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Today on "this was a really good book for someone who is not me". I still find urban fantasy incredibly difficult to get into and while I could appreciate everything Moreno-Garcia was doing here because she does it well and with panache and with an exceptionally realized real/fictional world, I have a surprisingly difficult time getting over the sense that this isn't my genre. Huh.
Clever book! I liked the twisty plot that managed to surprise me even when I thought I knew what was going on. It's the kind of book that dares you to solve the puzzle as it goes and is less invested in characters (who did occasionally dance towards the tv-sitcom-esque in terms of being a bucketful of recognizable quirks) than in playing through the plot. It was delightful in the way that all mysteries are delightful.
I am such a sucker for space opera set on generation ships and mystery in space stories so well done Mur for hitting all my buttons. I loved the cloning conceit, the set-up was excellent, and I especially appreciate the thought that went into crafting the state of society (and the way the book itself doesn't ask all these questions about life and who has a right to it...but in not asking, implicitly answers it as well).
I read this on and in honor of Yom HaShoah because, well, Holocaust narratives. Wein has a gift for telling the humanity and fierceness of the survivors and while nothing quite equals Code Name Verity, I appreciated having her work to read.
Let the hugo reading begin!
Although I was planning to read this anyway. I thought Wilson's previous book was technically excellent and brilliantly written, but I also wanted to love it.
This book, though perhaps less flamboyant in what it sets out to do, is much more a book of my heart. I thought it was just as well wrought as its predecessor and the smaller scope of the story brought me further in and made me love it more. Wilson knows how novellas work: build the world and show just enough to get the reader through the story, leaving them utterly satisfied with the narrative and incurably curious about the universe.
Although I was planning to read this anyway. I thought Wilson's previous book was technically excellent and brilliantly written, but I also wanted to love it.
This book, though perhaps less flamboyant in what it sets out to do, is much more a book of my heart. I thought it was just as well wrought as its predecessor and the smaller scope of the story brought me further in and made me love it more. Wilson knows how novellas work: build the world and show just enough to get the reader through the story, leaving them utterly satisfied with the narrative and incurably curious about the universe.
Let's start with the obvious—this is pop science. It's written like pop science. It doesn't interrogate the studies (although Konnikova actually talks about Milgram as a problematic study, which puts her significantly ahead, but I digress) and is at least as interested in telling narrative as it is in making logical assertions. Which, given the argument of the text (we fall for stories), also makes sense.
Having said that, this book is a devastating critique of our collective core belief that people (intelligent or not) are capable of being rational actors and making good decisions. People often make good decisions, but the way we make decisions and trust and function as social animals are biased towards trust and optimism. People who see the world clearly are depressed (this, while a simplification, is true). So the con—taking advantage both of our social instincts to trust and of our inability to correctly evaluate our...mediocrity—is hard to resist. Especially if you don't know you're being conned. As a story of human psychology, this book was both well told and worth reading. As a story in post-2016 election America, it's enough to make you cry.
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End of review. After this, things get political.
I actually think this book has a lot to say to us in this current regime in answer to the question of how we got here and why we're currently under the tiny thumb of a con man. The promises of change, the successes, the patter all match Konnikova's description of the con. And, for those of us who saw through it, were like the siblings of the mark, watching them sell away our collective inheritance. No wonder there's such anger: "we" would never fall for the con, but we're subject to its depredations (cutting vital government programs, ruining what little chance we have left to alter the course of global climate change, roll back progress on social justice, etc.).
But in the con, all you need to do is catch the conman. And the mark gets revenge in court and deserves the losses to dignity or money, but the damage feels minimal. The Confidence Game is exquisitely useful for understanding how and why the con happens, but there's only so much understanding can do when you're living through it.
Having said that, this book is a devastating critique of our collective core belief that people (intelligent or not) are capable of being rational actors and making good decisions. People often make good decisions, but the way we make decisions and trust and function as social animals are biased towards trust and optimism. People who see the world clearly are depressed (this, while a simplification, is true). So the con—taking advantage both of our social instincts to trust and of our inability to correctly evaluate our...mediocrity—is hard to resist. Especially if you don't know you're being conned. As a story of human psychology, this book was both well told and worth reading. As a story in post-2016 election America, it's enough to make you cry.
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End of review. After this, things get political.
I actually think this book has a lot to say to us in this current regime in answer to the question of how we got here and why we're currently under the tiny thumb of a con man. The promises of change, the successes, the patter all match Konnikova's description of the con. And, for those of us who saw through it, were like the siblings of the mark, watching them sell away our collective inheritance. No wonder there's such anger: "we" would never fall for the con, but we're subject to its depredations (cutting vital government programs, ruining what little chance we have left to alter the course of global climate change, roll back progress on social justice, etc.).
But in the con, all you need to do is catch the conman. And the mark gets revenge in court and deserves the losses to dignity or money, but the damage feels minimal. The Confidence Game is exquisitely useful for understanding how and why the con happens, but there's only so much understanding can do when you're living through it.
3.5, actually, but I can never decide how to handle books that are attempting excellent things and fail. (Sometimes I end up grading excellent failures and mediocre successes the same way and that feels wrong, but these aren't student papers and I'm entitled to resent books that don't sweep me away.)
So, you know, sometimes I write one or two line reviews that just give me a sense that a) I read this book and b) I had feelings about it.
Had I done that the first time I'd read this book, I wouldn't be writing this essay right now. I started listening to this book and realized, with the first line, that I had read it before despite not remembering anything about it. At which point I remembered who the villain was and how much I hated the main character. That means that this was actually a reread, and an audio-reread at that. So the pacing is different, the narrative is not surprising in the same way, and I end up having a different response because I tend to reread through the lens of the critic. Which means I'm going to go much further into depth and point out things that I don't usually discuss because, well, I made it to the end of this book again and I deserve this space to rant as my reward.
Anyway, I don't actively hate the main character anymore, but I still don't like her. Part of what brought me away from hatred was recognizing how much of her behavior was a response to trauma. There is a fine line between plot-induced stupidity and a character who can't see the damaged way she views the world. That's up to the author and the reader - if the reader is receptive and the author is expressive, then you can feel the main character's destructive choices as the product of trauma. But if something fails there, it starts to feel like the main character is doing destructive things to keep the plot moving because you don't get a sense of motivation. That was how I felt on my first read. Perhaps because I knew more on the second read, I was more generous in my reading and could see Rachelle as a victim of trauma. I mean, she obviously is, but seeing it made manifest in her behavior is different. If the narrative doesn't manage to convey that what she's been through influences her actions (or, and here's something of my problem, is inconsistent), then it's hard to empathize with her as a viewpoint character.
This dislike, in fairness, also plays into my personal opinions about what I like in characters. And this is, by definition, an observation and not a criticism of the book as such because a book is not bad because it does things I don't like. And I am SO BORED of "strong" but broken/fragile female characters. I don't mind ruthless and I quite like kind (there are a few authors who write straight-up KIND characters and the stories are no less compelling, but they make me happy and I want more stories like that). Rachelle is neither. She sins and breaks and this is the story of her putting herself back together (except only sort of because I'm not sure she actually does) and that's a good story, but it is a story I have read too many times (more than twice, certainly) and it just isn't one of the stories that tugs at my heart.
This book is pretty comparable to Uprooted, except I liked Uprooted better because the main characters has the kind of flaws I like rather than the kinds I hate and because Uprooted has the weird and problematic romantic tropes that I like rather than the ones I don't like. Welcome to reviewing, it's 90% arbitrary.
So, with that out of the way, the story itself is good and clever and does amazing things with the Red Riding Hood paradigm.
With THAT out of the way, I also found it deeply conventional. There were elements of the story that could have gone differently and that didn't feel justified for turning out the way they did other than that this is the way things go. The heteronormative romance, the Christian-based religion, and the older guy falls in love with a child tropes are all present and, to my mind, unjustified by the narrative.
Okay, yes. It's a love story. But, honestly, most of the truly moving moments were between Rachelle and Amelie. Their relationship felt like it had more depth, more justified emotional investment, and more attachment than Rachelle and Armand's. And, yes, fiction needs its compelling female friendships, but if you write the main character's romantic entanglement as a less-compelling version of her female friendship, forgive me for being skeptical of the romance. I have no idea what she sees in Armand and the sheer sensuousness of her relationship with Amelie makes the actual romance feel like someone shoehorned in a heterosexual relationship. (Incidentally, this would have been an awesome opportunity to have a fairy tale without a romance. Just sayin')
And why is there an ersatz version of Christianity? That's two questions, actually. The first is why there's an old-but-true heathen religion that everyone forgot and an unconfirmed Christian religion that supplanted it? I mean, the obvious answer is "Uhhh, France?" Because that's where she's referencing. But it also feels shoehorned in to the narrative. It feels not merely extraneous, but like it interferes with the larger world-building. It's not exactly needed to damn the blood-bound or to set up the good versus evil dichotomy. And, insofar as it does anything, it justifies what I see as a deeply Christian and (from my perspective) deeply problematic attitude towards absolution that still doesn't know what to do with those who commit mortal crimes and so cheats by having the dead stick around to absolve. What does it mean to forgive and what does it mean to be forgiven? I don't know - here, have a bishop.
Given that, I just finished a different series that made a really interesting choice to create an ersatz Judaism instead of Christianity so I also just found the Christian default in terms of both thinking and fantasy to be...annoying. Especially for the default, there's nothing wrong with this story. I just get bored of it.
Finally, and this does make me a bit of hypocrite because I don't always call this trope out, why is a grown man in love with a child? I don't mind age gaps (especially when you give enough evidence that they are equally mature), but I found the forest-born's interest in younger Rachelle to be completely inexplicable. He falls in love with her? Why? How? (This may also go back to my problem with the actual love story - I have no idea what anyone sees in Rachelle, except maybe Amelie, so all the conversations about love don't make sense.) I was also kinda pissed that Rachelle didn't get to take joy in his destruction - he stalked her and emotionally abused her. It feels like the deeply Christian attitudes towards forgiveness also deny her her rage and relief at the end. I'm okay with her trying to save him anyway (see kind character comment), but I felt like she should have more anger, more...interiority.
So this sounds a lot like I didn't enjoy this book, which is not true. It was good and it was a really good take on Red Riding Hood. I just...for a book that was so creative in world-building, couldn't it have been a bit more innovative in character and tropes?
So, you know, sometimes I write one or two line reviews that just give me a sense that a) I read this book and b) I had feelings about it.
Had I done that the first time I'd read this book, I wouldn't be writing this essay right now. I started listening to this book and realized, with the first line, that I had read it before despite not remembering anything about it. At which point I remembered who the villain was and how much I hated the main character. That means that this was actually a reread, and an audio-reread at that. So the pacing is different, the narrative is not surprising in the same way, and I end up having a different response because I tend to reread through the lens of the critic. Which means I'm going to go much further into depth and point out things that I don't usually discuss because, well, I made it to the end of this book again and I deserve this space to rant as my reward.
Anyway, I don't actively hate the main character anymore, but I still don't like her. Part of what brought me away from hatred was recognizing how much of her behavior was a response to trauma. There is a fine line between plot-induced stupidity and a character who can't see the damaged way she views the world. That's up to the author and the reader - if the reader is receptive and the author is expressive, then you can feel the main character's destructive choices as the product of trauma. But if something fails there, it starts to feel like the main character is doing destructive things to keep the plot moving because you don't get a sense of motivation. That was how I felt on my first read. Perhaps because I knew more on the second read, I was more generous in my reading and could see Rachelle as a victim of trauma. I mean, she obviously is, but seeing it made manifest in her behavior is different. If the narrative doesn't manage to convey that what she's been through influences her actions (or, and here's something of my problem, is inconsistent), then it's hard to empathize with her as a viewpoint character.
This dislike, in fairness, also plays into my personal opinions about what I like in characters. And this is, by definition, an observation and not a criticism of the book as such because a book is not bad because it does things I don't like. And I am SO BORED of "strong" but broken/fragile female characters. I don't mind ruthless and I quite like kind (there are a few authors who write straight-up KIND characters and the stories are no less compelling, but they make me happy and I want more stories like that). Rachelle is neither. She sins and breaks and this is the story of her putting herself back together (except only sort of because I'm not sure she actually does) and that's a good story, but it is a story I have read too many times (more than twice, certainly) and it just isn't one of the stories that tugs at my heart.
This book is pretty comparable to Uprooted, except I liked Uprooted better because the main characters has the kind of flaws I like rather than the kinds I hate and because Uprooted has the weird and problematic romantic tropes that I like rather than the ones I don't like. Welcome to reviewing, it's 90% arbitrary.
So, with that out of the way, the story itself is good and clever and does amazing things with the Red Riding Hood paradigm.
With THAT out of the way, I also found it deeply conventional. There were elements of the story that could have gone differently and that didn't feel justified for turning out the way they did other than that this is the way things go. The heteronormative romance, the Christian-based religion, and the older guy falls in love with a child tropes are all present and, to my mind, unjustified by the narrative.
Okay, yes. It's a love story. But, honestly, most of the truly moving moments were between Rachelle and Amelie. Their relationship felt like it had more depth, more justified emotional investment, and more attachment than Rachelle and Armand's. And, yes, fiction needs its compelling female friendships, but if you write the main character's romantic entanglement as a less-compelling version of her female friendship, forgive me for being skeptical of the romance. I have no idea what she sees in Armand and the sheer sensuousness of her relationship with Amelie makes the actual romance feel like someone shoehorned in a heterosexual relationship. (Incidentally, this would have been an awesome opportunity to have a fairy tale without a romance. Just sayin')
And why is there an ersatz version of Christianity? That's two questions, actually. The first is why there's an old-but-true heathen religion that everyone forgot and an unconfirmed Christian religion that supplanted it? I mean, the obvious answer is "Uhhh, France?" Because that's where she's referencing. But it also feels shoehorned in to the narrative. It feels not merely extraneous, but like it interferes with the larger world-building. It's not exactly needed to damn the blood-bound or to set up the good versus evil dichotomy. And, insofar as it does anything, it justifies what I see as a deeply Christian and (from my perspective) deeply problematic attitude towards absolution that still doesn't know what to do with those who commit mortal crimes and so cheats by having the dead stick around to absolve. What does it mean to forgive and what does it mean to be forgiven? I don't know - here, have a bishop.
Given that, I just finished a different series that made a really interesting choice to create an ersatz Judaism instead of Christianity so I also just found the Christian default in terms of both thinking and fantasy to be...annoying. Especially for the default, there's nothing wrong with this story. I just get bored of it.
Finally, and this does make me a bit of hypocrite because I don't always call this trope out, why is a grown man in love with a child? I don't mind age gaps (especially when you give enough evidence that they are equally mature), but I found the forest-born's interest in younger Rachelle to be completely inexplicable. He falls in love with her? Why? How? (This may also go back to my problem with the actual love story - I have no idea what anyone sees in Rachelle, except maybe Amelie, so all the conversations about love don't make sense.) I was also kinda pissed that Rachelle didn't get to take joy in his destruction - he stalked her and emotionally abused her. It feels like the deeply Christian attitudes towards forgiveness also deny her her rage and relief at the end. I'm okay with her trying to save him anyway (see kind character comment), but I felt like she should have more anger, more...interiority.
So this sounds a lot like I didn't enjoy this book, which is not true. It was good and it was a really good take on Red Riding Hood. I just...for a book that was so creative in world-building, couldn't it have been a bit more innovative in character and tropes?
This was such a waste of not reading A Tyranny of Queens (which turned up in the mail about 10 minutes after I started this, but I figured I could read it afterwards and this wasn't that long and, anyway, how bad could it be?)
This could have been an interesting book. The things it does with memory and accountability and the future are there, somewhere, in the background, but the main character is neither likable nor interesting--come on, dude, give me ONE of the two--so there's no narrative drive to the book. I don't care. I don't care about his suffering and my resentment for having to pay attention to him made me not care about anyone else either. Interesting premise, but the mud-blob that is the main character cast enough of a pall over the rest of it that I just could not bring myself to care about anyone or thing.
This could have been an interesting book. The things it does with memory and accountability and the future are there, somewhere, in the background, but the main character is neither likable nor interesting--come on, dude, give me ONE of the two--so there's no narrative drive to the book. I don't care. I don't care about his suffering and my resentment for having to pay attention to him made me not care about anyone else either. Interesting premise, but the mud-blob that is the main character cast enough of a pall over the rest of it that I just could not bring myself to care about anyone or thing.
It's Beauty and the Beast! I can't help but read B&tB retellings even though they always disappoint me (Disney and [a:Robin McKinley|5339|Robin McKinley|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1314406026p2/5339.jpg] make all the other versions look bad). However, remembering not to get excited helped a lot.
This one was good. For one thing, it had a reason for existing and it actually had something new to do with the story rather than "just" retelling it. It was also clever: Hodge comes up with a very good backstory for all her characters and, while the world-building sometimes feels more like window-dressing, it's very good window-dressing and I rarely notice that the world doesn't quite seem...flesh-outable.
And Nyx (beauty) has a personality! And she's not a goody two shoes. Her inner demons were my favorite part of her, although (first novel problems) Hodge had a tendency to have Nyx tell us what she was feeling rather than letting Nyx feel it on the page.
Anyway, definitely worth reading in my never-ending quest to read all the reasonably enjoyable YA fairy tale retellings (except the urban fantasy ones because I'm pickier about UF).
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Thoughts on the reread - holy toxic family dynamics batman!
I feel like there's a whole thing to be written about Hodge and trauma/culpability/forgiveness (and I'm also getting bitten by the unexamined Christian attitudes towards forgiveness and guilt that her stories seem to have).
Also, pacing is very different in audiobook form than print. Funny how much more sense the ending made.
This one was good. For one thing, it had a reason for existing and it actually had something new to do with the story rather than "just" retelling it. It was also clever: Hodge comes up with a very good backstory for all her characters and, while the world-building sometimes feels more like window-dressing, it's very good window-dressing and I rarely notice that the world doesn't quite seem...flesh-outable.
And Nyx (beauty) has a personality! And she's not a goody two shoes. Her inner demons were my favorite part of her, although (first novel problems) Hodge had a tendency to have Nyx tell us what she was feeling rather than letting Nyx feel it on the page.
Anyway, definitely worth reading in my never-ending quest to read all the reasonably enjoyable YA fairy tale retellings (except the urban fantasy ones because I'm pickier about UF).
---
Thoughts on the reread - holy toxic family dynamics batman!
I feel like there's a whole thing to be written about Hodge and trauma/culpability/forgiveness (and I'm also getting bitten by the unexamined Christian attitudes towards forgiveness and guilt that her stories seem to have).
Also, pacing is very different in audiobook form than print. Funny how much more sense the ending made.
Murderbot!
Sick and tired of hearing all these people talk to me, tell me what to do with my hard drive, when can I go watch my feed?
Murderbot!
(Sung, obviously, to the tune of Dirty Pop)
This was delightful. I feel like every other reviewer has already mentioned what I like about this book - snarky robot! hates talking to people! mystery! AI and rights to autonomy! - it's both sad and hilarious at turns, with enough crunchy, thinky bits to chew on and enough amazing characters to sweep you up. But the highlight, of course, was Murderbot.
Sick and tired of hearing all these people talk to me, tell me what to do with my hard drive, when can I go watch my feed?
Murderbot!
(Sung, obviously, to the tune of Dirty Pop)
This was delightful. I feel like every other reviewer has already mentioned what I like about this book - snarky robot! hates talking to people! mystery! AI and rights to autonomy! - it's both sad and hilarious at turns, with enough crunchy, thinky bits to chew on and enough amazing characters to sweep you up. But the highlight, of course, was Murderbot.