A selection of fictional works read in the period from January-ish through April 2020.
Hyperion by Dan Simmons [4/5, for now]
Hyperion, winner of the Hugo award in 1990, is considered one of modern science fiction’s classics. I recently made my way through the same paperback I first read over twenty years ago to see how it held up (as an aside, my favorite reading medium is surely the mass-market paperback, perhaps a nostalgic reaction to the most common format in my childhood and one that is no longer as prevalent as it should be). This is a complex novel, as much a literary fiction exercise as a popular science fiction, with several plot threads deftly managed across intertwined stories with a common element: the planet Hyperion, home to a mysterious being called the Shrike, which seems to be a vengeful and murderous deity, and the equally mysterious Time Tombs, where time flows backward. The structure of the book is based on the Canterbury Tales: six travelers tell their tales while on a pilgrimage to the Time Tombs. The novel is ambitious and Simmons creates a universe of complex personalities, politics, and science. His prose struck me as somewhat muscular, reflective of the time when it was written, but there was nothing that felt dated about the overall experience and his talent as a writer is obvious. I’m unsure of my final feelings: it should be admired for its accomplishment but whether or not I enjoyed the experience of reading it is still out for verdict. I probably won’t have a final conclusion for some months yet and perhaps that in and of itself validates the reading. It’s a must for serious science fiction readers.
The Subtle Knife/The Amber Spyglass by Philip Pullman [5/5 and 4/5]
I’d read the full His Dark Materials trilogy not too long ago but my interest in revisiting it was rekindled after recently reading Pullman’s La Belle Sauvage and watching HBO’s serialization of the first novel. Having enough familiarity with its plot and characters, I skipped that first novel – The Golden Compass – and started my re-read with The Subtle Knife. It’s a wonderful book that seamlessly expands the story’s scope to our and other worlds while retaining focus on the journeys and growth of the main characters, Lyra and Will. The third book loses some of that focus as it takes on a full-scale universal conflict, spends more time with other characters, and develops related tangents (such as an imaginative diversion into xenobiology) though ultimately all the threads satisfyingly come back together with Lyra and Will at their center. It’s tempting to classify the trilogy as young adult fiction, given that the protagonists are adolescents, but that is to deny it due justice as a member of fantasy fiction’s pantheon and its wide appeal to readers of all ages. Pullman’s prose is excellent, the action and flow inexorable, and the characters memorable.
Rosewater by Tade Thompson [3/5]
Much of the positive reaction to this book focuses on its context instead of merits: a science fiction novel set entirely in Nigeria must surely be worth reading as it represents a different voice than the usual suspects in the genre. But science fiction has been steadily shedding its homogeneity and embracing more diversity over the past several years so that take is a bit lazy. Yes, it’s refreshing to read science fiction from a different perspective but it’s more refreshing when it’s actually good. Thankfully, there is a lot to like in Rosewater. It takes place in a town that springs up around a large alien biodome with mysterious healing properties and the story follows the main character across three different time periods. There are secret government organizations and conspiracies galore, superpowers and zombies (but not in the usual sense), characters that are more than they seem (sometimes to the detriment of the consistency of the overall plot), and a somewhat amoral protagonist who you can’t decide whether to dislike or root for. It can be a bit much at times but its full of imagination. I’ll read the sequels at some point though I’m not rushing to get to them any time soon.
The Winter King: A Novel of Arthur by Bernard Cornwell [3/5]
You know what you’re getting with Bernard Cornwell: gritty and authentic and plenty of war. This isn’t your typical Arthurian tale with knights and round tables and damsels and chivalry. It’s a bloody and brutal tale of post-Roman Britain, where Arthur is a Briton warlord trying to forge a unified front against Saxon invaders. It’s a world where Merlin is a cackling druid, Lancelot is a self-promoting coward, and Guinevere is the daughter of a relatively minor lord – and the love between Arthur and Guinevere is a bit more prosaic than the legends though it does lead to a devastating civil war. Despite his talent for writing violent set scenes, Cornwell is an evocative and elegant writer. I’ll return to Cornwell again at some point in the future but uncertain if it will be with the remainder of his Arthurian cycle.
The Bull from the Sea by Mary Renault [3/5]
Mary Renault’s novels are anything but page-turners and her style is barely this side of archaic – I often find myself scratching my head trying to figure out which character a given pronoun is referring to. But she was unparalleled at transporting the reader to the ancient world and this novel is one of her best. The Bull from the Sea is the sequel to The King Must Die and continues the story of Theseus after his return from Crete. While I muddled through the first novel a couple of years ago, The Bull from the Sea is a much better read. What I found most fascinating and compelling about this book is that it draws on the myths and legends of Theseus that some readers will be familiar with but it is not a novel of the Greece of mythology. It is an authentic novel of the Attica and the Greek world of history. Athens is not yet the glorious city state it would become, Theseus is as much a pirate and raider as a king, and life is governed by supersitions and harsh realities. Mary Renault is one of the great classicist novelists and fans of historical fiction should give her a shot though with full awareness her style may not be for everyone.
The Deed of Paksenarrion by Elizabeth Moon [3/5]
In many ways, the trilogy that comprises the omnibus Deed of Paksenarrion is a run-of-the-mill fantasy with gods and paladins and elves, dwarves, gnomes, and the like. What sets it apart is the main character, Paks, who runs away from home to join a mercenary army and ends up in plenty of battles, adventures, and quests in the subsequent 1500 pages. I found the first book to be a little dull but things picked up in the second and third novels as the world created by Moon begins to show depth and complexity, despite a rather simplistic good versus evil premise. Paks is the centerpiece – her growth from a naive sheepfarmer’s daughter to a king-making paladin is filled with several memorable and powerful scenes. It never elevates itself to the level of the best fantasies but is enjoyable as an above-average swords-and-sorcery adventure.
Seeker by Jack McDevitt [4/5]
One of the joys of reading science fiction is that it is a multi-genre genre. Jack McDevitt’s Alex Benedict series is a space opera – that sub-genre of science fiction that imagines stories in a far future where humanity has expanded beyond just the Earth into the rest of the solar system or other galaxies. But the series, sometimes dubbed Indiana Jones in space, though it’s not quite as action-driven, is also a series of archaeological mystery novels. Seeker, a Nebula Award winner, begins with a centuries-old plastic cup with a mysterious and intriguing provenance and continues as a romp across several worlds, with leads and red herrings galore and a first-person narrative that keeps the information imperfect like any good mystery. The universe created by McDevitt is not the focus of the story but it is fully realized with plenty of fascinating technological and geopolitical ideas. An intelligent page-turner that represents the best of what popular science fiction can offer. It’s the second book of his I’ve read and won’t be the last.
The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead [4/5]
Novels – and, really, any art form – set in the antebellum south set themselves a challenge before even the first page is read. What more can be said or portrayed about the evils of American slavery that hasn’t already been covered in several classic and legendary works of art? It’s difficult to present a different perspective on the topic – though Octavia Butler’s Kindred, where a young black woman unwittingly time travels to the era of slavery, is one that does so with provocative and moving effectiveness – and The Underground Railroad certainly doesn’t move the needle much (though the deeply disturbing chapter set in South Carolina is an effective counterclaim to that statement). The story is brutal and uncompromising: the experiences of the main character are searingly painful, hope exists only to be destroyed, and decency exists only to be punished. But these stories must continue to be told: so much the better if they are told with the skill and language of a writer like Whitehead. His telling is vivid, the plot turns are gut punches even when you know they are happening. This is a novel well deserving of the praise it received. Whitehead’s most recent novel, the much-lauded Nickel Boys, is one I’ll be reading soon.
Wild Seed by Octavia E. Butler [3/5]
I started reading Octavia Butler’s works a few years ago and she has become one of my favorite authors full-stop, not only of science fiction. Liliths’ Brood, the Parables, Kindred – these are all masterpieces. The Patternist series is not on the same level and should not be the place where readers start with Butler’s works. But it is a cut above most. I read The Patternmaster, fourth in the series but published first, some time ago but there is not much but a passing resemblance with Wild Seed. Wild Seed is the story of an African woman, shape-shifting and long of life, who encounters a god-like man who maintains his immortality by jumping bodies and passes his time by breeding genetic lines with special powers. The novel does at times drag into longer-than-necessary conversations but it is thought-provoking and, often, uncomfortable in its implications. A good read.
Exit West by Mohsin Hamad [2/5]
Mohsin Hamad won well-deserved acclaim several years ago for his taut and ambiguous masterpiece, The Reluctant Fundamentalist. Exit West, on the other hand, is a muddled and perplexing novel whose purpose escapes me.The first part of the book is compelling: it follows a man and a woman, Saeed and Nadia, and their burgeoning relationship in a city under siege in an unnamed Arab country. But it soon shifts into a story about refugees as they escape the city and then into what I think is a post climate change world. All the while there are, for lack of a better description, magic doors that the two characters, and seemingly thousands of other people, use to travel from point A to point B to more swiftly move the plot along. Random vignettes that serve no real thematic purpose disrupt what is already a choppy narrative, and the writing is all exposition written in sing-song sentences with several independent clauses strung together. I’d rate it even lower but I never actively disliked it. There are times where the prose is truly sublime but I kept waiting for it to get better and, instead, it just ended. So much the better – a forgettable novel.
Gates of Fire by Steven Pressfield [3/5]
A fictional account of the battle of Thermopylae (the same battle that is the source of the graphic novel and film 300), Gates of Fire succeeds as a story of military valor. The ancient world is skillfully rendered in detail, lending an authentic-feeling setting to the page-turning action. Of course, it’s not fully authentic: Spartan mentorship plays a significant role in character building but there is little mention of the homosexual relationship common in those models; and Spartan society’s miserable treatment of women and helots is ignored and, indeed, at times glorified. But, look, this isn’t a history, it’s a historical fiction, and to Pressfield’s credit it’s not one-sided as he gives plenty of weight and justice to his depiction of the Persians – as opposed to silly renderings like the aforementioned film. It’s a book worth reading for those interested in war novels as it certainly reaches an emotional level where goosebumps are felt.
A note on ratings: I use the Goodreads categories for my ratings. There is no rhyme or reason and usually I base my rating on a gut feeling… and it’s very often that I look back at my Goodreads library and disagree with the rating given at the time.
It’s also worth noting that the vast majority of my ratings are 3/5 and rarely rate anything lower than that. I spend nearly as much time reading about and researching what I want to read instead of actually reading so most of what I read I enjoy to some degree or another.