mars2k's Reviews (226)

Earthsea: The First Four Books

Ursula K. Le Guin

4.0

adventurous challenging dark hopeful mysterious reflective sad tense medium-paced

Plot or Character Driven: A mix

Strong character development: Complicated

Loveable characters: Complicated

Diverse cast of characters: Yes

Flaws of characters a main focus: Yes

A Wizard of Earthsea (1968) – 4.0☆

A typical coming-of-age fantasy adventure in many ways. It does carve out its own unique identity in its worldbuilding and its largely non-white cast, but otherwise it’s not particularly groundbreaking. And that’s okay – it doesn’t need to reinvent the wheel.

I liked the way real and perceived threats ended up blurring together, adding to the atmosphere of dread and despair. I also appreciate the way Ged’s sense of detachment came across through the narrative’s drifting from place to place and the transient cast of characters. Though, on the other hand, it did make it a bit difficult to get invested; by the time I met Jasper and Vetch, I’d already been conditioned not to get too attached. And it’s a little odd because, really, Ged isn’t all that detached? He does form meaningful relationships with people, it’s just that they occur offscreen (offpage?)

Similarly, we don’t really get to see the thought process behind Ged calling his shadow his own name.

The ending in general felt quite rushed, and I wish I had a better understanding of what Le Guin was going for thematically.

Still, I did enjoy A Wizard of Earthsea overall. I think it has a healthy balance of familiar tropes and innovation. Reading it was a nostalgic experience for me, as someone who used to devour fantasy novels as a kid :)

The Tombs of Atuan (1970) – 4.0☆

Now this one is interesting, both on its own and in conversation with A Wizard of Earthsea. Both are coming-of-age stories, but Wizard’s detachment is contrasted by Tombs’s claustrophobic atmosphere. The shadow metaphor is reworked and reused here, and the worldbuilding and mythos are expanded upon well.

The Tombs of Atuan can be interpreted a number of ways, especially when it comes to gender politics. Maybe it’s a feminist tale about a female protagonist asserting her own identity and gaining independence. Maybe it’s unfeminist because she ends up needing a heroic man to save her from the delusional women. And not only are these women delusional, they’re literally a man-hating cult – perhaps there’s an antifeminist message here? A transphobe might feel vindicated because Tenar’s real name is the one given to her by her parents and the cultists telling her otherwise are just conning themselves. A trans person may rejoice as Tenar reclaims her repressed identity and rejects the role that was forced onto her for completely arbitrary reasons. I’m not trying to identify any of these readings as Le Guin’s intent – I think that’s a fruitless endeavour. I just think it’s neat that a single story can be looked at through so many different lenses (though obviously I prefer some interpretations over others)

I must say I was a little disappointed by the introduction of racism into the world of Earthsea. I don’t mean that the story is racist or the author is racist, it’s just that there are racist characters in this story whereas in A Wizard of Earthsea people of varying skin tones seemed to coexist without this particular bigotry impacting their lives. It’s a shame because it seemed like Earthsea was this utopian racismless – maybe even raceless – society.

The Farthest Shore (1972) – 3.0☆

This is definitely a step down compared to the previous two instalments, but I wouldn’t say it’s outright bad. It’s fine? I think the themes of death and suicidality were handled fairly well,

and I like that Ged must once again confront his shadow, though in a less literal sense this time.

Unfortunately, The Farthest Shore isn’t particularly well written. It has many of the same weaknesses as A Wizard of Earthsea and, to a lesser extent, The Tombs of Atuan: exposition dumps, a lack of flow, an aimless plot wrapped up with a rushed ending, etc. The premise of this story is very cliché and Le Guin doesn’t really subvert it or add a fresh twist. It’s kind of generic. To me it reads like someone trying to write a fantasy story – it runs through the checklist of magic and dragons and royal lineages and so on, but it lacks depth and substance. The characters were flat, there was very little plot progression until the last few chapters, and the misanthropic belief that “men are savages” who need a king to establish “peace” goes unchallenged (for now – this line of thinking and other right wing biases are questioned in Tehanu).

The idea of Earthsea losing its magic is perhaps unintentionally meta...

Maybe I’m being a bit too harsh. In fairness, most of my disappointment stems from comparisons to A Wizard of Earthsea and The Tombs of Atuan which, in my opinion, are better-written stories. The Farthest Shore isn’t bad. But it’s not particularly good either.

Tehanu (1990) – 4.0☆

This is no quadrilogy; The Farthest Shore was the end of the Earthsea trilogy, and Tehanu is an addendum. As I mentioned before, Le Guin uses Tehanu as an opportunity to deconstruct some of her earlier biases, particularly the patriarchal aspects of Earthsea. I applaud her for taking this approach rather than doubling down or sweeping the matter under the rug – she assessed her own worldbuilding with a critical eye and expanded on it using her newfound feminist and anarchist philosophies. I feel strangely proud of her :)

Tehanu takes on a much different tone and scope compared to the stories that preceded it. Rather than an epic fantasy quest, this story is more concerned with domestic life and the everyday reality of existing as a woman in this world – “ordinary fears,” as Tenar puts it. It explores themes of power and privilege and ignorance as a tool of oppression. It’s a little on the nose at times but for the most part it’s handled with tact and grace. There are some absolutely iconic quotes, like “she had been told that men must not look into a dragon’s eyes, but that was nothing to her.”

I was actually considering rating Tehanu four and a half stars, but the ending brought it down to a round four. In typical Le Guin style, the story plods along, virtually plotless, then everything happens so much in the last couple of chapters. It just implodes. At least in The Farthest Shore Ged and Lebannen were ostensibly searching for the cause of magic’s disappearance; what happens here is shocking and absurd, and not in a good way.

Through the original trilogy, Ged has something of a genderbent maiden/mother/crone arc, then in Tehanu he’s free to be someone new. There’s also a neat transition from the abstract threats in A Wizard of Earthsea to the material threats in Tehanu.

I’ve mentioned a couple of times a recurrent flaw in Le Guin’s writing: the meandering flow ended abruptly by a waterfall. That said, her worldbuilding is fantastic and won me over. I think The Tombs of Atuan is probably my favourite of the set though I value them all (even The Farthest Shore)

I’m so glad I finally read these stories, and reading them back-to-back in one volume meant I could compare them and recognise similarities and differences between them that I otherwise might not have picked up on. I would definitely recommend this book to any fans of fantasy or people looking to get into fantasy.

I’ll probably read the other Earthsea stories at some point but I’m also curious about Le Guin’s sci-fi work, so maybe I’ll read some of those first.

Content Warnings

Die, Vol. 4: Bleed

Kieron Gillen

4.5

adventurous dark emotional hopeful inspiring reflective sad tense medium-paced

Plot or Character Driven: Character

Strong character development: Yes

Loveable characters: Yes

Diverse cast of characters: Yes

Flaws of characters a main focus: Yes

Great series

Content Warnings

Die, Vol. 3: The Great Game

Kieron Gillen

4.5

dark emotional tense fast-paced

Plot or Character Driven: A mix

Strong character development: Yes

Loveable characters: Yes

Diverse cast of characters: Yes

Flaws of characters a main focus: Yes

The Great Game is a step up from the previous volume. It’s a little aimless in the first half and rushed towards the end, but on the whole the momentum is revitalised, the plot progression is satisfying, and the stakes are set as the series gears up for the final stretch.

This book is strong in its own right too, tackling themes of war, death, and autonomy with tact and insightfulness. The central question of who is really in control weaves through the narrative and rears its head when

it is revealed that Sol is not in control of the game and is, in fact, only another player – an idea that fits nicely into real world conversations about the role of the GM, complementing the book’s other major theme of the relationship between TTRPGs and wargames.

It’s rare that a piece of media that relies so heavily on breaking the fourth wall and being meta does so in a way that feels earned. All I can do now is hope that volume 4 gives Die the gratifying conclusion the series deserves.

Content Warnings

Die, Vol. 2: Split the Party

Kieron Gillen

4.0

emotional mysterious reflective sad medium-paced

Plot or Character Driven: A mix

Strong character development: Yes

Loveable characters: Yes

Diverse cast of characters: Yes

Flaws of characters a main focus: Yes

I enjoyed this book but it’s not as good as the first volume. This one is much more reflective, which isn’t inherently a bad thing but the momentum of the story does grind to a halt. The opening narration of “We’ve gone nowhere. ... We’ve achieved nothing. ... But we’ve been busy” does a good job of summing up this volume’s agitated stagnation.

I’m glad some of the characters that were underused in the first book were given more attention here. Ash got sidelined this time round. She was literally gagged at one point so that somebody else could spout exposition for a change.

The artwork is gorgeous but here and there it felt a little rushed and unfinished? Maybe it’s just that the pace has changed and so an art style that complements frantic action sequences looks out-of-place when used for more contemplative scenes, and therefore its flaws become more noticeable.

I absolutely adore the style Hans used when

relaying the events of Charlotte Brontë’s life.

It’s so delicate and easy on the eye – it has this Art Nouveau quality to it.

As I said at the beginning of this review, I do think Split the Party is a slight downgrade compared to Fantasy Heartbreaker. Die hasn’t dropped the ball but it is fumbling just a little. I hope this turns out to be the calm before the storm and that volume 3 takes the story to new heights. I’m excited to see where this goes.

Content Warnings

Why Art?

Eleanor Davis

4.0

inspiring reflective fast-paced

Plot or Character Driven: A mix

Strong character development: Complicated

Loveable characters: Yes

Diverse cast of characters: Yes

Flaws of characters a main focus: Complicated

This one was short but sweet. It wasn’t as powerful or as deep as I was hoping it would be, but I was still moved by it.

Davis’s artwork is lovely. It’s so concise. The illustrations are simple and organic, and the characters are full of, well, character. The art style works well with the story’s theme of vulnerability.

I’m afraid there’s not much else to say. Why Art? is a nice little book. Definitely worth a read but don’t set your expectations unrealistically high. The drawings will make you smile, and the text will make you think. That’s all there is to it.

Content Warnings

Remina

Junji Ito

3.0

adventurous dark tense fast-paced

Plot or Character Driven: Plot

Strong character development: Complicated

Loveable characters: No

Diverse cast of characters: No

Flaws of characters a main focus: No

Remina is a tale of obsession and destruction. It’s a commentary on the toxicity of idol culture, particularly as it intersects with misogyny. I think the protagonist’s storyline is complemented fairly well by the more fantastical elements – the harassment the girl Remina is subjected to and the planet Remina’s relentless pursuit are mirror images.

Remina Oguro has no agency whatsoever. Unfortunately, that does make her a little difficult to connect to, but I don’t think she should be dismissed as poorly written. It is demonstrated time and time again that the men and boys in her life constantly make decisions for her with no regard as to what she might want. They tell her what to think and how to feel. They lie to her and gaslight her. They’ll worship her one minute and demonise her the next with no apparent reason for the change in attitude beyond their own fancies. It’s no wonder she’s so passive and unable to assert herself. She barely even has a self to assert. This isn’t just a two-dimensional female character – she has been flattened. Though I admit I would have liked to see her reach her limit and snap instead of always capitulating.

As for the sci-fi horror, it’s all very pulpy. The silliness does undercut the horror somewhat, and the scientific errors are irksome. I mean, yeah, obviously a story about a murderous planet is going to require some suspension of disbelief, but light years as a measure of time? Come on.

Also the ending didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me? Let’s just say I’d have written it very differently.

Okay, no, let’s dissect it. Option 1: Death. This feels like an obvious conclusion to me. Remina (the girl) could have died at the hands of the mob that hunted her, in the all-encompassing cataclysm of the Earth being consumed, or even by suicide. Yes, she only has one year to live in the weird space bunker thing so in a sense her death is imminent, but it doesn’t have that same “destruction” feel to it that was the theme of the story. Option 2: As I said before, it would have been great to see her assert herself. The finale easily could have revolved around a triumphant moment in which she makes a stand and reclaims her personhood. Option 3: Yes, this book explores the horror of being despised and hunted, but there’s also the more subtle horror of being known. Of being perceived. What if Remina (the planet) destroyed the world and turned its gaze upon Remina (the girl), the sole survivor, only to leave and continue its rampage elsewhere in the galaxy? Remina Oguro would be left utterly alone, experiencing a horror that’s the complete inverse of the horror she was subjected to before.

All in all, I kinda liked Remina. At the very least, I appreciate the effort. The artwork was great. The writing could have been better. It’s a shame the execution was a little lacking because Ito was working with some really interesting ideas. Three stars. Not quite three and a half.

Content Warnings

Cyclonopedia: Complicity with Anonymous Materials

Reza Negarestani

3.0

challenging dark informative mysterious slow-paced

Plot or Character Driven: N/A

Strong character development: No

Loveable characters: No

Diverse cast of characters: Complicated

Flaws of characters a main focus: No

“Squirming its way into ever more convoluted coils, the Middle East develops a life-form of its own [...] By casting creation aside, this life-form builds worlds and corpses more efficiently than God.”

I really don’t know what to make of this book.

It isn’t so much a work of “theory-fiction” as it is theory infected by fiction. The framing device (if you can call it that) doesn’t add much besides injecting some ambiguity as to what is and isn’t real. There’s no plot to speak of, though there are characters. It’s like there’s a narrator but no narrative – which calls into question the purpose of the narrator.

Perhaps Cyclonopedia would have been easier to follow if it had discarded the prologue and the annotations and instead focused on being a fictional biography of Dr Hamid Parsani, fleshing him out as a character but otherwise not getting bogged down in the construction of a fictional universe. Alternatively, it could have been a speculative fiction novel – philosophical but not academic – with rich worldbuilding influenced by Mesopotamian mythology and geopolitics. I suppose the book would lose some of its allure if it had been more straightforward, however.

The “manuscript” itself meanders in and out of lucidity, with occasional flashes of brilliance. It’s a captivating read. There are some really interesting ideas in there, such as the evocative dichotomy of wet oil vs dry sand, and insights into mythological beings like Pazuzu. But after these bright moments have passed, the reader is pulled back down into a sea of incoherent ramblings. I don’t know what the philosophical equivalent of technobabble is but there’s a lot of that.

Though what I read was supposedly (a fictionalised?) Negarestani’s analysis of the works of (the fictional) Parsani, it can be hard to distinguish between the two sometimes. Parsani is essentially a stand-in for Negarestani himself and the way they write is very similar. Which again makes me wonder why the book was written like this.

I’m conflicted. I’m having a hard time identifying what’s actually significant and what’s just me projecting meaning onto something meaningless – which itself is both frustrating and fascinating. Is the prose supposed to be nonsensical? Are Negarestani and Parsani supposed to blur together into one voice? Am I supposed to examine the intentions of the author rather than suspending my disbelief and experiencing the fiction he has crafted? Am I massively overthinking this? I don’t know. Probably!

Content Warnings

The Plague

Albert Camus

4.5

dark emotional hopeful inspiring reflective sad tense medium-paced

Plot or Character Driven: A mix

Strong character development: Yes

Loveable characters: Yes

Diverse cast of characters: No

Flaws of characters a main focus: Yes

Reading The Plague in the midst of a pandemic is an odd experience. It’s hard to say whether it makes the story more impactful or less. The idea of a city going into lockdown isn’t particularly shocking to me now, but, at the same time, I can appreciate the accuracy of the depiction in a way I wouldn’t have been able to previously.

At the heart of the story is Camus’s absurdist philosophy. I’m not being hyperbolic when I say it has genuinely changed my life. I’ve often struggled with hopelessness and pessimism, so the insistence on fighting losing battles – on knowing you can’t fix the world but doing the best you can regardless – was something I took to heart. This philosophy most obviously manifests in the actions and beliefs of the protagonists (“Your victories will always be temporary, that’s all.” [...] “Always, I know that. But that is not a reason to give up the struggle.”) but there’s also something to be said about the way it intertwines with other themes. Take language, for instance. There is initially some debate over whether or not the plague should be called a plague, the citizens of Oran struggle to verbalise their anguish when the city is quarantined, and Grand is stuck writing and rewriting the first line of his novel. Words are not enough to accurately describe the human experience, but we try to communicate with them anyway. The irony of this message being conveyed through a work of literature does not escape me.

Speaking of language, my copy of The Plague features a sub-par translation, and I’m going to attribute the clunky sentence structure and wonky grammar to overly-literal translation from French to English. Nevertheless, Camus’s skill as a writer shines through. Something I picked up on was the way he set the mood through careful pacing. The book starts off slow and meandering when discussing the banality of life in Oran before the plague, then pivots to quick, urgent clauses when the plague strikes. It’s masterful.

There are some aspects of the book which deserve criticism (for example, women exist only in their relationships to men) but there’s also so much to love. I think this is the best novel I’ve ever read? I will definitely be checking out the rest of Camus’s work.

Hats off, gentlemen!

Content Warnings

The Undying: A Meditation on Modern Illness

Anne Boyer

2.0

challenging sad medium-paced

This book is kind of terrible (I’m sorry!) An endorsement quote on the cover describes it as “profound and unforgettable” but I have to disagree with that assessment. I didn’t find The Undying nearly as groundbreaking or eye-opening as other readers seem to.

I know this is going to sound mean, but it feels like Boyer was simultaneously trying too hard and not hard enough, with more of a focus on appearing erudite than on actually demonstrating that intelligence. Her writing style sometimes resembles that of a teenager – an intellectual aesthetic which lacks real substance, angsty attempts at poetry, reels of anecdotes that don’t flow together at all, and countless tangents that probably make sense to her but seem completely irrelevant to the reader. It’s a mess.

Boyer also has a tendency to come across as incredibly unempathetic – not to mention hypocritical – making the book downright unpleasant to read at times. She repeatedly brings up horrors she doesn’t face (eg: racism, drone strikes, AIDS) just to make a point, and yet she acts like it’s appropriation when people express grief for loved ones with cancer when they themselves don’t have it. There are a few passages where she casually talks about doing some pretty awful things, such as guilt tripping an obviously distressed and uncomfortable friend into looking at her body.

I don’t know... I really don’t like this book, and I don’t understand how my opinion of it differs so drastically from mainstream views. Did we read the same book?

Content Warnings

Notes Made while Falling

Jenn Ashworth

5.0

dark emotional funny inspiring reflective sad tense medium-paced

Notes Made While Falling is absolutely phenomenal. It is masterfully crafted and clearly built to be a book – it just wouldn’t work in any other medium. The unreliable narration means the anecdotes recounted in this memoir(?) may not be “true” in the strictest sense, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t honest. Ashworth’s writing is captivating, evocative, and, at times, horrifyingly gruesome.

It’s not for the faint of heart but if you can handle gore, trauma, and psychosis then I highly recommend it.

A couple of quotes:

“I want to demonstrate to her something I still can’t help but hope is true of art generally and might one day be true for me in particular: the things we sickly humans make can be more complex and intelligent, more humane and more precious, than the wounded people who make them. / Alone in my bed, I feel ashamed.”

“I am not figuring out a way to ‘tell it slant’ because the thing itself is slant and untellable and only my body knows my evil hour.”

Content Warnings

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