See? Didn’t I tell you not to put any money on it?

I’d tell you why this update has been delayed, but you wouldn’t believe me anyway. In order to distract you from gnawing curiousity, allow me to present some nice, shiny What I’m Reading content:

16. The Graveyard Game – Kage Baker
17. The Mote in God’s Eye – Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle
18. The Gripping Hand – Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle
19. Ethan of Athos – Lois McMaster Bujold
20. The Misenchanted Sword – Lawrence Watt-Evans

And speaking of Lawrence Watt-Evans, you should check out the Spriggan Experiment. Mr. Watt-Evans is writing an entire Ethshar novel and offering it to the general public under a variation of the Street Performer’s Protocol and the Storyteller Bowl. I think of it as a Distributed Patron System, and I think it presents an elegant solution to the problem of compensating creative artists in an era when the enforcement of copyright is becoming an increasingly difficult (if not impossible) task.

“Justin!” I hear you cry. “Why have your updates not been forthcoming? Why have you left us bereft upon the cold currents of the barren Internet? Why have you abandoned us? Why have you robbed us of your pearls of wisdom?!”

Or, at least, the six of you who check this page on a completely irregular basis may be wondering why I’ve only updated twice in August. Possibly. (I’m not putting any money on it.)

Well, partly because of My Bedroom the Swamp. And partly because my brother graduated from Iowa State University yesterday. (Congrats!) But for the past couple of days it’s because my brain has been eaten by a Bigger Better Fnord. Check it out. And then you can pop over to this thread and give us all a helping hand in untangling the unfathomable mysteries of the Fnord.

And tomorrow I’ll have some honest-to-god content. Maybe. (I wouldn’t put any money on it.)

I think that a very strong argument can be made that George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire is the finest work of epic fantasy since J.R.R. Tolkien first defined the genre with The Lord of the Rings.

And that’s pretty much the only comparison which can be made between Martin’s emerging masterpiece and Tolkien’s classic.

Where Tolkien is a romantic, Martin is a realist. Where Tolkien is evocatively poetic, Martin is powerfully blunt. Where Tolkien is mythic, Martin is historical.

This reaction covers the first three books in the series: A Game of Thrones, A Clash of Kings, and A Storm of Swords. The fourth book, titled A Feast of Crows, is scheduled to come out later this year. (Of course, it was also scheduled to come out last year. So don’t hold your breath.) The series is not done, and so it would be premature to judge it as a whole. But I will say this: If Martin finishes as he has begun, he will have crafted the first work to truly redefine what epic fantasy is capable of since Frodo passed out of Middle Earth.

(I’ve also heard this series described as “a fantasy version of the Wars of the Rose”. Having read the books, I feel compelled to report that this is only true in the vaguest of all possible senses. It would be roughly equivalent to saying that The Lord of the Rings is “a fantasy version of The Sting”.)

Here’s what I like:

First, the series is simply not predictable. Based on a long experience with extruded fantasy products, you may think you know where the plot is going from page one… but you don’t. (No, really. You don’t.) And the effect never ends: As you read on, you’ll be wrong in your guesses more often than not. And Martin isn’t so foolish as to have nothing turn out the way you would expect: Just enough threads carry themselves in out in a traditional fashion that you cannot even rest assured in the unexpected.

Second, the depth and breadth of world-building is staggering. Martin’s Westeros is no pale copy of Middle Earth with the names scratched off and written over. Nor is it a poorly disguised historical analogue. Nor a paper-thin construction whose scope is wholly spent with the first revelation. No, with Westeros Martin has made an onion: And with each chapter and volume he peels back a new layer.

Third, injuries have meaningful, long-lasting effects. Scars linger, old wounds ache, and even bruises make their presence felt. And when people die, the death is tangible and real, without the least trace of romanticism. (The only seeming exception here are missing teeth: Martin seems to have a fetish for knocking teeth out of his characters during fights, yet the lack never seems to be commented upon again. Perhaps there is a magical orthodontist running around backstage.)

Fourth, Martin does a very good job of putting you inside the heads of many different characters, each of whom has a unique outlook on the world. As the series begins, he’s not quite as good as Cherryh at this – Martin lets you look through their eyes; Cherryh lets you crawl inside their skin – but as the series progresses I see his skill with this growing more and more.

Finally, these are just damn fine books. If you’ve been thinking to yourself “I’d like to read a really good book”, then this is what you’re looking for.

There are two minor complaints I would lay against the series as a whole:

First, the timeline is a little vague and seems to be very flexible. Travel times, in particular, seem to elongate for effect when necessary, throwing off the relationship between various plot streams.

Second, Martin falls into the trap of recapping information and plot from previous volumes in each new volume. I’m not sure why authors of series like this feel a need to do this. The recaps would seem to suggest that each book can be read individually. But they can’t and they won’t, so why pretend? It’s only frustrating to those of us who start with Book One and read from there. In other words, it’s frustrating to all of us.

To elaborate on these general thoughts a little more:

The first two volumes are of a piece in my mind: The first is a crafty mystery and the second is a powerful war story, both set against a backdrop of byzantine intrigue and feudal politics. Both are excellent and nearly flawless.

The third volume, on the other hand, seems to tail off a bit. It’s not an exceptional decline by any stretch of the imagination – indeed, if this book were not preceded by the other two, it would be barely be mentionable. But weaknesses do begin to appear here which were not previously present in the series: Crudity which was once an effective evocation of Martin’s world begins slipping into simple shock value and occasional titillation. The violence and pain suffered by his characters becomes arbitrary, rather than arising naturally from their circumstances. A weird running “joke” appears. A mandatory rule of “a character must piss their pants once every fifteen pages” is instituted. Several characters become mired at the beginning of the book and their plot threads begin to drag. An increasing proportion of the action begins slipping into flashbacks, being told instead of shown. Chapters begin ending with false, melodramatic cliffhangers.

Just strange, little stuff. Nothing major. Nothing which cripples the work. But enough minor irritants to consistently distract (particularly during the first third of the book).

On the other hand, the third volume also takes all of the strengths of the series and deepens them: The world becomes richer. The characters become more compelling. The plot grips you even tighter than before.

And here’s the most important thing to understand:

This is a brilliant series. Brilliant and painful and beautiful and stunning. Literally stunning. There are points in reading it when I found my mouth hanging agape, in sheer shock.

If you have not yet found this series, find it now. If you have been avoiding it skeptically as yet another poorly done set of fantasy doorstops, stop cheating yourself. If it is already on your reading list, move it to the top.

In short: Read it. Read it now.

GRADES:

A GAME OF THRONES: A+
A CLASH OF KINGS: A+
A STORM OF SWORDS: A

George R.R. Martin
Published: 1996 / 1999 / 2000
Publisher: Bantam
Cover Price: $7.99
ISBNs: 0-553-57340-3 / 0-553-57990-8 / 0-553-57342-X

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I’ve come to think of Bujold’s Vorkosigan novels as being grouped into three tiers: The first tier are those so unbelievably good that they would take up a good chunk of my imaginary All-Time Greatest SF Novels list. The second tier is made up of some excellent novels which, for one reason or another, don’t quite raise themselves up to the status of All-Time classics. Then the third tier rounds up the rest of the novels, which are “merely” very, very good. (If Bujold has ever stooped to writing a mediocre book, I haven’t read it.)

For me, those tiers look something like this (in internal chronological order within each tier):

TIER ONE
Shards of Honor
Barrayar
Borders of Infinity
Mirror Dance
Memory
A Civil Campaign

TIER TWO
Cetaganda
Brothers in Arms
Komarr

TIER THREE
The Warrior’s Apprentice
The Vor Game
Diplomatic Immunity

You’ll notice that Diplomatic Immunity gets placed in the last tier. (In my opinion, it’s definitely better than The Vor Game and only slightly edged out by The Warrior’s Apprentice.) So it’s only “very good”, not “excellent” or “nigh to perfect”.

There are three major problems I had with Diplomatic Immunity:

First, the theme seems forced. In works like Shards of Honor, Barrayar, Memory, and even The Warrior’s Apprentice, Bujold distinguishes herself by crafting themes which are subtle, interwoven, and powerful. These lend a depth and resonance to her work which truly sets them apart from the rest of the pack.

In Diplomatic Immunity, on the other hand, I feel as if the theme (parenting and childbirth) is being used as a bludgeon. Literally everything in this book seems to tie directly back to this heavy-handed theme, and in at least one case Bujold has Miles go out of his way to have this spelled out to the reader. In the final analysis, something which is elegantly manipulated in Bujold’s other works is clumsily manhandled here.

Second, and in a somewhat similar vein, Bujold’s “plotting by convenience” (or authorial fiat), as I discussed in my reaction to The Vor Game a couple weeks ago, seems to crop up a tad too much here. Although, to be fair, I may just be overly-sensitized to it coming off The Vor Game.

The biggest problem, however, is that a significant chunk of the novel’s resolution takes place off-screen and is then summed up in an expository conversation. Admittedly, Miles is not present for that chunk of resolution. But his wife, Ekaterin, is, and Bujold has never shied away from multiple points of view before.

In fact, I think it can be argued that the book as a whole could have benefited significantly with the addition of Ekaterin’s point of view throughout. Not only would this have highlighted the theme from a different angle (for those who have read the book, consider the conversations between Ekaterin, Nicol, and Garnet Five), but it would also have allowed us to see Miles through new eyes. From a plot perspective, it would have also given us a complete picture of the investigation throughout, without the expository lumps which crop up consistently. Plus, I wouldn’t mind haved minded getting a peek at Ekaterin’s point of view just to get a peek at Ekaterin’s point of view. I’m not one to critique a book for not being written the way I would have done it, but I think Bujold raises the issue herself by moving the resolution off-screen the way that she does.

So, those are the problems. But, like I said, this is still a very good book. Bujold brings all of her familiar strengths to play: Memorable and endearing characterization. Clever plotting. A fine mixture of humor and drama. Smooth, well-executed prose.

In short, Diplomatic Immunity is a lot of fun to read. If it wasn’t by Bujold, there wouldn’t even be a pretext for complaint – and so I’m not going to fall into the trap of disliking something good, just because the author has also created something great.

GRADE: B+

Lois McMaster Bujold
Published: 2002
Publisher: Baen Books
Cover Price: $7.99
ISBN: 0-743-43612-1

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The first term which springs to mind in considering Cherryh’s Downbelow Station is “military SF”. But, somehow, that doesn’t seem adequate. When I think of military SF visions of Weber’s Honor Harrington or Moon’s Heris Serrano dance before my eyes. And comparing Honor Harrington to Downbelow Station is like comparing a table knife to a machete: It may be technically correct, but it is more than lacking in its descriptive accuracy.

Downbelow Station is a war story. Not a story of the glorified war seen at a Saturday matinee, bur rather the story of a war seen through the eyes of an Anne Frank or a Vietnam vet. It is a war brutal, savage, and viciously capricious. Indeed, Cherryh’s vision of future war is, if anything, more horrific than anything the modern world has seen: It is a thing of vacuum and hapless impotence.

The best comparison I can draw to Downbelow Station would be Haldeman’s Forever War. But Haldeman’s masterpiece pales in comparison to the rich textures of Cherryh’s classic: Where Haldeman’s message is a relatively simple, Vietnam parable, Cherryh weaves an elaborate tapestry of motive, judgment, and consideration. As a result, by the end of the book, I certainly know what my own opinions on the war are – but I rather suspect that others will draw completely dissimilar conclusions. Cherryh conjures a stark, appalling reality: Complex, textured, and detailed. Attempting to grasp what she has created is like trying to come to grips with Beirut or Iraq – it has that kind of startling depth.

The other work which I invariably found myself thinking of while reading Downbelow Station was Cyteen, the only other work by Cherryh which I have read to date. Downbelow Station, being the earlier work, is almost inevitably a little cruder than Cyteen, but many of the same strengths are to be found here: Most notably, Cherryh’s ability to fully realize the characters on all sides of a conflict. Unlike Cyteen, the effect is not quite perfect: Characters like Lukas and Mazian may be given some depth, but they’re still palpably the unmitigated villains of the piece, while, on the other hand, the Konstantins are the sainted heroes. In other places, though, Cherryh’s future gift for characterization shines through – Signy, Elene, Satin, Josh, Kressich – and it is in these places, naturally, that the work finds its greatest resonance and most meaningful facets.

One thing I find particularly interesting is Cherryh’s prose. When I begin a Cherryh novel, I will often find myself noticing its distinctive style. It seems to stand out in a way that I can’t quite put my finger on: Perhaps it is an unusual word choice. Or a way of structuring sentences and paragraphs. It’s difficult to describe. But within a handful of pages, I find that I have adjusted to it completely – at which point it becomes a powerful storytelling tool, wielded by a master of her craft.

In short, I found Downbelow Station to be a powerful and moving experience. Between this and Cyteen, I am now officially a Cherryh fanatic.

GRADE: A+

C.J. Cherryh
Published: 1981
Publisher: DAW Books
Cover Price: $7.99
ISBN: 0-7564-0059-7

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