This was a beautiful, beautiful book. I liked Matt Haig’s How to Stop Time, but I loved this novel, which came highly recommended by a friend whose taste I trust. The main character of The Humans is an alien who, for complex reasons, is operating undercover as a human, living among humans and trying to figure out what makes them tick. The novel is funny, sad, poignant and suspenseful — and, much like How to Stop Time, it’s a reflection on what it means to be human. With all our flaws as a species, we know how to love — or at least we try. And for the sake of that, an alien might even be willing to give up perfection.
Category Archives: Fiction — fantasy
As you know, I’m not much of a sci-fi reader (so much not, in fact, that I don’t even have a category here on the blog for sci-fi, and on the rare occasion I do read a sci-fi novel I have to tag is as “fantasy” because that’s the closest category I’ve got. One exception to my lack of love for sci-fi was Andy Weir’s first novel, The Martian, which I loved long before it became a hit movie. Unfortunately, I didn’t enjoy Artemis nearly as much. It’s a fun, fast-paced read, but it has some real flaws that kept me from getting into it.
Artemis is set on a near-future moon colony. There’s a lot to like about it — the diversity of the community, the sciency-tech stuff that sounds more or less believable to a non-science person like me but isn’t jargon-y enough to put me off (though there’s a lot more welding detail in this novel than I needed) and a pretty neatly-constructed plot that starts off as a sort of scam/heist plot, but turns into a save-the-moon-colony plot.
However, the main character, Jazz Bashara, is hard to like. That’s not always a bad thing, but Jazz is a young woman (it was irritating to me that I could never figure out exactly how old she’s supposed to be and I’m positive this is not inattentive reading but due to some actual mistakes the author made in continuity) who’s sort of an amoral con artist. Actually, going back to an earlier review, she’s not entirely unlike Vin in the Mistborn series or Nahri in City of Brass, and she also kind of reminds me of Harry Harrison’s Stainless Steel Rat character, but without enough motivation for me to fully understand why she is the way she is. Also, I’m not one of those female readers who believes no man can ever write a female main character well — lots of male writers do, regularly. But Jazz often feels to me like a woman written by a man who keeps reminding himself that the character is a girl and he has to throw in some woman-y stuff — and when he does, it doesn’t always feel entirely believable. I didn’t give up on the book and I did think the plot was nice and tight, but it’s certainly not as memorable as The Martian was.
This is the most engrossing, engaging new fantasy novel I’ve read in awhile. Set in the Middle East in the late 1700s and drawing heavily on Islamic mythologies about djinn and other magical creatures, this is a wonderful debut and I was only disappointed to realize that it’s the first of a trilogy and I have to wait for the next two to come out (I hate to wait).
On one level, Chakraborty is playing with some pretty familiar fantasy tropes. I tried to describe the plot to my husband, who also loves fantasy although we often feel quite differently about books. “So there’s this young girl, Nahri, who lives on the streets and is kind of a thief and a con artist, and she has these powers but has no idea what they mean or why she has them…”
“So, like Vin in Mistborn?” says Jason.
The thing is, he loved the Mistborn books and I … did not. And I found Vin’s character really irritating. I loved Nahri in City of Brass, but when he said that I had to admit … yeah, it is kinda the same thing. And then I went on,
“So she accidentally calls up a djinn, and she finds out that she’s part-djinn too, and she has to go to –“
“No, she has to go to Daevabad, which is this magical djinn city…”
“So basically, Hogwarts for djinn.”
So yeah, there are some familiar fantasy tropes here, but I found them really well done. Yes, Nahri is the classic kid-from-nowhere-who-turns-out-to-be-someone-secretly-powerful, and yes there is a romance plot that could be seen as a bit predictable, though I think the combination of the author’s writing style and the Middle Eastern backdrop kept me intrigued. (Also, the romance plot may be familiar, but the love interest is smoking hot, and not just metaphorically). But interwoven with Nahri’s story is another story, less familiar — that of Ali, second son of the king of Daevabad. Ali’s story is one of power struggles and palace intrigue, of a king who is holding in balance a (gorgeously depicted) city of unruly magical subjects, in which two very different groups of people — the shafit and the daeva — both believe they are marginalized and being treated unfairly by the king (but also hate each other and are easily used as weapons against each other). As Nahri and her djinn guide reach the city and her story begins to interweave with Ali’s palace plots, things hurtle toward a violent conclusion from which the eventual endgame of the series is anything but predictable.
Book 2 comes out next January, and I will be downloading it as fast as it’s available. I can’t wait for the rest of this series.
When an online book club I sometimes participate in suggested How to Stop Time, my immediate reaction on reading the blurb was, “Well, this is a book tailor-made for me!” It combines historical fiction with fantastic/sci-fi elements, as its main character has a rare condition called anageria. This is the opposite of progeria, the real-life condition where people age more quickly than normal. Tom Hazard, in this novel (one of many names he goes by), ages about fifteen times more slowly than normal people. He is one of a handful of anagerics who have been alive for hundreds of years; as the novel opens in the present day Tom is over 400 years old but looks to be in his mid-thirties. He has had to move around frequently throughout his life, since if he stays in one place longer than a few years people start to notice that he hasn’t aged and they get suspicious. In the olden days, this could mean accusations of witchcraft or other supernatural shenanigans; today it’s more likely to mean pursuit by ruthless scientists who want to study these “albatrosses” to harvest the secret of eternal youth. So Tom lives in the shadows; he has hung out with Shakespeare and F. Scott Fitzgerald in his time, and developed an impressive list of skills, but he’s been unable to maintain any long-lasting relationships, because eventually everyone he loves will be left behind.
Four hundred years later, Tom is still pining after his lost love from the early 1600s, Rose, with whom he had a daughter Marion, who is still around somewhere because she too shares Tom’s condition. The novel relates Tom’s life story in flashbacks, alternated with scenes in present-day London where he tries to blend in as a history teacher (good career choice there), continues his centuries-long search for Marion, and considers the possibility of loving again.
A lot of great fiction confronts the question of mortality, of the shortness of human life and how we can live and love knowing it will all be lost. How to Stop Time comes at this question from the opposite direction: what if you knew that your life was virtually endless, but that all those around you were doomed to age and die? Could life, could love, still have meaning under those circumstances?
I thought How to Stop Time was a lovely and very engaging novel that handled those questions in an insightful and thoughtful way. Tom was a likable enough character that it was possible to empathize with him even though his situation is not one that any of us can relate to. Except that time does keep passing, things do keep changing, and we all, sometimes, want to stop it. So maybe we can relate after all.
I’ve been hearing about this trilogy for awhile; it’s one of the hottest fantasy series of recent years. Actually I’m not sure whether to call it fantasy or science fiction, because it has elements of both. The series takes place in a far-distant future world where the surface of the planet has become unstable and human life is frequently disrupted and destroyed by catastrophic shiftings of the earth’s surface. When the earth moves, a “fifth season” of environmental devastation can last for years, bringing untold hardship.
In the world of these books, there are also people with unique abilities to sense and even control the movements of the earth. These people are known as orogenes, but their powers are feared as much as they are respected, and they are kept under tight control, raised to believe that they are dangerous and not-quite-human. The main character of the trilogy, Essun, is an orogene. As the first book opens, a Fifth Season is just beginning as Essun finds herself the victim of a horrific act of violence.
From there, things unfold forward and backwards as we learn Essun’s origin story (orogene story!) and see how she copes with the disaster that has struck her world. This is an incredibly detailed, thoroughly developed world with a complete system of magic/science, history, and the relationships among the different people groups within the world. It’s so detailed there were times I got overwhelmed and felt like I couldn’t entirely follow what was going on … this was especially true in the second book, where the story dragged for me a little bit as I got bogged down in the detail of trying to understand this intricate world Jemisin created. However, this is entirely my shortcoming as a reader, not hers as a writer — she’s brilliant.
In the end, the deeply flawed, angry, strong heroine Essun drew me on through the story even through bits I had to skim over because I wasn’t fully following the complex plotline. This is a series about what it means to be human, about environmental devastation, about how humans treat other humans and about whether we’re worth saving as a species. It wrestles with some big issues through deeply flawed and real characters, and every lover of fantasy or science fiction should check it out.
This was a strange and engrossing book which I read quickly, anxious to find out how it would all come together. I’ve seen people online complain that it’s very different from Ishiguro’s other novels, but as this is the first of his I’ve read I have no basis of comparison. I found it odd and haunting, a bit like the aftermath of reading a Neil Gaiman novel.
The Buried Giant starts out as if it’s going to be historical fiction — it’s set in post-Roman Britain, with an elderly Briton couple, Axl and Beatrice, who are going on a journey and along the way stop at a Saxon village. But it quickly becomes apparent this novel is more fantasy or fairy-tale than historical fiction. There are ogres and pixies as well as Britons and Saxons in the land; there’s a sleeping dragon; there are characters who still vividly remember King Arthur.
Stranger than any of these is what Axl and Beatrice refer to as “the mist”: a mysterious forgetfulness that afflicts not just the two of them, but everyone in their village and most of the people they encounter along the way. It’s as though everyone in this world has a touch of amnesia: nobody can remember their own past clearly, and events from even earlier the same day become hazy and hard to grasp as soon as they’re over. Axl and Beatrice are trying to find their son, whom they barely remember — and of course, they can’t clearly remember how to find him or where he is now, either.
It seems obvious not only that this strange forgetfulness must have a magical cause and a magical cure (it does), but also that stopping it would be a good thing. Everyone wants to get their memories back, don’t they? Except that as the story unfolds, we begin to question this assumption. Memories are double-edged swords — not just for individuals like Axl and Beatrice, who wonder if their love would be as true if they could recall every quarrel they’ve ever had — but for nations. If we forgot old enemies and what they did to us, could we live at peace? Does memory inevitably lead to strife and revenge? These two threads — the personal and the broader social context — weave throughout the theme of memory as Axl and Beatrice’s quest comes to a poignant end. While this book may not be typical of Ishiguro’s work, here he beautifully integrates history, myth and fantasy to create a memorable meditation on love, loss and memory.