Review: The Forever War, by Joe Haldeman

Review: The Forever War, by Joe Haldeman

by Rich Horton

This review will be full of spoilers -- it's a classic SF novel, and pretty much everyone in the field (except John Scalzi :) ) has read it. Short answer: it's definitely worth reading -- a bitter and cynical look at war, some cool ideas including the effect of time dilation and lots of physics, a somewhat transcendent but pretty creepy conclusion. And, also, some very '70s things, including pretty questionable -- at times downright offensive -- "sexual revolution" era sexual politics, and oddly 70s-ish notions of dystopia.

To my impressions:

I read The Forever War back in 1975 when it came out, mostly in the Analog quasi-serialization, though I bought the paperback too. I had to get the first two parts of the novel out of the library as I didn't start buying Analog until the August 1974 issue. The last two sections (in Analog) were in the fourth and sixth issues I bought. I liked it then and I endorsed its Hugo and Nebula wins. But if I am telling the truth, my memories from 50 years ago have become pretty dim, so I only recall the basic outline: William Mandella is drafted into a war against the aliens, there are several very impressive battle scenes, he falls in love with fellow soldier Marygay Potter, they are separated by time dilation, the war ends when it is realized the whole thing was a mistake due to poor communication, Marygay waits for William by flying back and forth in a spaceship until time dilation means their timelines are synchronized again.

We scheduled it for our book club this month, so I finally reread it. I got a Kindle edition, partly because I had heard that a significant chunk of the novel had been rejected by Ben Bova at Analog, and had only been added back to the book edition much later. The funny thing is, that chunk, was published as a separate novella in the November 1975 Amazing. And I don't remember it at all! -- even though I was buying Amazing at the time. I don't even remember the other stories in that issue, nor do I recognize the cover. Either my memory is completely shot -- possible! -- or I somehow missed that issue -- I don't think I had subscribed yet.

What did I think on a reread? It's still a pretty effective book. The telling is cynical in a totally believable way. The Army scenes ring very true -- and Haldeman would certainly be a better authority than me anyway. The soldiers are foulmouthed, dislike their commanding officers, but fairly disciplined if only because the alternative is dying. From my perspective a couple of things bothered me. One: in the Army "confraternity" -- sexual relastions with your fellow soldiers of the opposite sex -- is essentially mandatory, and (at least for a while) on a rotation basis. This seesm that it would be particularly hard on the women -- and there are hints of this in the novel. But only hints -- for the most part people seem happy to be always ready for sex and to be bedding a different person each night. In reality -- probably not much fun for most women, and, really, not so much fun for lots of men. Two: the casualty numbers are incredible, probably significantly higher than Russian casualties in Ukraine (and partly for a similar reason -- the politicians on Earth don't care.) Even worse, part of this is to my mind very avoidable casualties during trainging. Three: I don't quite buy the concept of only recruiting geniuses (150+ IQ) for the Army. I get that there's some satirical point to that, but still.

That said, it's very exciting, and well-written. The battle setups are interesting, and seem like a plausible use of the technology Haldeman invents. Some of this tech is pretty implausible, but in an almost believable fashion. The new section, originally called "You Can Never Go Back", concerns William and Marygay's return to Earth after their battles, at which time they are eligible to muster out. They describe at thoroughly decayed Earth society, in a very '70s fashion. Homosexuality is encourage as a population control measure (though -- as Mandella even points out -- birth control is pretty easy to enforce anyway.) Haldeman's depiction of homosexuality is mostly positive, I suppose, but there are some cliches, which I understand he regretted in later years. The rest of the depiction of Earth at that time seems a bit over the top -- but partly it's a device to make it plausible that the two of them reup.

The social changes from then on remain interesting. Homosexuality is eventually mandatory, and enforced by medical treatments. All births are by artificial insemination and by using artificial wombs. There are algorithms to ensure genetic compatibility for "better" children. The novel takes a somewhat neutral stance towards this, though I find it horrifying. And the final fate of mankind -- where every one is clones of a single individual, linked a sort of hivemind, is appalling, and really dangerous. There is a backup plan -- a few planets where heterosexual relationships and natural birth is allowed -- which of course is where William and Marygay end up. But seriously -- what is "good", what is valuable, what sort of art would be possible, etc. etc., in a world with only one actual individual. It's really truly terrible. 

Anyway, it remains a good novel. As with so many books, it doesn't hold up as well 50 years later -- I wasn't as impressed as I remember being back then. Nonetheless, it definitely heralded an outstanding careers, and beginning some time in the 1990s I got in the habit of reading every Joe Haldeman novel as they came out, every 2 years or so, and they are reliably strong work. (My favorites are The Hemingway Hoax, The Coming, and Old Twentieth.)

Review: The Elfland Prepositions, by Henry Wessells

Review: The Elfland Prepositions, by Henry Wessells

by Rich Horton

Henry Wessells is a bookseller, writer, and publisher. His imprint, Temporary Culture, has published a number of books in the SF/Fantasy genre as well as some critical works. He also runs a website and newsletter devoted to Avram Davidson. I first encountered his fiction with a remarkable story in the New York Review of Science Fiction back in 2003, "Ten Bears; or, A History of the Weterings: A Critical Fiction". Shortly thereafter he published a beautiful collection, Another Green World, which also displayed his bookbinding talents. (The allusion to one of my favorite Brian Eno albums also delighted me.) Since then I have met Henry in person a few times at the science fiction convention Readercon. 

His latest book is this collection of four more "critical fictions", a label which I take to mean works of fiction that openly acknowledge, and comment on, their debt to previous works. These stories, written between 2017 and 2024, depict the interactions of people from our world and Elfland from the point of view of the lower classes; and rather cynically. The main charactes are a cleaner, a barmaid, a dry-cleaner (and automobile manufacturer!) and a detective. The afterword directly cites Lord Dunsany's The King of Elfland's Daughter, Hope Mirrlees' Lud-in-the-Mist, and Sylvia Townsend Warner's Kingdoms of Elfin; and the stories themselves directly allude to many other writers (a helpful list of works cited is included.)

In "Cleaning Up Efland" the narrator wants to go to Elfland but not as a changeling or slave, and learns how to get jobs there as a house cleaner -- there's not much more to the story than that except of course for the language, and sly references, and the way we see something real about life (if that's what it is) in Elfland. In "The Barmaid from Elfland" the narrator recognizes the title character as an elf and falls for her -- which we know is dangerous! And things go, more or less, as the rules for these stories say they must -- and the story gets there beautifully. "John Z. Delorean, Dry Cleaner to the Queen of Elfland" gives the notorious automaker a backstory in which he makes an Elfland fortune by doing dry cleaning for the elves, which leads to some good fortune as he starts his business -- but of course bad fortune when the Queen turns against him. The last line here is a killer. And "A Detective in Efland" has a man hired to retrieve a young girl who has disappeared -- kidnapped by elves, the mother says. Of course there is more going on -- this is a hardboiled detective story after all -- and we learn a little more about the seamy underside of Elfland, especially the uses a certain school has for kidnapped humans.

These stories are elegantly done, very clever, beautifully dark in implication. The tricks of making Elfland effectively mysterious are ready to Wessells' hand, and so too the ways of showing both the glamour and the danger. It is nice but not necessary to pick out the allusions. Henry Wessells is not prolific at all (in fiction) but what he does is outstanding.

Review: The Tents of Wickedness, by Peter De Vries

Review: The Tents of Wickedness, by Peter De Vries

A review by Rich Horton

Peter De Vries is one of my favorite midcentury American writers, and one somewhat neglected these days. This is in part because he was a comic novelist, and his primary subject, suburban adultery, may have lost centrality as time passed. For all that though, he could be very funny indeed; and he could also be very serious, in the midst of comedy, as with my choice for his greatest novel, The Blood of the Lamb.

The Tents of Wickedness (1959), however, is not quite a success. It's a sequel to Comfort Me With Apples, from 1956. The main character, Charles (Chick) Swallow, was also the main character in Comfort Me With Apples, and in both novels he is tempted into adultery, though in very different ways. In the first novel, he had just taken a job as advice columnist for the local paper in Decencey, CT, the Picayune Blade; and through the course of the novel his advice had at times backfired, in particular in the case of his brother-in-law Nickie. He still has that job in the new novel, and Nickie is still a problem -- indeed, Chick's sister is ready to divorce him.

But the main engine of the plot is Beth ("Sweetie") Appleyard, a girl he had dated in high school but had never managed to get into bed. As The Tents of Wickedness opens, he and his wife are going to a neighborhood party -- and it turns out Sweetie is to be their babysitter. This is a bit of a problem for Chick, as he's convinced his wife will ferret out their shared past. But the big problem is Sweetie herself, who has gotten stuck in an extended adolescence. And her father seems to blame Chick -- for an incident in the coalbin when they were very young; and then, paradoxically, for not deflowering Sweetie when they were teens. 

So Chick ends up entangle in various schemes to get Sweetie to mature. This involves at first a number of parodies she has written of prominent poems, which Chick manages to get published. On the strength of this Sweetie moves to Greenwich village, but, disappointed that the boys she meets seem too serious, she returns to Decency, and tells Chick that she wants a child, but doesn't want to get married. Chick refuses to impregnate her until is seems she'll choose Nickie instead, and so to try to save his sister's marriage, he nobly sleeps with Sweetie.

The results of Chick's various maneuverings, along with Nickie gaining a second personality as a master thief, not surprisingly gets Chick in more and more trouble. Add in Sweetie's father getting involved with a British woman who might have her eyes on the family fortune; plus changes at the newspaper, and then an attempt to place Sweetie's child with an appropriate adoptive family, and ... well, lots of tangles.

The problem is, these tangles end up being a bit tiresome, and not terribly convincing. The characters are not as well realized as many of De Vries' characters -- particularly Sweetie, who never really comes to life. And the novel itself is a stylistic tour-de-force, that only works about half the time -- the chapters are written in the style of a series of well-known novelists. For me, alas, while I had no trouble figuring out when the novelist was Austen, or Hemingway, or Kafka; I was stymied by the likes of John P. Marquand. More importantly, though, the effort of mimicry -- well enough pulled off -- seemed to interfere with De Vries' comic timing, and the book just isn't as funny as his best work. 

Review: I Who Have Never Known Men, by Jacqueline Harpman

Review: I Who Have Never Known Men, by Jacqueline Harpman

by Rich Horton

Jacqueline Harpman (1929-2012) was a Belgian novelist, filmmaker, and psychoanalyst; a woman of many parts who was also fascinated by physics and astronomy. She was of Jewish heritage, and her family spent the war years in Casablanca to escape the Nazis. (Several relatives were killed in the Holocaust.) Her first husband was a film director and she collaborated on several of his films, and turned to writing and then to psychiatry. She published a couple of dozen books, with considerable success. I Who Have Never Known Men (1995) was the first of her books to be translated into English, in 1997 as Mistress of Silence; and several further novels have been translated since then. Mistress of Silence was reissued in 2022 as I Who Have Never Known Men, a more direct translation of the French title (Moi qui n'ai pas connu les hommes) and also a direct quote from the novel. It gained considerable popularity at the time. The translator is Ros Schwartz. I listened to the audiobook, read very well by Nikki Massoud.

The unnamed (even to herself) narrator opens by telling us that she is alone as she writes this account, and will likely die soon. And then she tells of her life. Her first memories are of life in an underground cage. She is the only child in a group of 40 women, who are kept prisoner by a group of men, guards. They never leave the cage, and the men never enter the cage. They are kept in order by whips, though by the time of the story, the women never seem to be hit -- the snap of the whip near them is enough. They are not allowed to touch each other, and they have no books, no paper, no clock. The single toilet is out in the open.

This goes on for years, until the narrator, called the "child" by the other women, is about 15. She is pubescent, and has what seem to be sexual fantasies, but is not wholly developed sexually. She has passed from a feeling of anger with the other women to some accommodation -- after years of refusing to tell her anything, they begin to tell her what they know of their situation, and what they remember of their past life -- very little in either case. The narrator learns simple math, learns to count time, and becomes friends with a 40ish woman named Anthea. 

Then, one day as food is passed into their cage, there is an alarm, and the guards suddenly flee, leaving the keys in the lock -- and so the women escape. They head upstairs and go outside, and find themselves on a large and almost featureless plain. There is lots of food stored in their prison, and some equipment. They set up a camp outside, and then, led by the narrator, begin exploring. In time they discover additional prisons, in which they inevitably find 40 dead people -- sometimes all women, sometimes all men. They make themselves homes. And, of course, the women begin to die, of old age, illness, and suicide. Meanwhile the narrator is ever learning, learning eventually to read and write, and after everyone else has died, making a couple more significant discoveries.

But still, never an understanding of what disaster led to their imprisonment (and that of so many more.) Nor do they even know where they are -- this planet can hardly be Earth. In this way this novel -- rightly acknowledged as a work of science fiction -- radically differs from most genre SF, for there is no explanation, no understanding. What is it about, then? It is most definitely NOT, unlike what some remarkably obtuse critics have suggested, anything at all like The Handmaid's Tale. And while in many ways it describes a terrible, and very sad, situation, it is oddly not bleak in tone. This is largely a function of the narrator's voice, and of her innocence, resulting in her knowing nothing of the Earth where she was born. But nor is it at all triumphalist. The narrator knows that her life in the end means nothing, solves nothing. She appears to -- to the extent possible -- live a good life, if a lonely life; but she certainly mourns what she missed. The story does have something to say about organizing a life, a small society, in a nearly hopeless situation. It does have something to say about life without men -- but remember that the men imprisoned here had a life without women. It's a strange and mysterious book -- more involving than I expected on first encountering it. I don't think it's as good as its reputation suggests -- perhaps I am so much a genre reader that I really do miss some explanation -- but it's worth reading. 

Review: Bewilderment, by Richard Powers

Review: Bewilderment, by Richard Powers

by Rich Horton

Richard Powers is a very successful literary novelist whose works always address scientific ideas, and often cross the ill-defined border into actual science fiction. He became a bestseller with his 2018 novel The Overstory, about trees and forests. He is roughly my age, and we were at the University of Illinois at the same time (though I didn't know him), so I've long kept track of his work, and I loved his early novel The Gold Bug Variations. He has won a MacArthur Fellowship, a Pulitzer Prize, and a National Book Award. 

His most recent novels have been intensely concerned with ecological systems and with ecological catastrophe. Bewilderment, from 2021, certainly fits that template. And it is definitely science fiction -- set in the present day more or less, but in a slightly alternate history.

Theo Byrne is an astrobiologist at the University of Wisconsin, with a nine year old son, Robin, who has some problems. Robin presents to this reader, at least, as somewhere on the autism spectrum (quite high-functioning.) He is prone to fits of rage, and he is very sensitive. Also, his mother Alyssa died in an accident a couple of years before the events of the novel -- a loss that has devastated both Theo and Robin. As the novel opens, the two are on vacation in the Smoky Mountains, near where Theo and Alyssa had honeymooned, and we see Robin's fascination with the stars (Theo's focus) and wildlife (Aly's focus.)

Back in Madison, we learn about Robin's troubles in school, and about Theo's impatience with the "medicate first, ask questions later" attitudes of school officials and doctors -- he doesn't think that treatment will help his son. The two are vegan -- learned from Aly, who was an animal rights activist. One of their shared pastimes is virtually visiting simulations of exoplanets, using a program Theo has developed with the intent of understanding how to detect signatures of life in the data from worlds circling other stars. One of Robby's obsessions is following in his mother's footsteps: doing everything he can to protect animals from the ecological devastation caused by humans. In pursuit of this he starts drawing animals from the Endangered Species List, and even stages a protest at the state capitol building.

Under pressure to enter Robin in a treatment regimen, especially after he broke a classmate's cheekbone in an understandable fit of rage, Theo takes up another Professor's offer of seeing if an experimental treatment will help. The technique is real -- Decoded Neurofeedback, or DecNef, and Professor Currier is hoping to use the treatment for emotional problems, indeed, to induce empathy in subjects. Theo and Aly had contributed some early brain state readings, but Theo has come to suspect that Aly and Currier had had an affair. Still, any hope for Robin is worth it, and Robin enters into the program, with good results that become astonishing when he trains himself using Aly's brain scans. Indeed, he begins to feel that his mother is somehow present in his mind.

But all this is set against an horrifying political backdrop. The President is viciously anti-Science, for essentially religious reasons. In many ways he resembles Trump -- though in his case his attempt to overturn an election result is successful. And his stance against science imperils not just the program Robin has been using; but Theo's life work, which depends on the Next Gen Space Telescope, and then on a follow on project which will allow very precise observations of exoplanets. Alongside all this, their are increasing climate-related catastrophes, and serious threats of plagues, and other more mundane issues.

I won't detail the way the book is resolved, though we are given hint after hint. (Most obviously, a book Robin and Theo read is Flowers for Algernon.) But it's a remarkable achievement. I did find myself arguing with it at times, and I do feel that Theo (and perhaps the author) failed to show empathy for some of the characters cast as villains, which I found ironic in a way. But the ultimate message comes through, and does so very powerfully, and the final scene is beautiful indeed. The various themes are wonderfully intertwined -- our empathy, for humans and other species is important. Understanding life on other planets is important. The various different forms of life Theo's simulations show is important. Alyssa's life, death, and lifework is a sort of running commentary. Beauty is everywhere, and so is ugliness and tragedy. And the scientific ideas are not only interesting in themselves but truly reinforce the novel's themes. Even the title is an intertwined them: "bewilderment" at the way people ignore science, "bewilderment" at the way Robin's mind works, and also a command, sort of, to "be wilder", or to engage in "bewilderment" as a sort of analog to "rewilding".

An outstanding book, and one of the best SF novels of the past several years, which, sadly, was not noticed with the field as much as it should have been.

Review: The English Air, by D. E. Stevenson

Review: The English Air, by D. E. Stevenson

by Rich Horton

(I reviewed a few novels already by Robert Louis Stevenson's cousin Dorothy: so, biographical details can be found here.)

D. E. Stevenson published two novels in 1940 -- The English Air, and Rochester's Wife. Both novels are set in the late '30s. Both novels feature families with men in the military. Rochester's Wife was the first Stevenson novel I read, and I thought it kind of a mess -- though it was just good enough in certain ways that I decided to keep trying her novels. (Also, I had enough friends eagerly promoting her work that I figured something was going on!) Since then I've read a few more of her novels, and the best of them are quite delightful, so I'm happy I kept up with it.

One of the things that bothered me about Rochester's Wife was how oblivious the characters seemed to the coming catastrophe. So it was interesting to get to the The English Air (which I believe was written right after she wrote Rochester's Wife, though it may have been published earlier in the year.) The English Air opens in 1938, when Franz Heiden, a young German man, whose father is a midlevel official in the Nazi regime, but whose late mother was English, comes to stay with his mother's first cousin, Sophie, at Chellford, a seaside town. This visit is on the surface a reason for Franz to (at long last) visit his mother's family (his father's controlling nature, and anger at the English role in WWI, had previously prevented this.) He also wants to improve his English, and his father wants him to report on English morale (not strictly spying, just observation.)

Sophie's daughter, Wynne, is a free-spirited and attractive girl just a few years younger than Franz, and so any reader of D. E. Stevenson knows where that's going right away. And there are really no surprises in that romance plot. But that's not really the heart of the novel. For one thing, it's an ensemble piece, and we see things via several characters. Sophie herself is an important character -- a fortyish woman with a reputation for a sort of silliness, but with a way with people so that everyone likes her, and a way with her silliness that's rather deep. Sophie's husband has died, and his half-brother Dane, who is independently wealthy, manages the house and Sophie's finances. Dane himself, Major Worthington, is an interesting and mysterious character -- he had a "good war" in the first War, but suffered some sort of injury, and so doesn't do any particular work, and spends a fair amount of time overseas, for his health. (Again, most readers will quickly cotton to what Dane really does with his time.) Wynne's brother Roy is in the Navy, and their local friends include members of the military as well. 

As time goes by, Franz learns colloquial English, and sends increasingly puzzled reports to his father. At first he finds the English lazy and unprepared, but slowly learns that there is steel behind this attitude. (It could be said that there is a bit of English bias behind some of Stevenson's depictions.) He realizes his feelings for Wynne, but knows it is impossible for them to have a relationship (plus his father would never consent.) His frustrated father begins to ask him to return to Germany, but he doesn't want to leave, and eventually Dane (who also is worried about his attraction to Wynne) gets him a job in London. The Munich Agreement comes in September, and Franz is overjoyed. No war! Peace in our time! Germany and England friends forever! But of course these hopes are dashed when Hitler takes Czechoslovakia -- and Franz's eyes are fully opened. He quickly converts to complete opposition to Hitler -- but he knows his place is back in Germany ...

All along the English characters realize that war will surely come. And Stevenson is really very good in portraying the months before the War, and the few months after it starts. (The book ends on February 29, 1940 -- exactly when Stevenson finished writing it, and a couple of months before Dunkirk.) Each of the characters is affected, of course. Franz (now called Frank by his English friends) is back home, but alienated from his father. Wynne and her friends set up a hospital. Roy and the others in the military are in active service of course. And Dane -- Dane has a pretty important role himself. I won't detail what happens, but there is adventure and sweetness and surprise -- and an ending that is meant to be hopeful but, as written, almost certainly means that (as with so many in the War!) the final fates of some of the characters will be sad. 

Oddly, the specific conclusion to the novel -- at least, Franz's plans -- became impossible within days of Stevenson finishing the book, and this edition (from the Furrowed Middlebrow imprint of Dean Street Books) reproduces some correspondence between Stevenson and her publishers, in which she wonders if she should alter the ending, and even if the book should be shelved until after the War. But the publishers felt that wasn't necessary, and settled for a brief explanatory note. (Apparently, Stevenson did provide a replacement conclusion, but it has been lost.)

This is quite a fine book -- much better than Rochester's Wife. The romances (there are two) are well enough done but kind of minor. Where the book shines is simply the portrayal of life in England (and a bit of life in Germany) in the runup to the War. And the characters are nicely done as well, particularly Sophie -- another wonderfully captured middle-aged woman -- Stevenson (a middle-aged woman herself at the time) was really good with those characters in many of her books.

Review: Den of Thieves, by Daniel Hatch

Review: Den of Thieves, by Daniel Hatch

by Rich Horton

Starting in 1990, Daniel Hatch published a couple of dozen stories, mostly in Analog. I always looked forward to them, and I've missed them over the past decade or so. They were well done science fiction, careful with the scientific details, interesting with the social organization.

I met Daniel in person just recently at Boskone, and he revealed that he is beginning to self-publish a number of novels. The first two (and I don't know how many more) are part of a series called Slow Space -- the basic conceit being that space travel is roughly instantaneous to the traveler, but lightspeed to the rest of the universe, via the "soliton drive". The novels are based in part on stories that first appeared in Analog. I bought the first one, Den of Thieves.

Den of Thieves is assembled from four separate long stories, the last three of which appeared in Analog ("Den of Foxes" (December 1990), "Den of Sorrow" (March 1991), and "Den of Wolves" (July 1991).) There is a long opening novella length section as well. The stories are set on a planet of Mu Casseiopia, Asgard. A crowded Earth has started a planetary colonization project, first by sending smallish groups ("dens") of "scouts" to survey a promising planet and prepare the way for the colonists. As the novel opens, young Guy Stanger, just a short time before official adulthood, is leading a group of young scouts on a routine inspection tour to Glacier Valley. The kicker is that not long after this is "Colony Day", the date when the "breakthrough" colonists will arrive, 20 ships with 5000 people each. Guy's feelings are bit mixed -- for one thing, the scouts won't have the planet to themselves anymore. 

This story continues to set up the main conflict of the novel. The colony ships arrive, but so does another ship. This latter one is from the Eta Casseiopia system, which had been colonized some time earlier. A group led by one Peter Kolberg is offering advice on how to avoid the mistakes they had made at Eta Cass -- in exchange, of course, for some room on Asgard. But there is a lot of suspicion as to their motives -- from Guy Stanger, for sure, and also from one of the leaders of one of the colony "dens", Suzanne Baxter. As the first section ends, Guy and Suzanne (and others) manage to keep the Kolbergs from achieving all their goals, but they remain a threat. And Suzanne's daughter Emily and Guy quickly become an item. A couple of other significant characters are introduced: Emily's precocious younger brother Joey, and a struggling but hardworking colonist, Lin Palmer

The rest of the novel details the Kolberg's continuing machinations, mostly political, but involving some pretty slimy stuff as well (rape and murder included.) At the same time, the Kolbergs do have some beneficial experience to offer, and the ending of the novel reveals a the pretty clever (and science fictional) plan they are really following. The novel also interestingly treats basic issues of the colonization process -- from the way the den organization works, to the choice between a more centralized political structure and a more dispersed structure, to the really impressive amount of equipment the colonists bring -- this is something that few SFnal stories seem to deal with. Add some crises -- adapting to severe weather (and setting up weather prediction systems), finding a way to at least minimize the inevitable ecological damage a huge human population will cause, setting up a durable government, and so on.

It would be fair to call this "old-fashioned" science fiction (and after all the bulk of this novel is over 30 years old.) But the political issues are still pertinent (and a bit sneaky at times.) And stories like this can be great fun -- and Den of Thieves is great fun. If I were to nitpick -- the first three sections end in slightly over-convenient and swift resolutions to the main plot problems. But the novel as a whole ends in a more satisfying fashion, and also sets up a continuing conflict that I assume will play out in future books.

Den of Thieves can be bought at various places online, and here's a link to where I buy most of my books these days, an online place to order from many of your favorite independent bookstores: Den of Thieves at bookshop.org. As it happens, the second book in the Slow Space series, The Long Game, is officially released tomorrow! And here's a link to Daniel's webpage.

Review: Annie Bot, by Sierra Greer

Review: Annie Bot, by Sierra Greer

by Rich Horton

Annie Bot is a 2024 novel, the first adult novel from a successful writer of YA books. "Sierra Greer" is a pseudonym, presumably to differentiate the author's adult work from her YA novels. It's a striking book, one of the best novels I read from last year.

Annie, the point of view character of Annie Bot, is a "cuddle bunny" -- essentially a sexbot -- owned by Doug Richards, who bought her as he was going through a divorce. As the novel opens, Doug has had Annie for a couple of years, and his friend Roland is coming to visit him, to aak Doug to be his best man. Doug has turned Annie into an "autodidactic" robot, converting her from the baseline "Stella" he had bought. "Autodidactic" robots have the capacity to learn, and the capacity for independent action -- within strict limits imposed by the owner. So, Annie essentially never leaves Doug's apartment, and is always ready for sex, which she quite enjoys (partly because she is programmed to desire to please Doug.) But on this day Doug lectures her about her lax cleaning skills (and, after all, she is not an "Abigail", a type of robot programmed for housemaind duties. We learn, over time, that there are also "Nannies", "Hunks", and "Handies".) 

Roland immediately notices that Annie resembles Doug's ex-wife Gwen, except for slightly lighter skin and different eye color, and he teases Doug about that, and about the cleaning issue. And, that night, he opens the closet door where Annie is recharging, and half-coerces her, half-seduces her. And thus Annie now has a secret to keep from Doug -- which bothers her, but also excites her. And in a sort of payment for sex, Roland gives her instructions on how to learn to program robots. 

Over the next few months her relationship with Doug has severe ups and downs. At times he is terribly controlling, insistent on her absolute loyalty and on his privacy. At other times he is very affectionate, buys her nice dresses, and they have lots of sex. He buys another robot, named Delta, to do the cleaning, but he also has sex with her, making Annie jealous. He powers Annie off for a long time as a punishment. We see Annie visiting the manufacturer for updates, which include tweaks Doug asks for to her weight and breasts; and also leads to a revelation that Annie's brain is becoming quite special -- enough so that the manufacturer want to pay Doug for copies.

The reader sees -- though Annie doesn't -- that this is a profoundly abusive relationship, complete with gaslighting and verbal abuse but mostly nothing physical (not counting the episode where Doug left her off for weeks!) And then things seem to change -- Doug is nicer to her, their relationship reaches new heights of affection, Annie gets permission to talk to AI friends, and to learn to ride a bicycle; and Doug even plans to take her to Las Vegas for Roland's bachelor party. But then it all comes crashing down when Doug figures out what Annie and Roland did that one night, and Annie fears she'll be discarded or have her memory erased, and runs away (along with Delta.)

What follows is scary, and liberating, and eventually horrifying, as Doug's rage is titanic. And he devises a truly dreadful punishment for Annie ... but then comes a period of repentance, and a return to a happier and apparently healthier relationship. Doug even agrees to a form of couples therapy, and is willing to continue to give Annie more independence ... he really is a changed man. But does that make their relationship any fairer? Then Doug does something quite remarkable for Annie ...

This is an excellent science fiction novel, exploring admittedly familiar ideas but very intelligently, and very movingly. The novel at one level reads almost like a metaphorical depiction of a particularly bad sort of sexual relationship between humans. But it is also a really thoughtful look at AI rights, and AI needs. I was reminded a bit of Rachel Swirsky's great story "Eros, Philia, Agape". It's well told, and Annie is a very believable character. Doug is perhaps less convincing, and there are some plot developments, and personality developments, that seem a bit forced to me -- the plot at times is clearly driven by the novel's didactic requirements. But that's a small complaint -- the book knows what it wants to do, and it works. I won't tell the ending, but I will say I think it sticks the landing. Highly recommended. 

Review: The Artistry of Magic, by Helen De Cruz

Review: The Artistry of Magic, by Helen De Cruz

by Rich Horton

Helen De Cruz is a Professor of Philosophy at Saint Louis University, and a writer of SF and Fantasy. She is also one of my collaborators on a forthcoming anthology of science fiction stories with philosophical themes. We know each other quite well, and have worked together not just on that anthology but on a writing seminar for philosophers, so calibrate this review as you will! The Artistry of Magic is a novella, about 18,000 words, her longest story to date, published by an intriguing South Africa based concern, The Pink Hydra.

The Artistry of Magic is set in a version of Belgium, in the late 18th Century. It is told in two threads, one from the point of view of Maarten, an unhoused man; and the other from the point of view of Johanna, a middle-aged librarian. Maarten is an unlicensed magician (having been born to a sheep farmer) and Johanna discovers him drawing pictures and enhancing them with magic outside the library. This is illegal, ostensibly because the magic might interfere with the powerful magic contained in some of the books, so Johanna must stop him. But she too came from a lower-class background, and had to battle to get her position, and she feels sympathy for Maarten.

Soon they are meeting regularly for coffee, which serves partly as a way to feed Maarten somewhat unobtrusively. Their relationship grows more personal, and soon they are lovers. And Johanna, learning of Maarten's ambition to learn more about magic and to gain a license, lends him a book from the library.

In the background, we begin to realize that there are knottier social issues impacting the characters' lives. Some of this we see through Maarten -- his life on the streets, with two friends, the three of them helping each other, as they travel from city to city depending on the attitude of the law towards unhoused people. Some we see through Johanna -- her somewhat tenuous position at the library, and her awareness of the revolutionary sentiments in neighboring France. And we see how both Maarten and Johanna don't really understand the other's positions.

Eventually Maarten learns enough, and earns enough, to get a ring to help with his magic, and to get licensed. But this puts some tension in his relationship with his friends -- and, too, there are problems with Johanna -- the missing book, and Maarten's wandering ways. There is also a sense that both Maarten and Johanna need their consciousness raised about social issues -- and the way magic in this story mirrors to an extent class divisions. All these aspects are interesting and well presented. The one weakness here, I thought, is that the story is concluded rather quickly, leaving certain questions unanswered, and resolving the central story a bit conveniently. Still, this is a sweet and enjoyable story, with the magical art a nice background, and with the sympathy for the lives of unhoused people front and center and believably conveyed.

Review: Evelina, by Frances Burney

Review: Evelina, by Frances Burney

by Rich Horton

Frances Burney (1752-1840) was the daughter of Charles Burney, a musician, composer, and writer. She was a writer from a very early age, and eventually wrote novels, plays, a biography of her father, and diaries. She also had a rather remarkable personal life -- for example, "Keeper of the Robes" for the Queen; a significant supporter of the French revolution (not the violence, but the political changes), married a French refugee, had a mastectomy -- without anesthesia! She wrote four novels, and several plays though only one was produced in her lifetime, besides her diaries, which when published posthumously were much admired, though now I think her novels are the foundation of her repuation. She was often called Fanny Burney; and Madame D'Arblay after her marriage.

Evelina, or the History of a Young Lady's Entrance into the World (1778) was Frances Burney's first published novel, though curiously it is a sequel. As a teenager Burney wrote a novel called Caroline Evelyn, about Evelina's mother. But at the age of 15 she burned all her early writing efforts, apparently out of doubt that it was proper for a woman to write for publication. Happily, she had changed her mind by her 20s, though she did bow to her father's wishes and did not seek public performance of any of her plays save one. The plays survived in manuscript, but her juvenilia obviously did not. So it's hard to say whether Caroline Evelyn was any good -- my guess is, probably not that good! -- or even how long it was. It was surely tragic, however, for at the beginning of Evelina we learn that the title character's mother was abandoned by her dissipated husband, Sir John Belmont, after she became pregnant, and that she died bearing Evelina, who has been raised to the age of 17 by her grandfather's close friend, the Reverend Arthur Villars.

Arthur Villars is a good if very morally conservative man, and has given Evelina an excellent education. She is a very beautiful young woman, very shy, and very moral. Mr. Villars only hopes to find her a good husband before he gets too old, and for her to have a happy life in the country. And he hopes to keep the secret of her birth a secret, for her father has long refused any contact, and has even refused to acknowledge that he was married to Caroline Evelyn. As the novel opens, he sends her to visit a close friend of his, Lady Howard, and eventually accedes to Evelina accompanying her friend, Lady Howard's granddaughter Miss Mirvan, to London. As Caroline Evelyn's rackety French mother (who had disowned Caroline and only recently learned of Evelina's existence) thinks Evelina is still with Mr. Villars, and Sir John Belmont is supposedly in France, there should be no trouble in the visit.

In London, Evelina and her friend go to a couple of social events, and Evelina creates something of a minor sensation with her great beauty. She is the object of unwelcome, and often quite rude, attention from various young men, including a foppish M.P., Mr. Loval; and a handsome Baronet with questionable manners, Sir Clement Willoughby. She also meets Lord Orville, a much more decent-seeming man, and dances with him. But trouble arrives when her Grandmother, Mme. Duval, tracks her down in London, and insists Evelina stay with her. This forces her to spend time with some exceedingly boorish social-climbing cousins, the Branghtons, who insist on her accompanying them to some much less savory places, where, indeed, Evelina is violently accosted by some young men. At last she manages to return to Lady Howard's, though in the mean time she has had further encounters with Sir Clement and with Lord Orville, as well as meeting a very sad young man named Mr. Macartney. Sir Clement makes more unwelcome advaances, while Lord Orville remains the perfect gentleman. But as she leaves London she sends Lord Orville a letter of thanks, and is shocked to receive an unpleasantly insinuating reply.

Now convinced that a life in the country is all she wants, she still must deal with Mme. Duval's importunities, which include a plan to sue Sir John Belmont to force him to acknowledge Evelina -- which would be fine in its way except that Mme. Duval hopes to marry her off to the loutish Tom Branghton. Captain Mirvan, meanwhile, Miss Mirvan's father, a very coarse Navy man, acts with absurd rudeness to Mme. Duval, as he hates all things French. After additional tribulations (some of them quite comic in the telling) Evelina returns to Mr. Villars, but having fallen ill is sent to Bristol to recover. And there again she encounters Sir Clement Willoughby and Lord Orville, along with some additional mostly comic characters, and over time finally gets to meet her real father, learn a secret of Mr. Macartney's, and resolve her issues with Lord Orville and with Sir Clement.

The novel is really very entertaining throughout. There is plenty of implausibility and coincidence, to be sure. Evelina's otherworldly beauty has long been a staple of romance novels, so it's hardly a surprise. Her virtue is so carefully held that at times one wishes she (and Mr. Villars) would be a bit more tolerant. Also, her dislike of causing too much of a fuss led me to wonder why she didn't give Sir Clement, or Tom Branghton, or any of a number of other men, a ringing slap from time to time. There are two threads to the novel, in a sense -- the love story, combined with the mystery of Evelina's birth (which ends up entangled with Mr. Macartney's story) is one; and the other is the lightly satrical and often quite funny observation of English social life. Both are interesting, though it's the satirical parts that make it special.

Review: Martin Chuzzlewit, by Charles Dickens

Review: Martin Chuzzlewit, by Charles Dickens

by Rich Horton

To be honest, I had planned for Great Expectations to be my next Dickens novel. But a friend had decided to attack Martin Chuzzlewit, so I figured I'd read along. I got impatient, though -- and read it through faster than advertised. I listened to much of it on my commute, but of course I also have a print copy, the Oxford World Classics edition originally from 1982, edited and with an introduction and notes by Margaret Cardwell.

Martin Chuzzlewit was published in 1843. Dickens was by then an extremely popular and financially successful novelist, and was very proud of his achievement in this book, apparently because he spent a lot of effort making the book work as an examination of a consistent theme -- that of selfishness. For all that, the novel was a comparative failure commercially -- though it must be said it still sold well. It's interesting to note that around that time Dickens turned to his Christmas novellas, with A Christmas Carol appearing in 1843, The Chimes in 1844, and The Cricket on the Hearth in 1845. 

Dickens was very open about his aim in this novel, and said aim is pretty clear. He was portraying the effects of selfishness on people, and showing the harm -- to others and often to themselves -- that selfishness does. With four exceptions (not counting minor characters) everyone exhibits selfishness -- of differing kinds. Two characters reform (not necessarily convincingly) -- these are the two title characters, Martin Chuzzlewit and his grandfather, who shares his name. The other significant selfish characters are all punished, though, again, there's reason to believe that some of the punishment is wielded by the author, and might not have resulted in the real world.

In brief terms -- hard to do for such a long novel (Martin Chuzzlewit is about 700 pages in my edition, around 340,000 words) -- this is the story of Martin Chuzzlewit, the grandson of a rich miser of the same name. Martin the younger offends his grandfather by falling in love with Martin the elder's ward, the orphan Mary Graham. Martin is disinherited, and in the process loses his position as an architect in training working for Seth Pecksniff, another relation of the elder Martin. Martin the younger travels to America to try to make his fortune, in company with his friend Mark Tapley. Meanwhile, the other parts of the Chuzzlewit family are angling for the elder Martin's good will -- the egregious hypocrite Mr. Pecksniff, the vicious Jonah Chuzzlewit, the, er, slimy Chevy Slyme. Mr. Pecksniff tries to up his odds for a piece of old Martin's fortune by dangling his somewhat unpleasant daughters in front of Jonas. Mr. Pecksniff's much put upon assistant Tom Pinch, nearly saintly in his self-abnegation, does his best to  help his friends, particularly Martin and Mary Graham, until he finally realizes Mr. Pecksniff's villainy. Jonah and Mr. Pecksniff are both entangled in the doings of the Anglo-Bengalee Disinterested Loan and Life Assurance Company, a pretty overt Ponzi scheme (before Ponzi!) run by Montague Tigg, or Tigg Montague, who was also involved with Chevy Slyme. Martin and Mark return from America, completely unsuccessful, and everything starts to unravel ... There are murders, thefts, terrible marriages, multiple fraudulent schemes in both England and America, plague, even an early literary detective ...

The novel is baggily structured, and there is a lot of coincidence driving the plot. The supposed main character, young Martin Chuzzlewit, isn't terribly interesting, and his romance with Mary Graham is very flat. Martin also takes up very little of the book for a protagonist -- perhaps a fifth of it. Dickens does not seem to have been able to portray love interests well -- the two virtuous young women in this book, Mary and Tom Pinch's sister Ruth, are both cyphers as characters, much like Dora and Agnes in David Copperfield. The conversion of the nice but unthinking and quite self younger Martin Chuzzlewit and the repentant elder Martin are both more convenient than believable.

All of the above are reasons why this is not one of Dickens' more highly regarded novels. But for all that -- it's really a very entertaining book. There are longueurs of course -- but there are longueurs in the much greater David Copperfield. The joys of this novel lie primarily in two areas. One is Dickens' prose, full of extended and strange but apposite descriptions of just about everything -- people, nature, buildings, schemes. The other, of course, is the characters, especially the villains. Mr. Pecksniff is one of Dickens' great creations, one of the most obscenely hypocritical of humans, full of borrowed aphorisms and borrowed ideas, constantly presenting a facade of virtue while keeping an eye on the main chance. Jonas Chuzzlewit is less interesting -- he's simply so horrible a person one can only gasp. The nurse Mrs. Gamp, not so much a true villain as a hopelessly almost innocently self-involved person, along with her imaginary friend Mrs. Harris. The various Americans don't get much space, but they are in their brief compass satisfyingly mean. Montague Tigg is in his way a somewhat conventional fraudster, but still holds the interest. There is a variety of less villainous but still involving characters -- Mark Tapley, ever convinced that for him to gain "credit" in life he must maintain jollity in the face of terrible circumstances, and who finally gets his wish in America; Mr. Nadgett, the almost invisible detective; the lugubrious Augustus, the much persecuted fiance of the elder Pecksniff girl; the energetic and ambitious boy Bailey and his friend Mr. Sweedlepipe, the barber and bird seller. There is always (well, almost always) something going on in the book, so one's interest doesn't flag. Is this a great novel? By no means, but it's a demonstration that Dickens had the magic gift of entertainment.

Hugo Nomination Thoughts, 2025, Novels and Novellas

Hugo Nomination Thoughts, 2025, Novels and Novellas

by Rich Horton

This will be a shorter Hugo nomination post than usual for me, as I really haven't read many novelettes or short stories this year. Too many 800 page novels I guess!

Novels

1. Cahokia Jazz, by Francis Spufford. This is first on my list by a wide margin. Brilliant alternate history set in a world where the Mississipian culture of native Americans survived long enough to form their own state -- it's a murder mystery, a political thriller, a love story, and has some of the best writing about the experience of music I've seen.

2. The Ministry of Time, by Kaliane Bradley. A really neat time travel story about people rescued from the past, wrapped around a love story between a man taken from the disaster of the Franklin expedition and his "bridge" in the near future. 

3. Three Eight One, by Aliya Whitely. A very strange story that hardly bears explanation in a paragraph -- mostly it's about the sort of coming of age journey of a young woman from an oddly retro community across a strange nearish future world (maybe?) -- but it's much weirder than that.

4. Navola, by Paolo Bacigalupi. This one is not so weird. It's a lovely fairly traditional quasi-historical fantasy (sort of in the Guy Gavriel Kay mode) set in analog of an Italian city in the early Renaissance era: a coming of age story about the scion of a powerful family. Nothing much is new here, but it's beautifully done.

5. Euphoria Days, by Pilar Fraile. Near future SF about the intertwined lives of several people, satirizing corporate culture and investigating relationships in a slowly disintegrating world affected by some algorithmic meddling with love.

Also:

 The Book of Love, by Kelly Link. This is a good book but it falls short of great. Probably longer than it needs to be. Kelly Link will write a great novel at some time, I'm sure, but this is well worth reading but not up to the level of her short fiction.

 Vinyl Wonderland, by Mark Rigney. A fine novel about a kid making a mess of his life after his mother's death and his father's decline, as he encounters a strange landscape behind the "Elvis door" in a '70s used record store.

Novellas 

1. A Mourning Coat, by Alex Jeffers. A really lovely story about a man mourning the death of his father and forming a new relationship. The fantastical elements are minimal but they enhance a moving and convincing small scale narrative.

2. The Practice, the Horizon, and the Chain, by Sofia Samatar. A dark parable of class structures in the society on a group of mining spaceships.

3. The Tusks of Extinction, by Ray Nayler. Searing story of a woman with her consciousness uploaded into a mammoth's brain, and her efforts to keep them from being hunted as elephants were.

4. Haunt Sweet Home, by Sarah Pinsker. An enjoyable story about a young woman struggling to find her way in life who gets a job with the title home improvement show, and finds some of the "haunts" more real than expected.

Review: Spring List, by Ralph Arnold

Review: Spring List, by Ralph Arnold

by Rich Horton

I picked this up at the annual St. Louis County Book Fair (same place and time that I picked by my copy of The Ante-Room, reviewed here.) It was cheap and I like books and am interested in book publishing and I figure this would be a comedy about a publisher trying to assemble their spring list of books. It turns about to be something a bit different, though it's still a comedy about publishing, and quite entertaining. 

Ralph Arnold (1906-1970) was for a long time in publishing with Constable and Co., rising to Chairman in 1958, and retiring in 1962. He was also a writer, of light fiction (such as Spring List), detective novels, memoirs and history. He was at school briefly with Ian Fleming, and was a good friend of Fleming's brother Peter. He was related to novelist Edwin L. Arnold, though I'm not sure in what way exactly -- likely a nephew, great nephew, or cousin. (Edwin L. Arnold was the author of Lieut. Gullivar Jones: His Vacation, a Martian story that seems a likely direct influence on Burroughs,)

Spring List, published in 1956, is told from the point of view of Arthur Lynsted, who has a senior position at the firm Southease and Piddinghoe. Arthur has a wife who is a successful writer of what seems to be women's fiction, and a teenaged son. Elizabeth's bestsellers bring in a good deal more money than Arthur's salary, but Arthur insists that he support the family entirely. So Arthur is in just a slightly discontented mood when his childhood friend Diana comes by to talk about the novel she had submitted to the firm. Diana is married to another childhood friend, General Sir Alured Flowers, who had had a notoriously brilliant Second World War. Diana's novel is a light mystery, and surprisingly good for someone who had never shown any interest in writing.

There is some other publishing talk, particularly about Arthur's rival Edward Sligo, whose firm publishes Elizabeth Lynsted's books (Arthur having refused them for ethical reasons), and who also published a hugely successful novel by one Jas Cobham, who alas hasn't written a second book despite a large advance. Arthur's firm reluctantly decides to publish Diana's novel, though they're unlikely to do much more than break even, in the hopes of convincing her husband the General to write a memoir of his time in the Army, which will surely be a bestseller.

This all comes to a head when he goes to visit Diana, in their old home town. Ostensibly the visit is to finalize the contract, but Arthur is supposed to try to get Alured Flowers to write his memoir, and privately he's just slightly tempted to make time with Diana. But he soon learns that Alured has disappeared, and also that Jas Cobham is around too, having bought Arthur's childhood home with his advance money. Then Edward Sligo shows up, clearly on a similar mission to Arthur's ...

It's a very light novel, but it's pretty fun. The plot has some convolutions which are nicely done, of the sort that the reader likely will guess but will still enjoy seeing play out. The hints at "inside publishing" are pretty minor, though they probably do reflect some truths about how it was conducted in England in the 1950s. By no means a deathless masterpiece, this is still a nice book. As far as I can tell it was never reprinted after the UK edition, from John Murray in 1956, and the American edition, from Macmillan the following year. 

Review: Haunt Sweet Home, by Sarah Pinsker

Review: Haunt Sweet Home, by Sarah Pinsker

by Rich Horton

Sarah Pinsker's latest book is this short novel/novella from Tordotcom. (My quick and dirty word count -- certainly vulnerable to errors -- indicates that it's between 40,000 and 45,000 words, which actually makes it eligible for the Hugos in either the novel or novella category -- I'll put in novella myself for my nominating ballot purposes.)

The story is told in first person by Mara Billings, the youngest of her generation in a large extended family, and it's quickly clear that she a) hasn't done much with her life so far (she's about 30, still working barista-type jobs after a few half-hearted stabs at community college), and b) is pretty sensitive about how her family seems to regard her. The best known members of the family are her cousin Jeremy, who is a successful model and has a gig as the host of a cable show about remodeling haunted houses called Haunt Sweet Home; and her Oma, who was a quite successful wood sculptor until her hands gave out. Jeremy offers her a job as a Production Assistant on his show, and after some hesitation she takes him up on it. (The particular season the story covers involves houses in Western Massachusetts, an area I'm mildly familiar with as my Dad was born and raised there.)

She learns she's assigned to the night shift, which is charged with prepping things for the actual shoots, which are in the day. And part of that prepping is arranging for the "haunts", which to no real surprise are faked. The work is strenuous, and it messes with her sleep schedule, but she finds she enjoys it, even if she's still not sure she's accepted by her fellows. There's one house worked on per week, and we see a couple of these. She ends up with a tree branch salvaged from a "haunted" woods, that she starts carving in imitation of her Oma. And a couple of houses in she meets a day shift person, Jo, who has volunteered to help with the haunting, and who seems very good at it. (And a reader's antennae should perk immediately!) Jo and Mara become close enough friends that Mara invites Jo to a family get-together during some off-time -- and then Mara becomes annoyed again that Jo is -- to Mara's eyes -- immediately welcomed by her family in a way Mara doesn't feel about herself.

Then we come to Cleaveland House, which has a haunted library -- or which will once they get done with it! This episode is described in script snippets shown between the chapters, and it involves books flying around the library at night. This is Mara's job, of course -- but then somehow books that Mara was nowhere near also go flying ...

Well, I won't tell the rest, though it won't come as much of a surprise, and at any rate it's not really the point of the story. The point of the story is Mara beginning to figure out what she needs to do with her life -- and the particular help she gets in that effort. This is nicely handled and believable. The story does have a supernatural element, though a slightish one, and that works nicely too. I don't rank this with Pinsker's very best work, but it's a fine and effective story, and a good example of using supernatural elements without cheating or diminishing them -- but also to fundamentally tell a pure character story.

Review: The Ante-Room, by Kate O'Brien

Review: The Ante-Room, by Kate O'Brien

by Rich Horton

Kate O'Brien (1897-1974) was an Irish writer, of plays, novels, travel writing, criticism and biography. She was born in Limerick, but moved to England in 1919 after graduating from college. She spent much of the rest of her life in England, and some time in Spain, but most of her fiction is set in Ireland. She was a Lesbian (though briefly married), and had relationships with E. M. Delafield and Mary O'Neill. Her fiction apparently often has sympathetic portrayals of gay people (though there are none (that we know of) in The Ante-Room), and is definitely feminist. At least two of her novels were banned in Ireland. Throughout much of her career she was quite successful -- sufficiently enough that the heroine of the movie Brief Encounter mentions reserving "the new Kate O'Brien" from the library. But by the end of her life she was somewhat forgotten -- but has been restored to her place as a major Irish writer in recent decades.

My edition of The Ante-Room was published in 1984 as part of the Virago Modern Classics series. The novel first appeared in 1934. The Virago edition of the book includes an Afterword by Diana Madden, which I have to confess I didn't much like. The novel itself is excellent, however.

It's set in 1880, at the estate of a wealthy family in Mellick (O'Brien's stand in for Limerick.) The central character is Agnes Mulqueen, the second daughter of the family. The mother, Teresa, is dying of cancer, and her husband, Danny, is fairly ineffectual. The only son still in the house is Reggie, his mother's favorite, a syphilitic mess at the age of 36. Agnes is 25, a very beautiful woman, but somewhat stuck for a few reasons -- she needs to run the house as her mother dies; she is a woman and doesn't have the opportunities men have for independence; and, perhaps most importantly, she is desperately in love with her older sister Marie-Rose's husband Vincent, and he with her. But Agnes is a devout Catholic, and also loves Marie-Rose very much -- they had been inseparable as children -- so any physical relationship is impossible.

The action takes place over three days -- The Eve of All Saints, The Feast of All Saints, and The Feast of All Souls. (Or, as we'd say these days in the US, Halloween, All Saints Day, and All Souls Day.) Teresa Mulqueen's illness seems to have come to a crisis. The local doctor, William Curran, has somewhat reluctantly agreed to consult with her cancer specialist, Dr. Coyle, and a specialist from London, Sir Godfrey Bartlett-Crowe. Meanwhile Marie-Rose, who has had another of many fights with Vincent, is coming to visit and spend time with her sister; and Vincent will accompany her, ostensibly for the shooting but primarily to see Agnes. Teresa is ready to die except that she can't bear to leave the feckless Reggie without emotional support. Canon Considine, Teresa's brother, is coming to give her a special Mass. Add to the mix the new day nurse, Miss Cunningham, who may have designs on Reggie despite his illness. 

The opening of the novel is a bit programmatic, as O'Brien sets the scene in a slightly forced way. But once things are in place, the novel is beautiful. It's mostly tiny crises. Agnes hasn't been to confession because she believes her passion for Vincent is a sin, but she feels that she must take Communion at the Canon's Mass. Dr. Curran, a very fine man, is himself very much in love with Agnes, who likes him a good deal but can't forget Vincent. Marie-Rose, sort of an opposite to Agnes, is likewise beautiful, but short where Agnes is tall, blond while her sister is dark, and rather less intelligent -- but she's a nice if flighty woman. Vincent and she torture each other -- they have realized they are wholly incompatible but are trapped. Vincent himself is arguably the least likeable person, clearly spoiled by his good looks, and perhaps feeling himself stuck not just in a bad marriage but in a staid upper class position. Sir Godfrey is immediately taken with Marie-Rose and begins a flirtation -- apparently something normal for him. Miss Cunningham, gently maneuvering for Reggie's affection, is held in contempt by the Mulqueen sisters -- but she herself, having been poor her whole life, and having learned that the doctors she works with will fool around with a pretty young woman in her circumstances, but won't marry one, is sensibly proposing a fair bargain -- a lifetime of caring for an ill and dissipated man in exchange for a security. 

The writing is lovely, and the characterization intense. (Perhaps only Vincent comes off a bit unconvincingly.) The reader truly cares for Agnes, and Marie-Rose, and Dr. Curran and even Nurse Cunningham, even Reggie and poor despairing Danny Mulqueen. The novel moves swiftly through a sequence of heavily weighted scenes: Mass and Confession, dinner, encounters and kisses, songs, fights, and an agonizing extended conversation between Agnes and Vincent. It leads to a perhaps a bit too melodramatic final scene -- but for all that it's a powerful and effective novel. The pain and loss the characters feel is real, and behind that there's a tiny hint of hope. Kate O'Brien was not a believing Catholic, but was certainly raised in the Catholic tradition, and this strikes me as a profoundly Catholic novel, in some ways reminding me just a bit of my favorite Graham Greene novel, The End of the Affair. First-rate work, and I'm very glad I stumbled across this book. 

Review: The Book of the Night, by Rhoda Lerman

Review: The Book of the Night, by Rhoda Lerman

by Rich Horton

I mentioned recently that in looking to see if this particular book -- recommended by Tim Walters -- was available in audio form, and instead I stumbled across the Campbell Memorial Award winner Radiomen, by Eleanor Lerman (no relation.) For The Book of the Night I had to read a physical copy! Which I have now done. (I should note that I read physical books at about a 10-1 ratio over audiobooks, and also that yes I do consider listening to an audiobook "reading" it.)

Not to bury the lede -- The Book of the Night (1984) is an astonishingly weird novel. It is set at a monastery on the island of Iona, in distant history, about 900 A.D. But from the beginning, with the monks rescuing an enormous (some 200 feet tall) woman being rescued (temporarily) from the ocean, which also yields a World War I soldier and Coca-Cola caps, it's clear that very strange things are going on. The woman warns of war in heaven before dying. And then the narrative shifts to a young girl, Celeste, who lives as a boy (women being forbidden in the monastery) with her insane hermit father; and it's no more "normal" from there forward. Besides the unstuck in time narrative, the prose is fascinating, playing linguistic games throughout. 

Rhoda Lerman (1936-2015) published six novels in her lifetime, with a posthumous work appearing in 2023. She was quite successful: her first novel, Call Me Ishtar, from 1973, which has the goddess in contemporary times wreaking havoc for feminist purposes, was shortlisted for the Pulitzer; and her later novels seem to have gotten consistently good notices. Most of her other novels seem to have been antically and often bitterly comic, such as The Girl That He Marries (1976), about a woman who figures out the tricks of getting a man to do her bidding -- and perhaps regrets it; and Jewish themes seem important, as with God's Ear (1989), also apparently a comic novel about a dead rabbi. Her most successful novel seems to have been Eleanor (1979), which also became a one-woman play -- it's about Eleanor Roosevelt and to me it seems by a long stretch her least interesting work. Later in her life she wrote a couple of memoirish books about her dogs.

Back to The Book of the Night. The main thread concerns Celeste's life on Iona. Her father, Manuel, left her mother (whom Celeste misses even as she still loves her rather dreadful father) and game to the monastery, presenting Celeste as a boy named CuRoi. The Abbot -- who turns out to be her grandfather -- is a mystical sort of Irish Christian, and there is a rival who wishes to hew closely to the leadership of Rome. So at one thematical level the book is about the clash between an older, more mystical Irish religion, with significant syncretic elements, and Roman Catholicism. (All of this arguably a strange choice for a seemingly very Jewish writer.) But the book is much weirder than that seems -- Rome has an army made up of Carthaginians, plus modern weapons like submachine guns, and seeminly airships as well. There are Ethiopian Catholics as well. 

Manuel's religion (or lack thereof) is even stranger. And he teaches Celeste strictly but oddly, and here again we see the timelessness of the book, for "non-linear thermodynamics" and "the uncertainty principle" are among the subjects; and too the strangeness: "What is the effect of the uncertainty principle on the fugue?" One of his methods -- repeated to great effect throughout the book -- is to string together eccentrically related words and phrases: "Zeus, Deus, juice, Jews, Yid, Druid, druse." "Methuselah, Medea, Medua, Medusa, Madonna." As Celeste grows, Manuel becomes more obsessed. A female Cook is hired, with consequences, and the Abbot's sister (armed with a submachine gun) visits as well. Celeste, or CuRoi, takes up duties in the monastery, mostly copying. And then some shocking events: a fire, killings, a transformation into a cow, a flying man, a new Abbot, too much more to mention, leading to a wild and transcendent conclusion.

It's a really remarkable effort. The linguistic inventions, the mystical speculations, the sex and death (I wonder if Alice Sheldon read this book -- at times it seems in sympathy with her work), the sheer wildness, the gods. It's unexpected everywhere -- not like any other novel I've read, not, unless I miss my guess, very much like anything else Lerman wrote. It can be a bit hard going at times, to be sure, but we shouldn't regret the work, for there are rewards. 

Review: This Shape We're In, by Jonathan Lethem

Review: This Shape We're In, by Jonathan Lethem

by Rich Horton

A little while back John Kessel mentioned this slim book, which was published in 2001 by McSweeney's Books. I had completely missed the book when it appeared. I greatly enjoyed Lethem's early short fiction and his first few novels, which were science fiction but with a distinctly different voice, and different objectives than most genre SF writers. (Indeed, I wrote a review of his first novel, Gun With Occasional Music, and sent it to a free distribution newspaper sort of thing -- perhaps it was BookPage? I'm not sure anymore. They didn't take it though their response hinted that they came really close. That's the first attempt at (semi)professional reviewing/criticism I ever made.) It wasn't, then, precisely a surprise that he moved out of the genre pretty much at the turn of the millennium, and, not really for that reason, the last of his books that I read was his 1999 detective novel Motherless Brooklyn. His next novel, The Fortress of Solitude, was still ambiguously genre (and got savaged in the New Yorker by James Wood, who is an excellent critic when he is in sympathy with a book, but has a completely blind eye, it seems to me, for genre.) But that book was long and about Superman, and I didn't get around to it, after which I was actively reviewing for Locus and my time for novels was much diminished.

This Shape We're In is a very short book -- about 13,000 words long by my estimate. It's narrated by Henry F., a middle-aged man whom we meet at a backyard barbecue, when the neighbors' son Balkan tells Henry F. and his wife Marianne that he's been in the eye and seen their son Dennis, who has been away for a while. And soon we realize that this refers to a real eye -- maybe -- as it seems that everyone lives in what they call the Shape. The Shape seems to be an enormous body of some sort, with eyes and a neck and bowels and liver and so on. While Mr. F is skeptical about Balkan's testimony, his wife insists that he and Balkan try to find Dennis.

And so Henry and Balkan begin their journey, up the spine towards the eye. There are problems, of course -- which eye was it? Could it have been the theorized "third eye"? Or was it a fraudulent creation? Things get stranger and stranger, confrontations with paramilitary groups, and religious groups, along with a visit to a clearly false eye, and references to Central Command, which can be contacted by red phones except that those phones always seem connected to a phone sex channel. This is all transmitted through Henry's voice -- that of a disappointed, heavy drinking, middle aged man, who seems to have had a military past but now is merely a "garbage hider". The science fiction reader will come up with hypotheses -- at first this seems perhaps a generation starship, for example -- and other readers will probably take everything as satirical surrealism. I'll just say that Lethem doesn't really disappoint either reader -- the story is certainly satirical and much of it can be read as sort of surrealistic, but in the story world the "Shape" is real, and its nature is, to an extent, eventually revealed. In the end, I think, it is truly a case of using SFnal imagery and allusions (though there are allusions to many other fictions) in the service of a commentary on present day life

It's quite effective. Much of this is propelled by Lethem's writing, which is very clever, imaginative and quite funny. John Kessel compares it to Kafka, and I can see that, though Lethem's prose and tone are not precisely Kafkaesque. I wish I'd seen it back in 2001. I'm not saying it would have got a Hugo nomination (it wouldn't have, but not for any reason having to do with its worth) but I think it would have been on my list. (Though looking at that year I'm reminded that Ian MacLeod wrote arguably the two best stories at novella and novelette length, both pure SF, and neither nominated: "New Light on the Drake Equation" and "Isabel of the Fall", neither of which ended up on the Hugo ballot either!)

Review: Tanner's Twelve Swingers, by Lawrence Block

Review: Tanner's Twelve Swingers, by Lawrence Block

by Rich Horton

Lawrence Block was born in 1938, and began publishing in the late '50s. He's written some SF, some romance, a fair amount of erotica, and other things, but he's been primarily a crime writer. He's probably best known for his Bernie Rhodenbarr and his Matthew Scudder series, as well as four novels about Chip Harrison, the first two comic soft porn, the other two crime novels. But his first series character to gain traction was Evan Tanner. Tanner appeared in seven novels between 1966 and 1970, with an eighth coming out in 1998. These novels are not crime novels, but lightly comic spy thrillers. (Based on the one book I have, they were packaged as titillatingly as possible, despite content that never really reaches event the softest porn (though there are mild sex scenes.))

I say "lightly comic", but I don't think that gets the tone quite right, based at least on Tanner's Twelve Swingers, which was the third in the series, coming out in 1967. There are definite comic bits, mind you, and in some ways it's kind of a sendup -- the action is implausible, and we're not supposed to believe in it, and the CIA, as well as political and other authorities in any number of countries, come in for plenty of mockery, but it's not really a funny novel. The character interactions feel real (if idealized, especially as to the way beautiful and good women keep wanting to sleep with Tanner), and the political commentary is often quite pointed. (Tanner is cynical about the US, the Soviet Union, China, and dictators everywhere -- his ideal is, really, a world of many more independent polities. It's striking to see him advocating strongly for the dissolution of the Yugoslavia into at least five different nations -- which of course happened (not without a terrible war) about a quarter century later.)

Evan Tanner fought in the Korean War, and a piece of shrapnel hit him in the head, and destroyed his sleep center. He has a disability pension, and has used his extra 8 hours of wakefulness to learn a lot of stuff -- different languages, lots of science and other knowledge, memberships in all sorts of organizations from various revolutionary groups to the Flat Earth Society.) He writes term papers and even Ph. D. theses to make extra money. And, he does a bit of work on the side for a government organization without a name, which seems to allow him lots of latitude in his assignments.

In this book he has promised a Latvian friend to rescue his lost love from the USSR. (Yes, another thing Tanner advocates is the breakup of the Soviet Union into its constituent states. (Also, he's intrigued by the idea of 50 independent American states,)) Alas, he thinks the job is impossible. But when the organization he works for wants him to go to Colombia for what he thinks is a bad reason, he uses his mission to Latvia as an excuse to decline. He begins in Macedonia though, where it turns out he has a young son (presumably conceived in a previous book?) So he sees his son, and on the way out of Yugoslavia finds himself further burdened with a Montenegrin who has written a book calling for the splitting of Yugoslavia. The two proceed through Hungary and Poland to Lithuania and Latvia -- and somehow by the end he's picked up a 7 year old girl who is the rightful Queen of Lithuania, 12 extremely beautiful Latvian gymnasts (a package deal including his friend's lover) and eventually even a jazz-playing Russian pilot. All this of course further complicates his mission.

Does he succeed? Well, there are sequels to come! The means he uses to cross borders and foil the police and so on are, as the book goes on, increasingly absurd. He sleeps with a few women -- most of whom would be happy if he'd settle down with them, though in the end he has the one son, the prospects of perhaps another child but who knows?, and an adopted daughter. We don't have to believe in much of this -- but it's entertaining throughout, a truly professional but affecting performance.

Review: Endangered Species, by Gene Wolfe

Review: Endangered Species, by Gene Wolfe

by Rich Horton

Gene Wolfe (1931-2019) was without question one of the greatest SF writers of all time. And he was notably excellent at pretty much any length -- he wrote great short stories, novelettes, novellas, novels, novel series -- and even an extended series of series of novels. And he kept writing short fiction even after he had great success with his novels. By my count he ended up with eight "primary" story collections, and about as many that variously shuffled the stories, or included only a few shorter pieces, or were otherwise offbeat. The consensus view might be that his first collection, The Island of Doctor Death and Other Stories and Other Stories (1980), is his best -- and I probably would agree, but all the collections are worthwhile. I had occasion to reread his 1989 collection Endangered Species, I was delighted throughout.

The collection, not surprisingly, focuses on stories published in the '80s, but extends back to stories from very early in Wolfe's career, in the late '60s, and has some '70s pieces as well. Wolfe was a master at the novella length, but only one of these stories is a novella -- "Silhouette", which closes the book. There are several novelettes, but this book is really dominated by short stories. In a way, this was a revelation -- I've so long adored Wolfe's novellas and long novelettes that this made me realize that his best short stories are quite as brilliant.

Speaking generally, all the stories here show off the elegance of Wolfe's prose. Most of them are mysterious in some way or another -- the very property captured by the adjective "Wolfean". They display Kipling's influence in the way Wolfe tells you just enough to make the story comprehensible -- but no more. They are sometimes impish, sometimes romantic, sometimes just plain cool. A surprising number of the stories can be called horror -- this is a very important part of Wolfe's repertoire, but I don't know that it's emphasized much.

The longest story here is the novella "Silhouette", a dark story about a starship reaching a potentially colonizable planet, and the internal battle over what to do. Other longish stories include "The Rose and the Nightingale (and What Came of It)", an Arabic-flavored story about a beggar boy who agrees to help a storyteller retrieve a treasure from inside a Pasha's garden -- it's nicely told, with the expected twists, and a romantic flavor, but it's more conventional than I expect from Wolfe. "The Other Dead Man" is one of his better, and creepier, stories, in which a spaceship is severely damaged and the Captain is fatally injured, but the medical bay is programmed to resuscitate him at all costs. This moves slickly to the inevitable horrific conclusion. "The Detective of Dreams" is about a Frenchman hired to investigate who might be sending some people in a German city terrifying dreams -- the reader might recognize the content of the dreams the victims describe, from which the detective can deduce the surprising identity of the haunter.

Most of the stories are rather shorter. There a few instance of linked stories. "The Woman Who Loved the Centaur Pholus" and "The Woman the Unicorn Loved" are about a professor who is part of a group devoted to protecting genetically engineered creatures who have been abandoned by their makers (in this future DNA alterations can be done with a home kit.) Many of these creatures are based on myth, and in these two stories the professor befriends women who form, let's say, closer relationships to the title creatures -- increasing the need to save them from the usual fate discarded beings receive. There is a set of four linked stories that were published in one of Roger Elwood's more interesting projects, Continuum, a set of four anthologies each containing installments of a longer project that continued through the books. Wolfe's stories are "The Dark of the June", "The Death of Hyle", "From the Notebooks of Dr. Stein", and "Thag". They tell of a future in which people can choose to be uploaded into a virtual existence, and the first one is about a man whose wife has died and whose daughter is contemplated upload. As the stories continue, things get stranger, with what seems like time travel, and a malevolent creature called Thag. Interesting work. 

Three stories are related to Wolfe's Solar Cycle. "The Map" and "The Cat" are set in Severian's time. "The Map" is one of the best stories in the book, as a man hires a boat to travel down the river Gyoll to a deserted part of the city, near the Old Citadel familiar from The Book of the New Sun. The boat's captain Eata (one of Severian's fellow apprentices, though by this time Severian is the Autarch) lets the man out but waits to pick him up -- and when he does we learn a little lesson about the map the man carries, and an ironic bit more about what Eata knows of maps. "The Cat" is a story told during Severian's reign about events decades prior, about an exultant girl and the strange cat she had, and what happened to her when she got in trouble with an older man. The other Solar Cycle story is "The God and His Man", a short fable apparently from the Brown Book that Severian encounters. In this story, the God of a certain world summons a Man whom he sets a task -- to live among the different people on his world and learn how they differ from each other and in what ways they are cruel. What the Man learns, in the end, may not be precisely to the God's benefit.

Of the other short stories, I'll mention a few particular favorites. "The Cabin on the Coast" opens the book, and it's a lovely dark story of a man and a woman in love -- but the man is the son of a prominent politician, who is not happy that his son wants to marry this woman. Then the woman disappears -- and the man is convinced a mysterious boat he sees off the coast has something to do with it. Can he go there and get her back? The ending is perhaps what readers expect -- but still very nicely turned. "Our Neighbour by David Copperhead" purports to be a story told by the title character during his period as a journalist, in which he observes a man lurking about his neighbour's house, and learns the man's story -- he's investigating what the neighbour does in the house, at the request of a woman who feels that her daughter may have been somehow mistreated there. And the man ends up learning about the neighnour, who is a scientist involved with phrenology and mesmerism -- and whose investigations lead him to a mordant moral discovery. "The War Beneath the Tree" is a long-time favorite of mine, about a group of a young boy's toys who come to "life" on Christmas Eve. And they stage a battle -- for a reason, which the boy learns. And in that reason is buried a delightful stinger. "The HORARS of War" is an affecting story of a journalist "embedded" in a group of robot soldiers fighting a Vietnam like war against an unnamed Enemy. The journalist must impersonate the robot soldiers, which means sharing their battles -- and perhaps their fate? The story twists a little on its way to a moving conclusion. "Suzanne Delage" is another longtime favorite -- a simple story in a sense, in which the narrator tells of the title woman, with whom he went to high school but never really knew, and had lost track with. Until a commonplace but odd encounter brings her to mind. 

I could go on. Not all of the stories are masterworks -- a few are clever but trivial, and a couple don't quite work. But there is always something intriguing there. And, really -- instead of the stories I discuss above perhaps I should have mentioned "Lukora", or "The Last Thrilling Wonder Story", or "Kevin Malone", or "In the House of Gingerbread", or "All the Hues of Hell". And each reader will have their own favorites anyway -- so just read them!