This is the fourth time I’ve read Bujold’s Memory. Needless to say, this is one of my personal favorites. It is, in fact, the work I consider to be Bujold’s finest: Containing every one of her myriad strengths, unmarred by the slightest flaw.

Both the heart and the plot of the book is revealed in the simplicity of its title: This is the story of a mid-life crisis – a transformative retrospective of memory and experience. Or, as Bujold pithily describes it in the series chronology at the back of the book, “Miles hits thirty. Thirty hits back.”

You would think that a narrative based on reminiscence would be a boring affair, but quite the opposite is true: Even while Miles’ journey is largely an introspective one, it remains — above all — a journey. There is a purpose to it, and Bujold crafts an internal action which is every bit as entertaining and well-paced as an external one.

And, in truth, Bujold spends only the balance of her time charting a course through the mind of Miles: Memory also quickly develops into an adventure of high intrigue and political espionage. (Once which, also, reflects the title – but in a way which could only be described by way of a spoiler.)

Of course, these two separate lines of action are carefully woven against each other: Action meets action. Developments in one predicate developments in the other. And so forth. Neither plot could exist without the other, and so — of course — both plots are, in fact, the same plot.

It is a further testament to Bujold’s mastery that Memory doesn’t stop there: Depending on how you count, there are at least four more sub-plots carefully developed. The method of counting matters because each of these sub-plots is juxtaposed and integrated into the greater narrative: Actions which may, at first glance, simply seem like random page-filling, weave themselves seamlessly into the primary plot itself.

Perhaps this is the secret which allows Bujold to make an introspective novel work so well: The nature of such a work would tempt a lesser author to include scenes devoid of purpose in the false belief that they “develop” or “flesh out” the character. Bujold simply refuses to let a scene pass without meaning. The plot is never allowed a moment’s rest, even when Miles is mired deep in memory. There is a clearly defined path here: Miles does not simply waffle from one caricature to another. Rather, he begins in one place and ends in another (with obstacles and struggles along the way, of course). There is real, meaningful growth — and it is fascinating to watch.

What else can be said here?

Of course, there is Bujold’s unique gift at crafting classic and memorable scenes. Some are brilliant touches of character. Others are chillingly horrific. Still others are simply shockingly imaginative.

The other thing which impresses me about Bujold is the subtlety with which the science fiction is woven into her narrative. I’ve often heard it said that Bujold’s work is character-heavy, but science-lite. I don’t find that to be true at all: Bujold just does an extraordinary job of integrating the science and technology into a cohesive world. In Memory, for example, you will encounter biotech, cybertech, personal flyers, advanced medical techniques, massive spaceships, domed cities, and a variety of terraforming techniques. But they aren’t highlighted and lit up with bright neon lights: They’re simply part of the world in which the characters live.

Bujold is also an author who does not believe in killing off her characters: That, after all, would be letting them off easily. A reader might get a moment of emotional catharsis by seeing a character die, but keeping them alive in the midst o an impossible situation provides a lot more entertainment in the long run. It’s the Oedipus Theory of dramatic convention: Oedipus committing suicide is nice. Oedipus jabbing his eyes out to blot out the horror of his life is better.

There’s a lot of eye-jabbing in Memory.

Also, watch out for the elephant. It’s pervasive.

GRADE: A+

Lois McMaster Bujold
Published: 1996
Publisher: Baen Books
Cover Price: $6.99
ISBN: 0-671-87845-X

Click here for a note to new Bujold readers.

Lyda Morehouse’s Archangel Protocol has been staring at me off the new racks of Uncle Hugo’s in Minneapolis, MN for several months now. Every time I went in, the book would be tempting me, but I could never quite bring myself to pay for it new. A couple weeks ago, though, it finally showed up used, and I snatched it up without a second thought.

A brief conceptual sketch: Archangel Protocol takes place in a fairly standard cyberpunk setting, with the uber-powerful corporations swapped out for theocracies. The main character is a private detective who, like all PIs in popular fiction, gets caught up in things far beyond her control: In this case, mysterious angels have been seen on the ‘net and recognized as official miracles by the various theocracies and most of the world’s population.

Let me be up front in saying that I didn’t do this book any favors by reading it immediately after Cyteen. But, on the other hand, the book didn’t do many favors for itself, either.

Morehouse’s writing is workman-like: Functional, with the occasional flourish – but just as frequently crude. Sometimes painfully crude. But for a first novel, the prose is solid and shows some promise.

One problem, though, is that Morehouse can’t let her characters just exist in a space. They constantly have to be doing something. Thus even the simplest of conversations is drawn out into a long affair of detailed stage business – coffee being consumed, cups being moved, chairs squeaking. The technique is frequently turned towards ‘subtle’ exposition, but the result in practice is usually a jackhammer mixed with out of character behavior.

For example, in the first couple of pages in the book the main character provides us with exposition about her current tech-poor situation. She wraps this up by moving into the first scene, starting out by talking to herself about her computer: “Not even a graphical interface any more.” The problem here is that the author has lost track of her past tense telling of the story and the events of the story itself: The line of dialogue only makes sense in the context of the exposition which has preceded it, and thus only makes sense if the character is somehow aware of her future self telling the story. Thus the moment is out of character, a false note, and a clumsy bit of writing.

The world-building also comes across as very hollow. The central conceit is that the entire world has turned away from science and become fanatically religious as a result of the Medusa bombs (like atom bombs, but with a different special effect) used to end World War III. Morehouse repeats this assertion several times, in the hope, I suppose, that it will become more convincing in the repetition. The details don’t hold together very well, either: The world has become fanatically religious to the point where it’s illegal to not belong to a religion… but not fanatical enough that people actually care which religion you belong to. Electric cars have been adopted due to the same shortage of oil which triggered World War III… but they use a huge infrastructure of electrified tubes rather than just running off of battery power.

Even the technical details are off, which is disconcerting because she likes to lay them on thick. For example, when a simple web search causes the “processors to start whirring”, I’m left a little baffled. For one thing, processors don’t whir. And I can’t figure out why either the cooling fans or a disk drive would start whirring as the result of a web search.

Another example: In a novel of theocracies and angelic visitations, its not too surprising that theology plays a major role in the novel. But, again, the handling is crude. Morehouse starts off on the wrong foot, in my opinion, by claiming that throwing a well-known Bible quotation (“let he who is without sin throw the first stone”) into a preacher’s face represents a cutting argument capable of shocking the preacher into mute silence for several minutes. In a more general sense, I just find Morehouse’s use of theology to be extraordinarily dull. With the great wealth of Christian, Jewish, Muslim, and Hindu literature to draw upon, Morehouse seems perfectly content to remain complacently pedestrian.

And then there are the continuity glitches, which sap whatever strength the work might have like a biblical plague. For example, the main character has been receiving letters from her ex-partner. Early in the book we’re told that she hasn’t read the letters – in fact, she hasn’t even opened them. But the next time the letters come up, she has read them (despite the fact we’ve seen her every waking moment since being told she hadn’t read the letters).

In some cases, these continuity screw-ups are mind-numbingly clumsy. For example, at one point in the book two characters are setting up a meeting place. First, one character proposes Yankee Stadium and the other character voices some minor objections. Then, later on the same page, the other character proposes Yankee Stadium as if it had never been mentioned before.

Little flaws like that begin to add up to a lot of frustration.

To make matters worse, the plot is extremely predictable. I don’t think there’s a single thing that happens in the entire novel which isn’t clearly telegraphed at least a dozen pages earlier. Even the “surprise” ending gets telegraphed two pages before it happens.

Part of the reason for this is that the main character suffers from a severe case of Stupid Protagonist Syndrome(TM). On one page she can tell another character that she believes X may be true. Two pages later, when another character tells her that they believe X to be true, she can only think of them as insane. And she does this more than once. Oh, and here’s a hot tip: If you’re a wanted fugitive that the government has tracked down multiple times while on the run, returning to your private office for no particular reason is probably a really dumb idea.

And finally, at the end of the book, out of left field, we get a quick dose of sexism mixed with the magical superpowers of the menstrual cycle. Gah.

To the book’s favor, there are a lot of neat ideas packed between the covers: Technology, theology, mutation, psychology, sociology, and more are all played with in a variety of interesting ways. On top of that, the plot is intriguing and filled with a lot of promise.

But neither the ideas nor the plot are taken to that next level, and the execution is just painfully lacking. So the book gets a D in my mind – and its only getting that because the ideas have enough spark in them to make the book an edible piece of mediocre brain candy.

GRADE: D

Lyda Morehouse
Published: 2001
Publisher: Roc
Cover Price: $6.99
ISBN: 0-451-45827-3

To read a spoiler-free review of Cyteen, click here.

For some spoiler-filled thoughts about the book, go ahead and read more…

(more…)

Cyteen is like a freight train. Half way down the first page the freight train hits you, and then you spend the rest of the book speeding along at eighty miles per hour, trying to figure out which is more exciting and terrifying: The pain from the impact, the rush of the air, or the beautiful scenery streaking by. Then, as the novel comes to an end, the train slams on its brakes and you’re thrown against a wall from sheer momentum. Stumbling away under the impact of so many disparate sensations, you come to the realization that this was one of the greatest experiences of your life. And like a madman on a rollercoaster, you’re wondering how long you have to wait before getting another ride like it.

I’d bounced off Cherryh twice before. When I was ten years old, I got Rimrunners from the SFBC. I bounced off that very hard, although I’m pretty sure now that it was a combination of being too young and entering a series at the wrong point. But it did leave a sour impression in my mind when it came to her, so I didn’t try her again until last year, when I picked up the omnibus edition of The Faded Sun trilogy. After getting about twenty pages into that book, it got left at home when I went to Las Vegas. While in Vegas I ended up getting involved in several other books, and, as a result, The Faded Sun ended up going back onto the shelf.

Then Cyteen came to my attention. And I’m glad it did.

THE BEGINNING
In media res, as a term, seems an insufficient description of the deep end into which Cherryh throws the reader at the beginning of Cyteen.

Here’s a little future history. Wham. Here are some characters. Wham. Here’s some political intrigue. Wham. Here’s some character drama. Wham.

For me, the experience was like dog-paddling wildly in a typhoon. If I had stopped paying attention and struggling, the novel would have overwhelmed me. If I had allowed myself to be distracted from the page, I think it would have become incomprehensible and – shortly thereafter – boring.

Or, to put it another way: Cherryh opens the book with a lot of sound and fury. If you don’t pay attention, then it will signify nothing – and the opening will simply read as an interminable barrage. But if you’re paying attention, you can see the clues being dropped: This does signify something. Something’s going on here. What is it? What does that mean? And if you’re in that mindset, then every little detail becomes crucial and intriguing.

THE STORY

Cyteen is a political thriller. It’s a murder mystery. It’s a generational epic. It’s a coming of age story. (Actually, it’s two coming of age stories. Possibly three.) It’s a psychological novel. It’s a future history.

Cyteen brings to mind thoughts of Dune, Ender’s Game, Use of Weapons, A Deepness in the Sky, and the Foundation Trilogy.

Cyteen demonstrates a remarkable breadth and depth. Cherryh has an equal willingness to tackle the big ideas and explore the small ones; to show her characters at the worst of times and at the best of times.

THE EXPERIENCE

Cyteen is not an easy book to read. And I mean that in a good way. This is a novel which is going to ask you to do your part as the reader: Its not going to hand you much of anything on a silver platter. Its going to force you read between the lines, draw your own conclusions, and interpret the narrative. If you don’t, the novel will simply read as a meaningless, turgid piece of self-indulgence.

But if you give it the careful reading it deserves, you will be rewarded with a richness which is hard to describe.

By way of example: I noticed at least five instances in which, if I had missed or glossed a single sentence, my entire reading of the work would have shifted profoundly. And as a result, of course, that means that the book demands a re-reading.

Cyteen is like a jewel: When you read it, you’re looking at it from a unique perspective. The smallest elements that stand out for you will shape the way the novel presents itself to you. Someone else reading the novel would notice a different set of details, and their reading experience will shift as a result. Cyteen presents itself as a truly multi-faceted work – a work whose appearance will change for the reader and the reading.

I simply cannot marvel at this enough: Reading Cyteen does not have the normal effect of starting at one point (page one) and traveling to another (the last page). Instead, you are immersed into a mental web in which your picture of the novel as a whole is constantly being revised: Something you see on page 10 will be reshaped by something you see on page 310.

Even as I sat down to write this review, I ended up glancing through the first few pages. I was immediately pulled right back into the book, and as I read just a handful of paragraphs I was amazed to discover that new details were revealing themselves and, once gain, my impressions of the entire novel were being transformed.

THE CHARACTERS

Cherryh also demonstrates an incredible gift for putting you inside the minds of her characters. The novel is incredibly enriched by the depth of her characterizations: Her POV characters are not there merely to narrate events, they are there to respond to them in both thought and deed.

The effect of all this becomes a master stroke in this story, which is largely about perception and personality. Reading Cyteen is like standing in an endless house of mirrors: You see nothing directly, but reality is limitlessly reflected all about you.

Perhaps even more remarkable is the fact that every character’s perceptions are completely legitimate – even when they’re completely inverted from one another. You’ll read Character #1 and think you’ve got everyone figured out. Then Cherryh will jump over to Character #2, and you’ll realize that not only did you not have Character #2 figured out… you need to seriously re-analyze your opinion of Character #1, too.

I’ve seen plenty of authors put me into the heads of multiple characters. But only Cherryh has left me absolutely convinced that every single point of view is legitimately the vision of a fully realized character.

CONCLUSIONS

Cyteen is a masterpiece. Its supreme mastery of form and character, matched to a plot of epic proportions and psychological complexity, is simply awe-inspiring.

Perhaps its strength can be left to a simple testament: As I finish writing these words, I am nearly overwhelmed with a desire to go back and devour it again.

GRADE: A+

For additional comments on Cyteen, which include SPOILERS, click here.

NOTE ABOUT SPOILERS

The following reaction will contain spoilers for The Garden of Iden, the first novel in Kage Baker’s Company series.

As a policy, I’m trying to keep the spoilers in these reactions to a bare minimum and limited to the first fifty pages of the book. If the spoilers exceed those guidelines, I’ll make a point to include a note up front. Spoilers for the two books discussed here are kept to the usual absolute minimum.

END NOTE ABOUT SPOILERS

I found a lot to really enjoy in Baker’s The Garden of Iden, as I described in my previous reaction.

The Garden of Iden walked a fine line between a light adventure story and a character drama, and succeeded admirably at delivering a powerful dose of the latter wrapped in the appealing package of the former.

Sky Coyote, the second novel in the series, walks the same line, but ends up coming down firmly on the other side of it: This is a fun, rip-roaring, no-holds-barred adventure story nicely spiced with moments of character drama which ring true and strike deep chords. The result is very effective: Because the same thematic elements are used and explored in both The Garden of Iden and Sky Coyote, the book clearly resonates as a sequel. But because the ratios are shifted, Sky Coyote exists as a stylistically distinct work.

Unlike The Garden of Iden, Sky Coyote does begin to show clear signs of a series-in-progress: Moments of conspiracy and mystery lurk throughout the novel, but their resolution is distinctly left for another day (and a different book). Intriguingly, however, the result is not that of a half-finished product: The very lack of resolution for the moments of conspiracy in terms of plot is, in fact, the resolution of the major character drama of the novel. In a similar fashion, Kage Baker brings Mendoza, the main character of the first novel, in as a supporting cast member in Sky Coyote. Mendoza’s role in the novel is absolutely essential, justified, and complete… but it also serves, at the same time, as a foundation for Mendoza in Hollywood.

There’s a remarkable craft at work there. And a surprising depth in what appears, at first glance, to be a light read. And, in fact, the novel can be read as a light adventure story completely independent of the series as a whole.

Mendoza in Hollywood, by contrast, is the story of post-traumatic stress syndrome finally catching up with Mendoza. But its also a conspiracy story, and the twin threads wrap around each other in a delightful way as the books comes to a close.

The strength here, as it was in The Garden of Iden, is the depth with which Kage Baker draws the character of Mendoza. The emotional journey Mendoza endures through the novel is a gut-wrenching, heartbreakingly true experience.

The book doesn’t quite measure up to the first two, however, because it doesn’t find a plot for a long time. When it does, the whirlwind is intriguing and exciting, but ultimately short-lived. (And there are some suspension of disbelief issues with the deus ex machina which jump starts the plot once it arrives.) Two comments on this:

First, it creates a problem with the cover blurb. The blurb writer, clearly seeking exciting plot to write about, sums up the entire plot of the novel. Well, okay, he doesn’t describe the last 50 pages. But, nonetheless, if you read the cover blurb on this one your reading experience will drastically suffer. DO NOT READ THE COVER BLURB. I’m not kidding.

Second, I suspect that I would enjoy this novel on an entirely different level the second time through. Simply put, once the plot becomes clear near the end of the book, a plethora of small details – worked seamlessly into the character drama endured by Mendoza through the early part of the book – suddenly coalesce.

It’s a situation where, if you knew the plot of the book ahead of time, the thrust and direction of the story would be clear to you. I don’t think its coincidental that this is the same knowledge an author would have sitting down to write the book.

Which doesn’t mean that Mendoza in Hollywood is a waste of time the first time through. The character drama is intense. The development of the series’ meta-plot is intriguing. And the reading experience, for me, was very enjoyable.

It’s a good novel cursed by the fact that it followed two great novels, and it suffers somewhat in the comparison. But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s good.

At the moment, I am very much looking forward to reading the next book in this series. Unfortunately, The Graveyard Game appears to be entirely unavailable to me at the moment. Fortunately, it is going to be re-released in paperback sometime next year by Tor, shortly before they publish the fifth book in the series. So I’ll be looking forward to that.

GRADES:

SKY COYOTE: A-
MENDOZA IN HOLLYWOOD: B

Kage Baker
Published: 1999 / 2000
Publisher: Tor
Cover Price: $6.99
ISBNs: 0380731800 / 0380819007
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