This week we’ll be talking about Ack-Ack Macaque by Gareth L. Powell.
I discovered this book while writing a post about dieselpunk, and decided the check it out. The premise was too good to ignore: A sentient, gunslinging, Nazi-killing, fighter-pilot monkey wakes up out of a simulation to wreak havoc on fascists in 2059. I was hooked.
And this book is a nice intersection of genres—the war-fueled frenzy of dieselpunk 1944, and the futuristic, political, cyberpunk world of 2059. In this science fiction book review of Ack-Ack Macaque, I’ll discuss some background for the book, as well as what I loved, and vice versa.
The Background
Ack-Ack Macaque first appeared as a short story in Interzone in 2007, and was later transformed into a trilogy of novels, the first one published in 2012.
Gareth L. Powell is a British science fiction author who has tens of short stories in professional venues as well as a few stand-alone novels and other trilogies.
His debut novel, Silversands, garnered a favorable review in The Guardian by Eric Brown. After that, he published a few other books, including The Recollection, and a space opera trilogy that starts with Embers of War.
Ack-Ack Macaque is by far his most recognized work, having won the British Science Fiction Association Award for Best Novel in 2013. The two other books in the Ack-Ack Macaque series are Hive Money and Macaque Attack.
Primate With the Big Iron on His Hip
One of the things that drew me to Ack-Ack Macaque was the cover art, featuring a cigar-munching monkey wielding his massive chrome Colt .45. It’s such a bizarre image that I knew there was a great story behind it.
And I was right.
While Ack-Ack Macaque is the titular character, the book is split into three different perspectives. The monkey, the heir to the throne of Brittany, Prince Merovech, and a cybernetic journalist, Victoria Valois.
Both Merovech and Valois are wrapped up in a nationwide conspiracy, watching the doomsday clock tick closer and closer to nuclear Armageddon. When Merovech and his friend Julie manage to pull Ack-Ack from the simulation he’s been living in, the primate is more than eager to, as he would say, “blow shit up.”
While at first glance, the novel seems to be about a battle-hardened monkey shooting down Nazi ninjas in his fighter plane, the story is a lot deeper than the crash-and-burn of WWII carnage.
Bridging Two Genres
Powell begins to tackle topics of live after death via android bodies and downloaded consciousnesses, as well as the exploring the fine line between what’s human and what’s machine.
I’m a big fan of conversations about artificial intelligence and “more human than human” ideas, and I wasn’t expecting to find those things in Ack-Ack Macaque.
My expectation was to read a fun, wild ride full of gun-toting monkeys, and in some ways, Powell stayed true to that promise. However, I feel that the combination between dieselpunk 1944 and futuristic 2059 was a tad forced.
Ack-Ack Macaque seems too well-adjusted when he pops out of the simulation, and we slowly glean information about his life before taking up the mantle of Nazi-killer in the video-game simulation bearing his name.
You’d think he’d need a lot more time to figure out what’s what, having just spent who-knows-how-long in a fictional world without computers.
But I think it had to be done for the sake of timeliness. Ack-Ack Macaque is about 400 pages, but it really flew by, and I think Powell achieved this by simplifying the character arks. The main characters have singular purposes, for the most part, and each scene is meant to push those purposes forward. There’s not a lot of backstory or humming-and-hawing, and every chapter ends on a mini-cliffhanger.
For a book of this type, that kind of pacing is important to keep up the excitement, and it works.
As I continue to read the other two books in the series, I’d like to see some more fleshed out details about Ack-Ack’s past, as well as the past of some of the other characters too.
Science Fiction Book Review Rating
I really enjoyed Ack-Ack Macaque. It combines two seemingly different genres and pulls them together under one cover, and it’s full of twists, even though you can see most of them coming.
Where I think the book excels is with its contemplation of human-ness. Ack-Ack is a primate, albeit a highly-advanced, daiquiri-drinking primate, but he exudes more humanity than some of the other characters. And throw in android clones and downloaded consciousnesses into the mix, and you’ve got a while dilemma on your hands.
I’m excited to see where the story goes after the first book, and I hope there’s more Spitfire dogfights, even though that ship may have sailed.
Overall, I rate Ack-Ack Macaque an 8.5/10.
In many ways, Powell’s style of writing embodies what I want to do with my own writing, which is create a weird, fun story with moments of deep introspection. And for that reason, I think the meta of Ack-Ack Macaque is almost more important than the story itself.
So, get out there, find your monkey, and let him blow stuff up.
You might have seen people talking online about the new Wheel of Time show on Amazon Prime. From what I’ve seen, it’s received mixed reviews.
Diehard fans of the books are prone to nitpicking inconsistencies, while the more open-minded fans are just glad to see the series come to the big screen.
So, is TheWheel of Time worth watching?
What Is The Wheel of Time?
The Wheel of Time is a 14 book series (15 if you count the prequel novel) by Robert Jordan. Unfortunately, Jordan passed away near the tail end of the series, so Brandon Sanderson, another fantasy author, was commissioned to finish the last few books using Jordan’s extensive notes.
Compared to other works of epic fantasy, like The Song of Ice and Fire or The Lord of the Rings, The Wheel of Time is massive.
By the end of the series, Jordan and Sanderson wrote over 4.5 million words, making it the longest fantasy series of all time. (ASOIAF and Discworld are runners up.)
There’s been a lot of push for WoT to be made into a TV series, and there was even a pilot episode in 2015 from Red Eagle Entertainment as a last-ditch effort to keep the rights to the show.
However, the episode was a flop, and in 2018, Amazon got the rights and ordered a show.
The first three episodes aired on Amazon Prime on November 19th, 2021, and the Internet has been abuzz with reviews, comparisons, and criticism.
Moirainne in the Two Rivers
Should You Watch The Wheel of Time?
As a long-time fan of the books, I was skeptical about how Amazon would take a series of such epic proportions and adapt it for television. I knew that a lot of the elements I loved about the books—the prolonged journey sequences of The Eye of the World, the numerous poems and songs, and the rich lore—would probably be glossed over for the same of brevity.
And after watching the first three episodes, I still have my doubts. The show has already changed some things about the story that were completely unnecessary (for example, Perrin never had a wife in the books).
But the acting is fantastic, and the set design is of a grand scale. Visually, the show is excellent. The show captures the small-town vibe of the Two Rivers, and the majesty of the White Tower. And the trollocs (WoT’s equivalent of orcs) are terrifying.
If you’re unfamiliar with The Wheel of Time, the show does a lot to get viewers up to speed with the lore. Plus, Amazon produced an animated side-series that helps explain what’s going on in each episode from a lore perspective. This feature is kind of hidden, though, so I guarantee not everyone will find it.
To access the side series, you have to pause the episode and click on bonus content. From there, you can watch the animated series.
And for fans of the books, people who have been reading them since the 90s, there’s a lot to complain about, sure, but at the end of the day, I think so far the show has stayed fairly true to the story.
The Opening Scene
I’ve already decided that I can find no fault with the production design. The characters were expertly cast, the costumes echo the paintings of Darrell Sweet (the cover artist for the book series), and the music is both pulse-pounding and calming.
The cover art for The Eye of the World by Darrell Sweet
However, I can nit-pick a little bit with the creative liberties the team took with the opening scenes and the timeline.
The prologue of The Eye of the World focuses on Lews Therin Telamon, the previous Dragon. He’s overcome with madness from channeling the One Power, and he comes face to face with Ishamael, a servant of the Dark One. Lews Therin realizes that in his madness, he’s killed his whole family, and he weeps for his misdeeds.
Ishamael assures Lews Therin that they’ll meet again, and Lews Therin consumes so much of the One Power that he is atomized, leaving a massive volcano in his wake.
This scene is so full of emotion and foreshadowing, not only for the Dragon Reborn, but for the servants of the Dark One. I really feel like Amazon made a bad choice when they cut this scene, because it’s an iconic introduction to the series. The book series, at least.
And I’m interested to see how the show handles the timeline. We’ve already seen male channelers be gentled by the hands of the Red Ajah, and Logain’s already in chains, which happens fairly late in the book. As more episodes come out, it’ll give us a better glimpse as to what the timeline will be like.
We know that the last episode of the 8-part first season is title “The Eye of the World”, which happens at the very end of the first novel. So, I doubt the show will delve into the second book’s material at all in the first season.
The tone of the show is a bit more serious than the books, but so far, we haven’t seen anything that’s been entirely unfaithful (with the exception of Perrin’s wife).
This is definitely a show I’ll be paying close attention to, and I’ll probably have to brush up on my WoT lore, which is always a treat!
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Short stories have always held a special place in my heart. I think that short fiction, specifically short science fiction, is an excellent medium for societal change, whether it’s political, environmental, or humanitarian.
Science fiction anthologies represent a culmination of mini-world-changing stories, collecting all their power into one place.
And Triangulation: Habitats, a new anthology from Parsec Ink, brings stories and poems about sustainable housing under one roof (or cover, in this instance).
I want to share my experience with this science fiction anthology with you, as well as the conversation I had with two of the editors, Diane Turnshek and John Thompson.
What’s Inside Triangulation: Habitats?
Triangulation is an annual anthology series from Parsec Ink, a Pittsburgh-based speculative fiction writing community.
For the past few years, Triangulation has had an eco-friendly focus, trying to bring awareness to issues like light pollution and the Earth’s diminishing biodiversity.
With the 2021 issue, the editors set the theme as Habitats with the goal of supporting sustainable living practices and housing, be it tiny homes or hobbit holes.
I was impressed with the selection of work in Habitats. The anthology featured over 30 original short stories and poems from new and published authors alike, as well as a reprint of Theodore Sturgeon’s “Pruzy’s Pot”.
I really liked the story “Metamorphosis” by Octavia Cade, which puts a spin on the traditional big-bug story from Franz Kafka, but with a sustainable habitat touch.
Jennifer Hudak’s “A Gardener Teaches His Son to Enrich the Soil and Plan for the Future” tackles sustainable agriculture during a zombie apocalypse. And the poem “The Hoyle-Wickramasinghe Rose” by Oliver Smith characterizes the theory of DNA/RNA survival in space in a plucky, fun way.
Overall, I found the contents of Triangulation: Habitats to be joyfully fulfilling, and I learned a thing or two about sustainable housing while I was at it! And wasn’t that the goal?
Talking With the Editors
I had the pleasure of talking with two of the editors, John Thompson and Diane Turnshek, and I asked them a few questions about the process of making Triangulation: Habitats, and what was next in the Parsec Ink lineup.
Isaac Payne: How did you come about deciding on the theme for the 2021 issue of Triangulation?
Diane Turnshek: A couple of years ago, I moved into a tiny house on 8 acres of woods in Pittsburgh. I found that people were so interested, and I turned that interest into a teaching opportunity about sustainable housing.
For example, my house is covered in glass on the south side for passive solar. It has a water reclamation butterfly roof that flows into a cistern that’s then filtered multiple times and pumped into the house. I have a thermal Earth tube that brings cool air from deep underground to keep my house cool in the summer.
I have a rain garden shaped like a dinosaur footprint, hügelkultur mounds, and all the state-of-the-art appliances.
Everything in the house is carefully curated to help the environment, from the compost bins to the materials in the walls. So, I thought all of this could be a teaching mechanism for people, and that’s where the theme for the anthology came from.
IP: What was it like pairing prose and poetry in this issue, and is that something you’ll continue to do in future issues?
DT: I think poetry really adds to the anthology, I love all the poetry we bought. Mary Soon Lee explained to us that science poetry is considered science fiction. So, a lot of the poetry we took was just strictly science, not necessarily fantasy or horror. I love it.
JT: As for the second part of that question, we decided that unlike this year, we won’t have a dedicated poetry editor. But, if good poetry is submitted, we’ll accept it. Herb taught us a lot about science fiction poetry. I very rarely read poetry, so Herb was able to help evaluate what which poetry was original or not.
IP: What’s in the future for Triangulation?
JT: The future theme is sustainable energy, and I’m very excited about it. We kind of struggled with Habitats, because the definition is kind of fuzzy at first glance. But this theme is much clearer and more direct.
I hope we get a lot of stories about power sources no one has thought of yet, that would be very cool. Who knows, we may inspire a whole new field of physics!
The 2022 Triangulation anthology, as John said, will be focusing on the theme of sustainable energy. Both he and Storm Walden, an associate editor for the 2021 issue, will be leading the charge with the next anthology. Submissions are set up open December 1st, 2021.
Thanks so much to John and Diane for shedding a bit of light on this exciting anthology! To purchase Triangulation: Habitats, please visit Parsec Ink’s Amazon page.
And if you liked this blog post, please consider subscribing to Galaxy’s Edge Magazine, where we bring you great science fiction stories from your favorite authors, and ones you’ve never heard of! Plus, interviews with big names in the industry as well as book reviews and recommendations.
I don’t often read graphic novels or comic books. I don’t dislike them, quite the contrary, I find them articulate and full of life. I just, forget about them, I guess?
But, I thought I’d give them another shot, and I decided to start off my journey with Folklords by Matt Kindt, Matt Smith, and Chris O’Halloran. And I was pleasantly surprised, to say the least.
Folklords is a five-issue (for now) comic book series that follows Ansel and his friends as they embark on a quest through enchanted forests and library fortresses, searching for the truth about the mysterious Folklords, the forbidden legends of their land.
Without any further ado, let’s kick off what might become a new series here, Spec Fic Comic Book Reviews!
Some Background
The first issue of Folklords was published in 2019 by Boom Studios, and received such a great response that Boom sold out of the first issue more than once.
The other four issues were released early 2020 and eventually compiled into an omnibus in July 2020.
Author Matt Kindt is no newbie to the comic book world, having written for Darkhorse, DC, and Marvel. He’s worked on many independent projects, as well as contributing to the Spiderman and Suicide Squad universes.
Artist Matt Smith brings Folklords to life with his distinct line art style, which he perfected in the Lake of Fire comics and the Barbarian Lord.
And finally, Chris O’Halloran throws in his splashes of color, bringing the vibrancy to a new level. In the past, he worked as a colorist for Black Panther and Hulk comics.
All in all, a legendary team came together to bring us Folklords, and it shows.
Pinpointing a Style
Whenever I start reading a new comic book or graphic novel, I like to take a moment to think about it’s style.
Because one of the great things about graphic novels, is you’re presented with the plot and characters, but you’re also visually presented with the setting. When you’re reading a regular novel, sure, the setting can be described to you, but in this format the author and artist have worked together to portray a vision, which you’re lucky enough to see.
Anyways. Folklords can best be described as the reverse Chronicles of Narnia with Grimm’s Fairy Tales and Arthurian legend sprinkled in.
In C.S. Lewis’ seminal series, the characters from our world venture into the mystical fairy land of Narnia. But in Folklords, the main character, Ansel, is trying to understand his visions of our world. He even goes so far as to sew his own suit and tie and design gadgets like lighters and air horns.
The combination of the pure fantasy setting with tidbits of modernity thrown in really gives the story life, and it reminds me of my childhood. My brother and I would pretend to venture into Narnia or Middle Earth, dressing up in costumes and sword fighting in the back yard, as cars and power lines framed the background. That’s the nostalgia Folklords sparked in me, and I’m sure it brings up similar memories for other readers too.
Characters from Folklords, image from Matt Smith’s Twitter
How Does the Story Stand Up?
So far, this review has focused on the art and the setting, which are both fantastic. But, what about the story? The plot? The characters?
Well, all those things are equally as impressive, but I’m not completely in love with them. Here’s why:
I read Folklords in an hour, all five issues in omnibus format. There’s a certain continuity that comes from reading comic books in this way, and I can’t tell if it’s better or worse than reading each individual issue.
For me, Folklords wasn’t balanced. The first issue, as with any introduction, provided some backstory and inkling of conflict. That’s fine, it’s to be expected. But after that, I felt that the story progressed too quickly.
Especially the fifth issue. The conflict seemed to come to a head far too quickly, and within a few minutes of reading, I’d reached the end.
I know there are constraints to the medium, required lengths and whatnot, but the vibrant world and characters passed by too quickly. There was certainly room to build out the conflict a bit more throughout issues three and four, but I understand the need for forward progression.
In Conclusion
At the end of the fifth issue, Kindt teases an addition to the series from another character’s perspective, which would really help to explain a lot of what happened in the fifth issue of Folklords.
But, as of writing this, there is no word on whether a Folklords issue six is in the works. I certainly hope there will be, because this world is worth revisiting.
To bring this comic book review to a close, I rate Folklords #1-5 an 8.5/10. The immersive nature of Kindt’s writing and Smith’s artwork got me excited to explore more of their work, and the premise of Folklords was a fresh take on so many tropes present in the fantasy genre.
Two or three years ago, I read Aliya Whiteley’s novella, The Beauty.
The novella was set in a world where all women had died off, leaving colonies of only men. Eventually, “The Beauty” began to show up, which were essentially big glowing mushroom people. And from there, it got really bizarre, to say the least, but it was right up my alley of weird science fiction.
So, when I saw that Whiteley had come out with a new science fiction book this year, I picked it up in hopes of more wacky, disturbing, philosophical sci fi.
Skyward Inn was published in March 2021 by Solaris, and it received good reviews. Publishers Weekly said of it “Whiteley’s trademark subtle surrealism shines,” with which I have to agree.
The book follows the story of a small town in the Protectorate, somewhere in the UK. Humanity recently finished fighting a war with the alien planet Qita, and main characters Isley and Jem are veterans of that war – Isley from the Qitan side, and Jem from Earth’s.
Together, they run the Skyward Inn, a place where the townsfolk can come wash away their worries with brew, a special drink from Qita that Isley prepares.
Jem’s brother, Dom, is the mayor of the town, and he watches over Jem’s only son, Fosse. Fosse attends a private school and is often stricken with bouts of adolescent melancholy. It’s unclear how old Fosse is when the book starts, but by the end, he’s matured to a man.
The main conflict arises when a Qitan traveler, one of Isley’s friends, gets stranded on Earth, and sparks a mysterious disease that starts to afflict the surrounding neighborhoods.
Skyward Inn Is One of the Best New Sci Fi Books of 2021
I mentioned earlier that Whiteley’s style of science fiction is wacky, and I’d like to elaborate on that. In The Beauty, the weirdness starts fairly early on, with the emergence of the mushroom people. And it’s not weird so much because of the mushroom people—I’ve read, and written, weirder stuff than that—but it’s the style with which Whiteley writes about these phenomena.
Her style is simple yet eloquent, haunting yet mesmerizing, and it elevates what could be seen as a spooky or weird concept into something downright horrifying or mind-boggling.
Skyward Inn is the guidebook for this style.
For the first few chapters I was on edge—not because the story was action-packed or anything like that, but because I was waiting with baited breath for the story to take the weird turn I knew it would.
And it did, but in a—as Publishers Weekly said—subtle way.
There wasn’t a “Oh damn there are fungi people” moment, it was more of a gradual, creeping fear. Near the end, I actually had to put the book down because I knew that if I read any further, I wouldn’t be able to sleep. (Fun fact, I still had nightmares).
Without spoiling the ending, I’ll say that Whiteley’s development through this novel was phenomenal, and it is proof of years of refining her craft. Skyward Inn succeeds at the style The Beauty laid the foundation for.
And when I say it’s one of the best new sci fi books of this year, I mean that wholeheartedly.
Speaking of hearts, I want to take a moment to talk about how Whiteley approaches familial love and individuality, because those themes really shine through at the end of the novel.
Fosse the Troubled Teen, Skyward Inn’s Only Hero
The main character’s son, Fosse, takes on a prominent role about halfway through the novel, and acts as the closest thing the story has to a hero.
His early predilection for outbursts of rage and malaise had me scratching my head for a little while. I was uncertain if Whiteley was just exaggerating his teenage tendencies, but I decided that was too over the top for her style, something else had to be going on.
Only later did I realize that Fosse was probably suffering from some kind of mental illness, because he at one point uses technology to repress his memories, and immediately starts to feel more at ease.
Whiteley poses an interesting relationship between Fosse and Jem, neither of whom really put in the optimal effort to keep up a parent-child relationship. Fosse seems more alone when he’s with Jem simply because he’s not sure how to feel or how to act when around her.
And the ability to convey that emotion onto the page, coupled with Fosse’s enigmatic mental health, is where Whiteley excels in this novel.
Yeah, some of the stuff is bizarre, of the keep-you-watching-your-bedroom-door variety, but at the end of the day, Skyward Inn is a story about human individuality. Fosse and Jem both see themselves as a individuals: Jem because she’s estranged from her son, and Fosse because he doesn’t feel like he has a place to fit in.
They don’t see themselves as a family whole, only as halves of a circle, facing opposite directions, curve to curve. The development of their familial bond is the point of the story, which only comes to fruition because of the wacko alien stuff at the end of the novel. (I really don’t know how to describe what happens with flat out telling you!)
In Conclusion
I really regard this book as one of the best things I’ve read this year, and I’m glad I was able to write a little bit about it here. Reading this book brought me back to my English-major days at university. I saw so much potential for a literary criticism here, it’s just assurance that this book will go down as a sci-fi classic.
Overall, I rate Skyward Inn a 9.75/10.
But Isaac, you rave about this book, why not a 10?!
My only gripe—albeit very faint and almost inaudible—is that the beginning of the book could use a bit of a trim. I was hooked from the first chapter, but I felt there were places where the story dragged on just a hair more than is should have.
But that doesn’t impact how meaningful this story is, and it is certainly no slight against Whiteley’s skill. I’ll definitely be on the lookout for her next book!
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Inside Job by Connie Willis was published in 2006 by Subterranean Press, and won the Hugo for Best Novella in the same year.
The novella focuses on a pair of professional debunkers who produce the magazine The Jaundiced Eye. The main character, Rob, is the editor of the magazine, and Kildy, his partner, is a disillusioned movie star with a penchant for skepticism.
They are working on a case surrounding psychic channeler Aurianna, only to discover that she has been channeling the spirit of H.L. Mencken, perhaps one of the biggest critics of psychics and creationists to have ever lived.
There’s a lot of back and forth about truth, skepticism, and what makes something ‘real’. Overall, the novella was a lot of fun to read, and it really shows how Connie Willis leverages her craft to great effect.
Connie Willis, Rule Breaker
The biggest strength of this novella is the creation of suspense. I am really quite intrigued how much I liked reading this book, considering almost the entire story occurred within the one-room office of The Jaundiced Eye.
In the beginning, Rob and Kildy go to Aurianna’s seminar, and at the very end, they go to another seminar, but for the 75 pages in between, they are firmly rooted in the microcosm of the office.
Now, this goes against what I was taught about writing scenes; parallelism is alright, and is sometimes necessary, like in the instance of the first and last seminar. But repeating scenes is not advised because it lulls the reader into a sense of familiarity, and could become boring or too stagnant.
Willis follows this pattern, where Rob is just ruminating in his office and then Kildy comes in with some new information, and then Aurianna storms in to accuse them of something. This scene happens at least three times.
But it doesn’t become boring, which is surprising. That’s because Willis employs a specific kind of writing style to make each scene different, and her creative dialogue whisks away any sense of repetition or boredom.
Connie Willis, Master of Dialogue
A lot of the book is constructed of dialogue, a back and forth between Rob and Kildy as they puzzle out the mystery or debate how they’ll go about questioning Aurianna.
To make the conversations more interesting, Willis utilizes Rob’s wellspring of psychic knowledge and history as a debunker to compliment the dialogue, and even, the narrative summary.
For example, on page 60, “‘Yes,’ I said, thinking of Randall Mars’s Lincoln and his ‘Four-score and seven….'” which draws on a previous comment from Rob, but just adds another layer of contextuality to the novella, creating an immersive effect.
The variation of the dialogue, interspersed with high context references, makes the story more interesting.
As the tale progresses, there are more references and information that relies on previous conversations.
This, I think, is a critical part of writing a mystery. As the story moves forward, the writer should be able to expect the reader to keep up with the contextuality of the narrative, thus allowing for a more complex ending than a beginning.
Another subtle thing that I appreciated about Willis’ writing were the little hints she would drop early on that would come to completion in the end, making the reader recall their origin with nostalgia.
For example, within the first few pages, Rob mentions Charles Fred, another hack psychic he is trying to debunk. Then, at one point in the middle of the story, he mentions how he’d much rather be working on the Charles Fred case instead of spending time on a “third-rate channeler” like Aurianna.
Yet, as the story reaches completion, we see how Rob wrong in that little detail. So, there was a mini-completion of separate story arc in addition to the completion of the main story arc, which I appreciated.
In Conclusion
Inside Job was the first story I read by Connie Willis, but it definitely makes me want to keep reading her work. She takes the paranormal investigator genre, which is highly saturated, and creates something that stays within the confines of the genre, but is also wholly original.
I feel like she took a lot of inspiration from Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories, where Holmes and Watson spend a lot of their time sitting in their armchairs at Baker Street. Those stories were never boring, but they lacked the high-octane action and violence that has become a large part of the paranormal investigator genre.
Overall, I give Inside Job a 9/10. It’s short, to the point, and full of character. I can see why it won a Hugo!
I’m a big fan of Arthurian fantasy books and movies. I’ve been fascinated with the genre ever since I was a kid. But now that I’m older, my interest has shifted from the big sword-fights and knights on horseback to the intricacies of storytelling, and how current writers are bending the genre.
Arthurian legend is such a rich bank of subject matter, because a lot of the stories already vary in how they’re told. Some people take Le Mort d’Arthur by Thomas Mallory as gospel, and others are fans of T.H. White’s The Once and Future King.
I even took a stab at bending the genre with my story “Esclados the Red,” which follows a little-mentioned knight on his journey of self-discovery and acceptance with his sexuality. It was a fun story to write, and I was exhilarated to be writing in such a large—and loved—genre.
The Green Knight movie doesn’t go quite as far to bend the genre, but it certainly provides a fresh take on the centuries-old story of Sir Gawain.
The Green Knight Movie
The Green Knight film was released in theaters on July 30th, 2021. The film was written and directed by David Lowery, whose other work includes movies like Ain’t Them Bodies Saints, Pete’s Dragon, and The Old Man & the Gun.
The Green Knight stars Dev Patel as Gawain, and is based on the 14th-century chivalric romance, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.
Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is by far one of the most popular stories in the Arthurian universe, and Lowery’s film was quite faithful to the source material in terms of plot.
But the movie really shines when it comes to the visual elements.
The Big Orange Cloak
Visually, the movie is stunning. I’ll give it that.
It alternates between very dark scenes inside foggy forests and dim castle halls, to bright yellow and green forests. The contrast is astounding, and the coloring was certainly something Lowery emphasized.
Speaking of color and contrast, the best example of this is Gawain’s big orange-ish cloak. Even when Gawain is trekking across dark landscapes, his orange cloak still sticks out, providing a pop of color to on otherwise drab scene.
Dev Patel as Gawain Photo from The Los Angeles Times
There’s one scene in particular that really struck me as the pinnacle of cinematography.
Gawain jumps into a pool of water by moonlight, and at first the greenish water slowly fades to darkness. Then, out of nowhere, a flash of crimson light illuminates the pool, with Gawain floating in the water. It’s marvelously executed.
The Fox
Arthurian fantasy books and movies have the potential to get quite grim, but The Green Knight is able to maintain a balance between moments of despair and fun adventure.
For the first part of Gawain’s journey to the Green Chapel, he treks alone through the medieval landscape. He crosses bloody fields and haunted forests, giving the film a dark, brooding vibe.
But, at a certain point, a red fox becomes Gawain’s traveling companion. Together, they continue to traverse the grim landscape, but now, the feeling is less of doom and more of adventure.
The cute fox adds an element of mystery to Gawain’s journey, but it also lightens the mood. I’m all for protagonists with animal companions, and this fits the bill.
The Green Knight Movie Review Score
Overall, I really enjoyed The Green Knight. It was fairly faithful to the source material while taking enough liberty to put a new spin on an old story.
Visually, the film was a work of art. The detail that went into color choice and lighting is clearly noticeable.
And the way the film is segmented into titled sections was a really neat idea, and it felt like a visual novel with distinct chapters, moreso than a single film.
I only had two gripes with The Green Knight.
First off, the pacing was a bit slow. The build up for the first hour was almost laborious, but the filmography was able to keep my interest until the story progressed into the really meaty sections.
Second, I was mildly confused at points. Flashforwards melded too-seamlessly with the present timeline, leaving me scratching my head for a few minutes before everything snapped back to reality. This really only matters at the end of the film, and it’s not even that big of a deal, just something that confused me a little.
All said and done, I give The Green Knight an 8/10. A solid rendition of the classic story, and hopefully the first in a new wave of Arthurian fantasy books and movies.
If you liked this review, check out some of our other reviews!
A few weeks ago, I was at a Barnes & Noble, just looking through their speculative fiction section when I came across Yokohama Station SF by Yuba Isukari. It was a slight, green book with an intriguing cover, and I was surprised I’d never heard of it before.
Naturally, I bought it, and let me tell you, it’s only a bit longer than 200 pages, but it has more depth, tension, and mystery than some books three times its length.
It’s a lighthearted dystopian novel, if you can believe that, and it should definitely be on your 2021 reading list, and here’s why:
Yokohama Station SF is One of the Best Dystopian Novels I’ve Read
The premise for the novel is quite simple. A sentient train station takes advantage of human weakness after Japan is ravaged by the Winter War, and gradually grows to take over the islands of Japan. Life inside the station is regulated by the station’s ‘Internet’-equivalent, SuikaNet, and its robotic enforcers, the turnstiles.
The characters must find a way to stop the ever-growing station from destroying the rest of Japan.
It’s a neat idea, to be honest. The whole conflict is mostly internal for the characters, aside from the occasional row with the turnstiles.
Yuba Isukari pairs a dry narrator voice with a semi-dire plot, and throws in some humor for good measure. All while inside a sprawling, replicating, self-healing, omniscient train station. It’s pretty cool.
However, the structure of the novel is a tad confusing. It jumps a bit back and forth between narratives for long stretches of time, leaving us wondering about the other characters. And the ending only resolves a few of our character’s dilemmas, again leaving us wondering about the other half of the characters, of which there are no mentions.
Perhaps it’s a consequence of translation, or perhaps the story’s meant to jump back and forth. Regardless, I didn’t find the transitions too jarring, and was able to power through a few confusing pages.
Top-Notch Characters
The main character, Hiroto, is quiet and laid back, resembling an observer more than an active participant in his own life sometimes.
A lot of the things that happen to him throughout the story aren’t of his own doing, and he merely perseveres through everything that’s thrown at him.
He does portray a keen sense of duty, however, which defines him as a character. He ventures into the station to find the leader of the Dodger Alliance, and in the end, to reach Exit 42 and find answers—answers to what, he’s not sure.
The notion that Hiroto just decides to go into the station on a mission he clearly doesn’t understand—or really care about, it seems—just speaks to the kind of character he is. He’s sociable, curious, and compassionate. He’s ‘go with the flow’ until he finds something that piques his interest, then he’s all in.
Hiroto contrasts with another of the main characters, Toshiru, who has an intense dislike for people. Toshiru is Hiroto’s shadow, but with a clearer purpose, and clearer desires. This isn’t to say that Toshiru is a bad person, quite the contrary, he’d just rather spend time with machines than with people.
Plus, there are a couple of quirky AI companions for both Hiroto and Toshiru along the way, and they act as foils for the two character’s most endearing qualities.
Dystopian Setting
The whole sentient train station vibe is pretty cool, and it creates an of air of danger and mystery while reading. Hiroto walks through the halls of the station, literally in the belly of the beast.
However, there are parts in the story where Yuba Isukari’s sparse prose does not lend itself well. I wish there had been more descriptions of the interior of the station, like what the halls looked like, the cities, the people, etc.
A lot of those details are left up to the reader’s imagination, which is fine, I guess, but I’d have liked the author to solidify the world in which we’re immersed.
For all we know, the inside of the station might be clean and white and sterile. Or, it could be dark, dingy, and really embody the dystopian tropes. But I’m not sure what it looks like exactly, aside from a very brief description at the end of the book where the walls are described as “white concrete”.
About the Dystopian Novel
So apparently, Yokohama Station SF was originally a manga published in Japan from 2016 to 2018, called Yokohama-eki Fable, or Yokohama Station Fable. I learned this after researching the book when I’d finished reading it.
The manga started as a popular web comic by the author, who was trying to wind down from work with a creative outlet.
The novel that I read was translated by Stephen Paul, published by Yen Press in March 2021, and marketed to English readers. The manga has yet to be translated into English.
Regardless of the history of the novel, it stands as a great addition to dystopian sci-fi. It’s short, quirky nature makes it stand out from the ranks of grim, brooding dystopian novels double its size.
If you’re looking for a short, fascinating read, I give Yokohama Station SF an 8/10.
July’s issue of Galaxy’s Edge showcases many great sci-fi stories, including work by Brian Trent, Bao Shu, Julie Frost, Harry Turtledove, and others.
In addition, Jean Marie Ward interviews Seanan McQuire, the prolific SFF writer of acclaimed series like Wayward Children.
Richard Chwedyk also puts his expansive sci-fi book knowledge to the test, reviewing three science fiction books.
Stand on Zanzibar by John Brunner
Immunity Index by Sue Burke
Starborn & Godsons by Larry Niven, Jerry Pournelle, and Steven Barnes
Here’s what Chwedyk has to say about this month’s sci-fi books!
Stand on Zanzibar
by John Brunner
Tor Essentials
March 2021
ISBN: 978-1-250-78122-2
It’s hard to find anything recently published that matches the ambitions of John Brunner’s 1968 novel, Stand on Zanzibar: exploring a culture—a whole world, really—from a multiplicity of levels while maintaining a central story that brings the vastness of this complex (and maybe crumbling) planet into stark focus. Parts of the novel are written in the straightforward, no-nonsense prose Brunner had been working to perfect for a decade or so beforehand. Other parts are written as news reports or anecdotal bits, illustrating aspects of the twenty-first century world in an almost documentary style. Other parts are written from the glib perspectives of canny social commentators. And all of this is interlaced to keep things moving along at a surprisingly brisk pace.
As was mentioned often at the time, the novel’s structure owes much to the trilogy by John Dos Passos, U.S.A. In this case, I dare to say it now, though I couldn’t have gotten away with saying it 53 years ago, Brunner actually improves upon the trilogy in many ways. He streamlined it, actually. His central dramatic story is more compelling, his worldview wider and, worth noting in the current literary environment, more diverse. This is not to knock Dos Passos’s sublime achievement with U.S.A., but Brunner took the baton and ran with it like a winner.
This adventurous structure itself is a thing to behold, like a Bauhaus-designed “modern” building after it’s been around for a century. In some ways, Brunner was re-thinking the way a novel could be written—as if that’s part of his future vision. If vehicles and buildings will be built differently a half century from this day, why shouldn’t novels look and work differently in that anticipated world? He applied his science-fictional imagination to the act of novel writing itself.
The sad thing is, perhaps, now that we’re living in the time Brunner wrote about in 1968, there is a greater sameness to the way our current novels are written. All our current writers, it seems (exceptions granted), have gone to writing schools that have taught them “best practices” that manage great efficiencies and great comforts. But like a row of townhouses in a residential urban neighborhood, they all have the same look and feel, omitting a few changes of color schemes and some superficial ornamentation.
Of course, in the era Brunner was writing this novel, he was considered a member of the “New Wave.” Brunner, in retrospect, wasn’t really part of that merry, contentious crew (like most literary movements, a great many of its members were draftees, not volunteers). Half of the anger and vitriol and brawling over the New Wave was the notion of “style over substance.” Brunner was all for innovations in style (whatever that is), but only so far as it helped to convey the substance (whatever that is) of the story in its most effective way.
And what about that substance? Much of the current reading of “classic” and/or “modern” science fiction these days seems to rest on picking over which parts authors did or didn’t “get right.” As far as the focal “issue” of the novel—i.e., exponential overpopulation—Brunner didn’t quite hit the nail on the head. The “population bomb” didn’t go off (though it may still be ticking). We don’t have any cell phones here, and all the computers are ginormous, house-sized structures with little public access.
Other aspects, like the growing frustration of individuals who become “berserkers” and strike out against innocent bystanders, the “corporatization” of governments, the excesses of popular culture, the addict-like hunger for media replacing “real” experience (like “Mr. and Mrs. Everywhere”), the blending of cultures across the globe—Brunner hits the nail hard and true.
Which makes reading the novel even now a revelation. You’ll turn to certain sections and find yourself whispering, or grunting, “How did he know? How did he do it?”
We’re fortunate that someone at Tor decided to bring back this novel at this time, to remind us what we can do when we of think of science fiction as something more than a tag on the binding of certain books relegated to certain shelves of the local bookstore. It can be dangerous, as this novel remains.
Immunity Index
by Sue Burke
Tor
May 2021
ISBN: 978-1-250-31787-2
Also from Tor, Sue Burke’s latest novel may not be the successor to Brunner’s brilliance, but she has managed the remarkable task of making her near-future world so plausible it nearly (but not quite) defeats its task of being a “what’s coming” story to a “what’s happening” story. She has placed her story in a world bowled over by a worldwide pandemic (who saw that coming?), and places it in a country and city (my all-too-familiar but beloved Chicago) where democracy is fast eroding, as are supplies of the basics. Remember the disappearance of toilet paper at the beginning of COVID-19? Burke will see you and raise you ten. Her degree of accuracy on that front is downright frightening. That’s the brief version of the world in which Burke has placed her novel.
The story deftly shifts between the tribulations of three women and one genetic scientist, the latter having “designed” the three formers, to purposes it will take the rest of this brief but challenging novel to reveal. Burke’s experience as a journalist and translator prove exceptionally helpful in keeping a complex plot coherent and intriguing.
So much recent science fiction has been set in the far future to presumably avoid becoming entangled in the messiness of our current circumstances. Burke, to her credit, takes on the messiness, and does so courageously. Remember that word that appears in many definitions of SF: “extrapolation”? Burke extrapolates with facility, intensity and vigor.
Burke’s vision of our near future is in many respects bleak, but not without its hopes and a few lighter notes. Its wit is dry but satisfying. Another thing that I found enjoyable about this novel is that it is written at the tight length of those paperback originals we geezers grew up on in the middle of the previous century. It’s a good length to get a story across without overweighing the vehicle with added-on subplots. Would that more novels follow in that path.
I received a letter—a real letter—a while back from GE reader and subscriber John Hertz, who remembers me from the days when I moderated writing workshops at a few Worldcons. He wrote in general complaint that some of his favorite recent books have received scant attention from the award-giving bodies in the field, such as the Hugos, Nebulas, Locus Awards, etc. Indirectly, I think, I was being taken to task for not having reviewed them in these pages. I’ll take only partial blame, as Baen’s promo folks have not been at the top of their game in getting advance copies to me. Nevertheless, Mr. Hertz gave me a list of books he considered worthy but overlooked, and this is one I managed to catch up with.
Starborn and Godsons is/was a long-awaited sequel (and conclusion?) to the Legacy of Heorot series. It finds us on the planet Avalon, which after several generations and much conflict has been colonized by humans. The original colonists have mostly passed on, and the planet’s humans are called “Starborn.” They have no direct memory of Earth and have had no contact with the planet in ages. Earlier volumes in the series concerned themselves with the struggles of surviving a harsh environment, conflicts with competing lifeforms called “grendels,” which attracted me to the earlier volume, Beowulf’s Children. You can understand why. At a visceral level, these stories tie together with the world depicted in Old English epic poetry in ways that seem more than an extended metaphor. The old world of bardic sagas and the tales of humans establishing footholds on new planets re-envisions both traditions in new and surprising ways.
At the heart of this novel, which puts us into contact, or in some cases reacquaints us with, some other alien lifeforms, are the starborns facing encounters with “godsons”—other humans who set out spacefaring after the original colonists of Avalon. They also have no direct contact with Earth, and have developed in their own way, different from the earth-born humans and the starborn alike. In a way, it’s a “first contact” tale between humans and humans, which is something you don’t see too often, and implicitly questions our expectations when we think or talk about one of the big questions in our science fiction (and our literature in general): what makes us human?
Any attempt at plot summary on my part at this juncture would be insufficient. The novel is super-jam packed with action, characters and ideas. The question for readers (and since many of you have already read this novel and have already answered the question to your own satisfaction, bear with me) is whether it all holds together into an enjoyable and rewarding experience. As many of you can already guess, my reviewing it here and now indicates my answer is yes.
What added to my enjoyment and appreciation of it has to do with my interest in writers and writing and how we manage to do the crazy things we sometimes manage to do. Like having three authors work in collaboration. How do they manage not to get in each other’s way? It’s hard enough for two authors to collaborate on an extended narrative (except when they do, and has been done famously in this field), how do three authors manage it? I’m familiar with the works of each author here individually as well as in collaboration. And each author, individually, does not write like the other two collaborators, but when they come together they seem to create a distinct, new voice which is unlike any of the previous ones. It is a tribute to their skill and their professionalism, to which I’ll add, since the passing of Mr. Pournelle, we’ll not see its like again.
Another reason to squeeze in this review now was to note that unfortunate passing (I wanted to get to this in the previous issue, but space and time prohibited my doing so). This was Mr. Pournelle’s last book, I believe. And regardless of his behavior or opinion outside the pages of his fiction, as a novelist and as a science fiction thinker, he was a formidable and significant presence in our field whose work—in collaboration or individually—was always skillful, intelligent and witty.
Be sure to check out the rest of Galaxy’s Edge July 2021 issue!
Science fiction has long been criticized for its lack of non-white, non-male writers, and that might have been the case in the early days of sci-fi literature. But in the 21st century, a large number of the most popular sci-fi books were written by the same denomination that were excluded from the genre.
In recent years, many exceptional hard science fiction, cyperpunk, and dystopian novels have come from the Asian and Asian-American diaspora.
Authors like Cixin Liu, Xia Jia, and Ken Liu have made waves in the genre—and beyond—with their fiction, and they’re not alone.
So, without further ado, here are five popular sci-fi books from Asian and Asian-American authors.
The Three-Body Problem by Cixin Liu
The Three-Body Problem is perhaps one of the most famous Chinese science fiction novels. The novel won a Galaxy and a Hugo award, and has been the subject of much praise. In fact, Barack Obama plugged it, saying the book was “just wildly imaginative, really interesting.”
The novel is the first book in the Remembrance of Earth’s Past trilogy, first published as a novel in 2008. Ken Liu, a notable science fiction writer and translator, brought The Three-Body Problem to English readers in 2014.
The Three-Body Problem jumps back and forth between three, interconnected plot lines. But what ties the plot lines together is Cixin Liu’s understanding, and explanation, of complex scientific concepts, everything from astronomy to physics. The language is vibrant and visceral, and Ken Liu’s translation comes with footnotes to help readers understand the Chinese colloquialisms and references, which makes the novel all the more intriguing.
If you love reading marriages of science and class politics, this book is right up your alley.
Ninefox Gambit by Yoon Ha Lee
Ninefox Gambit is intense, complex, and an absolute page-turner. As Yoon Ha Lee’s debut novel, it showcases his linguistic skill as well as his keen sense of plot.
Ninefox Gambit is the first of the Machineries of Empire series, and it won the Locus Award for Best First Novel in 2017.
The story focuses on a young military captain and the spirit of a 400-year-old general as they are thrust into the thick of an intergalactic war.
For readers inexperienced with Yoon Ha Lee’s distinct sense of style, this novel might come off as a bit jarring at first. The visceral descriptions, complex worldbuilding, and throw-you-right-in-the-middle-of-it beginning can make the novel feel inaccessible.
After you read some of his short stories, come back to Ninefox Gambit. It’s certainly a top-rated science fiction book, for new and old sci-fi enthusiasts alike.
Waste Tide by Chen Qiufan
Originally published in 2013, Waste Tide was Chen Quifan’s debut novel. The book was translated into English by Ken Liu in 2019 and received rave reviews from Western audiences.
Waste Tide tackles issues of human waste, particularly e-waste, as well as class-politics in a dystopian future. The setting of the novel, the Silicon Isle, was based on Chen Quifan’s childhood home in the Shantou prefecture, China.
The Shantou prefecture has achieved notoriety as one of the world’s largest e-waste dumping sites, where a few businessmen made fortunes on the labor and misfortune of local waste-sorters. This too makes it into Waste Tide; when a sentient WWII virus incites a class-war, pitting the locals and waste-workers against the wealthy families reaping the benefit of others’ misery.
If you’re a fan of novels with environmental themes, vast scrap-heap vistas, and fights against social injustice, Waste Tide hands you all three and then some.
Vagabonds by Hao Jingfang
Vagabonds was originally published in 2016, and was then translated by Ken Liu and released to Western audiences in 2020. It is Hao Jingfang’s first novel, and it was met with high praise.
Hao Jingfang also landed a Hugo Award for her novelette, Folding Beijing, becoming the first Chinese woman to ever win a Hugo!
Science fiction is ripe with interplanetary and interspecies diplomacy, but Hao Jingfang takes that idea to the next level. Set 200 years in the future, the citizens of Earth and Mars are at odds and a team of young ambassadors must bridge the gap between their birth planet and humanity’s ancestral home.
Hao Jingfang has a background in both physics and economics, which she employs to expert degree in Vagabonds. If you’re a fan of James S.A. Corey’s Expanse series, Vagabonds is a book you have to read.
Clone (Generation 14) by Priya Sarrukai Chabria
This book is a bit different from the others we’ve discussed. While this Clone hasn’t won awards and gained worldwide recognition, it’s still a striking piece, and a worthy addition to this list.
Priya Sarrukai Chabria, a well-known Indian poet, weaves together the science fiction genre and the aesthetics of classic Indian poetry. The result is a haunting dystopian world of governmental control and quiet resistance.
If you’re looking for a different take on the cyperpunk/dystopian genre, Clone fits the bill. Priya Sarrukai Chabria’s unique voice and keen understanding of psychology makes for an engaging read.
NOTE: In 2008, Zubaan Books published Priya Sarrukai Chabria’s novel Generation 14, which was then reprinted under the title Clone in 2019. If you’re looking to buy this book, get the Clone edition. The first edition is quite expensive and hard to find.
