NOTE ABOUT SPOILERS

This reaction contains spoilers for the first three novels in Kage Baker’s Company series. What I’m Reading reactions to these earlier novels are available: The Garden of Iden, Sky Coyote, and Mendoza in Hollywood.

END NOTE ABOUT SPOILERS

When I finished Mendoza in Hollywood, I was fairly convinced that I had a long wait ahead of me for The Graveyard Game: The original hardback from Harcourt had gone out of print, and the paperback would not be available until much later this year.

Then the fates smiled down upon me: Against all hope, a used copy appeared in Uncle Hugo’s. I immediately snatched it up and brought it home.

As I discussed in my previous reactions, the first Company novel, The Garden of Iden, is a novel which stands by itself. The second, Sky Coyote, also stands by itself, even while subtly beginning to lay groundwork for the series as a whole. Even the third novel, Mendoza in Hollywood, while being a clear sequel to the first novel, has an existence independent of the series (although the presence of the series’ meta-plot was increasingly evident).

But The Graveyard Game, by contrast, is simply an installment in the ongoing series: It has no independent existence of its own, and cannot be read as an individual novel at any level. The plot of the novel picks up the loose threads laid down in the previous novels and begins running with them: If the end of Mendoza in Hollywood left you full of questions, The Graveyard Game will immediately begin satisfying your appetite for answers.

The Graveyard Game, on the one hand, reminds me of a simplified version of  The Illuminatus Trilogy via time travel – conspiracies are unraveled and mysteries at the very heart of civilization are revealed. On the other hand, it also reminds me of the Continuum roleplaying game, which had a very different philosophy when it came to time travel, but also looked candidly at what it would mean for someone to have a playground as large as human history without any practical authority to answer to.

Those comparisons are probably worthless to most of you, but its where the work resonated for me. (It also lightly reminded of Asimov’s End of Eternity, and experienced some truly fascinating parallels with Philip K. Dick’s Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, which I started reading immediately afterwards. But I digress.)

Let me put it this way: The plot is a conspiracy-buster set within the immortal world of Baker’s time travelers. Watching conspiracies unwind themselves from within the framework of other conspiracies is a lot of fun (kind of like watching the Smoking Man channel Mulder). In fact, the entire book is best characterized as a fast-paced adventure story. (I’ve heard this book multiply described as the “darkest” of Kage Baker’s novels. I honestly don’t know where that’s coming from. Baker, in my opinion, has never been darker than she was in The Garden of Iden.)

For the first time, the Company novels take us into future history – and the result is mixed. On many levels, I’m fascinated by the narrative history she constructs (particularly at the subtle suggestion that, as the time for its own creation comes near, the Company’s interference with history grows increasingly drastic). But, on the other hand, Baker is also quite capable of giving my suspension of disbelief a rollercoaster ride. For example, when she asserts that only 25 years from now a set of incredibly popular fantasy novels about talking animals will trigger mandatory vegan laws and animal emancipation laws, my rapidly rising eyebrows nearly cracked my ceiling. That’s a little like claiming that the Harry Potter books will trigger a mass conversion to wicca. Her world-building also takes some truly unusual turns, and not all of them sit quite right with me. (I think I’d rather see her simply exploring the consequences of her central time travel thesis, rather than littering the playing field with other conceits.)

So, how to sum this up?

All in all, The Graveyard Game is something of a mixed bag. The plot is fun, but it also lacks the emotional depth and impact of the first three novels. Perhaps this fault can be laid at the choice of dual protagonists (which inevitably divides the thrust of the work). Or perhaps it’s the extended time period (several centuries) over which the book takes place (which inevitably dilutes the thrust). But, on the flip side, for those who have read the previous Company novels, the revelations found here are worth the price of admission all by themselves.

So I’m going to give this one a B. It’s a good book, neither flawed nor superlative.

GRADE: B

Kage Baker
Published: 2001
Publisher: Harcourt
Cover Price: $24.00
ISBN: 0-15-100449-8

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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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The Vor Game is, almost certainly, the worst of Bujold’s Vorkosigan novels.

Last week I wrote that Memory combined all of Bujold’s strengths without any of her flaws. The Vor Game is almost an inversion of this: It combines her worst flaws as an early writer with very few of her strengths. The powerful themes of her others works are missing. The plot is driven by one implausible chance encounter and improbability after another. Even the little touches and subtle nuances seem absent once you are past the first fifty pages. The one strength which may still be cited are the characters – but even they are somewhat lamed as the absurdity of the plot grows.

In many ways, this is actually a book of two parts: The first part is an effective novella (which, unfortunately, lacks an ending). The second part is a disastrous outing compared to the standard Bujold has set for herself, primarily as a result of the SOD-breaking coincidences which drive the plot.

When you read this book, try counting the number of times the plot is advanced because Miles has a chance encounter with someone. In some cases these are merely as improbable as running into someone by chance in New York City. In other cases it’s as improbable as running into someone in Beijing who you just saw two weeks ago in Los Angeles.

If it happened once, it wouldn’t be a problem. Heck, Bujold might even be able to pull it off two or even three times if she were careful.

Instead, she does it more than a dozen times. The entire plot is driven along this single-minded authorial fiat.

Okay. So there are some significant problems here. There are also good points: If you can swallow your disbelief repeatedly, the plot is a rip-roaring ride. Watching Miles at his most hyperactively desperate is as much fun as it usually is, and the supporting cast can be truly delightful.

When all is said and done, this is still a good book. It’s a frustrating and disappointing book compared to Bujold’s other works, and its utterly baffling that such a poorly-constructed novel could win the Hugo. But that doesn’t change the fact that this is still a fun little read, as long as you don’t come to it with artificially heightened expectations.

GRADE: B-

Lois McMaster Bujold
Published: 1990
Publisher: Baen Books
Cover Price: $15.00
ISBN: 0-671-87782-8
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