Uprooted is a modern fantasy inspired by classic Polish fairy tales. In the valley in the shadow of the fearsome Woods, the powerful Dragon eats a girl every decade. Well, not literally. The Dragon is the local wizard, and every ten years one local girl is chosen as his servant. No one knows what happens to them, but when they're done, they move away to distant cities.

Agnieszka is chosen, and find herself the lowest sort of scullery maid for a cruel master. But then her talent for magic awakens, and she finds herself heir to a strange sort of witchcraft. She battles the corruption of the Woods, saves a friend, and the queen of the kingdom, taken 30 years ago. But this rescue is the start of a series of disasters, which take Nieska to the capitol, and lead to the deaths of dozens of people and a catastrophic war that will leave the human lands critically weakened and at the mercy of the Woods. At the end, it's up to Nieshka to venture into the heart of the Woods, and try and set right an ancient crime.

Novik has a breezy and cheerful writing style, even as Uprooted grapples with some very dark themes. Uprooted lost the 2016 Hugo to The Fifth Season, but that's like losing a bout with Mohammed Ali. Nothing to be ashamed of. This is a nice little modern fantasy.

This is both a fascinating book and a great historical artifact.

Charlie Plumb was shot down near Hanoi in 1967 on his 75th mission. Captured almost immediately, Plumb set about the hard work of surviving as a prisoner of war. He was tortured on arrival, and then again for repeated infractions of prison rules, such as setting up communication networks, celebrating American holidays, and refusing to be a willing participant in North Vietnamese propaganda. Even on the days when he wasn't singled out for special punishment, there was still the poor food, vermin, and sheer tedium of 2,103 in prison.

Organized thematically by Glen DeWerff (presumably a pre-internet professional writer), Plumb candidly discusses the harsh conditions in the prison, how he set up communication networks of taps and passed notes to maintain discipline, and the little things like exercise and holidays that increased morale. A basic faith in America, in his fellow pilots, and in God sustained Plumb through the worst of times. It was fascinating to see how important the PoWs creation of an internal chain of command was, and the relative improvement in conditions (always poor) over the years. Having authorities to appeal to, and standards to meet, was vital for ensuring that the men presented a united front to the enemy.

Plumb reveals that everyone broke under torture, eventually. Initially holding himself to the Geneva Convention "name and number" standard, he wound up confessing useless information like the model of airplane he flew, a trivial surrender since they had taken the manuals for an F-4 Phantom off him, and then as many lies as he could manage. I doubt any meaningful secrets passed to the enemy, but men would always break and talk. Plumb regards his Vietnam captors as both brutal and inefficient. Their regime of pain, starvation, and isolation was horrific, but frequently evaded by the Americans.

Finally, published in 1973, this book came out when the war was very much still a live issue, though no longer one that directly affected many Americans. Plumb has a natural charm, which he turned into a successful and ongoing career as an inspirational speaker. As a book about the good things to take away from being a POW, it's a little odd, but still a solid read and artifact.

How exactly did the ancient Greeks fight? Christopher Matthew conducts a masterful piece of experimental archaeology to discover the basic mechanics of the hoplite manual of arms. Using archaeological relics, modern reconstructions, and the willing assistance of the Sidney Ancients reenacting society, Matthews lays out a convince case for the lethality of close-order legion.

Simple biomechanics show that the spear was most likely held underarm, couched just under the armpit, or lower. The overhead pose commonly found of Greek pottery is simply impossible to maintain for more than a few minutes, strikes with less accuracy, and leaves vital gaps in defenses. The round aspis shield is full of clever devices to ensure proper positioning balanced on the left shoulder, providing cover without tiring out the hoplite. Bronze cuirasses and helmets can be penetrated by direct thrusts, but deflect glancing blows, and if made any thicker would impair mobility and endurance. The mechanics of the individual are sound and convincing, but I am less sure about his conclusions about how a phalanx would behave in battle. His arguments, that a close-order formation was all but invincible, yet required superior troops, and that most killing took place at spears' length rather than in a literal pushing crush, make sense, but for obvious reasons cannot be safely tested.

Matthew ably blends his experiments with historical backing from ancient chroniclers, including variant translations, artistic depictions and recovered artifacts. The scholarship is impressive, to say the least. There's some repetition, and Matthew at times seems to carry a grudge against other classicists who have never picked up a spear, and odd factions in the historical martial arts world that I can only begin to comprehend. Still, this is a great book, and I have to give props to a guy who turned his very geeky obsession in a PhD and a job.

Welcome to the Monkey House collects Vonnegut's short fiction through the 50s and the 60s, a blend of the scifi that made his reputation and non-genre stories about Yankee storm window salesmen that paid the bills. There's the characteristic Vonnegut humor, irony, profanity, the gut punches cloaked in plain words and honeyed absurdity.

Reading a whole bunch of these back to back, though, reveals a basic underlying sentimentality. I'm not sure if Vonnegut actually likes people much, but he sure is sentimental about them, in all their aches, weirdnesses, sins, and dreams.

Morton begins the book with two questions: 1) Do you think human emissions of carbon dioxide are changing Earth's climate? 2) Do you think it will be difficult to transition away from the centuries-long and multi-trillion dollar reliance on fossil fuels? If your answer is "yes and yes", then it may be necessary to embark on some form of geoengineering, the deliberate introduction of (most likely) sulfur aerosols into the stratosphere to reflect more light into space and counter the greenhouse effect.

Morton is a professional science writer, and he has a keen grasp of good analogies to describe the flows of energy through the upper surface of Earth, and the scientific discoveries that lead to theories of geoengineering. Major volcanic eruptions in the late 90s offered a case to test the assumptions of primitive climate models against the introduction of bulk surfer aerosols, with sudden cooling and associated hemispheric changes in the weather. Of course climate models are relatively crude, and there's still much that we don't know about the effects on weather, which is what people notice and care about, rather than the climate. The ease of geoengineering is stark. Perhaps $10 billion to set up a fleet of stratospheric tankers, and a $2 billion annually to maintain the program. Big science, yes, but costs on the order of a few large nuclear plants.

The problem with geoengineering is it's Promethean potential. It's not that the actual practice is wholly new. Climate change is just one natural cycle now substantially influence-to-completely dominated by human activity, from the Haber-Bosch process and nitrogen fertilizer, to phosphorus fertilizer, to the narrowly averted disaster of CFCs and the ozone layers. To take a major Earth system deliberately in hand and say "this is what we want it to be" is a new level of planetary ambition. Geonegineering induced cooling will have some losers, and the politics of those harms are not well mapped out.

This is where Morton falls short. He imagines a scenarios where a "Concord" of minor states threatened by climate change enact geoengineering, but it seems more likely that a major power or even a billionaire operating under a flag of convenience will get there first. The internal politics of geoengineering, its scientific debates, and relationship to mainstream atmospheric physics and ecological activism, are sorely under-reported. Still, I can't think of a better book on the topic.

Growing up in a Culture of Respect focuses on children in the remote Peruvian village of Chillihuani. Though poor in material goods, and living a marginal existence as subsistence herders and farmers in one of the most remote corners of the world, the Chillihuanis have a durable culture that stretches back to the days of the Inca, a society of mutual aid, sacred geography, and children who are inquisitive, cheerful, respectful, with none of the angst that characterizes Western adolescence.

Bolin chronicles a world based on mutual solidarity, and one where an independent childhood is almost erased. Children are included in the rituals of adult life as soon as they are able, helping out around the home, and being treated as full and active participants in the life of their families and the village. The demanding environment seems to foster a true strength of character.

I'll admit that this is not in my usual wheelhouse, but I'm trying to hit 200 books for the year, and Carrying Coca is short and has pictures. Chuspas are highly decorated bags used in the Andes to carry coca, and Sharratt ably discusses the relationship between the adorned objects, the rituals of coca, and its sacred role in the culture of the Andes

Harry Flashman is perhaps the most despicable protagonist in all of fiction. A scoundrel, coward, bully, rapist, racist, and all around bad egg, he is (in fiction) setting down his honest memoirs after a career in the service of the British Empire. Despite his thorough horribleness, the Flash is at least amusing in his base animal appetites for wine, women, and the esteem of his peers.

As a soldier of Empire, Flash was present at any military disaster of note in the 19th century. The first book starts off with a bang with the first Anglo-Afghan War. Flashman, rapidly expelled from Rugby, and exiled from Lord Cardigan's 11th Cavalry, is dispatched to India, where a talent for languages sees him assigned to Elphinstone's expedition. If you read wikipedia, you know how the main story goes, with a British army cuts to shreds in the high passes. Flash narrowly survives, and comes out a hero through repeated instances of sheer dumb luck.

Quick reading, action packed, and delightfully cynical, the Flashman series is historical fiction that holds up.

Arthur C. Clarke is known for bone dry science fiction, so it's only appropriate that he takes us to the Sea of Thirst on the moon, a massive lake of lunar dust traversed by the tourist cruiser Selene. When a sudden burst of lunar activity buries Selene under 15 meters of dust, it's up the passengers and crew to survive until rescue by heroic scientists and engineers.

There's some psychological drama among the crew and passengers, as they deal with escalating threats from oxygen starvation to heat, but the star of the book are the escalating threats to the buried craft, and the repeated last minute rescues. If you like Clarke and hard scifi, you'll like this, but don't come for complex characters or thrilling action.

Defenders of the Faith is a thrilling popular history, focusing on the clash of the two great empires of the 16th century, the Holy Roman Empire and the Ottoman Empire. For all its "clash of civilizations" overtones, the encounter was more of an up-jumped border skirmish at Vienna. Charles V, the Holy Roman Emperor, faced problems in his rear in the form of the Protestant Reformation, King Francis I of France, and a bleeding ulcer of a war in Italy. Suleyman the Magnificent was on the offensive, but despite the largest and most organized army in the world at the time, he lacked the technology to reliably overcome fortified strongpoints, and the logistics to sustain an army in the field in the European winter.

Reston has a talent for bringing the pageantry of the era to life. This was a period of outsized personalities and lavish gestures. The Great Man approach is a little outmodeled, but in an era when a single man could shift armies, and trials of combat between heads of state were proposed, though never finished, it's appropriate. A great detailed look at a period that tends to get subsumed in European history in general.