octavia_cade's Reviews (2.64k)

A really well-written account of the brief period in which the author, as a young man, lived in Peking (now Beijing) when it was taken over the People's Liberation Army. Kidd was in a doubly difficult position at the time, being an American on an exchange programme, and recently married to a young Chinese woman of aristocratic family. Although the money and influence of Aimee's family is failing, Kidd still seems almost insulated from all but minor difficulty, and he and his wife eventually leave China (and her family) behind before things get really bad. Just how bad is seen in retrospect, when many decades later Kidd returns in epilogue, and how far his warm and loving family has fallen - and survives, still and in part - is made clear. Mostly this is just wrenchingly sad - the accounts of beauty and history that are wilfully destroyed seems wasteful and short-sighted at best.

It took me a little while to get into this - I'm predisposed to dislike any story that is even slightly reminiscent of the original episode "The Naked Time", but for whatever reason Star Trek has a continuing and inexplicable fondness for stories where the behaviour of the entire crew is manipulated into unrecognisable uselessness. Unfortunately that's the case here, and while it takes everyone a ridiculous amount of time to realise what's happening, they get there in the end. But plot concept aside, there are enjoyable things going on here. I like that there's an archaeological mystery at the centre of this. And Kirk's dealings with the Klingons, especially their leader Kalan, were clever and interesting. Most interesting to me, though, was McCoy's spiral into both racism and anti-tech sentiments. He's always had mild tendencies in those directions, but rarely are they made as cutting and unattractive as they are here. I'd have liked to see a conclusion where he tries to reconcile those aspects of himself, as it's a far more interesting conflict to me than another Mr-Spock-falls-in-love-and-tries-to-fight-it storyline, because there's not enough topaline in the entire galaxy to make me give the tiniest shit about that.

4.5 stars, rounding up to 5. It would have been unreservedly 5 if this very fine novel hadn't been diluted by the inclusion of Hawthorne's "The Custom-House", an introductory and far-too-lengthy sketch of unsurpassed dullness. But the novel itself, shorn of its horrible stodgy predecessor, is outstanding. Claustrophobic and painful and an almost transformative read, because - for modern readers, at least - I think the initial reaction to Arthur Dimmesdale is very often an angry sort of contempt. It certainly is for me, anyway, and it's true that the man's an absolute coward. As the book goes on, however, it's equally plain that he's aware of his cowardice; both terrified and ashamed of it. I found myself - while not losing one tiny bit of sympathy for Hester - identifying more with the judgemental Puritans than I would have liked. And that's where the genius of this book lies, I think - it makes you think of Dimmesdale as the Puritans think of Hester, and then it makes you realise how wrong they were (and by extension how wrong you are) to judge so very harshly. The Scarlet Letter doesn't excuse Dimmesdale for his cowardice and disloyalty, but it doesn't make these the whole of his character either, and forces you to acknowledge suffering as well as guilt. The whole effect is genuinely astonishing.

One of my very favourite Discworld novels, and strangely enough, for a humorous series, it's not actually that funny. There are jokes, of course, but overall it's more of a grim, ground-in cynicism of war and change and conflict. And it's fantastic. Vimes is as great as ever, the only Discworld character who approaches the heights of Granny Weatherwax for me, but Carrot is a close second, and he really shines here. I've always thought behind that decency and sterling innocence was the mind of a man exceptionally well-versed in manipulation, and that's exactly the case - but it's a manipulation that's always and unerringly geared to the good, which makes him not quite a unique character (oh, how I would have loved a story where Carrot and Granny teamed up with their own particular brands of headology) but certainly an utterly optimistic one.

Fun, action-packed story in which pretty much everything is thrown at the wall - a dark Jedi, a genius Admiral, creepy assassin aliens, smugglers and battles and political intrigue and so on. All these strands make the novel very fast-paced, which is good. There are parts of it, however, I think Zahn could have stood to spend more time on - e.g. Leia's genuinely interesting stay on the Wookiee home world - and parts of it that gobbled too much page (wall) space... I am entirely indifferent to Mara Jade and her dull and endless angst, for example. What I did like, particularly, was the whole underlying concept that the Rebellion, having found itself in power after the events of Return of the Jedi, isn't having the easiest time of things. Which is absolutely realistic: the skills which make a successful guerrilla resistance don't always and easily translate into successful governance, and this understanding gives a more realistic if less triumphant take on the whole universe. So there's factions and back-biting and I get the impression from the cliff-hanger ending that this will have a stronger focus in the next volume, which I'm quite looking forward to reading now. This has certainly been a step up from the initial three movie novelisations.

Much better than the last Star Trek tie-in I read, so that's something! It's very focused on McCoy, who's feeling middle-aged, and the arrival of a young princess in need of help just makes him feel more so, because lovely as she is, she's too young for him and he knows it. There's a few mythic undertones here, as the princess goes on a journey to retrieve a crown that proves her fitness to rule, and the book's very concerned with leadership, and what makes a good leader and a useful one. I tend to like mythic undertones, and so I liked this, but also enjoyable here is the double act of Spock and McCoy, who are paired for the bulk of the book, and whose bickering is underlined by a genuine sense of friendship and reliance.

Far and away the best of the Star Trek movies, the novelisation of The Wrath of Khan is also one of the better of the Star Trek books. The movie remains the better story, I think, and most of that is down to performance. McIntyre's version of the last scene with Spock, and with the funeral, is affecting, but not to the extent of the film, and there's some disadvantage to individual characters from the change in medium. Take Kahn, for instance. His book portrayal is a little thin - almost cartoon evil, with no redeeming feature or complexity. Technically he's not that much different in the movie, but the sheer charisma of the actor makes up for that in a way that doesn't translate to the page. On the other hand, I really enjoyed what the author did with Saavik, and the bits of backstory were genuinely fascinating - she's a character I want to read more of now. All in all, though, this is an excellent adaptation.

This is... pretty damn strange, to be honest, but it's so original in its strangeness that I can't help but appreciate it for what it is. The fantastic elements and the surreal nature of the story don't really hit high gear until the end, and the truth is I enjoyed the first half of the book much more - the quirky, snarky account of ancient Marian being ditched by her family at the world's most bizarre retirement home - seriously, it's like a run-down playground administered by a cult - is bursting with the most incredible one-liners and hilariously cutting observations. And there's a portrait of a leering, dodgy nun who pretended to be a man long enough to swipe the Holy Grail before giving (literally explosive) birth to a bird-angel thing that some decades later appears in Mexico to forecast the apocalyptic tilting of the planet's axis. Plus, you know, werewolves. And sardines.

It is all very very strange. Honestly the strangeness goes off the rails a bit towards the end for my taste, but mostly I was riveted. I don't really understand what the hell happened, but I was still riveted and now I want to get a copy for myself so in the future, after a particularly pedestrian day, I can bask in the batshit crazy that is this book.

This has an excellent beginning but that's about all that can be said for it. I've never read anything from this author before, but it's clear she is very fond of Spock - this entire book is basically a panegyric to his supreme wonderfulness. It gets so over the top in places that it borders on the ridiculous - Spock as a pirate with a jewel in his ear and a fancy cloak, saving maidens and having famous (terrible) poetry written about him, and all of this is a too-lengthy blind for a very obvious twist. Basically, this book relies on the idiot plot - people not figuring out what's going on because they've suddenly and inexplicably lost half their IQ. There's Spock, who suffers heroically from an untreated injury, for which I felt no sympathy because he had the chance to get treated and chose not to - it's not as if the treatment time would have lost him much. After the wound is exacerbated almost unto death, it takes 3 days after McCoy has healed him for Spock to be up and about, which tells me if he'd only followed medical orders when they were given his recovery time would have been significantly less... and would not have affected his mission, but there's that suffering heroically like a numpty to show off with. (Idiot.) There's the court-martial panel, which is blatantly and obviously having their own agenda, which no-one picks up on. (Idiots.) There's the fact that Spock and Scott go missing and none of the Enterprise crew really bothers to tell Kirk, or even give that much of a shit, frankly. (Idiots.) I could go on, but this is mostly cringe-worthy romanticising of Spock interrupted with idiot plot, and you are better off going to read The Wrath of Khan.

It's an odd experience, reading this book. Of course it is encouraging and horrifying and enraging and all this is pretty much as expected - a story of a child shot in the head for wanting to learn, and her subsequent recovery, can be nothing else. But as affecting as it was watching it on the news at the time, from the other side of the world, safe and educated myself, it was also somewhat distanced. And over the years, it got harder and harder to think of this girl as a person instead of an icon. Icons are easy. We fit our expectations to them in an almost mythic way, as if they exist to fill some hole in the universe with specific purpose, an object lesson instead of a personality. I certainly didn't think of that girl as constantly squabbling with her brother, or desperately wanting to be a sparkly vampire after reading Twilight, or giving her chicken a very ill-fated bath. And I think if this book does nothing else it speaks to the very ordinariness of its subject. I don't mean that as denigration - Malala is clearly brighter and more determined than most - but there's really no difference between an extraordinary girl shot down for learning, and an ordinary girl shot down for the same.

What happened to her isn't terrible because she's an exception. It's terrible because she's not - because there are millions of girls like her being kept from an education and the chance to achieve their potential. Any one of them could have been her. None of them should be.