It was a slow read for me, Dust. It wasn't bad. It was always interesting enough, and as final chapters in a trilogy go, it had enough of the wrappingIt was a slow read for me, Dust. It wasn't bad. It was always interesting enough, and as final chapters in a trilogy go, it had enough of the wrapping things up necessities to keep me interested, but only on the periphery of my brain.
There were other books to listen to, other books to read, other things in my life that kept it pushed aside. My daughter, Scout, started writing an essay a out Wool about two weeks before I finished Dust, and that was enough to finally garner my full attention. With about half way to go, it was a quick read to the finish. A fast, somewhat thrilling, and mostly satisfying read.
I look forward to watching the on-screen version of the show. I hope it is as bleak as the "reality" of the future Hugh Howey has created rather than as bizarrely hopeful as the ending Howey gave us in Dust because that ending that screams of "new beginnings" and "hope" seems to be ignoring precisely what got his people to their dystopian genesis point.
Dust is a good story. I'm just not sure it is a "true" story in the way the Lost Generation would have characterized truth. And a hundred years distant they may be to us now, but they were certainly onto something.
I really appreciated Dr. Suzanne M. Desan's perspective on everything French history ranging from the Terror to Napoleon's Hundred Days.
Much of the sI really appreciated Dr. Suzanne M. Desan's perspective on everything French history ranging from the Terror to Napoleon's Hundred Days.
Much of the survey work I have consumed about the Revolutionary - Napoleonic period of France has tended to fall into one of two camps: 1. the Revolutionaries (specifically Robespierre) and Napoleon were BAD! (which often implies that the Monarchists and the Brits were GOOD! Pffft.); 2. that the Revolutionaries and the Terror were better than GOOD ... they were GREAT! and that Napoleon was not just bad he was so bad he was EVIL (maybe even as evil as Adolf and Uncle Joe). Dr. Desan, however, provides a much more balanced perspective on the era, and she makes sure that the primary figures of the period are given a fair shake, and that even includes Marie Antoinette.
This was especially thrilling for me when much of the reforms and progress made by the Revolutionaries -- and those created by the Little Corporal -- then spread by Napoleon's Empire building were credited properly. These achievements are often glossed over or eclipsed by the violence of the time and the biases of the historians passing along the information. But Dr. Desan gives us all the good and the bad mixed together.
When Ridley Scott's Napoleon film (starring Joaquin Phoenix) comes out, I may have to relisten to the second half of her lectures (the Napoleon-centric lectures) for a quick brush up, but for anyone who wants their own primer heading into the film, Dr. Desan's lecture series is the perfect listen. ...more
When I started listening to The Stars, Like Dust, I expected that I've have to suspend my frustration with Asimov's old school attitudes. I did. When When I started listening to The Stars, Like Dust, I expected that I've have to suspend my frustration with Asimov's old school attitudes. I did. When the inevitable sexist moments popped up -- they really weren't as egregious as I'd expected (which surprised me) -- I was able to compartmentalize them in my brain box marked "Asimov: That Little Piggy," then I moved on without it hurting my enjoyment. I was able to do the same with Asimov's Orientalism. I opened my brain box marked "Asimov: That Western Chauvinist" and plopped his transgressions in, allowing me to move on without too much guilt or pain.
Which was nice because much of The Stars, Like Dust is a hard sci-fi full of political intrigue and the machinations of Empire. I can't say I was a big fan of any of the characters (they're all fairly despicable), but the way they used each other, the way they danced the power dance, the way one topped the other topped the other, it was the sort of power struggle that thrills me. It wasn't a blood bath like Game of Thrones, nor was it entirely sterile. It was, however, utterly believable. I bought it all, and by the time I reached the last moments of the story I was sad to know it was wrapping up. I wanted to go on. And then I hit the last couple of sentences of the story when the fate of "the document" -- the MacGuffin that kicked off The Stars, Like Dust -- was revealed, and it all fell apart. Amazing how a few words can contain so much hurt, so much delusion, so much stupidity, so much disappointment.
I will, of course, continue to listen to Asimov's Galactic Empire, but unless something changes drastically it won't reach the heady levels it reached just before its fall. Oh well....more
I find myself disappointed with one element of Death at Victoria Dock, and disappointed enough that it sort of tainted what would otherwise have been I find myself disappointed with one element of Death at Victoria Dock, and disappointed enough that it sort of tainted what would otherwise have been my favourite Phryne Fisher book so far.
No need to go into that here.
What I will say is how much I love Miss Fisher. I love that she is a sexual being, and unrepentantly so. I love that she is clever, fierce, empathetic (most of the time), loyal, manipulative, open minded, daring, and cool under fire (both literally and figuratively). Whatever disappointments may come my way in this series, I can't see stopping. I'm really taken with Kerry Greenwood's heroine (especially as voiced by Stephanie Daniel). I think I really need to start watching the series in earnest. If Essie Davis' screen performance is half as good as Daniel's audio performance, I'll adore the television series. Fingers crossed. ...more
As an author and a teacher of literature I believe in one simple truth when it comes to the meaning of all literature: authors should keep their mouthAs an author and a teacher of literature I believe in one simple truth when it comes to the meaning of all literature: authors should keep their mouths shut when it comes to the "meaning" of their work.
Now to be fair to Mr. Orwell, I understand that his declaration of Animal Farm as an allegory for the Russian Revolution was in a letter to French author and translator Yvonne Davet. It was a private correspondence, so it's not like he posted his 240 characters on Twitter or went on a late night talk show and shared his thoughts with a Jimmy or started a "Here's what my books mean" YouTube channel. He wrote a letter to a friend / colleague and his words have since escaped to all the world. Even so, I wish that letter had been burned before the rest of us caught wind of Orwell's official intentions.
It is, you see, a giant impediment to understanding the breadth of Animal Farm. Yes the Russian Revolution is there. It's impossible to miss, and we all would have seen its presence without Orwell's epistolary confirmation (especially those of us familiar with the October Revolution). The problem is that too many people (students I have taught, folks I've argued with in bars, leftover '80s Cold Warriors, my Dad) hear USSR, stop at USSR, then sum it all up with "Communism is bad! See ... Orwell said so," and all too often these same fucktards add, "Communism bad! Capitalism Good!" like the oblivious little sheep they are.
That isn't what Orwell was ultimately saying, no matter what he said in his letter to Ms. Davet. Though he found inspiration in the Russian Revolution and what Stalinism eventually did to derail Marxism in the Soviet Union, Animal Farm -- as a work of literature -- goes for something more fundamental: the story reveals the overwhelming drive to obtain and maintain power and how each and every one of us is responsible for whatever system springs up to oppress others or ourselves.
Animal Farm = Responsibility. It is as simple and as complicated as that....more
Here's a truism for you: Americans love to talk about themselves. One look in the American History section of even a Canadian bookseller will show youHere's a truism for you: Americans love to talk about themselves. One look in the American History section of even a Canadian bookseller will show you how much (to name but one place to find such talk). There is a wealth of US History, from the Revolutionary War to the Civil War to the World Wars to the Vietnam War to the Gulf Wars to the "War on Terror" to every other interesting thing that has come out of the USA on those shelves, so when there is a dearth of written history surrounding some topic of American interest, the silence is noticeable.
The radical side of the '60s is just such a case (as is the Korean War, but I will save that for another day). What little there is written about the Radical Sixties, and there is very little in comparison with all other US History topics, comes mostly from the '60s themselves, and mostly from writers who were there, who were agitating, who were putting their bodies and reputations on the line. And of those books the bulk are by and about the Black Panther Party (which is fantastic, and I highly recommend that avenue of study to you if you haven't followed that avenue before).
Hence, whenever a book appears on my radar talking about the Radical Sixties -- with Nam as a backdrop to and motivation for radicalism rather than being presented as the single most important event of an American generation -- I pounce.
Mark Kurlansky's 1968: The Year that Rocked the World is such a book, focusing on the epicentric year in not just US radicalism but world radicalism, and it found me in the perfect mood to be reminded of how and why we fight the status quo.
Not that Kurlansky is 100% dedicated to such an endeavour. No, there are times when Kurlansky's journalistic voice -- for this is much more a piece of excellent journalism as opposed to a critical / academic history of the period -- interjects, expressing a preference for slow (read "civilized") change over radical protest. I suspect Kurlansky does think the status quo needs changing, but slow change without upheaval. Yet, and to his great credit, Kurlansky doesn't allow his partiality for more peaceful practices to cloud his judgment of the radicals he's writing about.
Tom Hayden, Angela Y. Davis, Abbie Hoffman, Muhammad Ali, Alexander Dubček, Bobby Kennedy, Betty Friedan, Daniel Cohn-Bendit, Mark Rudd (all radicals in their own ways) and countless others get a fair assessment from Kurlansky's reportage, and only the slightest of Yankee-patriot (chauvanistic) bias slips in when the radical in question happens to be Czech or German or French or Mexican.
What 1968 does and does best is to report on the year itself. From January to December, from Pope Paul VI declaring January 1st, 1968 a day of peace to Apollo 8 orbiting the moon and sending us the first pictures of humanty's first Earth Rise, Kurlansky catches us up on all the upheaval, all the anger, all the striving, all the failures, all the moments that would and do resonate right up until today. Well ... maybe not "all." More like "most of." Kurlansky does tend to gloss over some events and offer others in deep detail. He loves Czechoslovakia and the Prague Spring, he has a thing for the student uprisings at Columbia University, and he dutifully gives us the happenings in and around the Democratic National Convention in Chicago, but there are happenings around the world and in the US that only get passing mention. Really, he had enough to work with to produce a 1,200 page tome rather than this well written, eminently readable 383 page primer on 1968, but he was going for something more intimate and personal, something that spoke to him and that he hoped would speak to his readers. In that ... he succeeded.
Moreover, I found a number of people and places and events to explore more deeply in 1968, and I enjoyed being reminded of things I'd forgotten -- I even loved the little snippets from around the world that helped to remind the readers that there is always something important going on somewhere, even if it isn't your own backyard. But I leave 1968 wishing it had been even more than it was, hungering for more about the Radical Sixties, wishing there was a way to rekindle that spirit in the same way again, despite the internet and all the ways those in power have learned to derail our radicalism.
Who knows? Wherever Kurlansky's 1968 leads me next may be exactly what I was looking for all along, then I can credit Mark Kurlansky for doing what I had hoped he would do in the pages of his own book. And if that doesn't happen ... 1968 is still well worth the time. What a fucking year. ...more
I kind of swore off Fantasy about ten years back. I still enjoy rereading Guy Gavriel Kay's books when I have a fantasy Well ... that was unexpected.
I kind of swore off Fantasy about ten years back. I still enjoy rereading Guy Gavriel Kay's books when I have a fantasy tickle that needs to be dealt with, but the serious Fantasy that makes everyone else so excited these days just makes me cold.
Last year, though, I found myself working as a script supervisor for the writer's room of a Fantasy T.V. series (despite my current cooling on Fantasy, I was a huge fan in my younger years and was thrilled to be working in a genre I once adored), and the head writer and I started talking about our love for cool magic systems. I professed my love for the Congery of Mordant's Need, and he gushed about Allomancy, convincing me that I should give Mistborn a chance. I remained skeptical, and even though I started the series (because I love and trust Zack), and read a page or two in the shower every day, it took me forever to get going, which was much more about me, my biases, and all the other books I was reading than about Mistborn.
About two weeks ago, and half way through the book, when the magnificent Vin was being humiliated once again at a ball, I decided to move The Final Empire out of the shower and into my every day life. I finished it quickly, even having to slow myself down to savour what I was reading, and now I am genuinely sad that it is over, but stoked that there are sequels to enjoy.
I struggled to write this review because I simply can't cover everything that I loved about this book, so I have decided instead to talk just a little bit about what brought me to the book in the first place -- Allomancy.
I think it is wrong to call Allomancy or its sister system, Feruchemistry, magic systems, and because of that I also don't really consider Mistborn a fantasy novel. I would go so far as to call it a Sci-Fantasy, having more in common with Star Wars, for instance, than Lord of the Rings. The Allomantic system, after all, has an unassailable internal logic. The "burning" of metals by the Allomancer to tap into that metal's power is in no way supernatural in the classic magic system sense. It has much more in common with Marvel's mutants (specifically Magneto) and their genetic mutations, than it does with the classic wizard memorizing from a spellbook or magically endowed rods, staves or wands pumping out spells because they just have the power we are asked to accept.
Allomancers have to practice, they have to get their metallic mixtures right, they need pure metals, they run out of their powers when their metals are burned away. It all makes pseudo-scientific sense, and it is, for my money (and in full agreement with my head writer) one of the most original power systems ("magic" if you must) that I have ever encountered. No matter what else Brandon Sanderson does in his already impressive career, I am sure that nothing will beat the creation of Allomancy and Feruchemistry.
Hmmm ... perhaps the creation of Vin and Kelsier? or Obligators and Steel Inquisitors? or ...? Whatever. You get the picture....more
Wool is good. Wool is honest. Wool is thrilling. Wool tells us about ourselves. Wool is compelling. Wool is possible and where we could find ourselvesWool is good. Wool is honest. Wool is thrilling. Wool tells us about ourselves. Wool is compelling. Wool is possible and where we could find ourselves. Wool is community. Wool is curiosity. Wool is control. Wool talks about power and how to hold it. Wool is the veil over our eyes. Wool is frightening. Wool is acceptance. Wool is logic run amok. Wool is the fleece of a sheep. Wool is holding back secrets. Wool convinces us of all sorts of things that may not be. Wool is obsession. Wool is good intentions. Wool is a future. Wool is tenacity. Wool is hubris. Wool is satisfying. Wool is hopeful. Wool is good. ...more
I really needed to hear this book. The history of the anti-Vietnam / equal rights / environmental movements of the 60s and 70s is deeply underrepresenI really needed to hear this book. The history of the anti-Vietnam / equal rights / environmental movements of the 60s and 70s is deeply underrepresented. There are countless books about the Vietnam war, but much, much less about the resistance to the war and all the other resistances that sprung up around the war resistance (and all of them continue to resonate today).
Of course, it doesn't do the USA and their corrupt system any good to give voice to their most potent internal critics (sure they let them publish because of their so-called "freedom," but they also push them to the periphery); it behooves the USA, instead, to keep those voices marginal and underrepresented, so that all the USA's hard work in propaganda and indoctrination doesn't go to waste.
Knowing all of this makes Witness to the Revolution all the more important because this book is in the words of those who witnessed the era, those who resisted, those who fought the government, those who were shot by soldiers at Kent State, those who burned down or blew up government buildings, those who fled to Canada, those who lived in communes, and it is also the voices of those --FBI, CIA, government officials, President Nixon -- who tried to silence and/or stop them.
The real words of the people who were there is an invaluable piece of history (now matter how flawed eye witness accounts to anything are), and Clara Bingam makes the wise decision to let all those voices speak for themselves. There is no commentary from Bingam. Just the people who were there talking about what they saw and did.
I listened to this on audible, and I find myself deducting one star from my rating here because of the book's narrator, Jo Anna Parrin. Her voice was monotonous, nasally, and I often found myself wondering if she had bothered to preread what she was reading. Some emotional contact with the words of others would have gone a long way to mitigating the grating sound of her voice.
But that's okay. The material is strong enough to carry the day, and now that I have the physical book, I won't have to listen to it ever again. ...more
There was a moment early on in this novel when I was worried that the Leguin I love so dearly had checked out while writing The Eye of the Heron.
It wThere was a moment early on in this novel when I was worried that the Leguin I love so dearly had checked out while writing The Eye of the Heron.
It was two moments at once, actually: Luz, the main character, began to feel like a Disney Princess, just as the Shantih Towners -- the "People of Peace" -- and their non-violent philosophy looked as thought it was going to end up in the realm of fantastical naiveté. But this is Leguin -- not some easily fooled adolescent or some money hungry crafter of drivel. The Eye of the Heron avoided the pitfalls I worried about and delivered something rather beautiful in its simplicity.
It is more novella than novel, but in that condensed space Leguin weaves in many threads from the rest of her great blanket of work. There is a thread of Omelas here, a hint of The Beginning Place there, some Dispossessed over here, a tiny bit of Planet of Exile over here, and others threads that feel familiar but can't quite place.
I come away from The Eye of the Heron not knowing exactly what Leguin was trying to tell me, but knowing full well what I found on the planet Mud.
And if Disney ever decided to make an impressive and important Princess movie, this would be the place to start -- even if that was never, in any way, Leguin's intention. ...more
It is funny, scandalous, wonderfully inclusive, political, powerful, and always relevant. I teach it often, and read itLysistrata is one of my faves.
It is funny, scandalous, wonderfully inclusive, political, powerful, and always relevant. I teach it often, and read it even moreso; I've taken part in staged readings and watched it on-stage, but this is the first time I have listened to a translation of Aristophanes. Listening didn't go well.
The problem is with the narration. Not the narrator herself, though.
The solo voice the publishers hired to deliver every character in the play --Marnye Young -- was quite good. She has excellent variation in her tones, is incredibly adept at changing her voice to play multiple characters convincingly, and has an impressive array of accents at her disposal. Sounds good doesn't it?
Well, the problem is that no matter how strong Young's abilities are, asking one person to voice the entire cast of Lysistrata, including the choruses, is a bit like asking one person to play all eleven positions on a football pitch -- disastrous. It is a struggle throughout the listening to tell characters apart when the lines are being delivered fast and furious. A few extra cast mates would have made all the difference. Truly, I feel bad for Young that she was not given more support and that her exceptional vocal skills were wasted here (although one can't help wondering how flattered she must have been to take on such a challenge on her own).
The worst part, though is that the producers seemed to realize somewhere along the way that forcing Young to do the work on her own was a bad idea because they tried to rectify their error with post-production audio fiddling. They added reverb and layered Young's voice, and generally made a hash of all the strophe and anti-strophe, turning something that should have been melodic and musical into something robotic and droning. It's embarrassing stuff, and -- for me at least -- all the tinkering made this audio nearly unbearable.
It is a great play ruined. Listen at your own peril, my friends. ...more
I am not a communist, but I love Lev Davidovich Bronstein. A man of potent principle, a fighter, a thinker, a revolutionary, a person who gave a shit.I am not a communist, but I love Lev Davidovich Bronstein. A man of potent principle, a fighter, a thinker, a revolutionary, a person who gave a shit.
My son is busy reading his autobiography (which I read many years ago, just after I read the amazing biography of Trotsky by Isaac Deutscher), and I needed a quick reminder to ground myself in our discussions. This intro by Tariq Ali is a perfect primer. Whether on eis coming at it from my direction -- a many years admirer needing a refresher -- or the neophite's direction -- knowing nothing of Stalin's (that prick!) greatest critic and adversary -- this book is a perfect overview of what made Trotsky tick, what made him important, what made him a target of assassination, and what made and makes him one of the least appreciated "great men" of history.
I may not agree with him entirely, but I do love him and admire him. "All power to the Soviets!" right, Lev?...more
This was a much needed addition to the scholarship of the War for Peace in Vietnam (the name given to the war by the Vietnamese themselves). It is an This was a much needed addition to the scholarship of the War for Peace in Vietnam (the name given to the war by the Vietnamese themselves). It is an international look at the war from a Vietnamese voice (and therefor perspective), foregrounding the Vietnamese players on either side of the War for Peace, while the Sino-Soviet split and the USA (and even the French in the early stages) are discussed in terms of what affects their machinations had on their respective Vietnamese allies.
This is not an act of erasure of the great colonial, imperial and neo-imperial powers, but a broadening of the discussion in order to better understand how North Vietnam prevailed -- despite their many short comings and errors -- and how the USA failed -- despite their many victories and military might.
Now that I have finished, I look forward to the PBS-Burns-Novick documentary. I hope their work goes for a similar balance in their examination of the War for Peace, demystifying both Vietnamese sides and cutting through the increasingly depressing US propaganda, which attempts to diminish and justify US crimes and failures. If it fails in that balance, however, Lien-Hang T. Nguyen's excellent Hanoi's War: An International History of the War for Peace in Vietnam has me well shielded.
This book is a true step towards beginning to understand this definitive battle of the Superpowers' supposedly "Cold War."...more
All the while I was reading Mieville's history of the October Revolution, I was plotting a big review that would do the subject justice, something polAll the while I was reading Mieville's history of the October Revolution, I was plotting a big review that would do the subject justice, something political, something timely, something incendiary, but now that I have reached the end, I am going to do something more muted.
October: The Story of the Russian Revolution is beautifully told. China Mieville has turned it into a thrilling narrative wherein all the major players of the twentieth century's most important revolutionary moment appear with all their foibles and flaws intact. Heroic moments get their due, major errors get the criticism they deserve, the factions and rivalries are all on display, and the dual revolutions that led to the C.C.C.P. move along without the feeling of overwhelming inevitably I expected from an history for which I already knew the outcome.
There is even a hint of Mieville's penchant for evoking cities in his descriptions of revolutionary Petrograd. Yet even with its decidedly Mievillian elements, it is a wonderful break from his often opaque and challenging fiction. There is clarity here: clarity of purpose, clarity of plot, clarity of character. Mieville, when forced to work with already existing elements, can write in a way that can appeal to most anyone.
The finest part of October comes at the very end, however, when Mieville talks about what was to come after the heady days of Communist victory, of how egos and errors within the Bolshevik ranks married to outside intervention (and there was plenty of that, though most people never discuss it or credit it) led to the rise of Stalinism. He tells of how nothing was inevitable. He explains why, even with its betrayal by Stalin and eventual collapse, the revolution was a truly great moment, a hopeful moment, and a light we should look to to remember that there can be and are other ways to govern ourselves. That the way we live is not the only way. It was a welcome reminder for me.
I wish, however, that this had just been a volume in an overarching history of the Soviet Union by China Mieville. What a tale for his voice to tell. ...more
It took me a while to get through The Sympathizer, but my pace was dictated more by my sadness than my enjoyment of the novel. Indeed, I enjoyed and aIt took me a while to get through The Sympathizer, but my pace was dictated more by my sadness than my enjoyment of the novel. Indeed, I enjoyed and admired Viet Thanh Nguyen’s Pulitzer Prize winning novel very much, but I found reading a few chapters would deplete what little reserves of positivity my mind contains these days, and after hitting a deep, dark hole of depression, I would need to climb out before returning to conquer a few more chapters.
The story of the nameless (perhaps I will call him Nameless from here on out) double agent, an half-Vietnamese / half-French communist, divided culturally by his birth, divided ideologically by his calling, divided internally by his self-professed ability to see things from both sides, was stunningly told (even with the occasionally too flowery prose for my taste), and it was told in a way that cut and thrust at every side of the pre & during & post Vietnam conflict. And it was depressing, cutting and thrusting deep into my own barely contained existential malaise.
I set this novel down today even deeper into my funk. The last questions Nameless asks himself and us making explicit what had been implicitly working itself into me all novel long. And I find myself despairing for humanity -- as I often do -- and loathing all systems of control and governance, and hating war as I always have, but not with the incendiary fightback I once felt when I idealistically believed I could make a difference, nor even the glacial crawl of generational patience where hope for a distant future exists. It is, instead, the hate of the mountainside that knows the winds and rains and snows and ice will eventually wear it down to dust.
I closed Viet Thanh Nguyen’s book with a sigh that contained all that despair. I recommend it to anyone and everyone....more
The parallels between my life and the life of the Wingos is terrifying. What happened to them in the story didn't all happen to me, but much of it didThe parallels between my life and the life of the Wingos is terrifying. What happened to them in the story didn't all happen to me, but much of it did, and some of it came close, and the parts that didn't happen to me and the people I love were still connected emotionally to The Prince of Tides, which, if you know anything about The Prince of Tides, tells you that I carry a lot of damage.
I read this book twice in the late eighties and once in the early nineties, the first time at the behest of my mentor, the second and third time because I am a glutton for punishment. Many years later, this time in fact, I came back to The Prince of Tides because my son expressed an interest in watching the film with me, and I wanted to experience the entire book one more time before I watched the adaptation (which would be a third viewing).
When I finished it the other day, I wept for the last hour of Alan Carson's narration. I was cooking dinner and my family was around the house doing their thing. I tried hard to stifle my sobs as I worked (not out of shame but because I didn't want to disrupt everyone's alone time), but my sniffles were too huge and my nose blowing too prolific (a tell-tale sign that I am sad or sick because I have no allergies and the tiniest of noses), and everyone of them appeared at some point to see if I was okay and give me hugs. When they knew I was joy-sad crying over a book they gave me love and wandered back to their happenings. I love my family.
And I love this book. I love this book for the way it dives into pain and unlocks it; I love this book for the way it challenges our sacred cows and sacrifices them to healing; I love this book for its honesty; I love this book for being a mirror I can stare into, can share my pain with, can heal just a little more every time Tom heals.
I dunno. This may not be for everybody, but it sure is for me. Thank you, Mr. Conroy. You have given me a gift with your words. I hope you found peace in death, good Sir....more
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