Author: katenepveu

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Stout, Rex: (08) Where There’s a Will

Yesterday, I took a round-trip train ride to New York City, and one can only do—actually, one can only carry—so much bar review material around the city. [1] For the same reason, I also didn’t want to bring my hardcover Freedom and Necessity. I chose a paperback by staring at the Nero Wolfe shelf until I spotted a novel that I remembered nothing about; this turned out to be Where There’s a Will. Of course, my sleep-fogged brain picked a book with, oh joy, legal bits! Note to self: Rex Stout was not writing fact patterns for a bar review essay . . .

Legal nitpicking aside (of which I could do plenty, so be glad I spared you), this is a reasonably good one, with some nice dramatic and melodramatic bits. However, the definitive piece of evidence does get withheld from the reader in a particularly annoying way, which a later book (or maybe short story; I forget) tries to make up for. The solution is deducible without it, though, and for a change I actually did (though I have read this before, so it’s not a fair test). Anyway, a perfectly good train-and-lunch book.

[1] I now have a job for the fall, which I am happy about, but my anxiety over the final formal interview was not helped by the realization that this would be the first time I was above-ground in New York City since the summer. (I’d transferred from Penn Station to Grand Central and back a few times, but always on tight schedules, so I stayed underground.) I happened to walk up Broadway a few blocks from the site; I didn’t detour, wanting to be neither a ghoul nor an emotional wreck for the rest of the day, but I did look down side-streets. Really, all I can say is that it was Very Strange.

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Brust, Steven, and Emma Bull: Freedom and Necessity; [personal] post-wedding post

And now good-morrow to our waking souls . . .  -or- Reader, I married him.

This past Saturday, to be precise.

If you were there—we hope you had a good time. If you weren’t—we wish you could have been. If it had been practical, we would have invited everyone we know and random people off the street to celebrate with us.

And yes, this has actual book log relevance, for two reasons. First, between reveling in wedded bliss (yay) and studying for the bar exam (boo), I have no idea how much time I’ll have to read this summer. (Again, I recommend BlogTracker.) Second, on Saturday, I insisted on an hour alone before getting dressed and leaving for the ceremony. Besides just enjoying the opportunity to sit quietly by myself and think, I also read pieces from Steven Brust and Emma Bull’s Freedom and Necessity. I didn’t get to re-read the whole thing, so I will post an actual entry about it when I finish the re-read—but it’s one of those books that’s important to me, in part for idiosyncratic personal reasons. This is part of a letter from one lover to another, late in the book.

Love, say the young bachelors, the wilder debutantes, the dissatisfied married men and women, is leg-irons; even those who seem happy in the state refer to it as being “bound,” as if love by its nature is a period of confinement. If that, too, is part of love’s proper definition, then I don’t love you. What I feel for you has given me freedom on a scale I have never conceived of—I, who have spent my whole adult life in the cause of liberty.

Do you remember . . . when Engels asked me to agree that my first duty is to my class, and I told him that, having examined some of the options, I would accept that as true? One of the things I weighed against my duty to my class, marvelling at the mingled fear and cold-bloodedness with which I did it, was my duty to you. That was my first inkling of this new freedom. Here was no destructive polarity, no exclusive choice between passion and principles. My duty to you required my duty to my class. To deny the latter would have reduced and blasted the thing I offered to you, and tainted the former with a mean and cowardly spirit. How many seeming clever people are there, who would declare that the overthrow of principle in the name of love is romantic? Am I far off the mark in imagining your Dianic scowl (the one the huntress must have worn when siccing her dogs on a trespasser) at the news that I would entertain for a moment such a choice?

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Doyle, Debra, and James D. Macdonald: (07) A Working of Stars

During finals, I also read Debra Doyle and James Macdonald’s A Working of Stars, the sequel to The Stars Asunder. This was good, but not the best in the series. Past books have featured assorted revelations-and-inversions, often related to messing with causality; these have explained oddities or added something to the reader’s knowledge of the universe. However, this book’s time-travel doesn’t seem to serve any particular purpose, which makes it sort of odd. There are some good bits here all the same, but it doesn’t hang together as well as prior episodes. I’m also more curious than ever what the next, currently-untitled Mageworlds book would be about; this book wraps up one plot thread, but doesn’t conclude another, and we’re still some five-hundred-odd years from the other books, with no clue how much of that time is going to be covered. Hmmm.

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Stout, Rex: (09) Black Orchids

I am full of contentment and generalized good-will today; it started yesterday with a lovely dinner, and continues because I currently have something like free time for the first time in, oh, weeks. It’s not going to last, but while I have it, I’m going to get this updated, darn it.

Early last week I snagged a copy of Rex Stout’s Black Orchids while in Albany for a job interview. Unlike Chad, I wouldn’t rule out the title story appearing on TV, since Johnny’s part could easily be filled by Orrie. It was interesting to see that in this, the first Wolfe story collection, Stout made an attempt at linking up the stories with some filler text and a forced cross-story reference. I’m glad the device wasn’t used again, as the explicit reference doesn’t really work, though there’s a subtler touch that I thought was amusing. On the first page of “Black Orchids,” Archie explains that of course he was the one stuck with going to the flower show, because “Wolfe himself could have got a job in a physics laboratory as an Immovable Object if the detective business ever played out.” In “Cordially Invited to Meet Death,” Archie reports to Wolfe on a visit to the client:

When he’s doing a complete coverage, he thinks nothing of asking such a question as, “Did the animal pour the iodine on the grass with its right paw or its left?” If he were a movable object and went places himself it would save me a lot of breath, but then that’s what I get paid for. Partly.

I’m not all that crazy about “Black Orchids,” but “Cordially Invited . . . ” was fairly entertaining, even if Wolfe does one-and-a-half things wildly out of character. If nothing else, it made me very grateful that tetanus vaccinations are available now; I didn’t realize how easy it could be to get infected.

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Bryson, Bill: Walk in the Woods, A

One of the ways you can tell it’s finals is that, on my night stand, there is a Bill Bryson book, in this case A Walk in the Woods. (Another way is that I get a bit unstrung, as evidenced by my last post.) I can’t afford to read something with a strong narrative flow at bedtime just now, as I’m short enough on sleep as it is, but I need something absorbing enough to stop my poor overheated brain from running around on little tracks squeaking, “Vested interests, measuring lives, and unborn widows, oh my! Too many papers! Too much work! No time!” (Wills, Trusts, and Future Interests exam this morning. A tip for non-lawyers: if you ever hear the phrase “Rule Against Perpetuities,” run away. Fast.)

A Walk in the Woods is perfect for this. It’s nonfiction, and it’s reasonably episodic, but it’s quite funny and very distinctive. I can read a couple of chapters, chuckle, think, “Hey, it could be worse—I could be in the cold, wet, bug- and bear-filled woods with a 40-pound pack on my back,” and then go to sleep. This is probably the best of Bryson’s travel books (I haven’t read his language ones yet), with just the right mix of seriousness, great description, and pure silliness:

[Bryson is in the local bookstore, stocking up on information about the Appalachian Trail.]

On the way out I noticed a volume called Bear Attacks: Their Causes and Avoidance, opened it at random, found the sentence “This is a clear example of the general type of incident in which a black bear sees a person and decides to try to kill and eat him,” and tossed that into the shopping basket, too.

This was originally published in the U.K., and that was the version I first read; it’s interesting to see the changes that were made for the American version. Besides changing “boot” to “trunk” and the like, the main thing I notice is the tweaks to the ending, which make it a little less snarky and a touch nicer about Katz (a college acquaintance of Bryson who accompanies him on the trail, despite being even less suited for it than Bryson, which is saying something).

(I’m also curious what kinds of notes Bryson took while on the trail. He never mentions it, so it’s hard to say, but he planned to write a book about it, so he must have been taking some notes. I always wonder this sort of thing when I see full dialogue quoted in reminiscences, is all.)

Anyway, in case there’s someone out there who hasn’t read this yet, I recommend it.

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Doyle, Debra, and James D. Macdonald: (06) The Stars Asunder

During the weekend, I got to experience all kinds of things—massively annoying air travel [1], Kentucky highways [2], the precise point at which enthusiasm overcomes coordination on the dance floor [3]—which meant that, during my Sunday flights home, I just didn’t have the energy to drag out the laptop. (I mean, you can’t really get anything worthwhile done in the half-hour they let you use the things on the puddle-jumper flights . . . ) So instead of doing any of the piles of schoolwork hanging over my head, I re-read Debra Doyle & James D. Macdonald’s The Stars Asunder.

This is the sixth book published in the Mageworlds series, and the first chronologically. I reviewed the first three a few years ago; The Stars Asunder takes place some five hundred years before then, and deals with the early life of Arekhon Khreseio sus-Khalgaeth sus-Peledaen—also known as ‘Rehke, or Ser Halfey, or the Professor, or a bunch of other people . . . I find myself reluctant to say too much more about it, having just written and deleted six different sentences as possibly spoiling the first three books. It’s nothing you couldn’t get from the back cover copy, but it’s so much fun seeing Doyle & Macdonald continually peel away different layers of their universe, subverting conventions and expectations all around, that I hate to mess with that even a little. Indeed, the main thing I remembered about this book before I re-read it was a revelation in the Epilogue of just this kind (a family name).

I suppose I can say that the book has family and political intrigues and betrayals, highly ambitious magical projects, and blatant messing with the fabric of time and space. Hmm. Since Star Wars is much in the news these days, and the early Mageworlds books certainly seem to have Star Wars as an inspiration, I guess the comparison to the prequel movies is inevitable—The Stars Asunder does seem to be laying the groundwork for the First and Second Magewars, though it’s not really clear how much time this story arc is going to cover. The difference, of course, is that the Mageworlds books do not suck. [4] (But I’d still recommend reading them in publication order.) Indeed, I quite enjoyed this, and I’m looking forward to reading A Working of Stars—and then, probably, re-reading the entire series.

Anyway, that’s one exam down, and a nice leisurely lunch and futzing around with writing this as a reward; now, back into the academic grind.

[1] Let’s see. In addition to the usual discomfort of having my head forced forward at a 45-degree angle by the “head rests” on airplane seats (when I win the lottery and custom-build a personal jet, the seat backs will be flat, with sliding lumbar and neck pillows so that everyone can be comfortable), the seat cushions on Continental’s puddle-jumpers are apparently made of rock, or lead, or something—I’ve sat in wooden chairs that were more comfortable. I came this close to reflexively smacking a flight attendant when she shook me out of a sound sleep, asking me to turn my tape player off for landing; I’m never happy when I’m woken abruptly, and it’s such a stupid rule. And I got my bag searched, which was annoying twice over—if you’re going to paw through my personal things in front of everyone, could you at least do a proper job of it? [back]

[2] Which I saw far too much of. Today’s lesson: never ever ever trust online maps, even for city-to-city directions. I-64 between Louisville and Lexington is quite pretty—very green, much greener than Connecticut, and pleasantly hilly—though rather boring. And the small rural highways are also quite pretty, and less boring as they twist and turn through farms (horses, of course, though I saw more cows than horses). They get markedly less boring when you realize that Yahoo! Maps’ directions have run out, and you’re quite obviously not in the middle of downtown Lexington yet (as the little picture in the directions promised), but are, instead, in the middle of nowhere. Zen navigating fails, since there are no “to downtown Lexington” highway signs and the car rental company’s map treats all of Lexington in a square half-inch (quite reasonably, as it was a Louisville map, just not helpfully). After some adventures in strip-mall hell to find a working pay phone, you stumble into the hotel (narrowly averting ripping out the desk clerk’s throat when he claims no room key is waiting for you, when you know damn well there is), take a fist-full of Advil for your near-blinding headache, and fall face-first onto the bed, determined never to move again.

(You also develop the inexplicable tendency to tell stories in the second person, which is a dubious move for anyone who isn’t Ted Chiang.)

On the plus side, I had a fun little car to drive, a Toyota Corolla that got terrific mileage: Louisville to Lexington and back on $8 of gas. Alas, no cruise control, which meant I was constantly paranoid about whether I’d absentmindedly crept up to my usual speeds; I got my Very First Ticket recently, a remarkably effective deterrent for someone as poor as I currently am. It also had a CD player, which was nice, though my ideal car will have both a CD player and a tape deck. (Albums that it is a crime that they didn’t sell a zillion copies: 1965, the Afghan Whigs; Some Other Sucker’s Parade, Del Amitri; Breach, the Wallflowers. Okay, Breach at least got some airplay, but apparently didn’t do as well as Bringing Down the Horse, which is even more of a crime since Breach is, by a conservative estimate, at least ten times better.) [back]

[3] When the Memphis Soul Revue (who I am firmly convinced could get a tombstone to dance) kicks into “Smooth” at the wedding reception, which song I adore passionately (yes, still). When you’re not a good dancer, it doesn’t take much to upset the proper balance of energy, looseness, and spatial awareness. (It’s just possible that the alcohol and the fatigue might have contributed, also, by that point in the evening.) Anyway, good dancing or bad, it was a hell of a party and worth the sore feet. [back]

[4] No, I haven’t seen Attack of the Clones yet, but I’m really not in any rush. Most of the reviews I’ve seen suggest it’s quite cringe-worthy, such as Ebert’s comment on the grand romance:

There is not a romantic word they exchange that has not long since been reduced to cliche.

No, wait: Anakin tells Padme at one point: “I don’t like the sand. It’s coarse and rough and irritating–not like you. You’re soft and smooth.” I hadn’t heard that before.

*shudder* [back]

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Bujold, Lois McMaster: (110) Cetaganda

My major impression upon re-reading Lois McMaster Bujold’s Cetaganda is that this book might just as well have been titled Diplomatic Immunity as the current book (which could have been called, I don’t know, Graf Station). Miles and Ivan, in their callow-lieutenant phase, are sent to Eta Ceta for the funeral of the Dowager Empress, to acquire some diplomatic polish and to stay out of trouble. Which, Miles being Miles, is not terribly likely.

Part of the trouble is a dead body lying in a pool of blood; wondering about the forensic investigation, Miles thinks, “Damn, I wish I could have been in charge of this, just now.” Be careful what you wish for, else you might find yourself investigating a pool of blood (sans body) on Graf Station ten years later . . . (At least the present-day Miles is somewhat easier on the people around him—boy, he was really awful to Ivan, wasn’t he?)

One or two of the Cetagandan bits in Diplomatic Immunity feel like the Author Had A Better Idea (or a more fully developed one) between Cetaganda and DI; there are spots in Cetaganda that would have been perfect for setting up some of DI, but make use of the opportunity only obliquely or in passing. And just how many Empresses does Cetaganda have, anyway, and how does it work? I don’t think that’s ever been explained.

Anyway, still a fun book, even if it doesn’t mesh with Diplomatic Immunity perfectly.

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Bujold, Lois McMaster: (114) Diplomatic Immunity

I picked up Lois McMaster Bujold’s Diplomatic Immunity at the post office on Monday morning. I’d blocked out the middle of the day to read it straight through, which I did, and then plunged right back into frantic busyness.

The silver lining of being so busy is that it gives me time to digest new books.

It’s a good thing no-one ran with my joke about how this should be called Auditor’s Honeymoon, because that would give entirely the wrong impression. Busman’s Honeymoon was very much about learning to be married, but in Diplomatic Immunity, Miles and Ekaterin have been married for over a year and a half; they’ve already done a lot of that learning in the quiet, plot-less time of Miles coming up with Barrayan bio-law on committees and Ekaterin studying and whatnot. (The story of their wedding is in “Winterfair Gifts,” a forthcoming novella [details at Bujold’s official web site]; we get a few comments about it here, which started me twitching already—sending Aunt Alys off to get Taura dressed civilian-style!)

This is not Busman’s Honeymoon in another sense; as Ekaterin points out quite sensibly, “A Countess is by law and tradition something of an assistant Count. An Auditor’s wife, however, is not an assistant Auditor.” Ekaterin gets a few good moments, but the plot is mostly Miles doing his Auditorial job. This makes a lot of sense—indeed, given Miles’ tendency to suck everyone in his vicinity into his schemes, it is probably entirely healthy!—but it was a bit of a disappointment at first. (I like the interaction that we do see, such as later on that very page where Miles gets “a good-bye kiss, as he headed off to the shower, [that] eased his heart in advance. He reflected that while he might feel lucky that she’d agreed to come with him to Quaddiespace, everyone on Graf Station from Vorpatril and Greenlaw on down was much luckier.” Heh—I know how that works.)

So Diplomatic Immunity isn’t really the book I was hoping for—but I like it a lot anyway for what it is. The difference between this and A Civil Campaign is that, in ACC, I wanted to see things that the book itself promised; here, I thought this might be an entirely different book, which is my fault, not its. (Really, I should have remembered that Bujold prefers to alternate fairly dark books with lighter ones.)

What Diplomatic Immunity is, is a nifty techno-thriller with tons of forward momentum, something in the style of Cetaganda with a dash of Barrayar‘s themes. Cetaganda often gets labelled as minor Miles because it was a prequel, published between the major turning points of Mirror Dance and Memory, but I’m quite fond of it for the fascinating look we get at Cetagandan culture. DI brings us to Graf Station, out in Quaddiespace, and gives us a look at how the Quaddies (free-fall dwellers, four arms, no legs) have developed, two hundred-odd years after their escape to freedom in Falling Free (which is minor Bujold). The Quaddie ballet is just one example of the bio-inventiveness in this book (the rest are spoilers, of course), but probably my favorite; it’s a beautiful scene.

Barrayarans, with their culturally ingrained fears of mutation, don’t all react quite as well to the Quaddies. Thanks to a sequence of misunderstandings, miscommunications, mysteries, and outright screwups, a Komarran trade fleet and its Barrayan military escort have been impounded on Graf Station; Miles is dispatched to clean it up, on the way back from his belated honeymoon. He has a lot of incentive to clean it up quickly, since his and Ekaterin’s first children are about to be born, that is, released from their uterine replicators. (Miles went very old-Vor with the boy’s name, Aral Alexander. The girl’s name is Helen Natalia; Helen for Aunt Helen Vorthys, presumably, but who’s Natalia? Do we know what Ekaterin’s mother’s name is?) But his hope for a quick resolution starts to look like a long shot, as things get murkier and murkier . . .

I’ve seen a few people complain about the pacing, which I don’t quite follow, as I think it’s quite precisely paced. We spend the first part learning about the situation and getting acquainted with people (and re-acquainted with some, including Bel Thorne, who it’s great to see again). The plot rachets up a notch just about a third of the way in:

His heart began to lump. What the hell was this doing here . . . ?

“Miles,” said Bel’s voice, seeming to come from a long way off, “if you’re going to pass out, put your head down.”

“Between my knees,” choked Miles, “and kiss my ass goodbye. Bel, do you know what that [clue] is?”

And then in the last third or so, things go into serious forward momentum mode; I felt like I needed to gasp for air by the climax. Perhaps it’s that I read it in one sitting, and only read the first chapter ahead of time; whatever it is, I thought the arc of the story worked just fine. It’s true that Miles is maybe a touch slow on the uptake, but he was distracted, so I’ll forgive him.

This being Bujold, character is not neglected among the plot; there are some emotional bits that I found fairly moving, and Armsman Roic turns out to have more depths than his (admittedly funny) memorable moment in A Civil Campaign would suggest. Also, I’m very interested to see how Aral Alexander, and especially Helen Natalia, grow up. Anyway, bottom line is that I quite enjoyed it and think it’s a fine addition to the Vorkosigan series.

Up next: a re-read of Cetaganda.

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Snicket, Lemony: (02) The Reptile Room (audio)

Listening to the audio book of Lemony Snicket’s The Reptile Room was a mixed experience. On one hand, there really isn’t much plot, and what plot there is you can usually see coming pretty far in advance—a serious problem in the slow-moving audio format. On the other, Tim Curry was a brilliant choice as a reader, and it’s great fun listening to him portray “Lemony Snicket” (one of the best psuedonyms ever, surely). And it’s not as though there are many opportunities to hear Tim Curry say, “Here, snakey, snakey . . . “

I begin to suspect that I just may not have the patience for audio books.

As far as the story itself, there’s no question about it being part of “A Series of Unfortunate Events.” The violence gets stepped up a notch, and there’s a murder, though Snicket warns his readers well in advance. It’s a strange little series, and though it has fabulously skewed inventiveness, a great narrative voice, and non-annoying plucky children, I’m not sure that I can keep reading about these Unfortunate Events without feeling uncomfortably like I’m ghoulishly staring at a car wreck. Perhaps I’ll wait until the last one is out and see if there’s a semblance of a happy ending (the series is currently projected to be thirteen books); at the very least, I’ll space out any further reading or listening.

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White, James: (04-06) Alien Emergencies (omnibus of Ambulance Ship, Sector General, and Star Healer)

The second omnibus of James White’s Sector General books is Alien Emergencies, which includes Ambulance Ship, Sector General, and Star Healer. (The first omnibus was Beginning Operations.) Despite all the little things that bother me about these books, they’re still up at the top of my comfort reading list.

I hadn’t read any of these before, but unfortunately I knew the punchline to several from subsequent books. This tends to remove some of the interest, which isn’t helped by the larger-than-usual suspension of disbelief required for a couple of these stories. (If you haven’t read the short story “Spacebird” before, don’t read the introduction to Ambulance Ship. The introduction sums up Sector General as it was at that point, and was written for a collection that didn’t include “Spacebird”; it thus spoils the story quite thoroughly.) Of the ones I didn’t know the solution to, I particularly liked the opening story in Sector General, a story of the hospital’s inspiration that, not surprisingly, takes a strongly integrationist stand on learning to deal with The Other. The concluding story of that book, one of the large-scale problems Sector General is sometimes faced with, is also quite fun. I also really enjoyed just about all of Star Healer, which is Conway learning to be a Diagnostician. (The bit I didn’t like is when it extends the weird sexism of an earlier book to all females, not just Earth-human ones; this gets ignored late in the series, suggesting that White Had a Better Idea.)

Reading a number of these brings up problems besides spoilers. The stories were obviously meant to stand alone; this is completely understandable, but it means that the classification system (why humans are DBDGs), and Rhabwar, and the Monitor Corps, and Sector General itself, have to be explained in each story (not each book; it looks like they don’t stop being fixups until Star Healer). And White does not shy from blatant infodumping, often in language nearly-identical to the last several times someone had to explain it.

Character development is, frankly, a little sketchy as well, but improves somewhat in these books. The series progresses in real time, which isn’t immediately obvious (yes, Conway and Murchison are smart, but they’re not so smart that it hasn’t taken them twenty-odd years to get near the top of their fields). I think the aging of the characters either gives a little more opportunity for us to learn about them, or gave the author a plausible reason to tweak or fill in some details. Or both.

Even with those caveats, I’m still very glad to have read this. Kudos to Tor for getting and keeping this in print via their Orb line. Now if only I could find myself that copy of Code Blue—Emergency I’ve been looking for . . .

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