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.)