Time. It has nothing on Miles Naismith Vorkosigan.
I’ve read The Warrior’s Apprentice more times than I can count, and the only thing that changes is how I relate to Miles. Once I wanted to be like Miles. I wanted to have someone like Miles as a boyfriend. Then I thought it would have been so cool to be his friend. Now I wish I could raise my kid to be more like Miles (well, some of his facets, I’d definitely want her to have a better sense of self-preservation).
And that’s what I think makes a great piece of literary fiction. You can enjoy is at 15, at 28, as well as nearing forty – and not only for the nostalgia’s sake. You can always find something for yourself. Something or someone you enjoy, relate to, draw inspiration from or simply enjoy spending time with.
Reading (listening to) this book, I could hardly keep the smile off my face. I grinned, I laughed. A warm, fuzzy feeling never left me. Contentment clung to me after having to abandon it, with a sense of thrilled anticipation because I knew all of the above was just behind the corner. And there’s more of these books. More of this feeling. And that makes the very start of this series a special thrill.
I’m sure there are many reviews and reflections that will tell you all about the quality of worldbuilding, the amazing characterization and writing of Lois McMaster Bujold. Some will indicate what might be seen as plot holes and some might point out that Miles is convincing as admiral Naismith, but not THAT convincing. Some probably reflected on convenience and coincidence. However, for me, it’s all about the feeling, the immersion, the intermingling of this amazing world with my own.
I am grateful for the existence of Lois McMaster Bujold, for her craft and talent and for her willingness to share it with the world. She made it a better place for generations and generations of readers.
*The title image is the cover of the Croatian (Algoritam) edition of The Warrior’s Apprentice (Pripravnik za ratnika) by Esad Ribić.
As soon as I finished Stoner (2020), I wanted to jump on Augustus, but the epistolary form deterred me. I’m not a fan because, in my mind, the form does not allow for much excitement or creativity, or rather it allows for as much excitement and creativity as a (mediocre) tennis match. However, Augustus is not really an epistolary novel (as I see it), there is no back-and-forth, no passing of the ball. Augustus is a collection of letters, correspondences, excerpts, and journal entries by a myriad of people who were, in one way or another, a part of the life of Augustus. They are not put in chronological order. They follow the logic of the story of the man, friend, politician, father, lover… the story of Rome at her best (and worst).
The genius of Mr. Williams is shown first in that. The seemingly random ordering of correspondences that makes perfect sense and paints a picture that you need to see. We have “contemporary” recounts of the events, and same events are recounted decades after they took place. Deeply personal reflections are interspersed with historical ones. Feeling is intermingled with fact. For most part, it took effort to regard Augustus as a work of fiction, which is what makes it the best historical fiction I have read to date.
The second proof of genius is the fact that each of those myriad people who voice their thoughts in this book is singular. At no point do you confuse one “author” with the other. The tone, the language, the turn of phrase, clear relation to Augustus and other “authors” make sure that you always know who is telling the story.
The third proof is, for me, the most important one. Williams tells nothing, but he shows everything (maybe even too much). I think this level of not telling is possible exactly because of the form he chose (and because he was a genius). You end up inferring so much from these letters and entries, at times it’s even too much. Octavius is barely present for most of the book, but at the same time he permeates each and every sentence. Yes, sometimes people who like him and dislike him express their feeling directly, but mostly you have to read between the lines and there’s so much to find there it is sometimes overwhelming.
The fifth proof is that this epistolary novel is full of action, intrigue, sex, and love. It is never boring. It somehow manages to be exciting and suspenseful, while showing you all the glory and grime of Rome, power, and responsibility. Maybe this would not amaze a more experienced reader of such prose, but to me it came as quite a surprise.
Enter Octavius.
I cannot tell you what this does to the book, what this does to the heart and the mind. The ending of Augustus is one of the most exquisite pieces of literature I have ever had the privilege to read. And, if all the previous sentences did not break my heart, the last one surely did.
“Mankind in the aggregate I have found to be brutish, ignorant, and unkind, whether those qualities were covered by the coarse tunic of the peasant or the white and purple toga of a senator. And yet in the weakest of men, in moments when they are alone and themselves, I have found veins of strength like gold in decaying rock; in the crudest of men flashes of tenderness and compassion; and in the vainest of men moments of simplicity and grace.”
Now, to be true to the name of my blog, I have to touch upon one seemingly trivial piece of information, which could be considered a spoiler, insomuch that a piece of history can be considered a spoiler. The relationship of Julia, Octavius’ only biological child, and Julius Antonius, son to Marcus Antonius, is one of the best written romances I have ever read.
I don’t know what Shadowfever is, but I would not categorize it as a book. It’s one MC’s egotrip, And that MC is certifiable and should be kept under close watch at all times. I cannot even say that MacKayla irritates me, because I feel compassion for her – she is a sex-crazed, self-obsessed maniac with illusions of grandeur and some serious identity issues.
Darkfever, Bloodfever and Faefever are as good as I remember, but, come Dreamfever, it all goes belly up. I do stand by my previous claim about it being the ultimate guilty pleasure, due to Jericho Barrons. He manages to keep things afloat even in book 4. But come Shadowfever…
SPOILER ALERT (I guess)
I’m not a particularly touchy reader and it’s difficult to offend me. I’m mostly offended by bad writing and stupid plot twists. I treat fiction as fiction and am ready to suspend my disbelief as far as I can. But the treatment of rape in this series is just unacceptable. The fact that it seems to me that the main character spiraled into some form of madness after the rape might be my attempt to make some sense of it. I now realize that, after all, I am simply unable to overlook the fact that the rape is glossed over. That the person raped interacts and spends time with her rapists without any difficulty and that she has no issue with other characters reminding her of being raped repeatedly. Yeah, I don’t think I’ll ever read this again.
END OF SPOILER
Now I must go reexamine my life, because the fact that at some point of it I thought this book was awesome proves that I cannot be trusted. I thought this was the best book of the series.
I don’t know have you ever come upon one of those crazy, CAPSLOCK reviews on Goodreads where a person of female persuasion gushes about a male character. I have. Many times. Most of those make me slightly concerned for the mental health of their authors. However, I do get where they come from because there is one such character that I’ve been crazy about for years. Regardless of the faux pas Karen Marie Moning made later on in the series, Jericho Barrons remains my only serious book crush.
I was a bit apprehensive, going back to the Fever series after being terribly disappointed in it, but the apprehension proved unwarranted. Jericho Barrons still rocks.
Let me tell you how much he rocks.
I’ve decided to listen Darkfever, having discovered that audio books are a perfect tool for someone who wants to read all the time. In it, Jericho Barrons sounds like an 80-year-old grandma. And guess what. He’s still hot.
As his first appearance in the book neared, I was giddy as a schoolgirl (yes, I could have used all caps to illustrate my anticipation). And then he spoke, and my body clenched. It was horrible. But guess what. Karen knows how to write and she has written him perfectly. Yes, it is a bit disturbing, finding a character that sounds like an octogenarian woman sexually appealing. But hey….
The cramped room was suddenly stuffed to overflowing with Jericho Barrons. If a normal person filled one hundred percent of the molecules they occupied, he somehow managed to cram his to two hundred percent capacity.
Halfway down the block was a denser spot in the darkness that I took to be him. It was impossible to make out his shape, but that patch of darkness seemed to hold more substance, more potency than the shadows around it. It also made me shiver a little. Yes, that would be him.
You can feel the energy sizzling and crackling in the air as the lines flop and twist on the ground, and you know you’re standing next to raw power that could turn your way with killing force at any second.
Now don’t get me wrong. It’s not all about Barrons (although it mostly is). Darkfever is a good book and Karen Marie Moning brings suspense and dread while at the same time creating a safe haven within the ever-changing world. MacKayla Lane, a superficial, self-absorbed character grows and grows up. At first I disliked her, then I kind of liked her. Then (as the series progresses) I started loving her.
The difference between Karen Marie Moning and, let’s say, Sarah J. Mass, is that Karen controls her story and she directs the feelings of the reader, carefully but without duress. She doesn’t force you to go along, she nudges you gingerly, gives you options and allows you to choose. And she is in no hurry.
Yes, this is fairy fantasy for girls, but this is well-written fairy fantasy for girls. The best I have come across and the only reason why I decided to read Holly Black (Folk of The Air is very good) and Sarah J. Maas (nope).
And now I will continue with the Fever series with apprehension. Because I know that Karen Marie Moning fucks it up. And she fucks it up real good.
I was so angry when I finished If We Were Villains, I was ready to angry-rate it. But I won’t. It wouldn’t be fair to disregard the initial elation I felt, the enjoyment the book gave me until it became a major irritant. I loved a third of it, two thirds irritated me, and the last third (or so) I downright hated.
The thing is, the biggest fault of this book is that it did not turn out as good as I wanted it to be. As good as it could have been.
Shakespeare. Elite university. Life on campus. A group of close friends. A Crime.
One third in and I was crazy about it. I loved it. Couldn’t put it down. Was even ready to use that horrible word unputdownable when describing it. But then it happened. Inconsistencies. In everything. Story. Characters. Relationships. Everything.
As inconsistencies kept piling up, I kept hoping they will be miraculously resolved. But they were not. You cannot resolve inconsistent characterization. You cannot resolve the fact that important things are glossed over and a leaf fluttering in a crisp autumn breeze gets a full page.
Shakespeare was awesome for most of the book, as he usually is. The way his work was connected with what was going on, with what the characters were feeling was great. But it grew tedious, because the stuff it was connected to was no longer worthy. So to speak.
The writing was really good and, for the most part, it kept me going. It is the reason I’ll keep an eye out on books by M. L. Rio. I especially loved the fact that the colour red is at one point described as being arterial. One of my favourite syntagms. (Which is also used in The Last Action Hero).
The thing I hated the most, and which made me knock off a star is Oliver Marks, the MC and narrator.
At first I felt he was too perceptive for a male. Yes, yes, I know. But what I don’t know are men who notice the shade of make-up a women is wearing (dark plum purple), or a man who would say “fifteen-inch heels” instead of “high-heels”. But that wore off soon enough and I came to accept it as a me-problem, not a book-problem. However, it was soon replaced by a bigger problem.
THE FOLLOWING IS SPOILERISH, ALTHOUGH NOT REALLY.
Oliver is portrayed as a nice-guy.
“You know, everyone calls you nice,” she said slowly, expression drawn and thoughtful. “But that’s not the word. You’re good. So good you have no idea how good you are.”
But he is not nice, not really. For example, when he goes home he finds out his sister has an eating disorder which is so severe to warrant hospitalization. His parents inform him that this means they will no longer be able to pay his tuition. His reaction is to get really really angry at his parents, and at no point in the book does he express concern for his sister.
Ok, I’m not being fair. The master of words does react with: “Right. That’s … awful.” But that’s before he finds out about the tuition: “You’re telling me I have to drop out of Dellecher because Caroline needs some celebrity doctor to spoon-feed her?” That’s nice, Oliver.
Additionally, here we found out that his parents are paying 20.000 dollars (per annum, I guess) for him to become an actor. Which came like a huge surprise to me, because at the very start of the book Oliver tells us the following:
“Seems like just yesterday my dad was shouting at me for throwing my life away.” ….
My father, even more staunchly opposed than most, refused to accept my decision to waste my university years.
“Art school” alone was enough to provoke my rigidly practical father.
Apparently, it provoked him into supporting his son in pursuing his dream, even though he thought it was not the best choice. That asshole. How dares he.
And then that father goes on to point out that “your sister’s health is more important than us paying twenty thousand dollars for you to play pretend”. Horrible person. Atrocious. And other synonyms.
I was going to get into the characterizations of Richard and James, Fillipa, Meredith, and Wren. But I won’t. It would take ages, and would boil down to them all being either inconsistent or sketchy, or both.
In the end, I didn’t angry-rate the book. I just angry-reviewed it.
Since I’ve read Madeline Miller’s The Song of Achilles, I’ve been on the lookout for anything that is related to Greek mythology. Not actively searching, but keeping an eye out. What drew my attention to Lore was the cover which I really, really, really liked. So, I ended up buying it and (which is not always the case) reading it.
After almost a third of the book, it seemed like Lore might become a cautionary tale confirming the old adage “don’t judge the book by its cover” – in the literal sense. However, it turned out to be the opposite.
Greek gods and descendants of ancient heroes fighting each other in modern-day New York proved to be thrilling and fun. The story is a bit out there, and it took me a while to suspend my disbelief, but once I accepted the premise, the only thing that put a damper on the experience was the writing. Luckily, only occasionally.
It’s not bad, it’s ridiculously inconsistent. There are instances when Alexandra Bracken gives too many unnecessary information, and then there are instances when she practices the art of subtlety and writes something that’s worth highlighting and writing down.
For example, when Lore pulled out a dagger, we know that is the dead hunter’s dagger which she’d tied to her thigh with a strip of fabric. Instead “the back of her neck” we get “the hollow where the base of her skull met the ridge of her spine.” Then, when you least expect it, Ms Bracken gives you the bare minimum – just the right amount: “…he drew her closer, until she felt his blatant need for her, and a heaviness settled low in her stomach in response.” And that’s it. Thank gods, that’s it. That’s all the “spice” we get in this book and it’s one of the best things about Lore.
I’ll end on a positive note, with two quotes I liked.
I did. I took my sweet time and I finally got to the beloved ACOTAR. I was running away from it for a long time, but I knew I was going to get to it eventually. Like I got to watching Breaking Bad and the Wire, once the craziness died down. I am the type, the type that needs to see what’s the hype all about.
Surprisingly so, I get it. I get it because I read it and I enjoyed it. It’s easy, it’s simple. Unlike life.
The characters are ok, generic and unoriginal, but ok. The plot is ok. Kept me interested enough to wade through the initial irritation and start enjoying myself. There’s a lot of telling, but not much showing which made both characterization and worldbuilding seem blurry and undefined. Worldbuilding being by far the worst aspect of the book.
Occasionally, the writing gets in the way of the good parts of the book. I cannot get over things such as “the words caressing my bones”, “I/he/she/it loosed a breath”, and I really don’t need more than one “thick column of his neck”. Actually, I could do with zero of thick neck-columns.
I really hate when clumsy writing pulls me out of the story and bring me back into the real world, she bared her teeth and growled inwardly.
There were also some poor editing choices (or that’s what I’d call them). Not many, but unnecessary repetition makes it seem like the author thinks I am Guy Pearce’s character from Memento. Yes, I remember what has already been mentioned 200 times and how it might emotionally affect the character.
I don’t get two things. I don’t get the people who are obsessed with ACOTAR (or Colleen Hoover) and I don’t get what’s all the fuss about Tamlin and Rhysand. There’s a million of Tamlins and Rhysands, and at least a quarter of million of those are way more deserving of the attention Tamlin and Rhysand get. Jerricho Barrons, to name one of them. Now him… Well…
Terra Ignota is one of the best (if not the bestest) SF books/series I have ever read. I cannot remember the last time I enjoyed something as I did these four books (Too Like the Lightnining, Seven Surrenders, The Will to Battle, Perhaps the Stars). Crazy as they are. And they are crazy. Total mayhem. So many difficult themes, so much emotion, questions, events, nuances, big and small ideas, real and unreal. Identity, gender, family, government, religion, language, death, progress…
And somehow, it is not too much. But it is epic.
Ada Palmer is an amazing author, with serious Ahab vibes. I don’t know why, but to me it feels like her focus on this story was so monomaniacal that not even a kick from an actual Moby Dick or a harpoon wound in her side could have made her step away from the story as she had envisioned it. And I just love the feeling that I get when I read an author who invests so much of herself in her story. Blood, sweat, tears, flesh, bone.
Yes, there were things I did not like, especially in Perhaps the Stars. But that had no impact in the end. Because she’s that good. Even the things I did not like, I accepted, because Terra Ignota reads like a future history. And you can dislike parts of a historical account, but history gives zero fucks about your likes and dislikes.
Jehovah, these book are just…beyond.
It’s been a while since I’ve actually imagined living in a fictional world. Terra Ignota made me realize I normally enjoy new worlds purely as a spectator, not as a potential participant. But with Terra Ignota, I couldn’t stop thinking about how it would be to live in a world united, a peaceful world, the best world possible. I kept thinking which Hive would I choose, which side I’d take in the war which is meant to break the best world to make an even better one.
At first I was all about Utopia: “I hereby renounce the right to complacency, and vow lifelong to take only what minimum of leisure is necessary to my productivity, viewing health, happiness, rest and play as means, not ends, and that, while Utopia provides my needs, I will commit the full produce of my labors to our collective effort to redirect the path of human life away from death and toward the stars.”
But in the end, maybe I’m “a Humanist because I believe in heroes, that history is driven by those individuals with fire enough to change the world.”
But who knows what the Remaking of the world will bring around? How the Hives will look after a century or so? I wonder…
But, I digress. I need to say that the first book irritatedme because it was unfinished and the whole “arc” was only completed in the second book. I can see how many a reader might feel that the effort is not worth it after the first book. Even after the second. So many convoluted things happen. Stuff gets even more muddled and messy in book three and four. I mean, shit HAPPENS. But the reward. The REWARD. The way Ada Palmer wraps things up is unparalleled. Everything is cleared up, you get every answer you need, but still, those answers open enough questions to make you wonder – what comes next? You don’t get the answers to the difficult question concerning human nature, world order, gender, religion a… You get the answers to the practical stuff because those are the only answers another can give you. Those other answers you must seek yourself and see where the quest takes you.
P.S. I know the title has little to do with the review, but it has a lot to do with the books and what I like about them. However, I don’t feel like getting into it – not because I’m lazy but because I do my utmost not to include any spoilers in my reviews. Here’s a minumum of clarification:
“Our modern moths have bounced so many times off lightbulbs, they aren’t prepared for torches, and forget that wings can burn.”
I hate chaos. I hate unforeseen circumstances and I like to have some semblance of control when outcomes are concerned. Numbers, statistics, pie-charts … my favourite things to fall back to when things seem to go awry. I like neat little boxes in which I can put things and I always have arguments and proof points for whatever. I try to do this with everything, put method into madness of everyday life and find a reasonable explanation.
It’s no wonder I think science and scientific discovery are the most important thing in the universe. I think science is what makes us better, what makes us more reasonable, what makes us more tolerant. You could say that science is for me what religion is for some people. I don’t question its traditions, tenets, and concepts. Because it’s science, right? It’s all logic, reason, research, calculations, experiments, stuff like that. So, it must be true.
Is it, though?
Imagine me in this COVID-19 world. Imagine me in the world where Roe v. Wade might be overturned. Imagine me raising a three-year-old and answering questions like: “What is the world?”. (I’m doing just fine, thank you very much!)
Moving on.
Last year I read a book about quantum physics. Some of it I understood and found fascinating. Most of it I took at face value because it’s science. People smarter than me who have a better grasp at the world say it is so. Only, they are not really sure how to make (scientific) sense of some of that stuff. (Some of it just is the way it is, ok?)
The problem is, nowadays we seem to be connecting belief and science more than we did. Combining those words, belief and science, has always seemed to me an egregious breach of common sense.
But is it, really?
Against Method, in which Paul Feyerabend confuses religion, science, and PR, is the main reason because of which I’m writing this. He steps away from reason, as far as he can, claiming that is a prerequisite for scientific discovery. He argues that tradition, scientific or otherwise, is nothing more than a dominant view that can hinder progress and discovery.
“Traditions are neither good nor bad, they simply are… Rationality is not an arbiter of traditions, it is itself a tradition or an aspect of a tradition.“
Despite its lack of structure and propensity to lengthy digressions (which I, admittedly, skipped), I enjoyed the book because I liked the questions Paul asked.
“What’s so great about science? What are the reasons that might compel us to prefer the sciences to other forms of life and gathering knowledge?”
His answers are even more interesting, especially because you cannot be sure if he’s pulling your leg or giving an actual answer/solution. Which is completely fair, and kind of awesome, because Against Method clearly shows one thing: science is not as clear-cut as we would like to think. As I would like to think.
Chaos and anarchy are where Feyerabend thrives in, so it’s no wonder that he has no problem saying: “the point of view underlying this book is not the result of well-planned train of thought”.
And while my brain hurts and my worldview is a bit bruised, I love this feeling. Makes sense, right? To be a person who hates chaos and unpredictability, and also enjoys having her precepts thoroughly shaken every once in a while.
I’m not sure what would Paul make of the 21st century. Would he be happy about the chaos? Would he even consider this to be a chaotic age?
“Today [1990s] science prevails not because of its comparative merits, but because the show has been rigged in its favour… It reigns supreme because some past successes have led to institutional measures (education; role of experts; role of power groups such as the AMA) that prevent a comeback of the rivals.”
Everyone is allowed an opinion, however today [2022], unlike during Feyerabend’s today, there is a multitude of platforms to voice those opinions. (Says me, in a blogpost, brimming with my opinions).
I just read an article on Guardian, about Jordan Peterson dissing climate models. I don’t know much about Peterson (or climate models). But he did this on Rogan’s podcast which is, according to New York Times, “one of the most consumed media products on the planet” and about which doctors, scientists, healthcare professionals and professors wrote an open letter to Spotify, expressing concern due to medical misinformation. I know less about Rogan than I know about Peterson, but I can still guess who’ll get more traction. Scientists are, after all, nothing compared to influencers.
In other news, in Tennessee, a school board banned Art Spiegelman’s Maus because of nudity and swear words. There’s apparently a problem with kids in schools forming opinions and having feelings about a work of historical fiction. I haven’t read either, I’m just sharing the articles I have read today, not while doing research for this post, but just as a part of my regular day of perusing news.
Why am I writing this in a post about Feyerabend? Because I think that he had a bit too much faith in the human race, which makes me wonder if his views on science and rationality would have survived the 21st century.
“A scientist, an artist, a citizen is not like a child who needs papa methodology and mama rationality to give him security and direction, he can take care of himself, for he is the inventor not only of laws, theories, pictures, plays, forms of music, ways of dealing with his fellow man, institutions, but also entire world view, he is the inventor of entire forms of life.”
“Words I had never – not even in my wildest dreams, and trust me, I had a vivid imagination – conceived of hearing from that deep and rich tone reached my ears.”
After reading the second sentence (indicated above) of The Spanish Deception by Elena Armas, I had to check if the author was a native speaker of English. At least once per chapter I had to stop and reread a sentence because a word was put in coordination that made no sense, or an idiom or a phrasal verb was mangled.
“Overall, this magnificent and beautifully written novel is truly one of a kind that will make the butterflies in your stomach flutter.” according to CristiinaReads on Goodreads.
“As I’m sure you have already deducted…” They’re engineers. Maybe they were working on some project. She cannot possibly mean “deduced”. Of course, I do not think myself infallible, I always check. So, if something good came out of this book, it’s the fact that I now know that “deduct” can be used as a synonym for “deduce”. Only goes to show you really shouldn’t do something only because you can do it. Same goes for using “statuesque” to describe a huge, muscled man (“I could tell he was still standing there, all statuesque”), or using the word “privy” to indicate that someone is secretive (“I answered, not getting why he was being so…. privy.”)
„but there is also a lot of depth to the story. i think it handles the topics of trust, grief, family pressures, and sexism in the workplace very well. so this book is relatable as much as it is enjoyable.“ says jessica on Goodreads.
Let’s assume that I am a bit of a stickler when it comes to language. Let’s put the language aside and pretend stuff like that don’t really matter. Because the chemistry and the characters and the Spain thing are awesome, right?
No. If Catalina Martin and Aaron Blackford were real people, this book would be more like 50 pages long. Instead of 500. Because Catalina would realize that Aaron is crazy about her, and then, like adults that they are, they would have an actual conversation.
“HE’S LIKE PERFECT i feel as a society we can agree this man is the best book bf ever and if you disagree well no one cares, you are WRONG GO ARGUE WITH THE WALL.” by Francesca C (I hope she’s feeling ok).
Let’s assume that I am a bit of a stickler when it comes to willing suspension of disbelief in romance novels. Maybe my idea of adults and romance is not really, well, romantic, or it’s too realistic. Even if the answer to the previous questions was a resounding yes, it would still not help the book. Because of sentences like this one: “He probably had more muscles on his quadriceps alone than I had on my whole body.”
If you assume, you make an ass out of you and me.
I was not deceived by Ms Armas. I was deceived by the Goodreads Choice Awards and over 60,000 five-star ratings.
Cheap Thrills, Guilty Pleasures 