When I started reading Dragonsbane I expected something light, young adult, typical dragons and magic and heroic women. And it was, but it was more than that. Barbara Hambly adds a lot of depth to her world, her characters, imbuing them with meaning and subtly anchoring them in real life.

  For example, our hero isn't only a mage, but also a mother, maybe a reluctant one, someone who has to always choose between her craft and her love for family. I understand how a writer might feel like that and after reading the "light book about dragons and magic", so will you. Or how gnomes are being bullied and discriminated against, but it's not empty virtue signaling when the author explores how hidden power (normal power, not magic) is being used to influence people to do that, for nefarious reasons they are not even aware of. Characters who are weak find strength, characters who seem powerful reveal their inner weakness and in the end victory is brought not by magical power, but by knowing yourself and accepting it as it is: mature strength of character.

  Yet, all of this complexity is subtle. You don't have to pay attention to it. One can just read it as a typical magical dragon quest just as well. It's not one of those books that you can reread multiple times, but I appreciate that a kid might enjoy this just as much as an adult, for very different reasons.

  I liked the book, so I might read the sequel as well. Not the best book ever, but a very pleasant surprise.

  Hah, if I'd have looked at the cover I would have probably chosen to read something else. Something that Ann Leckie absolutely loved is definitely not for me. If books had gender, A Memory Called Empire would be 100% female, as it focuses primarily on social cues, personal feelings and attachments, romantic connections, poetry, connotations of every word said, yet everything is so naive in terms of power or violence or even sexuality, like a children's story. There is almost no mention of technology or space travel, people meet face to face all the time, touching each other for whatever reasons and feeling things, and it all happens in a bureaucratic empire where social expectations are high and complex. This could just as well have been set in the 18th century Earth with some little magic McGuffin instead of the tech one Arkady Martine used, and none would have been the wiser.

  The main character is an ambassador from a tiny space station republic to the large empire of the region, which dominates, technologically, militarily, economically and culturally. Everybody dreams to be part of the empire, while they are slowly being devoured by it. So, again, could be any historical era. The ambassador is greeted by someone from the empire who is attached to her as aide. Now, they almost immediately become fast friends, with some romantic tension between them. Imagine this happening: the Chinese ambassador to the US receives an American aide who immediately befriends and helps them reach their goals, sometimes in defiance of American protocols, culture or even authority.

  The book continues in the same vein, with a lot of cultural references that mean nothing to the story, but at least add to the world building. The magical tech that the station uses is an imago, a machine that records one's experiences and personality in a chip that can then be implanted in their successor, as an advisor. The empire could use it, but their morality and laws prohibit it. A lot of intrigue around this little device that any decent security service would find out everything about in days. There are some civil war ideas, some future alien invasion hints, but mainly it is an old fashioned PG13 whodunnit given a sci-fi veneer.

  Bottom line: I found it extremely boring, fell asleep numerous times and only finished it out of spite. It wasn't bad, for sure, but it was anathema to what I enjoy. If you're a typical sci-fi reading guy or if you tried Ann Leckie and found it ridiculous, maybe you should reconsider reading this.

  Awkward: The Science of Why We're Socially Awkward and Why That's Awesome started great! I mean, it immediately opened my eyes in terms of how to define awkwardness, why it's even relevant to other people and the reason they are keeping score. It then proceeded to give algorithmic solutions to blending in social situations even if you are awkward to begin with. Ty Tashiro even mentions that we have two relatively separate systems in our brains: the analytical and the social, and when you use one you inhibit the other. It made so much sense! I immediately started recommending the book, without having read it all.

  However the rest of the book was not as amazing, or at least this is how I felt. Instead it felt inconsistent, like a collection of separate materials that somehow were shoe stringed into a book. Still good, but compared to that stellar start, relatively weaker.

  There was one more thing that bothered me, probably saying more about me than about the book, but there were places where American liberal agenda seemed to infect the scientific discourse. I guess being an awkward individual who managed to become a relationship and social psychologist would adopt some of these concepts as a blending in mechanism, yet it felt a little jarring, like the author "sold out" accepting ideas that forcefully come with his acceptance in the crowd.

  It was funny to me that the metaphor (a very good one, it turned out) to describe how awkward people see the world compared to social ones was a Lion King Broadway play. No one watches those outside some population of the U.S., why would you use it as an example?

  Anyway, the idea is this: awkward people have more intense focus, but also a narrower one. They are compulsively attracted by specific things, ignoring everything else. Normal people just have a broader focus on everything, intuitively making connections between disparate signals, while for an awkward person it takes conscious effort to switch focus and combine things in their head. This leads to advantages and disadvantages, since they can focus on research, invention, refining of knowledge and so on, but they are "felt" by society at large as weird, because they miss social cues which determine social status and even interpersonal trust.

  An interesting question at the end was: if being awkward is something that makes one a social outcast, how come it was not eliminated by evolution. And the answer is that less social people are actually more free to explore the edges of human knowledge and behavior, thus fighting stagnation on the level of entire groups. Groups without their awkwards die off.

  I loved that a lot of vague social terms that we normally use were described and even defined analytically, complete with some ideas and concrete actions on how to reach specific goals. A lot of time when people analyze such psychological traits, they do it from the perspective of a normie. It was nice to get not only the definition, but also the theorems behind, so to speak. 

  Bottom line: I really recommend reading the beginning of the book. The rest you can consider optional, even if it's still very interesting and informative.

  I occasionally try to add to my list books that have won literary awards, so that maybe I start to get what writing masterpieces are about. Unfortunately, most of the time I get to read obtuse and pompous works which have reached the top due to some alignment of agenda or talking about something fashionable. I guess this is somewhere in between.

  The Essex Serpent is certainly not a bad book, but it is boring as fuck. Imagine a gothic novel set in the 19th century where the focus is a giant serpent somewhere in Essex. A science leaning recent widow (coming from an abusive relationship, no less) is fascinated by the possibility of this creature. Around her orbit a socialist maid and good friend, a handsome priest dedicated to his terminally ill wife and a talented but unattractive surgeon who has a crush on the widow. Women kind of win, men sort of lose, but with some dignity. That's it in a nutshell.

  Now imagine that at every turn of phrase, EVERYTHING is being taken into focus: what people have eaten, eating and what they thought about it, what people have said, felt, felt that someone else feels or thinks or about what they said, colors, smells, sounds, social norms, romantic tension, you name it, it's there.

  I cannot believe many writers would have the talent to write like Sarah Perry, but I feel there are even more who wouldn't ever want to. You have to dedicate attention and effort to dig out the meaning of every sentence and then have the memory and fortitude to weave that meaning into the story that you think the author is trying to tell. There is a saying you shouldn't walk faster than what is needed to look around, but there is a difference between looking around and combing the plane of experience for every single thing. 

  Personally, I gave up after a quarter of the book, when I realized I didn't care about the characters, the world, the time or even the giant creature. This is categorized as fiction, but it's just a slightly dramatic historical tale that just happens to not be about people who have actually existed, although it is inspired by true events.

  Imagine a Western with guns and outlaws and the like, but the world feels like in the times of the Roman Empire, there is magic and technology (fueled by magic) as well as characters that without being exactly the same, are clearly inspired by dwarves and dark elves.

  The Incorruptibles is seen through the eyes of a dwarf. He and his gun slinging human partner partner are caught in the machinations of rich and powerful Ruman nobles while being attacked by dark elf-like creatures. The story is dark and while it provides a kind of happy ending, it's a gritty tale.

  I've previously read a two novellas anthology from John Hornor Jacobs and I felt a similar vibe there: he draws inspiration from history and the worlds and characters of other writers and make them his own, blending them with a lot of creativity. However, the stories are a bit slow and not always enjoyable. They are gripping, though.

  I don't know what to feel about this series. I liked the book and it could be considered stand-alone, but it opened a lot of avenues for new stories and there was a lot of foreshadowing and world building, so it does feel a little incomplete without the rest of the (hi)story. However, I am not sure I want to invest in it, although I am tempted.

  Bottom line: a gritty magical Western hybrid. It was good.

  David Brin was 30 when he published Sundiver in 1980, but the book, his first, feels much older, almost van Vogtian. The writing style and subject matter further strengthen the feeling. Imagine a bunch of humans and aliens in the future, diving into the Sun to communicate with a newly discovered race of intelligent beings there. A tree alien, an uplifted chimp and others are part of the expedition.

  All the tropes of sci-fi pulp are there: a youngish protagonist of the same age as the author, romance, mystery and its deductive solving as well as its revealing in elaborate group discussions, the belief in the power of meditation and trance to improve the mind, people having Erich von Däniken as the prophet of the origin of the human race, lasers, fist fights, hints of colonialism, and so on and so on. The book is very entertaining, but it's spectacularly outdated. I guess the lasers and the Däniken references place it after 1960, but ignoring that, one could believe it was written in the '40s.

  There are some ingenious ideas in the book, though. In this universe, intelligence is believed to never have been evolved by itself, instead "patron races" uplift existing native animals to intelligence, generating a complex web of patrons and clients. Not humans, though. They have been partially uplifted then left to their own devices, thus placing them in a dubious middle of the hierarchy, while kept away from the somewhat monolithic culture of the galaxy. Humans are both exotic and quaint, ignorant and arrogant, daring to know things they figured out for themselves rather than spoon fed by "the Library".

   I don't think I will read more of this series, but I might read more from Brin, whenever I feel the need to go classical without diving into a time compression bubble.

  It's not that Titanium Noir is a bad book, but it's the same tired cliché of the cynical private investigator trying to unravel a simple murder that turns out to be a global conspiracy that makes the reader think of social issues. The sci-fi is almost incidental, so I kind of listened to a third of the book, then fell asleep and woke up close to the end and I didn't find anything exciting in it. A disappointment from something that has such a cool title and intriguing cover.

  Nick Harkaway is the son of John le Carré and he mostly writes fantasy, apparently, but in this he went a bit, just a tiny bit, towards science fiction. Not enough to induce me to finish the book, unfortunately.

  Bad Blood: Secrets and Lies in a Silicon Valley Startup is a book worth of a political thriller miniseries, only too real. It shows the 10+ years history of Theranos, a "unicorn company" formed only on personal charisma and lies and which reached a top valuation of ten billion American dollars at its peak. Billions, with a B! It also shows how that can happen within the American economic, political and social system, which - if you ask me - is much more damning and interesting than the exposure of Elisabeth Holmes and her cronies.

  John Carreyrou also had the faith, training and backing of a powerful journalistic entity just to be able to bring this to public attention, something to be considered in this climate of journalistic consolidation into partisan corporations that care nothing for the truth. It would have been so easy for this to have continued for years, unchecked and uncheckable, if it weren't for this tiny detail.

  To boot, this book will be extremely triggering to anyone working in a corporate environment, especially Americans. Let's play some corporate bingo: sociopath CEO claiming their vision is paramount to anything and anyone, older generation Indian management that feels the lives of employees belong to the company, paranoid NDA backed culture where people just disappear without any mention to the remaining employees, totalitarian control of data, communication and the general narrative, backed by law firms hired on millions of dollars to intimidate anyone who might challenge it, inner-circle privileges given to loyal individuals, university dropout visionaries that consider any technical hurdle something to be solved by lowly multiple PhD holding peons and not something that can hold them back, even if they themselves are technical imbeciles, yes-men culture where dissent or even mere criticism is considered treason, to be punished by immediate termination, public humiliation and legal action. The list can go on...

  I can't recommend this book enough. It's not entertaining in any meaningful way, instead it's terrifying. Imagine being in a situation where you have the knowledge, the certainty, the moral high ground, the awareness of your absolute right in a matter, only to give it all away because someone with a lot of money sics a law firm on you. Imagine bullying at every level once you have haphazardly signed some documents that you assumed were standard corporate operating practice, but instead signed your soul to the company. Imagine trying to tell people that something is terribly wrong, only to be met with dismissive comments on your character and expertise, just because someone believes in a PowerPoint presentation more than in any deity and because you are not part of the in-group.

  But one thing that the book did not discuss, although it implied heavily through out its length, is how can something like this happen. How is it possible that somehow law can be corrupted to stop people from reporting unlawful acts? How can a company be created and thrive and be financed by people on promises alone, while heavily educated and well informed naysayers can be summarily dismissed at any moment and their input suppressed? In fact, this is a direct and informed criticism of the way American society works at the higher levels. Theranos was a symptom that, unchecked, led to Trumpism. There are direct parallels between the mindset of the management in this 2010 company and the political system taking over in the 2020s, with mindless loyal cronies being hired for all of the critical jobs on a wave of populist faith.

  Even more spooky is the strong desire people felt for this book be a hit-job, to have the young female charismatic Elisabeth entrepreneur somehow be the victim of the male dominated system, the disgruntled employees, the Svengali 20 years older lover and irate Indian bully, the vengeful journalist, all working together to stop her from playing her fantasy of becoming the next Steve Jobs. You can imagine a Scooby Doo moment where she could have just made everything work out if it weren't for the pesky kids. But the truth documented in this book shows that, while certainly some sort of victim, Holmes was a mentally deranged individual who still managed to play the entire world and reach wealth and prestige even some nations in the world only dream of.

  Bottom line: you have to read this book, even if it's very long, terrifying, frustrating and its "happy ending" only demonstrates that you have to make a LOT of mistakes for justice to happen when you have enough money and political backing.

  Jesus Christ, this book has 100000 chapters! And that's because there are 10 types of people in the world: those who understand binary and those who don't.

  Anyway, Sea of Rust starts off as yet another western with robots, set in a post apocalyptic desert, where machines with guns act and feel like people in a lawless land. But as the book progressed, it became more of an exploration of what means to be alive, what meaning we derive from life and what means to actually live as opposed to just survive. It wasn't a literary or philosophical masterpiece or anything, but it did carry a nice punch to the gut in some scenes. The book became better as it got close to the end, to the point that I could have considered reading the next book in the story, if there was one.

  In fact, there is another book in the series, but it's a prequel. Film writer types, right?

  There are about three major twists, one that you kind of guess from the beginning, one that I should have seen, but never thought about and another that is more or less a hope to get into another genre later on. There are also some major plot holes, but just a few and they underpin the story, so you just have to ignore those if you want to enjoy the book.

  Robert C. Cargill is a film writer as well as books, he did the Sinister films and Doctor Strange and The Black Phone, the last two having seen and enjoyed. His writing is good, although you feel the cinematic nature of it. Writing from the perspective of robots did help with limiting things to just sound and visuals anyway.

  I liked the book, although I didn't feel it spent enough time creating the world or its characters. A world of machines should have been orders of magnitude more diverse and interesting than what's in this. It's one of those stories that need to be told in a certain way, and the world around is just a prop for it. It feels linear and without breadth. If I were to compare it with anything, it would be the Fallout TV series, but seen only from the perspective of the ghoul.

  I tried reading some Philip K. Dick in my early years and didn't like it. But not I am older and wiser, ready to process the brilliant ideas in PKD's books. No longer will I feel that a paranoid stoner on a bad trip in the '60s is writing random stories about how reality is not real and consciousness creates new ones again and again and again, just to spite me personally. That's just the hubris and ecocentrism of youth. Right? Right?!

  No. Ubik took me forever to finish because I didn't like it. The writing was good, but inconsistent, moving from philosophical to direct, just like a stoner would when writing about unravelling reality. The characters were there just to push the plot, however flimsy, forward, while the scathing satire of the capitalist system was just caricaturesque and lacking any depth.

  Worst, this is one of those story types that I personally despise. You will understand when you get to the end, if you get to the end, what I mean, because I don't want to spoil the book. It was short and still I dragged myself to finish it. I am sure it was brilliant in 1969, but 55 years later it's just quirky. 

  To be fair, this is not supposed to be one of this best books, so maybe there are some that I will just love if I try hard enough. But I prefer other authors.

  I picked up the book and I went "Oh, no! the writer of this book is called qntm. He must be one of those YA Twitter writers!". No he isn't! Actually, after reading this book, I am determined to read more from Sam Hughes. There is No Antimemetics Division is a wonderful book, blending non Lovecraftian cosmic horror with the spirit of something like The Andromeda Strain in a sort of Fringe-like story, but much better.

  A collection of chapters that contain almost separate short stories, the book slowly constructs this amazing world in which "antimemetic" entities exist. Don't worry about it, a few minutes after you're read my review you will have forgotten about them. The idea is cool and fresh enough, but the amount of attention to detail that the author poured into it raises it to a different level. And then more ideas keep piling up.

  The book starts from quite frightening situations that boggle the mind and challenge the way we see reality, then continues to consistently up the ante to ridiculous scales. Yes, some things are slightly contradictory and hard to accept, but image this is happening in a world that your brain screams it couldn't possible exist, while the clinical scientific and technical viewpoint of the main characters convince you it just as well might.

  I've already put another book from this author on my to read list. I loved this book and I wholeheartedly recommend it.

  I like Sam Neill. He is a good actor and he played in some movies I really like. Funny enough, he doesn't mention those! Instead he focuses in ones that meant more to him and that I mostly haven't watched.

  Did I Ever Tell You This? is a large collection of small anecdotes from the author's life that he decided he needed to write down when he was diagnosed with cancer. They are funny, heartwarming, but strangely impersonal, like stories one tells at a wine table, meant to entertain, not share, offend or expose. For that reason alone it was hard for me to finish the book.

  Imagine being at a party with friends, having fun, Sam bloody Neill being there telling everyone how he most certainly did NOT fuck every woman in London. It would be great, right? Only he keeps talking and talking and talking. Very little about the dramas in his life, the marriages, the children, he just goes on and on about funny things that happened to him, when he was working with people that he thinks are all great, women, and people of color and Aboriginals and all wonderful actors and human beings. It gets old fast! That's this book.

  Now, I like the guy and he came off well out of the book. The problem is that I don't feel like I know him more now than before. He's an average Kiwi, happy to have been chosen to join a great cast of film people and trying to make good with what he got. Humble like. Kind. Funny. Doesn't feel like a real person at all!

  Anyway, the book was fine. It was just overly long and not hitting hard enough.

  Nick Cutter went to the store, bought the largest bag of horror tropes and then poured them all into The Deep. Imagine a cross between Event Horizon, It and The Thing, with every other horror cliché you could think of sprinkled in and you get this book. Unfortunately, it doesn't work. Do you feel the horror? YEAH! But does it actually have any impact? No. It gets so horrid so fast that your mind just goes numb and asks itself why is it reading the story at all.

  The Deep has it all: horrible parents, child abuse, loving couple torn apart by child abduction, child fears, parental murder, psychopathy, body horror, supernatural horror, cosmic horror, claustrophobic horror, animal cruelty, interdimensional evil, gore, hopelessness, losing your mind, nightmares, global pandemic and, king of them all, "let's separate!" horror. Well, I am being a bit mean, because by that point nothing really mattered, but you get my drift.

  I guess there are two types of horror as far as I am concerned: intriguing and numbing. The first one is always built on hope, hope that the some character has a chance, if only they would make the best choices and would have a bit of luck, they could pull through. Maybe add some irony, something ridiculous that gives that person an edge when it matters most. The second one is just pointless witnessing of the suffering of another when they have no chance in hell they could pull through. The Deep veers really fast and really soon towards the second category. The horror is strong, but without a reason to exist. And boy does the guy fail to make the right choices!

  Yet, if you watched Event Horizon and thought it was great, like I did, maybe you will love this book, too. Personally I think this felt more experimental than, err... deep.

  Yes, I confess, I only expedited the reading of Mickey 7 because there is a Mickey 17 movie adaption with a pretty big budget and cool cast. I already see your eye roll for yet another review about an unreleased movie and not the actual book, but I promise I am writing about what I've read, so stick around :)

  This is a book akin to The Martian or maybe more the Bobiverse books, with which it also shares some plot elements: first person, light action, reasonable and emotionally stable protagonist and capable of being replicated after he dies or, as is the case of this story, when people thought he died. I had fun with it, read it really fast and served as a great palate cleanser after a really annoying book I slogged through before.

  It's not a masterpiece of literature, but it's good and fun. Edward Ashton is a decent writer and if I had an issue with his craft is with people being too consistent in their behavior. They all are neatly placed into their nice little boxes and they never get out of them, even in the face of traumatic deaths (of others or their own). The book also kind of drags, focusing too much on trivialities and less on the interesting aspects of the characters. However, this is the setup book, a first in a series as is tradition, so maybe the next volume, Antimatter Blues, will be better. I intend to read it, too. Maybe not immediately, though. Let's see how I feel about the movie.

  Talking about the movie, I think it's clear they are going to change the plot significantly, therefore the different title. And I get it. The story is about colonizing an alien planet after years of relativistic travel, a lot of internal monologues, flashbacks, and shortened stories of other colonies from books that he reads, but also gruesome deaths and insectile alien life. Hard to cram that into a movie and keep within the budget.

  A People's Future of the United States: Speculative Fiction from 25 Extraordinary Writers is one of those books. 25 different short stories about how liberals, gays, women, non neuro-normative people and people of color are abused or openly hunted by possible future American systems. And the regimes described are quite awful indeed, yet the overall feeling one gets from reading the book is just eye rolling disbelief. I only read it because I like how Victor LaValle writes, problem is he just edited this collection and wrote none of the stories inside and it was a grind to get this read.

  I blame the first story. It was so beautiful and reasonable, where a librarian shelters people from both sides of a divided America and they come together in discussing a single book they had all read. It set a tone that I couldn't wait to get more of. And the second story was the most strident, hysterical, yet at the same time bland piece of literature I've ever read! And it was followed by a lot of similar stories, where everybody who was gay, of color, autistic, female and sometimes all of the above was openly and legally terrorized by a system run by the evil conservative Whites. The tonal shift was so brusque I felt literary whiplash!

  Maybe when your subject is systematic abuse of minorities and you're also part of one or multiple of these minorities, it's pretty hard to get openly rejected. That's the only reasonable explanation I could find for the wide variety of quality in these stories. There were some that were really good. Unfortunately, only a few of them and most of the others could only kindly be called mediocre.

  I just couldn't believe it! The same people who were afraid of an ever more improbable future (The Handmaid's Tale feeling heavenly in comparison) in which non-normalcy is illegal, were describing with glee how the wheel was turning. For example, there was one where a genetic time travelling bomb backfired and all of America was now diverse. That kind of laughable diversity, with no national identity, just a bunch of people all being different from each other, looking different, yet having a united community and all of the American problems magically gone.

  I couldn't shake a quote from my head: slaves don't dream of freedom, but of becoming masters. The same people that were afraid of intolerance wrote short stories about us vs them, where "them" were caricaturesque inhuman villains and deserved everything coming to them.

  For sure there is some emotional catharsis to imagine a terrible future in which everything you hate is openly evil, thus giving you permission for all the fear and hate and extreme fantasies. Imagine Death Wish, but now the hero is a gay woman in a wheelchair killing fraternity bros. How is that not a movie already? Barf!