhaps hoping to prolong the war. Games are central here, and cards, and strategy and tactics, and, as so often with Lee, ways of describing future war (and thus perhaps conflict in general) in new and effective ways.
Locus, February 2014
The best piece in the January Clarkesworld, however, is Yoon Ha Lee's “Wine”, one of Lee's grimmer stories, set on the planet Nasteng as it comes under attack by representatives of the wider universe, apparently interested in the secret of their “wine”. The ruling Council of Five hire mercenaries to resist the attack, and they ask a terrible price. The nature of that price, and the Council, and the wine, is the subject of the story, as learned by Loi Ruharn, a General and the lowborn lover of the one of the Councilors. Dark stuff indeed.
Lee is justifiably one of the most celebrated newer writers in our field, though, even while celebrated, Lee is not as well known as deserved for a simple, common, reason: no novels. (Though I think a couple may be in the pipeline.) Indeed, Conservation of Shadows is Lee's first full-length book. (Another very creditable collection could be assembled from stories not in this one, mind you.) It's an exceptional collection, with such tremendous stories as “Flower, Mercy, Needle, Chain” and “Ghostweight”. There's also an original novella, the longest story I think I've seen from Lee, “Iseul's Lexicon”, which I think is one of the stories of the year. Iseul is a spy for Chindalla, a nation half of which has been conquered by Yegedin, in a world where humans some centuries before freed themselves from the cruel domination of magicians called the Genial Ones. What little magic is still done is based on that of the Genial Ones, with charms written in their language. Iseul, a poet and linguist, is a natural magician of sorts, and her mission, to investigate the house of a Yegedin magician, seems a natural. When she encounters a Genial One in the house, the implication that the Yegedin have allied with a survivor of humans' old oppressors leads to an desperate race to stop the Yegedin from using this new power to conquer the rest of her country. The plot, put that way, is conventional enough, though well-handled. The power is in the telling, at times as (grimly) funny as anything I've seen from Lee, delightfully imaginative in the handling of the magic system, original, moving, realistic in its look at a middle-aged ex-poet caught up in war. Simply exceptional work.
Locus, May 2014
Yoon Ha Lee is one of the masters at merging SF and Fantasy – though to me it seems Lee often uses imagery from Fantasy to come to grips with the strangeness of the universe, and of deep time, and of intergalactic distances. “The Bonedrake's Penance” (BCS, March 2014) concerns a human girl raised by a Bonedrake, a weapon who has renounced war to curate a museum of sorts, devoted in part to the memories of past wars. As the girl grows up, she eventually comes to participate in the Bonedrake's interaction with visitors, and she must learn the reasons behind her “mother”'s devotion to absolute neutrality, even at the cost of peace.
Locus, May 2016
from the March 3 issue of BCS, Yoon Ha Lee’s “Foxfire, Foxfire” is a strong story in which the fantasy element is the main character: a fox who wants to become human – by killing 100 people, and inheriting their knowledge and characteristics. The SF part is her prospective 100th victim: the pilot of a cataphract, a huge robot being used in a battle. And the story itself finds a way to be different and moving and to invoke real sacrifice. Strong work.
Locus, August 2016
The aftermath of war – or, again, the way being a soldier changes one – also drives “Shadows Weave”, by Yoon Ha Lee. Tamalat is a warrior and Brio was an engineer who served with her. Brio has lost his shadow, perhaps as a way to escape the darkness of his fighting history, but it hasn’t turned out well, and Tamalat is acting as a shadow of sorts for him, and is trying to find a way to restore his true shadow. So they have come to a remote monastery, to learn how to sew a shadow back on … A bit of a convoluted setup, and perhaps not entirely convincing, but I liked the characters and the unexpectedly sweet ending. (“Sweet” not being a word one uses often in connection to a Yoon Ha Lee story.)
Locus, April 2017
Yoon Ha Lee’s “Extracurricular Activities”, from Tor.com in February, is perhaps more traditionally plotted, and with a more conventional tone, than much of Lee’s work. By which I mean to imply that it is perhaps less challenging – but I should say as well that it is a lot of fun. It’s set, I believe, in the same universe as his first novel, Ninefox Gambit (and as “The Chameleon’s Gloves”, mentioned below). Shuos Jedao is an undercover operative for the Heptarchate, assigned to infiltrate a space station controlled by another polity (the Gwa Reality), and to rescue the crew of a merchanter ship that had really been heptarchate spies, including Zhei Meng, a classmate of his at Shuos Academy. Jedao, posing himself as a crewman on another merchanter, executes the mission – with plenty of panache and a certain unconventional approach. It’s funny and clever, and Jedao is an engaging character, especially in his relationships – with his mother, his various commanders, flashbacks to his time at the academy and his friendship with Meng, and with a potential lover among his new crew. One of Lee’s intense and complex social and cosmological universes, presumably established in other stories, makes an effective background for a fine caper piece, with enough of a dark edge to ground it.
There’s plenty more really cool stuff in Cosmic Powers … another Kel story from Yoon Ha Lee, “The Chameleon’s Gloves”, in which an “haptic chameleon”, banished in disgrace from the Kel, is offered a chance at reinstatement if they help recover a super weapon from an apostate General;
Locus, April 2018
My favorite from the the February 1 issue of Beneath Ceaseless Skies was “The Starship and the Temple Cat”, by Yoon Ha Lee, which really does mix out and out fantasy with SF. (Unlike Lee’s novels, which I read as being pure SF in a milieu describable to us only in a way that seems like Fantasy.) The cat is a ghost, in its spectral sense the only survivor of a space station destroyed by a Galactic warlord’s forces. The starship is one of the fleet that destroyed the space station, and it has returned out of something like guilt after the death of its Captain. And somehow the two meet, and through poetry and music, find a way to resist the warlord’s forces.
Locus, June 2002
And Yoon Ha Lee's "The Black Abacus" (F&SF, June) is a fascinating attempt at describing a war conducted in quantum space through the eyes of a spaceship captain and her (traitorous?) associate and lover. I don't think the story quite works, but the attempt is intriguing indeed.
Locus, January 2009
And Yoon Ha Lee’s “Architectural Constants” (BCS, 10/23) is an evocative and original story of a constantly changing city, its changes controlled by a mysterious “spider”, and of the librarian and the sentinel whose destinies collide with the latest alterations.
Locus, March 2009
Yoon Ha Lee, in “The Unstrung Zither” (F&SF, March), seems to be trying something quite interesting. The story is apparently SF. An established planet trying to reestablish (by war) sovereignty over five colony planets. Five child assassins, one from each colony, have been captured. Xiao Ling Yun, a musician, is charged with using her musical ability to learn how to defeat them. The atmosphere is distinctively fantastical – largely I think because everything in the story is metaphor. Or perhaps not – perhaps what seems metaphor is real in this future, or alternate world? At any rate, all this is odd and interesting. And Ling Yun’s character is very well shown. That said, I felt the story didn’t quite work – but was a highly worthwhile failure – in that the plot’s dependence on quite implausible actions by the Phoenix General naggingly undermined my suspension of disbelief.
Review of Federations, Locus, May 2009
Yoon Ha Lee’s most notable feature, it seems to me (though Lee has displayed plenty of range) is the ability to imbue quite overtly space operatic stories with a nearly fantastical sort of color, and with a considerable feeling of intimacy. “Swanwatch” is another such (compare, for example, to “The Unstrung Zither”, from the March F&SF). A young woman is exiled to a distant space station for a trivial crime, and her new duty is to observe the “art form” of suicides who spiral into the nearby black hole. The story’s resolution isn’t quite what first seems offered, refreshingly.
Locus, September 2009
Yoon Ha Lee is never less than interesting – in “The Bones of Giants” (F&SF, August-September) a man searching for revenge against the evil necromancer who killed his mother allies himself with a chance-encountered young woman. On the surface a fairly conventional fantasy, but well executed, and with an effective closing revelation.
Locus, May 2010
At April’s Clarkesworld both stories are striking. Yoon Ha Lee’s “Between Two Dragons” is a war story, about a hero admiral who falls afoul of political machinations during a war, and is imprisoned, only to be released when the exigencies of war require his services. Which description of course doesn’t describe what’s really going on – this is a future war, between multiple star systems, and the admiral’s imprisonment involves also some mind alteration … but at heart it remains simple, a question of loyalty, and where loyalty belongs. Lee continues in his SF to use the language of fantasy to get at his themes: always quite interestingly.
Locus, September 2010
Yoon Ha Lee is reliably original and exotic again with “The Territoralist” (BCS, July 15). Guard Captain Jaris leads a crew to a territory that has “gone rogue” to set things right. The journey is fraught with strange omens, strange attacks, strange weapons – and in the end treachery, nicely foreshadowed. So I liked the story, though on final analysis I didn’t quite get a firm enough sense of groundedness to love it.
Locus, October 2010
Fantasy’s companion, Lightspeed, features a striking short Yoon Ha Lee story in September, “Flower, Mercy, Needle, Chain”, in which an assassin with a mysterious gun is approached by a potential client – but her mission and her gun are not what they once were. In its brief space the story spans great time, many universes, and we learn the assassin’s history, and the gun’s nature, both fascinating and unexpected.
Locus, December 2010
Yoon Ha Lee’s “The Winged City” (Giganotosaurus, December) is another striking and ambitious – but perhaps not quite successful – fantasy. Lee seems to try as hard as any writer to make worlds truly strange, and so with this story, about an apparently flying city, facing drought, that wages war on its neighbors for water and luxuries. This strategy seems about to fail, as one of the generals pushes for her clay man to accompany her to the next war. The sense of oddness, of dislocation, is palpable and effective, but the story qua story, in the end, slipped from my grasp. So – a worthy effort, but, for me, not a hit.
Locus, March 2011
It seems to me, thinking about Yoon Ha Lee’s increasingly impressive array of stories, that Lee's central theme is war, and that Lee treats this theme in strikingly original and varied ways. “Ghostweight” (Clarkesworld, January) is his latest war story, as striking and wrenching as any of them. Lisse is a deserter from the an interstellar Imperium’s army, and with the help of a ghost attached to her, she takes over an abandoned war kite, determined to take revenge on the people who destroyed much of her planet and killed her parents. Her cause seems just – is just – but can she truly be effective? And will her violence breed more violence, turn her into something she never wanted to be? And what of the ghost’s motivations? These are familiar questions, no doubt, but ever important ones, and well asked here, and twistily resolved, in another of Lee’s very different SFnal worlds – described with the feel of fantasy, with ghosts and origami and kites, but at core true interplanetary SF.
Locus, October 2013
Also at the August Lightspeed, Yoon Ha Lee is aggressively strange as ever in “The Knight of Chains, the Deuce of Stars”. It concerns “the exile Niristez … in a ship of ice and iron and armageddon engines” (for me, Lee's imagery usually hovers just to the good side of overwrought). Niristez has come to “a black spire upon a world whose only sun is a million starships wrecked into a mass grave” to play a game with the Warden of the tower – perhaps hoping to keep her promise to end an endless interstellar war, perhaps hoping to prolong the war. Games are central here, and cards, and strategy and tactics, and, as so often with Lee, ways of describing future war (and thus perhaps conflict in general) in new and effective ways.
Locus, February 2014
The best piece in the January Clarkesworld, however, is Yoon Ha Lee's “Wine”, one of Lee's grimmer stories, set on the planet Nasteng as it comes under attack by representatives of the wider universe, apparently interested in the secret of their “wine”. The ruling Council of Five hire mercenaries to resist the attack, and they ask a terrible price. The nature of that price, and the Council, and the wine, is the subject of the story, as learned by Loi Ruharn, a General and the lowborn lover of the one of the Councilors. Dark stuff indeed.
 |
| (Cover by Sherin Nicole) |
Locus, May 2014
Yoon Ha Lee is one of the masters at merging SF and Fantasy – though to me it seems Lee often uses imagery from Fantasy to come to grips with the strangeness of the universe, and of deep time, and of intergalactic distances. “The Bonedrake's Penance” (BCS, March 2014) concerns a human girl raised by a Bonedrake, a weapon who has renounced war to curate a museum of sorts, devoted in part to the memories of past wars. As the girl grows up, she eventually comes to participate in the Bonedrake's interaction with visitors, and she must learn the reasons behind her “mother”'s devotion to absolute neutrality, even at the cost of peace.
Locus, May 2016
from the March 3 issue of BCS, Yoon Ha Lee’s “Foxfire, Foxfire” is a strong story in which the fantasy element is the main character: a fox who wants to become human – by killing 100 people, and inheriting their knowledge and characteristics. The SF part is her prospective 100th victim: the pilot of a cataphract, a huge robot being used in a battle. And the story itself finds a way to be different and moving and to invoke real sacrifice. Strong work.
Locus, August 2016
The aftermath of war – or, again, the way being a soldier changes one – also drives “Shadows Weave”, by Yoon Ha Lee. Tamalat is a warrior and Brio was an engineer who served with her. Brio has lost his shadow, perhaps as a way to escape the darkness of his fighting history, but it hasn’t turned out well, and Tamalat is acting as a shadow of sorts for him, and is trying to find a way to restore his true shadow. So they have come to a remote monastery, to learn how to sew a shadow back on … A bit of a convoluted setup, and perhaps not entirely convincing, but I liked the characters and the unexpectedly sweet ending. (“Sweet” not being a word one uses often in connection to a Yoon Ha Lee story.)
Locus, April 2017
Yoon Ha Lee’s “Extracurricular Activities”, from Tor.com in February, is perhaps more traditionally plotted, and with a more conventional tone, than much of Lee’s work. By which I mean to imply that it is perhaps less challenging – but I should say as well that it is a lot of fun. It’s set, I believe, in the same universe as his first novel, Ninefox Gambit (and as “The Chameleon’s Gloves”, mentioned below). Shuos Jedao is an undercover operative for the Heptarchate, assigned to infiltrate a space station controlled by another polity (the Gwa Reality), and to rescue the crew of a merchanter ship that had really been heptarchate spies, including Zhei Meng, a classmate of his at Shuos Academy. Jedao, posing himself as a crewman on another merchanter, executes the mission – with plenty of panache and a certain unconventional approach. It’s funny and clever, and Jedao is an engaging character, especially in his relationships – with his mother, his various commanders, flashbacks to his time at the academy and his friendship with Meng, and with a potential lover among his new crew. One of Lee’s intense and complex social and cosmological universes, presumably established in other stories, makes an effective background for a fine caper piece, with enough of a dark edge to ground it.
There’s plenty more really cool stuff in Cosmic Powers … another Kel story from Yoon Ha Lee, “The Chameleon’s Gloves”, in which an “haptic chameleon”, banished in disgrace from the Kel, is offered a chance at reinstatement if they help recover a super weapon from an apostate General;
Locus, April 2018
My favorite from the the February 1 issue of Beneath Ceaseless Skies was “The Starship and the Temple Cat”, by Yoon Ha Lee, which really does mix out and out fantasy with SF. (Unlike Lee’s novels, which I read as being pure SF in a milieu describable to us only in a way that seems like Fantasy.) The cat is a ghost, in its spectral sense the only survivor of a space station destroyed by a Galactic warlord’s forces. The starship is one of the fleet that destroyed the space station, and it has returned out of something like guilt after the death of its Captain. And somehow the two meet, and through poetry and music, find a way to resist the warlord’s forces.
Thursday, January 23, 2020
Home, by Marilynne Robinson
Today I thought I'd repost my review, published when it first came out, of the great Marilynne Robinson's third novel, Home. Robinson is a truly remarkable writer of fiction (I find her essays less convincing, though still well-written.) All of her novels have had adoring notice, so this novel is not by any means forgotten, and it's not at all old (though it probably did sell well.) But it does deserve as much mention as it can get!
Home, by Marilynne Robinson
a review by Rich Horton
Home is Marilynne Robinson's third novel. Her first, Housekeeping, appeared in 1980, and it was to be 24 years before she produced another, Gilead (2004). She was a teacher at the University of Iowa's famous Program in Creative Writing (which has produced such famous writers as Joe Haldeman), and it would seem that she is a proponent of writing what you know. She grew up in Idaho, and Housekeeping is set in a small Idaho town that resembles her home town. And Gilead and Home are both set in a town in her current home of Iowa, and are much concerned with Protestantism, particularly Congregationalism and Presbyterianism -- and Robinson is quite notably a Congregationalist and also an admirer of John Calvin, founder of Reformed Protestantism, of which Presbyterianism is one of the most prominent contemporary US branches. [Her fourth, and to date latest, novel, Lila (2014), is also set in Gilead, just after the events of Gilead and Home.]
More to the point, those three novels are easily among my favorite three novels of the past three decades -- they are astonishing works, distinguished by quite remarkable prose (which to my ear differs quite a bit between the first novel and the much later second and third novels), and by truly acute and closely observed characterization.
Gilead, which won the Pulitzer Prize, is written from the point of view of John Ames, a Congregationalist minister in the small town of Gilead, Iowa. He has married late in life, and has a young son, and the novel is presented as a long letter to this son, written in the knowledge that the elder man's health is failing. It tells of the history of Gilead, particularly as embodied in Ames' grandfather, a vigorous abolitionist, and of Ames's life, and especially of his long friendship with fellow minister Robert Boughton, a Presbyterian. Boughton's particular trial is his "prodigal" son Jack, who at the time of Ames's writing his "letter" has come home after a 20 year absence.
Home is a direct companion to Gilead, covering exactly the same time frame, but from the point of view of the Boughton family. In particular, the book centers on three people: Robert Boughton himself, and two of his children, the just-returned Jack, and his youngest child, Glory, a pious and loyal woman of 38, who had been a teacher, but who has returned to Gilead after a terrible romantic disappointment: her long term fiance, she has finally learned, was in fact married the whole time, and was perhaps interested in Glory mainly for the money he sponged from her.
Glory is the viewpoint character. Her father is failing, her mother ten years dead, and so she must care for him. When Jack returns, she prepares to care for him as well, but he is full of a rueful pride, and insists on helping in his own way, while only slowly accepting her help, and even more slowly opening up (in a limited fashion) about the last 20 years of his life, and his particular torments. As portrayed here, Jack seems a basically good man, who throughout his life has struggled with, perhaps, a difficulty with conformity, in particular to societal norms and also to Christianity. Over the years he has clearly learned the Bible backwards and forwards, yet cannot profess belief. This perhaps is at the heart of his rift with his father. In a more worldly sense, Jack's reaction to stress seems to have been to turn to drink, and clearly for many of those 20 years away from Gilead he has been functionally alcoholic, and pushed for one reason or another to crimes sufficient that he spent some time in prison. He feels deeply that he has betrayed most of those close to him by his feelings and acts, yet he resents, I think, the obligation that that sense of betrayal seems to indicate.
Finally, Jack has apparently lived for several years with a woman named Della in St. Louis, a churchgoing woman, singer in a choir, daughter of a minister, and for much of this time he has been happy and well-behaved. But something has precipitated a rift here as well -- it's not quite clear exactly what, though we know that her father disapproves completely of the relationship.
All this is revealed in bits and pieces over several weeks of life in Gilead, Jack seeming to be improving in temperament as he repairs the family car and works on the property. Meanwhile Glory tries to make her own life in what are to her bitterly constricting circumstances. And their father is declining precipitously. Jack goes so far as to try to befriend John Ames, who is suspicious of him based on history, as well as John's wife and son.
The first two thirds or so of the novel are in a sense all careful setup, though quietly very involving throughout. Robinson builds as rigorous and intense a picture of the characters of her three central figures as I can recall in any novel, through close description, elegantly described conversation, and a window into Glory's thoughts. Then the final 100 or so pages are about as moving as any novel I've ever read. In a way very little happens -- it is remarkable how powerful such tiny events and clipped words become. There is an apparently harsh and pointed sermon by John Ames. A relapse by Jack. Bitter words from Robert Boughton -- followed by nearly complete physical collapse. A visit from Jack and Glory's older brother. A letter from Jack's lover Della. And a surprising visit -- and revelation -- to close the novel. (Though this revelation, probably guessable anyway, will be no surprise to readers of Gilead.)
It is hard for me to describe how powerful the last series of scenes are -- how Robinson arranges that words and sentences cut so deeply. It is a real example of novelistic power, in the purest naturalistic novel tradition. In a way the core of Home is no more than a long novelette -- but it would mean very little without the establishing work done in the first couple hundred pages. This is a magnificent novel. And Marilynne Robinson is a great writer -- I urge those who haven't to seek out Gilead as well, and perhaps particularly Housekeeping, which despite the virtues of the two more recent books, may remain my favorite of her works.
Home, by Marilynne Robinson
a review by Rich Horton
More to the point, those three novels are easily among my favorite three novels of the past three decades -- they are astonishing works, distinguished by quite remarkable prose (which to my ear differs quite a bit between the first novel and the much later second and third novels), and by truly acute and closely observed characterization.
Gilead, which won the Pulitzer Prize, is written from the point of view of John Ames, a Congregationalist minister in the small town of Gilead, Iowa. He has married late in life, and has a young son, and the novel is presented as a long letter to this son, written in the knowledge that the elder man's health is failing. It tells of the history of Gilead, particularly as embodied in Ames' grandfather, a vigorous abolitionist, and of Ames's life, and especially of his long friendship with fellow minister Robert Boughton, a Presbyterian. Boughton's particular trial is his "prodigal" son Jack, who at the time of Ames's writing his "letter" has come home after a 20 year absence.
Home is a direct companion to Gilead, covering exactly the same time frame, but from the point of view of the Boughton family. In particular, the book centers on three people: Robert Boughton himself, and two of his children, the just-returned Jack, and his youngest child, Glory, a pious and loyal woman of 38, who had been a teacher, but who has returned to Gilead after a terrible romantic disappointment: her long term fiance, she has finally learned, was in fact married the whole time, and was perhaps interested in Glory mainly for the money he sponged from her.
Glory is the viewpoint character. Her father is failing, her mother ten years dead, and so she must care for him. When Jack returns, she prepares to care for him as well, but he is full of a rueful pride, and insists on helping in his own way, while only slowly accepting her help, and even more slowly opening up (in a limited fashion) about the last 20 years of his life, and his particular torments. As portrayed here, Jack seems a basically good man, who throughout his life has struggled with, perhaps, a difficulty with conformity, in particular to societal norms and also to Christianity. Over the years he has clearly learned the Bible backwards and forwards, yet cannot profess belief. This perhaps is at the heart of his rift with his father. In a more worldly sense, Jack's reaction to stress seems to have been to turn to drink, and clearly for many of those 20 years away from Gilead he has been functionally alcoholic, and pushed for one reason or another to crimes sufficient that he spent some time in prison. He feels deeply that he has betrayed most of those close to him by his feelings and acts, yet he resents, I think, the obligation that that sense of betrayal seems to indicate.
Finally, Jack has apparently lived for several years with a woman named Della in St. Louis, a churchgoing woman, singer in a choir, daughter of a minister, and for much of this time he has been happy and well-behaved. But something has precipitated a rift here as well -- it's not quite clear exactly what, though we know that her father disapproves completely of the relationship.
All this is revealed in bits and pieces over several weeks of life in Gilead, Jack seeming to be improving in temperament as he repairs the family car and works on the property. Meanwhile Glory tries to make her own life in what are to her bitterly constricting circumstances. And their father is declining precipitously. Jack goes so far as to try to befriend John Ames, who is suspicious of him based on history, as well as John's wife and son.
The first two thirds or so of the novel are in a sense all careful setup, though quietly very involving throughout. Robinson builds as rigorous and intense a picture of the characters of her three central figures as I can recall in any novel, through close description, elegantly described conversation, and a window into Glory's thoughts. Then the final 100 or so pages are about as moving as any novel I've ever read. In a way very little happens -- it is remarkable how powerful such tiny events and clipped words become. There is an apparently harsh and pointed sermon by John Ames. A relapse by Jack. Bitter words from Robert Boughton -- followed by nearly complete physical collapse. A visit from Jack and Glory's older brother. A letter from Jack's lover Della. And a surprising visit -- and revelation -- to close the novel. (Though this revelation, probably guessable anyway, will be no surprise to readers of Gilead.)
It is hard for me to describe how powerful the last series of scenes are -- how Robinson arranges that words and sentences cut so deeply. It is a real example of novelistic power, in the purest naturalistic novel tradition. In a way the core of Home is no more than a long novelette -- but it would mean very little without the establishing work done in the first couple hundred pages. This is a magnificent novel. And Marilynne Robinson is a great writer -- I urge those who haven't to seek out Gilead as well, and perhaps particularly Housekeeping, which despite the virtues of the two more recent books, may remain my favorite of her works.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)