octavia_cade's Reviews (2.64k)

Sometimes you can read a work and you can appreciate it for the language and the innovation and the originality, and still not enjoy it.

I did not enjoy this. I can tell it's quality work, but it's just not to my taste. I had to pace myself and read one story from this collection a day because I wasn't interested enough to read two at a time and I wanted to get through it. So why have I given it three stars, which correlates to a general liking? Well, there were two stories in here that I did like, and I don't think it's a coincidence that those two had a co-writer: "Red Star, Winter Orbit" written with Bruce Sterling, and "Dogfight" with Michael Swanwick. These two dragged the collection up from two stars - admittedly two stars is ill-deserved from a quality perspective, but again: I didn't much enjoy reading this.

For all Gibson's stories are linguistically and visually interesting, I get no emotional effect from him whatsoever. I can only assume that Sterling and Swanwick were the difference in those two stories, because I actually felt something when I read them, and it was not an objectively impressed indifference. 

This novel is clearly heavily inspired by Moby Dick which, fair warning, I have not read. It's on my list of things to read, but admittedly it's not very high up that list. I just can't make myself get excited at the thought of tackling it, classic though it may be. I did enjoy this YA scifi version of it, though.

Seventeen year old Ishmael leaves Earth, which has become a crapsack world, to work on a not-whaling ship on the idyllic planet of Cretacea. I mean, it's a whaling ship in every meaningful sense, but what Captain Ahab's after isn't the great white whale, it's the great white stingray. Oh, the stingray's called a terrafin, but it's essentially a stingray, and it's not happy about being hunted. Why would it be? In these stories, I'm always on the side of the grumpy homicidal beast, so it didn't matter how boringly virtuous Ishmael was, I was still hoping he'd get chomped.

He didn't, but there's a decent twist at the end which I found entertaining. I do think that the book's a bit repetitive, and it probably could have lost at least a third of its bulk with no ill-effect, but whenever I look at a copy of Moby Dick on a library shelf I think the same thing there too, without benefit of reading, so take my preference for concision with a pinch of salt. 

I'm always interested to read authors who write both short and long fiction, because I tend to think that most writers have a natural length, as it were, which it can be hard to move beyond. I've had around 70 short stories published in various places; they're my natural length, and while I've managed to produce the odd novel, it's like pulling hen's teeth. Enormously difficult, and I'm not talking about how much time it takes. The skills for a short story are different to those for a novel, and I'm curious where other authors sit on the spectrum.

Recently, for instance, I read a short story collection by Ben Aaronovitch, who writes the Rivers of London series. For me, his novels were significantly better than his shorts. I enjoyed the latter, but the difference in quality was marked. For Riggs, it's the other way around. I've read all the Peculiar novels, but as they went on they felt more and more laboured. The short stories, though... they're polished and delightful and I'd infinitely rather read them again than Desolations, for instance. I hope Riggs writes more short stories in the future, because I love the form and it's clear to me that he's excellent at it. 

I've read this several times and never regret it. I thought it was hilarious when I was a kid and I still do. The Durrells move to Corfu, and the youngest son, Gerry (who adores animals beyond all reason) starts to fill up their various houses with all the wild and domestic pets that he can. There are field trips in the surrounding countryside, often with the local naturalist, but as appealing as the nature writing is, the real draw here is the family itself, all of whom are slightly mad in one way or another.

I always wonder, when I read this, what they were actually like. I'm sure there's some truth in their almost-caricatures, but I can't help but picture Larry or Margo or one of the rest, reading this memoir some decades later - reading it for the first time - and their immediate responses. 

I'd pay good money to see that. 

This little mini-collection of two short stories - or, as I suspect, a short story and a novelette - is a quick, easy read. I'm not too inspired by "Aviva and the Aliens" to be honest, in which a palace cook is briefly abducted in order to prepare a meal for some rather off-putting aliens. I did enjoy "Rivka in Port Saltspray" though, mostly for the emphasis on communication. Rivka rescues a woman in distress, and they share stories but not a language, so the two of them trying to understand each other with limited vocabulary was really cleverly done. It reminded me of that Star Trek: TNG episode... oh, what was it. "Darmok," that's it - Shaka when the walls fell. (I remembered the phrase before the title!) 

This was a fast-paced, decent enough story, if a little predictable in places (if you can't see Gilla's actions and motivation coming from a long way off, you're not paying much attention). That being said, it's not rising above two stars from me.

Everyone has tropes that they just don't care for. Personally, I don't see what could possibly be appealing about aliens who look like devils, complete with horns and forked tails, but it makes me roll my eyes every single time. Especially as there's absolutely no reason for it in this particular book. Had the indigenous inhabitants of Devil World looked like literally anything else, it wouldn't change a single thing about the story. Not one thing! What, I ask you, is the point of it then?

Someone needed to kill a darling here and didn't. This isn't even the first time I've seen this stupid trope in a Trek novel. Here's hoping never again. 

This is my first time reading this and I went into it with absolutely no idea as to what it was about, and I was still surprised. It seems very racy for the 1950s! Hell, I'm sure some people would complain about it now. It's fascinating at how so much of it talks around subjects like homosexuality and just expects the audience to follow along - it's a very elliptical play in that sense. The introduction was very helpful in that respect; it takes up about a third of this particular edition, and goes into themes and stagings and critical responses.

I have to admit that I'm curious to see it staged. It strikes me as one of those plays that lives or dies by the charisma of the characters. This is true of most plays, I expect, but I'm thinking primarily here of Brick, who would need someone of towering charisma to not fade beside the rest of the cast. I have limited sympathy for him on the page - not that he isn't interesting and deserving of compassion, under the circumstances, but if I had to live with him I'd be at the end of my rope. In fact, I couldn't help but think that if I were Maggie and I did get pregnant and Big Daddy did die, one of my first acts after inheriting would be to suffocate my dead weight husband in his bed one night. Let's face it, he'd probably enjoy it. 

This issue raises more questions than it solves! Which is great, as it makes me want to keep reading. The well creature is more tricksy than ever and Sam is, if not dead, then close enough. I hope he stays that way. Physical violence is always less interesting to me than head games, and the well creature (I suppose I should call it? him? Zack, but it feels like Zack is only for the moment) seems as if it will excel at those, which is promising. 

Finally, I realise that Nina has not been raised on the horror genre, but if Sam isn't dead she's got two kids who failed to kill him and she needs to teach them follow-through. Almost, in this case, is not good enough, and that's a horrifying note in itself to end on. 

This is more like it! Sam's still around, being fairly boring, but that creepy thing that lives in the well is out and manipulating everything around her. She's a fantastic horror villain, and the frame of her clambering out of the well is the best in the series so far.

I think when it comes to character I'm most interested in motivation: why characters do things. What they're after. I don't know what the well creature wants, but it's clear that she wants something and is out to get it. Sam's far more murky for me. Perhaps it's that he's being manipulated himself, but mostly I think it's because he's flat-out crazy, and that muddies motivation and makes it less compelling for me. He feels like a puppet, and so I don't care. 

I just can't get that interested in Sam Lesser and his murder spree, I'm afraid. On the bright side, the relationships between the family members are one of the most interesting things about this series for me, and there's a lot of that in here. Ty's determination to stick around for his little brother is affecting, but every time I see the name "Bode" part of me thinks "Is that a real name? Do people actually call their kids that?" I dunno, maybe it's an American thing, but all I can think of is boding ill. I suppose there's boding well, too, but still. Maybe it's short for something?