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Title: The Dispossessed (Hainish Cycle Book 6)
Author: Ursula K. Le Guin
Narrator: Don Leslie
Published: Harper Audio, 2010 (1974)
Rating: 4 of 5
Page Count: 365
Total Page Count: 279,035
Text Number: 905
Read Because: continuing the series, audiobook borrowed from the Multnomah County Library and also I own a paperback somewhere
Review: A mathematician from an anarchist moon colony is the first of his people to return to the capitalistic, politically divided home planet. This is significantly more complex than previous Hainish novels (excepting possibly The Left Hand of Darkness, which I didn't reread for this Hainish cycle project—a decision I may reconsider), which are memorable for their intense but quiet introspection. That work benefits this, applying the same intensity to a larger scope, dual timelines with dual worldbuilding. Le Guin writes critically of the concept of utopia, arguing that all societies are flawed, that some are worse that others; that the work of repairing the world is daunting, unending, and nonetheless an obligation—and that argument holds as firm now as ever. I admit I prefer the deceptive restraint of the earlier novels, but I can see why this received the acclaim it did.*
* And I'm glad I didn't miss out on it, since I was under the mistaken impression that I had read it before.
Title: A Face Like Glass
Author: Frances Hardinge
Published: Amulet Books, 2017 (2012)
Rating: 4 of 5
Page Count: 490
Total Page Count: 279,525
Text Number: 906
Read Because: fan of the author, ebook borrowed from the Multnomah County Library
Review: In the strange underground city of Caverna, expressions are taught, never organically created—except by Neverfell, whose shifting face marks her as an outsider. Hardinge is a fantastic author for bizarre, atmospheric, creative concepts; her plots are weaker, sometimes deviating from that initial atmosphere by becoming action stories. Caverna is a particularly high-concept setting, a more vibrant and marginally more age-appropriate Fallen London, rich with class issues and stylized magics and many things delightfully weird. Neverfell's journey through it is part travelogue, part action/heist/mystery—a combination that suits Caverna and builds into genuinely clever twists which compliment her character arc. It can be heavyhanded in what it does, even allowing for stylization, but it does it well.
But all that I can really say about this book is that I read it as my dad was dying of cancer—while sitting with him in his final days and hours; to decompress immediately after he died. That means I can probably never read it again, but it also means it captured me. Its vibrant strangeness, its indulgences, its delightful darkness, gave me an escape while the worst was happening around me. So if I call this my favorite Hardinge, it's because I think it speaks best to her strengths, but also just because it was there when I needed it and I'm grateful for that.
Title: Children of Time (Children of Time Book 1)
Author: Adrian Tchaikovsky
Published: Pan Books, 2016 (2015)
Rating: 4 of 5
Page Count: 600
Total Page Count: 280,125
Text Number: 907
Read Because: recommended by Kalanadi, ebook borrowed from the Multnomah County Library
Review: A nanovirus encourages the evolution of spider sentience while the last remaining humans journey on an ark-cum-generation ship in search of a new home. Sometimes a speculative concept is sufficiently big and compelling as to excuse issues elsewhere in the work, and this is one hell of a concept: a massive timescale, building entire societies, weird and creative in its technology—and wrestling with an argument about the nature of humanity and sapience which may be its downfall. The bits with the spiders are good and succeed by being strange, invoking a convincing non-human society, but Tchaikovsky explores a reverse-sexism which, while well-intentioned, parallels human sexism while being reductionist and too easily solved. The bits with the humans are joyless, intentionally so: the book argues that humanity is doomed by its destructive drives; I don't even particularly disagree, but it's still a miserable read with largely unlikable characters, saved only by the way the PoV character skips through generations like a stone over water.
What really killed things for me is the ending. ( Spoiler. ) To be thus in argument with the book is a sign of engagement—this is a lot of book, it's distinctive and creative and provoking, it's long, it absolutely sells itself on concept alone; it's engaging. But those unresolved flaws rankle.
Children of Time does this thing where because spiders are cannibalistic during mating (because female spider bigger + easy snack, like, right there = omnom), therefore sapient spider society is sexist—male spiders considered inferior, no social standing, killed/eaten; female spiders building sororities/fighting for dominance among themselves. As the society evolves, cannibalism becomes increasingly taboo—the urge to it can be an enjoyable part of sexual tension, but the act is immoral. The issues of sex/gender/sexuality/sexism/cannibalism absolutely skips some steps in logic but on the whole I buy it, I think it's interesting. I don't so much enjoy how it's resolved, and the larger relationship between reproduction/sapience/sexuality and sexual practice is underexplored—but there is only time for so much, give the book's scope. (Absolutely there's cannibalism fetish porn on spider-world, but this text doesn't go there).
But there is this scene: (context: sapient spider causes himself to be eaten by sapient spider in order to save her life)
Which isn't perfect! You can't make the link of cannibalism = sexual violence = sexism and then insist this version of cannibalism (aka sexual violence) is different because it's consensual and instigated by the victim—actually you can, and should, in the same way that BDSM and rape fantasies are an important part of female desire within a misogynistic society. But it needs to be part of a conversation more complex than spider-sexism on spider-planet, which is crucially flawed, particularly in its resolution.
But that it is scene there at all and has so much potential and emotion is still real good; good job, book.
Author: Ursula K. Le Guin
Narrator: Don Leslie
Published: Harper Audio, 2010 (1974)
Rating: 4 of 5
Page Count: 365
Total Page Count: 279,035
Text Number: 905
Read Because: continuing the series, audiobook borrowed from the Multnomah County Library and also I own a paperback somewhere
Review: A mathematician from an anarchist moon colony is the first of his people to return to the capitalistic, politically divided home planet. This is significantly more complex than previous Hainish novels (excepting possibly The Left Hand of Darkness, which I didn't reread for this Hainish cycle project—a decision I may reconsider), which are memorable for their intense but quiet introspection. That work benefits this, applying the same intensity to a larger scope, dual timelines with dual worldbuilding. Le Guin writes critically of the concept of utopia, arguing that all societies are flawed, that some are worse that others; that the work of repairing the world is daunting, unending, and nonetheless an obligation—and that argument holds as firm now as ever. I admit I prefer the deceptive restraint of the earlier novels, but I can see why this received the acclaim it did.*
* And I'm glad I didn't miss out on it, since I was under the mistaken impression that I had read it before.
Title: A Face Like Glass
Author: Frances Hardinge
Published: Amulet Books, 2017 (2012)
Rating: 4 of 5
Page Count: 490
Total Page Count: 279,525
Text Number: 906
Read Because: fan of the author, ebook borrowed from the Multnomah County Library
Review: In the strange underground city of Caverna, expressions are taught, never organically created—except by Neverfell, whose shifting face marks her as an outsider. Hardinge is a fantastic author for bizarre, atmospheric, creative concepts; her plots are weaker, sometimes deviating from that initial atmosphere by becoming action stories. Caverna is a particularly high-concept setting, a more vibrant and marginally more age-appropriate Fallen London, rich with class issues and stylized magics and many things delightfully weird. Neverfell's journey through it is part travelogue, part action/heist/mystery—a combination that suits Caverna and builds into genuinely clever twists which compliment her character arc. It can be heavyhanded in what it does, even allowing for stylization, but it does it well.
But all that I can really say about this book is that I read it as my dad was dying of cancer—while sitting with him in his final days and hours; to decompress immediately after he died. That means I can probably never read it again, but it also means it captured me. Its vibrant strangeness, its indulgences, its delightful darkness, gave me an escape while the worst was happening around me. So if I call this my favorite Hardinge, it's because I think it speaks best to her strengths, but also just because it was there when I needed it and I'm grateful for that.
Title: Children of Time (Children of Time Book 1)
Author: Adrian Tchaikovsky
Published: Pan Books, 2016 (2015)
Rating: 4 of 5
Page Count: 600
Total Page Count: 280,125
Text Number: 907
Read Because: recommended by Kalanadi, ebook borrowed from the Multnomah County Library
Review: A nanovirus encourages the evolution of spider sentience while the last remaining humans journey on an ark-cum-generation ship in search of a new home. Sometimes a speculative concept is sufficiently big and compelling as to excuse issues elsewhere in the work, and this is one hell of a concept: a massive timescale, building entire societies, weird and creative in its technology—and wrestling with an argument about the nature of humanity and sapience which may be its downfall. The bits with the spiders are good and succeed by being strange, invoking a convincing non-human society, but Tchaikovsky explores a reverse-sexism which, while well-intentioned, parallels human sexism while being reductionist and too easily solved. The bits with the humans are joyless, intentionally so: the book argues that humanity is doomed by its destructive drives; I don't even particularly disagree, but it's still a miserable read with largely unlikable characters, saved only by the way the PoV character skips through generations like a stone over water.
What really killed things for me is the ending. ( Spoiler. ) To be thus in argument with the book is a sign of engagement—this is a lot of book, it's distinctive and creative and provoking, it's long, it absolutely sells itself on concept alone; it's engaging. But those unresolved flaws rankle.
Children of Time does this thing where because spiders are cannibalistic during mating (because female spider bigger + easy snack, like, right there = omnom), therefore sapient spider society is sexist—male spiders considered inferior, no social standing, killed/eaten; female spiders building sororities/fighting for dominance among themselves. As the society evolves, cannibalism becomes increasingly taboo—the urge to it can be an enjoyable part of sexual tension, but the act is immoral. The issues of sex/gender/sexuality/sexism/cannibalism absolutely skips some steps in logic but on the whole I buy it, I think it's interesting. I don't so much enjoy how it's resolved, and the larger relationship between reproduction/sapience/sexuality and sexual practice is underexplored—but there is only time for so much, give the book's scope. (Absolutely there's cannibalism fetish porn on spider-world, but this text doesn't go there).
But there is this scene: (context: sapient spider causes himself to be eaten by sapient spider in order to save her life)
He turns to Portia, who has nothing more left to give. She lies on her back, senseless, stripped of everything but her most basic reflexes.
With slow, difficult movements, Fabian begins to court her. He moves his palps before her eyes and touches her, as if he were seeking to mate, triggering slow instinct that has been built over by centuries of civilization but has never quite gone away. There is no food to restore her, save one source. There is not enough air for two, but perhaps sufficient for one.
He sees her fangs unclench and lift, shuddering. For a moment he contemplates them, and considers his regard for this crewmate and companion. She will never forgive him or herself, but perhaps she will live nonetheless.
He gives himself up to her automatic embrace.
Which isn't perfect! You can't make the link of cannibalism = sexual violence = sexism and then insist this version of cannibalism (aka sexual violence) is different because it's consensual and instigated by the victim—actually you can, and should, in the same way that BDSM and rape fantasies are an important part of female desire within a misogynistic society. But it needs to be part of a conversation more complex than spider-sexism on spider-planet, which is crucially flawed, particularly in its resolution.
But that it is scene there at all and has so much potential and emotion is still real good; good job, book.
