McSweeney's 45

It's another anthology from McSweeney's, with dueling (ok, alternating) tales from a Bradbury anthology and a Hitchcock anthology. Some of them are classics (Bradbury's "The Pedestrian"), some are tediously long (Lucille Fletcher and Allan Ullman's "Sorry, Wrong Number"), one is out-of-place (John Cheever's "The Enormous Radio", while an excellent story, just doesn't quite feel like it belongs in here).

China Mieville's "The Design" is excellent and really impressed me, and Brian Evenson's "The Dust" certainly feels like it could be in a 50s/60s anthology. Kafka's "In the Penal Colony" is both terrifying and awful (and the machine described therein is featured in Gene Wolfe's Book of the Long Sun). Julian May's "Dune Roller" is an example of a really worthwhile story I was previously unfamiliar with (more than likely because Hitchcock, rather than Bradbury, picked it, but it certainly could have been a Bradbury pick). In contrast, Benjamin Percy's "Suicide Woods" doesn't belong in here, both because it has little in common with the other stories in the anthology, and because it has far too much in common with stories in other McSweeney's anthologies. I feel like I've read it a dozen times previously, and that's not a good thing, either for it or those other stories.

Overall, recommended. Even the stories I was less than thrilled with are page turners (and as far as page turners, the last story enclosed here is terrifying, and has a lot in common with a favorite, Alfred Bester's "Fondly Fahrenheit.")

The Guns of August

I'm not sure if there's anything I can say about Barbara Tuchman's The Guns of August that hasn't been said already. It's nothing if not tight, though -- yes, it's not a short work, and the subject matter isn't easily and quickly distilled, but Tuchman retains her focus throughout.

Tuchman starts with the funeral of King Edward VII in 1910:

"the greatest assemblage of royalty and rank ever gathered in one place and, of its kind, the last."

and moves with deftness through the pre-war conditions, of the Germans, the French, the Russians, and the British, as well as the psychology that drove those plans -- of Kaiser Wilhelm, of the French generals, of the Czar and the general staff, and the British government.

 How many children witness something that impresses them enough in early childhood to write a book featuring the incident? How many of those stories would be noteworthy? As a child, Tuchman (along with her family) witnessed the German battlecruiser SMS Goeben's mad dash across the Mediterranean to Constantinople, fleeing British pursuit, who had realized too late that she wasn't making a break for the Atlantic. In a paper move, she was purchased by the Ottoman government, and spent the rest of the war in their service. Tuchman (as she notes in the introduction) was fascinated by this, and incorporates it into her narrative. Is it wholly necessary? Not entirely, but it helps set the stage of the naval war. I would have preferred the Battle of the Falkland Islands have been incorporated, but that was in December, rather than August (although Tuchman sometimes reaches into early September and October)

I'm not sure that I know enough about the First World War to say that this is a comprehensive account of August 1914, but there's a wealth of information here, about both what actually happened, and the motivations of those actors, drawn from letters and memoirs.

I was honestly hoping this would be more about the July Crisis, but Tuchman's extensive account of the first month is so masterful, I was very disappointed when it ended on the eve of the First Battle of the Marne. Recommended highly.

Heart of a Dog

There's a reason this wasn't published in Russia until 1987, and it had nothing to do with the quality of this novel. Written during the height of the NEP period, it's a transparent satire of the life of both the arrivistes and the old money.

At first I thought this was going to be a work along the lines of Jack London, as it opens with the dog as the narrator. But it quickly moves to a third person perspective (although the changes in intelligence the dog undergoes would make for a challenging first "person" perspective).

The conceit of the story is that by transplanting certain parts (such as the pituitary gland) from a (recently deceased) human into an animal, the animal could gain human form and intelligence. Of course, the newly-human dog behaves exactly the way one would expect (crudely), and sides with his benefactors enemies.

It's an easy read, would recommend.

Live! From Planet Earth

There's a lot to unpack in Live! From Planet Earth, (a posthumous anthology of George Alec Effinger stories) but the most interesting ones are the O. Niemand stories (slightly less so their forerunner, "Two Sadnesses.")

The O. Niemand stories are a kind of shared universe story -- they're pastiches of famous American short story writers, set on an asteroid with a dome for life support. The stories have little to no commonality other than that -- they share the same world, but the characters from different stories never touch, or are even glimpsed in the periphery of the others' circles. The Ring Lardner takeoff "Two Bits" and the Twain sendup "The Wisdom of Having Money" are the best of these; the Hemingway bite ("Afternoon Under Glass") is quietly powerful.

Since this is an anthology selected by other writers and editors, we get a blurb at the beginning of each story. Some are more about the writer's connection with Effinger, others are more about the story they're nominally introducing. It's a nice touch, to humanize a man that we wouldn't otherwise know.

There are a few stories in here that aren't strictly science fiction -- "Housebound" is a treatment of agoraphobia, and "Glimmer, Glimmer" works as horror, but it's the same voice throughout. One of Effinger's touches is that even those we would think are the most competent are just as human and scared and fallible as the rest of us -- witness the President in "Solo in the Spotlight."

Not that this is perfect -- "Target: Berlin!" and "At the Bran Foundry" are both farces that don't entirely work for me. "All the Last Wars at Once" is a bit of one, but it absolutely does. "Everything But Honor" is a time travel story with a nice twist, with an ending that's . . .well, not perfect, but in the hands of someone else, it could have been very ugly. 
 
Effinger was a talent who died far too young, and this is absolutely worth picking up.

Conference of the Birds

One of the perils of reading works that are in the public domain is that you wind up with subpar or dated translations. I can't speak to how accurate this translation is, and it's unfortunately incomplete. (Which would explain why some of the points featured in most summaries of the poem are missing here).

What this is is an allegory for the search for meaning and submission to God. I would recommend another translation, if you'd like to pick it up -- I do not love Fitzgerald's work here (AABB tends to numb me, and I have to think he's not exactly totally faithful to the original text)

The Master and Margarita

The Master and Margarita is not the Faustian temptation story that I thought it would be. Nor is it the story you'd expect from "Satan appears in modern city, wreaks havoc". It's not a tragic love story, either, even if it hints at veering in that direction.

What we do get is Pontius Pilate in Jerusalem (first as a story a character is telling, then later as excerpts from a novel a different character had written). One of the fascinating things about this is how Bulgakov uses different, more obscure translations than we would expect; it's "Yershalaim" rather than "Jerusalem", "Yeshua Ha-Notsri" rather than "Jesus of Nazareth", and "Judas of Kerioth" rather than "Judas Iscariot." This device signals that this isn't quite the story as represented in the Gospels. Instead, it's a (plausible) accounting of a potential historical Jesus, his disciple (only one in The Master and Margarita), his betrayal, and his eventual execution. This story is interspersed with the contemporary action of the novel, that is the Prince of Darkness himself, and his retinue in 1930s/40s Moscow.

Said action entails the actions of the retinue of Professor Woland (a mysterious foreigner we meet in the first chapter, and who appears to be Satan): a man-sized cat, a fanged assassin, a freakishly tall fop, and a witch in and around Muscovite society. In short order, they take over an apartment (of a man who Woland corrects on the historicity of Jesus), organize a magic show which ends with half the audience in a state of undress, expose hypocrites, and get the one man who sees through it committed to an asylum.

Our title characters are introduced later in the narrative: we meet the Master in the asylum, when he's the neighbor of the character who's committed. We hear of Margarita through the story of his life he tells, but we don't meet her until much later in the novel.

Would recommend, as this is a variety of novels in one: that of the historical Jesus in Judea, a not-quite bildungsroman of the poet we meet early, a political satire, and a madcap adventure.

Civilwarland in Bad Decline

Sometimes it's interesting to see how a writer thinks, how their experiences shape their stories. The afterword to Civilwarland in Bad Decline is a little on the nose in that regard; George Saunders details what he was going through as he was writing these stories, how he was relatively broke, working a job he wasn't entirely enthused about, and worrying about how he would be able to provide for his family. In that light, the stories here about parents working a job they hate to support their children, worrying about failing their family, and actually failing to support their family are a lot more poignant.

Out of seven stories in this collection, four ("Civilwarland in Bad Decline", "The Wavemaker Falters", "Downtrodden Mary's Failed Campaign of Terror", and "Bounty", as well as the bonus story "A Lack of Order in the Floating Object Room") are set in amusement parks. Saunders cover this in the afterword, as well, as well as in an interview:

The truth is, I started writing theme park stories not out of thematic or political interest. I was just trying to divest myself of a certain tendency that I had, which was to be a stodgy, Hemingway-esque realist. I really loved Hemingway, so I wrote a lot of stuff in grad school that was kind of like Hemingway transplanted into my life, but somehow it didn't work. I noticed as a device if I set the story in a strange place, the language got a little more oomph in it. At first it was a way to keep myself honest, to keep me from falling back into this reactionary realist mode that I couldn't pull off. And at the time that I was working on the first book, I was also working at a company that was kind of squeezing the life out of me. It was one of those artistic accidents where I thought I was just doing something to be pragmatic, and then when I did it I could see all the political ramifications. So now I'm actually trying not to do those stories as much, but every so often one will hit me and it will seem like so much fun. It's a step up into that kind of weird fiction that's irresistible.

 The theme park stories are all a little different, of course: "Civilwarland in Bad Decline" is both funny and tragic as hell, as we see through the eyes of a downtrodden verisimilitude inspector who both hates and is lousy at his job, but sticks it out for the sake of his children (with a wife who no longer respects him). "The Wavemaker Falters" concerns a man who caused a tragedy losing the respect of his wife through dealing with it. Of the others, "Bounty" is the longest, and the most memorable; it deals with a dystopian future where society has broken down and where mutants, called "Flaweds" are second-class citizens: working menial jobs, or even enslaved. Unfortunately, it's the least tight of the stories here.

I would highly recommend this; all the stories are imaginative and effective.

The Devil in the White City

Erik Larson's The Devil in the White City is widely praised, and it's easy to see why. It's a meticulously researched work that alternates chapters on the planning of the 1893 World's Fair with the activities of the serial killer H. H. Holmes, who operated in and around Chicago at the time. At least, the planning and architecture chapters are meticulously researched; the Holmes chapters are full of speculation, as he didn't document his activities the way the Fair's architects did; most of Holmes' actions are thus from informed speculation or forensics. (This isn't a problem unless one is going to insist on strict historical accuracy, as Larson is certainly an entertaining writer)

As a work of history that reads like a novel, this is absolutely a success. Obviously, this is not a novel, or we would have our major characters (Burnham and Olmstead on the architecture/planning side, and Holmes) intersect at or near the climax of the novel. Happily, they remain unaware of each other (Holmes was more interested in young, single women, being who he was). The closest we have to something like that is a subplot revolving around the eventual assassination of Carter Harrison, by a Guiteau-like office seeker.

Definitely recommended.

The Assassination of Margaret Thatcher

Like all short story collections, The Assassination of Margaret Thatcher has its ups and downs. There are a few that could be autobiographical ("Sorry to Disturb" and "How Shall I Know You?"). There's what may be a vampire story (or just an extended meditation on mortality) in "Terminus", and there's a story that was possibly written to indulge in a grammatical pun ("Comma", because of course).

There's at least one story in here that I'd never like to read again, which is "The Heart Fails Without Warning." (which, incidentally, is an incidence that occurs in one of the other stories) It's a look at a family dealing with one of their daughter's eating disorder, and it's unsettling as hell.

The class of the lot is the title story, which is (I believe) the only piece in this collection that was not previously published. It's oddly fascinating to read, given that it's a revenge fantasy for a certain class of British intellectual, and it's not played 100% straight (thankfully, because even if you believe Thatcher is odious, you have to wink a little, or it comes off as psychotic.)

This is very much worth reading -- the prose is both memorable and limpid, I knocked this out relatively quickly.

The Anabasis

On the one hand, this is a classic. On the other, it's a disjointed mess. I'm not even sure it's this particular translation -- Xenophon is occasionally mentioned (in passing) in the first half of the book, before being prominently featured in the second. This isn't an epic (so there's no divine intervention), but there's a lot of sacrifice -- Xenophon will hardly leave his tent without having the diviners tell him what he should do.

It's one of the original adventure stories, but I would not recommend it.

The Fall of Hyperion

The Fall of Hyperion suffers from the same issues of many other sequels -- answering questions is often less interesting than asking them, and resolving mysteries is often less interesting than letting them remain mysterious.

In The Fall of Hyperion we do get a resolution to the pilgrim's stories, although like the previous book, it's on a bit of a cliffhanger.

While Hyperion employed the conceit of each pilgrim telling their story to pass the time, in the style of Chaucer, this novel's conceit is that the pilgrim's experiences are relayed through the not-quite-dreams of another character, which is less engaging.

We also get a significant look at the Big Picture in the universe of the novel, which is interesting from a world-building perspective, but again less than perfect. Some of the actions of the antagonists seem a little too-clever-by-half, as well, sounding more like they have plot armor rather than actual decision making. (Some of this can be handwaved in-universe, but it's still weak, IMO)

Overall, this is a solid read, but not quite what Hyperion was.

The Stars My Destination

One of the problems with older science fiction novels is how dated some of their assumptions about the future can be. In the big picture here, Bester misses feminism. In the smaller, he misses tattoo removal. Getting past those points, this is a fantastic classic novel that's been hailed as one of the forerunners of cyberpunk.

Bester's protagonist is Gully Foyle, who in one of the anticipations of the cyberpunk movement, is not a savory character. He's introduced as a mediocre worker, who after being stranded in space, decides to take revenge on the ship that failed to pick him up, rather than the crew of the ship. He has to have this explained to him by someone he meets in prison. He's also an unrepentant killer, a rapist, and a manipulative bastard. It's nice to have an antihero in a novel written in the 50s -- it would be too easy to have the protagonist be a big, bouncing Boy Scout, working to overthrow a corrupt system. But this isn't a corrupt system -- it's not a pleasant one, but it;s not a dystopia or a tyranny.

One of the conceits The Stars My Destination is that teleportation has been discovered, within limits -- it's not a technological breakthrough, but rather unlocking part of the human mind/subconscious to will oneself hundreds of miles (a theme similar to Bester's other classic novel, The Demolished Man, in which telepathy is unlocked in a like manner). However, although humanity has spread to outer space, teleportation is only possible on a planet, and only if the destination (and departure point) are well known to the individual. So the very rich keep themselves isolated in labyrinthine mansions, prisons are kept dark to prevent prisoners becoming familiar with the area, etc. Large corporations controlled by families have massive influence, and new social structure -- one man huffily insists "There are thousands of Presteigns. All are addressed as 'Mister'. But I am Presteign of Presteign, head of house and sept, first of the family, chieftain of the clan. I am addressed as 'Presteign'. Not 'Mister Presteign'. Presteign."

There is a lot to like about The Stars My Destination, but by far the worst part about it is the dialogue -- it's very clunky, and the characterization often isn't too much better. Some of this can be chalked up to not having the freedom to address sexual issues or themes the way later sci-fi writers would be able to, but the majority has to fall on Bester. Luckily, the novel is strong enough to be exemplary even with these flaws. Recommended without reservation.

Hyperion

Dan Simmons' Hyperion is highly acclaimed, and it's easy to see why -- it takes the structure of the Canterbury Tales and sets it IN SPACE. There's more to it than that, of course; one of the traits that Hyperion shares with other great science fiction is that it seamlessly integrates the reader into a vastly different world (a different universe, really) than the one we're used to, without using characters to deliver exposition dumps. We hear of the monstrous Shrike obliquely at first, then again and again, and even by the end of the novel, we're still not sure what it is entirely. We do get a chapter towards the end that is mainly an exposition dump (in the form of a character's journal), but due to it's relatively (relativistically?) unique structure, I don't mind.

Having several narrators (one of whom we are informed at the beginning of the novel is a spy) allows different voices, motivations, and for us to guess on reliability and the accuracy of the tales

Although Hyperion is the first in a series of four, it's entirely possible to read as a standalone novel, there are a few issues and mysteries set up there will have to be answered in subsequent sequels (the nature and motivations of the Shrike, of some political players, the mysterious disappearance of one character, and the resolution of some of the plot). It even has a satisfying and appropriate ending.

Highly recommended.

The Man in the High Castle

As with all of Philip K. Dick's work, the question has to do with the nature of reality, and our relation to reality. The reality here is an alternate history in which Giuseppe Zangara succeeded in assassinating FDR, leading to the Axis triumphing over the Allies in the Second World War.

How realistic is the alternate reality? I'm not sure I buy the Nazis on Mars (!) in 1962. The scope of their projects? Absolutely. Our setting is the Western United States, though, an area controlled by the conquering Japanese.

One device that I really like is the incorporation of the I Ching, which several of the characters use to guide their actions; "should I follow the suggested course?" or "what is going to happen next?"

A nod at the nature of reality is that there's a popular novel, The Grasshopper Lies Heavy (paraphrased from a line in Ecclesiastes) in which Roosevelt survives the assassination (as he does in our reality) and through his strong leadership, the US is prepared for World War II, and the Allies win. As more of this novel-within-a-novel is revealed, it's clear that the world of The Grasshopper Lies Heavy is not our own -- Roosevelt doesn't seek a third term, and there are other important points of divergence.

The climax of the novel is (perhaps) a Japanese diplomat slipping into another reality after contemplating a piece of jewelry made by American artisans. Left unsaid is if the reality is the one of The Grasshopper Lies Heavy, of our reality, or another one entirely. (One would think the reality would be one of the above. A third reality, resembling both of those, would be needlessly complicated, right?)

Or perhaps the climax could be said to be the end, which implies (of course, this being Dick) that the world of the novel isn't the true reality, but a false one. As to whether true reality is the world of The Grasshopper Lies Heavy (thus implying our world is false, as well), our world, or another one entirely is left unsaid.

I really enjoyed this -- I thought the characters moved the plot well and were better put together than some of Dick's other stories, and the interweaving of Japanese culture into American really worked for me. The questions as to the nature of reality and the prophecy of the Book of Changes were well incorporated, as well. Recommended.

Lolita

Lolita is a weird novel -- despite the subject matter, it's clearly not intended to (and does not) titillate, but the sexuality (even if not expressed explicitly) is impossible to separate from the content.

A friend of mine said the only way that Nabokov could have written this is if he was a pederast. I rejected that utterly without reading the novel, and after reading the novel, I just think that's a funny assertion.

I'm having trouble thinking of what I want to say about this -- it's the difference between enjoying the writing and approving of the subject matter. Our narrator (who gives himself the ludicrous moniker of  'Humbert Humbert') is not quite unrepentant, never tries to obfuscate what he has done (although he does avoid explicit description), and occasionally tries to justify himself. Nevertheless, he's certainly not reliable. (In fact, for many people, the textbook definition of "unreliable narrator" is "Humbert Humbert." I would argue that this probably isn't the best example, since he's not obviously contradicting himself two chapters later, but later parts of the book do have a more difficult-to-believe sheen.) If you're reading a novel looking for redemption, this is certainly not it. Humbert does realize that he's robbed Lolita of her childhood, but given how monstrous his actions are, that doesn't come close to making up for them.

As with other Nabokov, there's a lot of worldplay, some double entendres, plenty of other languages inserted (in the case of Humbert, this makes sense, as he's ostensibly European. In the case of Nabokov, moreso).

Yes, this is worth reading. Yes, this is more than a little unsettling. Yes, there are layers (as Nabokov himself notes in the afterward, he certainly wasn't trying to glorify Humbert Humbert.)

The Martian

I was a little surprised to get a hard copy (well, soft cover, but close enough) of this, given how this is one of the works that heralds of the e-book revolution point to.

Anyway, this is a straightforward adventure-type novel. My copy has a short interview with the author afterwards, where he mentions admiring Heinlein. I don't really see any Heinlein here, but that era of SF shows through here.

This was apparently first released in serial form, and it kind of shows. There are a few more crises than you'd typically expect if it had been not serialized, some of them more telegraphed than others.

With a book like this, the criteria you're looking for is did it keep you turning pages? If yes, then it did its job. This was diverting, if nothing else.

At the Mountains of Madness

The cover illustration depicted here has little or nothing to do with this book -- at no point are human characters revealed to be some sort of undead skeleton. However, the image is appropriate -- it shows the horror that can lurk behind the ordinary, the banal, how normalcy can be pulled aside for a terrible revelation.

The story is told in a typical conceit -- as the sole survivor of an Antarctic expedition, the narrator is attempting to warn future explorers against disturbing what he and his companions had.

What Lovecraft is good at is building tension -- things start slowly for the expedition, with exploration and sample taking, until an isolated group makes a discovery "that will do for biology what the work of Einstein did for physics." This, of course, puts the expedition on the path to disaster. The isolated group goes incommunicado, and when a relief expedition arrives, they find the camp in disarray, the men and the dogs wildly slaughtered, and some specimens missing. It's implied, rather than outright stated, that these specimens had lain dormant, rather than dead, and had revived and perpetrated this.

What Lovecraft isn't great at is prose. There's a lot of repetition in terms of "we withheld these details from our reports, but now I must steel myself and reveal the truth," and "ill-prepared we were for dealing with things beyond our ken". It's effective, though, as repetition is a device of madmen, and Lovecraft's protagonists are having the limits of their sanity stretched.

The setting is almost a character in itself, in that Lovecraft spends an enormous amount of time describing the awful city of the creatures, and letting our protagonist read their murals and learn their history. It's very creepy, if a little convenient that a professor of geology is intimately familiar with the Necronomicon and other tropes of Lovecraft's universe.

I would recommend this -- it's not quite what I had expected, and reading works that Lovecraft has influenced makes this lose some of it's power, but it retains enough to remain fresh.

Traffic

The first thing I thought when finishing this book was "Well, that was interesting." Whether that says more about the book's subject matter or my lack of intellectual creativity is a matter of debate, I suppose, but this is an interesting book. Although I did find it interesting, I think its reach exceeds its grasp somewhat.

There's a lot here -- the prologue is about how we merge when construction closes a lane on the highway (spoiler: the author advocates merging towards the end of the lane, in a zipper merge, but notes that we have issues because not everyone thinks that way). We then go through how anonymity vs. awareness of others influences how we act on the road, how we fail to receive feedback on our driving (with a sidebar on self-driving cars), how our eyes perceive objects while we're moving, traffic flow and human nature, congestion, traffic engineering, traffic around the world, and risk. Quite a bit to digest, even if it is presented clearly and sequentially. (There's even a few notes "this subject will be covered in detail in a later chapter")

This is all very readable and interesting, but my issue is that for a work that details some of the issues we face on the roads, there's not too much time spent on solutions. (The author notes that we are conditioned to reporting our commute in terms of time, as opposed to distance, as well). Any solutions presented are typically within small lines, or must be inferred (such as setting sidewalks farther back from the road can increase pedestrian deaths). Worth reading, and plenty to think about, but I can't help but feel that this could have been more than it is.

Why Big Fierce Animals are Rare

What an enormous disappointment. I had been expecting an examination of large predators, their habits, their needs, and why they are relatively rare (because large animals have large energy needs, and predation isn't terrible efficient). Instead, there's one chapter on that (sharing the book's title), and a general overview of ecology, from the effects of the Sun, to the soil, to "The Social Lives of Plants," the differences in habitat of the land v. the ocean (other than one being wet). It's informative, if dry.

I wouldn't recommend this, unless you're looking for a "basics of ecology" book.