Eagle's Path

2023-11-20: Review: Thud!

Review: Thud!, by Terry Pratchett

Series	Discworld #34
Publisher	Harper
Copyright	October 2005
Printing	November 2014
ISBN	0-06-233498-0
Format	Mass market
Pages	434

Thud! is the 34th Discworld novel and the seventh Watch novel. It is partly a sequel to The Fifth Elephant, partly a sequel to Night Watch, and references many of the previous Watch novels. This is not a good place to start.

Dwarfs and trolls have a long history of conflict, as one might expect between a race of creatures who specialize in mining and a race of creatures whose vital organs are sometimes the targets of that mining. The first battle of Koom Valley was the place where that enmity was made concrete and given a symbol. Now that there are large dwarf and troll populations in Ankh-Morpork, the upcoming anniversary of that battle is the excuse for rising tensions. Worse, Grag Hamcrusher, a revered deep-down dwarf and a dwarf supremacist, is giving incendiary speeches about killing all trolls and appears to be tunneling under the city.

Then whispers run through the city's dwarfs that Hamcrusher has been murdered by a troll.

Vimes has no patience for racial tensions, or for the inspection of the Watch by one of Vetinari's excessively competent clerks, or the political pressure to add a vampire to the Watch over his prejudiced objections. He was already grumpy before the murder and is in absolutely no mood to be told by deep-down dwarfs who barely believe that humans exist that the murder of a dwarf underground is no affair of his.

Meanwhile, The Battle of Koom Valley by Methodia Rascal has been stolen from the Ankh-Morpork Royal Art Museum, an impressive feat given that the painting is ten feet high and fifty feet long. It was painted in impressive detail by a madman who thought he was a chicken, and has been the spark for endless theories about clues to some great treasure or hidden knowledge, culminating in the conspiratorial book Koom Valley Codex. But the museum prides itself on allowing people to inspect and photograph the painting to their heart's content and was working on a new room to display it. It's not clear why someone would want to steal it, but Colon and Nobby are on the case.

This was a good time to read this novel. Sadly, the same could be said of pretty much every year since it was written.

"Thud" in the title is a reference to Hamcrusher's murder, which was supposedly done by a troll club that was found nearby, but it's also a reference to a board game that we first saw in passing in Going Postal. We find out a lot more about Thud in this book. It's an asymmetric two-player board game that simulates a stylized battle between dwarf and troll forces, with one player playing the trolls and the other playing the dwarfs. The obvious comparison is to chess, but a better comparison would be to the old Steve Jackson Games board game Ogre, which also featured asymmetric combat mechanics. (I'm sure there are many others.) This board game will become quite central to the plot of Thud! in ways that I thought were ingenious.

I thought this was one of Pratchett's best-plotted books to date. There are a lot of things happening, involving essentially every member of the Watch that we've met in previous books, and they all matter and I was never confused by how they fit together. This book is full of little callbacks and apparently small things that become important later in a way that I found delightful to read, down to the children's book that Vimes reads to his son and that turns into the best scene of the book. At this point in my Discworld read-through, I can see why the Watch books are considered the best sub-series. It feels like Pratchett kicks the quality of writing up a notch when he has Vimes as a protagonist.

In several books now, Pratchett has created a villain by taking some human characteristic and turning it into an external force that acts on humans. (See, for instance the Gonne in Men at Arms, or the hiver in A Hat Full of Sky.) I normally do not like this plot technique, both because I think it lets humans off the hook in a way that cheapens the story and because this type of belief has a long and bad reputation in religions where it is used to dodge personal responsibility and dehumanize one's enemies. When another of those villains turned up in this book, I was dubious. But I think Pratchett pulls off this type of villain as well here as I've seen it done. He lifts up a facet of humanity to let the reader get a better view, but somehow makes it explicit that this is concretized metaphor. This force is something people create and feed and choose and therefore are responsible for.

The one sour note that I do have to complain about is that Pratchett resorts to some cheap and annoying "men are from Mars, women are from Venus" nonsense, mostly around Nobby's subplot but in a few other places (Sybil, some of Angua's internal monologue) as well. It's relatively minor, and I might let it pass without grumbling in other books, but usually Pratchett is better on gender than this. I expected better and it got under my skin.

Otherwise, though, this was a quietly excellent book. It doesn't have the emotional gut punch of Night Watch, but the plotting is superb and the pacing is a significant improvement over The Fifth Elephant. The parody is of The Da Vinci Code, which is both more interesting than Pratchett's typical movie parodies and delightfully subtle. We get more of Sybil being a bad-ass, which I am always here for. There's even some lovely world-building in the form of dwarven Devices.

I love how Pratchett has built Vimes up into one of the most deceptively heroic figures on Discworld, but also shows all of the support infrastructure that ensures Vimes maintain his principles. On the surface, Thud! has a lot in common with Vimes's insistently moral stance in Jingo, but here it is more obvious how Vimes's morality happens in part because his wife, his friends, and his boss create the conditions for it to thrive.

Highly recommended to anyone who has gotten this far.

Rating: 9 out of 10

2023-11-19: Review: The Exiled Fleet

Review: The Exiled Fleet, by J.S. Dewes

Series	Divide #2
Publisher	Tor
Copyright	2021
ISBN	1-250-23635-5
Format	Kindle
Pages	421

The Exiled Fleet is far-future interstellar military SF. It is a direct sequel to The Last Watch. You don't want to start here.

The Last Watch took a while to get going, but it ended with some fascinating world-building and a suitably enormous threat. I was hoping Dewes would carry that momentum into the second book. I was disappointed; instead, The Exiled Fleet starts with interpersonal angst and wallowing and takes an annoyingly long time to build up narrative tension again.

The world-building of the first book looked outward, towards aliens and strange technology and stranger physics, while setting up contributing problems on the home front. The Exiled Fleet pivots inwards, both in terms of world-building and in terms of character introspection. Neither of those worked as well for me.

There's nothing wrong with the revelations here about human power structures and the politics that the Sentinels have been missing at the edge of space, but it also felt like a classic human autocracy without much new to offer in either wee thinky bits or plot structure. We knew most of shape from the start of the first book: Cavalon's grandfather is evil, human society is run as an oligarchy, and everything is trending authoritarian. Once the action started, I was entertained but not gripped the way that I was when reading The Last Watch. Dewes makes a brief attempt to tap into the morally complex question of the military serving as a brake on tyranny, but then does very little with it. Instead, everything is excessively personal, turning the political into less of a confrontation of ideologies or ethics and more a story of family abuse and rebellion.

There is even more psychodrama in this book than there was in the previous book. I found it exhausting. Rake is barely functional after the events of the previous book and pushing herself way too hard at the start of this one. Cavalon regresses considerably and starts falling apart again. There's a lot of moping, a lot of angst, and a lot of characters berating themselves and occasionally each other. It was annoying enough that I took a couple of weeks break from this book in the middle before I could work up the enthusiasm to finish it.

Some of this is personal preference. My favorite type of story is competence porn: details about something esoteric and satisfyingly complex, a challenge to overcome, and a main character who deploys their expertise to overcome that challenge in a way that shows they generally have their shit together. I can enjoy other types of stories, but that's the story I'll keep reaching for.

Other people prefer stories about fuck-ups and walking disasters, people who barely pull together enough to survive the plot (or sometimes not even that). There's nothing wrong with that, and neither approach is right or wrong, but my tolerance for that story is usually lot lower. I think Dewes is heading towards the type of story in which dysfunctional characters compensate for each other's flaws in order to keep each other going, and intellectually I can see the appeal. But it's not my thing, and when the main characters are falling apart and the supporting characters project considerably more competence, I wish the story had different protagonists.

It didn't help that this is in theory military SF, but Dewes does not seem to want to deploy any of the support framework of the military to address any of her characters' problems. This book is a lot of Rake and Cavalon dragging each other through emotional turmoil while coming to terms with Cavalon's family. I liked their dynamic in the first book when it felt more like Rake showing leadership skills. Here, it turns into something closer to found family in ways that seemed wildly inconsistent with the military structure, and while I'm normally not one to defend hierarchical discipline, I felt like Rake threw out the only structure she had to handle the thousands of other people under her command and started winging it based on personal friendship. If this were a small commercial crew, sure, fine, but Rake has a personal command responsibility that she obsessively angsts about and yet keeps abandoning.

I realize this is probably another way to complain that I wanted competence porn and got barely-functional fuck-ups.

The best parts of this series are the strange technologies and the aliens, and they are again the best part of this book. There was a truly great moment involving Viator technology that I found utterly delightful, and there was an intriguing setup for future books that caught my attention. Unfortunately, there were also a lot of deus ex machina solutions to problems, both from convenient undisclosed character backstories and from alien tech. I felt like the characters had to work satisfyingly hard for their victories in the first book; here, I felt like Dewes kept having issues with her characters being at point A and her plot at point B and pulling some rabbit out of the hat to make the plot work. This unfortunately undermined the cool factor of the world-building by making its plot device aspects a bit too obvious.

This series also turns out not to be a duology (I have no idea why I thought it would be). By the end of The Exiled Fleet, none of the major political or world-building problems have been resolved. At best, the characters are in a more stable space to start being proactive. I'm cautiously optimistic that could mean the series would turn into the type of story I was hoping for, but I'm worried that Dewes is interested in writing a different type of character story than I am interested in reading. Hopefully there will be some clues in the synopsis of the (as yet unannounced) third book.

I thought The Last Watch had some first-novel problems but was worth reading. I am much more reluctant to recommend The Exiled Fleet, or the series as a whole given that it is incomplete. Unless you like dysfunctional characters, proceed with caution.

Rating: 5 out of 10

2023-10-24: Review: Going Infinite

Review: Going Infinite, by Michael Lewis

Publisher	W.W. Norton & Company
Copyright	2023
ISBN	1-324-07434-5
Format	Kindle
Pages	255

My first reaction when I heard that Michael Lewis had been embedded with Sam Bankman-Fried working on a book when Bankman-Fried's cryptocurrency exchange FTX collapsed into bankruptcy after losing billions of dollars of customer deposits was "holy shit, why would you talk to Michael Lewis about your dodgy cryptocurrency company?" Followed immediately by "I have to read this book."

This is that book.

I wasn't sure how Lewis would approach this topic. His normal (although not exclusive) area of interest is financial systems and crises, and there is lots of room for multiple books about cryptocurrency fiascoes using someone like Bankman-Fried as a pivot. But Going Infinite is not like The Big Short or Lewis's other financial industry books. It's a nearly straight biography of Sam Bankman-Fried, with just enough context for the reader to follow his life.

To understand what you're getting in Going Infinite, I think it's important to understand what sort of book Lewis likes to write. Lewis is not exactly a reporter, although he does explain complicated things for a mass audience. He's primarily a storyteller who collects people he finds fascinating. This book was therefore never going to be like, say, Carreyrou's Bad Blood or Isaac's Super Pumped. Lewis's interest is not in a forensic account of how FTX or Alameda Research were structured. His interest is in what makes Sam Bankman-Fried tick, what's going on inside his head.

That's not a question Lewis directly answers, though. Instead, he shows you Bankman-Fried as Lewis saw him and was able to reconstruct from interviews and sources and lets you draw your own conclusions. Boy did I ever draw a lot of conclusions, most of which were highly unflattering. However, one conclusion I didn't draw, and had been dubious about even before reading this book, was that Sam Bankman-Fried was some sort of criminal mastermind who intentionally plotted to steal customer money. Lewis clearly doesn't believe this is the case, and with the caveat that my study of the evidence outside of this book has been spotty and intermittent, I think Lewis has the better of the argument.

I am utterly fascinated by this, and I'm afraid this review is going to turn into a long summary of my take on the argument, so here's the capsule review before you get bored and wander off: This is a highly entertaining book written by an excellent storyteller. I am also inclined to believe most of it is true, but given that I'm not on the jury, I'm not that invested in whether Lewis is too credulous towards the explanations of the people involved. What I do know is that it's a fantastic yarn with characters who are too wild to put in fiction, and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

There are a few things that everyone involved appears to agree on, and therefore I think we can take as settled. One is that Bankman-Fried, and most of the rest of FTX and Alameda Research, never clearly distinguished between customer money and all of the other money. It's not obvious that their home-grown accounting software (written entirely by one person! who never spoke to other people! in code that no one else could understand!) was even capable of clearly delineating between their piles of money. Another is that FTX and Alameda Research were thoroughly intermingled. There was no official reporting structure and possibly not even a coherent list of employees. The environment was so chaotic that lots of people, including Bankman-Fried, could have stolen millions of dollars without anyone noticing. But it was also so chaotic that they could, and did, literally misplace millions of dollars by accident, or because Bankman-Fried had problems with object permanence.

Something that was previously less obvious from news coverage but that comes through very clearly in this book is that Bankman-Fried seriously struggled with normal interpersonal and societal interactions. We know from multiple sources that he was diagnosed with ADHD and depression (Lewis describes it specifically as anhedonia, the inability to feel pleasure). The ADHD in Lewis's account is quite severe and does not sound controlled, despite medication; for example, Bankman-Fried routinely played timed video games while he was having important meetings, forgot things the moment he stopped dealing with them, was constantly on his phone or seeking out some other distraction, and often stimmed (by bouncing his leg) to a degree that other people found it distracting.

Perhaps more tellingly, Bankman-Fried repeatedly describes himself in diary entries and correspondence to other people (particularly Caroline Ellison, his employee and on-and-off secret girlfriend) as being devoid of empathy and unable to access his own emotions, which Lewis supports with stories from former co-workers. I'm very hesitant to diagnose someone via a book, but, at least in Lewis's account, Bankman-Fried nearly walks down the symptom list of antisocial personality disorder in his own description of himself to other people. (The one exception is around physical violence; there is nothing in this book or in any of the other reporting that I've seen to indicate that Bankman-Fried was violent or physically abusive.) One of the recurrent themes of this book is that Bankman-Fried never saw the point in following rules that didn't make sense to him or worrying about things he thought weren't important, and therefore simply didn't.

By about a third of the way into this book, before FTX is even properly started, very little about its eventual downfall will seem that surprising. There was no way that Sam Bankman-Fried was going to be able to run a successful business over time. He was extremely good at probabilistic trading and spotting exploitable market inefficiencies, and extremely bad at essentially every other aspect of living in a society with other people, other than a hit-or-miss ability to charm that worked much better with large audiences than one-on-one. The real question was why anyone would ever entrust this man with millions of dollars or decide to work for him for longer than two weeks.

The answer to those questions changes over the course of this story. Later on, it was timing. Sam Bankman-Fried took the techniques of high frequency trading he learned at Jane Street Capital and applied them to exploiting cryptocurrency markets at precisely the right time in the cryptocurrency bubble. There was far more money than sense, the most ruthless financial players were still too leery to get involved, and a rising tide was lifting all boats, even the ones that were piles of driftwood. When cryptocurrency inevitably collapsed, so did his businesses. In retrospect, that seems inevitable.

The early answer, though, was effective altruism.

A full discussion of effective altruism is beyond the scope of this review, although Lewis offers a decent introduction in the book. The short version is that a sensible and defensible desire to use stronger standards of evidence in evaluating charitable giving turned into a bizarre navel-gazing exercise in making up statistical risks to hypothetical future people and treating those made-up numbers as if they should be the bedrock of one's personal ethics. One of the people most responsible for this turn is an Oxford philosopher named Will MacAskill. Sam Bankman-Fried was already obsessed with utilitarianism, in part due to his parents' philosophical beliefs, and it was a presentation by Will MacAskill that converted him to the effective altruism variant of extreme utilitarianism.

In Lewis's presentation, this was like joining a cult. The impression I came away with feels like something out of a science fiction novel: Bankman-Fried knew there was some serious gap in his thought processes where most people had empathy, was deeply troubled by this, and latched on to effective altruism as the ethical framework to plug into that hole. So much of effective altruism sounds like a con game that it's easy to think the participants are lying, but Lewis clearly believes Bankman-Fried is a true believer. He appeared to be sincerely trying to make money in order to use it to solve existential threats to society, he does not appear to be motivated by money apart from that goal, and he was following through (in bizarre and mostly ineffective ways).

I find this particularly believable because effective altruism as a belief system seems designed to fit Bankman-Fried's personality and justify the things he wanted to do anyway. Effective altruism says that empathy is meaningless, emotion is meaningless, and ethical decisions should be made solely on the basis of expected value: how much return (usually in safety) does society get for your investment. Effective altruism says that all the things that Sam Bankman-Fried was bad at were useless and unimportant, so he could stop feeling bad about his apparent lack of normal human morality. The only thing that mattered was the thing that he was exceptionally good at: probabilistic reasoning under uncertainty. And, critically to the foundation of his business career, effective altruism gave him access to investors and a recruiting pool of employees, things he was entirely unsuited to acquiring the normal way.

There's a ton more of this book that I haven't touched on, but this review is already quite long, so I'll leave you with one more point.

I don't know how true Lewis's portrayal is in all the details. He took the approach of getting very close to most of the major players in this drama and largely believing what they said happened, supplemented by startling access to sources like Bankman-Fried's personal diary and Caroline Ellis's personal diary. (He also seems to have gotten extensive information from the personal psychiatrist of most of the people involved; I'm not sure if there's some reasonable explanation for this, but based solely on the material in this book, it seems to be a shocking breach of medical ethics.) But Lewis is a storyteller more than he's a reporter, and his bias is for telling a great story. It's entirely possible that the events related here are not entirely true, or are skewed in favor of making a better story. It's certainly true that they're not the complete story.

But, that said, I think a book like this is a useful counterweight to the human tendency to believe in moral villains. This is, frustratingly, a counterweight extended almost exclusively to higher-class white people like Bankman-Fried. This is infuriating, but that doesn't make it wrong. It means we should extend that analysis to more people.

Once FTX collapsed, a lot of people became very invested in the idea that Bankman-Fried was a straightforward embezzler. Either he intended from the start to steal everyone's money or, more likely, he started losing money, panicked, and stole customer money to cover the hole. Lots of people in history have done exactly that, and lots of people involved in cryptocurrency have tenuous attachments to ethics, so this is a believable story. But people are complicated, and there's also truth in the maxim that every villain is the hero of their own story. Lewis is after a less boring story than "the crook stole everyone's money," and that leads to some bias. But sometimes the less boring story is also true.

Here's the thing: even if Sam Bankman-Fried never intended to take any money, he clearly did intend to mix customer money with Alameda Research funds. In Lewis's account, he never truly believed in them as separate things. He didn't care about following accounting or reporting rules; he thought they were boring nonsense that got in his way. There is obvious criminal intent here in any reading of the story, so I don't think Lewis's more complex story would let him escape prosecution. He refused to follow the rules, and as a result a lot of people lost a lot of money. I think it's a useful exercise to leave mental space for the possibility that he had far less obvious reasons for those actions than that he was a simple thief, while still enforcing the laws that he quite obviously violated.

This book was great. If you like Lewis's style, this was some of the best entertainment I've read in a while. Highly recommended; if you are at all interested in this saga, I think this is a must-read.

Rating: 9 out of 10

2023-10-22: Review: Going Postal

Review: Going Postal, by Terry Pratchett

Series	Discworld #33
Publisher	Harper
Copyright	October 2004
Printing	November 2014
ISBN	0-06-233497-2
Format	Mass market
Pages	471

Going Postal is the 33rd Discworld novel. You could probably start here if you wanted to; there are relatively few references to previous books, and the primary connection (to Feet of Clay) is fully re-explained. I suspect that's why Going Postal garnered another round of award nominations. There are arguable spoilers for Feet of Clay, however.

Moist von Lipwig is a con artist. Under a wide variety of names, he's swindled and forged his way around the Disc, always confident that he can run away from or talk his way out of any trouble. As Going Postal begins, however, it appears his luck has run out. He's about to be hanged.

Much to his surprise, he wakes up after his carefully performed hanging in Lord Vetinari's office, where he's offered a choice. He can either take over the Ankh-Morpork post office, or he can die. Moist, of course, immediately agrees to run the post office, and then leaves town at the earliest opportunity, only to be carried back into Vetinari's office by a relentlessly persistent golem named Mr. Pump. He apparently has a parole officer.

The clacks, Discworld's telegraph system first seen in The Fifth Elephant, has taken over most communications. The city is now dotted with towers, and the Grand Trunk can take them at unprecedented speed to even far-distant cities like Genua. The post office, meanwhile, is essentially defunct, as Moist quickly discovers. There are two remaining employees, the highly eccentric Junior Postman Groat who is still Junior because no postmaster has lasted long enough to promote him, and the disturbingly intense Apprentice Postman Stanley, who collects pins.

Other than them, the contents of the massive post office headquarters are a disturbing mail sorting machine designed by Bloody Stupid Johnson that is not picky about which dimension or timeline the sorted mail comes from, and undelivered mail. A lot of undelivered mail. Enough undelivered mail that there may be magical consequences.

All Moist has to do is get the postal system running again. Somehow. And not die in mysterious accidents like the previous five postmasters.

Going Postal is a con artist story, but it's also a startup and capitalism story. Vetinari is, as always, solving a specific problem in his inimitable indirect way. The clacks were created by engineers obsessed with machinery and encodings and maintenance, but it's been acquired by... well, let's say private equity, because that's who they are, although Discworld doesn't have that term. They immediately did what private equity always did: cut out everything that didn't extract profit, without regard for either the service or the employees. Since the clacks are an effective monopoly and the new owners are ruthless about eliminating any possible competition, there isn't much to stop them. Vetinari's chosen tool is Moist.

There are some parts of this setup that I love and one part that I'm grumbly about. A lot of the fun of this book is seeing Moist pulled into the mission of resurrecting the post office despite himself. He starts out trying to wriggle out of his assigned task, but, after a few early successes and a supernatural encounter with the mail, he can't help but start to care. Reformed con men often make good protagonists because one can enjoy the charisma without disliking the ethics. Pratchett adds the delightfully sharp-witted and cynical Adora Belle Dearheart as a partial reader stand-in, which makes the process of Moist becoming worthy of his protagonist role even more fun.

I think that a properly functioning postal service is one of the truly monumental achievements of human society and doesn't get nearly enough celebration (or support, or pay, or good working conditions). Give me a story about reviving a postal service by someone who appreciates the tradition and social role as much as Pratchett clearly does and I'm there. The only frustration is that Going Postal is focused more on an immediate plot, so we don't get to see the larger infrastructure recovery that is clearly needed. (Maybe in later books?)

That leads to my grumble, though. Going Postal and specifically the takeover of the clacks is obviously inspired by corporate structures in the later Industrial Revolution, but this book was written in 2004, so it's also a book about private equity and startups. When Vetinari puts a con man in charge of the post office, he runs it like a startup: do lots of splashy things to draw attention, promise big and then promise even bigger, stumble across a revenue source that may or may not be sustainable, hire like mad, and hope it all works out.

This makes for a great story in the same way that watching trapeze artists or tightrope walkers is entertaining. You know it's going to work because that's the sort of book you're reading, so you can enjoy the audacity and wonder how Moist will manage to stay ahead of his promises. But it is still a con game applied to a public service, and the part of me that loves the concept of the postal service couldn't stop feeling like this is part of the problem.

The dilemma that Vetinari is solving is a bit too realistic, down to the requirement that the post office be self-funding and not depend on city funds and, well, this is repugnant to me. Public services aren't businesses. Societies spend money to build things that they need to maintain society, and postal service is just as much one of those things as roads are. The ability of anyone to send a letter to anyone else, no matter how rural the address is, provides infrastructure on which a lot of important societal structure is built. Pratchett made me care a great deal about Ankh-Morpork's post office (not hard to do), and now I want to see it rebuilt properly, on firm foundations, without splashy promises and without a requirement that it pay for itself. Which I realize is not the point of Discworld at all, but the concept of running a postal service like a startup hits maybe a bit too close to home.

Apart from that grumble, this is a great book if you're in the mood for a reformed con man story. I thought the gold suit was a bit over the top, but I otherwise thought Moist's slow conversion to truly caring about his job was deeply satisfying. The descriptions of the clacks are full of askew Discworld parodies of computer networking and encoding that I enjoyed more than I thought I would. This is also the book that introduced the now-famous (among Pratchett fans at least) GNU instruction for the clacks, and I think that scene is the most emotionally moving bit of Pratchett outside of Night Watch.

Going Postal is one of the better books in the Discworld series to this point (and I'm sadly getting near the end). If you have less strongly held opinions about management and funding models for public services, or at least are better at putting them aside when reading fantasy novels, you're likely to like it even more than I did. Recommended.

Followed by Thud!. The thematic sequel is Making Money.

Rating: 8 out of 10

2023-10-18: Review: The Cassini Division

Review: The Cassini Division, by Ken MacLeod

Series	Fall Revolution #3
Publisher	Tor
Copyright	1998
Printing	August 2000
ISBN	0-8125-6858-3
Format	Mass market
Pages	305

The Cassini Division is the third book in the Fall Revolution series and a fairly direct sequel (albeit with different protagonists) to The Stone Canal. This is not a good place to start the series.

It's impossible to talk about the plot of this book without discussing the future history of this series, which arguably includes some spoilers for The Star Fraction and The Stone Canal. I don't think the direction of history matters that much in enjoying the previous books, but read the first two books of the series before this review if you want to avoid all spoilers.

When the Outwarders uploaded themselves and went fast, they did a lot of strange things: an interstellar probe contrary to all known laws of physics, the disassembly of Ganymede, and the Malley Mile, which plays a significant role in The Stone Canal. They also crashed the Earth.

This was not entirely their fault. There were a lot of politics, religious fundamentalism, and plagues in play as well. But the storm of viruses broadcast from their transformed Jupiter shut down essentially all computing equipment on Earth, which set off much of the chaos. The results were catastrophic, and also politically transformative. Now, the Solar Union is a nearly unified anarchosocialist society, with only scattered enclaves of non-cooperators left outside that structure.

Ellen May Ngewthu is a leader of the Cassini Division, the bulwark that stands between humans and the Outwarders. The Division ruthlessly destroys any remnant or probe that dares rise out of Jupiter's atmosphere, ensuring that the Outwarders, whatever they have become after untold generations of fast evolution, stay isolated to the one planet they have absorbed. The Division is very good at what they do. But there is a potential gap in that line of defense: there are fast folk in storage at the other end of the Malley Mile, on New Mars, and who knows what the deranged capitalists there will do or what forces they might unleash.

The one person who knows a path through the Malley Mile isn't talking, so Ellen goes in search of the next best thing: the non-cooperator scientist Isambard Kingdom Malley.

I am now thoroughly annoyed at how politics are handled in this series, and much less confused by the frequency with which MacLeod won Prometheus Awards from the Libertarian Futurist Society. Some of this is my own fault for having too high of hopes for political SF, but nothing in this series so far has convinced me that MacLeod is seriously engaging with political systems. Instead, the world-building to date makes the classic libertarian mistake of thinking societies will happily abandon stability and predictability in favor of their strange definition of freedom.

The Solar Union is based on what Ellen calls the true knowledge, which is worth quoting in full so that you know what kind of politics we're talking about:

Life is a process of breaking down and using other matter, and if need be, other life. Therefore, life is aggression, and successful life is successful aggression. Life is the scum of matter, and people are the scum of life. There is nothing but matter, forces, space and time, which together make power. Nothing matters, except what matters to you. Might makes right, and power makes freedom. You are free to do whatever is in your power, and if you want to survive and thrive you had better do whatever is in your interests. If your interests conflict with those of others, let the others pit their power against yours, everyone for theirselves. If your interests coincide with those of others, let them work together with you, and against the rest. We are what we eat, and we eat everything.

All that you really value, and the goodness and truth and beauty of life, have their roots in this apparently barren soil.

This is the true knowledge.

We had founded our idealism on the most nihilistic implications of science, our socialism on crass self-interest, our peace on our capacity for mutual destruction, and our liberty on determinism. We had replaced morality with convention, bravery with safety, frugality with plenty, philosophy with science, stoicism with anaesthetics and piety with immortality. The universal acid of the true knowledge had burned away a world of words, and exposed a universe of things.

Things we could use.

This is certainly something that some people will believe, particularly cynical college students who love political theory, feeling smarter than other people, and calling their pet theories things like "the true knowledge." It is not even remotely believable as the governing philosophy of a solar confederation. The point of government for the average person in human society is to create and enforce predictable mutual rules that one can use as a basis for planning and habits, allowing you to not think about politics all the time. People who adore thinking about politics have great difficulty understanding how important it is to everyone else to have ignorable government.

Constantly testing your power against other coalitions is a sport, not a governing philosophy. Given the implication that this testing is through violence or the threat of violence, it beggars belief that any large number of people would tolerate that type of instability for an extended period of time.

Ellen is fully committed to the true knowledge. MacLeod likely is not; I don't think this represents the philosophy of the author. But the primary political conflict in this novel famous for being political science fiction is between the above variation of anarchy and an anarchocapitalist society, neither of which are believable as stable political systems for large numbers of people. This is a bit like seeking out a series because you were told it was about a great clash of European monarchies and discovering it was about a fight between Liberland and Sealand. It becomes hard to take the rest of the book seriously.

I do realize that one point of political science fiction is to play with strange political ideas, similar to how science fiction plays with often-implausible science ideas. But those ideas need some contact with human nature. If you're going to tell me that the key to clawing society back from a world-wide catastrophic descent into chaos is to discard literally every social system used to create predictability and order, you had better be describing aliens, because that's not how humans work.

The rest of the book is better. I am untangling a lot of backstory for the above synopsis, which in the book comes in dribs and drabs, but piecing that together is good fun. The plot is far more straightforward than the previous two books in the series: there is a clear enemy, a clear goal, and Ellen goes from point A to point B in a comprehensible way with enough twists to keep it interesting. The core moral conflict of the book is that Ellen is an anti-AI fanatic to the point that she considers anyone other than non-uploaded humans to be an existential threat. MacLeod gives the reader both reasons to believe Ellen is right and reasons to believe she's wrong, which maintains an interesting moral tension.

One thing that MacLeod is very good at is what Bob Shaw called "wee thinky bits." I think my favorite in this book is the computer technology used by the Cassini Division, who have spent a century in close combat with inimical AI capable of infecting any digital computer system with tailored viruses. As a result, their computers are mechanical non-Von-Neumann machines, but mechanical with all the technology of a highly-advanced 24th century civilization with nanometer-scale manufacturing technology. It's a great mental image and a lot of fun to think about.

This is the only science fiction novel that I can think of that has a hard-takeoff singularity that nonetheless is successfully resisted and fought to a stand-still by unmodified humanity. Most writers who were interested in the singularity idea treated it as either a near-total transformation leaving only remnants or as something that had to be stopped before it started. MacLeod realizes that there's no reason to believe a post-singularity form of life would be either uniform in intent or free from its own baffling sudden collapses and reversals, which can be exploited by humans. It makes for a much better story.

The sociology of this book is difficult to swallow, but the characterization is significantly better than the previous books of the series and the plot is much tighter. I was too annoyed by the political science to fully enjoy it, but that may be partly the fault of my expectations coming in. If you like chewy, idea-filled science fiction with a lot of unexplained world-building that you have to puzzle out as you go, you may enjoy this, although unfortunately I think you need to read at least The Stone Canal first. The ending was a bit unsatisfying, but even that includes some neat science fiction ideas.

Followed by The Sky Road, although I understand it is not a straightforward sequel.

Rating: 6 out of 10

2023-10-17: Review: Wolf Country

Review: Wolf Country, by Mar Delaney

Publisher	Kalikoi
Copyright	September 2021
ASIN	B09H55TGXK
Format	Kindle
Pages	144

Wolf Country is a short lesbian shifter romance by Mar Delaney, a pen name for Layla Lawlor (who is also one of the writers behind the shared pen name Zoe Chant).

Dasha Volkova is a werewolf, a member of a tribe of werewolves who keep to themselves deep in the wilds of Alaska. She's just become an adult and is wandering, curious and exploring, seeing what's in the world outside of her sheltered childhood. A wild chase after a hare, purely for the fun of it, is sufficiently distracting that she doesn't notice the snare before she steps in it going full speed.

Laney Rosen is not a werewolf. She's a landscape painter who lives a quiet and self-contained life in an isolated cabin in the wilderness. She only stumbles across Dasha because she got lost on the snowmobile tracks taking photographs. Laney assumes Dasha is a dog caught in a poacher's trap, and is quite surprised when the pain of getting her out of the snare causes Dasha to shapeshift into a naked woman.

This short book is precisely what it sounds like, which I appreciate in a romance novel. Woman meets wolf and discovers her secret accidentally, woman is of course entirely trustworthy although wolf can't know that, attraction at first sight, they have to pitch a tent in the wilderness and there's only one sleeping bag, etc. Nothing here is going to surprise you, but it's gentle and kind and fulfills the romance contract of a happy ending. It's not particularly steamy; the focus is on the relationship and the mutual attraction rather than on the sex.

The best part of this book is probably the backdrop. Delaney lives in Alaska, and it shows in both the attention to the details of survival and heat and in the landscape descriptions (and the descriptions of Laney's landscapes). Dasha's love of Laney's paintings is one of the most heart-warming parts of the book. Laney has retinitis pigmentosa and is slowly losing her vision, which I thought was handled gracefully and well in the story. It creates real problems and limitations for her, but it also doesn't define her or become central to her character.

Both Dasha and Laney are viewpoint characters and roughly alternate tight third-person viewpoint chapters. There are a few twists: potential parental disapproval on Dasha's part and some real physical danger from the person who set the trap, but most of the story is the two woman getting to know each other and getting past the early hesitancy to name what they're feeling. Laney feels a bit older than Dasha just because she's out on her own and Dasha was homeschooled and very sheltered, but both of them feel very young. This is Dasha's first serious relationship.

Delaney does use the fated lover trope, which seems worth a warning in case you're not in the mood for that. Werewolves apparently know when they've found their fated mate and don't have a lot of choice in the matter. This is a common paranormal and fantasy romance trope that I find disturbing if I think about it too hard. Thankfully, here it's not much of a distraction. Dasha is such an impulsive, think-with-her-heart sort of character that the immediate conclusion that Laney is her fated mate felt in character even without the werewolf lore.

I read this based on a random recommendation from Yoon Ha Lee when I was in the mood for something light and kind and uncomplicated, and I got exactly what I expected and was in the mood for. The writing isn't the best, but the landscape descriptions aren't bad and the characterization is reasonably good if you're in the mood for brightly curious but not particularly wise. Recommended if you're looking for this sort of thing.

Rating: 7 out of 10

2023-10-16: Review: A Hat Full of Sky

Review: A Hat Full of Sky, by Terry Pratchett

Series	Discworld #32
Publisher	HarperTrophy
Copyright	2004
Printing	2005
ISBN	0-06-058662-1
Format	Mass market
Pages	407

A Hat Full of Sky is the 32nd Discworld novel and the second Tiffany Aching young adult novel. You should not start here, but you could start with The Wee Free Men. As with that book, some parts of the story carry more weight if you are already familiar with Granny Weatherwax.

Tiffany is a witch, but she needs to be trained. This is normally done by apprenticeship, and in Tiffany's case it seemed wise to give her exposure to more types of witching. Thus, Tiffany, complete with new boots and a going-away present from the still-somewhat-annoying Roland, is off on an apprenticeship to the sensible Miss Level. (The new boots feel wrong and get swapped out for her concealed old boots at the first opportunity.)

Unbeknownst to Tiffany, her precocious experiments with leaving her body as a convenient substitute for a mirror have attracted something very bad, something none of the witches are expecting. The Nac Mac Feegle know a hiver as soon as they feel it, but they have a new kelda now, and she's not sure she wants them racing off after their old kelda.

Terry Pratchett is very good at a lot of things, but I don't think villains are one of his strengths. He manages an occasional memorable one (the Auditors, for example, at least before the whole chocolate thing), but I find most of them a bit boring. The hiver is one of the boring ones. It serves mostly as a concretized metaphor about the temptations of magical power, but those temptations felt so unlike the tendencies of Tiffany's personality that I didn't think the metaphor worked in the story.

The interesting heart of this book to me is the conflict between Tiffany's impatience with nonsense and Miss Level's arguably excessive willingness to help everyone regardless of how demanding they get. There's something deeper in here about female socialization and how that interacts with Pratchett's conception of witches that got me thinking, although I don't think Pratchett landed the point with full force.

Miss Level is clearly a good witch to her village and seems comfortable with how she lives her life, so perhaps they're not taking advantage of her, but she thoroughly slots herself into the helper role. If Tiffany attempted the same role, people would be taking advantage of her, because the role doesn't fit her. And yet, there's a lesson here she needs to learn about seeing other people as people, even if it wouldn't be healthy for her to move all the way to Miss Level's mindset. Tiffany is a precocious kid who is used to being underestimated, and who has reacted by becoming independent and somewhat judgmental. She's also had a taste of real magical power, which creates a risk of her getting too far into her own head. Miss Level is a fount of empathy and understanding for the normal people around her, which Tiffany resists and needed to learn.

I think Granny Weatherwax is too much like Tiffany to teach her that. She also has no patience for fools, but she's older and wiser and knows Tiffany needs a push in that direction. Miss Level isn't a destination, but more of a counterbalance.

That emotional journey, a conclusion that again focuses on the role of witches in questions of life and death, and Tiffany's fascinatingly spiky mutual respect with Granny Weatherwax were the best parts of this book for me. The middle section with the hiver was rather tedious and forgettable, and the Nac Mac Feegle were entertaining but not more than that. It felt like the story went in a few different directions and only some of them worked, in part because the villain intended to tie those pieces together was more of a force of nature than a piece of Tiffany's emotional puzzle. If the hiver had resonated with the darker parts of Tiffany's natural personality, the plot would have worked better. Pratchett was gesturing in that direction, but he never convinced me it was consistent with what we'd already seen of her.

Like a lot of the Discworld novels, the good moments in A Hat Full of Sky are astonishing, but the plot is somewhat forgettable. It's still solidly entertaining, though, and if you enjoyed The Wee Free Men, I think this is slightly better.

Followed by Going Postal in publication order. The next Tiffany Aching novel is Wintersmith.

Rating: 8 out of 10

2023-10-14: Review: A Killing Frost

Review: A Killing Frost, by Seanan McGuire

Series	October Daye #14
Publisher	DAW
Copyright	2020
ISBN	0-7564-1253-6
Format	Kindle
Pages	351

A Killing Frost is the 14th book in the October Daye urban fantasy series and a direct plot sequel to the events of The Brightest Fell. You definitely cannot start here.

This review has some relationship spoilers here for things that you would be expecting after the first five or six books, but which you wouldn't know when reading the first few books of the series. If you haven't started the series yet but plan to, consider skipping this review; if you haven't started reading this series, it will probably be meaningless anyway.

Finally, events seem to have slowed, enough trauma has been healed, and Toby is able to seriously consider getting married. However, no sooner is the thought voiced than fae politics injects itself yet again. In order to get married without creating potentially substantial future problems for herself and her family, Toby will have to tie up some loose ends. Since one of those loose ends is a price from the Luidaeg that has been haunting her family for decades, this is easier said than done.

The Brightest Fell had a very unsatisfying ending. This, after a two book interlude, is the proper end to that story.

I picked this up when I had a bunch of stressful things going on and I wanted to be entertained without having to do much work as a reader. Once again, this series delivered exactly that. The writing is repetitive and a bit clunky, McGuire hammers the same emotional points into the ground, and one does wonder about Toby's tendency to emulate a half-human battering ram, but every book has me engrossed and turning the pages. Everyone should have at least one book series on the go that offers reliable, low-effort entertainment.

The initial lever that McGuire uses to push Toby into this plot (fae marriage requirements that had never previously been mentioned) felt rather strained and arbitrary, and I spent the first part of the book grumbling a bit about it. However, there is a better reason for this complication that is revealed with time, and which implies some interesting things about how the fae see heroes and how they use them to solve problems. Now I'm wondering if McGuire will explore that some more in later books.

This is the "all is revealed" book about Simon Torquill. As we get later into the series, these "all is revealed" books are coming more frequently. So far, I'm finding the revelations satisfying, which is a lot harder than it looks with a series this long and with this many hidden details. There are a few directions the series is taking that aren't my favorite (the Daoine Sidhe obsession with being the Best Fae is getting a bit boring, for example), but none of them seem egregiously off, and I'm deeply invested in the answers to the remaining questions.

Toby hits a personal record here for not explaining the dangerous things she's doing because people might talk her out of it. It makes for a tense and gripping climax, but wow I felt for her friends and family, and substantial parts of that risk seemed unnecessary. This is pointed out to her in no uncertain terms, and I'm wondering if it will finally stick. Toby's tendency to solve complicated problems by bleeding on them is part of what gives this series its charm, but I wouldn't mind her giving other people more of a chance to come up with better plans.

I did not like this one as well as the previous two books, mostly because I prefer the Luidaeg-centric stories to the Daoine-Sidhe-centric stories, but if you're enjoying the series to this point, this won't be an exception. It's a substantial improvement on The Brightest Fell and did a lot to salvage that story for me, although there are still some aspects of it that need better explanations.

Followed by When Sorrows Come.

As usual, there is a novella included in at least the Kindle edition.

"Shine in Pearl": I was again hoping for more Gillian, but alas. Instead, and breaking with the tendency for the novellas to be side stories unrelated to the main novel, this fleshes out Simon's past and the other primary relationship driving the novel's plot.

It's... fine? The best parts by far are the scenes from Dianda's viewpoint, which are just as refreshingly blunt as Dianda is elsewhere. Neither of the other two characters are favorites of mine, and since the point of the story is to describe the tragedy that is resolved in the plot of the main novel, it's somewhat depressing. Not my favorite of the novellas; not the worst of them. (6)

Rating: 7 out of 10

2023-10-09: Review: Chilling Effect

Review: Chilling Effect, by Valerie Valdes

Series	Chilling Effect #1
Publisher	Harper Voyager
Copyright	September 2019
Printing	2020
ISBN	0-06-287724-0
Format	Kindle
Pages	420

Chilling Effect is a space opera, kind of; more on the genre classification in a moment. It is the first volume of a series, although it reaches a reasonable conclusion on its own. It was Valerie Valdes's first novel.

Captain Eva Innocente's line of work used to be less than lawful, following in the footsteps of her father. She got out of that life and got her own crew and ship. Now, the La Sirena Negra and its crew do small transport jobs for just enough money to stay afloat. Or, maybe, a bit less than that, when the recipient of a crate full of psychic escape-artist cats goes bankrupt before she can deliver it and get paid. It's a marginal and tenuous life, but at least she isn't doing anything shady.

Then the Fridge kidnaps her sister.

The Fridge is a shadowy organization of extortionists whose modus operandi is to kidnap a family member of their target, stuff them in cryogenic suspension, and demand obedience lest the family member be sold off as indentured labor after a few decades as a popsicle. Eva will be given missions that she and her crew have to perform. If she performs them well, she will pay off the price of her sister's release. Eventually. Oh, and she's not allowed to tell anyone.

I found it hard to place the subgenre of this novel more specifically than comedy-adventure. The technology fits space opera: there are psychic cats, pilots who treat ships as extensions of their own body, brain parasites, a random intergalactic warlord, and very few attempts to explain anything with scientific principles. However, the stakes aren't on the scale that space opera usually goes for. Eva and her crew aren't going to topple governments or form rebellions. They're just trying to survive in a galaxy full of abusive corporations, dodgy clients, and the occasional alien who requires you to carry extensive documentation to prove that you can't be hunted for meat.

It is also, as you might guess from that description, occasionally funny. That part of the book didn't mesh for me. Eva is truly afraid for her sister, and some of the events in the book are quite sinister, but the antagonist is an organization called The Fridge that puts people in fridges. Sexual harassment in a bar turns into obsessive stalking by a crazed intergalactic warlord who frequently interrupts the plot by randomly blasting things with his fleet, which felt like something from Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. The stakes for Eva, and her frustrations at being dragged back into a life she escaped, felt too high for the wacky, comic descriptions of the problems she gets into.

My biggest complaint, though, is that the plot is driven by people not telling other people critical information they should know. Eva is keeping major secrets from her crew for nearly the entire book. Other people are also keeping information from Eva. There is a romance subplot driven almost entirely by both parties refusing to talk to each other about the existence of a romance subplot. For some people, this is catnip, but it's one of my least favorite fictional tropes and I found much of the book both frustrating and stressful. Fictional characters keeping important secrets from each other apparently raises my blood pressure.

One of the things I did like about this book is that Eva is Hispanic and speaks like it. She resorts to Spanish frequently for curses, untranslatable phrases, aphorisms, derogatory comments, and similar types of emotional communication that don't feel right in a second language. Most of the time one can figure out the meaning from context, but Valdes doesn't feel obligated to hold the reader's hand and explain everything. I liked that. I think this approach is more viable in these days of ebook readers that can attempt translations on demand, and I think it does a lot to make Eva feel like a real person.

I think the characters are the best part of this book, once one gets past the frustration of their refusal to talk to each other. Eva and the alien ship engineer get the most screen time, but Pink, Eva's honest-to-a-fault friend, was probably my favorite character. I also really enjoyed Min, the ship pilot whose primary goal is to be able to jack into the ship and treat it as her body, and otherwise doesn't particularly care about the rest of the plot as long as she gets paid.

A lot of books about ship crews like this one lean hard into found family. This one felt more like a group of coworkers, with varying degrees of friendship and level of interest in their shared endeavors, but without the too-common shorthand of making the less-engaged crew members either some type of villain or someone who needs to be drawn out and turned into a best friend or love interest. It's okay for a job to just be a job, even if it's one where you're around the same people all the time. People who work on actual ships do it all the time.

This is a half-serious, half-comic action romp that turned out to not be my thing, but I can see why others will enjoy it. Be prepared for a whole lot of communication failures and an uneven emotional tone, but if you're looking for a space-ships-and-aliens story that doesn't take itself very seriously and has some vague YA vibes, this may work for you.

Followed by Prime Deceptions, although I didn't like this well enough to read on.

Rating: 6 out of 10

2023-10-05: Review: The Far Reaches

Review: The Far Reaches, by John Joseph Adams (ed.)

Publisher	Amazon Original Stories
Copyright	June 2023
ISBN	1-6625-1572-3
ISBN	1-6625-1622-3
ISBN	1-6625-1503-0
ISBN	1-6625-1567-7
ISBN	1-6625-1678-9
ISBN	1-6625-1533-2
Format	Kindle
Pages	219

Amazon has been releasing anthologies of original short SFF with various guest editors, free for Amazon Prime members. I previously tried Black Stars (edited by Nisi Shawl and Latoya Peterson) and Forward (edited by Blake Crouch). Neither were that good, but the second was much worse than the first. Amazon recently released a new collection, this time edited by long-standing SFF anthology editor John Joseph Adams and featuring a new story by Ann Leckie, which sounded promising enough to give them another chance.

The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.

As with the previous anthologies, each story is available separately for purchase or Amazon Prime "borrowing" with separate ISBNs. The sidebar cover is for the first in the sequence. Unlike the previous collections, which were longer novelettes or novellas, my guess is all of these are in the novelette range. (I did not do a word count.)

If you're considering this anthology, read the Okorafor story ("Just Out of Jupiter's Reach"), consider "How It Unfolds" by James S.A. Corey, and avoid the rest.

"How It Unfolds" by James S.A. Corey: Humans have invented a new form of physics called "slow light," which can duplicate any object that is scanned. The energy expense is extremely high, so the result is not a post-scarcity paradise. What the technology does offer, however, is a possible route to interstellar colonization: duplicate a team of volunteers and a ship full of bootstrapping equipment, and send copies to a bunch of promising-looking exoplanets. One of them might succeed.

The premise is interesting. The twists Corey adds on top are even better. What can be duplicated once can be duplicated again, perhaps with more information.

This is a lovely science fiction idea story that unfortunately bogs down because the authors couldn't think of anywhere better to go with it than relationship drama. I found the focus annoying, but the ideas are still very neat. (7)

"Void" by Veronica Roth: A maintenance worker on a slower-than-light passenger ship making the run between Sol and Centauri unexpectedly is called to handle a dead body. A passenger has been murdered, two days outside the Sol system. Ace is in no way qualified to investigate the murder, nor is it her job, but she's watched a lot of crime dramas and she has met the victim before. The temptation to start poking around is impossible to resist.

It's been a long time since I've read a story built around the differing experiences of time for people who stay on planets and people who spend most of their time traveling at relativistic speeds. It's a bit of a retro idea from an earlier era of science fiction, but it's still a good story hook for a murder mystery. None of the characters are that memorable and Roth never got me fully invested in the story, but this was still a pleasant way to pass the time. (6)

"Falling Bodies" by Rebecca Roanhorse: Ira is the adopted son of a Genteel senator. He was a social experiment in civilizing the humans: rescue a human orphan and give him the best of Genteel society to see if he could behave himself appropriately. The answer was no, which is how Ira finds himself on Long Reach Station with a parole officer and a schooling opportunity, hopefully far enough from his previous mistakes for a second chance.

Everyone else seems to like Rebecca Roanhorse's writing better than I do, and this is no exception. Beneath the veneer of a coming-of-age story with a twist of political intrigue, this is brutal, depressing, and awful, with an ending that needs a lot of content warnings. I'm sorry that I read it. (3)

"The Long Game" by Ann Leckie: The Imperial Radch trilogy are some of my favorite science fiction novels of all time, but I am finding Leckie's other work a bit hit and miss. I have yet to read a novel of hers that I didn't like, but the short fiction I've read leans more heavily into exploring weird and alien perspectives, which is not my favorite part of her work. This story is firmly in that category: the first-person protagonist is a small tentacled alien creature, a bit like a swamp-dwelling octopus.

I think I see what Leckie is doing here: balancing cynicism and optimism, exploring how lifespans influence thinking and planning, and making some subtle points about colonialism. But as a reading experience, I didn't enjoy it. I never liked any of the characters, and the conclusion of the story is the unsettling sort of main-character optimism that seems rather less optimistic to the reader. (4)

"Just Out of Jupiter's Reach" by Nnedi Okorafor: Kármán scientists have found a way to grow living ships that can achieve a symbiosis with a human pilot, but the requirements for that symbiosis are very strict and hard to predict. The result was a planet-wide search using genetic testing to find the rare and possibly nonexistent matches. They found seven people.

The deal was simple: spend ten years in space, alone, in her ship. No contact with any other human except at the midpoint, when the seven ships were allowed to meet up for a week. Two million euros a year, for as long as she followed the rules, and the opportunity to be part of a great experiment, providing data that will hopefully lead to humans becoming a spacefaring species.

The core of this story is told during the seven days in the middle of the mission, and thus centers on people unfamiliar with human contact trying to navigate social relationships after five years in symbiotic ships that reshape themselves to their whims and personalities. The ships themselves link so that the others can tour, which offers both a good opportunity for interesting description and a concretized metaphor about meeting other people.

I adore symbiotic spaceships, so this story had me at the premise. The surface plot is very psychological, and I didn't entirely click with it, but the sense of wonder vibes beneath that surface were wonderful. It also feels fresh and new: I've seen most of the ideas before, but not presented or written this way, or approached from quite this angle. Definitely the best story of the anthology. (8)

"Slow Time Between the Stars" by John Scalzi: This, on the other hand, was a complete waste of time, redeemed only by being the shortest "story" in the collection. "Story" is generous, since there's only one character and a very dry, linear plot that exists only to make a philosophical point. "Speculative essay" may be closer.

The protagonist is the artificial intelligence responsible for Earth's greatest interstellar probe. It is packed with a repository of all of human knowledge and the raw material to create life. Its mission is to find an exoplanet capable of sustaining that life, and then recreate it and support it. The plot, such as it is, follows the AI's decision to abandon that mission and cut off contact with Earth, for reasons that it eventually explains.

Every possible beat of this story hit me wrong. The sense of wonder attaches to the most prosaic things and skips over the moments that could have provoked real wonder. The AI is both unbelievable and irritating, with all of the smug self-confidence of an Internet reply guy. The prose is overwrought in all the wrong places ("the finger of God, offering the spark to animate the dirt of another world" would totally be this AI's profile quote under their forum avatar). The only thing I liked about the story is the ethical point that it slowly meanders into, which I think I might agree with and at least find plausible. But it's delivered by the sort of character I would actively leave rooms to avoid, in a style that's about as engrossing as a tax form. Avoid. (2)

Rating: 5 out of 10

2023-10-03: Review: The Last Watch

Review: The Last Watch, by J.S. Dewes

Series	Divide #1
Publisher	Tor
Copyright	2021
ISBN	1-250-23634-7
Format	Kindle
Pages	476

The Last Watch is the first book of a far-future science fiction series. It was J.S. Dewes's first novel.

The station of the SCS Argus is the literal edge of the universe: the Divide, beyond which there is nothing. Not simply an absence of stars, but a nothing from a deeper level of physics. The Argus is there to guard against a return of the Viators, the technologically superior alien race that nearly conquered humanity hundreds of years prior and has already returned once, apparently traveling along the Divide. Humanity believes the Viators have been wiped out, but they're not taking chances.

It is not a sought-after assignment.

The Sentinels are the dregs of the military: convicts, troublemakers, and misfits, banished to the literal edge of nowhere. Joining them at the start of this book is the merchant prince, cocky asshole, and exiled sabateur Cavalon Mercer. He doesn't know what to expect from either military service or service on the edge of the universe. He certainly did not expect the Argus to be commanded by Adequin Rake, a literal war hero and a far more effective leader than this post would seem to warrant.

There are reasons why Rake is out on the edge of the universe, ones that she's not eager to talk about. They quickly become an afterthought when the Argus discovers that the Divide is approaching their position. The universe is collapsing, and the only people who know about it are people the System Collective would prefer to forget exist.

Yes, the edge of the universe, not the edge of the galaxy. Yes, despite having two FTL mechanisms, this book has a scale problem that it never reconciles. And yes, the physics do not really make sense, although this is not the sort of book that tries to explain the science. The characters are too busy trying to survive to develop new foundational theories of physics.

I was looking for more good military SF after enjoying Artifact Space so much (and still eagerly awaiting the sequel), so I picked this up. It has some of the same elements: the military as a place where you can make a fresh start with found family elements, the equalizing effects of military assignments, and the merits of good leadership. They're a bit disguised here, since this is a crew of often-hostile misfits under a lot of stress with a partly checked-out captain, but they do surface towards the end of the book.

The strength of this book is the mystery of the contracting universe, which poses both an immediate threat to the ship and a longer-term potential threat to, well, everything. The first part of the book builds tension with the immediate threat, but the story comes into its own when the crew starts piecing together the connections between the Viators and the Divide while jury-rigging technology and making risky choices between a lot of bad options. This is the first half of a duology, so the mysteries are not resolved here, but they do reach a satisfying and tantalizing intermediate conclusion.

The writing is servicable and adequate, but it's a bit clunky in places. Dewes doesn't quite have the balance right between setting the emotional stakes and not letting the characters indulge in rumination. Rake is a good captain who is worn down and partly checked out, Mercer is scared and hiding it with arrogance and will do well when given the right sort of attention, and all of this is reasonably obvious early on and didn't need as many of the book's pages as it gets. I could have done without the romantic subplot, which I thought was an unnecessary distraction from the plot and turned into a lot of tedious angst, but I suspect I was not the target audience. (Writers, please remember that people can still care about each other and be highly motivated by fear for each other without being romantic partners.)

I would not call this a great book. The characters are not going to surprise you that much, and it's a bit long for the amount of plot that it delivers. If you are the sort of person who nit-picks the physics of SF novels and gets annoyed at writers who don't understand how big the universe is, you will have to take a deep breath and hold on to your suspension of disbelief. But Dewes does a good job with ratcheting up the tension and conveying an atmosphere of mysterious things happening at the edge of nowhere, while still keeping it in the genre of mysterious technology and mind-boggingly huge physical phenomena rather than space horror. If you've been looking for that sort of book, this will do. I was hooked and will definitely read the sequel.

Followed by The Exiled Fleet.

Rating: 7 out of 10

2023-10-02: Review: Monstrous Regiment

Review: Monstrous Regiment, by Terry Pratchett

Series	Discworld #31
Publisher	Harper
Copyright	October 2003
Printing	August 2014
ISBN	0-06-230741-X
Format	Mass market
Pages	457

Monstrous Regiment is the 31st Discworld novel, but it mostly stands by itself. You arguably could start here, although you would miss the significance of Vimes's presence and the references to The Truth. The graphical reading order guide puts it loosely after The Truth and roughly in the Industrial Revolution sequence, but the connections are rather faint.

There was always a war. Usually they were border disputes, the national equivalent of complaining that the neighbor was letting their hedge row grow too long. Sometimes they were bigger. Borogravia was a peace-loving country in the middle of treacherous, devious, warlike enemies. They had to be treacherous, devious, and warlike; otherwise, we wouldn't be fighting them, eh? There was always a war.

Polly's brother, who wanted nothing more than to paint (something that the god Nuggan and the ever-present Duchess certainly did not consider appropriate for a strapping young man), was recruited to fight in the war and never came back. Polly is worried about him and tired of waiting for news. Exit Polly, innkeeper's daughter, and enter the young lad Oliver Perks, who finds the army recruiters in a tavern the next town over. One kiss of the Duchess's portrait later, and Polly is a private in the Borogravian army.

I suspect this is some people's favorite Discworld novel. If so, I understand why. It was not mine, for reasons that I'll get into, but which are largely not Pratchett's fault and fall more into the category of pet peeves.

Pratchett has dealt with both war and gender in the same book before. Jingo is also about a war pushed by a ruling class for stupid reasons, and featured a substantial subplot about Nobby cross-dressing that turns into a deeper character re-evaluation. I thought the war part of Monstrous Regiment was weaker (this is part of my complaint below), but gender gets a considerably deeper treatment. Monstrous Regiment is partly about how arbitrary and nonsensical gender roles are, and largely about how arbitrary and abusive social structures can become weirdly enduring because they build up their own internally reinforcing momentum. No one knows how to stop them, and a lot of people find familiar misery less frightening than unknown change, so the structure continues despite serving no defensible purpose.

Recently, there was a brief attempt in some circles to claim Pratchett posthumously for the anti-transgender cause in the UK. Pratchett's daughter was having none of it, and any Pratchett reader should have been able to reject that out of hand, but Monstrous Regiment is a comprehensive refutation written by Pratchett himself some twenty years earlier. Polly is herself is not transgender. She thinks of herself as a woman throughout the book; she's just pretending to be a boy. But she also rejects binary gender roles with the scathing dismissal of someone who knows first-hand how superficial they are, and there is at least one transgender character in this novel (although to say who would be a spoiler). By the end of the book, you will have no doubt that Pratchett's opinion about people imposing gender roles on others is the same as his opinion about every other attempt to treat people as things.

That said, by 2023 standards the treatment of gender here seems... naive? I think 2003 may sadly have been a more innocent time. We're now deep into a vicious backlash against any attempt to question binary gender assignment, but very little of that nastiness and malice is present here. In one way, this is a feature; there's more than enough of that in real life. However, it also makes the undermining of gender roles feel a bit too easy. There are good in-story reasons for why it's relatively simple for Polly to pass as a boy, but I still spent a lot of the book thinking that passing as a private in the army would be a lot harder and riskier than this. Pratchett can't resist a lot of cross-dressing and gender befuddlement jokes, all of which are kindly and wry but (at least for me) hit a bit differently in 2023 than they would have in 2003. The climax of the story is also a reference to a classic UK novel that to even name would be to spoil one or both of the books, but which I thought pulled the punch of the story and dissipated a lot of the built-up emotional energy.

My larger complaints, though, are more idiosyncratic. This is a war novel about the enlisted ranks, including the hazing rituals involved in joining the military. There are things I love about military fiction, but apparently that reaction requires I have some sympathy for the fight or the goals of the institution. Monstrous Regiment falls into the class of war stories where the war is pointless and the system is abusive but the camaraderie in the ranks makes service oddly worthwhile, if not entirely justifiable.

This is a real feeling that many veterans do have about military service, and I don't mean to question it, but apparently reading about it makes me grumbly. There's only so much of the apparently gruff sergeant with a heart of gold that I can take before I start wondering why we glorify hazing rituals as a type of tough love, or why the person with some authority doesn't put a direct stop to nastiness instead of providing moral support so subtle you could easily blink and miss it. Let alone the more basic problems like none of these people should have to be here doing this, or lots of people are being mangled and killed to make possible this heart-warming friendship.

Like I said earlier, this is a me problem, not a Pratchett problem. He's writing a perfectly reasonable story in a genre I just happen to dislike. He's even undermining the genre in the process, just not quite fast enough or thoroughly enough for my taste.

A related grumble is that Monstrous Regiment is very invested in the military trope of naive and somewhat incompetent officers who have to be led by the nose by experienced sergeants into making the right decision. I have never been in the military, but I work in an industry in which it is common to treat management as useless incompetents at best and actively malicious forces at worst. This is, to me, one of the most persistently obnoxious attitudes in my profession, and apparently my dislike of it carries over as a low tolerance for this very common attitude towards military hierarchy.

A full expansion of this point would mostly be about the purpose of management, division of labor, and people's persistent dismissal of skills they don't personally have and may perceive as gendered, and while some of that is tangentially related to this book, it's not closely-related enough for me to bore you with it in a review. Maybe I'll write a stand-alone blog post someday. Suffice it to say that Pratchett deployed a common trope that most people would laugh at and read past without a second thought, but that for my own reasons started getting under my skin by the end of the novel.

All of that grumbling aside, I did like this book. It is a very solid Discworld novel that does all the typical things a Discworld novel does: likable protagonists you can root for, odd and fascinating side characters, sharp and witty observations of human nature, and a mostly enjoyable ending where most of the right things happen. Polly is great; I was very happy to read a book from her perspective and would happily read more. Vimes makes a few appearances being Vimes, and while I found his approach in this book less satisfying than in Jingo, I'll still take it. And the examination of gender roles, even if a bit less fraught than current politics, is solid Pratchett morality.

The best part of this book for me, by far, is Wazzer. I think that subplot was the most Discworld part of this book: a deeply devout belief in a pseudo-godlike figure that is part of the abusive social structure that creates many of the problems of the book becomes something considerably stranger and more wonderful. There is a type of belief that is so powerful that it transforms the target of that belief, at least in worlds like Discworld that have a lot of ambient magic. Not many people have that type of belief, and having it is not a comfortable experience, but it makes for a truly excellent story.

Monstrous Regiment is a solid Discworld novel. It was not one of my favorites, but it probably will be someone else's favorite for a host of good reasons. Good stuff; if you've read this far, you will enjoy it.

Followed by A Hat Full of Sky in publication order, and thematically (but very loosely) by Going Postal.

Rating: 8 out of 10

2023-09-04: Review: Before We Go Live

Review: Before We Go Live, by Stephen Flavall

Publisher	Spender Books
Copyright	2023
ISBN	1-7392859-1-3
Format	Kindle
Pages	271

Stephen Flavall, better known as jorbs, is a Twitch streamer specializing in strategy games and most well-known as one of the best Slay the Spire players in the world. Before We Go Live, subtitled Navigating the Abusive World of Online Entertainment, is a memoir of some of his experiences as a streamer. It is his first book.

I watch a lot of Twitch. For a long time, it was my primary form of background entertainment. (Twitch's baffling choices to cripple their app have subsequently made YouTube somewhat more attractive.) There are a few things one learns after a few years of watching a lot of streamers. One is that it's a precarious, unforgiving living for all but the most popular streamers. Another is that the level of behind-the-scenes drama is very high. And a third is that the prevailing streaming style has converged on fast-talking, manic, stream-of-consciousness joking apparently designed to satisfy people with very short attention spans.

As someone for whom that manic style is like nails on a chalkboard, I am therefore very picky about who I'm willing to watch and rarely can tolerate the top streamers for more than an hour. jorbs is one of the handful of streamers I've found who seems pitched towards adults who don't need instant bursts of dopamine. He's calm, analytical, and projects a relaxed, comfortable feeling most of the time (although like the other streamers I prefer, he doesn't put up with nonsense from his chat). If you watch him for a while, he's also one of those people who makes you think "oh, this is an interestingly unusual person." It's a bit hard to put a finger on, but he thinks about things from intriguing angles.

Going in, I thought this would be a general non-fiction book about the behind-the-scenes experience of the streaming industry. Before We Go Live isn't really that. It is primarily a memoir focused on Flavall's personal experience (as well as the experience of his business manager Hannah) with the streaming team and company F2K, supplemented by a brief history of Flavall's streaming career and occasional deeply personal thoughts on his own mental state and past experiences. Along the way, the reader learns a lot more about his thought processes and approach to life. He is indeed a fascinatingly unusual person.

This is to some extent an exposé, but that's not the most interesting part of this book. It quickly becomes clear that F2K is the sort of parasitic, chaotic, half-assed organization that crops up around any new business model. (Yes, there's crypto.) People who are good at talking other people out of money and making a lot of big promises try to follow a startup fast-growth model with unclear plans for future revenue and hope that it all works out and turns into a valuable company. Most of the time it doesn't, because most of the people running these sorts of opportunistic companies are better at talking people out of money than at running a business. When the new business model is in gaming, you might expect a high risk of sexism and frat culture; in this case, you would not be disappointed.

This is moderately interesting but not very revealing if one is already familiar with startup culture and the kind of people who start businesses without doing any of the work the business is about. The F2K principals are at best opportunistic grifters, if not actual con artists. It's not long into this story before this is obvious. At that point, the main narrative of this book becomes frustrating; Flavall recognizes the dysfunction to some extent, but continues to associate with these people. There are good reasons related to his (and Hannah's) psychological state, but it doesn't make it easier to read. Expect to spend most of the book yelling "just break up with these people already" as if you were reading Captain Awkward letters.

The real merit of this book is that people are endlessly fascinating, Flavall is charmingly quirky, and he has the rare mix of the introspection that allows him to describe himself without the tendency to make his self-story align with social expectations. I think every person is intriguingly weird in at least some ways, but usually the oddities are smoothed away and hidden under a desire to present as "normal" to the rest of society. Flavall has the right mix of writing skill and a willingness to write with direct honesty that lets the reader appreciate and explore the complex oddities of a real person, including the bits that at first don't make much sense.

Parts of this book are uncomfortable reading. Both Flavall and his manager Hannah are abuse survivors, which has a lot to do with their reactions to their treatment by F2K, and those reactions are both tragic and maddening to read about. It's a good way to build empathy for why people will put up with people who don't have their best interests at heart, but at times that empathy can require work because some of the people on the F2K side are so transparently sleazy.

This is not the sort of book I'm likely to re-read, but I'm glad I read it simply for that time spent inside the mind of someone who thinks very differently than I do and is both honest and introspective enough to give me a picture of his thought processes that I think was largely accurate. This is something memoir is uniquely capable of doing if the author doesn't polish all of the oddities out of their story. It takes a lot of work to be this forthright about one's internal thought processes, and Flavall does an excellent job.

Rating: 7 out of 10

2023-08-20: Review: Some Desperate Glory

Review: Some Desperate Glory, by Emily Tesh

Publisher	Tordotcom
Copyright	2023
ISBN	1-250-83499-6
Format	Kindle
Pages	438

Some Desperate Glory is a far-future space... opera? That's probably the right genre classification given the setting, but this book is much more intense and character-focused than most space opera. It is Emily Tesh's first novel, although she has two previous novellas that were published as books.

The alien majo and their nearly all-powerful Wisdom have won the war by destroying Earth with an antimatter bomb. The remnants of humanity were absorbed into the sprawling majo civilization. Gaea Station is the lone exception: a marginally viable station deep in space, formed from a lifeless rocky planetoid and the coupled hulks of the last four human dreadnoughts. Gaea Station survives on military discipline, ruthless use of every available resource, and constant training, raising new generations of soldiers for the war that it refuses to let end.

While Earth's children live, the enemy shall fear us.

Kyr is a warbreed, one of a genetically engineered line of soldiers that, following an accident, Gaea Station has lost the ability to make except the old-fashioned way. Among the Sparrows, her mess group, she is the best at the simulated combat exercises they use for training. She may be the best of her age cohort except her twin Magnus. As this novel opens, she and the rest of the Sparrows are about to get their adult assignments. Kyr is absolutely focused on living up to her potential and the attention of her uncle Jole, the leader of the station.

Kyr's future will look nothing like what she expects.

This book was so good, and I despair of explaining why it was so good without unforgivable spoilers. I can tell you a few things about it, but be warned that I'll be reduced to helpless gestures and telling you to just go read it. It's been a very long time since I was this surprised by a novel, possibly since I read Code Name: Verity for the first time.

Some Desperate Glory follows Kyr in close third-person throughout the book, which makes the start of this book daring. If you're getting a fascist vibe from the setup, you're not wrong, and this is intentional on Tesh's part. But Kyr is a true believer at the start of the book, so the first quarter has a protagonist who is sometimes nasty and cruel and who makes some frustratingly bad decisions. Stay with it, though; Tesh knows exactly what she's doing.

This is a coming of age story, in a way. Kyr has a lot to learn and a lot to process, and Some Desperate Glory is about that process. But by the middle of part three, halfway through the book, I had absolutely no idea where Tesh was going with the story. She then pulled the rug out from under me, in the best way, at least twice more. Part five of this book is an absolute triumph, the payoff for everything that's happened over the course of the novel, and there is no way I could have predicted it in advance. It was deeply satisfying in that way where I felt like I learned some things along with the characters, and where the characters find a better ending than I could possibly have worked out myself.

Tesh does use some world-building trickery, which is at its most complicated in part four. That was the one place where I can point to a few chapters where I thought the world-building got a bit too convenient in order to enable the plot. But it also allows for some truly incredible character work. I can't describe that in detail because it would be a major spoiler, but it's one of my favorite tropes in fiction and Tesh pulls it off beautifully. The character growth and interaction in this book is just so good: deep and complicated and nuanced and thoughtful in a way that revises reader impressions of earlier chapters.

The other great thing about this book is that for a 400+ page novel, it moves right along. Both plot and character development is beautifully paced with only a few lulls. Tesh also doesn't belabor conversations. This is a book that provides just the right amount of context for the reader to fully understand what's going on, and then trusts the reader to be following along and moves straight to the next twist. That makes it propulsively readable. I had so much trouble putting this book down at any time during the second half.

I can't give any specifics, again because of spoilers, but this is not just a character story. Some Desperate Glory has strong opinions on how to ethically approach the world, and those ethics are at the center of the plot. Unlike a lot of books with a moral stance, though, this novel shows the difficulty of the work of deriving that moral stance. I have rarely read a book that more perfectly captures the interior experience of changing one's mind with all of its emotional difficulty and internal resistance. Tesh provides all the payoff I was looking for as a reader, but she never makes it easy or gratuitous (with the arguable exception of one moment at the very end of the book that I think some people will dislike but that I personally needed).

This is truly great stuff, probably the best science fiction novel that I've read in several years. Since I read it (I'm late on reviews again), I've pushed it on several other people, and I've not had a miss yet. The subject matter is pretty heavy, and this book also uses several tropes that I personally adore and am therefore incapable of being objective about, but with those caveats, this gets my highest possible recommendation.

Some Desperate Glory is a complete story in one novel with a definite end, although I love these characters so much that I'd happily read their further adventures, even if those are thematically unnecessary.

Content warnings: Uh, a lot. Genocide, suicide, sexual assault, racism, sexism, homophobia, misgendering, and torture, and I'm probably forgetting a few things. Tesh doesn't linger on these long, but most of them are on-screen. You may have to brace yourself for this one.

Rating: 10 out of 10

2023-07-17: Review: Legends & Lattes

Review: Legends & Lattes, by Travis Baldree

Series	Legends & Lattes #1
Publisher	Tor
Copyright	2022
ISBN	1-250-88609-0
Format	Kindle
Pages	293

Legends & Lattes is a sword and sorcery fantasy novel of the RPG-inspired, post-Dungeons-and-Dragons subtype. It was Travis Baldree's first novel.

Viv is an orc, the heavy muscle for a roving band of adventurers who take jobs for hire in a way familiar to any Dungeons and Dragons player. As this book opens, she's been an adventurer for twenty-two years, and she's done. Her band have defeated the Scalvert Queen and gained its hoard, but all that Viv wants is the stone in its head. With that in hand and some vague lore about how to use it, Viv leaves, rather abruptly, and heads for the city of Thune to chase a dream she's never told anyone else about.

Viv wants to start a coffee shop.

Legends & Lattes is an unapologetic comfort story. Viv doesn't entirely know what she's doing, but she has a lot of experience hiring people, negotiating, and figuring things out, and she's willing to do a lot of hard work. She's blunt and a bit rough, but she's ethical and kind, which lets her attract and retain her first two employees: a taciturn expert carpenter Viv picks out by watching people work at the docks, and a succubus she hires as a barista. From there, the story slowly turns into a found family dynamic, full of people that you like and are rooting for. There is one actual villain who shows up towards the end of the book to give it some conflict, but mostly this is the story of Viv building a small business while being a good employer and friend.

The subtitle of "a novel of high fantasy and low stakes" is therefore an excellent description. (Pedantic aside: This is "high fantasy" in the literary sense of not involving an otherwise-normal world, not "high" in the RPG sense of having less realistic, more mythic characters.) You are not going to be surprised by the outcome of the story, or even most of the events along the way. It's a book full of basically good people trying to do the right thing, largely succeeding, and building a community in the process.

If that feels relaxing and fun, you have precisely the right idea. Sometimes you want a book in which good things happen to good people, and that's exactly what Baldree delivers.

There are also a lot of specific details about explaining coffee to everyone and setting up a portion of the menu of a modern coffee shop in a fantasy world, and those parts I found less interesting. Baldree uses the handwave of gnomish machinery to import big chunks of 2020s coffee technology wholesale, which felt oddly out of step with the vaguely medieval-ish Dungeons and Dragons world. This is also one of those books where the characters independently reinvent multiple ideas that historically came from different regions and slow processes of refinement. Here it's drinks and pastries rather than major technological advances, which I guess is a little bit better, but I find this style of world-building grating.

The obligatory coffee shop cat is delightfully strange and suits the fantasy setting. I wish more of the coffee shop trappings had similar twists.

That said, everything else about the book worked for me, and the characters are thankfully more central to the book than the coffee shop trappings. I liked all of them and had no trouble rooting for them. The found family bits worked for me and the character relationships developed slowly enough to be believable but fast enough to be satisfying. Viv is refreshingly blunt, so I wasn't annoyed by communication failures. And the succubus, Tandri, is a fun, complex character and a great counterpoint to Viv.

If you're looking for something challenging or deep, this isn't the book, but if you're in the mood for a predictable comfort read, this hit the spot. Recommended.

Followed by Bookshops & Bonedust (not yet published), but Legends & Lattes is a complete story.

My edition has a novella (maybe a novelette) at the end of the short novel.

"Pages to Fill": This is a prelude to the novel, telling the story of Viv's first encounter with a coffee shop and the point where she made the decision to stop adventuring. That's not the main plot of the story, though. She and her team are pursuing a shapeshifting thief, which leads to Viv having some unexpected reactions.

This was fairly slight and predictable, but once you've read the novel, it's fun to see how the story began. The best part is seeing more of Gallina, the gnome who was by far my favorite of Viv's old team. (6)

Rating: 8 out of 10

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2023-10-02: Review: Monstrous Regiment

2023-09-04: Review: Before We Go Live

2023-08-20: Review: Some Desperate Glory

2023-07-17: Review: Legends & Lattes