Yeti Review: Bitter Seeds - Ian Tregillis

In A Few Words: The best debut of 2010, Bitter Seeds delivers on it's promise of Nazi Supermen vs. British Wizards; representing the start of a dark but brillant new trilogy that is as aggressive in scope as it is captivating in delivery. (2 stars)

Pros:

• Well-written characters that carry the novel through grim subject matter;
• Thought-provoking speculation that raises Bitter Seeds above the standard WWII reimagining;
• The strong integration between alternate history of the war and the events of the book makes the notion of warlocks and psychics feel real; 
• The implied structure of Milkweed Triptych promises continued originality and innovation

Cons:

• The conclusion feels a somewhat anticlimatic as the second book is set up;
• As more of a warning than a con, the tone of the story gets almost too dark at times;
• Not enough Gretel.

The Review: The saying goes, "War is hell." In few novels is this more true than in Ian Tregillis's debut novel. An alternate history tale set during the darkest days of World War II; Bitter Seeds pits Nazi supermen against British demons in a sprawling battle that leaves everyone involved with deep scars: some physical, some emotional, and most both. Through a quartet of characters intimately involved in this secret war inside a war, Tregillis focuses on these scars and the wounds that cause them in a strikingly dark but equally impressive debut that has earned two stars in my new rating system.

Rather than trying to cover an alternate war in its entirety, Tregillis makes a wise decision and chooses to examine four lives within the war rather than the war itself. From Bitter Seeds’ first pages, it's clear that these four souls are not destined to lead normal lives. On the German side, the orphaned siblings Klaus and Gretel are purchased by Herr Doktor von Westarp for his abhorrent experiments. They and other war orphans are destined to become the Gotterelektrongruppe, a special Nazi outfit of supermen capable of flight, telekinesis, invisibility, and even precognition among other abilities. Klaus himself learns the ability to “ghost”; to pass through walls, bodies, and bullets like they don’t exist. His sister, Gretel, possesses powers of prediction that render her cryptic and, more often than not, incomprehensible. Gretel is the least written about character of the four but still manages to steal scene after scene with her bizarrely captivating antics and disrespect for causality.

Across the channel in the British Isles, a young Raybould Marsh is taken in by a British Intelligence Officer. Little does Marsh know that a career in intelligence will lead him to become involved with forces beyond his imagination. Elsewhere in England, the uncorrupted mind of Will Beauclerk is exposed to eidolons for the first time by his sorcerer grandfather. These entities reside outside the realm of human existence but are willing to interfere, at least for a price. Fast forward fifteen years or so and the world is on the verge of war. Raybould learns of the Nazi supermen during a routine espionage mission to Spain and he is soon tasked with stopping them. As such he reaches out to his college friend, Will, who possess a peculiar set of skills that just may level the playing field. From this brief description, it should be easy to see why the book is advertised as “Mad English warlocks battling twisted Nazi psychics.”

Bitter Seeds delivers on this promise in droves with several outstanding action sequences that just beg for big screen treatment. But underneath the exciting attempts to catch a man that can walk through walls and the orchestrated chaos of an ambush ruined by precognition, Tregillis conceals a wealth of character that helps the story transcend what could have been pure pulp. Now the premise and the execution are strong enough that Bitter Seeds would have been highly enjoyable pulp, but this unexpected depth takes Bitter Seeds from good to great.

Rather than depicting the white vs. black, good vs. evil reimagining of World War II that is all too common where Nazis are involved; Tregillis paints his cast in shades of gray. By focusing on the morality of the characters on both sides of the war and the motivations that can drive normal humans to commit atrocities, the book becomes incredibly gripping, albeit it in an almost perverse way. Another quote applicable to the first volume of the Milkweed Triptych has to be "all is fair in love and war."As the war escalates and the British become more and more desperate to halt the inevitable German invasion, the demonic eidolons demand more and more blood in exchange for their unnatural assistance.

The best science fiction is that which takes relatable ideas and uses speculation to stretch them to idealistic proportions. The idea that is explored here is that of the “Necessary Evil” (also the title of the third book of the Milkweed Triptych); one that frequently occurs in war when considering sacrificing a few for the needs of the many. But under what circumstances does the price become too high to pay? A death? A dozen? What if it's children? It is this grim question that plays heavily on both sides of the trenches and Tregillis sets the seeming unstoppable power of the German supermen against the crimson demands of the eidolons in order to raise the stakes until there is no right answer. Depressing? Yes. Thought-provoking? Without a doubt.

After a less than light hearted first third, this exploration forces the book to become darker and darker the book quickly gets even darker, almost to an excessive level. When a psychic Nazi appears to be the most well adjusted member of the cast, it’s difficult to generate empathy. But even at its darkest, Bitter Seeds never ceases to be compelling. There is a method to the sadness and Tregillis staggers the point at which characters hit rock bottom in a way so not to fully extinguish hope. If the first act sets up the characters as more than human, the second devolves Marsh, Beauclerk, and Klaus into something less than, and the third sees their attempt to pick up the pieces.

At first the conclusion feels somewhat underwhelming, in part due to the staggered nature of each of the character arcs. But as each of the characters concludes their final scene, we get a glimpse of the brilliant structure of the Milkweed Triptych, something that seems blatantly obvious in hindsight. In the last few pages, Tregillis teases the content of June's The Coldest War enough to make it instantly one of my most anticipated books of the year: a suitable accomplishment in its own right. In Bitter Seeds, Tregillis takes a played out setting and made it fresh again, crafting a darkly gripping tale that examines the morality of war through the lens of four superhuman characters who become anything but.

Yeti Review: Fuzzy Nation - John Scalzi

In A Few Words: A compulsively readable collision of tightly plotted legal thriller and idea-centric science fiction, Fuzzy Nation evokes fond memories of a simpler era of storytelling.

Pros:
-Light-hearted adventure appropriate for all ages.
-Holloway shines in a revamped, more cohesive cast
-Story moves quickly and continues to surprise even if you've read Piper's original Little Fuzzy
-Full of Scalzi's trademark humor, Fuzzy Nation is eminently entertaining and impossible to put down for the last 2/3 of the book

Cons:
-Jack Holloway is the same character we've seen from Scalzi multiple times before
-Ending wraps up a little too cleanly
-Antagonists are borderline archetypal, albeit very fun to hate.

The Review: Ladies and gentleman of the jury, Fuzzy Nation is a strange amalgamation of a book. The facts are clear: 1) It's a science fiction novel written by notorious internet troublemaker John Scalzi. 2) It's a more complex re-imagining of H. Beam Piper's Little Fuzzy. 3) It was originally fan fiction, written for personal pleasure and without the intention of ever being published. 4) It's revenge fantasy, allowing the reader to revel in the pain of a corporation too concerned with the bottom line and too willing to look the other way. And 5) as cliché as it is to say, Fuzzy Nation is also compulsively readable; a reminder that SF doesn't have to be as sterile as the vacuum of space.

Like so many space age novels, the original Little Fuzzy is a novel of ideas. Character and prose take back seat to the thought experiment of the Fuzziess, a newly discovered species that seems sentient but not undeniably so. After all, how do you define sentience? Scalzi returns to this same question half a century later but he does so within a genre that has matured significantly in the mean while. The once novel ideas of space exploration and alien encounters are fifty years played out, and it's no longer enough to simply wonder "what if?"

To that end, Scalzi gives Piper's original account of adorable aliens a welcome reboot and in the process manages to modernize the tale without sacrificing the optimistic heart at its core. Jack Holloway's persona might have been passed for "gritty" back in the space age but he'd be squeaky clean amongst the anti-heroes of today's fiction. Holloway 2.0 remains a prospector digging for sunstones on ZaraCorp's newest colony but now touts a law degree, a checkered past and a less than healthy affinity for Schadenfreude Pie. The other supporting players aren't so lucky - even though the story follows the same general arc as the original, Scalzi more or less replaces the cast in its entirety. The end result is an ensemble that feels more cohesive than its largely two dimensional progenitor (not to mention considerably less sexist).

It's this cohesion which allows Scalzi to deliver his revamped plot at a breakneck pace, pulling new readers in quickly while establishing that Fuzzy Nation is much more than a page-by-page remake of the original. The book starts with a bang - literally - and it's not much longer until Holloway discovers the titular Fuzzies, Scalzi's versions of which feature a little less prominently than Piper's critters. If Little Fuzzy depicts Holloway's relationship with the Fuzzies as impaired by ZaraCorp, Fuzzy Nation depicts Holloway's relationship with ZaraCorp as complicated by the Fuzzies. The difference is minor but nontrivial as Scalzi refines Piper's idea-centric explorations into a superiorly plotted story.

Either way, Holloway and his new-found furry friends are soon inextricably tied to ZaraCorp's financial future and it's employees start to test those links anyway they can, without regard to those silly things called laws. As the story races toward it's epic courtroom conclusion, those tightly wound threads begin to snap in unexpected places, much to the delight of anyone tired of the gross corporate malfeasance which plagues the world today.

Pleasantly distracting as it may be to see a corporation get what's coming to it, fans of Scalzi's popular blog will have no trouble recognizing his particular brand of biting rhetoric (and a penchant for pet anthropomorphism) in the ever-sarcastic (and dog owning) Holloway. The delicate balance of intelligent commentary and unrelenting snark has always been Scalzi's trademark and it's clear he knows what his audience has come to expect. Part of me worries that he isn't stretching himself enough narratively and as such risks overexposure of his primary voice. I'd hate to see him become the literary equivalent of a one hit wonder, stuck playing the same tune when he wants to diversify his sound. Fortunately, the other part of me isn't paying attention, he's two nostrils deep in the book and isn't coming up for air any time soon.

Ultimately, it's this hard to pinpoint "unputdownability" which really defines Fuzzy Nation. Like Little Fuzzy and so many of its space-age counterparts, the focus is less on the science itself, and more on the ideas and questions that science might one day allow us to explore. No advance theoretical physics degrees or quantum mechanics textbooks required. But that's not to say he ignores his physics; Scalzi clearly understands that the heavier something is, the more energy it takes to move it at a given speed. In support of this hypothesis, the prose is kept light and lean, allowing the reader to rocket through the book in just a few sittings.

After all, the key to a successful reboot isn't originality, it's execution - whether or not the changes you make result in a story worth reading, regardless if you've read the original. In Fuzzy Nation, Scalzi executes flawlessly, proving that Piper's core concept is just as relevant today as it was fifty years ago with a pitch perfect summer sci-fi novel that both embraces and enhances the source material. While there's still the lingering question of whether or not John Scalzi needs to write something outside his comfort zone, as long as his books are this entertaining, it's going to be difficult to prove that case in court.

Junior YetiReview - The Boy At The End of the World - Greg Van Eekhout

[Editor's Note: The Boy at The End of the World is a middle grade novel. While I read and enjoyed Greg Van Eekhout's latest, I am by no means a member of his target audience. To that end, I passed the book along to my youngest brother, Keegan, who at 10 is smack in the middle of Eekhout's key demographic. Aside from a few suggestions about what to discuss (what he liked about the book, how easy it was to read, etc.) and a few grammatical errors and spelling mistakes which I helped him correct, this review is essentially a 10 year old's unfiltered response to the book.]

In A Few Words: This book took my imagination into the future, across the country, and beyond.

Pros:
- The story is very creative, mixing a lot of weird stuff together to make cool creatures and exciting ideas
- Detailed desciptions make the story feel very real
- There were a lot of funny parts that made me laugh

Cons:
-The ending just drops off so you don't know what happened to your favorite characters
-Fisher gets injured too often and he always gets better too quickly.

The Review: The Boy at the End of the World is an interesting book about a boy, a robot, and a woolly mammoth who go on a long adventure across the country after the human race was destroyed. Fisher wakes up in the ruins of an ark and doesn't know much more than how to fish. An ark is a preservation building built to keep the human race alive after they polluted the world. Fisher's ark was destroyed by it's own defense system but he thinks there is another ark across the country where he might find other humans. He goes to three different arks and find a different danger at each stop. The ending was good but it would have been better if it hadn't ended so quickly. I liked the characters a lot so I really wanted to know what happened to Fisher and his friends after the book ended.

There weren't too many characters which made it easy to keep track of everyone. The characters I liked the most were Fisher and Zapper. Fisher was smart and adventurous like me and Zapper was hyper like me. I didn't like Click as much because he was overprotective and he pretty much said the same thing through the entire story. He always said stuff was too dangerous.

I'm in fifth grade so the book was pretty easy to read but there were still some big words I had to ask my parents about. There were a lot of cool ideas in the book like the piranha-gators that attacked Fisher while he was sailing or the Intelligence which was a mixture of nanoworms that could change shape and take any form. There was a lot of fighting which was very fun and exciting. I also liked how the story was never too sad even though most of the humans were dead. I thought parts were really funny too, like when Fisher found a McDonalds sign or when he named the woolly mammoth Protein because he wanted to eat him. Overall, it was a very good book full of action and comedy and it would be perfect for fourth to seventh graders like me. If the author writes more books, I will definitely want to read them.

Yeti Review: Red Harvest - Joe Schreiber

In A Few Words: Disappointing in almost every way, the only thing scary about Joe Schreiber's Red Harvest is the fact that a major house considered it publishable.

Pros:
-It's only 241 pages.

Cons:
-Arguably unedited
-Repetitive plot ignores all of the inherent potential in the setup
-Entire plot threads do nothing but detract from the story

The Review: Brainless. Stumbling. Grotesque. Unrelenting. It's doubtful that Joe Schreiber was trying to be "meta" in writing his latest novel. At the same time, it's hard to ignore the similarities between Red Harvest and the single-minded zombie hordes contained within. The recipe behind Red Harvest is a standard one: an unexpected outbreak of an unknown pathogen results in a zombie menace from which the uninfected must escape. Yet even with the variety of spices found in Lucas's far, far away galaxy, it's about as palatable as a plateful of raw gray matter.

And it's certainly not the extra flavor that ruins the dish. Star Wars tie-in fiction has never claimed to be high art. Intended to sell first and entertain second, critical acclaim might not even be on the list of priorities. But even with lowered expectations, Red Harvest marks a new nadir for a franchise that has been slowly declining for over a decade.

Essentially, Schreiber's latest boils down to a repetitive sequence linked together more tenuously than the entrails of one of his victims. Wasting no time on character development, Schreiber quickly assembles his cast of paper-thin characters - Hestizo Trace (Jedi Botanist), Rojo Trace (Jedi brother and Liam Neeson wannabe), the Black Orchid (talking plant) and Darth Scabrous (generic bad guy) - before throwing them into the plot. After a brief setup and a little Force magic to introduce the zombie threat, Schreiber's writing soon devolves into little more than copy-and-paste carnage. The zombies surprise, attack, get "killed", are presumed dead, surprise again, infect someone, and are finally dismembered or eluded. It's splatterpunk at it's most gratuitous and it fails even at that.

The highest compliment I can pay to Red Harvest is that the first fifty or so pages are merely forgettable. Until page 53, on which Schreiber blatantly "borrows" [read "plagiarizes"] a key quote from 2009's action/revenge film Taken. Everything is downhill from there.

"Listen to me, Trace told him. I don't know who you are, but I am in possession of a very special set of skills. If you bring my sister back right now, unharmed, then I'll let you go. But if you don't, I promise you, I will track you down. I will find you. And I will make you pay." [pg. 53]

After this, it only gets harder to keep reading, and judging from the gradual decline in quality, the assigned editor might agree. That is, if an editor actually touched the manuscript after the outline phase. Based on the sheer number of awkward metaphors and continuity screw-ups, I wouldn't be suprised if they hadn't. And these aren't minor fanboy nitpicks about the number of fingers a particular alien has or the way that a character's motivation contradicts a single line of movie dialogue. These are blatant errors, the "Wait...What?" lines that force you to reread prose that in no way deserves it. At one point, a character slits his wrists in one scene and is alive and well in the next. At another, Schreiber apparently forgets which character bit another, temporarily reversing the vector/victim relationship. Maybe the editor assumed that he understood resuming a plot thread where it left off isn't optional, but Schreiber apparently likes to push the boundaries of what is considered acceptable narrative.

Even as egregious as these "hard" errors are, they are almost welcome in comparison to the softer ones; those of story direction, pacing and thematic structure. It should be simple - a lone Jedi Knight has to stay alive in the midst of a bloody battle between cut-throat Sith and bite-throat Zombies, relying on her wits and the self-interested nature of evil to survive. By turning them against each other, she just may escape the planet alive, possibly in the company of a redeemed soul or two. Throw in a few meditations on the corrupting nature of evil and power and a handful of unique set pieces and you should have a winner. Instead, the Sith students are written like Slytherin drop-outs, turning a batch of potential adversaries into a cadre of whining red shirts. Instead of a dynamic conflict that changes with the ratio of Sith to Zombies, Schreiber gives us the same encounter again and again with no direction or distinction.

Schreiber also missteps with the inclusion of the entire Rojo Trace subplot. Even without the unforgivable Taken reference, his character contributes little to the book and if anything detracts from his sister's character by implying that she is incapable of saving herself. Gender politics aside, his role is completely superfluous as further evidenced by the illogically rapid pace with which he moves through his portion of the story. In not quite three pages, Rojo manages to connect the dots between footage of getaway vehicle and the identity of the bounty hunter, the Sith Lord who hired him and the location of the Sith Academy through a sequence of coincidences that would leave the cast of CSI rolling their eyes. It's like an outline with transitions and there is no reason why Rojo wasn't red penned out of narrative existence.

The only fathomable excuse is that at a mere 241 pages, the editor couldn't cut anything and still justify the $27.00 price tag on the jacket. Or even worse, the manuscript was turned in at 400 pages and what went to print was the "good" stuff. Either way, the end result is pure and utter drek and the reason why tie-in fiction has the reputation it does today.

The scariest thing about Red Harvest? The fact that it sold enough copies to get on the New York Times Bestseller List.

Yeti Review: Out of the Dark - David Weber

In A Few Words: Though it feels more like a popcorn movie than a fully developed novel, Weber's tale of alien insurgency provides a few hours of escapist fun.

Pros:
1) Weber writes action well, using military detail to underscore the human propensity for destruction;
2) The aliens vs humans setup is refreshingly pulpy in an "shades of grey" media culture.
3) Prose is smooth and fast-paced, well suited for the tone of the story

Cons:
1) Out of the Dark fails to live up to the potential of it's first act with some plot and pacing issues
2) The Shongari and humans are built from similar character stock, leading to character confusion;
3) The "twist" ending is telegraphed and poorly executed.


The Review: Out of the Dark is a strange title for David Weber's newest novel. While certain elements do emerge from unexpected places, their existence fails to be a revelation to anyone who has read the back cover (although I won't ruin them here). As a result, the kinetic account of humanity's resistance against an alien invasion rarely manages to surprise or innovate. However, like the your favorite popcorn movie, Out of the Dark suggests that sometimes you don't need to do anything extraordinary to still have a good time.

The curtain rises as an alien scouting expedition assesses the population of Earth circa 1066 AD. The verdict is not good for humanity - not only is Earth a planet ripe for colonization, it's exceptionally aggressive inhabitants are a danger to themselves and a potential danger to the other sentient races of the universe. But when the Shongari return with their invasion force almost a millennium later, they find that in addition to being brutally violent, humanity is also incredibly inventive. Compared to the other galactic civilizations, the denizens of Earth are progressing technologically at an unprecedented rate. But should the Shongari invade a civilization now capable of fighting back or do they let one of the most dangerous civilizations in the universe to continue to evolve unchecked? It's an interesting premise and one that is smartly setup, culminating in an attack that leaves a vast portion of humanity dead and the remainder wishing they were.

From there, the middle portion of Out of the Dark settles into a rhythm that may be best described as Independence Day as written by Tom Clancy. This is slightly disappointing as Weber's tight focus on disparate characters around the globe could have been to alien invasions what World War Z was to zombie hordes. But rather than presenting a comparably diverse set of characters, Weber uses the global reach of the American military complex to place soldiers (or equally militarized white males) into unimaginative situations. I was left wondering how the street gangs of Detroit were reacting to an invasion of their turf? Or what about a suburban soccer mom would do if her children were threatened by the wolf-like invaders? What of the men and woman of the Israeli Army? Or the citizens of Afghanistan who have known nothing but rebellion? What of the highly decentralized third world countries of Africa? The vast populations of India or China? There is so much unrealized storytelling potential. To be fair though, the tendency toward homogeneous male character stock is not a problem limited only to Weber - it is just particularly frustrating to see such a strong opportunity wasted.

While Weber's characters are mostly limited to militarized males, there is no debating that he is writing what he knows best. Weber goes into exquisite detail when describing weaponry, most likely with the intention of selling our military technology as a legitimate threat to the Shongari raiders. With an almost encyclopedic knowledge of armaments, Weber accomplishes this easily and the destructive ingenuity of the human race is a theme infused into in scene after explosive scene.

Though violent, the action conveys a pulpy innocence, creating a tone largely missing from an overly serious genre landscape. The heroes are actual heroes, the bad guys are undeniably alien, and while life on Earth definitely sucks, other homo sapiens are finally not to blame. Out of the Dark could have been a lot more but Weber isn’t trying to construct a bleak portrait of decades to come, he’s just to provide a little escapism in a world that is all to often repainted in shades of gray. Even if seems like a mismatch on the scale of Return of the Jedi sometimes it's fun to sit back and watch the Ewoks kill the Stormtroopers.

Like any good cinematic adventure, it’s important to sit back and enjoy it rather than dissecting it too much. A large portion of the book is spent developing the premise that humanity is a profoundly unpredictable culture and one capable of adaptation at an alarming rate. This is certainly true - the problem is that Weber fails to put a similar level of thought into the culture of the Shongari. They come across as cardboard creations and it's far too easy to forget who is who in the strangely Earth-like Shongari chain of command. As they fail to adapt to the humans' guerrilla methods time and time again, they quickly lose the threatening nature seized in the initial attack. This trend continues until the Shongari are all but caricatures of their original depiction. How does a species capable of travelling among the stars fall for the same tricks again and again?

It's these and other obvious questions that may ruin Weber's latest for many logic minded readers. Others may be turned off by the perverse (and thinly veiled) reflection of recent invasion/insurgencies. But despite my qualms, I couldn't help but enjoy the fast-paced novel. I will definitely be picking up the sequel, if only to see where the series goes after the frenetic conclusion. Not every book needs to be perfect to be worth reading, but a book's strengths should always outweigh its failings. Luckily for Weber, the pulpy "good vs. bad" atmosphere and high octane action contained in Out of the Dark manage to more than balance its inadequacies resulting in a popcorn novel that refuses to play in the shadows.

Yeti Review: The Alchemist - Paolo Bacigalupi / The Executioness - Tobias Buckell

In A Few Words: The Alchemist and The Executioness showcase two rising stars in the the genre but aren't completely successful in fully realizing the inherent potential in their shared fantasy world.

Pros:
1) Fast, fun stories that work both in print and audio formats
2) The Alchemist is a fantasy version of pitch perfect Bacigalupian exposition
3) Bramble ravaged world feels real as the vegetative threat influences the entire culture

Cons:
1) The worldbuilding away from Lesser Khaim is underdeveloped
2) Buckell attempts to put too much story into The Executioness, resulting in pacing problems

The Review: Fantasy is a genre that lives and dies by magic. It's what unifies a thousand different worlds and yet makes each one distinct. Each author imbues their world with a unique approach, relying on the reader’s sense of wonder to make their words come to life. In some stories, magic is re-entering a world that had all but forgotten it. In others, powers relied on for far too long are beginning to wane. In the shared universe constructed by Paolo Bacigalupi and Tobias Buckell, magic not only defines the world, it attempts to destroy it. It’s a world where magic comes at a terrible price, even if it doesn’t earn you an encounter with the executioner’s axe. The world of The Alchemist and The Executioness is slowly being consumed by a poisonous bramble which thrives on magic, encroaching ever closer with every whispered word and forbidden act.

It may be difficult to sell coma-inducing vegetative growth as a legitimate threat but it’s hard to deny that the two stories are their strongest when firmly entangled in thorns and vines. You can’t write paired novellas (or good ones, anyway) without fleshing out the world in advance. In the case of The Alchemist and The Executioness, the entire world is structured around the bramble, the culture that created it, and its effect on the peoples that resist it. It’s got depth but not necessarily breadth. As a result, when the stories leave the bramble behind, they border on becoming generic fantasy.

Luckily, Bacigalupi’s offering rarely strays far from the heart of the story, detailing the exploits of Jeoz the alchemist as he attempts to engineer a device capable of eliminating the resilient bramble. The intrigue caused by the possibility of this “balanthast” is somewhat predictable but the way that Bacigalupi develops the characters and their collective culture more than make up for the simple story. The interactions between Jeoz and his daughter are genuinely heartfelt and as the story progresses it’s easy to become drawn in.

Bacigalupi’s bread and butter has always been environmental fiction, and it doesn’t take a literary scholar to see the similarities between this imagined world and ours. With the ever encroaching bramble, humanity faces a slow death of their own creation while anyone capable of substantive change selfishly ignores potential solutions for personal gains. While the global warming analogs are hard to ignore, they are never heavy handed. This may be his first foray into fantasy but with it he proves that his trademark style transcends genre. Bacigalupi’s flawless execution of show-not-tell worldbuilding is what earned him the Nebula and Hugo awards. The same skills are present here even if they aren’t quite as ambitiously applied as in The Windup Girl.

The Executionness has a harder time keeping the story in the deep end of the world. The story begins promisingly as a middle-aged woman is called to do her dying father’s work. Tana reluctantly joins the ranks of the magister’s executioners as the only executioness - a title that sticks with her despite the tumultuous events that change everything else. Before long, Tana is off and running on a quest of vengeance. The problem is that Buckell attempts a novel’s worth of characterization and exploration but only has a quarter of the pages to deliver it. To compensate, he skimps on critical development, resulting in a strangely paced story that feels rushed on more than one occasion. The piecemeal presentation of the final two acts often resorts to what are essentially “training montages” and the scenes in which the novice quickly becomes a master are only missing the bad 80s soundtrack.

This is frustrating because Tobias Buckell has crafted a story worth telling. The middle aged female protagonist is appealing and unique, the villains are more than just cardboard blackhats, and way the story ultimately plays out is memorable. Tana travels most of the continent on her quest for revenge, abandoning the intricate city of Khaim – the same setting that serves as the foundation to Bacigalupi’s tighter, more intimate tale. On said journey, she encounters a variety of interesting factions only tangentially related to the bramble. Because they lack the shared infrastructure of Khaim that links the two novellas, they require additional exposition. Sadly though, there isn’t any room for much more than moving from one set piece to the next. Buckell just lacks the page count/play time necessary to fully develop the elements he has introduced.

Ultimately, the combination of new characters, new locations, new cultures, and an aggressive plot is simply too much development to juggle in a novella of this length. None are intrinsically problematic but sometimes it’s necessary to cut scope in order to deliver higher quality. Even if increasing the word count wouldn’t have made the already 5+ hour audiobook unwieldy, it would still have the negative result of either inflating the word count of the well-composed The Alchemist or unbalancing the two stories.

As of this review, I’ve both listened to the audiobooks and read the advance print copies. I’m reluctant to steer readers one way or the other or suggest a definitive reading order. On one hand, the stories were original meant to be read aloud and the dialogue and sentence structure clearly reflect this. On the other hand, if you are anything like me, you will pick up on a lot more of the subtle details that create a cohesive world if you have the ability to easily re-read a line or two. Not to mention the promised interior illustrations from Subterranean Press.

While the stories are quick and entertaining, it’s difficult to label them complete successes or failures. The Executionness explores an atypical heroine as she travels across a diverse landscape dripping with potential for future narrative exploration. It also gets caught over-achieving at times, trying to do too much with too few words. The Alchemist is less ambitious but the simple tale is brilliantly executed and much more suited to the length and format. Neither would be the same without the other and together they are more than the sum of their parts. When the linked creation actually gets the detailed development it deserves, the magic is plain to see. The key to future entries into this shared world will be maximizing that magic while eliminating the bramble.

Yeti Review: The Way of Kings - Brandon Sanderson

In A Few Words: The Way of Kings delivers on the hype, introducing a new fantasy series that echoes Wheel of Time in scope and complexity and has the potential to surpass it in writing quality and readability.

Pros: You will not get a better bang for your buck than the 1,000 pages of The Way of Kings; Highly readable fast-paced prose atypical in a fantasy doorstop; Sanderson takes standard tropes and make them his own, creating a cast of characters both recognizable and original; Subtle clues that will inspire discussion and rereading 

Cons: Very much an introductory volume, leaving a lot of questions unasked or unanswered; Kaladin flashbacks end up being somewhat prolonged and anticlimactic; Book 2 not due until 2012 at the earliest.

The Review: The most anticipated fantasy tome of 2010 is undoubtedly Brandon Sanderson’s Towers of Midnight. The best epic fantasy title of 2010 is also penned by Sanderson but that book does not belong to the classic saga started by the late Robert Jordan nearly two decades ago. Instead, that honor belongs to The Way of Kings, the first volume of The Stormlight Archives, in which Sanderson introduces us to Roshar, a world ravaged by torrential rain and torn apart by war, and the small cast of characters destined to stand against its storms.

At a high level the cast is generic - Dallinar, the noble noble playing a game of thrones – Adolin, the questioning son, loyal but unsure – Kaladin, the Gladiator-esque once-hero-now-slave trying to regain the honor and respect he once held – Shallan, a con-woman who becomes enamored with the person she pretends to be – Szeth, the unstoppable assassin who wants nothing more than to stop killing – but Sanderson uses his intimate familiarity with the genre to great effect, creating characters that are recognizable to fans but also distinct and memorable.

The forty odd words given to the characters above cannot do justice to the hundreds and hundreds of pages of complexity Sanderson uses to make the cast his own. If Sanderson’s cast is lacking is anything it is the scene-stealing antagonist that fans can love to hate. The closest character Sanderson provides is Szeth, more of an anti-hero than antagonist, whose vertigo inducing assassinations are some of the most spectacular scenes in the book. Either way, Szeth is destined to gather a loyal following as one of the genre’s favorite fighters.

This deficiency is not a problem per se but it is indicative of a frustrating aspect of The Way of Kings - there is no clear overarching plot to measure progress against. As such, it is difficult to fully judge The Way of Kings without knowing more about the series as a whole. Sanderson’s latest is very much a series debut, spending a wealth of words developing the complex world of Roshar and the people who inhabit it but only hinting at the overall plot of the planned ten book series. Despite the massive page count of the book, the vast majority of the action focuses on these five characters, four of which are tightly focused on the politics of Alethkar and its war with the Parshendi nomads following their assassination of the Alethkari king (and Dalinar's brother).

This leaves the fifth and shortest of the “major” POVs to lay a bloody foundation to The Stormlight Archives along with a small number of one-off “interludes” that appear to be only tangentially connected to the major perspectives. Even when taken together, these few pages barely scratch the surface of the larger tapestry on which The Way of Kings is woven. Likewise, Sanderson only provides brief glimpses into Roshar’s magic system. Somehow combined the incredibly curious Spren, Stormlight and Shardplate, the teases suggest that Sanderson has yet another of his trademark systems in store even if he is not ready to fully divulge its secrets.

Even though The Way of Kings provides disappointingly few overt clues at the overall direction of the series as a whole, that disappointment itself speaks to the quality of the story Sanderson has begun to craft rather than a flaw in his creation. Even with the 1,000+ pages of action and intrigue he supplies, the world of Roshar still begs for further exploration. Some doorstop fantasy novels claim to be epic in scope but the only thing epic about them is the nature of the editing fail they represent. When you struggle to get through page after page of tedium the end is a welcome blessing not a curse. This is not the case here.

Sanderson belongs to the less-is-more faction of worldbuilders and it shows in the relentless pace of The Way of Kings. The book moves swiftly, jumping from perspective to perspective and constructing Roshar through active exploration rather than passive infodumping. The only slow threads in the book are some of those which detail Kaladin’s backstory before becoming a slave. They feel somewhat prolonged and when Sanderson finally reaches the pivotal moment of his life, the revelation borders on the anticlimactic. Considering the aforementioned page count, much of his backstory could have been compressed and the extra pages could be removed or, even better, repurposed to explore more of Sanderson’s brilliant new world.

The last act is particularly demonstrative of the success of this introductory volume. As the fates of Dalinar and Kaladin align on the Shattered Plains, the story begins to move at such a pace and scope that it’s impossible to put down. At the same time, it’s hard to want to finish too quickly, considering that it will be years before the second volume hits shelves. Even when I did reach the dreaded conclusion, I found myself returning to reread some of the more initially ambiguous sections. While I faulted the book earlier for lacking overt direction, upon revisiting the most cryptic sections there is a seemingly endless supply of subtle clues to discover and discuss. Sanderson accomplishes the incredible, making a dauntingly long book read quickly and leaving the reader still wanting more.

In the end, it’s impossible to deny Sanderson’s talent for storytelling. Sanderson’s prose is impressive, possessing an almost cinematic quality. While most of the thousand or so pages read effortlessly, there are several scenes which transcend good storytelling and become utterly entrancing. Whether it’s Lord Dalinar resplendent in his Shardplate (an incredible creation in its own right), Kaladin in the midst of battle, or Szeth’s capacity for gravity defying carnage, his words leap off the page and into your imagination. The storytelling is further enhanced by the beautiful illustrations dispersed throughout the book, depicting some of the more abstract portions of his storm-influenced world on the rare occasion when Sanderson’s descriptive prowess is insufficient.

Based on the introductory volume alone, it’s hard not to agree with the bold claim that The Stormlight Archives has the potential to be for the newest generation of fantasy readers what The Wheel of Time was to the last. The subtle hints at the larger scope of The Stormlight Archives are sure to attract a rabid fan base that could easily rival Jordan’s, especially with the carry over that Sanderson’s Wheel of Time books are sure to generate. But I don’t want to make any guarantees based on only ten percent of the overall story.

At this point, the best praise I can provide to The Stormlight Archives is that I devoured the thousand pages of complex worldbuilding and imaginative storytelling contained in The Way of Kings and at the end I was still hungry for a thousand more. The most disappointing aspect of Sanderson’s new series is undoubtedly the fact that the second volume will not be out until 2012 at the earliest. I’ll be waiting.

Yeti Review: Occultation - Laird Barron

In A Few Words: The Stephen King of the Pacific Northwest, Laird Barron channels his past to produce a second collection full of literary horror that is as unfathomable as it is unforgettable.

Pros: The thematic balance of the natural and the unnatural works to create an atmosphere perfect for horror; Barron's style is very visual, creating images that will stick in your mind long after you finish reading; Barron's prose is dense but poetic and rewards multiple readings;  

Cons: Writing is not for anyone looking for a light read; Lovecraftian horror can often be purposefully hard to digest at times, especially the conclusions; Character focus on realism sometimes creates unlikeable protagonists.  

The Review: Do not go out in the woods. Bad things will happen. Do not go out alone. Do not go out in groups. Again, bad things will happen. If there’s one thing to be gleaned from Occultation, Laird Barron’s second collection of horror shorts, it’s that the deep forest of the Pacific Northwest is one seriously disturbing place. Out of all of the strange events chronicled in Occultation, the unifying element is an unnatural world hidden just beyond our grasp. On the surface, Barron regionalizes his horror in a style reminiscent of Stephen King’s backwater Maine, imbuing the forest and offending towns with an understated malice more appropriate in a stealthy predator than a copse of trees. On a less literal level, he takes everyday occurrences and distorts them along the way, letting the hidden horrible world bordering our own infest and corrupt late night pillow talk and light-hearted reunions with friends.

As a quick aside, it’s important to note that Barron is an accomplished outdoorsman, having grown up in Alaska and even raced the Iditarod on several occasions. In an interview I conducted with Barron last year, he mentioned that “growing up in an environment hostile to humans is a formative experience, physically and psychologically. Profound cold, profound heat, exaggerated extremes of light and dark, and intense isolation, are elements of the person I've become and inform the subjects I choose to write about.” I was often reminded of this response while reading Occultation, as the isolation his characters experience resonates strongly, both physically in the environments they explore and emotionally as a result of the supernatural ordeals they encounter. The saying goes, “write what you know” and it’s clear that Barron knows the world his characters inhabit intimately, both in its beauty and its horror.

Another common thread in Barron’s work is a propensity for the enigmatic ending. It is easy to get frustrated with the obtuse conclusions common in short fiction, especially where incomprehensible horrors are involved and Barron is frequently guilty of providing less when more is desired. Expect to reread more than a few pages in Occultation. I’m reluctant to mark this as a strength or a weakness in his fiction as the complex language is clearly deliberate. Barron’s work is not for skimmers or escapists, rewarding multiple readings with subtle detail - details often missed while plowing forward after the driving tension that fills his fiction.

Although the eight stories that comprise Occultation do share Barron’s strong literary prose and penchant for a slow-lead up to an abrupt conclusion, I would caution reader that you should read the stories in order rather than skipping around. There is a distinct pattern to the stories alternating between the occult, Lovecraftian Horror, and less supernatural fare. This keeps the stories fresh and interesting, avoiding the subgenre burnout that sometimes occurs in single author collections. I made the mistake of jumping around at first and started to wonder if all the stories shared the same dark fantasy vibe before being hit with a string of more unique stories, most notably the excellent Strappado. To better illustrate the structure, take a look at each of the stories in order:

The Forest - A suitable opening to Barron's second collection, The Forest both introduces and encapsulates Occultation. Friends with dark pasts, hidden knowledge, maddening encounters, disturbing revelations, the duality of the natural and the un – The Forest is all of this and more, throwing open the doors to the indescribable horrors that lurk just outside our imagination. Although the occult revelation is a common occurrence in all of Barron’s stories, the language captured in The Forest as a cinematographer is introduced to a world he had only glimpsed before is some of his best. The Forest also appears to be linked to Mysterium Tremendum and The Broadsword, set against a shared backdrop that begs for further exploration.

Occultation - The titular story of the collection is a strange one. Two lovers cling to each other while the world outside their motel bed is anything but ordinary. Surreal stories typically put me off due to their lack of logic but I enjoyed Occultation to a surprising degree. This short short finishes on an unexpected note and Barron’s writing creates a sharp visual that really stuck with me, particularly when I awake to a dark room in the middle of the night. This is one of those stories where you don’t realize how much it affected you until hours after turning the final page.

The Lagerstatte – Utilizing a nonlinear structure to great effect, The Lagerstatte depicts a woman’s psychological break after the loss of her husband and son. The story alternates between the “present” and a series of recordings of her psychiatric visits which illuminate her actions in the main thread. The structure of the story coupled with Barron’s supernatural world had me questioning if she was really crazy or not. I mentioned earlier that Barron often uses the seclusion of the natural world as a mirror for the most disturbing of his occult encounters and the final revelations of The Lagerstatte are a perfect example of that trend.

Mysterium Tremendum - Mysterium Tremendum is another entry in a linked series of tales (along with The Forest and The Broadsword) hinting at some unimaginable horror lurking just beyond reality. Two couples plan a camping trip in the Pacific Northwest using a recently discovered almanac of the occult and (as typically happens) discover more than they anticipated. While the Lovecraftian Horror that Barron concocts is purposefully hard to wrap your head around, there is no denying that whatever macabre monstrosities he creates, they are downright chilling in all the right ways. Barron builds up the story slowly in a profoundly unsettling fashion, something that seems to happen in most of his work to great effect. Mysterium Tremendum continues the trend of making the natural world anything but, and as the male protagonists delve deeper and deeper into the forest they find little of the solace they set out to find. The only criticisms I can raise are the four main characters felt a little too similar and were easily confused and that certain portions of the story felt a little superfluous (although it might have added to gradual build-up of tension). But definitely one of my favorite stories in the collection, overall.

Catch Hell - Catch Hell, a tale which sees a couple travel to a remote hotel in the Pacific Northwest (again, never go there) with a rather occult legacy. As always, Barron uses the natural world to draw out the unnatural to great effect, allowing the husband’s occult explorations to contrast to his wife’s less geographical but equally sinister quest. As is often the case with horror, my largest complaint is a personal one. I find that stories that throw logic out the window hard to wrap my head around and Catch Hell has arguably the most confusing conclusion of the bunch. This is particularly troublesome when the protagonists aren’t particularly enjoyable. After multiple rereads, I was reasonably sure of what happened to the characters during the surreal ending but I was still at a lost as to why I should care. This may be a love it or hate it type story.

Strappado - This short story was originally published in an Edgar Allen Poe inspired anthology and it is one of my favorites in the collection. So many of Barron's stories concern supernatural horror, so when he makes the abrupt change back to a human but no less grotesque evil, it is both unexpected and jarring. Two jetsetters find themselves invited to an exclusive after-after party and discover that it’s not quite what they signed up for. To provide further detail would ruin the story. It’s easy to disregard supernatural horror as a figment of your imagination but the when the carnage has a more human origin; it’s significantly more pervasive and disturbing. This is only compounded by Strappado’s tone and length in contrast with the more supernatural nature of the rest of Occultation’s stories. As a result, Strappado is one of the stand out stories of the collection.

The Broadsword – Although I read The Broadsword before I delved into the Mysterium Tremendum, I would argue that The Broadsword is a better introduction to the world shared by the two stories. Pershing Dennard is a long time resident of The Broadsword, an old hotel turned apartment complex that may or may not have been built on top of something else entirely. Where Strappado takes the quick approach, the gradual build-up of The Broadsword is equally effective. With a sentiment similar to that of Hitchcock’s classic Rear Window, Dennard begins to suspect that some of the residents of his building may be up to no good. The way Barron slowly unravels Dennard stable Broadsword based reality is masterful and the grotesque implications of the climax have cemented the story in my mind for months if not years. I only wish that Barron hadn’t been so ambiguous about the atrocious act in question.

--30-- – Two scientist-types are conducting researching on land once occupied by a cult that would make the Manson Family look normal. What could go wrong? Despite an unexpectedly strong final scene reminiscent of that of Occultation (for the creep factor, not the content), I thought –30—was one of the weaker stories in the collection. It’s not a bad story per se but while it touches on most of the themes that repeat throughout Occultation (particularly the theme of isolation), it feels like more of the same rather than an innovative work.

Six, Six, Six – Another “sinister revelation” story in which one member of a couple confesses the horrors of their past, Six, Six, Six is both a simple horror story and a meditation on child abuse coupled with the love/hate nature of familial obligations. The story occurs in a very small, domestic setting atypical to the collection but it carries the same sense of looming malice within its walls. As with many of Barron’s stories, the ending of Six, Six, Six is left more than a little unclear but I didn’t mind as much because of the startling clarity of the final scene. I liked it, though I’m not sure why or how. I don’t think that Six, Six, Six worked as well to close the collection as The Forest did to open it, but the story itself definitely lingers with you after you have shut the cover.

Taken together, these stories form yet another excellent horror collection (after The Imago Sequence and Other Stories) that both excites and profoundly disturbs. Barron’s prose is intelligent and exhilarating, subtly increasing the tension at a gradual pace before plunging abruptly into conclusions that are as unfathomable as they are powerful. The Forest, Mysterium Tremendum, and The Broadsword form a standout trio of possibly linked stories and Strappado, arguably the most realistic of the stories, manages to be equally good and no less menacing. Occultation reinforces the promise introduced by The Imago Sequence and it’s clear that Barron’s future in the genre is as bright as his work is dark.

SFF Masterworks Blog / Review: The Man in the High Castle - Philip K. Dick

I've just posted my first review over at the SFF Masterworks Review. You've probably heard about it from some of my fellow reviewers but if for some reason you only read Stomping on Yeti (it's okay if you do), grab your s'mores because I'm going to retell the legend of How the SFF Masterworks Blog Was Created.

Now, I own a lot of the Science Fiction Masterworks titles. All of them in fact. Shamefully, I've read very few of them. In this case, a few equals 8. Out of 125+

So when I saw a post on Larry's excellent OF Blog of the Fallen about Thing's He Would Like To See Posted Online, one of the bullet points his wishlist read

"A group of people, over the next year or so, to combine to review all of the Gollancz SF and Fantasy Masterworks books. I would imagine that 10 reviewers, covering 5-10 books each over the course of a year, could achieve this without emptying their savings."

So I said to myself. I can be that group of people! One quick dictionary check later, I realized that I can't be a group, not by myself anyway and so I reached out to Larry to see if he was willing to back up his blog post and join in a group blog dedicated to tackling these 125+ books. Fortunately, he was and so we set out to assemble a Round Table of the Greatest Bloggers In Existence!^TM (or whoever else was interested in participating that day on Twitter). We are currently at 12 reviewers (see who here) and growing and still have room for more, if you want to join in the fun. And by fun we mean rereading suppossed SF classics that may or may not be horribly dated...

Anyway, my first book was Philip K. Dick's The Man in the High Castle. It was definitely one of those books that you think you know a lot about but when you read it, it's nothing like you expected. Everyone knows it's an alternate history in which the German's win World War II, right? But what I didn't expect (and maybe should have) was the thematic depth that Dick created in his work. There's a lot of mind bending philosophy (no surprise with PKD) under a thin layer of post war intrigue and it's really no surprise that the book has ended up on so many classic lists.

You can read the full review here. I'd recommend checking the site regularly. There are a lot of good reviewers (full list) reading a lot of good books (full list SF and F).

My next Masterwork is Greg Bear's Blood Music so if you are interested in reading along, that's the one.

Yeti Review: Ghost of Manhattan - George Mann

30 words or less: Ghost of Manhattan delivers on its promise of " steampunk superhero" but fails to deliver a logical plot, deviating wildly to reach a frustrating and seemingly random conclusion

Pros: Prose reads quickly and effortlessly; Action sequences are well written and fun.

Cons: Ending and its twist are not set up at all and conflict with previous world building effort; Secondary characters get little to no development; Identity of "The Ghost" is drawn out for far too long; Some of the action sequences feel out of place.

The Review: For better or worse, a lot of books are defined by their endings. A great ending will stick in the mind of the reader. A terrible one will see the book flung across the room in disgust. Unfortunately, the current state of my copy of Ghosts of Manhattan suggests it is one of the latter.

Simply put, the conclusion to Ghosts of Manhattan is inexplicably poor. The best endings are ones that are completely unpredictable but in hindsight, perfectly arranged. The ending of Ghosts of Manhattan doesn't just come out of left field, it comes from a whole different sport and one that the first two hundred or so pages never even hinted was being played. Imagine if the Great Gatsby ended with an alien invasion led by the robot disguised as Daisy or if zombies killed Ric at the end of Casablanca. The seeming randomness of the final scenes was so problematic that the text itself was actually revised between the ARC edition and the final print run. In fairness to the work, I reread the final version to see if my qualms were addressed. They weren’t.

From the beginning, Mann introduces us to the world of Gabriel Cross, a mash-up of Jay Gatsby and Bruce Wayne who spends his nights fighting crime as a vigilante known only as The Ghost. Like Batman, The Ghost has no actual superpowers, relying instead on gadgets and guns to clean up the streets of an alternate 1920s New York City. Unlike Batman, The Ghost has no problem killing people, making it difficult to sympathize with an often brutal enforcer. Mann’s version of the 1920s features coal powered cars, holographic communicators, and rocket powered airplanes giving it the steampunk vibe promised in the “Steampunk Superhero” tagline, albeit in an eclectic fashion.

The jumble of worldbuilding elements is further compounded by the inclusion of more supernatural elements ranging from semi-sentient men of clay to xenobiological curiosities. There seems to be no limit to what can occur in Mann’s steampunk world and the lack of internal cohesion grows more and more evident as the story progresses. The plot seems to create the setting rather than the setting influencing the plot. This is a subtle but important distinction in the craft of genre worldbuilding and one that is largely responsible for the disappointing ending.

Before the veritable train wreck of the final chapters, Ghosts of Manhattan does manage to provide the fun, fast paced read it is advertised to be. Detective Felix Donovan and The Ghost cross paths in their investigations of The Roman, a new gangster who has been making his name killing city officials in grotesque fashion and leaving a pair of ancient coins on the victim’s eyes. The investigation soon becomes personal as The Roman’s henchmen attempt to abduct Cross’s love interest, Celeste. Before long, Donovan and Cross team up to find the Roman and put an end to his heinous crimes.

In true pulp fashion, the book is more about the providing action than depth, resulting in several excellent fight sequences and a paper thin cast of characters. The action itself is the highlight of the novel and aside from the rather contrived and implausible rocket powered biplane chase it is all grand fun.  Writing prolonged action without losing a sense of spacial awareness is very difficult and the Mann's scenes play out like an action film. There is a fluid grace to this aspect of his prose, allowing for narrative focus amidst the chaos. Despite any misgivings about the subject matter, there is no denying that Mann manages to keep the plot moving and the pages turning.

Ghosts of Manhattan appears to be the first book in a sequence of “Ghost” stories. There is no denying the latent potential within the world of George Mann's steampunk superhero. If Mann can tighten up his plotting and find a better balance between character and action, future installments of this new series may be excellent indeed. Series debuts are often the weakest of the bunch (see The Dresden Files for proof) as the introduction of characters often comes at the expense of their development. Unfortunately, potential and actual are two different things and until Mann delivers on the pulpy promise hinted at in his action sequences, I can’t recommend Ghosts of Manhattan.

Yeti Review: The Lifecycle of Software Objects - Ted Chiang

In a few words: Chiang shows signs of growing pains in his longest work to date; presenting interesting questions about artificial intelligence but refusing to provide answers.

My Rating: 3/5

Pros: Chiang is an extremely strong prose stylist, creating emotion impressively quickly; the ideas of artificial but immature intelligence are fascinating and beg for further exploration; the 144 pages read very quickly and smoothly

Cons: The sum of its parts are more than the whole; Feels like a long short story rather than a short novel; many of the most intriguing concepts are left hanging and unexplored.

The Review: Ted Chiang has earned more genre awards than he has published stories. With a reputation like that, it’s hard not to have heightened expectations for The Lifecycle of Software Objects. While only 144 pages, it also represents the the longest work of his career. Chiang's latest offering follows two human programmers and the digital sentient lifeforms they help to create. Known as digients, these programmed minds start off as a 21st century version of the Tamagotchi fad of the mid 90s. Provided sufficient empirical attention and a partially randomized “genetic” code base, these “creatures” are capable of learning not unlike a pet or small child. It is the gradual development of these digients and the way their passionate owners react to their evolution that drives the story forward.

As such, the structure of Lifecycle is basically a timeline of critical moments in those relationships. This works well at first, allowing Chiang to jump a few months or a year or two to the next interesting development. Trends change, technology advances, and the digients continue to learn, progressing gradually through a childhood of sorts. This keeps the story fresh, only touching on a concept briefly before moving on. Some highlights were the debates regarding trial and error parenting (you can roll back the digients to prior save points) and how the digients reacted to and interacted with the real world when they are provided robot bodies.

However, it’s this structure that ultimately weakens the overall success of Chiang’s novella. The story feels more like a series of interconnected short stories than a comprehensive whole. The ideas introduced at the front of the book get plenty of attention as Chiang depicts both their implementation and downstream effect but toward the end of the book there isn’t enough time for the same level of exploration. This is particularly frustrating as the digients are becoming more and more capable, reaching the point of young adulthood. So when Chiang throws open the doors on a whole new sets of issues, including independence, self realization, and sexuality, there are dozens of different avenues of exploration he could take. But rather than exploring any of these promising new elements, Chiang chooses to end the book abruptly. The story needs either more words or less words, but I couldn’t tell you which.

That’s not to say the book is without merit. Having not read Chiang before, I was very impressed with his prose. It reads very cleanly and the pages fly by effortlessly. 144 pages, while short for a novel, is still a sizeable piece of fiction. It never seemed to drag and unfortunately this may have contributed to the sudden feeling of the ending. The emotional weight Chiang imbues in his writing was equally surprising, especially how quickly I became invested in not just imaginary humans but in imaginary, hypothetical, virtual creatures.

A great example of this occurs barely twenty pages into the book. One moment the digients are exploring their digital playground with all of the boundless optimism you would expect from a child. The next they are exposed to vulgarity for the first time by a careless technician, cementing a few choice words in their limited vocabularies. Because they are being developed to be sold as virtual pets for the greater online community, they have to be rolled back, erasing their childlike experience of amazement and discovery in a heartbreaking instant. While that recollection fails to do Chiang’s work justice, the amount of innocence he is able to instill his writing is very impressive.

Much like the adolescent digients described within, The Lifecycle of Software Objects feels like something stuck in the middle. There is no denying that Chiang's prose surpasses that of more prolific writers and the story teems with emotion and speculation. But it also feels like an overly long short story and lacks the conclusions that reward readers after investing time and emotion in a longer work. Instead the readers are presented with an abrupt conclusion that resolves little and feels like a trademark short story ending placed where one doesn't belong. Chiang’s writing screams with potential and it’s only a matter of time before he overcomes his growing pains and delivers a complete work. In the meantime, the intriguing concepts and prose laden with emotion make The Lifecycle of Software Objects worthwhile provided you don’t expect to find answers to the questions Chiang poses.

Yeti Review: Ship Breaker - Paolo Bacigalupi

30 words or less: Although slightly restrained by the YA nature of Ship Breaker, Bacigalupi demonstrates the talents for developing realistic characters and show-not-tell worldbuilding that won him a Nebula award.

My Rating: 4/5

Pros: Stellar worldbuilding that only explores a fraction of its depth; dynamic characters that are deeper than your average YA protagonists; story is accessable on multiple levels and appropriate for both teenagers and adults

Cons: The events of the novel don't match the bleakness of the setting; Bacigalupi occasionally resorts to YA cliches; Bacigalupi tones back on the darker elements that he usually writes about (if that is your thing)

The Review: Paolo Bacigalupi has a knack for capturing the best and the worst humanity has to offer and his latest novel is no exception. Readers experienced with his fiction will discover yet another brilliantly constructed dystopia filled with intriguing ideas. Newer readers will find the same thing but for the first time. More adult than Scott Westerfeld’s Leviathan and no-less imaginative, Ship Breaker is poised to introduce a whole new set of eager readers to the rising SF talent that Bacigalupi represents.

Ship Breaker chronicles the adventures of Nailer, a teenage boy eking out an existence working salvage on the Gulf Coast of a future America on the catastrophic side of peak oil. Exploring the inner workings of derelict freighters is hard, dangerous work and Nailer longs to escape the daily collection quota of feet of wire and pounds of scrap. Bacigalupi does an excellent job of quickly capturing the harsh reality of this future, making the first portion of the book particularly gripping as we accompany Nailer through a particularly memorable day in his scavenging career as things go awry deep within the bowels of an oil tanker.

With every page of Nailer’s introduction we learn more about his character and the world he inhabits. Where the average author resorts to what is derogatorily referred to as infodumping, Bacigalupi demonstrates his world in enviable show-not-tell fashion. As a result, the future culture of Ship Breaker feels authentic and rooted in our own history rather than an artificial construct. The strong foundations of the novel allow for more fully developed characters and in turn, a more enjoyable narrative.

After the strong opening that cements Nailer in the hearts of the audience, the main plot is realized as the young protagonist stumbles upon a shipwrecked state-of-the-art clipper ship and its priceless cargo: a discovery beyond his wildest imaginations. Nailer soon must make a difficult decision and make it fast before his abusive, alcoholic father discovers his son's secret and claims it for himself. As the action ramps up, the plot quickly travels in interesting directions, exploring the boundaries of a future begging to be exposed and leaving ideas in the background that could support entire novels in their own right.

It's worth repeating that Ship Breaker is being published as a YA novel. Ignoring the debate over what should or shouldn't be allowed in a YA book, there is no denying that some of his early work is by no means appropriate for younger audiences. Bacigalupi has written stories full of shocking material, covering topics that include population control squads hunting down and executing illegal children in cold blood and the traumatic regenesis of beings created primarily for sexual pleasure as they come to terms with the perverted nature of their existence. Bacigalupi writes this dark material well, using it to provoke thought rather than to shock and disturb but it can get pretty messed up, even for seasoned genre veterans.

The dichotomy between the unadulterated humanity of Bacigalupi’s early work and the restrictions of the YA market was one of my primary concerns going into Ship Breaker. After reading, it’s clear that he is capable of toning down some of the more adult themes that have been prevalent in his early work without losing his touch. There is a strong balance to the novel as Bacigalupi includes the trademark darker elements but relegates them to the background. There are drugs, slaves, and organ thieves in the periphery of the story but at its core, Ship Breaker is about a boy overcoming his fears.

At the same time, there is no denying that Ship Breaker is guilty of conforming to certain YA staples. A budding romance between the two main characters develops. Young characters must face older antagonists in “authoritative” positions and eventually decide the type of person they want to be in the face of pressure. Even the ending is a little bit too positive when you consider the bleak background that Bacigalupi has painted behind his cast. However, when this occurs, it’s not to excess and the strengths of the characters and the setting clearly outweigh any perceived weaknesses.

Ship Breaker is an excellent novel and a worthy successor to the Nebula-Award-Winning The Windup Girl. Bacigalupi makes worldbuilding look easy, explaining complex ideas clearly with an economy of word that allows for richer characters and a dynamic plot. Every Bacigalupi story demands further exploration of the well-crafted worlds that he only hints at. Based off the strength of his first two novels, limiting him to only one imagined world would be a mistake, both for his creativity and the good of the genre as a whole. Despite the occasional blunder into YA tropes, Ship Breaker is still thought provoking science fiction at its best; effortless to read and difficult to forget.

YetiReview: Lesser Demons and Other Stories by Norman Partridge

30 words or less: A showcase of pulp heroics, sharp prose and dark horror, Lesser Demons delivers the American blend of horror quickly becoming synonymous with the name Norman Partridge.

My Rating: 4/5

Pros: Fantastic prose with a distinctive structure that reads smoothly; Stories that recall the pulp adventures of the past while delivering a second layer of commentary; Small town American characters that are recognizable and relatable.

Cons: While good, the majority of the stories share a similar voice and tone; Collection lacks a diverse set of characters; Surreal stories not as strong as the rest of them.

The Review: Norman Partridge is an American Horror writer. By that I don’t mean he was born below Canada and above Mexico; I mean he’s a writer, a damn good one, and when he writes horror, he writes American horror. Cowboys and criminals, lawmen and drifters, soldiers and strangers. Hard edged men forged from US steel who take whatever life gives them without complaint and chase it with shot of straight whiskey. Partridge’s latest collection from the always impressive Subterranean Press is no different, full of characters ripped from the pages of classic westerns and noir mysteries. These men are given hell and more in the 10 stories that comprise Lesser Demons and Other Stories and with the rich prose that appears to be Partridge’s trademark, it’s hard not to enjoy their misery.

His prose reads like a well cooked cut of steak - thick, juicy, and oh so delicious. It’s the kind of meal that you just close your eyes and savor, chewing slowly to enjoy every last bite. This analogy is an apt one as the stories in this collection are best enjoyed in the same way. You wouldn’t try to pack away ten sirloins in one sitting and if you did, you wouldn’t enjoy it as much as if you had taken your time. Many of these stories seem to be built around similar character archetypes and when taken in quick succession, they begin to blend together. The majority of Partridge’s characters are rough souls from rougher backgrounds, often coming to grips with the type of men they are at the same time providing subtle commentary on the genres they typically inhabit.

One particular similarity is the unexplained marginalization of female characters. When they are present, they are more often than not victims or relegated to forgettable background roles. To be fair, Partridge does work in very masculine settings and many of the pulpy stories he emulates here are guilty of the same crime. The stories in Lesser Demons are born from westerns and monster movies, full of violent men and violent acts. To change the characters from the source material they are derived from would be to give up part of their core essence, something that Partridge holds dear based on the standard style of his writing.

Here is an individual look at each of the stories in this collection and the characters within.

Second Chance – 3.5/5 - A dispute over ill-gotten gains turns out to be a bit more complicated than first glance would reveal in Second Chance. Partridge does a great job of drawing the reader in with the first story in Lesser Demons but ultimately leaves a little too much unsaid leaving the final twist somewhat unclear.

The Big Man – 4.5/5 – A local bigshot, a literal giant, and an orphaned boy are the three principal characters in this small town story that some may recognize as an homage to the 50-foot monster stories B-movies of the past.. But which is The Big Man indicated by the title? That question and the amount of emotion Partridge is able to evoke in only a few pages really gave this story an extra layer that I enjoyed.

Lesser Demons – 5/5 – One of the best stories in the collection of the same name, Lesser Demons engenders feelings of I Am Legend mixed with just a touch of Lovecraftian horror. The simple sheriff doesn’t care who or what caused the outbreak of horrible monstrosities plaguing his town, he just does what it takes to survive, one day at a time. Lesser Demons really illustrates Partridges defining qualities; rich, flavorful prose, relatable “small-town American” characters, and a dark predilection for unromanticized violence.

Carrion - 3/5 – A chance meeting on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere ends the life of a former soldier and intertwines the destiny of three other unfortunate souls, driving them to a mysterious house in the desert, one whose windows don’t look out on the same world that you left when you entered it. I enjoyed the lawless Western feel of the plot but the surreal nature of the house and the encircling vultures left me a little cold.

The Fourth Stair up from the Second Landing - 3/5 – A bit more subdued that the average tale in this collection, The Fourth Stair is better categorized as psychological horror. The Fourth Stair up from the Second Landing marks a place where lives end and lives begin and it begins to haunt the minds of the mother and son who step over it on a daily basis. While there was nothing to complain about, I simply didn’t enjoy this story the way I did the majority of this collection.

And What Did You See in the World? – 3/5 – This is a strange story and honestly one I couldn’t really wrap my head around. I found the characters and their peculiarities both repulsive and intriguing especially the way Partridge keeps you guessing as to who the crazy one really is. This is one of those stories that are short enough to experiment with something different without wearing out its welcome in a longer format.

Road Dogs – 3.5/5 – If paranormal romance is turning werewolves into little more than lusty Chihuahuas, Partridge has something to say about it. His werewolves are mangy, violent beasts more likely to rip your heart out than to break it (as they should be). Drawing parallels between the savagery of spousal abuse and the irrational loyalty of family blood ties with the animal instincts of canines, Partridge sharpens the claws of a tired cliché. Although the characters are for the most part unlikeable, Road Dogs again demonstrates Partridge’s ability for crafting realistic, small-town-American characters. An American Werewolf in Paris? More like A Whitetrash Werewolf in Bumf***, Nowhere.

The House Inside – 1.5/5 – Reading like a horror version of Toy Story, The House Inside is the most surreal of all the stories in the collection and my least favorite. Surprisingly, I don’t enjoy surreal very much and this story didn’t change my opinion much. It might have been the fact that the main characters are plastic cowboys and Indians and little green army men that inexplicably spring to life under a strangely powerful sun or the fact that they continued to ask why when no answers would have made sense. The plastic violence just fell flat. I need an internal logic to my stories and when that isn’t there, I start to lose focus.

Durston - 5/5 – Haunted by his past and his reputation, the titular cowboy attempts to put his dark past behind him in this gritty tale of guns and guilt. Durston has blood money in his pocket: money he can’t scrub clean and he can’t gift away. The stark characterization of Durston and his quest for redemption is compelling and multifaceted. Again, Partridge takes a story typically linked with pulp fiction and gives it a third dimension focusing on acts of violence and death and the way humans deal with the resulting realities. Partridge’s razor sharp prose is brilliant in all of his stories but I think it really stands out especially well in Durston.

The Iron Dead – 5/5 - In what I felt this was the strongest story in the collection, Partridge gives us a badass pulp-tacular hero in the mysterious Chaney as well as an unrelenting evil to rally against. A minion of the devil himself has come to town in prohibition era America, one who slaughters without mercy and rebuilds the mutilated remains of his victims into perverse foot soldiers using whatever spare parts he can find, be they metal or man. Chaney is the last of a group of mortals sworn to end this demon’s terrible reign. This story represents Partridge at his best, gory and violent, making pulp plots read like fine literature. In A Few Words after, a brief essay about the stories in this collection, Partridge mentions that we may be seeing more of Chaney and his hell-forged hand in the future. Yes. Please.

Despite the similarities between several of the stories, there is no denying that Partridge has mastered a blend of classic pulp and literary metaphor using his gift for prose to craft tales that are enjoyable, evocative, and undeniably American. Razor sharp with a wit as dark as the hearts of his heroes, Partridge is simply one of the best prose stylists I’ve ever read. Provided you have the stomach for it, you won’t regret pulling the trigger on Lesser Demons.