UR, novella by Stephen King that rides some of his most fundamental hobbyhorses

UR
STEPHEN KING
Storyville, LLC (non-affiliate Amazon link)
$3.99 Kindle edition, available now

Rating: 4.5* of five

The Publisher Says: Reeling from a painful break-up, English instructor and avid book lover Wesley Smith is haunted by his ex-girlfriend's parting shot: "Why can't you just read off the computer like everyone else?" He buys an e-book reader out of spite, but soon finds he can use the device to glimpse realities he had never before imagined, discovering literary riches beyond his wildest dreams...and all-too-human tragedies that surpass his most terrible nightmares.

I CHECKED THIS BOOK OUT FROM THE PRIME LENDING SERVICE. USE THEM OFTEN, THEY PAY AUTHORS FOR OUR USE.

My Review: Whether or not there's a unitary entity like the one monotheists and Abrahamic-religionists call "God," there is a certain universality to the reality that you will lose everything you love, often all at once, and that smacks of horrible vicious intentional cruelty. You might not know what they price you pay for any tiniest fleck of good luck/happiness will be, but there will be one.

King's Dark Tower Universe operates on this principle. This short work makes the cost of this nobody-special of a main character getting access to a multiverse-spanning Kindle...and what I would not give for this device to come into my possession!...sharp and immediate. What I found especially fun was the archaeology of the Kindle. The modern Kindles do not work the way the one in this story does, there are no longer buttons but touchscreens and a lot of functionality has changed. This story is from 2008 (written)/2009 (published), so it predates 11/22/63 and Under the Dome, which explore in greater depth some of the themes that preoccupy King and that form the basis of this novella.

What are those themes? Look at my first sentence. Going into detail makes a sixty-page read pretty useless and this is a story I think y'all will like. In common with most of King's work, it feels very Manichaean to me. That is, he follows developments in his stories that seem to me to like the summation of that religion's tenets:

A key belief in Manichaeism is that the powerful, though not omnipotent good power (God), was opposed by the eternal evil power (devil). Humanity, the world, and the soul are seen as the by-product of the battle between God's proxy, Primal Man, and the devil.

That quickie is from Wikipedia.

It makes for good fiction. I'd call it fan fiction since religion is all fiction, but that's a discussion for a different venue.

There are over fifteen hundred Goodreads reviews of this story. This one won't make any difference. The reason I write it is to say to those few remaining dismissive snobs who would never read anything by King, That is an absurd stance. You might like or dislike his work according to taste but he is as influential and as generation-defining a writer as Tolkien or Dickens.

Point your nose down at the work, not up in disdain, and learn something.

HENRY HENRY, unlikable people are so much more interesting to read about, aren't they?

HENRY HENRY
ALLEN BRATTON
The Unnamed Press
$29.00 hardcover, available tomorrow

Rating: 4.5* of five

The Publisher Says: Henry Henry is a queer reimagining of Shakespeare's Henriad, transposing the legend of Henry V's wayward youth into 21st-century Britain in the years leading up to the Brexit referendum.

Henry Henry follows Hal Lancaster—22, gay, Catholic—as he spends his first years out of Oxford floating between internships, drinking with his actor friends, struggling through awkward hook-ups, and occasionally going to confession to be absolved of his sins.

When a grouse shooting accident—funny in retrospect—makes a romance out of Hal's rivalry with fumblingly leftist family friend Harry Percy, Hal finds that he wants, for the first time, to be himself. But his father Henry is an Englishman: he will not let his son escape tradition. To save himself, Hal must reckon not only with grief and shame but with the wounds of his family's past.

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My Review: So, the plot's not a big mystery...Shakespeare did the set-up half a millennium ago, if you haven't read it that's on you and your life choices...but brings the subtect of queerness into full textual focus.

This will make some homophobic numskulls very angry. Good.

I was sexually abused by my mother the way Hal was by his father. The many shamings and abuses, the cruel holdings-up to those gone by, of Hal as a person by his father; and maybe more importantly as a sexual being by the idiocy of religion; and the nastiness of steadily belittling him, all poured acid into my eyes. The playbook of controlling mechanisms are all right here: These awful things happened to me, too, Hal, and I really, really want to hug you while murderering your father. The ugly shadow, dirty smudgy tobacco-smoky brown-grey, that will always separate you from your deeply belovèd Percy who can, in the miraculous way of one truly and purely loved, make Hal clean again, can't be banished. Not with his abuser and the filthy miasma of their god suspended in Hal's breath and between the red blood cells in his veins.

What worked best, then, was the reality of a psychologically abused son in the grip of a sexually jealous and sociopathic parent who expresses their power by coercing the child into sexual servitude and then blaming the child for not being strong enough to live a normal life. What was not necessarily so easy was the mapping of the story onto Shakespeare's "Henriad." It's been a while since my Shakespeare days, but the whole point of the Henriad wasn't to map out Prince Hal's survivorhood, was it? It was meant to explain how, after his rebellious rageful youth, he snaps into focus when he hears the strumpet shriek of Power. Of course, if you don't know the outline of the Henriad, none of this matters because it will sail past you. Suffice to say that book-Hal is a nasty piece of work (though for a reason), and play-Hal is a nasty piece of work too (though for different ones). The father/son conflicts, the verbal cruelties each inflicts, are all in the plays. The thing that isn't in the plays is Hal's self-awarness, or so I recall. Play-Hal is nasty and abusive to kinder people than he deserves to have around him and then, when he attains Power, he changes; book-Hal is more reflective, more aware that he is in fact wrestling with demons that have warped him and could kill him if he does not get the upper hand.

What that meant to my reading of the story was that I half-hoped there would be some mercy for the lost and the left behind. What it actually meant was the book ended before I got a sense that the story was over and all the threads dangled.

Not my favorite kind of ending. Appropriate to the subject matter. Truthful and completely honest. Just...dissatisfying, a lot like the life it limns for Hal. He is not satisfied; he cannot be satisfied; he can only dimly conjure any awareness that satisfaction could exist but can in no way craft any kind of response to those around him that would result in anyone feeling satisfied. It is, as a novel, bitter and hateful and cruel; but it is beautifully said and spoken in clear, unhistrionic tones.

A very big ask, this read. Go in with your Shakespeare goggles on and come away shocked at what a new generation of response to him has uncovered. Go in unaware of the Henriad and the dangling ends might bother you more. Shakespeare took three plays (four, if we're stuffy about it) to resolve the Lancastrian dynasty's fate. Author Bratton tried to squeeze it into less than four hundred pages so no wonder he wasn't all the way successful.

Fully successful or not, the clarity and honesty about the pain that abuse and hateful religiosity of Hal's world make it a highly rewarding read.

PRESCRIPTION FOR PAIN: How a Once-Promising Doctor Became the "Pill Mill Killer", be extremely alert to the dangers of "doctor knows best"

PRESCRIPTION FOR PAIN: How a Once-Promising Doctor Became the "Pill Mill Killer"
PHILIP EIL
Steerforth Press
$29.95 hardcover, available now

Rating: 4.5* of five

The Publisher Says: An obsessive true crime investigation of a bizarre and unlikely perpetrator, who’s serving the opioid epidemic’s longest term for illegal prescriptions — four life sentences

Written in the tradition of I'll Be Gone in the Dark and True Crime Addict, combining Dopesick's heart rending portrayal of the epidemic's victims with Empire of Pain's examination of its perpetrators.

This haunting and propulsive debut follows a journalist’s years-long investigation into his father's old former high school valedictorian Paul Volkman, who once seemed destined for greatness after earning his MD and his PhD from the prestigious University of Chicago, but is now serving four consecutive life sentences at a federal prison in Arizona.

Volkman was the central figure in a massive “pill mill” scheme in southern Ohio. His pain clinics accepted only cash, employed armed guards, and dispensed a torrent of opioid painkillers and other controlled substances. For nearly three years, Volkman remained in business despite raids by law enforcement and complaints from patients’ family members. Prosecutors would ultimately link him to the overdose deaths of 13 patients, though investigators explored his ties to at least 20 other deaths.

This groundbreaking book is based on 12 years of correspondence and interviews with Volkman. Eil also traveled to 19 states, interviewed more than 150 people, and filed a Freedom of Information Act lawsuit against the Drug Enforcement Administration that led to the release of nearly 20,000 pages of trial evidence.

The American opioid epidemic is, like this book, a true crime story. Through this one doctor’s story, an era of unfathomable tragedy is brought down to a tangible, and devastating, human scale.

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA EDELWEISS+. THANK YOU.

My Review: Greed, selfishness, and vanity are unholy siblings in this unnerving true-crime book.

The fact that I am treated for a very painful chronic condition, gratefully enough not by a pill-mill doctor!, meant I very much had a dog in this fight. Doctors who prescribe regular doses of strong pain meds are subject to a lot of scrutiny. After reading this horror story, I understand why.

I have a really hard time thinking about the kind of sociopathic ideation that goes into knowingly ruining people's lives on an industrial scale. A person with medical-school training who prescribes the cocktail of opioids, depressants, relaxants, that this man fed patients is well aware that the probability of disaster is very high. Anyone on these drugs, still less all these drugs in a cocktail, needs to be under close medical scrutiny. I'll mention here that, unlike many of the patients in this story, I am physically seen and extensively interacted with by my doctor every time I renew my pain medication. He interacts with me on multiple levels, conversationally determining if I am more or less impaired each visit; checking all vital signs, quizzing me on what I am doing with my medications; in short testing my level of cognitive ability to manage the use of all my meds. It makes my visits longer than most people's visits but that is what I need so it's what he does.

None of that happened for the pain patients caught in this doctor's pill mills.

When people seek pain relief, as a result of this doctor's and the many doctors like him prescribing pain drugs solely for their earning capacity, they often do not get it. People who need it are denied it because the possibility of abuse is so very present in our cultural consciousness due to the horrible, greedy, often fatal and always destructive issues caused by doctors turned drug entrepreneurs.

I wanted to read this book because I thought I'd read some overzealous puritan's exaggerated rage-filled hatchet job on a particular bad doctor. I assumed I'd come out of it like I did from Dopesick, thinking that I wanted a less judgmental and overemotional tone that would help me see the problem with greater clarity but not expecting to find it. This is, after all, the time of who shouts loudest sells best and controls the conversation...however briefly.

That made my surprise on finding exactly what I had hoped to find all the sharper. Eil's journalistic approach is to do the research and present the evidence, then go into an analysis of it that includes consulting with experts as well as speaking with the affected people. The emotional and judgmental stance I was expecting and dreading was vitiated by the careful framing of it inside contexts of the times and places, and most importantly people, involved.

Perhaps the most important context was that of the doctor himself. Only he knows why he did what he did. The people consulted by Eil give us the impression he left on those who knew him personally and professionally. That left me, as a reader who never met him, with the impression that psychological screening should be mandatory for anyone seeking a medical degree. It would help to identify narcissists and get them, as a condition of their future licensing, into counseling. It could also keep sociopaths out of the field entirely because, unlike narcissists, they lack empathy entirely instead of misplacing it in relationships, and can not be trusted to give actual help to patients in their uncaring care.

The entire grim saga of the pain mills run by this doctor, and yes I am not using his name because it is a bad idea to spend time in this hyperconnected era saying unkind things about narcissists in public, is one of societal subversion, too. The expectation that consumers of medical services have of their use is that a licensed professional will be trustworthy because the issuers of the license have done their research into the person and deem them credible and qualified. The system in his area let the people it's meant to serve down in pursuit of money. A hypercapitalist system is not going to result in good care for the ill and the needy. This book never smacks the reader with this conclusion; it presents a case that, unless one is dimwittwed or a sociopath, this is the only conclusion one can draw.

That's all I feel I need to say about that. That is, in fact, all I really want you to know that I got from the read. Was it fun? No it was not. Did I enjoy it? Not in any healthy way. My hope is that you will read this terrible tragic tale of dishonesty, greed, and cruelty, not because I dislike you but because I want you to be extremely alert to the real dangers of casually accepting "doctor knows best."

SNAKE ISLAND: A Novel, another good "discover Australian culture through violence" thriller

SNAKE ISLAND: A Novel
BEN HOBSON
Arcade Crimewise
$16.99 ebook, available now

Rating: 3.75* of five

The Publisher Says: For fans of Cormac McCarthy, Phillip Meyer, Fargo, and Justified, a gritty rural noir thriller about family, drugs, and the legacy of violence.

In an isolated town on the coast of southern Australia, Vernon Moore and his wife, Penelope, live in retirement, haunted by an unspeakable act of violence that sent their son, Caleb, to serve time in prison and has driven the couple apart. Ashamed, they refuse to talk about him or visit, but when a close friend warns Vernon that Caleb has been savagely beaten, he has no choice but to act to protect their only child.

The perpetrator of the beating is a local thug from a crime family whose patriarch holds sway over the town, with the police in his pay. Everyone knows they trade in drugs. When Vernon maneuvers to negotiate a deal with the father, he makes a critical error. His mistake unleashes a cycle of violence that escalates to engulf the whole town, taking lives with it, revealing what has been hiding in plain sight in this picturesque rural community and threatening to overtake his son.

Told from shifting perspectives at a sprint, in language that sometimes approaches the simple profundity of parable, this gritty debut was hailed on its Australian publication as “a darkly illuminating thriller that soars across genre constraints . . . [and] engages with pressing contemporary issues while exploring timeless questions. Hobson writes as if his life depends on it” (The Australian).

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA EDELWEISS+. THANK YOU.

My Review: The comps in the first line of the description are spot-on. This is a very *Australian* book, though. It could not have happened in the US or Canada in the way it's presented here. For one thing Author Hobson is careful to set his scenes in rural Victoria state, not some generic hot dry small town. The action is intense, and it's really the point of the read.

By which I mean a compliment...the violence in the story isn't pointless, purposeless activity to distract the reader from something...and a knock: The characters are, to be polite, thin. It is a feature of the majority of high-violence stories that the characters are not the most thoroughly fleshed out. I didn't expect them to be. I was, to my surprise, not particularly able to see how I would've known these were retirees, and their son an older man, had I not been explicitly told so once in a while. Many older couples have that kind of relationship that doesn't look very active from the outside. These two, estranged by their shared shame in their son's terrible actions, barely even register as a unitary family. I'm not implying this is unrealistic, only that it makes the course of the story less comprehensible. Penelope in particular comes across as...detached.

This not being what I was reading the book for, I mention it to others who find the absence of a character to root for a deal-breaker. This is a book about a couple living in an Australian coastal town whose lives are upended in a violent, shaking wind; they then go on to ignore their feelings in that very Australian way; then as the violent wind morphs into a whirlwind, they are forced to find a new and better response to their awful, transformed lives.

The mystery is, will they? I won't tell. I will tell you that I left this thriller entertained and glad for its availablilty in the US.

THE HOUSE OF BEING, Poet Laureate Trethewey's entry into Yale's Why I Write series

THE HOUSE OF BEING (Why I Write series)
NATASHA TRETHEWEY
Yale University Press
$18.00 hardcover, available now

Rating: 4.8* of five

The Publisher Says: An exquisite meditation on the geographies we inherit and the metaphors we inhabit, from Pulitzer Prize winner and nineteenth U.S. poet laureate Natasha Trethewey

In a shotgun house in Gulfport, Mississippi, at the crossroads of Highway 49, the legendary highway of the Blues, and Jefferson Street, Natasha Trethewey learned to read and write. Before the land was a crossroads, however, it was a a farming settlement where, after the Civil War, a group of formerly enslaved women, men, and children made a new home.

In this intimate and searching meditation, Trethewey revisits the geography of her childhood to trace the origins of her writing life, born of the need to create new metaphors to inhabit “so that my story would not be determined for me.” She recalls the markers of history and culture that dotted the horizons of her the Confederate flags proudly flown throughout Mississippi; her gradual understanding of her own identity as the child of a Black mother and a white father; and her grandmother’s collages lining the hallway, offering glimpses of the world as it could be. With the clarity of a prophet and the grace of a poet, Trethewey offers up a vision of writing as of our own lives and the stories of the vanished, forgotten, and erased.

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My Review: Her mother sang her John Brown's Body as a means of soothing the Chernobyl-level burn of racism as the mixed-"race" (how I hate that we still use that horrible, divisive pseudoscientific calumny by default!) family drove past confederate battle flags! (Frequently, then, in her home state of Mississippi...it's on their state flag.) Now, how horrifying an image is that, when that damn dirge that starts with the words "John Brown's body lies a-moldering in the grave" is soothing?! This is the absolute most powerful statement of the horrors the convulsively dying Jim Crow system of the US South inflicted on people of color (another digression: This locution is deeply uncomfortable to white people like me who, in the 1960s, were loudly excoriated for calling African-Americans either "black" or "colored" in the South).

Returning to my scheduled review: Poet Trethewey was unique, then, from birth forward. She was the product of miscegenation (that horrifying term I'm glad I need to define) as her parents were not legally married in her home state until Loving v. Virginia was decided a year after she was born. Her Black matrilineal line was stuffed with women who had embodied what can only be called triumphs of the will, and all the merrier to say that when I know that this application of that phrase will horrify Nazi true believers. The influence of her poet/professor papa is no doubt there somewhere, but Poet Trethewey does not work on one cylinder, she fires on all of 'em.

I can imagine some astute observers wondering what the devil is going on here. Mudge HATES poetry! some are thinking. Some are quite correct. I loathe the experience of reading poetry the same way I loathe the experience of riding the bus. It's crammed with stuff I don't want to know about, it's uncomfortably tight to sit in and in no way offers me enough room or seats designed for my spatial dimensions, it sways and janks and judders over each crack in the road, and the air conditioning almost never works until it suddenly blasts January-on-the-Siberian-steppe gales for a few seconds.

That does not mean I am insensible to its influence on most people. I see it, I get it, I am not of that group but they are quite clearly expressing their approval. And, lest we lose sight of this, the book is Poet Trethewey's *writing about writing*; that is always interesting. As I suspect all good writing must be, the life led by the child-poet became the matter of the adult; in her experiences of racism, white supremacy, and Southern culture, she speaks with a voice that reaches deep into the National Conversation of the US as well as into the emotional cores of many, many, many people.

At under 100pp, this is an afternoon's read for me. It was a pleasure to read...if you've read Memorial Drive, her memoir, you'll know that Poet Trethewey is gifted in prose writing, and if you haven't what is wrong with you?!...and measures her life against her need to write, like a learner sounding out words in a new language. The essay is part of Yale University Press's terrific series of writerly essays. I have only one cavil to report. I felt the origin of the essay as a lecture rather more than I would have liked. I put it down to the poet's innate aurality of expression. I ended up needing to read passages aloud to understand what was being said, and that was also the only way I felt I *got* the Southernness of the Trethewey household. (This also got me very dark glowers from my roommate who is hostile to things literary.)

Hardly a sin, but for this reader a discomfort I could've done without. So can I recommend it to you? Absolutely, and I do. I think anyone interested in writers as entities who transmute life into Art, people intrigued by the shocking dichotomies of Southern culture, and women who batten on reading the success and happiness of their fellows, will all be especially gruntled. I hope men who wonder what hell the fuss about this poetry thing is will give it a read, too, as well as any and all people of color looking to gladden themselves on the success of their own.

THE MISSION HOUSE, Carys Davies tells the tale of a post-colonial colonizer's Finding Himself ::eye roll::

THE MISSION HOUSE
CARYS DAVIES
Scribner
$16.99 trade paper, available now

Rating: 4* of five

The Publisher Says: In The Mission House, Hilary Byrd flees his demons and the dark undercurrents of contemporary life in England for a former British hill station in south India. Charmed by the foreignness of his new surroundings and by the familiarity of everything the British have left behind, he finds solace in life’s simple pleasures, travelling by rickshaw around the small town with his driver Jamshed and staying in a mission house beside the local presbytery where, after a chance meeting, the Padre and his adoptive daughter Priscilla take Hilary under their wing.

The Padre is concerned for Priscilla’s future, and as Hilary’s friendship with the young woman grows, he begins to wonder whether his purpose lies in this new relationship. But religious tensions are brewing and the mission house may not be the safe haven it seems

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA NETGALLEY. THANK YOU.

My Review: Hilary Byrd is coming unglued. He's in the early stages of a mental breakdown, he's fast departing the middle-aged years with their gradual loss of the pleasant illusion of a limitless future, and he's at odds with modern England at every turn. His rock of a sister can't seem to save him from this sense of being cut off, so for once in his life he takes a decision. He decides, about his own life's direction, that he will go Find Himself in India.

She disapproves of this, really for quite sensible reasons, but the time to be sensible is past.

I was ready, at that point, to stop reading for good. After all, I liked—a lot—but didn't love Author Carys's novella West, with its gorgeous sentences and its superbly concentrated plotting. I thought this read would be a similar exercise. So I put it down at this rather mundane point, and didn't pick it up until I read this year's glorious paean to Love, and lovingkindness, Clear.

This turbocharged my willingness to look further into this take on self-discovery through travel to "exotic" locale...a drearily bourgeois genre that I really, really do not like. Elizabeth Gilbert and Peter Mayles ruined it for me with their icky Othering search for "Authenticity" which comes across to me in this elder stage of my life as "authentoxicity." I am shocked at anyone, in the twenty-first century, who can make it all the way through a story like those without thinking, "interrogate your privilege, or at the very least recognize it!" That is, of course, the person of the Twenties talking to people of the Nineties...societal advances do not travel against time's arrow.

But this story isn't of its time...its time is now...nor is it about another time, it's set now. Just not here. Ooty, the old British "hill station" where the book is set, is in South India. Are your feelies itching as much as mine right now? I mean...hill station! That really übercolonial concept of "place the colonizers go to escape the commonfolk when it gets too hot." And a British guy rents a mission house, where the imperialists of the spirit retired from their efforts to screw up the indigenous population's relationship to their own souls with the caustic bleach of christiainty!

The icks are building steadily.

This, then, was not the most satifying of follow-up reads to my joyously absorbed Clear. I'm not revealing my dark corners when I say that all things christian leave me coldly hostile. Hilary isn't much of a christian, demonstrating a glancing awareness of but no familiarity with the mythos. His occupancy of a younger colonialist man's living quarters that were built as, and still serve as, a locus for slopping this terrible blighting thought pollution all over poor India (which, not coincidentally, has its own history of exporting religious intolerance). That young man's rush home to Canada is, permaybehaps, intended to serve as a kind of Divine Will's invitation for void-of-course Hilary to come be a white savior. I got that vibe as his relationship with Priscilla deepened, mostly because of "the Padre," who I took against from giddy-up to whoa.

Nonetheless, I can say that my tonal twangs where I was likely meant to thrum instead, were idiosyncratic to me. I think a person less repulsed by christian overtones might not even see them in this story. My discomfort with the ableist misogyny, the colonialist-Finding-Himself in the former colony, and that really terrible Padre, means all my stars are for the beautiful sentences, unfolded with the inevitability of flower petals obeying Bernoulli's spiral.

Not my most resounding recommendation, I fear.

THESE FRAGILE GRACES, THIS FUGITIVE HEART, hypercapitalist hellscape meets trans Terminator

THESE FRAGILE GRACES, THIS FUGITIVE HEART
IZZY WASSERSTEIN
Tachyon Publications
$16.95 trade paper, available now

Rating: 4* of five

The Publisher Says: In a queer, noir technothriller of fractured identity and corporate intrigue, a trans woman faces her fear of losing her community as her past chases after her. This bold, thought-provoking debut science-fiction novella from a Lambda Award finalist is an exciting and unpredictable look at the fluid nature of our former and present selves.

In mid-21st-century Kansas City, Dora hasn’t been back to her old commune in years. But when Dora’s ex-girlfriend Kay is killed, and everyone at the commune is a potential suspect, Dora knows she’s the only person who can solve the murder.

As Dora is dragged back into her old community and begins her investigations, she discovers that Kay’s death is only one of several terrible incidents. A strange new drug is circulating. People are disappearing. And Dora is being attacked by assailants from her pre-transition past.

Meanwhile, it seems like a war between two nefarious corporations is looming, and Dora’s old neighborhood is their battleground. Now she must uncover a twisted conspiracy, all while navigating a deeply meaningful new relationship.

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA EDELWEISS+. THANK YOU.

My Review: There are some tropes in the noir genre I love more than others. One is the private dick with a complicated love history. Rick and Elsa in Casablanca. Marlowe and Ruth in The Maltese Falcon. Jake and Evelyn (and her daddy) in Chinatown. Walter Neff and Phyllis Dietrichson in Double Indemnity.Not one tiny shred of honest, forthright communication and commitment to any relationship's future in the lot. This being my deeply cynical belief about the reality of all marriages' basis and fates, I thought I'd got a solid bead on the way the genre will work on this topic.

Laddies and gentlewomen, Izzy Wasserstein blew the (closet) doors off this one.

Dora, our protagonist, lives in a deeply dysfunctional dystopian near-future (a couple decades) post-apocalyptic USA. We don't explore the apocalypse much, just live day-to-day with Dora...Theodora, né Theodore...as she tries to survive in the wreckage of hypercapitalism. She (chosen pronoun) spent years in a hardscrabble anarchist commune with her pretransition Theodore-self's lover and commune co-founder, Kay. The pair split up, and Dora left the commune, over Kay and the others' rejection of her desire to tighten the commune's security about new members and the commune's handling of data. The others felt it was not in the spirit of the effort to be so closed and paranoid; she did. So she closed the door behind her on the way out. Maybe slammed is fairer; maybe slammed the damn door so hard it splintered, even.

And now Dora has to return to the commune, using all her skills acquired while she was Theodore, to solve the murder of Kay. Why was Kay murdered? What did Dora tell the communards about security? Is this thing on? So begins a fast-lane tour of the hellscape that is Kansas City in this deeply divided world, as Dora ferrets out facts and confronts Big Bads. Naturally, there are ties in the story Dora unfolds to the Theodore past...and, not coincidentally, Dora is confronted with the cruelest, most cinema-friendly enemies imaginable: clones of Theodore.

This, then, is the heart of the story. The world, and the world-building, are not deep because you're not here for the wrapping paper but for the gift. Dora has to battle Theodore-faced enemies bound and determined to kill her! Can there be anything more visually appealing than that?! Can the cruelty of deadnaming be more bluntly portrayed?

I really doubt it can. The setup, the story, the world...all part of the point of the read: Identity, its power, its costs, and the sheer nightmarish house of mirrors the trans person must live with, and through, simply to claim what cisgender people walk around blissfully unaware that they possess.

Themselves. Their unquestioned selfhood, unimpacted by the feelings, opinions, judgments of others, unquestioned by the self-appointed guardians of...you know, I just don't know what they are guarding. No one's attacking my maleness by being transmasc or transfem. What needs guarding about that? Anyway, I exist in a bubble of privileges of many sorts, and reading books like this that take me into the unprivileged side of my life do me a gigantic service. Perspective is something I treasure, even when I don't unreservedly enjoy getting it.

I did not read the book with unalloyed pleasure. There'd be a fifth star on my rating had that been the case. I enjoyed the pace; the author starts fast and doesn't slow down. I enjoyed the message; see above. I was squirmy about the echoes of The Man Who Folded Himself. That wasn't unnecessary; but I had to read the author's Afterword to get why it was not gratuitous. I was a bit unconvinced by the Big Bad's motivation. Not eyerollingly so, but in that niggly little itch that says, "really? all this because of that?"

I default back to, readers aren't here for just one experience, just one focus, a single reward for their time spent in Dora's world. It's just a thing I felt vaguely unsatisfied by, and should try to explain to others in advance of their reads.

I think Author Izzy deserves your afternoon and evening to get this involving story into you. I'm glad it's in me now.

CLEAR: A Novel, the most loving novel I've read in 2024

CLEAR: A Novel
CARYS DAVIES
Scribner
$24.00 hardcover, available now

Rating: 5* of five

The Publisher Says: A stunning, exquisite novel from an award-winning writer about a minister dispatched to a remote island off of Scotland to “clear” the last remaining inhabitant, who has no intention of leaving—an unforgettable tale of resilience, change, and hope.

John, an impoverished Scottish minister, has accepted a job evicting the lone remaining occupant of an island north of Scotland—Ivar, who has been living alone for decades, with only the animals and the sea for company. Though his wife, Mary, has serious misgivings about the errand, he decides to go anyway, setting in motion a chain of events that neither he nor Mary could have predicted.

Shortly after John reaches the island, he falls down a cliff and is found, unconscious and badly injured, by Ivar who takes him home and tends to his wounds. The two men do not speak a common language, but as John builds a dictionary of Ivar’s world, they learn to communicate and, as Ivar sees himself for the first time in decades reflected through the eyes of another person, they build a fragile, unusual connection.

Unfolding in the 1840s in the final stages of the infamous Scottish Clearances—which saw whole communities of the rural poor driven off the land in a relentless program of forced evictions—this singular, beautiful, deeply surprising novel explores the differences and connections between us, the way history shapes our deepest convictions, and how the human spirit can survive despite all odds. Moving and unpredictable, sensitive and spellbinding, Clear is a profound and pleasurable read.

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA NETGALLEY. THANK YOU.

My Review: What a simple, joyful story. A pair of souls are separated and so each is dissatisfied with Life. Neither knows the other exists. As the wheels of Fate catch and shudder away in the eternal darkness of chimrie (Heaven in Norn), bringing Ivar the endling of his people, and John the prodigal son of the Presbyterian faith, into their close communion, the story moves its calm inexorable way forward. Every time Ivar speaks in his dying tongue (Norn went extinct around 1850 in reality), John strains to learn what his words mean, what they describe and therefore come to form in John's mind.

The fact that John, clergyman, does this work is very telling. That he does it with the man he's been sent to dispossess of his lifelong home is...crucial. That he does this work with this man after taking this job to support Mary, his newly-wed wife, left behind on mainland Scotland; that he has sided with the anti-capitalists in the Disruption of 1843 and reluctantly took this job anyway; all these details add up to an ending that I found deeply moving, satisfying, and intensely soothing. I'm not going to spoil it for you because Author Carys makes it into quite the reveal.

I do not for a second believe it could have ended this way. I am sure it could have happened this way, though. But...well...1843, Presbyterians, human jealousy...it was a huge stretch for me to get over even one of those hurdles to accept that situation as presented as the ending of the story.

I will not downgrade this beautifully written fairy tale for lacking verisimilitude. I will go with the logic that Author Carys employs, and recommend the same course to you in your own read of the story.

Which, it being a short, fast read with the kind of language use that makes me wish this is what y'all called poetry, should be done soonest.

SOMEONE YOU CAN BUILD A NEST IN, Literature's pipe organ with the "Strange" stop pulled all the way out

SOMEONE YOU CAN BUILD A NEST IN
JOHN WISWELL
DAW Books
$28.00 hardcover, available now

Rating: 4* of five

The Publisher Says: Discover this creepy, charming monster-slaying fantasy romance—from the perspective of the monster—by Nebula Award-winning debut author John Wiswell

Shesheshen has made a mistake fatal to all monsters: she's fallen in love.

Shesheshen is a shapeshifter, who happily resides as an amorphous lump at the bottom of a ruined manor. When her rest is interrupted by hunters intent on murdering her, she constructs a body from the remains of past meals: a metal chain for a backbone, borrowed bones for limbs, and a bear trap as an extra mouth.

However, the hunters chase Shesheshen out of her home and off a cliff. Badly hurt, she’s found and nursed back to health by Homily, a warm-hearted human, who has mistaken Shesheshen as a fellow human. Homily is kind and nurturing and would make an excellent co-parent: an ideal place to lay Shesheshen’s eggs so their young could devour Homily from the inside out. But as they grow close, she realizes humans don’t think about love that way.

Shesheshen hates keeping her identity secret from Homily, but just as she’s about to confess, Homily reveals why she’s in the area: she’s hunting a shapeshifting monster that supposedly cursed her family. Has Shesheshen seen it anywhere?

Eating her girlfriend isn’t an option. Shesheshen didn’t curse anyone, but to give herself and Homily a chance at happiness, she has to figure out why Homily’s twisted family thinks she did. As the hunt for the monster becomes increasingly deadly, Shesheshen must unearth the truth quickly, or soon both of their lives will be at risk.

And the bigger challenge remains: surviving her toxic in-laws long enough to learn to build a life with, rather than in, the love of her life.

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA NETGALLEY. THANK YOU.

My Review: I really hoped that I'd find something that recalled for me the affect and effect of Mrs Caliban in this book.

Not so much.

This being the twenty-first century, I get it; that kind of quiet exploration of repressed rage and thwarted love is not the way this louder, more boisterous time copes with Life. Also, the author's an ace man. We aren't much for writing quiet women unless they are silenced by our power and privilege over them. (Look at the mind-numbing abundance of male-authored "thrillers" centering sex crimes against women sometime.) What this book does, then, is entirely unlike what I was prepared for.

This is a large pipe organ's keyboard. The stops, those round thingies, are the way the organist chooses the kind of sound...brash blaring trumpets, quiet soft woodwinds...the instrument will send into your ears. Author Wiswell pulled the "Strange" stop on his book's keyboard all the way out and then used the loud pedal.

The idea of this being reproducing in the same unspeakably horrifying way that wasps do is nightmarish enough for me. I absolutely abominate wasps. But then to be confronted with Shesheshen, the wasplike alien's, twisted psychology...finding its parasitic fatal-for-Homily (her intended victim) reproductive strategy LOVING!...and I thought, "that's me out!"

And then...

The reason I kept going, pushing past the extreme horripilation induced at the mere notion of this, this travesty on Love was the strength of my horror. If I am this repulsed and infuriated, the author is saying something loud and clear, and however much I don't *like* hearing it I should listen. I am honestly surprised to say I am glad that I did.

Female-presenting monsters are having A Moment, it seems...Alasdair Gray's Poor Things, a book I did not like but a film that was a note-perfect adaptation of it most recently....and Author Wiswell's more SFnal take on it surpasses that deeply strange story. In imaging an alien just trying to exist, as "Bella Baxter" does, as Frankenstein's monster does, but in such a revulsion-evoking way, Author Wiswell makes his readers stop and think: "where is my horror coming from?" Survival by consuming one's host is appalling! When one is the host, yes; but really, are we any different? We are using up the planet, we are complicit in the slave labor that provides us the benefits of food to eat, as well as the devices you're reading and I'm writing this on, and that offers the laborers nothing but early graves.

Some people who reviewed the book on Goodreads had some reservations about the nature of a man writing a love story between a woman and a female-presenting alien, when the love was not sapphic but asexual. To me, this felt like a feature, not a bug (!), because the point was asexuality. That was something I found moving, once I wrapped my head around it; the lovers are genuinely in love and they cannot deny or repress their feelings, nor are these feelings physiologically expressed through sex. If this is something you are unfamiliar with, I recommend reading the excellent Ace by Angela Chen. It was that book that, for the first time, presented me with information about the experience of asexuality, by an asexual person; it is extremely illuminating for someone not asexual.

The attentive have noticed my rating lacks a star despite my laudatory comments. This is not due to its sexual challenge to the allo overculture. It is due to the frankly peculiar pacing, too slow then zooming through character-building opportunities; it's due to the amount of body horror exceeding my personal limits; it's due to my very old-fashioned purseylipped response to the amount of lying Shesheshen does to Homily, that never causes any comment or evokes any sense of betrayal, nor causes Homily to require some assurance that she *can* trust Shesheshen.

Also I kept reading her name as "Hominy" and, considering she was being assessed as a meal by Shesheshen, it made me giggle most immaturely.

None of my minor crotchets should stop you from getting this deeply affecting and very peculiar story into your eyeholes. Soonest.

NO SON OF MINE: A Memoir, a son's generous gift of forgiveness to a dead mother

NO SON OF MINE: A Memoir
JONATHAN CORCORAN
University Press of Kentucky
$29.95 hardcover, available now

Rating: 5* of five

The Publisher Says: Born and raised in rural West Virginia, Jonathan Corcoran was the youngest and only son of three siblings in a family balanced on the precipice of poverty. His mother, a traditional, evangelical, and insular woman who had survived abuse and abandonment, was often his only ally. Together they navigated a strained homelife dominated by his distant, gambling-addicted father and shared a seemingly unbreakable bond.

When Corcoran left home to attend Brown University, a chasm between his upbringing and his reality began to open. As his horizons and experiences expanded, he formed new bonds beyond bloodlines, and met the upper-middle-class Jewish man who would become his husband. But this authentic life would not be easy, and Corcoran was forever changed when his mother disowned him after discovering his truth. In the ensuing fifteen years, the two would come together only to violently spring apart. As the COVID-19 pandemic raged in 2020, the cycle finally ended when he received the news that his mother had died.

In No Son of Mine, Corcoran traces his messy estrangement from his mother through lost geographies: the trees, mountains, and streams that were once his birthright, as well as the lost relationships with friends and family and the sense of home that were stripped away when she said he was no longer her son. A biography nestled inside a memoir, No Son of Mine is Corcoran's story of alienation and his attempts to understand his mother's choice to cut him out of her life. Through grief, anger, questioning, and growth, Corcoran explores the entwined yet separate histories and identities of his mother and himself.

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA EDELWEISS+. THANK YOU.

My Review: Y'all remember my four-star review of The Rope Swing? The man who wrote that, wrote this. What I noted then was that I felt removed from the people in his stories, like something I'd expected to be immediate and intimate was not quite that.

Objection overruled, eight-years-ago me.

The story of a Southern son...and Appalachia, where Author Corcoran hails from, is its own thing but is also The South...of a religious Mama who, in firm in her Faith, rejects her child whom she bore, nurtured, and loved, is not new nor is it underrepresented in the literary scene. UPK made the book available to me; I respected the author's chops; I started the read cautiously optimistic that it would be a Good Read. And that it was.

Being raised by a religious mother is often troublesome for a son. She often uses faith as a punishment. Her efforts to parent are more likely to be aimed at one's religious well-being and not quite concerned enough with the problems of being an adolescent. What Author Corcoran does in his memoir is to make you part of the fabric of the troubled (and frankly troubling to my atheist eyes) family he came from, and overcame. His education at elite Brown University, where my own eldest sister graduated from, drew him away from the limited life of his borderline impoverished, uneducated, Bible-believing family; not coincidentally, it introduced him to his desire's fulfillment in the gay demimonde, so to speak, of university life.

Once that genie's out of the bottle, that is that. Gawd stops being The Big Bad, and sex becomes possible to imagine as part of one's life without thunderation and guilt. Until, of course, one goes home.

It might be this bit that truly hit home hardest for me: That fracturing of the idea of Home. The title of the book gives the game away. "No son of mine" is harsh, unforgiving, and stone-cold. Those are words I heard as well. They sever the taproot of family brutally and irreparably. The rest of one's life they resonate, drowning out the less-resonant words of lovingkindness one attracts. One day, if one is VERY lucky, a voice will say "I love you" in the exact canceling resonance to that thunderous rejection...and that good luck came to Author Corcoran, or I simply could not have borne to read or write about this book. I knew that going in, as I follow him on Facebook, so I was in no doubt that this would be the case. Even being uncertain of this facet of his present-day life would have rendered me unable to read the book, so strongly do I feel about it.

What made Author Corcoran write this memoir now is the pandemic just past. His mother died in the pandemic without the two of them being able to reach mutual forgiveness. That is an incalculable agony. Staying silent, not howling one's pain to the world, is just flat imposssible. Being a writer meant that he chose to make this hegira from belief, to education, to rejection, to sad, grieving acceptance of one's losses in words. His life today is a materially and emotionally better one, his loving partnership is a source of acceptance and self-worth support, it is in short a story of succeeding without forgetting his beginnings. What pleased me, as a reader, the most was the fact that I never once felt that he belittled or looked down on his mother, or the world he left behind; that is a spiritual generosity that I can but envy.

In his evocation of a life left behind, Author Corcoran leaves the reader with the sense that he looks on his mother and the life she led, the teachings she imparted, and the world she lived in as a chrysalis from which he emerged, not a trap from which he escaped.

That is the best gift a parent can receive from an adult child. I am deeply saddened that the author's mother is not alive to receive it.

SILVER UNDER NIGHTFALL (Reaper #1) is a good read

SILVER UNDER NIGHTFALL (Reaper #1)
RIN CHUPECO
S&S/Saga Press
$19.99 trade paper, available now

Rating: 3.9* of five

The Publisher Says: Remy Pendergast is many things: the only son of the Duke of Valenbonne (though his father might wish otherwise), an elite bounty hunter of rogue vampires, and an outcast among his fellow Reapers. His mother was the subject of gossip even before she eloped with a vampire, giving rise to the rumors that Remy is half-vampire himself. Though the kingdom of Aluria barely tolerates him, Remy’s father has been shaping him into a weapon to fight for the kingdom at any cost.

When a terrifying new breed of vampire is sighted outside of the city, Remy prepares to investigate alone. But then he encounters the shockingly warmhearted vampire heiress Xiaodan Song and her infuriatingly arrogant fiancé, vampire lord Zidan Malekh, who may hold the key to defeating the creatures—though he knows associating with them won’t do his reputation any favors. When he’s offered a spot alongside them to find the truth about the mutating virus Rot that’s plaguing the kingdom, Remy faces a choice.

It’s one he’s certain he’ll regret.

But as the three face dangerous hardships during their journey, Remy develops fond and complicated feelings for the couple. He begins to question what he holds true about vampires, as well as the story behind his own family legacy. As the Rot continues to spread across the kingdom, Remy must decide where his loyalties lie: with his father and the kingdom he’s been trained all his life to defend or the vampires who might just be the death of him.

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA NETGALLEY. THANK YOU.

My Review: Weeelll...ya see...it's like this: I ain't the one to say nice things about vampire stuff, or about throuple romances. I do not believe the first exist, or could; the second seems like a really, really, really hard way to have a relationship one wishes to keep in place on the long term.

So what the hell made you ask for this DRC, old man?, I hear you wonder.

Rin Chupeco.

The Never-Tilting World and Wicked As You Wish as well as their debut The Bone Witch are all very well-written stories with queer characters and stakes that matter, characters I cared about, and world-building I invested in. I expected this book to have those strengths...mostly did...and be even better than their seven-years-ago debut. Not so much on this one.

The problem for me is that I can't put my finger on exactly how, why, or where. The prose is fine. The story doesn't have plot holes. I knew about the vampires before I asked for the DRC. There's not a good palpable reason for me not to be warbling my fool lungs out about this book. But.

There is always a chemistry between book and reader that is never, ever the same. Authors aren't the same people from book to book. Readers aren't either. And sometimes, in any kind of relationship, two chemistries change just enough, in just the wrong direction from each other, that one is not resonating in the right way for the other to get the gleeful rush of connection.

This is what happened in my experience of this perfectly good story.

GLORIOUS EXPLOITS, and glorious they are! Humor, pathos, sharp observation...all in this compact true tale

GLORIOUS EXPLOITS
FERDIA LENNON
Henry Holt and Co.
$26.99 hardcover, available tomorrow

Rating: 5* of five

The Publisher Says: An utterly original celebration of that which binds humanity across battle lines and history.

On the island of Sicily amid the Peloponnesian War, the Syracusans have figured out what to do with the surviving Athenians who had the gall to invade their city: they’ve herded the sorry prisoners of war into a rock quarry and left them to rot. Looking for a way to pass the time, Lampo and Gelon, two unemployed potters with a soft spot for poetry and drink, head down into the quarry to feed the Athenians if, and only if, they can manage a few choice lines from their great playwright Euripides. Before long, the two mates hatch a plan to direct a full-blown production of Medea. After all, you can hate the people but love their art. But as opening night approaches, what started as a lark quickly sets in motion a series of extraordinary events, and our wayward heroes begin to realize that staging a play can be as dangerous as fighting a war, with all sorts of risks to life, limb, and friendship.

Told in a contemporary Irish voice and as riotously funny as it is deeply moving, Glorious Exploits is an unforgettable ode to the power of art in a time of war, brotherhood in a time of enmity, and human will throughout the ages.

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA NETGALLEY. THANK YOU.

My Review: Graft Irish brogue onto ancient Syracusan and Athenian combatants, set the story in the aftermath of the Athenian defeat at Syracuse with its famously weird resolution to the problem the Syracusans had with what to do with the POWs, and make a buddy comedy out of it.

Of COURSE I asked for this book!

The titanic tragedies unfolding in today’s world are nothing new. The sheer number of us alive on Earth compared to three thousand...heck, three hundred...years ago means there are higher head counts in the disasters, but not greater or even equal proportions of the population. The scale of Athens’s humiliation, and her losses, in the failed imperial project that included her attempt at conquering Syracuse, rivals the British losses in World War I. An entire generation gone. The scale of democracy’s failings, and this imperial expansionist war was directly down to a democratic vote in Athens, has always been epic. After all, no government is one tiny bit better than its people force it to be.

So Gelon and Lampo get the historically accurate job of dealing with the horribly immiserated prisoners chucked down into the quarry to die. The solution has not changed. We get to see it all from the viewpoints of the two men who more or less came up with the solution, though. Gelon is sort of a sad soul, a man who is aware of and burdened by awareness of, the pointlessness of existence. Does any of this really matter, on can hear Gelon wondering inside himself. He finds no joy in the deaths the Athenians are doomed to, especially since it means he...and the world, of course...won’t get to hear the latest Euripides hit The Trojan Women. Because of course Gelon is all about the tragedian Euripides.

Lampo...get it?...finds light gleaming in all darknesses, Lampo thinks the Athenians must be good for something...and entertaining the Syracusans with the latest and greatest plays from cultural hub Athens is just the ticket. The men overhear the Athenians lightening ther last hours with dialogue from the current Athenian version of the West End/Broadway season, and hey presto a solution to the awful moral conundrum of just letting human beings die in misery comes. Lampo is the instigator of the full cast revival of the play, and convinces the angry Syracusans...even the guy with the club who’s taking revenge for his lost sons by killing every Athenian he possibly can...to set aside their hatred and listen to this brand-new play from the cultural capital of the world.

Setting aside the utter weirdness of this story’s factual reality...we know it really happened...this could have been a retelling of the events that went heavy on Message, bearing down hard on whichever piece caught Author Ferdia’s fancy. Instead he lets the reader select the message they want from the many on offer. Start with an Irish voice telling, in English, a tale of a violently failed colonial enterprise. I trust I do not need to go too far on that one to bring it into focus for you. Move to the unemployed potters, those craftworkers whose job it is to take dirt and turn it into useful and often beautiful things for people to benefit from, who see the utility and the necessity for using these aggressors for some kind of benefit to those they harmed. A tale, then, of restitution, never a bad thing to bring into the modern world. But then look again: the actors are there, able and ready to do their jobs, but unnoticed until summoned into being as actors by capitalist producers, who in case this parallel to the modern world slid past you, make no effort whatever to compensate the creator of the play they are producing. And the actors making the play are, it should not go unremarked on, living below the poverty level and thus are ready to do anything to stay alive.

And, should all that be more than you want to deal with in your present mood, this short novel can simply and pleasurably entertain you with its surreal blend of fact, fiction, and Aristophanes-level multilayered comedy.

Laugh along. Think deeply. Enjoy the music. You pick, you are the one who makes this read...all Author Ferdia did was find the story for you. I can’t recommend it highly enough.

March 2024's Burgoine and Pearl-Rule reviews

Author 'Nathan Burgoine posted this simple, direct method of not getting paralyzed by the prospect of having to write reviews. The Three-Sentence Review is, as he notes, very helpful and also simple to achieve. I get completely unmanned at the idea of saying something trenchant about each book I read, when there often just isn't that much to say...now I can use this structure to say what I think is the most important idea I took away from the read and not try to dig for more.

Think about using it yourselves!

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The Science of Agatha Christie: The Truth Behind Hercule Poirot, Miss Marple, and More Iconic Characters from the Queen of Crime by Meg Hafdahl and Kelly Florence

Rating: 3.25* of five

The Publisher Says: Uncover the theories behind Dame Agatha Christie's most thrilling mysteries: Murder on the Orient Express, Death on the Nile, The A.B.C. Murders, and so much more!

Gothic media moguls Meg Hafdahl and Kelly Florence, authors of The Science of Stephen King and co-hosts of the Horror Rewind podcast called “the best horror film podcast out there” by Film Daddy, present a guide to the Agatha Christie stories and supersleuths we all know and love. Through interviews, literary and film analysis, and bone-chilling discoveries, The Science of Agatha Christie uncovers the science behind the sixty-six detective novels and fourteen short story collections that have become an integral part of the modern murder mystery, answering such questions as:

What is the science behind the poisons used to commit murders in Agatha Christie’s stories?

When did crime investigation become more common as seen in Murder on the Orient Express?

Has science made it possible to uncover the truth behind the investigative powers of Hercule Poirot and Miss Marple?

How did Agatha Christie use isolated settings to best explore the psychology of her characters?

Join Kelly and Meg as they discover why sometimes the impossible must be possible!

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA EDELWEISS+. THANK YOU.

My Review: Chatty, entertaining mishmash of gossip and opinion from oodles of carefully documented sources. Vanishingly light on hard science, at least as I interpret that promise; it has anecdotes about the generalities from interviewees. Does not make it less amusing to read, sort of like going to a Christie book-club discussion with the most well-prepared session runner of all time.

Agathites will likely find it an entertaining read. Go into it as a browsing book, not a devour-in-a-day binge. That will keep the tone fresh and involving.

Skyhorse wants $10.99 for an ebook, which I find a very good value.

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Dark Æon: Transhumanism and the War Against Humanity by Joe Allen (Foreword by Steve Bannon)

Rating: 2.5* of five

The Publisher Says: Humanity is consumed by relentless transformation

Like a thief in the night, artificial intelligence has inserted itself into our lives. It makes important decisions for us every day. Often, we barely notice. As Joe Allen writes in this groundbreaking book, “Transhumanism is the great merger of humankind with the Machine. At this stage in history, it consists of billions using smartphones. Going forward, we’ll be hardwiring our brains to artificial intelligence systems.”

The world-famous robot, Sophia, symbolizes a rising techno-religion. She takes her name from the goddess—or Æon— whose fall from grace is described in the Gnostic Gospels.

With an academic background in both science and theology, Allen confronts the paradox of what he calls “good people constructing a digital abomination.” Dark Æon is nothing less than a cri de coeur for humanity itself. He takes us on a roller coaster ride through history and the emergence of Scientism, and from government-mandated mRNA vaccines to the weird visions of cyborg billionaires like Elon Musk.

From Silicon Valley to China, these globalists’ visions of humanity’s future, exposed and described in Dark Æon, are dire and terrifying. But Joe Allen argues that humanity’s salvation is within our grasp. Only if we refuse to avert our eyes from the impending twilight before us.

It is relevant here to quote the unknown author’s bio from Skyhorse’s website here: Joe Allen has written for Chronicles, The Federalist, Human Events, The National Pulse, Parabola, Salvo, and Protocol: The Journal of the Entertainment Technology Industry. He holds a master’s degree from Boston University, where he studied cognitive science and human evolution as they pertain to religion. As an arena rigger, he’s toured the world for rock n’ roll, country, rap, classical, and cage-fighting productions. He now serves as the transhumanism editor for Bannon’s WarRoom.

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA EDELWEISS+. THANK YOU.

My Review: Regular readers will expect rude comments about religious nuts and radical right-wing conspiracists here. The author is, indeed, a religious nut and a radical-right Koolaid imbiber. Follow any link in his bio that I have left for you.

That does not make him all wrong. There is much to deplore in Musk’s vision of transhuman consciousness. Start with, howinahell can a mere computer contain a human consciousness, let alone millions or billions of them, when the computer is still stuck by the laws of physics in the role of extremely fast calculator? We think a LOT faster than computers, a lot deeper, too. Will the day come when we can upload a human consciousness into an electronic matrix? Maybe. But while it is a good thing to think through the implications of that, and of actual AI not merely the impressively glib LLMs and neural networks we see today, doing so from this viewpoint is...well...stupid.

For people who claim to base their visions for Humanity on their god’s rule, they have very little faith in her ablity to do stuff for herself...they need to protect this omniscient and omnipotent being from us mere humans’ actions, because they will somehow harm her.

What this book gets wrong is its religion, not mostly wrong like its science. If your omnipotent god does not want transhumanism to occur, it won’t. Simple as that. As she set up rules of physics that present HUGE hurdles to the creation of genuine AI and/or transhuman being, I’d say she has it covered and y’all need to CTFD.

Skyhorse wants $17.99 for an ebook. I say get it out of the library.

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The Serpent (Time of Heroes #3) by David Drake

Rating: 3 generous stars of five

The Publisher Says: Jon of Dun Add has created a civilization where before there had only been isolated pockets of humanity in a shattered cosmos.

Young knight Pal is one of the most respected members of Lord Jon’s Hall of Champions. But Pal’s greatest talent lies not on the field of battle, though he’s no slouch there. He is also a Maker, one who can repair the tools the Ancients had left—sometimes. Moreover, he has learned to use his warrior dog’s ability to predict motion better than any human could, an ability that has saved his skin and won the day more than once.

Now, Pal will need all his talent—as a fighter, as a Maker, and as a Champion—to deal with the monsters the Waste throws at him—and to deal with his fellow humans. For there are those who would destroy Dun Add and Lord Jon’s vision of a humanity united in peace from within . . .

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA EDELWEISS+. THANK YOU.

My Review: I screwed up. I got book three in a series I had never heard of before because I recognized the author’s name...what SFF reader wouldn’t...and, once I clocked my eff-up, I thought I’d just go back and get the others. That has never happened in three years, in spite of his December 2023 demise, because I just did not like this Arthurian retelling all that much. The writing is ordinary David Drakery. The typos were plentiful, and they irked me a lot.

It really just, as a story, goes nowhere much, which is actually quite a feat when retelling a millennium-old story; it has action that is not tied to anything like a plot; and, in under two hundred pages, there is more flashback to the first two books than there is present action. So it is not something I recommend to you.

Still, not everyone thinks like me, so a Kindle edition is only $6.99...but seriously, buy something from an unknown instead.

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Erskine Caldwell, Margaret Bourke-White, and the Popular Front: Photojournalism in Russia by Jay Caldwell

Rating: 3.25* of five

The Publisher Says: Erskine Caldwell’s novels Tobacco Road (1932) and God’s Little Acre (1933) made the author a popular and critically acclaimed chronicler of the South but also a controversial one, due to his work’s political themes and depictions of sexuality. Margaret Bourke-White, fresh from her role as staff photographer for Fortune, became the first female photojournalist for LIFE in 1936, and her iconic images graced its covers and helped solidify the magazine as a preeminent visual periodical.

When Caldwell and Bourke-White married in 1939, they were both celebrities, popular and provocative in equal measures because of their leftist politics and their questioning of American cultural norms. They collaborated on the photodocumentary books You Have Seen Their Faces (1937), North of the Danube (1939), and Say, Is This the U.S.A. (1941). In the summer of 1941, the couple entered Russia on assignment and were there when the Germans invaded on June 22. As a result, Caldwell and Bourke-White were the first Americans to report on the Russian war front by broadcast radio and continued to transmit almost daily newspaper articles about the Russian reaction to the war. Their international celebrity and their clout within the Soviet literary establishment provided them remarkable access to people and places during their five-month stay. Their final collaboration, Russia at War (1942), is a culmination of their work during that time.

Erskine Caldwell, Margaret Bourke-White, and the Popular Front traces and analyzes the couple’s collaborations, the adventures that led to them, the evolving political stances that informed them, and the aftereffects and influences of their work on their careers and those of others. Both biographically revealing and analytically astute, author Jay Caldwell offers a profound, new perspective on two of America’s most renowned midcentury artists at the peaks of their careers.

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA NETGALLEY. THANK YOU.

My Review: In the 1990s I knew a man called Fred Bonnie, a writer and an academic who had a vision for the revival of his friend Erskine Caldwell’s many unjustly-neglected mid-century works. Sadly, Fred died in a one-car crash before any of these plans could be brought to fruition.

I approached this read, then, in sympathy with the politics and the art of both leads. I had hoped for an insight into the couple’s life together and their shared goals, with lots of photos. I got instead a thorough travelogue, a relatively few...forty-two to be exact...photos, and a pretty academically dry assessment of the enterprise of reporting from the front lines of WWII’s scariest front, that in Russia.

It is, of course, not the book’s fault I wanted something I did not get. I felt, not unreasonably I believe, that the marketing of the book...see synopsis above...led me to expect that book. I got a very worthwhile academic consideration of a stressful and productive time in the careers of two titans of early twentieth-century leftist culture.

The University OF Georgia Press offers a giftable hardcover for $41.95. I suggest requesting your library get one unless you are a giant fan of these lights of the era.

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Snow Birds (Grand Mafia Series #2) by Sandy W. Robson

Rating: 3.5* of five

The Publisher Says: Get ready to immerse yourself in the gripping, golden-years finale of the Grand-Mafia Series! If the quirky escapades in Bone Park left you hungry for more, buckle up for a wild ride with this compelling conclusion.

Bernie, Ruby, Freda, and Opal are four indomitable spirits, each uniquely shaped by the tempestuous world of Cicada Hollow. They've accidentally started a burgeoning criminal empire, their story unfolding like a modern-day "Thelma and Louise" saga.

But as their empire expands, so do the risks. These ladies might have expected bingo nights and quiet book clubs in their later chapters, but fate had other, far more thrilling plans.

This book isn't just a story—it's a captivating journey through the ups and downs of friendship in the face of remarkably unconventional challenges.

Join us for a story that combines heart, suspense, and just a touch of criminal activity. It's a reminder that adventure doesn't retire – and neither do the fabulous ladies of Cicada Hollow. Grab your copy and prepare for a series finale proving retired life doesn't have to be boring (but make sure you have a good alibi)!

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA NETGALLEY. THANK YOU.

My Review: Still decently entertaining, with the expected pleasures of a cozy mystery that subverts our cultural expectations of old women existing solely as powerless, sweet Little Old Ladies. I will, I confess, miss the Grand-Mafia now that their adventures have come to an end.

The right combination of fun and silly with a light salting of pointed social commentary in the background. Great for the first sunny afternoon on the front porch.

A Kindle edition is $5.99 (non-affiliate Amazon link), and it is available via Kindle Unlimited as well.

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Jumpnauts by Hao Jingfang (tr. Ken Liu)

Rating: 3.75* of five

The Publisher Says: From the Hugo Award–winning author of Folding Beijing comes a gripping science fiction thriller in which three unlikely allies attempt a desperate mission of first contact with a mysterious alien race before more militaristic minds can take matters into their own hands.

In a future where the world is roughly divided into two factions, the Pacific League of Nations and the Atlantic Division of Nations, tensions are high as each side waits for the other to make a move. But neither side is prepared for a powerful third party that has apparently been an influential presence on Earth for thousands of years—and just might be making a reappearance very soon.

With the realization that a highly intelligent alien race has been trying to send them messages, three rising scientists within the Pacific League of Nations form an uneasy alliance. Fueled by a curiosity to have their questions answered and a fear that other factions within their rival Atlantic Division of Nations would opt for a more aggressive and potentially disastrous military response, the three race to secure first contact with this extraterrestrial life they aren’t quite convinced is a threat.

Bolstered by recent evidence of alien visitations in the distant past, the three scientific minds must solve puzzles rooted within human antiquity, face off with their personal demons, and discover truths of the universe.

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA NETGALLEY. THANK YOU.

My Review: Interesting mash-up of Doctor Who and the holographic universe interpretation of quantum physics. I was less sold on this story than I was on Vagabonds a couple years ago. Part of that is down to the personalities of the main characters, as I am bored by straight people competing over sex. Another part was the politics of the Earth conflict...why the hell does an omniscient, all-but-omnipotent force...whether alien or divine...allow the injustice and horror of the world as it is?

There is no answer to that question that convinces me of the existence of such beings. So a big part of my reading energy goes into fighting off the sense that this story is founded on sand, and it is shifting rapidly under my readerly feet.

Not everyone will feel this way, so the folks who liked Contact, Arrival, or the Mars Trilogy by Kim Stanley Robinson will be gruntled by this read. Vagabonds readers will likely miss the more ornamented prose in that book, but the pleasures of characters developing, seeking, and solving problems will make up for it.

Saga Press wants $13.99 for an ebook, which feels like a good deal to me.

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This space is dedicated to Nancy Pearl's Rule of 50, or "the Pearl Rule" as I've always called it. After realizing five times in December 2021 alone that I'd already Pearl-Ruled a book I picked up on a whim, I realized how close my Half-heimer's is getting to the full-on article. Hence my decision to track my Pearls!

As she says:

People frequently ask me how many pages they should give a book before they give up on it. In response to that question, I came up with my “rule of fifty,” which is based on the shortness of time and the immensity of the world of books. If you’re fifty years of age or younger, give a book fifty pages before you decide to commit to reading it or give it up. If you’re over fifty, which is when time gets even shorter, subtract your age from 100—the result is the number of pages you should read before making your decision to stay with it or quit.

So this space will be each month's listing of Pearl-Ruled books. Earlier Pearl-Rule posts will be linked below the current month's crop.

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Whaling Captains of Color: America's First Meritocracy by Skip Finley

PEARL RULED @ 27%

Rating: 3 generous stars of five

The Publisher Says: The history of whaling as an industry on this continent has been well-told in books, including some that have been bestsellers, but what hasn't been told is the story of whaling's leaders of color in an era when the only other option was slavery. Whaling was one of the first American industries to exhibit diversity. A man became a captain not because he was white or well connected, but because he knew how to kill a whale. Along the way, he could learn navigation and reading and writing. Whaling presented a tantalizing alternative to mainland life.

Working with archival records at whaling museums, in libraries, from private archives and interviews with people whose ancestors were whaling masters, Finley culls stories from the lives of over 50 black whaling captains to create a portrait of what life was like for these leaders of color on the high seas.

Each time a ship spotted a whale, a group often including the captain would jump into a small boat, row to the whale, and attack it, at times with the captain delivering the killing blow. The first, second, or third mate and boat steerer could eventually have opportunities to move into increasingly responsible roles. Finley explains how this skills-based system propelled captains of color to the helm.

The book concludes as facts and factions conspire to kill the industry, including wars, weather, bad management, poor judgment, disease, obsolescence, and a non-renewable natural resource. Ironically, the end of the Civil War allowed the African Americans who were captains to exit the difficult and dangerous occupation—and make room for the Cape Verdean who picked up the mantle, literally to the end of the industry.

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA EDELWEISS+. THANK YOU.

My Review: A subject at once fascinating, important, and repellent. The whaling industry left us without whales that we now understand are vital members of an ocean ecology that works to stabilize the climate...while affording many men of color the opportunity to improve their lot in US life, support their families, and make a future of prosperity possible for their community as a whole. It is not their fault that this chain of consequences was not understood in their time. It still made reading about the industrial-scale killing of cetaceans for profit unpleasant to me.

The author has done a lot of research, has presented it in synthesis, and did so without a shred of verve, excitement, or pleasure. I had to stop reading because I was beginning to resent the didactic tone. If I am going to read a monograph, I want a grade. So, while the book succeeds on its own merits at doing the job it set out to do, it did not cross into general-interest readership territory as I had very much hoped it would.

A trade paper edition is $21.95, quite reasonable for an academic press book.

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Reservoir Year: A Walker’s Book of Days by Nina Shengold

PEARL RULED @ 34%

Rating: 3 generous stars of five

The Publisher Says: On the eve of her sixtieth birthday, Nina Shengold embarks on a challenge: to walk the path surrounding the Catskills' glorious Ashokan Reservoir every day for a year, at all times of day and in all kinds of weather, trying to find something new every time.

Armed with lively curiosity, infectious enthusiasm, and renewed stubbornness, she hits the path every day with all five senses wide open, searching for details that glint. As Shengold explores the secrets of this spectacular place, she rediscovers the glories of solitude and an expanded community, both human and animal. Step by step, her reservoir walks rekindle connections with family, strangers, and friends, with a landscape she grows to revere, and with a new sense of self. Like the writings of John Burroughs, Annie Dillard, and Barry Lopez, Shengold's reflections on her personal journey will resonate with outdoor enthusiasts and armchair hikers alike.

Quietly transformative, Reservoir Year encourages readers to find their own ways to unplug and slow down, reconnecting with nature, reviving old passions and sparking some new ones along the path.

I RECEIVED A DRC FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA EDELWEISS+. THANK YOU.

My Review: I am the author’s age, I am always interested in nature-centered books, and I LOVE the Catskills.

I should’ve loved this book. I did not. It took me a year to get to the 34% mark in my DRC, and then I forgot I even had the book. The writing is perfectly fine, nothing awful, nothing glorious. I love the idea of this kind of book. The quiet, gentle quality of this iteration ended up feeling soporific to me.

If Annie Dillard is too tendentious, and Barry Lopez is too strident, for your present mood, this book is a godsend for you. Treading the same paths they do in Hush Puppies instead of sneakers or boots, the stories will offer you solid value.

The ebook is steep at $24.95, but the library ought to have it.